@The Wyrm Yup!
Brilliant. I note that, as I read this on a iphone screen, that we’re supposed to be at a training Depot right now?
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Brilliant. I note that, as I read this on a iphone screen, that we’re supposed to be at a training Depot right now?
Still accepting?
In
Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
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May 23rd, 1960, Maputo, Rhodesia
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May 23rd, 1960, Maputo, Rhodesia
--------------------------------------------
Andrew lay in a ditch, dead grass and brush pulled over his head, his breathing harsh and loud in his own ears. His side was on fire, he was sure his ribs were broken, and blood was drying all over his right side from the wound in his shoulder.
He was trying desperately to control his breathing as the sound of an engine drew closer. He could just see the nearest Rhodesian Security Force ("RSF") heavy vehicle, known locally as the Beast, some hundred yards away. The vehicle was unique to Rhodesia and more terrifying than anything he had seen in the United States. It had the front grill of a Land Rover but that was where the similarities ended. The wheel base was almost twice as wide with massive tires that allowed it to travel quickly over rough ground. A large metal frame doubled as a roll cage with a single driver, mounted machine gun and gunner, and, in the case of this vehicle, two large Rhodesian Ridgebacks sitting in a rear compartment with their handler.
For seven days he had been running West, stealing a horse at one point to evade pursuit and even throwing himself into a dinghy, barely escaping a Ridgeback who had managed to outstrip its handler. He had been unable to locate any weapons, no white man was going to throw him a spare rifle and a black man covered in blood was hardly likely to engender sympathy and anyone who didn't want a visit from the Police.
The brush was heavy against his skin, the brambles tearing into his clothes and pressing against his wounds. It was agony. He had barely eaten and only drank from streams and rivers during his journey. On more than one occasion he had killed a domestic animal and used its blood to try and conceal his trail. It had confused the dogs for a while, but each time they had honed in on him again.
The rumble of the heavy engine slowly died in the distance and he risked another look in the direction of his pursuers. The vehicle was moving slowly into the distance and he almost sighed with relief until he realized the dogs were no longer on their perch. A jolt of panic shot through him and he begin to slowly push the brush off of himself, raising his head ever higher and higher, listening, looking, trying to locate the dogs. He feared them more than any man. He had seen them catch a fugitive before and tear the screaming man to pieces before there handlers could retrain them. They were terror incarnate.
A scream sounded to the west and he almost leapt up and run. Shouts, shots, the roar of the Ridgebacks, all of it rising in a crescendo that told him he was a dead man. Then it occurred to him, the sounds were moving away from him! He rolled to his knees, still in the bottom of the ditch, and risked looking westwards.
He could see the RSF dogman running, pistol in hand, the two dogs bounding ahead of him, their barking high pitched and excited. Ahead of them, in full flight across the landscape, were two black men in tattered bush fatigues.
The sound of a truck engine brought his attention around again and he saw the Beast come roaring back up the narrow roadway that seemed dwarfed by its size. The gunner was leaning back, his field of fire blocked by the dog handler, the drivers teeth exposed in a savage grin as the vehicle hit the ditch, bounced wildly for a moment, and then tore after the fugitives.
Andrew wasted no time wondering who the poor souls were that had saved his life. He turned, put his head down, and began to run. The nearest copse of trees was several hundred yards away and, despite the pain and tears of agony that coursed down his cheeks, he ran like he had never run before.
Twice he stumbled and each time he expected to hear the sound of the Beast engine, the roar of the hounds, or the crack of a rifle, but nothing came. The trees drew closer and closer, their huge boughs reaching out towards him as it beckoning him into their embrace.
He hit them at a run, smashing through the brush, muffling a scream as one branch slammed into his ribs. He stumbled, the white light of pain blinding him so that he tripped and fell, his forehead shredding into pieces against the ground so that more blood poured down his face. He moaned, tried to roll over, and suddenly hands were on him.
They grabbed his legs, his arms, and another smothered his yell, closing over his mouth with a firm grip. He kicked, tried to swing his fists, fought with the desperation of a man who had nothing left to lose and then, almost like a prayer, a voice whispered desperately in his ear.
"Be still brother! You are safe here." The voice was friendly, it spoke his language, and, most important of all, it was kind.
He sagged in their grip, his saviours, whoever they were, he couldn't seem them, blood was blinding him but he was safe. He began to sob quietly as two people lifted him by the arms and began to guide him through the trees. He was safe.
Nothing wrong with a team, but easier to not have to wait on others to post?
