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Who Can Stop the Winds of Change?

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  • Who Can Stop the Winds of Change?

    The gentle breeze ruffling the little hair left on his head had been blowing irregularly over the last few months. This would not be of any concern to most people but Hubert Grossman was a worried man. As the mayor of Munich he new the subtle meaning of such a breeze. The normal ebb and flow of air currents indicated a balance was established and when the wind only flowed in one direction it could only mean one thing. He had witnessed first hand the devastating power of the wind in Dresden, just before the french had taken it into their greedy empire.

    He looked out from the spectacular viewpoint provided by the 70th floor veranda of the lofty trade centre. An economics meeting had just ended after the usual review of the city's monthly financial status. It was his custom to relax on the veranda to clear his mind of the endless list of figures he had to listen to each meeting.

    Although the meeting had shown the city was in excellent economic health with its many heavy industries, and even produced a budget surplus, it did little to lift the uneasiness he felt.

    The city was grey. The beautiful grey of Germany. This was accentuated by the smoke billowing from the steel factories pumping out the war material demanded by the chancellor for a conflict the mayor knew would probably never occur.

    Far in the distance one could see the cheerful, yet hated, skyblue color of France's territory. The blue had spread into the cottages and farm houses along the outskirts of Munich. A trickle of people who had already succumbed could be seen at any time making their way to 'the other side'. Their arms were held out straight infront of them and their hands hung limply from their wrists. Eyes like saucers, unblinking and staring fixedly forwards, guided the unconcious zombies across the grey and into the blue. Nothing could stop them on their silent journey, dragging their feet, for they had already been claimed.

    "Their numbers grow everyday. My soldiers stand by to put an end to it and are only awaiting your order sir." City defence official Dietz Schwarzkopf's words were spoken in the typically articulate cold manner of an army staff.

    "No, you fool. You are no different from the chancellor. This is no time to be bringing out guns and shooting innocent people. It is not their fault. Their minds are no longer their own. This is a battle of culture, and guns are hardly the thing to win this kind of contest with." Hubert growled out the words with disgust. "Call out Fritz. We must come up with a plan soon or all join the zombies."

    Fritz Unruh was the city cultural administrator, a man well-known for his negligence of the people's needs and infatuation with poetry. "I heard an excellent sicilian love sonnet yesterday and thought it...."

    "I'm not interested in a blasted sonnet. Listen here Fritz. You see what's happening out there?" Hubert thrust out a finger pointed to the area in the distance where the blue could be seen among the outskirts.

    "Oh yes Hubert..."

    "I told you not to call me that! How many times must we go through this? Address me properly or you'll learn what a 70 floor bellyflop feels like!"

    "Mayor Grossman, it looks like we need to increase our efforts." Fritz's shoulder's slumped in reaction to the berating.

    "I know that you idiot. What I need are concrete ideas that are going to solve the problem. Now please! Get with the program! We need to do something fast or we'll all be losing our minds!" Hubert's frayed nerves wore on everyone and absent-minded Fritz was unfortunate to have to bare the brunt of his frustration.

    Just then a powerful gust of wind hit the veranda, almost knocking down all who stood there. The wind pushed against the windows threatening to burst through and howled through the streets and buildings below. The leafy trees lining the street were bent over and their branches resembled big mops being skaken by an overzealous janitor. People who had been walking outside clung to each other or nearby street signs to avoid falling over. For to fall one could be imperiled. A few fell down and rolled over. Immediately they arose again, but were already transformed to the zombiish state of the others.

    Struggling and pressed up against the outside of the veranda's windows, Hubert yelled to be heard over the fierce wind. "Somebody find out what's happening!"

    To his surprise, it was Fritz who could answer first. While trying to peel himself off the window and make it inside he cried out, "It's the new colleseum sir! They must have just opened it to the public!"

    After several minutes of desperation, they made it inside and closed the glass doors of the veranda. Panting a bit, Hubert barked out, "We need to do something now! We've got to get over to the cultural centre as soon as possible. It'll be a hard walk but its only 2 blocks away. The fate of city depends on us."

