Helgarossa

Election Eve part two

admin — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 21:39:31 +0000



It’s 3:00 AM and Governor Vermin is in the restroom. All night long he’s been losing fluids. Mostly sweat. A little salvia during the concession speech, and now his tears. Two Texas Ranger body guards stand mute sentry in front of the men’s room door. The pitiful sounds of the most powerful man in Texas weeping like an orphaned infant echo off the cinder block walls within. Between the two men, Vivian leans against the door, smoking a cigarette. When the sobbing stops, she’ll pass beyond… and extract a little additional fluid from the Governor. Experience has shown that he’ll be a lot easier to deal with after that. Out at the bar, the barkeep tells Wyden "We’re all out of sodee pop," they’ll tell him they’re out of water too, when he changes his order… Wyden now thinks it’s time for this "fancy-ass picture taker" to leave the establishment and head back to the hotel. There’s no reason to stay, he’s gotten the shots he’s needed. Buella will no doubt love the concession speech shots. "Froth doth fly…" Wyden chuckles to him self as he flags one of the last remaining cabs. It’s well after four when Wyden opens the door to his room to find the telephone ringing. It’s Buella. "I’m so glad I got through to you, You need to get to the train station immediatly! I’ve had the newsroom reserve you a ticket on the 6:10 express to Indianoplis. Seems there was a Women’s Right to vote rally up there last night! It got ugly… The police waded into them with shotguns and clubs. "I want to run a full blown photo essay on the Women’s struggle for voting rights in the frontier states. Perhaps you can win us another journalism award with those marvelous pictures of yours!" Wyden is asleep before his head touches the headrest. The coach rumbles north through Tennessee and Missouri, bound for the Indiana state line.

It’s 3:00 AM and Governor Vermin is in the restroom.
All night long he’s been losing fluids. Mostly sweat. A little salvia during the concession speech, and now his tears.

Two Texas Ranger body guards stand mute sentry in front of the men’s room door. The pitiful sounds of the most powerful man in Texas weeping like an orphaned infant echo off the cinder block walls within.

Between the two men, Vivian leans against the door, smoking a cigarette.

When the sobbing stops, she’ll pass beyond… and extract a little additional fluid from the Governor.

Experience has shown that he’ll be a lot easier to deal with after that.

Out at the bar, the barkeep tells Wyden "We’re all out of sodee pop,"
they’ll tell him they’re out of water too, when he changes his order…
Wyden now thinks it’s time for this "fancy-ass picture taker" to leave the establishment and head back to the hotel.

There’s no reason to stay, he’s gotten the shots he’s needed. Buella will no doubt love the concession speech shots. "Froth doth fly…" Wyden chuckles to him self as he flags one of the last remaining cabs.

It’s well after four when Wyden opens the door to his room to find the telephone ringing. It’s Buella.

"I’m so glad I got through to you, You need to get to the train station immediatly! I’ve had the newsroom reserve you a ticket on the 6:10 express to Indianoplis. Seems there was a Women’s Right to vote rally up there last night! It got ugly… The police waded into them with shotguns and clubs.

"I want to run a full blown photo essay on the Women’s struggle for voting rights in the frontier states. Perhaps you can win us another journalism award with those marvelous pictures of yours!"

Wyden is asleep before his head touches the headrest. The coach rumbles north through Tennessee and Missouri, bound for the Indiana state line.

Election Eve part one

admin — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 17:40:25 +0000



It’s game time… All the work. All the money. All the back room deals… Tonight it all plays out. In the morning there’ll be winners… and losers. This one’s a real toss-up. It’s going to go down to the wire. The Old Man and Antiem have had their ears glued to the telephone. Been like that all night. The party lackies are about to wet their pants, and Templeton with that pit bull Pedal both look like they had raw pork for lunch. I prefer good bourbon. It keeps me from losing my perspective and it’s going to be a long night. Sometime around two the returns from rural Missouri come in. There’s a loud shout from the men huddled around the black board. BMF has dropped the phone. He and Anteim embrace… Shit, I never thought I’d see that! Klensor, that gangly goon, has actually saved our bacon. He pulled in the frontier vote. Damn if we didn’t steal this election right out from under Ole Vermin’s ass! I bet right about now he’s frothing at the mouth! The excitement is starting to build. Cheering and confetti start to fill the hall. I walk over to the corner where Templeton and Pedal have been camped-out all night. I have been saving some decent stogies for just this sort of occasion. "Congratulations mister Vice President Elect, have a cigar." He looks shell shocked, "I don’t think it’s sunk in yet," he manages to stammer out. "T-Thank you, b-but I don’t smoke…" Before I can retract my offer, that little weasel Pedal snatches the stogie from my hand. He looks me square in the eye and says, "Hell, I’ll smoke the damn thing, got a light?"

