Deutchland, Wach!

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Wow!! sorry for being away from this for so long SKI, I just read your last 4 chapters and there has certainly been some major developments

My only thought on this at this time is have you got your ending in sight ?

The reason I ask this is from my own experience I know that stories can just seem to go on and on in my own mind and it is easy to lose track of an original plan etc.

This has truly been an epic piece and I really hope to see you bring it all together in some spectacular way

Keep up the good work Bro

[SKILORD]

I'm working on it, the university just got my internet working so it should be a bit easier to get done now.

Yeah, I've got an ending in sight, I'm starting to get bored with the same old militarry events in each new chapeter and we're going to see something big next chapter, which should be pretty long.

Good luck to me!



Soli Gloria Deo

[SKILORD]

Let's see what happens next...

[SKILORD]

Chapter 18: The Best Laid Plan

N.B.: The writing is substandard. The plot twist might potentially seem forced to grab attention back, but if you look to the start of the story I've been planning this all along so... yeah. Sorry about the writing quality.

-

The popping of gunfire filtered into the cement walls of the headquarters, Edward poured wine into the glass.

“How are things in London, my liege.”

“They progress, my mother grows weaker each day, the poisons eat her away, but she still puts on a string face in public, there are few who know her condition.”

“Excellent,” Rhodes smiled, “I assume that your coronation will be soon?”

Richard tilted his glass back, fully drinking from the wineglass, “Ever so soon. There is no pleasure like watching a plan blossom so perfectly.”

“Of course not,” Edward smiled, “But we can never be sure, can we?”

Richard put the glass down, “Sure of what?”

Edward smiled, “The best laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft agley, Robert Burns wrote that once and I’m confident that he was right.”

“In what way?”

“There is never only one plotter, Richard. You poor child, I brought you under my wing, I taught you everything, this plan was as much mine as it is yours why should I settle for second when your glorious coup is committed?”

“The people will never follow you, Edward,” Richard laughed, “you know that as well as I.”

“True,” Edward smiled cruelly, “But the people will follow the army, and for the most part that seems to be under my control at present.”

Richard, a child who had betrayed his mother for the sake of a power he would never hold, stared bleakly for a moment before his eyes rolled back into his head, his glass shattering on the cold concrete of the floor.

-

Johan von Bismarck stood next to the catapult, watching it tilt downward.

“Quite impressive, isn’t it, mein Kaiser?”

Johan looked balefully at von Holtz, “Not at all. We’ll simply hope that it surprises them.”

The rocks took to the sky with terrifying force, hurling themselves quickly towards the British refueling station, where tanks sat in ordered rows, filling with diesel.

The rocks hit hard, throwing disarray into the air with asphalt, splashing panic against the sides of the tanks.

The enemy was nowhere to be seen, the slabs of concrete salvaged from destroyed buildings kept raining down as tankers tried futilely to hide, there was no haven.

Fire flashed up from one tank, spreading slowly and ominously as the fuel seeped across the ground.

The Germans fired until there wasn’t any concrete left and, blind to their successes, turned away.

-

The soldiers at the refueling station peered anxiously around as the rocks stopped falling from the cruel gray sky. Fire extinguishers lashed out against the flames, cutting them back. Two tanks lay shattered, twenty men dead and twice that many wounded, burns coating their bodies.

As the British realized that there were no more rocks coming and as they realized the terrible destruction that had been visited to them, the more profound realized that it might have been far worse.

The British picked up pieces and cleared the refueling station as the Germans retreated.

-

The Steward’s phone shuddered in his pocket, startling him. It could only be one thing, only one call. The call he had been waiting for with so much loathing for so long.

He picked up his phone and looked into it, the text read clearly:

“Tempus Fugit.”

That’s what he had been waiting for, what they had decided when they had planned this out. The steward pulled the vial out of his pocket.

He looked to the waiter who held the queen’s entrée in his hand and motioned to him. It was not uncommon for the steward to deliver that dish himself if there was a matter of some urgency that the queen needed to know of.

He slipped the faint powder over the food, it spread silently, tasteless and scentless. A perfect poison that the queen had been dining on for months in much smaller doses.

But none of those had been as ambitious as this dosage.

The steward carried the plate carefully lowering it in front of the queen.

“Your son sends his love,” the steward whispered into her ear.

“He’s such a dear boy,” she beamed back to him.

He smiled back at her and left for his room.

-

The steward shuddered back in his room, snubbing out the last cigarette in his pack nervously. He opened up another pack, shoving the cigarette into his mouth and lighting it nervously.

He smiled at the package, Monarchs, the prince had given them to him before he had left for Germany.

He inhaled deeply, eliciting a cough. He coughed again.

The steward fell to the floor in a coughing fit, the cigarette going out on the floor as the corpse began to spasm.

-

The anchor looked solemnly at the camera, “My fellow Britons such tragedy as now befalls our nation has never been seen in spotted and cruel history of man. What cruel force could look to deprive a nation of all of her leaders in the midst of her greatest tragedy? Prince Richard lies dead by German bullets as he inspected the front lines and the Queen lays dead in her bedchambers from an illness that ravaged her in secret for months. Truly this is a day that will live on in….”