    "Wouldn't it be easier to go by car sir?" Dietz suggested.

    "Yes it would. But it looks like the street has already jammed with traffic. The sudden panic during rush hour has probably done it. I've seen this happen before. I was in Dresden and barely escaped on time. We'll have to form a human chain by linking our arms together. The longer the chain is the stronger it will be."

    Fear showed on Hubert's face as he continued, "The centre of the chain will be safest so we will be there. The 9 to 5 workers can link on next followed by the part-timers. We can put the lawyers on the ends. Now let's get to it before the wind gets any stronger!"

    Then one of the windows imploded spraying shards of glass into the spacious conference room.



    Chapter 2


    Joeli, a lanky 19-year Fijian, watched the metal beams on the cement go by as he rode the squeaky elevator to the first floor. He never bothered to close the 2 iron gates on the front of the elevator cage and saw no reason for it. No one was there to care if he fell out or not and he had a tight timetable to follow. Normally he would sneek a quick peek at his X-rated magazines piled in a corner of the elevator while traveling between floors but not today.

    The cultural centre was like a haunted house in the middle of a bustling city. Hardly a soul ventured into it, and well so, considering nothing ever happened in it except at Christmas time and the Erntedankfest in October. A building made eerie by absense and size, it was a lonely task to work here.

    Joeli quickly polished off the metal rims of the first floor elevator entrance. Galeforce winds battered the building and the ghostlike sound of air hissing through cracks added to his curiousity. He was too busy to see outside but he was almost finished the polishing task and could afford a look before mopping the floor.

    Joeli jogged into the lobby, stopped and stared in amazement at the scene of despair before him. Cars were all jammed together like a huge pile-up had occurred, trees and signs broken off, and the windows of every building had been shattered. Some smaller structures had collapsed and he was sure he had seen a white, fluffy cat flying through the air screeching in terror.

    But this was not what horrified him. It was the people crawling along the ground like lizards with the skin on their faces stretched thin across their skulls by both the relentless wind and by their own determination. And others were walking with their arms held up and looking only straight ahead with saucerlike eyes and morbid expressions, seeming to be relatively steady in the wind. They were owned by the wind.

    Then he saw an odd line of people still on their feet with arms interlinked hunkered over like quarterbacks trying to barge through for a touchdown. They were barely moving and were having immense difficulty negotiating each step. There were 5 of them and they were ever so slowly making their way towards the cultural building. Then a girl on one end lost her hold on the line and a gust lifted her up into the air, bouncing her lightly off the front the neighboring bank and deposited her on top of a car. She was flipped over backwards and arose again, unaware.

    Joeli waited so long for them to reach the secondary entrance that he almost began mopping the floor. It wouldn't be possible to open the main door against the pressure of the wind but the second smaller one was designed for exactly such a purpose. He cranked the wheel round and round and the door clinked its way up like something made for an midevil dungeon. The wind blasted through the opening and the 4 people were sucked into the limited space, stuck fast with much yelling and cursing, and then managed to make their way inside one by one.

    "Did you see that cat flying through the air?" asked Joeli as if it was the only thing that had happened.

    With a red face and rasping breath, Hubert held his back in pain and stood upright for the first time in several hours. "Young man, that cat nearly scalped me as it flew over. You are lucky to be in the only building in the city which is engineered to withstand a hurricane-force wind. I am the mayor of this city Hubert Grossman, this is Fritz, and the lady is Irina who works in the public affairs department. The gentleman just coming through now is Die...!"
    Here is an interesting scenario to check out. The Vietnam war is cool.

  • #2
    Much tidier Scratch keep it coming
    A proud member of the "Apolyton Story Writers Guild".There are many great stories at the Civ 3 stories forum, do yourself a favour and visit the forum. Lose yourself in one of many epic tales and be inspired to write yourself, as I was.

