I just read through the whole thing... great AAR Suvorov! I hope you'll be able to continue this story soon 
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It will come, don't worry. Glad you liked it. That translation stuff is way harder than I imagined. All those economic terms I don't even know in Dutch, let alone Russian... :wacko:
But anyway, yes, there will be more. Some day...
That translation stuff is way harder than I imagined. All those economic terms I don't even know in Dutch, let alone Russian... :wacko: But anyway, yes, there will be more. Some day...
Translating! Even in my (much) smaller forays into Greek & Latin I'm quickly finding it one of the most challenging things about my aar.
Well well well, if updates are not foecoming perhaps we can add some pressure to the esteemed writer.
Suvorov, you are hereby the first showcase in Vicky AARland, and for that I have temporarily moved your story to the main forum
V
Suvorov, you are hereby the first showcase in Vicky AARland, and for that I have temporarily moved your story to the main forum
V
Valdemar said:Well well well, if updates are not foecoming perhaps we can add some pressure to the esteemed writer.
Suvorov, you are hereby the first showcase in Vicky AARland, and for that I have temporarily moved your story to the main forum
V
Oh man...
o Thanks. My first ever AAR, so many great writers, also in the Vicky AAR-section... Thanks a lot!
I really, really hope to get an update up here on Friday. Can't leave the showcase empty, right?
So, V, you got your wish. Pushy, pushy, but it works.
Next update on Friday!
Ah, what the heck! Why wait untill Friday?
Adlerberg contemptuously looked down on the former head of the Third Section. He wasn’t sure what bothered him most: the fact that Trepov was a traitor or that he thought he could bluff his way out of the situation.
The Ober-Polizmeister thought it best to refrain from further conversation with Trepov. Suddenly, it hit him that, in fact, Trepov wasn’t all too different from the tragic heros one sees in classical dramas, unaware of the grim fate that lies in store for them. Trepov’s arrogance certainly formed a strong contrast with his future position as a prisoner in the Peter and Paul fortress.
Barely noticable, Adlerberg nodded to one of the policemen holding Trepov down that they could take him away. He looked Trepov in the eyes one last time, but encountered neither fear nor worry. On the contrary, he was greeted with a confident grin.
As Trepov was led down the steps to the street, he turned his head around and hissed at Adlerberg: “I’ll get you for this! When the Czar hears of this, I’ll have you cut in pieces!”
Adlerberg shrugged: “The Czar has already heard from this. In fact, he personally ordered your arrest…”
Understanding that, after this, a conversation was inevitable, Adlerberg signalled the policemen to halt. Confidently, he took the few steps that seperated him from Trepov. Only when their faces were only centimeters apart did he stop. The grin Adlerberg had seen earlier on Trepov’s face had now completely disappeared. An empty stare had come in its place.
“You… you… you are lying,” Trepov finally mumbled. He didn’t seem to believe it himself, though, and repeated these same words several times as to convince himself that it really was a lie. As his conviction grew that Adlerberg was merely playing with his head, Trepov’s voice became louder: “You’re lying! I know you are!”
He started kicking in Adlerberg’s direction and tried to free himself from the grip of the policemen that were holding him. He found his attempts as unsuccessfull as when he had been lying on the floor inside the house.
Adlerberg watched the whole scene unfold, somewhat amused by it all.
“It is ironic to say the least,” Adlerberg calmly said, without actually speaking to anyone in particular, “that a traitor of all people would accuse me of lying…”
“A traitor?” Trepov repeated, abandoning his attempts to free himself. “What in the name of God are you talking about?”
“Don’t play games with me,” Adlerberg said, now focussing his attention directly on Trepov again, “we know about your Jewish girlfriend, we know about those documents you stole, we know you are selling state secrets to foreign governments!”
Trepov was completely flabbergasted. His mind simply couldn’t understand what had just been said. The words had all been in Russian, the grammatical structure of the sentences had been correct and he had heard it all quite clearly, but he just couldn’t understand a single word of it.