-

“The orders have just arrived,” The general sat at the table with his lieutenants, “We are to leave Leipzig to its own devices, General Rhodes feels, and I concur, that our presence would best be used in England where we can keep the people aware that the government is still around. We leave tomorrow morning so have all of your forces prepare tonight.”

The lieutenants nodded in assent.

“General Rhodes is a fine man,” one ventured.

The General nodded, “He has a fine head on his shoulders.”

[SKILORD]

Just my little way of saying :lookatme: :lookatme:

[Paddy]

cheeky



more please

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Great developments, most unexpected

Keep it rolling

[unscratchedfoot]

Let me guess. The next line of the story will be...

"Well not anymore."


Anyways, gloom and despair falls upon all the characters in Skipie's characteristic way. I was thinking for the tankers they should have used incendiaries like stuff burning you know like molotovs and what not can cook the crew out of tank better than any barbeque can.

Chrisius, its good to see you showing up here more regularly now. Good luck with your story.

[SKILORD]

Chapter 19: Lord Protector

A little short, but that's all. And no, scratch, I would never kill off a character like that.

-

The last of the tanks was fading into the sunset as Johan von Bismarck searched through desk drawers in the abandoned headquarters.

“I don’t trust it, mein Kaiser,” von Holtz frowned, “They could be faking those broadcasts to get us to come out.”

“I’m not leading my men in a victory parade, James. We’re repositioning so that when they do come back we’ll be more prepared.”

“They could have rigged this entire building with bombs, sir.”

“And if they did then congratulations because I am dead and the revolution is over.”

“I wouldn’t say over, sir, there’s still Rommel.”

“Exactly, James, what’s the worst that could happen then?”

“Sir…”

Johan pulled a radio out of a desk drawer, smiling and showing it to Jacob, “I want you to get some people together to broadcast messages from us on every frequency, find as many of these as you can and any amplifiers you can scrounge up.”

“Will this reach Leipzig, sir?” Jacob held the handheld radio out for inspection.

“With an amplifier it will.”

-

Leipzig was rebuilding, men were pushing the shattered remnants of the town out, finding food and fires, the business of death attended to and settled as the British rode determinedly into the sunrise that morning.

That sunrise had bathed Leipzig in a clean orange, glowing past the broken glass on her streets and brushing aside the dusty and war torn air to embrace her as a lost daughter. It was a day to rebuild and Major Rommel watched his men pick up the shattered pieces of the town and try to make sense of them.

“Sir, the radio’s talking to me,” Karl opened the door to his commander’s impromptu office, what might have been the last room left intact in Leipzig.

“I recommend that you kick it, Karl.”

“Sir, it’s talking in German.”

-

Edward Rhodes stood in London already, he had left the night before on a recon plane, “My fellow Britons, now is our darkest hour.

“What other nation is so ill fated as to loose her queen and prince in the same hellish night? The very thought, the sickening thought, that such a plan might have been put into place and performed sickens me. The Queen’s steward is suspected, but as he committed himself to poison there is little questioning to be done there. Let me make it clear that it is my position that this was no coincidence, but that the murder of our line was planned and performed by a single group and their sympathizers, yes my friends, no group could wish less for our nation than the Germans and by their hand, and by the hand of the traitors who sympathize with them our Queen is dead. The darkest hour always heralds a sunrise, and let me make it clear that this sunrise will torch the wretched filth from our society and herald the victorious ascent of Britain over Germany, once and forever.

“It will be necessary during this time to disband Parliament. The debates of wizened men have their place, but such a place is not when the threat is so immediate and vital, in such times it is necessary for an individual to direct the chords of a nation into a symphony of war. The generals and the Prime Minister have elected that I am such a person and it is my humble honor to accept their offer. My fellow Britons I would not take this offer lightly but only take it because I see no other alternative at present. Trust that I do not consider my power a common thing, but that I respect it and use it only to administer my responsibilities as your present Lord Protector.

“It will be necessary at this time to purge the closer threat before we can stand united against the German treachery, and therefore the armies have returned to Britain to help us strike down the German sympathizers, men like the Queen’s steward, who would otherwise stab us in the back as we diffuse the misguided rebellion led by the treacherous Bismarck. At these times certain liberties must, and I emphasize that they must be, suspended. Habeas corpus will not be recognized, bills of attainder will be issued and certain privacies will be exposed to our careful and benign eyes, have no fear as soon as the struggle is lifted they will be restored. I would not suspend these things, but I fear that there is little alternative, and that alternative is so sickening to me that I shudder to relate it here, because that alternative is total defeat by the British army by the German menace.

“Yes, without these measures Germany will be confident to place her spies throughout Britain and to sabotage and to steal our stockpiles, such a thing cannot be allowed, nor should it. I will not stand for such things happening in the Britannia that we all know and love.