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    • #3
      Five stars right there, scratchy.
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      • #4
        "...tz!" finished screaming Hubert. Dietz was on his hands and knees clutching the edge of the door trying to drag himself out of the clutches of the clinging gale.

        "Yeah yeah, relax. I can assure you that I'm not going to become one of those things." replied Dietz, now inside and getting back on his feet.

        The janitor disappeared into the interior of the building, leaving the 4 of them there catching their breath and listening to the moaning wind trying to tear the building apart to claim the inhabitants.

        "Alright then." said Hubert with a red face lined with both arteries and wrinkles. Having had no exercise for several decades, he had almost pushed himself into a cardiac arrest fighting the storm and he knew would probably not survive going back outside again. "Let's make a plan. We're in a difficult position to be sure but if we think hard we might find a way to save the city. Now, no wasting time! Think hard!"

        "Well now, perhaps music is the answer." said Fritz. "A beautiful classical piece by Bach could surely turn the tide here."

        "No, I want to hear one of those Elvis Pretzel albums the Americans gifted us with the last time they came here." argued Dietz.

        "You mean Elvis Presley. Pretzels are the snack things they gave us." Irina rolled her eyes up as she spoke.

        "And maybe if we eat those pretzels it'll improve our cultural power!" chirped Fritz.

        "Oh pulleez." sighed Irina.

        "Yes, it is possible that music could do it. But we can't just put a record on to play and hope the wind stops. That is ludicrious." said Hubert.

        "The public announcement system." said Irina, suddenly upbeat and talking fast. "I've heard it being used to pipe Christmas music all over downtown from the lamp post speakers. Maybe we can use that."

        "Yes!" Hubert was jubilant. "And music we shall have! Excellent idea."

        "Good luck trying to find out where it is played from." Dietz was gloomy as usual. "I sure ain't gonna be the one to go back out there again."

        "The music is played from here - the cultural building, you dimwit. And cheer up! We may have found the answer." said Hubert.

        So they looked about the building and eventually came upon the PA system controls room. The room was in good order even though hadn't been used since Christmas time, or so they thought. Fritz hummed while he shuffled through the records trying to find Bach's compositions. Then the janitor came in behind them.

        "Um... uh... that's not gonna play outside if that's what you want." said Joeli, sounding like it was no big deal.

        "What in blazes are you talking about young man!" barked Hubert.

        "We, I mean the cleaners, kind of like disconnected the city PA system from that record player or something cause we like to listen to it while we work. We didn't think..."

        "You didn't think - you got that right! Well don't just stand there! Go and reconnect it!"

        "I would but I don't know how. I wasn't the one who did it."

        "You miserable little good for nothing..." While Hubert continued his rant, the others scampered around the building in a desperate attempt to locate where the PA system connection was.

        After some time, they gathered again by the turntable with sour faces. Fritz was tangled up in a mass of cords behind the sound sytem and he looked as confused as a dodo bird at a spelling contest.

        "It's no use. None of us have any idea how to reconnect it." admitted Irina.

        "Ack, it probably would have done no good anyways." said Dietz. "Let's just hunker down and hope the storm wears off. This building's immune to the wind anyways. Supposed to be anyways."

        "So you're just going to admit defeat?" roared Hubert. "No, I say! I shall not let my city succumb to those culture beasts! Not another city!"

        "Alright then, how about this?" replied Dietz. "We pay off the Russians on the other side of us to rush the construction of some colleseums in their cities to counter the effect of the French collesseum in Nancy. You know, the culture wind from both sides would meet over Germany and..."

        "Fool, that is not how it works. Besides, the Russians already have colleseums. Only Germany, thanks to our warmongering chancellor, has nothing of culture."

        "Speaking of war, why don't we just attack them now with our built-up stocks of tanks and infantry weapons. With a sudden blitz we could take out Nancy before the cultural change is complete." suggested Dietz.

        "Ahhh, have you lost your mind? And where would the soldiers and tank crews come from? Half of them are probably already on the other side of the fence. And what of the air force? In this wind? Make sense, please!" Hubert's face was turning even more red.

