When Words Fail, Guns Will Do

[callmedelta]

First Chamberman Isaac Dufour Jr. was in a good mood, and he'd be in a lot better of one once this meeting was over. Elections were on the horizon in Franerre, the PPD wasn't polling the best, and one of Verenes' aids had just informed him that the negotiations with those traitorous protesters had fallen through. A lesser man would have seen his position as terrible. Dufour saw his position as an opportunity. All this situation needed were some men with guns. As much as Dufour wished he could simply call in the army, he was not the idiot the SNF made him out to be, and he had learned his lesson since 1925. Isaac simply had to be subtle about the matter.

He looked across his desk at the two men that sat down. The first was Emeric du Toot. Dufour's own nephew and a Chamberman for the PPD, he was the one Dufour wanted to lead the party when he was gone. That day may not be for some time yet, but the day could come sooner than later, if the explosion at his party headquarters had taught him anything. It was a stroke of luck that the man just recovered from a case of tuberculosis, and couldn't be at the party headquarters that evening. Emeric was a bit taller than Dufour himself, blonde hair rather than black, and a darker skin tone compared to Isaac's own more Lusatian features, but the best things about him was his sharp mind, ability to quickly adapt, and similar sensibilities to Dufour's own. The second man was Paul Carbone. Carbone was a short, round man with a shrewd mind and few scruples. Paul wore a fine suit and hat, though it did little for his looks. The constant stench of cigarette smoke on him did him no favors. He ran Le Rostonne, a useful little organization that had been used by quite a few of Dufour's business associates to put down labor movements before. These protests were far, far too large for his organization to handle traditionally, but this wouldn't be a traditional job. 

"You've an important job today, Mr. Carbone."

"Aren't they always important jobs with you, monsieur?" Carbone asked, the faintest hint of alcohol on his breath.

"Then consider it extra important today, Carbone," Dufour said, "Which is why you're getting quadruple your usual rate for it."

Carbone raised his eyebrows. "Let me guess, you're finally pulling the trigger on putting down those protests?" 

"Funny that you should use that phrase," Dufour said, "That's exactly what I need some of your men to do. A few quick men, a few revolvers. Quick and easy." 

"A few men, a few revolvers, and a lot of money? Sounds like the perfect job, monsieur," Carbone said with a chuckle. "Will the money come the usual way?" 

"I don't know if we'll have you catering any parties soon, Carbone, but we'll find some other way to get your money to you, rest assured. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have private matters to discuss with my nephew."

"Very well then, monsieur," the short man said, pushing his chair out from Dufour's desk and taking his leave.

"Why much such a detestable man be so useful?" Emeric asked a heartbeat after he was sure Paul was out of earshot. 

"You will find many detestable things useful in life and in politics," Dufour answered, "To throw them away because you dislike them is a waste, Emeric. If you waste them, someone else will pick them up, and you will find yourself facing down a stronger opponent. Now, what would you do in my situation to get rid of those protests, Emeric?" 

"We need to call in the Army," Emeric answered, "I understand why you haven't so far, but with the proper shaping of events from the newspapers, you could take a short term hit in our popularity rather than the long drain these protests have proven to be." Dufour opened his mouth to reply, but Emeric continued, "After the dusts settles, we would need to create an organization to control these disaffected veterans. They are a tool we shouldn't waste." 

Dufour smiled. "You are half right, my dear nephew. Let me enlighten you on your role to play in this tale..."

---

Dufour relaxed into his favorite seat, Dr. Wellington preparing the medicine beside him. The pain in his arm grew less and less each day, thankfully, but Dufour wanted to be sure he made a full recovery. As Dr. Wellington injected his arm with the morphine, Isaac knew that today had been a great day.

[callmedelta]

Jericho's hand didn't leave the revolver in his coat as he slipped further into the crowd of protesters, chanting along with their slogans. With a crowd this thick, he couldn't afford any mistakes. He could see one of his partners, Florent, carrying a sign already closer to the front of the protests. 'We Fought. We Bled. We Deserve A Say,' the sign read. Isaiah and Dany were nowhere to be seen, but they could handle themselves. Jericho looked up to the clocktowers the police had sat their barricade in front of. This was not too far from the Royal Palace, and with the protests' republican message, they wouldn't be getting too close to the palace. That and the National Chamber were the only places the police had worried about defending. The protests had been almost entirely peaceful, after all. It was five minutes to one o'clock. Five minutes for the men to get into position.

As he drew closer and closer to the front, Jericho could even see the big man himself at the front speaking. Antione Claude. His hand tightened on his revolver, looking up at the clock. Two minutes to showtime. Jericho could even get a glance at the police barricade now. There was a short distance, three meters maybe, between the front of the protests where Claude stood standing on a box and the police with their batons ready, just in case.

"For too long, we've lived in this country without a real say in the government!" Claude said to the crowd, "We've gone through sham election after sham election, with nothing changing! That's all we want, real change! A real way for our voices to be heard!"

One minute to showtime. Jericho tightened the grip on his revolver, getting up close to Claude. Time to get rid of these protests.

