The Great Ascent - RP Topic

Community Role Playing
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The great Canadian north awaits!

For all those down on their luck-- my friend, don’t give up hope!

Just north of you now lies a tremendous opportunity for wealth and success. Thanks to the prudence of your patriotic government, the North American continent is more united than ever before; and with that union comes prosperity!

Gold, coal, and oil are pouring out of the rockies! My friend, don’t let your economic woes trouble you-- just move north to the rockies, and dig for gold!

For Uncle Sam, for your folks back home–
LET’S BUILD AMERICA!

*Paid for by the United States Department of Labor

The blast had been much smaller than anticipated, but none could quite comprehend the level of catastrophe it wrought.

What had once been the town hall building, with its two stories and thick doors concealing a sizeable interior decorated with all sorts of colors and ribbons, now sadly smoldered in the center of town as a blackened pile of timber. Thick pine smoke billowed up from its edges, where the men in their long grey coats and mountie uniforms had stacked the dynamite.

Yet neither they, nor the hard-faced man who lead them, could realize the willingness of the denizens of this small depot town to cram themselves into the town hall was their easy access to the underground tunnels beneath the building. Swept away from danger, they watched as Mayor Mulder stood with a smile was blown into oblivion at the point of a gun.

Through separate exits the town reemerged, the armored train the invaders descended upon having long departed. Now, as they gathered around the snowy square, Sam Wilbur stands at the side of the beloved mayor, the whole world having grown a lot colder.

There’s a fire in your lungs, however. Not from the smoking ruin; something else demands to burn.

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Emerging from one of the tunnels near a shop, Michael strode towards where the denizens of the town was congregating. He coughed from the dust and debris thrown up by the explosion. While not a citizen of the town, he found himself put out by whoever was on the train and figured it would be best to observe the townspeople. To see their next course of action and whether to move on or aid them. At the very least he owed them the use of their tunnels.

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“O death, where is thy sting?”

Gathered around the square, that was the passage which bored into his mind. It couldn’t be helped when looking at a cadaver - especially one that belong to a good man. And just as at every funeral, with every loss of friend, neighbor, and family alike, that question came back. Where - is - thy - sting?

Right, here. In the gut. The struggling lungs and shuttering ribs. The attempted damming of tears that felt as though only the salt came out and scraped rivers across the eyes. Not even the water, when it finally bursts forth, could relieve it and the redness to come.

But. . . It was not the sting of a bee. Natural, painful, rarely lethal. No, this was a scorpion’s sting. Intent only on killing. And Paul’s words to comfort those in salvation were not enough to quell the burning fire. You let the bee go. You crush the scorpion and its nest.

With watering eyes, his mother’s wisdom came to mind.

“‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’ And I am the one to carry that out!”

In that moment, his father’s rebuttals did not penetrate. It was time he saw some real justice in this world.

“So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, the shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O grave, where is thy victory?”

There was just a small problem he had to solve first.

Finally speaking up in a broken voice, Ronan asked those gathered, “How do we stop them?”

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Benedict stood near the edge of the crowd, his gaze pointed away from the fallen major, his eyes shut and fists clenched. He has seen corpses in far worse condition than Mulder’s, some of which he had cared something for, most of which, however, he felt nothing of such. Yet, something about Mulder’s death felt wrong. He wasn’t a combatant. He didn’t raise a weapon or his voice. They just… shot him where he stood. Yet somehow, Mulder’s death affected Benedict more than he thought it would. Perhaps, Mulder’s warm smile and cheery nature gave Benedict the preposterous sensation of being back home before the war, but Benedict’s conscious mind wouldn’t dare consider that. No, his mind was actively focused on something else.

This is not likely a foreign attack. They had Canadian police uniforms, and foreign invaders would want to make themselves known. Besides, we should be deep enough into Canada that we would have had a warning about an invasion. The United States would have no interest in damaging a mining town, they demand a sizable amount of resources. If they truly were mountie officers, then why would….

His thoughts are cut short from a voice in the crowd demanding action be taken. Seeing no better time to act himself, Benedict pushed his way through the crowd toward the source of the voice and the fallen Mulder.

“There is a different question that we need to ask first,” Benedict said, raising his voice so that he could be better understood through his German accent. “We need to know why they were here, and why they needed to destroy town hall. Did anyone hear them make any demands of Mayor Mulder before they shot him?”

