A Productive Day
Augsburg - June 25
Home Guardian Commander Trauble stood before a row of new conscripts awaiting their assignments. He stepped forward and handed a slip of paper to each of them. There was a shortage of Panopticons lately, and they were conscripting troops faster than they could get P’s for them. As a result, he had to do things the old-fashioned way.
“Execute the wife first,” he rasped, “Then the children. After that move to the next target on Line 2, the heretic. Burn the place down. Line 3, the deviant, hang him on a streetlight. Line 4, the school, you know the drill…”
After he finished, he stepped back. “Any questions?”
“Sir.” One conscript stepped forward. “Are you sure we should be—” He didn’t finish his sentence before Trauble put a bullet between his eyes.
“As I was saying,” Trauble continued, “Any. Questions?”
“No, sir!” the others said.
The commander nodded. “Good. Let’s get to work.”
It was going to be a productive day.
---
“Herr Scheider?” Scheider looked up from the paperwork he was doing. It was one of his students, Wolfgang. He had stayed behind in the classroom while everyone else had already gone off to mandatory military self-defense training.
“Yes, Wolfgang?” Scheider said.
Wolfgang looked at him, a brightness in his eyes Scheider had almost forgotten. “I have a question about the Bible.”
Normally, Scheider would have directed Wolfgang to Father Karl, but Karl had been purged with the rest of the clergy.
Well, I guess I have to fill in for Karl. “I’ll see what I can say.”
“Herr Scheider, the Bible says ‘Thou shall not kill’,” Wolfgang said, “So why are the Crusaders and Home Guardians doing it so much lately?”
Scheider dropped his pencil and stifled a gasp. “A…difficult question. What do you mean?”
“I saw a Home Guardian—Herr Johann—shoot old Herr Herzog this morning. Why did they shoot him? Herzog wasn’t fighting in the war. And I don’t think he did anything wrong, did he?”
Scheider paused. He looked nervously around him, hoping nobody was listening. Then he put a hand on Wolfgang’s shoulder. “Wolfgang, I have to tell you, there are some questions you shouldn’t be asking. You should leave this to the adults. Fortunately, you only asked me, because—”
“I told Commander Trauble on my way here, though. He didn’t answer me.”
Scheider’s face paled. “You…told him?”
At that moment, Trauble walked in through the door and racked the bolt of his assault rifle. His squad followed behind him and likewise readied their guns.
“I’m sorry, Wolfgang,” was all Scheider managed to say before the two of them were riddled with bullets.
It was a productive day.
Berlin
After sitting in on a trial the previous day, Josiah gave up on trying to reason with Moria. Even by Jerusalem’s standards, the trial he watched was completely ridiculous.
“Death!” the judge had shouted, signing off on another sentence after another guilty verdict. “Death! Death! Death!”
Okay, there was a reason for that.
The nuking of Constantinople and the purging of the Church had only caused more problems for the Regency.
Apparently, ordering the execution of every
Christian clergyman in a
Christian theocracy didn’t go well with the
Christian population. In typical Moria fashion, he made the problem even worse. Martial law was imposed on various major cities. Then he realized martial law was already imposed in most areas, so he made it
even worse. The definition of what constituted a crime was vastly expanded to include personal qualities Moria simply did not like. Enforcement was tightened. Most importantly, the punishments were made stricter to encourage deterrence.
The end result was that laziness was now punishable by death.
Hey, nobody said it was a
good reason.
The ensuing slaughter was predictable. Once the Home Guardians had been purged of dissenting elements, those who had Panopticons had them set to remote control mode to ensure the survivors’ compliance. Moria was just that paranoid. On the first day, the Home Guardians dug a mass grave outside each major city. On the second, the first offenders were dragged out of their homes and workplaces and thrown into trucks to be delivered to the graves. On the third day, the mass graves were completely filled, and the stench of blood and rotting bodies could be smelled for miles. On the fourth day, another wave of protests and riots had to be suppressed with deadly force. On the fifth day, more mass graves were dug. On the sixth day, they were also filled. On the seventh day, Moria gave up on digging new ones. It had been almost a month now, and the only numbers changing were the death toll and number of cities on fire. Neither of those numbers were going down.