Adlerberg didn’t intend to wait for a rebuke: “Take this piece of filth out of here, now!”
The now docile Trepov, who was too shocked to resist anymore, was quietly taken away.
Sitting in a police carriage that hurried through the northern summer night towards the Peter and Paul fortress, Trepov slowly started coming to himself again. Subconsciously, the truth had become clear to him. In a low, monotone voice, as if in a trance, he mumbled:
“I’ve been set up…. Oh, my God, I’ve been set up…”
@everyone: thanks for the congratulations!
Chapter VII
The end of Trepov - part 4
Adlerberg contemptuously looked down on the former head of the Third Section. He wasn’t sure what bothered him most: the fact that Trepov was a traitor or that he thought he could bluff his way out of the situation.
The Ober-Polizmeister thought it best to refrain from further conversation with Trepov. Suddenly, it hit him that, in fact, Trepov wasn’t all too different from the tragic heros one sees in classical dramas, unaware of the grim fate that lies in store for them. Trepov’s arrogance certainly formed a strong contrast with his future position as a prisoner in the Peter and Paul fortress.
Barely noticable, Adlerberg nodded to one of the policemen holding Trepov down that they could take him away. He looked Trepov in the eyes one last time, but encountered neither fear nor worry. On the contrary, he was greeted with a confident grin.
As Trepov was led down the steps to the street, he turned his head around and hissed at Adlerberg: “I’ll get you for this! When the Czar hears of this, I’ll have you cut in pieces!”
Adlerberg shrugged: “The Czar has already heard from this. In fact, he personally ordered your arrest…”
Understanding that, after this, a conversation was inevitable, Adlerberg signalled the policemen to halt. Confidently, he took the few steps that seperated him from Trepov. Only when their faces were only centimeters apart did he stop. The grin Adlerberg had seen earlier on Trepov’s face had now completely disappeared. An empty stare had come in its place.
“You… you… you are lying,” Trepov finally mumbled. He didn’t seem to believe it himself, though, and repeated these same words several times as to convince himself that it really was a lie. As his conviction grew that Adlerberg was merely playing with his head, Trepov’s voice became louder: “You’re lying! I know you are!”
He started kicking in Adlerberg’s direction and tried to free himself from the grip of the policemen that were holding him. He found his attempts as unsuccessfull as when he had been lying on the floor inside the house.
Adlerberg watched the whole scene unfold, somewhat amused by it all.
“It is ironic to say the least,” Adlerberg calmly said, without actually speaking to anyone in particular, “that a traitor of all people would accuse me of lying…”
“A traitor?” Trepov repeated, abandoning his attempts to free himself. “What in the name of God are you talking about?”
“Don’t play games with me,” Adlerberg said, now focussing his attention directly on Trepov again, “we know about your Jewish girlfriend, we know about those documents you stole, we know you are selling state secrets to foreign governments!”
Trepov was completely flabbergasted. His mind simply couldn’t understand what had just been said. The words had all been in Russian, the grammatical structure of the sentences had been correct and he had heard it all quite clearly, but he just couldn’t understand a single word of it.
Adlerberg didn’t intend to wait for a rebuke: “Take this piece of filth out of here, now!”
The now docile Trepov, who was too shocked to resist anymore, was quietly taken away.
Sitting in a police carriage that hurried through the northern summer night towards the Peter and Paul fortress, Trepov slowly started coming to himself again. Subconsciously, the truth had become clear to him. In a low, monotone voice, as if in a trance, he mumbled:
“I’ve been set up…. Oh, my God, I’ve been set up…”
@everyone: thanks for the congratulations!
Now now, the quality in this AAR is extremly good, wich i am sure everyone here agrees on. Alltough, one thing does disturb me..
You're playing Russia.
Also, one certain goal of yours is quite disturbing to. So, with respect, i shall pray for your failure
You're playing Russia.
Also, one certain goal of yours is quite disturbing to. So, with respect, i shall pray for your failure
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Suvorov - not that I'm complaining I hasten to point out, but today's not Friday Can we hold you to the promise of an update on Friday in addition to this bounty that has been laid before us?