It’s game time…

All the work. All the money. All the back room deals…
Tonight it all plays out. In the morning there’ll be winners… and losers. This one’s a real toss-up. It’s going to go down to the wire.

The Old Man and Antiem have had their ears glued to the telephone. Been like that all night. The party lackies are about to wet their pants, and Templeton with that pit bull Pedal both look like they had raw pork for lunch.

I prefer good bourbon. It keeps me from losing my perspective and it’s going to be a long night.

Sometime around two the returns from rural Missouri come in.
There’s a loud shout from the men huddled around the black board. BMF has dropped the phone. He and Anteim embrace…
Shit, I never thought I’d see that!

Klensor, that gangly goon, has actually saved our bacon. He pulled in the frontier vote. Damn if we didn’t steal this election right out from under Ole Vermin’s ass!
I bet right about now he’s frothing at the mouth!

The excitement is starting to build. Cheering and confetti start to fill the hall. I walk over to the corner where Templeton and Pedal have been camped-out all night. I have been saving some decent stogies for just this sort of occasion.

"Congratulations mister Vice President Elect, have a cigar."

He looks shell shocked, "I don’t think it’s sunk in yet," he manages to stammer out. "T-Thank you, b-but I don’t smoke…"

Before I can retract my offer, that little weasel Pedal snatches the stogie from my hand. He looks me square in the eye and says, "Hell, I’ll smoke the damn thing, got a light?"

Agenda dresses for the rally

admin — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 22:57:10 +0000



Agenda dresses for the rally. Early November winds buffet the north windows of the librarian’s 3rd floor walk-up. The cheap bastard landlord has yet to fire up the boiler. It’s above freezing on the inside of the glass, but just barely. Agenda Jones pays the weather little heed. She has donned her suffragette’s uniform. Made of wool, with long sleeves and a full length pleated skirt, it provides ample proof against the winter chill. Librarian and covert recruiter for the cause by day, activist and secret lover by night, Miss Jones finds the peril of her clandestine duality powerfully arousing. Tonight she must look perfect… for the noble cause, for her sisters, and especially for… Annabell. The street banner stands at the ready. Tonight it will be carried with pride. The planned march will take them down Indiana Street from the park to the square. There, in front of the monument, they would rally, making speeches and singing till the dawn. This year they vowed not to allow the police goons with their clubs to intimidate them. They would hold their ground! Tonight they would be heard! Unbeknownst to the council, the police chief has ordered every third member of the riot squad to be equipped with a shotgun… just in case the clubs no longer have their desired effect.

Agenda dresses for the rally.

Early November winds buffet the north windows of the librarian’s 3rd floor walk-up. The cheap bastard landlord has yet to fire up the boiler. It’s above freezing on the inside of the glass, but just barely.

Agenda Jones pays the weather little heed. She has donned her suffragette’s uniform. Made of wool, with long sleeves and a full length pleated skirt, it provides ample proof against the winter chill.

Librarian and covert recruiter for the cause by day, activist and secret lover by night, Miss Jones finds the peril of her clandestine duality powerfully arousing.

Tonight she must look perfect…
for the noble cause, for her sisters, and especially for… Annabell.

The street banner stands at the ready. Tonight it will be carried with pride.

The planned march will take them down Indiana Street from the park to the square. There, in front of the monument, they would rally, making speeches and singing till the dawn. This year they vowed not to allow the police goons with their clubs to intimidate them. They would hold their ground! Tonight they would be heard!

Unbeknownst to the council, the police chief has ordered every third member of the riot squad to be equipped with a shotgun… just in case the clubs no longer have their desired effect.