“Friends, Britons, Countrymen, I beg you to forgive your humble servant in these hours of great distress,” the cameras seemed to move backwards in awe, heads bobbed agreeably throughout the massive audience that swarmed in front of Windsor. A chant began slowly, unsure of itself, few public figures had won such blatant praise from Britons in their history. The chant rose, the heads bobbed more securely, up and down, down and up, with the pulsating rhythm of the crowd, shaking the stones of Windsor.

Atop it all the Lord Protector looked down, a friendly smile on his lips. A friendly smile that the television cameras brought to millions of households throughout Britain.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Great !!! Amazing twist these last two chapters well done

[SKILORD]

Thanks man.

[SKILORD]

Chapter 20: The Good Fight

The two men hurried into the alley, boots stomping past them.

One held his knees, bent over as his breaths filled his aching lungs.

The boots strode ominously on, ceaselessly on, there was not a soldier in the line not devoted to the task at hand, the protection of the British people.

“They aren’t going away Jack.”

A cigarette lit up ominously, gray smoke filtering into the sore lungs.

The last boots shuddered past them.

“They didn’t see us,” Jack replied, forcing more smoke into his lungs.

“We can still go back.”

Jack smiled, “We never had to come this far.”

The other man shook his head, pulling himself up from his crouch.

“Why’d these bastards have to break curfew anyways?”

“We’re looking at more than that if we go through with this, Chris.”

“I don’t know if its worth it, Jack.”

“Liberty or death, Chris.”

“That’s easier to say without a wife and kids, Jack.”

But Jack had already flipped open the door and gone into the dimly lit room.

-

Rebuilding is harder than building. There are the remnants of buildings all about you, by all reasoning it should be easier as there is less work to be done when you repair. But building brings a sense of victory and conquest, rebuilding forces you to face the scars of former defeat.

There was a somber tone throughout Berlin.

Johan von Bismarck stood in the middle of the shattered glass and concrete, staring into the broken buildings, their souls screaming for repair. Bismarck paused to shake his head solemnly as others scurried around him before turning again to the tasks at hand.

“Sir.”

Bismarck looked up from the bricks that he was gathering from the rubble, Jacob stood there.

“There’s a messenger here to see you.”

“From where?”

“Oxford, apparently.”

-

The man was lying on a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling with an IV stuck into his arm, there weren’t any doctors around. The pillaging of British supplies had found many medical supplies, but no doctors and the handful of doctors who were left in Berlin were swarming through the battered town trying desperately to fulfill their Hippocratic oaths.

“What made you come here?”

The man frowned, “We need an army, sir.”

“Britain has an army.”

“Our government has an army sir, and now we are faced with chains as Protector Rhodes forces bayonets down our throats.”

“It isn’t my fight.”

“I thought you fought for freedom.”

“I fought for German freedom.”

The man stared blankly at the Kaiser.

“I never took you for a racist.”

It was a sad expression that took the face of the Kaiser, his lips curled inwards and his eyes dropped to the floor.

“It isn’t our fight.”

-

Chris and Jack stood at the back of the room as the leader of the BIA, the British Independent Army, stared into a small crowd, a handful of men packed into a small room.

“There comes a time when the fire of liberty must be rekindled, when the blood of patriots and tyrants…”

-

The scars of cannon fire cut into the shadows that the building cast into Berlins streets as Johan walked alone through the streets.

-

“…must be mixed to bring freedom to future generations.”

-

Scars and long since healed wounds ached and burned as the moonlight stared at the man who avoided the potholes of mortar fire left in Berlin.

-

“I don’t promise you that freedom is yours for the taking, what would be the worth of liberty if it were free for the taking? I do not promise you that it is within our reach.”

-

Light beckoned from a bar and Johan slipped inside.

He asked for a beer, and cradled it in his scarred fingers; the front of the bar had no glass except for the shards that were left clinging to the sides.

-

“I can promise you nothing but that it is worth any cost, and that I will live free or die. I know that it is not an easy thing to offer your life in exchange for Liberty, but I do not fight for myself so much as I fight for the future of Britain, for my children and for yours.”

-

The beer was almost suddenly gone, he asked the bartender for another.

And another after that.

-

“You who are here tonight want a glorious crusade. You want a taste of glory, I am not here for that, and if you are then I promise you that you are better served elsewhere. There is no glory here; there is nothing but a hunger.”

-

Beer after beer was forced down the Kaiser’s throat, the bartender gave him a concerned glare before passing him another.

-

“To those of you who are hungry for freedom, so hungry that they would stake their lives on the matter, I offer you a place at my side as we fight this tyrant. I offer struggle, an inglorious war that will bring little but death and hatred. I have a dream that there can be something good out of this. I do not ask you to come if you do not share my dream.”

-

“It’s not my f***ing fight,” Bismarck said again, even as his conscious screamed against him and as every instinct he possessed urged him otherwise.

[Paddy]

party hard mate

[ChrisiusMaximus]

good stuff, excellent look into the inner workings of the character here

[SKILORD]

Thanks for the support guys.