A truly wonderful moment of realisation. I especially liked this paragraph:
Very well done.
Can we hold you to the promise of an update on Friday in addition to this bounty that has been laid before us?A truly wonderful moment of realisation. I especially liked this paragraph:
Very well done.
@R.F.A.: I shall not fail!
@stnylan: Yes, Friday will also see an update. Glad you liked it.
@Anibal: Thank you.
@stnylan: Yes, Friday will also see an update. Glad you liked it.
@Anibal: Thank you.
Hope you guys like it.
Naryshkin sat in his chair, staring at the logs in the fireplace still glowing from the fire that he had just extinguished. Apart from that glow, the only light source in the room was a small candle. A happily dancing flame drew shady orange paintings on Naryshkin’s face, but he didn’t notice it.
Naryshkin sighed and took a sip from his cognac. It tasted like the water from one of the city’s filthy canals. He distorted his face in disgust and threw the remaining content of his glass in the fireplace, where the cognac vaporized with a hiss. He swung his arm to the right, putting the glass on the small table standing next to his chair. Again, he sighed.
He knew he had just wasted perfectly good cognac. Expensive cognac, too. He knew the cognac hadn’t tasted bad. It had tasted the same as always. It had been his taste buds failing him. Just like he felt his mind was starting to fail him. Guilt was quickly taking over his organism, infecting vital organs along the way. It was this guilt that he had tasted. It was this guilt he had thrown in the fireplace. Unlike the cognac, however, the guilt hadn’t vaporized.
In his dark, self made dungeon, Naryshkin’s thoughts wondered off to another dark place, to the Peter and Paul fortress where, so he figured, Trepov would have been taken to by now. He could only imagine what Trepov was thinking about at the moment. Did he understand what had happened? Was he aware of the fact that he wouldn’t leave the fortress alive? Had he figured out he had been framed?
Probably…
All of a sudden, Naryhskin turned cold. Had Trepov figured out by whom he had been framed? Would he, Naryshkin, be the first suspect? Or would Trepov think someone at the Third Section had been after his job?
Impossible to tell…
In his mind, Naryshkin made a list of all the people that could prove Trepov’s innocence. Julia Eichenbaum was far away now, living under a different name. No one would find her, even if they knew where to look. Michail would keep quiet, Naryshkin was convinced of that. He would, however, be shocked to hear the outcome of Naryshkin’s secret plotting against Trepov. He wasn’t the only one…
So, that left Obolenskij. His involvement was nearly as big as Naryshkin’s and he therefor had no motive whatsoever to save Trepov from the firing squad Nicholas had probably already assigned.
Naryshkin noticed he felt relieved.
“Here I sit, thinking about saving my own hide, while an innocent man is going to die because of me…” Naryshkin thought, now not only feeling guilty for being responsible for what looked like Trepov’s inescapable death, but also for not caring enough.
Again, he tried to imagine Trepov in the Peter and Paul fortress. He would be tortured, without a doubt. Would he confess and beg for mercy? Or would he, despite horrific torment and excruciating pain, maintain he was innocent? Naryshkin knew it didn’t matter. The interrogators would, with Nicholas impatiently waiting for information, be trying desperately to uncover the full depth of Trepov’s ‘treason’. They’d want names, dates etc. All things Trepov wouldn’t be able to give them. And thus the torture would continue…
Naryshkin shuddered. It was too much… It didn’t help him in any way. It didn’t help Trepov. He couldn’t be helped. Secret documents had been found in Julia’s apartment. They had to be explained. If not because of Trepov’s treason, then by someone else’s. Either way, Nicholas would demand someone’s blood.
Naryshkin, who had set the whole scheme in motion, had been the director of it since the very beginning, now had to acknowledge he was powerless to stop it. It was simply out of his hands. And for this, Trepov would pay with his life.