        While the Germans bickered and stressed, the French were meanwhile preparing the coup de grace in the city of Dijon, near the border of Germany. Mayor Pierre de Luc stood tall and proud, a wisp of a thin beard trailing in the easterly breeze which had been stirring the city the last few days. In his hand was a pair of scissors.

        "C'mon de Luc, what's the hold-up anyways?" yelled a young man in trendy fashion with short gelled-up hair. Pierre could barely see him among the throngs pushing and shoving, hoping to be among the first into the brand spanking new Sistine Chapel. Unlike the happiness the crowd shared, the reporters at the front were crabby and elbowing each other to keep their places. They'd been waiting there for 3 days or more to ensure they'd get the first pictures of the fantastic ceiling art. Unfortunately, the pictures would come out black and white given the photo technology of the time, but a photo was still worth a thousand words.

        "Now now, be patient. I've told you already that only the Pope himself is qualified to cut this lovely red ribbon you see going around the chapel. He's due to arrive here anytime now."

        "Yeah, pump up the turbulence!" yelled another, only a teenager by the looks of it. Pierre was amused that even hip teenagers were so desperate to get into a church.

        Pierre decided to keep the crowds' minds occupied with some talk. "As you already probably know, our sister city of Nancy has already generated an overpowering gale force wind with it's new colleseum which is now pummeling the German city of Munich. Their people are streaming towards us, utterly awed by our creative might."

        Pierre was working himself into a fevor. "Germany's ability to withstand our cultural storm diminishes with each passing moment! It is only a matter of time before Munich is ours! But that is not all! Once this ribbon is cut, the potent cultural of the Sistine Chapel in our splendid city of Dijon will be released and will set forth a hurricane blast that will smite the already staggering Germans. The Germans are doomed... doomed... DOOMED!!" Pierre moved his arms with fisted hands about like a bodybuilder posing for the judges and his eyes were wide like the fanatical eyes of one possessed.


        too be continued...
        Here is an interesting scenario to check out. The Vietnam war is cool.

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        • #5
          Hey, scratch, I am glad you decided to continue this! This is my favourite of the unfinished stories of yours. Quite a worthy addition, too. I'll bet though while the French are waiting for the Pope to arrive, the Russians will finish up their Sistine Chapel and cut the ribbon, so the French one will collapse in the hurricane of culture, or something. Looking forward to seeing more from you. Though I hope it doesn't take another *gasp* six months till the next installment.

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          • #6
            A really interesting approach. "The winds of change" seem to be upon the Germans. Looking forward to the next installment.
            "I am sick and tired of people who say that if you debate and you disagree with this administration somehow you're not patriotic. We should stand up and say we are Americans and we have a right to debate and disagree with any administration." - Hillary Clinton, 2003

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            • #7
              Nice job, scratch. Humorous and definitely a new take.
              Solomwi is very wise. - Imran Siddiqui

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              • #8
                The Culture Battle In Full Storm


                The German staff were leaning back into the old, dark green swivel chairs of the sound room, depleted and lost for ideas. "The only thing I can see worth trying is erecting a fence around the perimeter of the city to break the wind. That's what we should have done long ago and been done with this misery!" Hubert pounded his fist down on the table.

                Dietz had his feet up on a table and stretched out as far as his chair would let him. He spoke in a childish sarcastic tone, "It's too late for that."

                Before Hubert came up with an angry retort, Joeli came in the room again and Hubert looked at him with the fierocity of a mother bear watching her cub being spray-painted honey brown and forced into the leading role of a Winnie the Pooh movie.

                "Mayor Grossman, there's a call for you in the building manager's office. They say its kind of urgent." said Joeli.

                "Kind of urgent? What is that supposed to mean?" Hubert let out a long sigh and followed Joeli out of the sound room, all the while wondering what possible good it could do to be told any more bad news.