White cuff and Hunkeshriek requested

admin — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 18:03:00 +0000



White cuff and Hunkeshriek requested. The crackle of burning pines fuses with the musty odor of archaic taxidermy and old cigars. Grudgingly the chill pre-winter vapors are dispelled from the great wooden hall. This afternoon finds Fräut Boring playing the role of family matriarch. Her favorite niece “Moeche” is enjoying a brief stay in the guest wing while on leave from her panzet unit. They are discussing the guest list options for a very important occasion. One of the young 2nd cousin’s is coming of age. Her “Bludtagnacht” is to be attended by a most select and exclusive list of guests. Great care is being given to the selection process. Moeche jauntily reclines in a leather chair feeding carrots to the miniature mountain buffalo running loose at her side. Auntie Boring continues to scan her oft revised dignitary list. “We must of course include someone from the fFixen Klan, I was thinking of your 3rd cousin Glitchen…” “She’s not any fun at all!” Moeche announces. “No she’s not.” Replies Fräut Boring. “But she must be invited anyway! Now please assist me with these preparations. We’ll need to have the invites sent out directly. The lunar phases won’t abide us any more time for procrastination!” “Jawohl– meine Tante”. Moeche answers with a fain salute. A new aroma suddenly announces it’s arrival in the great hall… The mountain Hunke has just shit upon the floor. “Oh Dieter, come quickly! Deal with this– unpleasantness…” “Now where were we?…”

White cuff and Hunkeshriek requested.

The crackle of burning pines fuses with the musty odor of archaic taxidermy and old cigars.
Grudgingly the chill pre-winter vapors are dispelled from the great wooden hall.

This afternoon finds Fräut Boring playing the role of family matriarch.
Her favorite niece “Moeche” is enjoying a brief stay in the guest wing while on leave from her panzet unit.
They are discussing the guest list options for a very important occasion.

One of the young 2nd cousin’s is coming of age.
Her “Bludtagnacht” is to be attended by a most select and exclusive list of guests.
Great care is being given to the selection process.

Moeche jauntily reclines in a leather chair feeding carrots to the miniature mountain buffalo running loose at her side. Auntie Boring continues to scan her oft revised dignitary list.

“We must of course include someone from the fFixen Klan, I was thinking of your 3rd cousin Glitchen…”

“She’s not any fun at all!” Moeche announces.

“No she’s not.” Replies Fräut Boring. “But she must be invited anyway!
Now please assist me with these preparations. We’ll need to have the invites sent out directly.
The lunar phases won’t abide us any more time for procrastination!”

“Jawohl– meine Tante”. Moeche answers with a fain salute.

A new aroma suddenly announces it’s arrival in the great hall…
The mountain Hunke has just shit upon the floor.

“Oh Dieter, come quickly! Deal with this– unpleasantness…”

“Now where were we?…”

Dreadnaught of the desert

admin — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 23:58:10 +0000



Dreadnaught of the desert. On the steel deck, just to the side of the gun platform, the newsreel crew has positioned their camera. Wyden and the other members of the press are just behind the safety railing. As he adjusts his aperture, and reminds himself not to step back… It’s a long way down to the desert floor… “Overlooking the vital Califinnland gap in southwest Texas, a modern marvel of military engineering prepares to join the arsenal of the Texas National Guard. Fortress S.D. Eye, hewn out of the solid granite rock bluff, and built by the renown fFrench engineering firm le Maginot, serves as both a powerful deterrent against aggression, and symbol of Lone Star pride. Housing a garrison of nearly 1,200 troops within its impregnable steel and rock walls, the fortress’ mighty 14 inch guns, deployed high above the desert floor, have the range and firepower to dominate this critical sector of the frontier. It’s a sure bet those mountain Fräuten will think twice before picking a fight along the frontier now that the mighty guns of Fortress S.D. Eye stand vigilant sentinel. General Garlin Armstrong is at his pretty wife’s side as she hoists the ceremonial champagne bottle. With a decisive blow, the champagne shatters upon a massive cannon barrel. The band strikes up Trixie as the great fortress is officially declared “Ready for service”. Presidential candidate Governor Worsthyn Vermin is in attendance and gives one of his famous Texas-style stump speeches. The crowd heartily applaud… and then the party begins.” Within an hour the Texans have drank themselves stupid. Wyden wisely decides to stick with the lemonade.

