When Death Comes A-Courting for its Prince

The Imperial State of Constancia: Benevolent hereditary dictatorship, constitutional monarchy, laissez-faire technocracy, aristocratic corporate state, organized crime family syndicate or liberal autocracy? It depends on the day.

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Strategos Metaxas
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When Death Comes A-Courting for its Prince

Post by Strategos Metaxas »

At 1130, on the sultry morning of Thursday, 19 May 2016, in the ruined central square of the Patriarchate Ward of the town of Portus Felix, a dashing cavalry captain in boots and jodhpurs and the tunic of an 'Imperial Constancian Volunteer', wielding a Babkhan scimitar, performed tricks on horseback, joking with two pretty, well-dressed Constancian girls dressed in the seductive red and gold kimonos of officer companions, who twirled ornate Jingdaoese parasoles – while fingering 9mm Pistols of a brand that rejoiced in the name of 'Shirley' hidden in the folds of their voluminous gowns.

Men dressed as Abakhtari brigands, in quilted grey bambakions, worn over white tunics and Constancian army-surplus olive green trousers waited on the street corners, cradling secreted automatic pistols and hand grenades. At the best taverna overlooking the plaza, frequented by officers of the newly raised Imperial Constancian Volunteers, who were mostly turncoats and mercenaries leading nomadic tribesmen and desperadoes from the ungoverned territories of Southern Eura, a crew of heavily armed gangsters took over the bar and the tables outside, warmly inviting in passers-by to join them in toasting the good fortune of the good prince Alexius. All of them were waiting to carry out the first exploit of the newly appointed Strategos, Eudokia Karbonopsina, Commander of the River Army, and the woman tasked with organising the liberation of Portus Felix from within as the Home Guard assaulted it from without.

In the Patriarchate Square, the forty brigands, surviving soldiers and newly recruited resistance fighters who formed the core of Eudokia's first strike team, took up positions as their lookouts covered the street leading towards the charred ruins of the Town Hall, destroyed in the massive Jingdaoese terror attack on the port which had burned vast swathes of the old town within the walls. They awaited the clatter of an detachment of armed Abakhtari camel-riders escorting the open top car of Prince Alexius. The cavalry captain with the Babkhan scimitar caracoled his horse before dismounting to stroll the boulevard, one of the few fashionable spots left intact after the detonation of the air fuel bombs on the 15th of May.

Every street corner was guarded by a soldier of the Jingdaoese NPA or a newly recruited policeman working for the collaborationist authorities installed by the conquerors. The Tegong and the NPA had been vigilant in sifting those civilians who had survived and not been able to flee before the 5th Panzer Division breached the city walls on the evening of the 16th of May. Those they suspected of being not entirely broken in spirit they either culled on the spot or else arranged for immediate deportation back to Apollonia to await a fate that no-one could presently even imagine. Nonetheless, concealed in the ruins, there had remained those charred and battle-scarred survivors of the last days of the siege, in whom lingered the will to resist, and the desire for revenge.

It had been the same small fast boats which had failed to break through the screen of frigates and corvettes to hit the landing craft on the 11th of May, and that had then subsequently been involved in the extraction of the surviving command staff of the garrison on the terrible night of the 16th of May, which had the difficult and dangerous task of smuggling agents, weapons and money into the town. The resistance, was hesitant, uncertain, unwilling immediately to go onto the attack, but the orders from Strategos Karbonopsina and to her from the Exubitors and the Autokrator Andreas Metaxas himself, had been insistent. Something must be undertaken and soon, to demonstrate that Constancia was still in the game.

The NPA, which had been meticulous in vetting the surviving civilian population for potential informers, had picked up on the chatter – it knew that a target of high importance was soon to be hit. The most obvious risk was to their supply chain, the thin umbilical cord linking the 1st and 4th Armies of the NPA to the Apollonian continent and the nearly bottomless reserves and resources of the Empire. The guards were doubled, tripled, in the docks and quayside of the river wards, on the landing beaches and at the landing strip and hastily repaired runways of the civil airport and the captured aerodrome. The possibility of an attack on one of the depots within the town was also considered, hence the increase of high visibility patrols.