I’m in
November, 1939
Trade Missions
The United States has dispatched trade missions to a number of international partners around the world in an effort to increase trade with the following nations:
- Gran Columbia @Wernher
- The Kingdom of Hungary @Brithwyr
- Yugoslavia @Arca10Tales
- Empire of Japan @Freedomlander
- British Empire @FrostedCaramel
- The Italian Social Republic @InvaderXYZ
- Switzerland @WelcmeToGudBrgr
- Republic of Turkey @Ahrixis
- Republic of Mexico @Malta307
- Republic of Cuba @Malta307
- China @Malta307
- Russian Empire @Malta307
- Sweden @Malta307
- Finland @Malta307
- Norway @Malta307
- France @Malta307
In
Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
---------------------------------
May 15th, 1960 / Addis Ababa
---------------------------------
Sara Reicker found the false smile she had practiced so many times over the past few years coming naturally when she had been introduced to the Rhodesian Diplomatic Envoy to Ethiopia. Mr Reginald Heap summed up everything there was to hate about White Rhodesians. He was boorish, had a stupid accent, an overinflated opinion of himself, and was almost comically racist against non-whites. If she didn't know better she would have thought it was an act but after reading his file as the Bureau she realized he was as actually as terrible as he seemed.
**Two Days earlier**
Her journey North to Ethiopia, her first International assignment, had been a long one. The train system through much of Africa may have been somewhat passable in the days of the Colonial Empires but they had fallen deeply into disrepair since that time. The only true railways she had travelled one, that didn't involve hand carts, walking, riding donkeys, bush pilots and even a few boats, were in Rhodesia and Ethiopia.
She had some time to reflect on her life as she went, passing through numerous shit heap towns and pathetic villages full of men who treated her like property and their terrified, and sometimes cattle like, wives. She had only left one body in a ditch, back in Mozambique, when the man who ran the mule train refused to take no for an answer and she had driven a screw driver through his ear.
The cruelest irony of all was that she owed her position and skills to the Whiteman. Only in White Rhodesia could a coloured woman, or even a black woman, hold a position like hers, be trusted, well paid, and treated like an equal by most of her colleagues. If the local Black population ran the country she'd be either flat on her back or squatting in the mud delivering babies. Okay, maybe that was unfair to the Black folk but hell, she'd seen what happened in Zambia when the Whites lost power, utter fucking chaos. She was fairly certain that the recent round of murders involving dead White farmers was going to lead to a military intervention by the Rhodesian Security Forces. That would be interesting to watch.
Her arrival in Addis Ababa had been very interesting indeed. The train, an old steam engine that had carried her without fail for the proceeding two days, chugged into the main station and ground to a halt with an explosion of steam. After the final stop before the capital she had changed out of her Khakis into something more "culturally appropriate". The dress, which was white and went right down to her ankles, was hemmed with a vibrant blue. The effect was rather cooling and easily allowed her to conceal a small pistol on her right thigh, and a knife on the left. She had allowed herself a moment's fantasy of a young woman on her way to a secret rendezvous with a lover but her ride to the Rhodesian Consulate had destroyed that throughly.
The Consulate car, a British built Rolls Royce, met her at the train station and the driver, a native Ethiopian, had wasted in time in warning her about the Heaps.
"Make sure you're never alone wit heem." The man had said, eyeing her in the rear view mirror, his accent strange to her ear. "He likes to play wit the ladies. And his missus is no betta. She will finger you too if she can."
He had gone on about the majority of the staff and by the time she actually arrived at the consulate, she was a pretty good idea of what sort of lifestyle she could expect for the next little while. The Heaps were obviously philandering perverts, the majority of the white male staff had been hand picked by Reginald Heap and as a result tended to be very "forward". The local Black employee's stole anything that wasn't nailed down and Beatrice Heap had a spending problem that somehow had spilled over into the Consulate budget. Now that was interesting.
A thirty minute drive had been them draw up front of the Consulate, a grand old Colonial Mansion done up in yellow with black shutters, and she had been deposited on the gravel drive with her single suitcase before the car roared away again. She was still surveying the tall windows when a middle aged white woman with long black hair came bustling out of the building.
"Oh, um, well, hello... You must be Sara! Yes, of course, hello. I am Beatrice, Reggies better half." She laughed, an almost high pitched note that made her seem a touch mad. Sara noticed Beatrice give her a hair to shoe once over, a small smile appearing as she did so.
"Nice to meet you Beatrice." Sara held out her hand. There was an awkward moment in which the two women stared at each other and then Beatrice laughed again.
"We don't shake hands with the help, my dear girl, Ethiopian thing dontcha know."
That was a load of bullshit if Sara had ever heard it, but it confirmed her initial deductions about the woman from the Bureau files.
