White Rose Republic

He had done it. He had finally done it. Victory was all his.

He surveyed the scene calmly. Everything had been so tense when he had entered the large, dark room that he had only taken in the significant details. Now, as he sat back with a feeling of euphoria, he noticed much more. The room was very large, and was made to seem even more spacious by its emptiness. The thin layer of dust which covered every surface belied the fact that this was an opulent house. There was nothing in the centre of the room. Michael’s eyes ran along the walls. There were a few old paintings, the room was too dark to see what they were; there was a large, but simple desk close to one wall, and several bookcases. The bookcases were filled with books which surprised Michael; there weren’t many books around anymore, and very few people had time to read. The only light came from a very dim bulb, which hung from a wire over the main door, and from the moon, which was shining through the large windows which dominated the side of the room opposite to the door.

It was this side of the room, close to the wall, where Michael was sitting. There were two armchairs, separated by a little, circular table. This arrangement made the meeting seem a lot more informal than it really was. Despite the formality of the evening, Michael was slouching backwards in his deep chair, his clean boots were propped up on the table, and there was a lit cigarette in his mouth. The other chair had tipped over onto its side. Lying next to the chair was a twisted corpse. The eyes were open wide in shock, as was the mouth. It was as if this person were trying to scream for help, trying to call to the enormous guards waiting outside the far away door. The throat was already turning dark through bruising. The head was looking off at an extraordinary angle, his neck was clearly broken. This corpse had belonged to the general secretary of the party, the same party that Michael belonged to.

As he gazed at the corpse once more the feeling of euphoria slowly drained from Michael, and a grim expression took hold of his face. “Vixerunt,” Michael said in a low voice. Michael cast his gaze out of the window to his right. The moon was less than half full, and obscured by thin clouds, so only a slight, pale silver light was cast over the inside of the room, and the ground outside. These grounds were large; they extended from the back of the house, right around to the side. The open ground was punctuated regularly with statues, fountains and hedges. Michael could hardly see the line of trees just beyond the wall which surrounded the grounds, but he knew they were there. The wind, whilst not nearly as strong as it had been for the past few weeks, cased the bows of the trees to sway in half hidden motion. When looked at directly it was hard to tell if a tree were swaying, or if it were just the mind seeing things. Other motions could also just be discerned outside. Dark shapes seemed to be moving out from the trees and over the wall.

Michael took a long drag from his cigarette. He had briefly been a smoker, starting when he was fourteen, but had been forced to give it up a few years later, when cigarettes had started disappearing in the country, and then they eventually ran out for good. Cigarettes were just part of a long list of items that Michael had known in his lifetime which had either become extremely rare, or had vanished entirely from the British Isles within the last decade or so. He looked at the body on the floor for the last time; he started to feel saddened. He had not wanted to kill the General Secretary, Josh, but he had been driven to this act, as heinous as it was. So too had the other conspirators.

He hardened his heart, stood up and took one step so that he was next to a door which opened onto a balcony. Steeling himself he opened the door. This night was much calmer than the night before, when the remnants of a storm had raged. There had been several bad storms that month, and throughout the early parts of winter. Michael decided that the rain and the wind finally dying down, for what seemed like the first time in a very long while, was a good sign.

The shadows which he had glimpsed darting over the wall had multiplied; there were now dozens in the grounds below the balcony, shifting around silently. Looking over to his left he could just see two shadows moving slowly towards another. He couldn't see any details, but he heard the sound of gravel suddenly crunching, and a stifled scream. That was all it took. All of a sudden there was a cry of alarm further along that side of the house. This cry was taken up by several other, much quieter ones even further away, around the corner of the house. Action seemed to break out simultaneously everywhere. The shadows below Michael started to move with great urgency. Gunshots began to ring out.

Michael shot a look over his shoulder, his makeshift barricade in front of the door was holding up, despite the pounding and the shouting from the guards outside. The gunfire intensified. The shadows in the grounds below Michael started to run for cover, as guards moved around the corners of the house. It looked for a moment as if the people below Michael would be enveloped by the guards running around the two corners of the house, but the steady trickle of shadows leaping over the wall turned into a torrent. Seemingly as soon as their feet touched ground inside the walls they began to run towards either corner of the house, shouting and firing as they ran. These reinforcements stopped the advance of the guards dead in their tracks.

Somewhere over to Michael’s right, a grenade went off. After the deafening sound of the explosion everything seemed to fall silent for the briefest of moments, but then the screaming began, as men and women cried out for their parents, or crawled around on the ground looking for lost body parts. Michael looked away in disgust. He couldn’t tell which side those people had been on, as the fighting was at such close quarters, but it wouldn’t have lessened the horror regardless of what side they were on.

