Extrajudicial

[Goyanes]

December 2017


The cold Haland air was nice. It reminded him of home. What didn’t remind him of home were the syndicalists everywhere. Even though his birthplace was Prydania, he was a Goyanean. His parents fled the scene with him when the Syndicalists rose to power. He was just a newborn. The “syndies”, as he called them, crawled around like cockroaches, eating up everything in their path. They destroyed Prydania, and now it was time to destroy them.


As the armored 4x4s rolled into the village on the outskirts of town early in the morning, Sergeant Sveinbjørn Nielsson looked at the screen of the laptop. There was a target list given to them with names and probable locations of people who had to be picked up and brought to justice the normal way. But he and his patrol weren’t having it. They were all just like him. A patrol entirely comprised of Prydanian-Goyaneans. They had a vendetta, and nothing would stop them from accomplishing it.


The driver of the 4x4, a private first class, informed the rest of the patrol on the radio that they had arrived at the first location. Geirhardur Gerdarsson. The men descended from the rugged vehicles and walked towards the front door of his abode. Sergeant Neilsson rapped on the door several times, prompting an alarmed response from the man who lived inside.


Geirhardur peered through the curtains and saw the men waiting at the door. He didn’t know who they were. There was no flag on their uniforms, and these men had equipment too advanced to be Monarchists. Were they Cogorians? Or were they Goyaneans? Who knew. He just knew he had to answer the door or they’d answer it for him. He decided to get the shotgun and head for the door. As he went down the stairs into the humble foyer of his house, the door got burst open by a shotgun shell perfectly targeted at the deadbolt. The patrol came rushing in, and he had no time to react. In a split second, his shotgun was whipped out of his hands, and he was in put handcuffs.


The ride in the trunk was bumpy, and when he woke up the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. There was another soldier in the trunk with him, but it was obvious he wasn’t a prisoner. He put his index finger over his mouth, the universal signal to be quiet. Geirhardur wasn’t having it though, and decided to ask what was going on. He asked in Makari, and to his surprise the soldier in the trunk with him responded back in Makari. “Shut up, asswipe, before I do it for you.” That was the end of that conversation. He fell asleep to pass the time.


The jeep soon arrived at a location in the woods. Geirhardur was roughly awaken by a bitchslap on the face. He couldn’t recognize where he was, but the sun was barely out. It was overcast and damp out. Two men pushed him down to the ground. He knew who these men were when a communication came over the radio in the jeep. Some military jargon in Gojan. It was at this point that Geirhardur knew his time was up. In Makari, one spoke “Geirhardur Gerdarsson. You have made a grave mistake. But I’m afraid cockroaches can’t choose to be humans.”


The sound of a magazine being loaded into a gun was unmistakable, and it pierced through the air in a manner unbeknownst to anyone who hadn’t heard it before. He could feel the cold metal of the NAC-15 barrel against his head, and he knew the time was closer yet. “Please. I have children,” he stuttered as he struggled to speak, “and grandchildren.” A solitary tear began rolling down his cheek as he realized the magnitude of the situation at hand.


Sergeant Nielsson jumped out of the 4x4. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have kept supporting those syndies even when they killed all those Shaddaists and Courantists. Think of all the pain you’ve caused us.” He squatted down to face him head on. “Now you may be wondering who we are. We’re Prydanians, just like you. But we’re different, if you couldn’t tell. Our parents and us left years ago to the one place we could live free.” Nielsson stopped and looked him in the eyes. “Because of people like you, we lost everything. Prydania. Once the great land in Craviter, ruined by Syndicalism, the cancer of this world. Now what’s it going to be? All those innocent people, or one dirty fuck like you.”


Geirhardur whimpered. “Please! Please! I’ll do anything. Just let me live!” Nielsson shook his head and got up from his squat in front of him. He walked back to his jeep and got in. The two privates who pulled him out of the car pushed his head towards the ground. The third pulled the trigger of the Nyhett Arms Corporation Model 15 Battle Rifle, releasing a 3-shot burst of PGU-standard rounds into the back of his skull, killing him instantly.

