There was no real warning of what was about to happen. The occupation was hated and there was an undercurrent of tension and restlessness no less bearable for being longstanding. Recruiting agents for the Imperial armed forces, under pressure from their superiors to fill perpetual levies for the war that would eventually devour millions, roamed the city using every method short of outright kidnapping to meet the need. The native language was still forbidden; a school teaching it was closed, to speak it at work meant instant dismissal and no hope of finding another job. Informers were everywhere, some paid, others eager to ingratiate themselves with the ones holding power. Families divided even as they struggled to feed and clothe themselves and keep the landlord at bay. Once, people claimed they could actually hear an artillery barrage from the front on the continent, and might‘nt that mean that the enemy was on the verge, at last, of defeat? Some dared to state that the enemy of the occupiers was not their enemy. They looked around carefully before saying so. The faithful continued to fill the churches, praying they would be delivered from their illnesses, their torments and their doubts. A few prayed that what they had planned would succeed, and forever change. What they knew was about to take place was a secret held by them. Revealing it too soon could lead to their deaths. Acting upon it probably would.
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