It was shortly after the grenade had gone off that Michael saw what he had been waiting for. Several people leapt over the wall. They all began to run straight forward towards the balcony. Four of them carried what looked like a sheet between them, and there were three other people at the back of the group. At a command from one of the three, they all took cover next to a dry fountain. The one who had given the command stood bravely, defiantly on the side of the fountain and called out “Secretary Josh is dead! Lay down your arms and surrender!” There were mixed cries of anguish and fury from the two flanks of the fighting. The guards fired insults and bullets at the woman who was stood on the fountain, renewing their assault. One of the bullets caught her in the arm, near the shoulder. If she had made a sound, then it was too quiet for Michael to hear. She calmly stepped down from the fountain, took cover and examined the wound. Even Michael had to take cover as a spray of machine gun fire was sent into the balcony and the wall next to him.

The guards had finally broken through the barricade. Several of them burst into the large room. Immediately they spotted the body on the floor. Two of them rushed over to it, examining it, checking for any sign of life. The rest of them went past the body, guns at the ready, towards the open door, and Michael.

He took action immediately. He leapt up onto the side of the balcony, standing tall. The guards moved towards him. People below him started to yell out. Michael knew that some of them would be taking aim at him. Two of the guards had handguns, one had an old hunting rifle, and the rest had crude cudgels. Some of them bared their teeth at him. They continued to move forwards, knowing that Michael was cornered, seeing the desperation of his situation. The guards with guns took aim, the others, with the cudgels, moved even closer, to within a pace of the door.

Michael raised one corner of his mouth in a confident smile and spread his arms. A couple of the guards looked confused. The guards with the handguns lowered them slightly. The others who had been coming towards him paused in the doorway, shocked by his confidence. Now, Michael thought to himself. He let out a cool, mocking laugh, and leant backwards. He started to fall to the ground, arms still outstretched. For a brief moment he felt like he was soaring. He didn't know what was about to happen. This was truly a leap into the unknown.

The guard with the rifle managed to let off a single shot before Michael was gone, but the shot whistled past Michael, the age of the gun not allowing for any accuracy.

What must only have been a second or two, felt like forever to Michael, plummeting to earth from the third storey balcony. The last part, however, happened in an instant. He knew he'd come to a stop, but he felt no pain. He felt cushioned somehow. It was when he saw four faces peering down at him, smiling, that he was certain his plan had succeeded. The guards who had been ready to kill Michael only a few moments ago came to the edge of the balcony and looked over it. Michael Grinned at them, and gave them a mock salute. They froze in place as more than twenty guns were raised and aimed at them.

The fighting had now gone around the corners of the house, and it sounded as if it were dying down, so Michael felt secure enough to stand in the open, as did the soldiers around him. Michael noticed that the sheet which he had been caught in was actually the party flag, a large white rose on a red background. That was great touch that not even Michael had thought of.

The guards on the balcony had raised their arm in surrender. Michael listened for a moment, the fighting had ceased around the house. The last shot had been fired.

Michael looked around himself, elated that his audacious plan had come to fruition. He studied the faces of the brave men and women surrounding him. These people had been picked by hand from the many party members. They all saluted at Michael when his gaze fell on them.

The 3 people who had accompanied the flag bearers then came up to Michael. They were all members of the central council, like Michael. Two were women, the other was a man. The woman who had been shot on the fountain was the first to address Michael. She was called Florence, and was the head of the party's security forces. “Comrade, our plan went off without a hitch!” Michael noticed the growing stain of blood on her jacket. He doubted Florence had, she was the toughest person he knew. Next to address him was Denis. After Florence, Denis was Michael’s closest ally. He had been a farmer all his life, and was an agricultural expert. This didn't make him entirely useful for plotting the coup which they had just carried out, but Denis was a popular man within the party, and in this age, when food was so scarce, Denis’ skills would be particularly useful in times to come. Lastly, Meera, one of the oldest and most respected members of the party, a woman of great character who had spent much time in jail during the early years of the party, came to congratulate him. This meant the most to Michael. Meera had been his main inspiration to join the party, and his idol for as long as he could remember.

The four members stood in a circle for a few moments, unable to completely grasp the magnitude of what they had just done. Michael was just in the middle of describing what the General Secretary had said to him shortly before he had killed him, when the fanatical guard came for him. He had been lying on the floor, pretending to be dead, waiting for his moment. When there were no soldiers near him, he leapt up, and silently charged at Michael. He had something in his hand, which he held above his head, but Michael never had the chance to see it. He only heard the guard roar as he came within a few strides of him.

Florence was the first to react. She shoved Michael aside, and used the guard’s momentum against him, throwing him to the floor. The guard brushed Denis and brought him down with his bulk. Florence was on him immediately. She pinned him to the ground and used her good arm to bring his into a lock. Half a dozen soldiers were with them a few seconds later, shouting and roaring at the guard. They seized him and took him away to the front of the house, where the rest of the prisoners were being corralled.

One of the soldiers was a medic, who insisted on taking a look at Florence’s arm, the blood stain growing alarmingly big. She made an annoyed sound and turned to Michael, who had just got back to his feet. “There’s no need to linger here much longer,” she said.

Michael agreed, “So let’s get ready to tell the world what we’ve done.” Florence gave him a look. “I think telling them will be harder than doing this in the first place,” she snorted and went off with the medic. Michael turned to the other Council members; their frowns didn’t give him much hope.