The two pretty girls, swishing the hems of their kimonos as they flirted with the NPA soldiers and Gendarmes, casually sashayed across the Square to stand outside the Military Headquarters of the occupying power. Checking the time on each others watches, the two girls parted, taking up positions on either side of the square. Watching as more and more were lured off the street and into the tavern.

Whenever somebody walked past they woud be hailed and invited in by the cheerful grinning gangsters loitering at the doorway. Once drawn inside the person would be sat down and offered a glass of Treesian Red, according to the Constancian and Parestani custom. Should the person make to leave after drinking the wine, one of the gangsters would suggest, with the utmost politeness, that the patron may wish to remain seated and to try sampling more wine and the lamb kofta, which was they would assure, exquisite. The person would gradually come to realise that while customers were being let into the taverna, none were being allowed out again. Some were having a better time of this hospitality than others. Normal civilians were allowed to take their seats and sip uneasily at the wine as they waited for the matters to unfold. Others, persons of Jingdaoese appearance or a Seaski accent, or those persons known or suspected of collaboration were treated less delicately – being brusquely bundled behind the bar and down into the cellar where a masked man dressed in an apron and carrying a captive bolt gun and a pig sticking knife waited to ask them a few pertinent questions before dispensing summary justice.

Not long afterwards, one of the girls waved to the gangsters loitering at the door of the taverna. It was time to be off. The gangsters in the taverna put down their drinks, loaded and cocked their P62 'Covert' machine-gun carbines and head out, spreading out across the square. The gangsters each marked a soldier or gendarme. The two girls quietly cocked their pistols and moved towards the two Jingdaoese officers who had been giving them the glad-eye earlier. The man who posed as a cavalry captain now moved amongst the crowd, smacking people with the flat of his scimitar and warning them to clear the area before nonchalantly walking back to his horse and mounting it in a single vault and trotted audaciously right past the approaching cavalcade.

The camel-riders galloped into the Patriarchate Square, two in front, two behind and two alongside the open-top motor car where Prince Alexius sat reclined in the back with two girls, one blonde, the other brunette, and an ebony catamite sat at his feet. The prince was a man who was presently enjoying life to the full, as his chauffeur had realised whilst trying not to look into the rear-view mirror for the duration of the short car journey. With the noise of the engine, the thunder of the camels hooves and the swirl of dust they threw up on the debris strewn roads, it took just seconds for the cavalcade to sweep into the square.

It was at this point that the resistance fighters lobbed their first present, a pair of fragmentation grenades glued to a tin-can filled with plastic explosive. The gunmen pulled the pins and tossed the two infernal devices into the path of the two leading camels where they exploded with a deafening roar and a terrible force which disembowelled the witless beasts and tore men standing nearby to pieces. The driver, panicking, desperately shifted the limousine into reverse, crashing horribly into the two camels of the rearguard, shattering their legs and sending their riders sprawling. The remaining two camels panicked and were trying to throw their riders as the gunmen stepped in to spray the beasts and their riders with a hail of bullets. The Prince, the clear target of the gang of assassins, to his credit, was quickly on his feet, his pistol and gladius drawn. Without hesitation he gunned down two of the gangsters in quick succession before one of the girls, who had by now shrugged off their cumbersome kimonos to reveal a grey t-shirt and combat fatigues underneath, clipped him on the shoulder with a burst of pistol fire which knocked him sideways and sprawled out into the back seat of the car, spurting blood all over the shrieking women in the car beside him who recoiled in horror and grabbed at the handles of the passenger side doors in desperate effort to escape, an effort that was cut short as the catamite who had been riding with them leaned in and stabbed each woman in turn with his concealed stiletto blade. Turning now the catamite went to deliver the killing blow to the hated traitor Prince. As he leaned in towards the prone, injured man, who was still trying to recover his wits, the assassin was suddenly grabbed from behind by the chauffeur who made a despairing lunge to try and overpower the man. The catamite was stronger than his lean frame suggested, and was on the point of plunging the stiletto backwards into the exposed flanks of the driver, when he dropped the knife with a yelp and looked down to see the Prince's gladius being withdrawn from his belly, with gore and entrails flopping out after the bloody blade.