Dreadnaught of the desert.

On the steel deck, just to the side of the gun platform, the newsreel crew has positioned their camera. Wyden and the other members of the press are just behind the safety railing. As he adjusts his aperture, and reminds himself not to step back… It’s a long way down to the desert floor…

“Overlooking the vital Califinnland gap in southwest Texas, a modern
marvel of military engineering prepares to join the arsenal of the Texas National Guard.

Fortress S.D. Eye, hewn out of the solid granite rock bluff, and built by the renown fFrench engineering firm le Maginot, serves as both a powerful deterrent against aggression, and symbol of Lone Star pride.

Housing a garrison of nearly 1,200 troops within its impregnable steel and rock walls, the fortress’ mighty 14 inch guns, deployed high above the desert floor, have the range and firepower to dominate this critical sector of the frontier.

It’s a sure bet those mountain Fräuten will think twice before picking a fight along the frontier now that the mighty guns of Fortress S.D. Eye stand vigilant sentinel.

General Garlin Armstrong is at his pretty wife’s side as she hoists the ceremonial champagne bottle. With a decisive blow, the champagne shatters upon a massive cannon barrel. The band strikes up Trixie as the great fortress is officially declared “Ready for service”.

Presidential candidate Governor Worsthyn Vermin is in attendance and gives one of his famous Texas-style stump speeches. The crowd heartily applaud… and then the party begins.”

Within an hour the Texans have drank themselves stupid.

Wyden wisely decides to stick with the lemonade.

Moeche in the morning

admin — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 00:16:34 +0000



Moeche in the morning. The ride characteristics of a mark III panzet fall short of the comfort of Moeche’s Mercedes coupe. Her tank platoon rolls through colored smoke in a play battle. They are rehearsing an assault upon a "fortified enemy village". The Majoret spent most of last night mapping out the brigade’s attack routes. She aspires to someday wear general’s epaulets. Moeche’s far to hung-over to bother with maps, she has all she can do just to hang on to the turret ring. Suddenly, out of the smoke the Majoret rolls up in her scout car. "Were the doodle have you been? You’re ten minutes late! This sort of incompetence gets people killed!" Moeche manages a half-hearted salute. "Jawohl, meine Majoret, we experienced mechanical difficulties." "Difficulties, what manner of difficulties?" Abruptly the turret side hatch opens and korporalet Grötessa explosively empties the contents of her stomach all over the side of the panzet. The bile permeated bouquet sends a spasm of nausea boiling up the back of Moeche’s throat. "What the hell is this?", shrieks the Majoret. Repressing her own gag reflex with remarkable success, Moeche calmly replies,"Vomit, meine Majoret".

Moeche in the morning.

The ride characteristics of a mark III panzet fall short of the comfort of Moeche’s Mercedes coupe.

Her tank platoon rolls through colored smoke in a play battle. They are rehearsing an assault upon a
"fortified enemy village".

The Majoret spent most of last night mapping out the brigade’s attack routes.
She aspires to someday wear general’s epaulets.

Moeche’s far to hung-over to bother with maps, she has all she can do just to hang on to the turret ring.

Suddenly, out of the smoke the Majoret rolls up in her scout car.
"Were the doodle have you been? You’re ten minutes late! This sort of incompetence gets people killed!"

Moeche manages a half-hearted salute. "Jawohl, meine Majoret, we experienced mechanical difficulties."

"Difficulties, what manner of difficulties?"

Abruptly the turret side hatch opens and korporalet Grötessa explosively empties the contents of her stomach all over the side of the panzet. The bile permeated bouquet sends a spasm of nausea boiling up the back of Moeche’s throat.

"What the hell is this?", shrieks the Majoret.
Repressing her own gag reflex with remarkable success, Moeche calmly replies,"Vomit, meine Majoret".