Chapter VII
The end of Trepov – part 5
Naryshkin sat in his chair, staring at the logs in the fireplace still glowing from the fire that he had just extinguished. Apart from that glow, the only light source in the room was a small candle. A happily dancing flame drew shady orange paintings on Naryshkin’s face, but he didn’t notice it.
Naryshkin sighed and took a sip from his cognac. It tasted like the water from one of the city’s filthy canals. He distorted his face in disgust and threw the remaining content of his glass in the fireplace, where the cognac vaporized with a hiss. He swung his arm to the right, putting the glass on the small table standing next to his chair. Again, he sighed.
He knew he had just wasted perfectly good cognac. Expensive cognac, too. He knew the cognac hadn’t tasted bad. It had tasted the same as always. It had been his taste buds failing him. Just like he felt his mind was starting to fail him. Guilt was quickly taking over his organism, infecting vital organs along the way. It was this guilt that he had tasted. It was this guilt he had thrown in the fireplace. Unlike the cognac, however, the guilt hadn’t vaporized.
In his dark, self made dungeon, Naryshkin’s thoughts wondered off to another dark place, to the Peter and Paul fortress where, so he figured, Trepov would have been taken to by now. He could only imagine what Trepov was thinking about at the moment. Did he understand what had happened? Was he aware of the fact that he wouldn’t leave the fortress alive? Had he figured out he had been framed?
Probably…
All of a sudden, Naryhskin turned cold. Had Trepov figured out by whom he had been framed? Would he, Naryshkin, be the first suspect? Or would Trepov think someone at the Third Section had been after his job?
Impossible to tell…
In his mind, Naryshkin made a list of all the people that could prove Trepov’s innocence. Julia Eichenbaum was far away now, living under a different name. No one would find her, even if they knew where to look. Michail would keep quiet, Naryshkin was convinced of that. He would, however, be shocked to hear the outcome of Naryshkin’s secret plotting against Trepov. He wasn’t the only one…
So, that left Obolenskij. His involvement was nearly as big as Naryshkin’s and he therefor had no motive whatsoever to save Trepov from the firing squad Nicholas had probably already assigned.
Naryshkin noticed he felt relieved.
“Here I sit, thinking about saving my own hide, while an innocent man is going to die because of me…” Naryshkin thought, now not only feeling guilty for being responsible for what looked like Trepov’s inescapable death, but also for not caring enough.
Again, he tried to imagine Trepov in the Peter and Paul fortress. He would be tortured, without a doubt. Would he confess and beg for mercy? Or would he, despite horrific torment and excruciating pain, maintain he was innocent? Naryshkin knew it didn’t matter. The interrogators would, with Nicholas impatiently waiting for information, be trying desperately to uncover the full depth of Trepov’s ‘treason’. They’d want names, dates etc. All things Trepov wouldn’t be able to give them. And thus the torture would continue…
Naryshkin shuddered. It was too much… It didn’t help him in any way. It didn’t help Trepov. He couldn’t be helped. Secret documents had been found in Julia’s apartment. They had to be explained. If not because of Trepov’s treason, then by someone else’s. Either way, Nicholas would demand someone’s blood.
Naryshkin, who had set the whole scheme in motion, had been the director of it since the very beginning, now had to acknowledge he was powerless to stop it. It was simply out of his hands. And for this, Trepov would pay with his life.
Now Naryshkin shows remorse? A tad late for the old boy, I'd say. Well done establishing his mood. If this is the depth you add now, I shudder to think of how good this will be when the game actually gets going. I, for one, am looking forward to it very much.
Bah, Naryshkin shouldn't worry about Trepov. It was for the greater good of Nary....eh Russia.
Very well written, and very revealing. It sounds like Naryshkin has been too involved in the game, too caught up in its thrill, to see exactly what the game was and what it meant.
Also a nice reflection for us (well, for me anyway) to be reminded about the realities of what is going on, without being graphic about it.
Also a nice reflection for us (well, for me anyway) to be reminded about the realities of what is going on, without being graphic about it.