                "Yes, Grossman here... right... well... we're trapped here in the cultural building so I wish I could do something about it but I really can't. Yes... yes I've heard about the Sistine Chapel being built I just wasn't sure when they'd be done. Look dear, we're done for as it so all I can say is good luck to you. I'm sorry." Hubert hung up and went limp in the chair letting his arms hang down each side, exhausted from all the stress.

                Ah, yeah... the fence idea. I suppose it might be worth giving Dirk a call... and pray he's still there.

                After waiting on hold for almost 10 minutes, Dirk finally answered, "Hello Hube is that you? I've been trying to reach ya, old fellow."

                Dirk was the controversial engineering department head of staff. He had gained both fame for consistently outdoing all the requirements of public works projects put before him, and the animosity of the military ministry for 2 glaring failures: the war materials annual production output had dropped somewhat under his leadership and the aborted nuclear program. As for the latter, although he wasn't actually on the team of scientists trying to develop a nuclear weapon, the program was apparently botched due to errors in his planning.

                Although the chancellor and pretty much any other fed harbored a deep distrust for Dirk and refused to put him in charge of any more major works, Hubert still knew he was a gifted engineer who earnestly believed in the motto, 'There is a solution to any problem.' And hearing his forever calm and friendly voice on the phone already helped to start soothing Hubert's frayed nerves.

                "Yes Dirk, I'm in the Cultural Building. Listen I know its quite late for this but I want you and your team to try and put up a wall around the western side of the city, even if only around the downtown area."

                "Hube, there's no need to panic yet."

                "Dirk, this is no time for sweet talk. This is a crisis which may not only mean the loss of this city, but the survivability of our nation as a whole. I hate to be rude, but you will do what I say. If I say jump, you will ask 'how high?' Are we understood?"

                "Uh, yeah sure. You know Hube..."

                "You will put up that fence now."

                "We'll be right on it. You know, we'd really appreciate if you could come down to the engineering department and have a look at what we got. We could really use your input as to where exactly to put up that fence."

                "Dirk, there is no way I'm going back out into that storm."

                "Hey now, no need to sweat. We'll get you over here no problem. We are engineers after all. " Dirk's confident patient tone gave Hubert an image of him winking and smiling while talking into the phone.


                Hubert, Irina, Fritz and Dietz waited in the first floor lobby. Although a metallic storm curtain blocked their view from outside, they knew the street was completely blocked with abandoned vehicles. How could the engineers possible transport them out of there?

                Then came the horrible sound of metal being crushed and ripped apart and the shattering of glass. Figuring it was the engineers, they wheeled open the medieval prison door just enough for them to crawl outside through the opening. The incoming airflow made the task almost impossible. They could feel the hairs on their heads being dragged out by their roots in the clinging wind.

                Seeing what awaited them outside, Irina screamed. And Fritz joined her with a somewhat feminine shriek of his own.

                Infront of the building was a monstrous metallic vehicle which looked like something out of a science fiction movie. Two gigantic 2.5 metre tall wheels made up of 8 blocks of revolving steel blocks held the cabin, also a solid block of steel with a couple of slits to see out of, suspended above the ground. Upon closer inspection, one could see it was an after hours shop job - probably one of kind. The metal had been casted in big simple blocks, and in some areas, bubbles of metal where it had oozed out of the casting block could be seen. The makers obviously didn't consider it worth the bother to arc weld the imperfections off.



                Miraculously, everyone made it up the tiny metal steps and into the machine without being 'turned'. After an ear-shattering and dark ride which felt like being inside a pepper shaker, they were relieved to exit the machine in the shelter of a big warehouse. The warehouse itself groaned from corrugated metal sheets rubbing against each other in the terrific wind. No one spoke. There was no point with the cacophony of the storm making even yelling inaudible.