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Silas emerged from the pines, the low rumble of explosives and the scent of burning timber having torn him away from his hunt. At first, he saw no one - the streets empty. That was until he found his way to the now ruined Town Hall. A great crowd had formed, gathered about with murmurs and the low din of dismay.

He heard a man ask from the crowd.

Stop who? he pondered.

A thick German accent answered the first before Silas could tell what had happened - but hearing that the mayor had been shot should have taken him by surprise.
It didn’t.
Nothing surprised him anymore - maybe it was apathy? He couldn’t tell - but this stung.

He didn’t know the mayor personally, inly having met him once or twice when Silas came to town to purchase supplies.

He adjusted his coat and pressed through the crowd until he saw the aftermath. The crimson snow where the mayor’s body lay, the smoldering remains of the Town Hall.

He followed the gaze of the crowd until her spotted two men - must be the ones who asked the first question and the other who responded.

He moved closer, not knowing either man by name - just their faces from his time in town. Not saying a word, be maneuvered through the crowd until he was close enough to hear their conversation clearly, no longer interrupted by the background noise of mourning and shell shocked civilians.

He wanted to know what happened here - needed to know. Something in his gut was telling him that this was more that a simple act of intimidation.

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There was a harsh, rasp growl that came from one of the tunnel entrances, as Granny Nauda hauled herself over the edge. Elijah Wembley had appeared as if by magic beside Sam, laying a heavy hand on the shoulder of the former Mayor. Nauda roughly brushed him out of the way, throwing a large tapestry clearly woven by her over the body.

“Have respect.” She huffed at the pair without turning to look at them. Pushing up off her knees, she shuffled back over to the opening and made a harsh motion towards the head of Tags which peeked out over the edge.

Both Sam and Elijah turned to face Ronan in surprise, something of a rebuking glare from Elijah and Sam’s depressed eyes meeting Ronan’s with satisfaction, as if he saw exactly what he wanted to. Benedict’s question changed both their attitudes, however, with the cold Elijah losing some of his edge and Sam relapsing back into his perpetually sad slump.

With a slight glance back at Elijah, who either did not notice or refused to acknowledge, Sam took off his striped hat and ran his hand through his dirty hair. “It can’t be helped. We don’t have a lot of time left anyhow.”

“Those fellas happen to come in on an armored train.” He gestured at the now empty track outside of town. “That means they built it somewhere further north of here. There ain’t no other lines runnin’ north to the border 'cept this one right here. They can’t take a whole train over the ocean, but they could take parts for one.”

“Meaning?” Sosruko Lomidze spoke, pushing his hat over to scratch the side of his head.

“Bowl-shevicks is what I heard them called.” Sam replied. “Russians.”

Enough eyes landed on Sosruko to make him awkwardly glance around, the incredibly awkward manner of only moving his eyes to accomplish the feat aiding in his failing to make it appear as anything other than suspicious. As was his track record with most things, admittedly.

“They’re havin’ a civil war over there, it seems, and these bowl-shevicks are the ones doin’ the warrin’.” Sam continued, the much taller Elijah standing awkwardly behind him and trying to look like he had been informed of this in advance. “Those gray coats and hats only belong to Russians. But they got mountie uniforms. So they either took ‘em or they’re workin’ with 'em.”

The sound of snow being kicked by a visibly irate Nauda drew attention as Tags, who was tall enough to see over the edge on tiptoe, was relaying everything said down the tunnel, and got a faceful of snow and gravel the next time she looked. “I don’t plan on speakin’ ill of the dead, mind you. But Mulder told me about the town here, in case he got too old someday.”

“About the mountain. About the radio array.”

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Michael continues to observe. Having been in the military he was marginally more well informed. The Bolsheviks, despite their marxist beliefs seem to be wanting Alaska back. Why else would they be all the way out here. Regardless, the Townsfolk seem to have a plan at hand.

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Silas, glanced at those around him then stepped forward.

“Bolsheviks, Canadians - who knows. But unless we want to risk joining the dearly departed, I would suggest we all gather somewhere that isn’t this open. Just because that armored train is gone, doesn’t mean they didn’t leave someone behind with a high powered rifle.”

He paused for a moment to allow the comment to sink in before he continued.

“This is a sniper’s paradise - perhaps we can discuss options elsewhere. Preferably somewhere with four walls and a roof.”