Josiah patiently waited in the elevator on the way to the conference room. The doors opened, and Heinrich walked in.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Morning,” Josiah muttered weakly.
“You look tired.”
Josiah sighed. “The economy…but you probably wouldn’t know or care. Your troops must be chomping at the bit to handle all of that instability.”
“Not really, if you can believe,” Heinrich said, “We’re overstretched. I’ve had to pull back a lot of troops from the Scandinavian and African fronts to carry out the Purification Order.”
“You’re that overstretched?”
“I’ve even had to conscript quite a few men to make up for my manpower shortage.”
“You too?”
Heinrich chuckled. “I guess we’re competitors, in that regard.”
“To make up for a problem Moria caused.”
“Yes.”
“So tell me,” Josiah said, “Why’d you agree to Moria’s crazy plan? The one that put us in this mess?”
“Well…” Heinrich hesitated, not knowing how to answer. “It’s a bit complicated.”
“Is it because he promised to restore your power as Megas Domestikos?”
“Yes,” Heinrich said, “Let’s leave it at that.”
Josiah decided not to press the matter further. “So, what do you plan to do next?”
“Try to talk Moria down,” Heinrich said, “My troops are at their limit. They can’t keep a lid on the riots at this point, and if I pull in more troops from the front, there’s a real chance that…”
“You don’t have to say it, I know,” Josiah said, “But what if Moria doesn’t listen? Lord knows he doesn’t listen to me.”
“Then…” Heinrich’s voice trailed off. “I…”
The elevator doors opened, and they got out.
“You know what?” Josiah said. “I won’t press the matter further. Let’s just try, shall we?”
“Sure,” Heinrich said.
They reached the conference room, and Josiah opened the door. Moria was already inside, sitting at the table, typing on a computer.
“Ah, there you are, Heinrich and…Josiah,” Moria said.
“Philemon,” Josiah said, “What are you doing?”
“Oh, the usual,” Moria said, “Purification orders, suppression operations, that kind of stuff.”
“What’s with the new computer?”
Heinrich’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the computer. “You know, I think I’ve seen that computer before.”
“You have?” Josiah asked. “What is it?”
“I’m not quite sure,” Heinrich said, “I have to get closer.”
They approached Moria, whose grin only widened as they got closer. He typed the keyboard excitedly. “You know, I think I found a solution for all of our current problems.”
“A solution?” Josiah said.
“Yes, one that doesn’t involve your bureaucrat nonsense and cuts right to the heart of things.”
“Hold on, I definitely remember this computer,” Heinrich said.
“I’ve been poring over the data from all of the recent riots and other incidents of subversion and heresy, and I found one thing the vast majority of them had in common.”
Heinrich’s eyes widened as he put the dots together. “Oh…no…”
“They all happened in cities.”
“No…it can’t be…”
“So I decided I would cut out the heresy at its root.” Moria pushed a button, and text scrolled across the screen at a rapid pace. It was then that Josiah noticed the font and interface looked too blocky and outdated to be for a civilian model. Heinrich gasped loudly.
“No!” he said. “You couldn’t have?”
Moria smugly smiled. “Oh, but I have. There can be no rebellion
if there are no cities.”
Salerno silo: order acknowledged
Batumi silo: order acknowledged
Salamanca silo: order acknowledged
Badajoz silo: order acknowledged
Valladolid silo: order acknowledged
Nantes silo: order acknowledged
Derry silo: order acknowledged
Cardiff silo: order acknowledged
Birmingham silo: order acknowledged
Dunkirk silo: order acknowledged
Bern silo: order acknowledged
Mainz silo: order acknowledged
Eindhoven silo: order acknowledged
Prague silo: order acknowledged
Florence silo: order acknowledged
Syracuse silo: order acknowledged
Thessaloniki silo: order acknowledged
Tirgoviste silo: order acknowledged
Ancyra silo: order acknowledged
Antioch silo: order acknowledged
…
all orders received and executed
…
all missiles away
Moria cackled madly. “All those who betray Jerusalem shall be given a traitor’s death! Death! Death! Death! Death!”