As the infernal din of gunfire and explosions echoed around the car, Alexius grinned with excitement at the chauffeur, this was the most alive he had felt in years. Then his eyes rolled upwards in their sockets and he slumped forward into the chauffeurs arms. Looking around, the driver was witness to a scene of horror, the car seats were awash with blood.

Holding his master, a prince who for good or ill, he'd served with loyalty and devotion for the last twelve years, the chauffeur was, in his grief and fear, uncomprehending as one of the resistance fighters suddenly dashed over to the car and smacked him savagely round the head with a cudgel, sending the man tumbling into the darkness of dreamless oblivion.

All around the car the battle still raged.

(OOC: Here you go Jonas. Entirely up to you if you want Prince Alexius to survive or not.)
Andreas Metaxas | Mesazōn of Constancia | Exkoubitorōn Theos

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Jonas
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Re: When Death Comes A-Courting for its Prince

Post by Jonas »

General Pompus Castrus, a man in his sixties and one of the few men who had followed the Prince in his self-imposed banishment, had just finished eating a decent meal for the first time in years. The building he was in had been restored and served as a temporary Headquarters of his Volunteer Squad.

Pompus had seen his liege, the rightful heir to the Throne in his eyes, triumphantly enter the town. That it had been under the accompaniment of a people who lived overseas and a bunch of tribesmen, he gladly accepted as a necessary evil. There was no doubt that the people would eventually blindly follow the Prince, as it should be. The tyrants in Vey had too long suppressed the masses. Their heads had been filled with empty promises and lies. But now, yes now, their lives would only get better! After the necessary destruction of property and lives a war like this took, of course.

Not their fault that the Constancian tyrants were unwilling to bite in the dust.

The sound of machine guns suddenly sounded near. Sirens were roaring and made it difficult to concentrate on the seventh dish. He cursed.
"Damn it. Can't an elderly gentlemen not even enjoy good food while others are dying outside?!"
The military staff of the man didn't even blink of such unorthodox comments and were searching in panic for their own weapons, as the sound of gunshots came closer and closer.
A messenger ran into the room and was almost shot down by an overenthusiastic secretary.

"Woman, go shoot some pigeons if you're just trying to kill our messengers!" the general shouted to her head and ordered her to leave, preferably outside in a hail of bullets.
"So, what's up, boy?" the general asked impatiently. "Or are you going to tell me that some of our citizens are firing fireworks?"
"N... no... sir. An ambush."
"Sounds like that, doesn't it? So, who have we lost this time? Please tell me its that bastard of a nephew of mine."
"N... n... no, sir. The Strategos was ambushed. The Jingdaoese soldiers have already opened fire on the rebels and ordered me to bring you following letter."
The general, who was slightly in shock after hearing the news, took the letter from the messenger and opened it.
BY SISERA! BROUGHT YOUR STRATEGOS - OR WHAT'S LEFT FROM HIM - TO THE HOSPITAL WHILE ALSO KILLING EVERY LAST ONE OF THOSE BASTARDS.

YOU'RE ALL STUPID CUNTS.
"I assume the letter was given to you by an officer who didn't tell his name?"
The boy hesitated, but then nodded. Pompus sighed.
"And the Strategos is still alive?"
"Barely, probably not be in the best condition, sir."

Good, he was still alive. At least one positive thing in all this.
Important characters:
Frederik Alfons des Vinandy-Paravel, King of Batavia
Joseph Bartholomeus des Vinandy-Windsor, Prince-Regent of Batavia
Jin San, Diwang of Jingdao, Duke of Kildare

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