                Dirk led them to an elevator and deep down underground to some sort of control room with countless dials, switches and all kinds of electronic paraphernalia incomprehensible to the non-technically inclined. It confirmed a nagging suspicion in Hubert that he had been duped on the phone. He had fallen for one of the most basic of negotiation tricks: bait and switch. Dirk had no intention whatsoever of engaging in the pointless and likely impossible task of putting up a fence in the middle of a raging windstorm. However Hubert said nothing. All he really wanted now was to see what miracle Dirk could come up with to fight back against the French wind storm. He'd do anything not to see another city, a vital organ of Germany, lost for nothing to the pompously successful French.

                In the control room there were several other engineers who worked on Dirk's team. Having fallen out of favor with the feds, they worked on their own 'in the dark'. No one really knew how they spent their time. The feds were just happy if they kept themselves busy and out of the way of anything important.

                It was quiet in the control room. The only thing interferring with their hearing now was the ringing left in their ears.

                "Well you're all probably wondering where I've brought you and what kind of heinous experiment's being going on down here." Dirk gave them a friendly smile to let them know he wasn't too serious.

                "Go ahead and explain yourself." replied Hubert.

                "What we have here is the ultimate in anti-cultural engineering." Dirk nodded up and down and kept grinning as if he were telling a story to a kindergarten class. "As you may have noticed, there's a bit of a wind occuring outside right now. I hope you brought your laundry in." Hubert's team, except for Hubert himself, managed a nervous smile at that remark, but were intensely curious about exactly what Dirk was getting at. "Current wind speed is 150 mph or 130 knots, direction east."

                "Get on with it please. We don't have much time." said Hubert sounding like someone awaiting the outcome of a HIV test after sharing epidermic needles with some of the East Hastings regulars.

                "At eight points throughout the city there are massive underground operations like this one. Each one houses a gigantic fan the size of 4 office buildings side by side now being raised up to the outside world for the first time."

                "You must be joking. Where did you get the resources to do this and how on earth could that ever stop a storm?" Hubert's word's were negative but for the first time that day he felt a glimmer of hope inside.

                "These are no ordinary fans. Hube old friend, you do remember how incompetent I was in handling the armaments production? Nothing was wasted: materials, factories and engineers all put to good use down here."

                "You mean you built them underground to hide them? What a sad waste of time excavating all that ground out just to keep the project a secret." said Dietz.

                "No, nothing's been wasted. The ground excavations serve a dual purpose." answered Dirk, looking quite pleased with it all. "I'm sure you've all heard about the botched nuclear program."

                Hubert's jaw dropped and his previously artery-lined red face had become as pale as a internet surfing junkie, "You don't mean..."

                "Yes, we investigated various power sources and found that nothing had even the slightest chance of combating the power of a storm like you experienced today. The only way is to use one tactical nuke to power each fan. Of course a one shot deal only. Now you know where all that 'wasted' uranium went to."

                "You maniac! You'll blow the city up and then what?" yelled Fritz.

                "Hence the excavations. Underneath each fan is a cylinder containing a piston with the contact surface size of half a football field. One of those can produce enough power with one reaction to run every car in the world for several weeks. The cylinder walls are made up of 1 meter thick steel walls backed up by hard-packed earth and a rubber contained refrigeration system. Most of it will melt but it will hold just enough to contain the explosion. The pistons will provide power to the fans for several minutes, same concept as a children's spinning top which spins many times from a single push down on the handle on top. We don't have time for me to explain it in detail. Let's just say the result could be up to three times the power of a hurricane."

                "Alright and so what if it does work? I know enough about physics to know that the air going into those fans has to come from somewhere. So what happens to the people and buildings?"

                "The gigantic fan blades are curved to create an eddy between them which will take in objects and spit them back out without mangling them in the blades. This means if someone is caught in the draft they'll simply be shot back out unharmed and they'll glide in the airstream back down to the ground. Buildings however, will be ripped apart. But the storm has already done that to most of them. This is only the last of all resorts."

                The visitors stood there silent, finally out of questions and trying to fathom the concept of detonating 8 nukes in one's own city.