---

Tristan surveyed the crowd from the second-story window, notepad in hand. Nicolo, the man from La Rostonne standing next to him, looked up at the clock tower across the street. “One minute to show time, reporter,” Nicolo said, “It’s about time I take my leave. Plausible deniability, and all. Our part in this whole thing’s over, with any luck.”

‘For a man who supposedly cares about plausible deniability, he sure talks too much,’ Tristan thought, scribbling down some notes about the crowd as Nicolo walked away. There were some soldiers in the crowd Tristan could see, their brown uniforms and flat caps making them stand out like little brown islands in the sea of people. He couldn’t say it was one of those protesting soldiers who had fired the shots — the PPD couldn’t demonize them specifically. It was a shame there wasn’t much of anyone else in the crowd who stood out that Tristan could demonize specifically, Claude himself notwithstanding. At the very least, Tristan knew what the men would say as they fired their revolvers. Tristan himself had recommended the line. His only hope was that those men could shout it loud enough to be heard over the dozens of other chants in the crowd.

---

“A bas la Monarchie! Vive la Claude et le Contremaître!”

Jericho lined up the shot perfectly. There was a row of people in front of him, but with just enough of a gap between them so he could get clean shots off at the policemen on the other side of them. Perhaps he had accidentally hit a protestor. It wasn’t like it mattered to Jericho. The shots from elsewhere in the crowd meant that at least one of the others had done their job right. Jericho slinked back into the crowd before anyone could notice, and soon enough there was a far more pressing concern for everyone else in the crowd as a few scattered shots from the police line returned fire. The panicked return fire soon gave way to a surge of officers with batons, rather than bullets. It didn’t matter now. There was too much chaos on the crowds as some tried to turn away from the cops, while others, predominantly those in their brown army uniforms, rushed forward to meet them. Jericho slipped among that first group, unnoticed in the chaos.

---

Tristan wished he had a camera advanced enough to capture the moment as the police surged forward like a tide, pushing the crowds back only a little bit before being met by a counter surge of brown. Batons met bodies, and even Claude could be seen running away from the fighting. That was a shame. It would have been nice to imprison him here, but perhaps Dufour could think of a way to spin the turn of events that worked in his favor. Right now, Tristan was focused on scribbling down every little detail as the officers lashed out with batons, the protestors fighting back with whatever means they had in arm's reach. This would be Tristan’s best selling story in a while.

---

[callmedelta]

“We can’t allow these radicals to walk the streets anymore!” Dufour said, standing at the center of the National Chamber, “I’m sure we were all content to let them protest in peace, to shout in the streets for everyone to ignore them, but this movement has proven they have no intent to stay peaceful. The task of containing these radicals would have fallen to the Gendarmerie, but when it was rightfully dissolved following the New Year’s Coup, we had nothing to replace it with. Look where we are now! We have people in the streets actively calling for an end to every single man in this room. If we don’t put an end to this radicalism soon, Franerre may be facing her second coup attempt in as many years, and I will not stand by and allow that to happen! To ensure the continuing prosperity and security of Franerre, though my National Security Bill, I propose today the creation of the Department of Internal Security, a new ministry under the control of the National Chamber to prevent any further threats to our great Kingdom!”

The response from Dufour’s own camp was immediate, the sound of claps drowning out any potential discussion that could be had. For Verenes, this was an absolute nightmare. He could see it already — on his right, almost all the moderates were clapping. The communists and hardline socialists on his left seemed poised to walk out of the National Chamber then and there. Either that or start a brawl on the Chamber floor. Verenes had to make some statement here that wouldn’t cause a civil war in the party. Verenes knew it was a slim shot, but even if it went nowhere, he needed a statement on the matter.

Finally, after the minutes of clapping had subsided, Verenes stood to make his comment. “This all seems too hasty-” Verenes had to raise his voice to be heard above the chorus of shouts and boos hurled his way, “-The brave officers of Pareau’s police were able to handle the situation admirably. An additional department would only lead to more government bloat that you have so harped on and on about for the entirety of the time I’ve known you to be in office.”

“If my choice is between more government bloat and the safety of the government, then by God let this Kingdom get bloated!” came a shout from Dufour’s camp. Verenes couldn’t see who it was exactly, until he stood up and Verenes recognized the man as du Toit. “While Pareau’s police acted admirably, they are only one city, and these protests extend far beyond Pareau. A national organization is needed for a national problem.”

Debate as he might, there was nothing Verenes could do. The National Chamber voted in favor of the National Security Bill 124 to 76.

[Artsy Astra]

In towns across Frannerre, honest workers began an unfortunate step in their movement. The news had well permeated and hit all corners of the king's land. The veterans were fed up and done. The factory workers tired and abused. The peaceful gatherings, browbeat and freedoms were readied to be stripped. What few remained. The land was ripe for the response that seemed to be wanted by those in office. The first was a workers strike that came about almost unanimously, then the veterans contacted those who they still knew in the service. Units began slowing their reports or some outright disappearing at the Battalion level and below. Dissolved into the woods and hills. The few low bureaucrats under their sway have begun sending their own referendums and statements of demands to government offices. If it was a conflict they wanted, they got it.