(OOC: As those of you who have been following this idea know, I’ve been working at this thread for a good while now. I just wanted to warn you all that, while some parts of it are certainly right up my alley, I don’t think of this thread’s writings as the best of my work. Besides that, they work much better as one post leading into the next rather than one single post, then another. So my posting one daily may not work as well as I would otherwise hope.
But, regardless of my perceived quality of my work or the potential lack of unity, please enjoy Taming a Neighboring Beast.)
[hr]
Coyden, Stratarin, February 29th, 1953
“…and we will not let Bourun dictate what we can or can’t do. Joint military exercises for a secure Gondwana and more economic agreements are HAPPENING!” President Galerkin’s voice carried around the stadium, to the uproarious applause of the people. “And to Bourun threatening vague ‘consequences’ and ‘regretful action,’ I’ll say this: let 'em try! LET THEM TRY! We…” he paused, letting the applause die down some. “We are not going to bow to the whims of a nation that has time and again demonstrated its hatred for our great nation. For we are Stratarin! Say it with me: WE ARE STRATARIN!”
The crowd - comprised of citizens young and old, rich and poor, male and female - bellowed back, “WE ARE STRATARIN!” Galerkin smiled at his audience, satisfied by this display of patriotism.
After the shouts and cheers had died down, a voice from the throng declared, “Stratarin shall perish!” For the second or two following this announcement, confusion reigned on each citizen’s face as he looked around for the speaker.
And suddenly, all was chaos.
An explosion sounded in the back of the crowd, followed by three or four answering explosions. Each detonation was accompanied by a fainter shout of, “For Bourun!” Panic spread like a wildfire among the audience as they began to scatter in all directions. The Secret Service rushed forward instinctively, shielding the shocked President and dragging him from the podium.
“Wh-what is…?” he began, too startled to speak completely coherently.
“Sir, we need to get you away from here!” A Secret Service agent interrupted, pulling the President further away from danger. Though perhaps “danger,” is the wrong word, as the peril had passed. All that remained in the stadium were corpses, cries of sorrow, and screams of pain.
[hr]
Several hours later
“Casualty reports are in.” One of the agents that had shielded the President earlier tossed a report onto Galerkin’s desk. “Over 80 confirmed dead, with an additional 40 wounded.” He sighed. “It’s a mess, sir.”
Galerkin leaned forward on his desk, his hand closing into and opening from a fist as he looked down at the papers. Glancing up, he opened his mouth to ask a question.
Immediately, a rapping came from the door to his office. “Oh, yes, yes, come,” Galerkin beckoned, his voice much less confident and unshakable than before.
Secretary of Intervention Abamon Bovarin stepped in, military cap in hand. “Sir, we’ve just received word that Bourun has declared war and attacked Mirovgrad.”
The only sound for a minute was the light tapping as Galerkin set his spectacles on his desk and buried his face in his hands. Eventually running his fingers up and through his hair, he retrieved his glasses and uttered, voice deathly grim, “Get me congress.”