Glitchen and the plan

admin — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 23:50:02 +0000



Glitchen and the plan. A formidable opponent, impossible time constraints, insufficient resources, and immense distances… Such is the state of the current plans. It’s almost midnight. Just one more file folder off the pile and she will call it a night… Glitchen has considered the logistics, the production figures, the maps… she’s been at it day and night for weeks now… She has a true gift. A very special talent. She can take figures and graphs and assembles them into organized sets of feasibility studies. Best case, worst case, and somewhere in between. She has yet to submit any of these plans to the Angstchen. They all share one common attribute. They would lose the war. Glitchen begins to reads another “what if”. This one involves a lightning panzet raid, out of Califinnland and into Texas… By dawn she’s drawing the bath trying to come down from 2 liters of caffeine. There’s something about that last scenario that keeps rattling around inside her head. Attack plan R Preemptive Operations to Neutralize Manmerican Offensive Capabilities in Texas and Oklahoma. By General Erina Trouser. Texas? What if the main thrust was directed to the south? By-pass Aurora, and the damn Manmerican army in their trenches. Drive east, fast as Brifa’s arrows, all the way to Louisiana… …and the oil fields!

Glitchen and the plan.

A formidable opponent,
impossible time constraints,
insufficient resources,
and immense distances…
Such is the state of the current plans.

It’s almost midnight. Just one more file folder
off the pile and she will call it a night…

Glitchen has considered the logistics,
the production figures, the maps…
she’s been at it day and night for weeks now…

She has a true gift. A very special talent.
She can take figures and graphs and assembles them into organized
sets of feasibility studies.

Best case, worst case, and somewhere in between.

She has yet to submit any of these plans to the Angstchen.
They all share one common attribute. They would lose the war.

Glitchen begins to reads another “what if”.
This one involves a lightning panzet raid, out of Califinnland and into Texas…

By dawn she’s drawing the bath trying to come down from 2 liters of caffeine.

There’s something about that last scenario that keeps rattling around
inside her head.

Attack plan R
Preemptive Operations to Neutralize Manmerican Offensive Capabilities in Texas and Oklahoma.
By General Erina Trouser.

Texas? What if the main thrust was directed to the south? By-pass Aurora,
and the damn Manmerican army in their trenches. Drive east, fast as Brifa’s arrows,
all the way to Louisiana…

…and the oil fields!

Inspector General for Military Preparedness

admin — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 16:58:13 +0000



Inspector General for Military Preparedness. It’s Templeton’s first blue house press conference. He stands beside the president in the oval office, wearing a brand new suit. He looks like a scarecrow trussed to a post… Templeton really needs to find a decent tailor. The president has just appointed him “Inspector General for Military Preparedness.” BMF then introduces him to the selected press with a small speech about the “Great Importance” of this new oversight department. It’s all complete bull, but they write it down anyways. BMF fields a couple of questions, followed by a brief photo session. The sudden fusillade of flash bulbs leaves Templeton blind as well as speechless. Just as Aalph had planned… LATER… Colonel Pyling sits in the receptionist area of Aalph’s west wing office waiting for his appointment. He picks up the latest edition of the Aurora Luminous. The headline reads, KlENSOR APPOINTED TO NEW “WAR” POST “War Post? Aw shit…” The door opens, and Aalph’s sinister smile beckons him to enter. “Colonel Pyling, let me intoduce you to Congressman Templeton Klensor…”

Inspector General for Military Preparedness.

It’s Templeton’s first blue house press conference. He stands beside the president in the oval office, wearing a brand new suit. He looks like a scarecrow trussed to a post… Templeton really needs to find a decent tailor.

The president has just appointed him “Inspector General for Military Preparedness.” BMF then introduces him to the selected press with a small speech about the “Great Importance” of this new oversight department. It’s all complete bull, but they write it down anyways.

BMF fields a couple of questions, followed by a brief photo session. The sudden fusillade of flash bulbs leaves Templeton blind as well as speechless.

Just as Aalph had planned…

LATER…

Colonel Pyling sits in the receptionist area of Aalph’s west wing office waiting for his appointment. He picks up the latest edition of the Aurora Luminous. The headline reads, KlENSOR APPOINTED TO NEW
“WAR” POST

“War Post? Aw shit…”

The door opens, and Aalph’s sinister smile beckons him to enter.