As Moria repeated that last word, Josiah couldn’t help but recall the death penalties that judge yesterday gleefully hande out to everybody he presided over. Moria was talking exactly like that judge now, doing the same thing. As some would say, to a hammer everything looked like a nail. Moria would never change. He saw everything the same way and had only one solution for it all. Josiah didn’t want to admit it. He thought he could still reason with Moria, keep him in check. But what he really was doing was saying nothing and letting Moria get away with more and more. And this was the result: millions of innocents were about to die. What point was there to Jerusalem if everybody was dead?
Without another thought, Josiah tackled Moria off his chair, pinning him to the floor. “Heinrich! Abort the launches and disarm the nukes before they reach their targets!”
Heinrich seemed to be thinking the same thing. He didn’t hesitate or complain. The old general sat at the computer and began typing furiously. However, the computer beeped negatively. Heinrich tried several more commands, but the same error sounds played again. “It’s not letting me!”
Josiah felt something cold slide between his ribs. He looked down and saw he had been stabbed by a knife held by Moria. While he was focusing on the computer, he had given Moria time to stab him.
Where did he get a knife?!
“What have you done, Moria?!” Josiah said.
Moria laughed wildly. “Your services are no longer required, Professor Bookworm. You have no further use to Jerusalem. And now that you’ve shown your treason, you will receive the same fate as the other millions of traitors against God.”
He pulled out the knife, and blood spurted everywhere. Josiah fell to the floor and quickly bled out from the large stab wound.
“He…didn’t…listen…” He was dead in seconds.
---
Heinrich nervously took two steps back from Moria as the mad regent got to his feet, adjusting his bloody clothes. His eyes darted between the nuclear launch computer and Josiah’s body. Moria cackled again.
“Are you going to oppose me too, General Dandolo?” he threatened.
Heinrich was unarmed, which was ironic for a general. He should have expected Moria would do something like this. At his advanced age, he couldn’t fight Moria, even without a knife. However, he was still fit enough to run at a brisk pace. So he did just that, bolting out of the room and towards the elevator as fast as he could. He took one glance over his shoulder and saw Moria slowly walking after him, knife still in hand.
“You’re following Burkard, traitor!” he said. “God wills it!”
He had clearly lost it, just as Elias had. But perhaps Heinrich could use that madness to his advantage.
Heinrich got in the elevator. The doors slid shut before Moria could reach him, and as it descended, Heinrich sighed. He had made it off the floor. If he could get outside, he could get to his car and drive back to base.
The intercom chimed. “This is Regent Moria speaking. I have just witnessed Regent Dandolo murdering Regent Burkard with a knife. He is still in the building. Bring him to justice, now!”
Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.
The elevator reached the ground floor and opened into the lobby. Everybody shot him weird looks as he passed by. The Home Guardians at the door drew their guns. “Freeze!”
Heinrich did not as much as slow. He continued his march towards the door. The two young men before him kept their guns trained on him, but their faces were clearly scared.
Inexperienced kids. Conscripted recently. No practical experience.
“A word of advice, young men,” Heinrich said, “If you want to kill someone, don’t hesitate.”
He pushed them aside, left the building, and got into his car. After a short drive, he returned to base, where he made his way to the communications room and sat at the transceiver. Tuning to the universal national broadcast frequency, he took a deep breath as he picked up the microphone and reached for the broadcast button.
Is it really time? he thought.
Heinrich, think about it. The moment you start transmitting, there’s no going back. But what other choice do I have? Josiah’s dead, and you will be too if you don’t act. This way, at least Moria dies too.
Heinrich nodded and steeled himself. Then he hit broadcast.
“This is Regent Heinrich Dandolo. Regent Philemon Moria has murdered Regent Josiah Burkard in cold blood and framed me for it. He plans to slaughter millions of his own citizens in an indiscriminate nuclear attack. Missiles are currently in the air. I urge everybody listening to get away from major urban areas immediately, or failing that get to the nearest bunker. I am calling on all patriotic and faithful Christians to resist the tyrannical and unlawful orders that Regent Moria has ssued, both against the people and the faith, and bring the man himself to the justice God will give him. In the name of all that is holy, let us defeat this servant of Satan and restore this nation to what it should be!”
If things were already messy, they were about to get even messier. It seemed the day would be...productive.