---

February 2019


After a week of trial, the judge of the court-martial, General Haakon Jorgensson, had made up his mind. “Sergeant Sveinbjørn Nielsson. Please stand.” He pulled up his papers with the official sentencing. “Under the provisions laid out in the Military Code of the Goyanean Empire and in the Rules of Engagement, we find you guilty of 4 counts of 1st degree murder and 2 counts of 2nd degree murder. Your sentence is death by hanging. You may register for the appeals process beginning tomorrow at 10:00 AM. This court-martial is dismissed.” He slammed the gavel down onto the desk.


***


The most high-profile court case in Goyanean history had just ended. Patrol 41, infamously known as the “Prydanian 8”, all recieved the death penalty for various counts of extrajudicial murder. It was sure to cause a scandal both nationally and internationally, especially since the current Prydanian government was not the hardline conservative monarchists that had been in power during the revolution. News was even breaking that the Minister of Defense, General Genter Leidr was going to resign over this. But in the end, that’s not what mattered to Nielsson. He had the pleasure of killing 4 syndies by his own hand, and two more by his order.


Being all alone in a room inside a retrofitted castle in rural Nyhett sounds like a vacation for some, but this was the reality of the Goyanean prison system. He didn’t particularly enjoy the cells of death row. There was an old CRT TV, a radio, some books, a toilet, sink, and bed. He was let out to socialize for about 4 hours every day. They purposely separated the Prydanian 8 across several Goyanean prisons so that they wouldn’t see each other ever again. The guards liked to taunt him that this was the room Heidi Kallstrom, infamous U-Baner terrorist, was in, and that his day was coming. Every day it was the same old routine. They’d slide his breakfast under the door, and the guard would say “you’d better repent before ye get hung.” He hated rural Goyaneans and their religious zealotry.

 

[Prydania]

Tobias leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. It was dark. The throne room was always dark when not in use for ceremonial purposes. It made it an excellent place to be alone with one’s thoughts.
It also looked different. The stained glass showing scenes of stags and woodlands were dark and eery. The hall seemed cold. The reds and greens in the walls, columns, and floor zapped of their vibrancy.

Tobias was motionless, his mind and body a powder keg.
“Follow the path to where no one’s ever been...” he sang softly to himself. An old diddy that was about his ancestors fleeing Andrenne. Going East, beyond the break of day, to find a new land. ‘Prieden’ the Bayardi had called it. His ancestors had called it Prydansk. Not just his ancestors though. Those that followed them. He trembled a bit. All of them. It wasn’t just the Lothbrok clan and their bannermen who sailed east. Their followers. Men, women, and children. Whose decedents were Prydanians today. A good reminder that he was not just king for the sake of his family’s legacy. Those that followed the Lothbroks over a thousand years ago...it was their decedents that he was honour-bound to serve. It should have affirmed his faith in himself and his responsibilities...but instead he fell out of the old wooden throne, to his knees, and sobbed softly.

Some of those decedents...they’d been Syndicalists. And...and he hated them.

Two Days Earlier

“You say it Magnus, because I won’t” Tobias replied coldly, tossing the speech across his desk to the Prime Minister. “I won’t stop you. Or go against you. I won’t say it.”

“Your Majesty” Magnus Brandt protested, “the nation needs to hear from its King. We need you to affirm the culpability of the Prydanian Eight, and hear we’re expecting the Goyaneans to uphold both their laws and our own.”

“Then you say it” Tobias repeated. “I’m not going to condemn men who sought vengeance on people who destroyed this country.”

“You pardoned the people they killed, Your Majesty!” Brandt protested. “Do those people you pardoned not deserve your reassurances that their safety is secured?”

“If they wanted reassurances they shouldn’t have become Syndicalists” Tobias growled, his heart rate rising, his muscles getting tense.

Brandt sighed. The King’s word was needed here, but the King wasn’t even twenty-five and couldn’t be reasoned with. At least William Aubyn wasn’t pushing him in his direction anymore.

“I have nothing but respect for William, you know that. Still, Your Majesty, you can’t continue fighting the war he led. We have peace now and...”

“Stop” Tobias replied. He looked like he was on the verge of livid. “Do you know what I wanted to do to every Syndicalist soldier and party member when we won?”

Brandt shook his head.
“No Your Majesty, I was trying to secure our membership in the PGU at the time.”