“Colonel Pyling, let me intoduce you to Congressman Templeton Klensor…”

Wyden in Buella’s office

admin — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 19:44:10 +0000



Wyden In Buella’s office. October rains wash the summer’s heat from the Savannah sky. The cooler air is a pleasant reprieve from the swelter. Wyden slept well that previous evening… too well! Now he is running through the elements, tardy for an important engagement. Awaiting patiently in her 12th floor office, the richest women in all of Georgia, Madame Buella Bellen glances at her wall clock. “He’s late again…” The owner and chief managing editor of the Savannah Bellen-Revue is not known for her forbearance, yet somehow for Wyden, an exception is usually granted. She offers him tea and light coversation until his breathing slows, then gracefully switches the topic to the task at hand. “There’s a new photo assignment I’d like to offer for your consideration.” “We want to shoot a photo essay on the launching of that battleship those damn fool Texans have buried into the desert… Fortress S.D. Eye”. “You know, my father had some dealings with old S.D., back when I was a little girl. Daddy never held much regard for Mr. Eye. A most unscrupulous man was he…” “As I was saying… this story will dovetail nicely with the new military panic that’s sweeping our fair nation. Governor Vermin will be in attendance along with his Texas parasites. After that you could follow them back to Austin. I’ve secured press credentials for the Regressive party’s election eve gala. I’d like some good shots of Vermin with froth flying from his mouth as he gives his concession speech!”

Wyden In Buella’s office.

October rains wash the summer’s heat from the Savannah sky.
The cooler air is a pleasant reprieve from the swelter.

Wyden slept well that previous evening… too well!

Now he is running through the elements, tardy for an important engagement.

Awaiting patiently in her 12th floor office, the richest women in all of Georgia,
Madame Buella Bellen glances at her wall clock.

“He’s late again…”

The owner and chief managing editor of the Savannah Bellen-Revue is not known
for her forbearance, yet somehow for Wyden, an exception is usually granted.

She offers him tea and light coversation until his breathing slows,
then gracefully switches the topic to the task at hand.

“There’s a new photo assignment I’d like to offer for your consideration.”

“We want to shoot a photo essay on the launching of that battleship
those damn fool Texans have buried into the desert… Fortress S.D. Eye”.

“You know, my father had some dealings with old S.D., back when I was a little girl.
Daddy never held much regard for Mr. Eye. A most unscrupulous man was he…”

“As I was saying… this story will dovetail nicely with the new military panic
that’s sweeping our fair nation. Governor Vermin will be in attendance along with
his Texas parasites. After that you could follow them back to Austin. I’ve secured
press credentials for the Regressive party’s election eve gala. I’d like some good
shots of Vermin with froth flying from his mouth as he gives his concession speech!”

Moeche’s night out

admin — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 16:13:12 +0000



Moeche’s night out. The cadence of bone repeatedly smashing into granite has lost some of its excitement by now. Although Grötessa continues her task with only somewhat diminished gusto, Moeche has lost interest. She’s a little unsteady on her feet. The combined effects of too much champagne and too little food has left her without her usual ambitious spirit. In the distance a chorus of sirens and ack-ack bursts waft through the late autumn trees. The Brifish are bombing das Kapital… Auntie Boring will have hell to pay over this in the morning! Light up a cigarette… A final swig from the bottle… One more kick for good measure… and Moeche’s about ready to call it a night. They just can’t help themselves from a naughty giggle as they throw the broken twig off the overpass. One last “Thwack!” echos off the trees. Even the sirens are falling silent. The next morning, the Polizei will commence an investigation. It will never lead to an arrest.

Moeche’s night out.

The cadence of bone repeatedly smashing into granite has lost some of its excitement by now.

Although Grötessa continues her task with only somewhat diminished gusto, Moeche has lost interest. She’s a little unsteady on her feet.

The combined effects of too much champagne and too little food has left her without her usual ambitious spirit. In the distance a chorus of sirens and ack-ack bursts waft through the late autumn trees.

The Brifish are bombing das Kapital…
Auntie Boring will have hell to pay over this in the morning!

Light up a cigarette…
A final swig from the bottle…
One more kick for good measure…
and Moeche’s about ready to call it a night.

They just can’t help themselves from a naughty giggle as they throw the broken twig off the overpass. One last “Thwack!” echos off the trees.

Even the sirens are falling silent.

The next morning, the Polizei will commence an investigation.
It will never lead to an arrest.