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Kori had heard the massive explosion, the sound still ringing in his ears as he stepped out from the tunnel closer to the north side of town. He could see the smoke coiling out into the sky, and as he walked with a hasty gait, he could see as the many denizens of the town gathered together in consideration of the ruined mess. He pulled to a halt as-

-As Nauda spoke in her usual gravelly tone of voice. He wiped out snow from his eyes and blinked. Straightening, he noticed as Tags peeked over the edge. He turned his gaze inwards towards the growing crowd, staring at the many faces that he was amidst.

His tall frame shifted as Sam spoke. He listened as the man spoke about the mountain. Kori knew the mountain, of course. Even a bit farther up north, one could see the leviathan sized peak, like a blade shearing through the empty grey sky. But then the man said a word not all familiar with him. He had heard it in the past, yes, but only in passing. Never what it was, or why it was important, but only that it existed.

“Radio?”

Kori grunted, his voice rough and splintered, as he cocked his head slightly to the side, like a bird watching a curiosity. Radio. The word felt strange against his chapped lips, though he had neither the time nor the patience to wonder as to what it meant.

What…is he speaking? Is hunter near? Are we hunted?

Kori turned his gaze to the horizon, scanning, watching…wondering. He shook his head. No. There was no time for that. He narrowed his gaze back onto Sam.

“Explain.”

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When Benedict’s first question was added, Ronan’s head tilted up but his eyes stayed on the ground. The words were not an action; they were not an answer. It was a complication, one not to be heard right now. But that homely sensation of his soul being judged and finding those stares, Ronan at least gave it some more consideration. Did knowing the why matter?

No.

If that mattered to him, the mayor, or any of the other citizens then the why would have included them. There would have been real negotiations to avoid bloodshed. The why only resided with the murders and, therefore, has given reason enough for the same.

Ronan gave a half-muttered, “then we should hasten,” in German to that part.

Though as Sam explained, the accursed complications grew. An all too familiar and nasty growth. If these Russians wanted to escape the blood feud and hide, they wouldn’t butcher the sanctuaries. No. They escaped the old country to bring it to new streets. That’s what happens when you can’t claim old familiar roads. Just like so many back home.

Before Ronan could ask anything about the radio, he was distracted by some bizarre and dumbfounding statements. If this was the city, maybe he could see a man being left to station. Out here, in the freezing middle of nowhere?

Ronan was left just befuddled enough for someone else to get a word in before he said something.

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Sam kept his exact same expression but now with his mouth slightly open in clear confusion as Silas continued.

“You get hit on the head recently?”

Elijah glared at his shorter comrade with noticeable disappointment in his eyes, the comrade in question continuing while scratching the inside of his ear. “They pushed the whole town inside and blasted it to nothin’ and you think they’d leave some’un behind to watch it smoke? In this weather?”

Sam sniffed for a moment.

“Most o’few folks came here sometime recently, after the town was settled 'n most people went further north to mine. Mayor Mulder came here 'fore the town existed. He built this town at Uncle Sam’s request, and for one reason.”

Pointing two fingers at the peak, he continued. “There’s a radio array up the mountain that’ll talk from here halfway 'round the world, what I understand. Mulder figured out how it works 'n showed me the way t’use it.”

“Uncle Sam figured there’d be military up this way before long, but now the folk south of us’re hurtin’ bad, what I hear. So nobody’s come up since then.” Sam cast his eyes around, locking them with those of everyone present. “The Russians came down to clear the way. That means they’re comin’ back, and there’s more comin’ with 'em.”

Elijah shifting his stance drew attention towards him, and he subsequently felt compelled to respond. “So we need to sabotage the rail to keep them from heading up the mountain?”

“I’d say no.” Sam glanced down the tracks, watching them extend endlessly into the north. “They’d hear the blast and get here even quicker. We don’t have time to do it by hand, either. Best we can do is get up the mountain 'fore they realize we were ever here.”

“I still think dynamiting the rail gives us enough time to justify doing it.” Elijah mused. “They’ve probably got tools to fix it, as the further north you go the more likely it is to be busted up from an avalanche, and they came from the top. But that’s more valuable time to waste on their part.”

“If we leave without blowin’ the rail, we give ‘em the slip as to us e’r bein’ here.” Same retorted. “They don’t know 'bout the array and wouldn’t go up after us if we’re slipped away.”