"Reggie is out at the moment but do come in, I'll have one of the staff show you to your room. I understand your good with your hands?" There was a strange look on the womans face as she said it, almost sly. "For typing of course."
Sara nodded, now throughly uncomfortable. She would make damn sure she locked her bedroom door at night.
"Oh Charles!" Beatrice called out, perhaps louder than necessary, and was answered almost immediately by a strongly built black man who appeared at the consulate doorway. He didn't speak but simply bowed his head slightly.
"See! That's how it should be Sara, do take notes. Now off you go." Beatrice chattered away as she dismissed Sara with a wave, hurrying back into the Consulate like a scalded cat.
"She thought you were the Master. Otherwise she'd never have come out." Charles said quietly as he picked up her bags and gestured towards the Consulate. "Your room is on the third floor, in the East wing, you'll get some lovely sunrises from there."
Sara followed him after a grateful "Thank you". The stairs were marble, the hallways marble, the walls covered in gorgeous local hangings that showed plenty of skin and, in more than a few cases, plenty of sex. It was no wonder the Rhodesian Government was not entirely happy with "Reggie".
"In here." Charles said as they stopped in front of a large wooden door. He leaned in close to her for just a second. "Check for spy holes." It was the last thing he said as he walked away.
Sara picked up her bag, turned the door knob, and stepped into a small but comfortable apartment. A cozy sitting room was closest to the corner of the house, two sides being open to the outside with a small balcony facing East. The third side had two doors, one into a bedroom, the other into a bathroom which had a lovely walk-in shower. She took a moment to look around the main sitting area and found nothing out of the ordinary.
She did not have to look very hard to find a peephole in the shower, and another in her bedroom. Both had commanding views of places she was likely to be naked. Well that was disturbing it did tell her that behind the walls of the house, running throughout the whole building perhaps, was a hidden series of passageways. That meant there would be a door, and that meant she could access it.
She carefully moved a plant to block the peephole in her bedroom and hung a towel to block the one in the shower. It was a start. She went back into the sitting room and stepped out onto the balconey. The City of Addis Ababa spread out before her with all of its sights and smells. She had arrived.
May 15th, 1960 / Addis Ababa
---------------------------------
Sara Reicker found the false smile she had practiced so many times over the past few years coming naturally when she had been introduced to the Rhodesian Diplomatic Envoy to Ethiopia. Mr Reginald Heap summed up everything there was to hate about White Rhodesians. He was boorish, had a stupid accent, an overinflated opinion of himself, and was almost comically racist against non-whites. If she didn't know better she would have thought it was an act but after reading his file as the Bureau she realized he was as actually as terrible as he seemed.
**Two Days earlier**
Her journey North to Ethiopia, her first International assignment, had been a long one. The train system through much of Africa may have been somewhat passable in the days of the Colonial Empires but they had fallen deeply into disrepair since that time. The only true railways she had travelled one, that didn't involve hand carts, walking, riding donkeys, bush pilots and even a few boats, were in Rhodesia and Ethiopia.
She had some time to reflect on her life as she went, passing through numerous shit heap towns and pathetic villages full of men who treated her like property and their terrified, and sometimes cattle like, wives. She had only left one body in a ditch, back in Mozambique, when the man who ran the mule train refused to take no for an answer and she had driven a screw driver through his ear.
The cruelest irony of all was that she owed her position and skills to the Whiteman. Only in White Rhodesia could a coloured woman, or even a black woman, hold a position like hers, be trusted, well paid, and treated like an equal by most of her colleagues. If the local Black population ran the country she'd be either flat on her back or squatting in the mud delivering babies. Okay, maybe that was unfair to the Black folk but hell, she'd seen what happened in Zambia when the Whites lost power, utter fucking chaos. She was fairly certain that the recent round of murders involving dead White farmers was going to lead to a military intervention by the Rhodesian Security Forces. That would be interesting to watch.
Her arrival in Addis Ababa had been very interesting indeed. The train, an old steam engine that had carried her without fail for the proceeding two days, chugged into the main station and ground to a halt with an explosion of steam. After the final stop before the capital she had changed out of her Khakis into something more "culturally appropriate". The dress, which was white and went right down to her ankles, was hemmed with a vibrant blue. The effect was rather cooling and easily allowed her to conceal a small pistol on her right thigh, and a knife on the left. She had allowed herself a moment's fantasy of a young woman on her way to a secret rendezvous with a lover but her ride to the Rhodesian Consulate had destroyed that throughly.
The Consulate car, a British built Rolls Royce, met her at the train station and the driver, a native Ethiopian, had wasted in time in warning her about the Heaps.