Outside Nuremberg
Frederica was roused from her sleep by a loud jolt that rippled through the train’s metal, followed by the screams of the passengers around her. She opened her eyes and saw a mushroom cloud rising where Nuremberg once was. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. A nuke had been dropped right on her home. It was gone now.
“Dear God…” she heard Sigmund saying.
They were lucky enough to have run into others sharing her anger. She was extra lucky they then met people who had the means to do something about it. And all of them were extremely lucky that they managed to commandeer an entire train to get out of the city once the rogue regent Dandolo’s warning came. Now came the hard part, actually fighting. Frederica remembered her training from her time in the KL, but she had never actually fought on the ground with a gun before. For that matter, few of them did. Sigmund definitely did not. They had agreed to figure something out once they had left Nuremberg and ditched the train at one of the rural stations.
Well, it’s better than nothing, she thought. She had brought nothing with her other than a non-biometrically locked pistol she stole off a dead Home Guardian and her Palla bobblehead, for good luck.
Please give me strength, Willie. I need it to take this country back. Give me a sign, anything that we can use.
It had been a...productive day.
Isfahan - June 26
“A toast, gentlemen.” Mozaffar raised a glass. “To one successful deportation.”
“Hear, hear!” The senators and ministers cheerfully raised their glasses.
Four days after his fateful decree, Mozaffar felt dead inside. He had done everything he could to try to get out of this mess. When the Majlis erupted into outrage once news of the killing broke, Mozaffar appealed for calm. He focused his attention on the most moderate senators who had the highest chance of listening to him. High chances, however, were still not 100%. After an anti-deportation politician was beaten so brutally on the 19th that he was sent to the hopistal in a coma, the other moderates fell in line, fearing for their own safety. In the face of such unity, Mozaffar had no choice but to assent.
“The operation is almost complete,” Mozaffar informed the others, “It went off with few difficulties. Only a few hundred remain in the country by our current estimates, and they will be gone by the end of the month.”
“Maybe the last ones will get to listen to your victory speech as they leave,” one senator joked.
The other politicians howled with laughter and patted each other on the shoulder. “Good one! Somebody get the scriptwriter!”
Mozaffar’s next bet was to stall the legislation in the Majlis until the outrage died down and everybody regained their senses. But that failed when the Majlis called on him to invoke his power as regent to pass a royal decree. Fortunately, he shot that one down by insisting he would defer to Chancellor Jaberi out of meritocratic tradition.
“What about those who received citizenship through fallen servicemembers?”
“Yes, they’ll be allowed to stay,” Mozaffar said.
“We should revoke their citizenship anyways! There’s only a few dozen of them, what can they possibly do to stop it?”
That in turn shifted his goal to getting Jaberi’s help stopping the runaway Majlis. Unlike with the radicalized moderates, Mozaffar knew he could trust “Uncle Abbas,” as he and the chancellor’s younger colleagues called him. Jaberi had not been caught up in the public hysteria and xenophobia that had gripped the nation, but unlike Mozaffar, he actually had the backbone to call it out.
“About the war…” a general said. “How are we going to handle the desertions? And Börte?”
“I’m sure you can figure something out,” Mozaffar said, “We’ve got a few divisions we can move from Turkestan.”
Jaberi’s defiance only resulted in the Majlis threatening a vote of no confidence against him, with the most radical calling him a Roman puppet. Mozaffar scoffed at such crazy notions. Jaberi was a patriot, just like himself. They both wanted to protect Persia, but not like this. They would be just as bad as Jerusalem if it went through.
“I’m more concerned about the experimental technology they took with them,” one general said.
“Yes, yes, I am aware of the missing Kaveh-type automated tank prototype,” Mozaffar said.
“I was referring to the core Argeiphontes systems and the seized Crusader exosuits.”
“A blow to our military research efforts, but nothing we can’t recover from. I doubt they can make much use of either without the infrastructure and supply chains needed to maintain them.”
On the 20th, Mozaffar visited the executive residence in the late evening. Jaberi welcomed him in for dinner. Over a nice plate of
chelow kabab, they discussed the Majlis’ proposed deportation order. Unsurprisingly, Jaberi hated it. Persia was humanity’s last and best hope for freedom, but they were wasting that hope now as they turned on one another. The country had to be united to continue the fight against Jerusalem. There was no time to be wasted on xenophobia. Expelling the Romans would only weaken them, perhaps fatally.
