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   Chapter 22 No.22

Prey World - Counterrevolution By Alexander Merow Characters: 5794

Updated: 2018-07-06 12:02

The troopers took their guns and went into position. From a side street they suddenly heard a piercing scream, then the collectivists and the policemen charged and began to fire.

Today, Frank and the other Rus had gone right into the lion`s den, because Orel was not less than 250 kilometers away from the border of Belarus.

The troopers in their gray shirts fired back immediately, and the first opponents were sent to the ground. Then the collectivists surged like an furious wave against the front ranks of the marching columns and all hell broke loose.

Shortly afterwards, the armored cars of the Russian police rolled through the streets, firing with their heavy autocannons at every Rus in sight, while Tschistokjow`s men were seized by panic.

Neither Frank nor Artur Tschistokjow could prevent them from fleeing. They finally run away, driven by boundless terror, right into the arms of the collectivist mobs behind them.

It was a catastrophe. Only with a big portion of luck, Frank and his troopers made it to escape the frenzied hordes that came over the Rus like a cloud of raging hornets.

They run through a long avenue, turned into a narrow side street and threw away their gray shirts before their enemies could recognize and lynch them.

On that day, the Rus were humiliated once more and the rally ended in a total defeat. Tschistokjow`s bodyguards brought their leader out of the inner city and hid him in the apartment of a comrade before the Russian police could catch or kill him.

Orel ultimately became another great desaster for the freedom movement. The collectivists chased their opponents for hours, beating anyone down who looked like a supporter of Tschistokjow. Finally, the demonstration ended with 64 dead and several hundred wounded Rus.

Alf had stayed at home. He had had a bad feeling from the beginning and Kohlhaas had to prove him right, when he came back to Minsk, totally exhausted and disturbed. Tschistokjow himself escaped to Belarus deep in the night and hid in his apartment for the next days. The media showered him with derision and scorn, declaring that the World Government would soon smash his regime.

"Tschistokjow and his movement are finished!", exulted the New York Star after the rally in Orel.

Seized by frustration and desperation, the leader of the Rus sat in a small room in the farthest corner of the presidential palace in Minsk. He had locked the door behind him.

Today, Artur did not want to see anybody and even Wilden had been disinvited again. Whimpering he dropped down the wall, holding his head. It was a shattered picture of misery as he huddled in this dark corner, bereft of all hope.

The attempt to face the collectivist power in Orel had failed spectacularly. But the worst was the fact, that so many people had only given him nothing but scorn. They had insulted and derided him. His opp

onents and the police had smashed the Rus and chased them through the city like mangy dogs.

He had called, but the Russians had not heard his voice anymore. No, because meanwhile they followed Uljanin and his collectivists, who had triumphed once again. The rebel leader was terribly depressed and gave the impression as if he had finally lost his almost proverbial confidence. Artur Tschistokjow was demoralized, and it was the same with most of his followers. Doubting and complaining, he was sitting alone on the ground, admitting to himself, that Orel had probably been the beginning of the end.

"Lord, how shall I fight the children of the devil, if you take my faith from me?", he whispered, while he started to cry quietly. Bitter Tears filled his bright eyes. Tschistokjow knew no way out and fell into a dark sea of self-pity.

Vitali Uljanin had flown to the Middle East for a few days to meet a member of the Council of the 13 in a luxury hotel. This morning, they had already walked through a wonderful garden full of blooming olive trees, while they had talked about the strategies of the collectivist movement.

The wise seemed to have big plans with him and his new mass organization. Uljanin, the collectivist leader, who was born in Brooklyn, New York, was avid.

Now he was sitting in a sun-drenched suite, together with a multi-billion dollar company boss, waiting nervously for the next orders of the elders.

"Brother Uljanin, the success of your movement is amazing and we are fascinated by the rapid growth of your organization", said the man and smiled.

"This is just the beginning, Sir. I will make collectivism to a stormy wave that will come over the whole world", answered Uljanin and smiled back.

His counterpart cleared his throat and replied: "Please wait, brother. At first, it is the task of collectivism to absorb the discontented masses in Russia, in order to render them harmless…"

Uljanin scratched his chin. "Why Russia, Sir?"

"Why? Well, I will explain it again for you, brother. Do we need the collectivist movement in western Europe?"

"I do not know, Sir!"

"No, in western and central Europe, our decades long work of destruction and decomposition has already borne fruit, so that none of the old nations can oppose us anymore. Even in case of a big social crisis, the remnants of the German, English or French nation would not be able to revolt against us", explained the gray-haired gentleman.

"Probably not…", muttered Uljanin.

"Definitely not, brother! Rely on the foresight of the elders. The once powerful and great nations of the west are firmly in our hands. Furthermore, their old cultures, their value systems and their ethnic structures are so badly damaged, that they are too weak to stand up against us anymore. We have poisoned the nations of western Europe and there is no more chance to heal them."

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