“I wanted to kill every one of them” Tobias remarked softly. “I wanted to kill every single one. And pay each of them back for every family member and friend I lost because of their movement...”
He leaned back in his chair at his desk and breathed deep, trying to keep his composure. “William convinced me there had been enough killing... that I had to pardon most Syndicalists because...because we had to move on...and I did it. I hated it, but I did it...” He looked at Magnus again. “So don’t presume what William Aubyn has and hasn’t convinced me of” he insisted, his voice firm, his right hand in a fist as it rested on his desk.

There was a gaping silence. Only a few seconds that felt like an eternity before someone spoke...

Present day

Of course he’d eventually agreed to read the speech condemning the Prydanian Eight. And now, as he knelt in a dark throne room sobbing, he felt like he’d failed.

“I’m sorry” he whimpered....
“I’m trying to be a better man, like you taught me to be...” he cried softly, contemplating what he was about to do. He was about to condemn men who had done what he had wanted to do since he first saw the Syndicalist government kill his mother and father when he was just a small child of seven years old. He was about to condemn men who had exacted vengeance on their demons...something Tobias himself was taught not to do...

“You taught me to be a better man than this...” he cried, thinking of William. “You taught me to be better, but I’m not...I can’t...I can’t be... I can’t stop wanting vengeance...” he gasped as his soft crying became a small whimpering.

He dragged himself up. It was fine. He had an hour before he was set to address the nation. He had time to get tidied up. He forced himself out into the open hallway of the palace and leaned against a wall.

He produced the pages of the speech he was set to give from his pants pocket. He was getting quite good at memorizing speeches...but rereading this one gave him no solace. He’d spoken to Grand Emperor Anthony of Goyanes. To Magnus. To William even...but he found himself unable to feel anything but adoration for these Prydania-Goyaneans. And that just made him feel worse.

He closed his eyes as he let himself sink to the floor to sit.
“Mom, dad...” he said softly....”I don’t know what you wanted from me...” he just began to cry softly again. His parents were a constant source of pain. He had known them long enough to know them and love them unconditionally. And yet...he was only seven when they died. He had no way of knowing what his mother and father expected out of him, or what they would think of the man he’d become.
“I don’t want to be a monster” he said softly as tears rolled down his cheeks, “but I can’t stop being angry at them...”

He curled his legs to his chest, resting his body against the alabaster wall of the hallway, safe in his knowledge that he’d be alone for at least a little bit before someone collected him. “I don’t know how to stop being angry” he said again.
Of course no one answered him. Robert and Hannah Lothbrok were dead. Tobias just tried to compose himself.

Just Over an Hour Later

The King of Prydania looked the part, trading in the casual cotton button down shirt, khaki slacks, and loafers for formal officer’s garb. His tear-soaked eyes healed. He breathed deep as he sat at his desk, flanked by a Prydanian flag and a Royal standard as the RÚV camera flicked on.

“I address you, my fellow countrymen and countrywomen, under strenuous circumstances. The revelation of the extrajudicial execution of Prydanians formally associated with the Syndicalist Party and Syndicalist Republic regime at the hands of Goyanean soldiers is not only a violation of Prydania’s sovereignty, not only a disregard for the rule of law we fought so hard to re-establish, not only a disregard for my pardon of those of Syndicalist affiliation, it is also a ghastly reminder that the wounds of our war are not healed.”

He paused to collect himself. He could do this...even if he couldn’t conquer his own demons...he could be better.
“Prime Minister Brandt has spoken to the Goyanean ambassador. I have spoken to Grand Emperor Anthony. And we are...we are unified in the message that those responsible must held accountable. We are grateful for Goyanean aid as we fight to stand on our own, but we cannot allow this. Whatever we may think, whatever our scars from this war may be...I know they run deep. I know the anger all too well but...we cannot allow this extrajudicial slaughter of our citizenry. The Goyaneans have been made aware. We are prepared to raise the issue in the PGU. And we will fight to ensure those responsible are punished. The war will never be over if we allow such acts of vengeance to go...unpunished. In the name of peace and our own sovereignty as a nation and people, justice for the men killed by the so-called Prydanian Eight must be served.”

He breathed deep. He’d managed to say it. As much as it went against his base desires, he’d managed it.
“God bless our realm, and its people” he said with a degree of confidence people expected from him, as the camera switched off.