“What about the Chinese in Dubai?” Mozaffar asked. “Have we done anything to dislodge their foothold?”
“We’re trying, but they’re firmly entrenched,” one general said, “Fortunately, they can’t hit us either. The Iron Dome network and our brave men and women in uniform will protect us. The troops of the Artesh are the real heroes, not Roman leeches.”
And then, to his shock, Jaberi had said he would sign the order.
“The Reich is dead,” a bureaucrat gloated, “Romanitas is an idea that has outlived its usefulness. The best we can do is put the whole thing out of its misery.”
“Yes, of course,” Mozaffar lied, “We are doing just that.”
Jaberi insisted the Majlis left him no choice. The vote of no confidence hung over his head. If he refused now, he would be instantly sacked. They both knew Vice Chancellor Parviz Zakaria was firmly in the pro-deportation camp. No matter what they did, the order would become law once the sun rose. So Jaberi was forced to cave. Mozaffar had been caught by surprise. For all of his vocal opposition to the xenophobia that had been festering in Persia since April 2, old Uncle Abbas ultimately didn’t have a spine when things reached a tipping point.
Guess I really am his student, huh?
“Without your support, I couldn’t have made it here. When I first started out, I had the help of my friends and family and later Uncle Abbas. And now I’m here, about to make history. You all are my friends and family now. Without your loyalty, Persia would not be able to rise from the ashes of April 2 like the
simurgh of legend.”
The only thing Mozaffar could do was take the responsibility onto himself. He couldn’t see to bear Jaberi take the blame for everything that deportation order was about to do. The old man didn’t deserve that. He had spent decades in politics supporting the same issues and remaining steadfast in his opinions, but this week, his legacy would be defined as something completely opposite to what he believed in. So Mozaffar took it upon himself to make all of the public appearances and inform the people himself, instead of Jaberi. That way, he would become the face of the deportation order. He would take responsibility for it. People would certainly hate him for that, but he didn’t care. In fact, he welcomed it. He deserved it for letting things get as bad as he could. Jaberi, meanwhile, could retire in peace after the examinations concluded. He wasn’t running again anyways, but he had not announced his retirement from politics yet. With any luck, they could portray his retirement as a protest against the deportation.
“We are on the verge of making history, my friends. In five days, Persia will be transformed. We have much to do after the examinations are done. The Roman leeches may be gone, but there are other things we have to deal with. Like the monarchy, for instance. We also have to win the war itself, not to mention. All things that stand in the way of the Persia of tomorrow need to be removed.”
Four days after the order went into effect, everything changed. Mozaffar’s campaign received a surge in donations and volunteers eager to help out a “fellow patriot.” His public approval ratings surged to unprecedented levels. The examinations became almost a formality. His qualifications were not in doubt, which meant the main battle would be waged in the field of public approval. He had hoped the people would come to their senses and punish him for what he had done. Instead, they only rallied around him stronger than ever, adoring him as their hero. The examination was now a coronation. Certain media outlets were already referring to him as “chancellor-to-be.”
“What about that pesky Julian Anniona?” Senator Afshar said. “I’ve heard his name brought up in the Majlis a few times, and I’ve seen him at a few of the Romans’ rallies. He looks a bit familiar. I heard he’s been in touch with various groups around the city. He could be planning a rebellion.”
“A rebellion?” Mozaffar scoffed. “Please. That boy was raised on a silver spoon, like all of those Romans. And without his fellow Romans, he has no power. We have nothing to fear from him. So please, put your worries aside tonight. Let’s celebrate our victory!”
He raised his glass again. “Let’s keep it up, gentlemen! To a new Persia!”
“To a new Persia!”
If he wants to strike at me, let him come. Please free me from my misery.
---
How nice of Mozaffar to choose a public venue for his self-aggrandizing victory lap. The place wasn’t as secured as the Majlis building or palace. That made it far easier for Julian to wiretap and listen in on. After a few minutes, he wished he hadn’t wiretapped them. There was very little in the way of useful intelligence. It was mostly self-aggrandizement on the part of Mozaffar and his inner circle. While this could tell him a bit about how the man himself acted in private, as opposed to the public image he had cultivated, it didn’t tell him much about weaknesses or potential routes of attack. He was hoping to find at least something he could use. But that was too much to hope for.