                "So Hube this is it. I have to ask you: shall we engage the fans? I'm not asking you to sign any waiver or anything. I just want to know if the mayor of Munich will authorize this extreme measure to save his city."

                Hubert stared at the floor in intense fascination, his mind paralyzed with indecision.

                "Don't do it. This is not culture. It is madness. Dirk, is this building immune to cultural wind too?" asked Fritz.

                "For awhile. Nothing is immune forever." answered Dirk.

                "I say go for it. I refuse to become a frog." said Dietz.

                Dirk said, "You do realize that the backdraft and resulting airblast will destroy one-third or more of the city. The alternative is French control. Take your time with this decision. It will be in the history books whichever way you go."

                Hubert took another long deep sigh and said, "Very well then, let's do it."

                Dirk nodded. "Myself and my co-worker Ali over there hold the 2 keys to activate the system. The rumble from the blast will be immense and may cause you to panic. If you stay away from the walls and jump upon detonation, you will significantly decrease you chance of incurring broken bones. I'm going to count down from 4 and when I say 'jump' you jump."

                "How high?" asked Hubert.

                Dirk grinned and chuckled in appreciation at the reversal of roles. "Are we ready? Remember what I said about the rumble being immense. Okay here we go... 4... 3... 2... 1... JUMP!!"

                They all jumped up except for Dirk and Ali who had to turn the keys. Despite Hubert jumping as high as his delapitated old body would launch him, the floor bucked up so hard that it met his feet and knocked him at an awkward angle through the air and into a wall. Pain exploded through his left arm, back, leg and wherever else connected with the wall.

                But that was nothing compared the deep deep feeling of fear going down into his stomach. He instantly regretted his decision. It seemed the very core of the earth itself was being ripped asunder. The way the ground bounced around again and again, it horrified Hubert at how fragile the ground they lived on actually was. It was beyond them to resist being knocked around like bowling pins during a strike. Fritz had an expression of pure terror locked on his face and spasmodically flailed his limbs about as if he were swimming in a pool of burning oil. Dietz wrestled with an invisible troll and Irina was being tossed about like a rag doll in a drying machine.

                And they were the lucky ones. They had no chance to think about the hundreds of people on top who, without the luxury of foreknowledge, had not jumped and thus had broken ankles, arms or worse, particularly those with calcium deficiencies and the elderly. Or the way the suction of the fans instantly ripped apart buildings and fed the parts through the blades and spat them all over the other side of the city. The resulting blast of air sending some people spinning head over heels like tumbleweed in a sandstorm and others kept their cool and floated like supermen through the current to land relatively unhurt. Crashing into infrastructure was probably the worst way to get it.

                But it could have been worse. Most of the weaker people had already been claimed by the French culture storm so the remaining ones generally came out with only cuts and bruises.

                After about 30 seconds the rumbling ground finally settled down. In the control room, everyone took stock of the damage to themselves and were fairly well off except for Hubert who lay face down on the floor. Dirk checked him and looked up at the others, "He's okay. Just knocked out with minor injuries." Dirk himself had a goosebump forming on his forehead from when he had hit the wall just after turning the key.

                Dirk looked over the many dials and monitoring equipment on the wall. "Wind speed 295 mph, down from a high of 360. Direction west. YAH!!!" Aside from the cheer, Dirk's talked as calmly as if he were enjoying a drink with friends on a warm and sunny Sunday afternoon on the patio. The others breathed deeply, relieved that the world was still intact.

                Then the ground started rumbling again, though much milder than before.

                "Um... why is it shaking again." asked Fritz.

                Dirk had another look at the monitors. One showed a map with circles emerging and expanding from several points. "Interesting." He started to smile. "We have 3 earthquakes in progress: one in some insignificant German countryside, one in the Ardennes, and one in Dijon." Dietz and Irina wondered if Dirk's smile wasn't the knowing smile of 'a job well done.' Surely when designing the system, Germany's best engineer would have not only studied the German terrain plates for stability but perhaps also those of France for instablity?