“This all assumes,” Sosruko interjected with the slightest bobble of his head. “That the array still works after all this time. And that we aren’t pointlessly backing ourselves into a corner.”

“If it’s broke, I can fix it.” Sam scratched his cheek with the nail of his thumb. “There’s parts’n such for it on the way up. We’d best hurry, either way.”

Elijah and Sam looked at those assembled, each hoping to hear an argument to back up their position. From out of the hole in the ground Tags finally hopped, happy to see Nauda had mysteriously disappeared and began hauling a wheelchair up over the side.

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Silas shook his head. Clearly these people haven’t been in the ravages of war.

“No, but thanks for asking.” He replied, sarcasm evident in his tone. “I’ve personally seen situations like this before.” He continued, his gaze shifting to a thousand yard stare - buried memories from battles past trying to force their way back to the forefront of his mind.

He’d done worse too. These people were fools if they thought that men from Russia wouldn’t consider this weather nothing more than early spring, but to each their own. If another dropped dead, then that’s just nature taking its course - fools paying the price.

Ignorance must be bliss he thought.

Silas mulled it over for a moment. They did have some good points - he still thought them fools, but he admired their determination none the less.

“Why not both?” He asked. “Move north of town, blow the tracks then continue up the line. If you don’t think they left someone behind to ensure survivors stay dead. Then they don’t really have a reason to suspect this town has anything to do with an explosion. But if you move further north before wrecking the tracks, it may force them to send someone looking for supplies - in the event they don’t have the ability to repair the site on hand. Buys more time that way.”

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For the last few moments, Benedict stood there in silence, his body unmoving save for his knuckles tensing so much that they started to tremble. His eyes, usually dead, have sprung into raging life from the unending spring of contempt that has risen within him. His mind defocused from his environment and got stuck in an internal rant.

The Bolsheviks. Curse the Bolsheviks to the sorry earth that they come from. Did they think that the Great War was not enough suffering for their tastes? They should have accepted their defeat and whatever punishments the Tzar had planned for them. But no, they want to spread the suffering that they bring and their accursed ideas of revolution to…..

Benedict’s internal rant was interrupted by the sound of someone else speaking German. He didn’t expect one of his countrymen to be up here in the Canadian mountains. Although, given the quality of it, it gave Benedict reservations about the origins of this man.

Finally able to take note of his surroundings, Benedict judged the points given and their likely outcomes from what he understood. Both options had their merit, but Benedict still needed more information that he could decide.

“Before I vote on the plan to take out these dogs,” Benedict said, unable to hide his ravenous contempt in his voice, “How do we get up the mountain to this radio array? One of the train tracks, hiking in the perilous snow, or do you people happen to have more hidden tunnels through the mountain that lead up there?”

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Michael continues to observe, surprised they haven’t noticed the poorly disguised military man.

In the meantime he weighed the options, the overall plan was tactically sound, however there may be a alternative way to delay further trains.

"Is there a way to delay the train in a less explosive method? Derail it or angle it down a siding? If we can derail it that will stop them for weeks not just hours. At worst they’ll come on foot and we can catch them by surprise, give the radio team more time to work.*

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Ronan tapped his right foot in thought as the group discussed their options. A rhythmic and timed tapping, a kind that could be mistaken for the steps of some dance whose tune was unfamiliar without a partner to finish. Until a few shifts in scales that he stopped and pulled himself away to inspect the rails.

Moving now was his preferred answer. However, if they could slow down a potential pursuit, perhaps some sabotage was worth it. The problem was a matter of timing. To do so now is too soon. To do so later might risk leaving someone behind or trusting a long fuse to not go out. But what if they could get the dynamite to detonate when the armored train returned?

“How much did these vibrate when the train pulled in?” Ronan asked loud enough to be heard by the tracks. “If we are to cast lots, then mine fall with moving now. However, I may be able to give us both if we have some metal scraps and if we can get the dynamite to use a fire-based fuse.”

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Silas turned to face the man, wondering why he was asking about vibrations …

“I think I see where this is going. Where would you want to do this?” He asked. He recalled a bend in the woods not too far out of town, a good blind corner in the thick of the forest - but others may have a better suggestion

Silas turns to the man in the military uniform. “What about you Doughboy - what’s your idea for a nondestructive method of slowing down the reds?”