Whatever. He would have to stick to his current plan. Now, there was nothing stopping him from just having Angelica rig the place with explosives or infiltrate the building and shoot Mozaffar in the head, but that would not accomplish anything. He would only die a martyr and hero, and the public would still be riled up the way Mozaffar wanted. No, he would have to do it his way.
Despite the setback four days ago, he still had most of his plan in place and ready to go. Eva had always taught him to prepare contingencies for any scenario, and that was coming in handy now.
If only you were here to see this, Eva. But Julian did not let himself get complacent. There was still a nonzero chance of something going horribly wrong. Some random variable he didn’t factor in. Like Angelica being killed in a mugging, or Isfahan Tech getting destroyed by a Chinese missile from Dubai due to a glitch opening a hole in the Iron Dome network. He had contingencies for those general scenarios. There was no room for error.
If he failed, there was no coming back. The Romans were all gone, aside from Angelica. They would not be able to help him from their new exile. He was on his own. If he failed now, he might as well be dead. The time Eva had given him in Bremerhaven would have been wasted. Eva’s death would have been in vain. The Reich would never come back, and everything they held dear would have died again, never to return. For the sake of the Roman dream, for Eva, he had to succeed in this plan. Even if it cost him everything else.
I must build a place which honors Eva’s memory, and for that, I must stop this nation from sliding into the thralls of authoritarianism and populism just as our home did. I must use all tools at my disposal, even if it means casting aside my own needs and desires, my conscience even.
Backed into a corner, with nobody left to fall back on or anywhere to go, my only path is straight ahead. Only then will Eva get the rest she deserves. Even if my enemies include the two greatest empires on the planet and the last free society capable of standing up to them both, there’s no turning back now.
Everything is in place now. It is time to begin the endgame and deal with Mozaffar himself. Watch over me, Eva!
The next few days were going to be productive.
[REDACTED]
A bag had been placed over Alex’s head after they arrested him, and then they forced him into a car. They drove him around for what felt like hours, but with all of the turns they went through, it was clear they were trying to confuse Alex enough to not be able to locate himself. Once the car came to a halt, they dragged him out of the car and into a building of some sort.
“Put him in one of the maximum security cells,” a guard said.
“Of course,” one of his captors replied.
A prison, from the sound of it. No surprise there.
“I want my lawyer,” Alex said, his dry throat barely able to get the words out.
Someone punched him in the gut. “You’re not a Persian citizen. You don’t get such rights, Roman scum.”
They went down several flights of stairs and into another wing of the prison. Finally, they stopped, and Alex heard the sound of keys jangling, followed by a heavy metal door creaking open. Someone pushed him from behind, and he stumbled inside. Another key was inserted into his handcuffs, releasing them. Then the bag came off, and Alex’s eyes adjusted to light again. Not that there was much, but he could clearly see his two captors standing in the doorway. Artesh military police, armed with fully automatic assault rifles. They were far bulkier than Alex. If he tried to run, they’d shred him to pieces with a hundred bullets before he would even get one step. Even if he did get past their guns, their bulk would be enough to hold him in place. One swing from the guy on the left would probably knock him onto his back, if not knock him out instantly.
“Welcome to
Duzakh,” the guy on the right said, “We hope you enjoy your stay!”
The two soldiers laughed, locked the door, and left. Alex refused to be broken by their taunts. He sat down on the hard concrete floor and concentrated.
At least I know Thea’s safe. Relatively speaking. All I have to do now is wait until Julian pulls through.
Unfortunately, a cough from the corner of the cell told him waiting would be more difficult than he thought.
“Who’s there?” he asked.
“Oh, dear,” a familiar voice said, “Did you already forget my voice?”
Alex’s face paled, and he slowly turned around, hoping he was hallucinating. He wasn’t.
“Hello, Alex,” Josh said, “It’s nice to see you again.”
---
Sorry, I couldn’t figure out how to write another Julius segment. I’ll try again in the next batch.
!