                The Final Moments of the Struggle


                Pierre de Luc was still working the crowd's cultural frenzy, having reached such a frenzied state himself that he was talking with religious zeal. The crowd was responding with anti-German slogans and general rowdiness. Pierre went on, "And behold the time is near I say! The heathen will be struck down by the righteous hand of French artistry! Good people, I've just been told that the Pope that has just arrived by limosine and is making his way here now. So tell me, do you want to send a storm to Germany? C'mon, let me hear it!"

                Pierre was answered by a jolt through the ground, instantly silencing both his gloating and the rowdy crowd. Then it felt like a hammer from the gods pounded the ground causing it to crack open like a piece of wood split by an axe. Into fell most of 'the righteous' led by Pierre himself into the endless blackness. The Sistine Chapel sat on a angle along the edge of the rift. And then like an ungracious kid's Lego house falling off the side of a table to crash into pieces, so did the chapel go forth to be struck down by 'the heathen lack of culture'. For decades after, this act of 'sabotage' was considered by many, both French and not, to be the lowest of blows, the pinnacle of contemptible misdeeds, to destroy France's greatest work of wonder in history only moments before official completion.

                The tidal wave of air pushed out by the nuclear warhead powered fans headed on through the French territory. This time it was Nancy and Dijon's turn to have people picked up and thrown through the air and into walls, trees broken off and sent flipping dangerously about, panicked motorists rammed into each other not knowing what was happening, and many roofs on small structures were ripped off and sent hurling through the air, to say nothing of the debris kicked up by the storm. Although it was short-lived, it gave the French an adequate taste of what the people in Munich had been going through.


                Hubert awoke in a hospital bed. He groaned from the pain all down his left side. The windows along the side of the room were all boarded up with rough cut plywood. A kind-looking whiteclad nurse glanced at him while attending another patient in the next bed. "Awake are you? You just had a nasty knock on the head which knocked you out for quite awhile. But you'll be fine with a little rest." She walked off.

                A little while later, an energetic happy looking middle-aged man who looked like a mountain guide with his bushy hair, tanned skin and a simple collared shirt with jeans came in. "Hello there Mayor Hubert Grossman. I'd like to congratulate you." He held out a hand for Hubert to shake, which he did.

                Hubert sat up and said, "We did it? Yes! It worked!"

                "Yes, I'd like to congratulate a new French citizen. Welcome to Nancy, Hubert."


                The End
                Last edited by unscratchedfoot; October 11, 2003, 01:46.
                Here is an interesting scenario to check out. The Vietnam war is cool.

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                • #9
                  A superb ending Scratch, well worth waiting for what bought on this sudden gust of inspiration then have you got a severe case of bad wind too ?

                  Joking aside that was an extremely clever slant on the culture concept of the game, and perhaps the most innovative and unique story ever written here. Much better second time round, well done
                  A proud member of the "Apolyton Story Writers Guild".There are many great stories at the Civ 3 stories forum, do yourself a favour and visit the forum. Lose yourself in one of many epic tales and be inspired to write yourself, as I was.

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                  • #10
                    Great story with a very original take on culture flipping.

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                    • #11
                      Very novel approach and an interesting ending. I liked it!
                      "I am sick and tired of people who say that if you debate and you disagree with this administration somehow you're not patriotic. We should stand up and say we are Americans and we have a right to debate and disagree with any administration." - Hillary Clinton, 2003

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                      • #12
                        Thanks for support.
                        Last edited by unscratchedfoot; October 12, 2003, 19:36.
                        Here is an interesting scenario to check out. The Vietnam war is cool.

                        Comment


                        • #13
                          Great stuff, scratch! Awesome ending.
                          Last edited by vovan; October 16, 2003, 21:21.
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                          • #14
                            Read it like I promised I would This is probably the most unique and creative approach to cultural flipping I've seen in any story on the forum. All in all, good work!

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                            • #15
                              Very innovative story! Well done!
                              Haven't been here for ages....

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