"Make sure you're never alone wit heem." The man had said, eyeing her in the rear view mirror, his accent strange to her ear. "He likes to play wit the ladies. And his missus is no betta. She will finger you too if she can."
He had gone on about the majority of the staff and by the time she actually arrived at the consulate, she was a pretty good idea of what sort of lifestyle she could expect for the next little while. The Heaps were obviously philandering perverts, the majority of the white male staff had been hand picked by Reginald Heap and as a result tended to be very "forward". The local Black employee's stole anything that wasn't nailed down and Beatrice Heap had a spending problem that somehow had spilled over into the Consulate budget. Now that was interesting.
A thirty minute drive had been them draw up front of the Consulate, a grand old Colonial Mansion done up in yellow with black shutters, and she had been deposited on the gravel drive with her single suitcase before the car roared away again. She was still surveying the tall windows when a middle aged white woman with long black hair came bustling out of the building.
"Oh, um, well, hello... You must be Sara! Yes, of course, hello. I am Beatrice, Reggies better half." She laughed, an almost high pitched note that made her seem a touch mad. Sara noticed Beatrice give her a hair to shoe once over, a small smile appearing as she did so.
"Nice to meet you Beatrice." Sara held out her hand. There was an awkward moment in which the two women stared at each other and then Beatrice laughed again.
"We don't shake hands with the help, my dear girl, Ethiopian thing dontcha know."
That was a load of bullshit if Sara had ever heard it, but it confirmed her initial deductions about the woman from the Bureau files.
"Reggie is out at the moment but do come in, I'll have one of the staff show you to your room. I understand your good with your hands?" There was a strange look on the womans face as she said it, almost sly. "For typing of course."
Sara nodded, now throughly uncomfortable. She would make damn sure she locked her bedroom door at night.
"Oh Charles!" Beatrice called out, perhaps louder than necessary, and was answered almost immediately by a strongly built black man who appeared at the consulate doorway. He didn't speak but simply bowed his head slightly.
"See! That's how it should be Sara, do take notes. Now off you go." Beatrice chattered away as she dismissed Sara with a wave, hurrying back into the Consulate like a scalded cat.
"She thought you were the Master. Otherwise she'd never have come out." Charles said quietly as he picked up her bags and gestured towards the Consulate. "Your room is on the third floor, in the East wing, you'll get some lovely sunrises from there."
Sara followed him after a grateful "Thank you". The stairs were marble, the hallways marble, the walls covered in gorgeous local hangings that showed plenty of skin and, in more than a few cases, plenty of sex. It was no wonder the Rhodesian Government was not entirely happy with "Reggie".
"In here." Charles said as they stopped in front of a large wooden door. He leaned in close to her for just a second. "Check for spy holes." It was the last thing he said as he walked away.
Sara picked up her bag, turned the door knob, and stepped into a small but comfortable apartment. A cozy sitting room was closest to the corner of the house, two sides being open to the outside with a small balcony facing East. The third side had two doors, one into a bedroom, the other into a bathroom which had a lovely walk-in shower. She took a moment to look around the main sitting area and found nothing out of the ordinary.
She did not have to look very hard to find a peephole in the shower, and another in her bedroom. Both had commanding views of places she was likely to be naked. Well that was disturbing it did tell her that behind the walls of the house, running throughout the whole building perhaps, was a hidden series of passageways. That meant there would be a door, and that meant she could access it.
She carefully moved a plant to block the peephole in her bedroom and hung a towel to block the one in the shower. It was a start. She went back into the sitting room and stepped out onto the balconey. The City of Addis Ababa spread out before her with all of its sights and smells. She had arrived.
November, 1939
Time Life Magazine News Bulletin(s)
Pro-Nazi Rally in New York
An estimated 22,000 people attended Madison Square Garden in New York to show their support for recent Nazi victories in Poland. Marchers chanted Pro-Nazi slogans, burned Polish effigies and one Jewish man was attacked during the event. An estimated 80,000 counter-protestors attended and were prevented from entering Madison Square Garden by Police. Four officers were injured and several hundred people arrested.
President Presents "War-Footing" Bill in Congress
President Roosevelt presented a new "War-Footing" Bill in Congress today requesting additional funding for the armed forces, enough to double the size of the Army and increased spending for the Navy.
"Adolf Hitler is no mans friend, and with the state of world affairs it would be shameful for this great country of ours to be caught unawares." - President Roosevelt.
The Bill is expected to pass with a majority vote though some Republicans are suggesting the bill does not go far enough.
US Government Warns Nazi Germany
The US Government has issued a warning to the German Government about attempting to sell Military equipment to South American Governments. The United States firmly states that the Americas are not the domain of any European power and any attempt to influence it to the contrary could result in economic sanctions.
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