NationStates Jolt Archive

“Well, I must say that’s rather put a damper on things!”
“Oh must you be so negative, Wilson? The Red Bears are heroes!”
“Yes, I expect the veterans will probably see it that way too, sir. They liberated Sicily, the Red Bears let in six to the Soviets. Two sides of the same coin really, wouldn’t you say?”

Mainwaring granted the Deputy PM that look, and ended the ice hockey line of conversation.

Tossing down to-day’s issue of The Standard PM Mainwaring heaved himself from the comfort of Swallow Bank House’s leather seating and indicated the door to his long suffering friend and deputy.

“Come along.” He said. “Sir Henry’s expecting us for a drink at The Pantry before we open the thing.”

The thing to which Mainwaring referred was in fact Empire Day, a much-needed celebration of Walmingtonian civilisation and its survival of the Second World War.

All across Walmington on Sea and its intercontinental empire celebrations were planned, and the focal point would be the mainland’s south coast and the nearby island of Southend. The cities of Southend, Brighton, and Great Walmington were to swing like ‘twas 1804*

In truth there were a number of motivating factors behind the celebrations.

Moral wasn’t really all that low within the civilian populace, the war was over after all, but Mainwaring had just seen one of his closest political allies voted out of power in a United Kingdom that felt the wartime PM had served his purpose. We could have none of that in Walmington!

The colonies too were causing some headaches, with many wondering why WoS could liberate with one hand and dominate with the other. Distractions were always good.

Industry needed a boost after the war. Sir Henry Chaspot Wayne was at the core of Empire Day’s planning, and had put a lot of his own money into related projects. Wayne was determined to eat-up post-war markets, largely at Britain’s expense. Mainwaring might in the past have opposed this, but with a nominally socialist government taking power in the UK, well, to hell with it! Someone had to stay strong outside of Germany, who else would do it? Stalin? The Yanks? No, that was no good at all, Walmington would have to become the next Christian superpower, especially with that liberal trouble the Ians seemed to be experiencing. They'd better jolly well have some innovations to show-off.

Empire Day (actually planned to go on for several weeks in various forms) would showcase the new, high-tech Walmingtonian armed forces. Jerry, the Yanks, and the Russians were all after the bomb, they all controlled landmasses greater than the Walmingtonain Empire, and they all had bigger armies. Walmington had to show them that the little dog was on top.


*In WoS the period from 1802 to 1865 is know as something of a liberal (small L) party age, with 1804 being one of the more characterising years of the period.

The flags were out, of course. St.George’s cross, defended by the little red bear of Norbray, the red lion and y ddraig goch of Walmington’s British heritage, and the 450-year-old Walmingtonian crown.

Already children were displaying their excitement. Many had not known a really plentiful Christmas or birthday, owing to several years of total war and moderate rationing. Now they made good use of their parents’ generosity, skipping from terrace to terrace with scooters and hoops, dolls and model-planes all in tow. Some had toy guns and spears, and keenly re-told the pacification of Matebeleland as Sir Henry himself would have it remembered. “That’s right, lad!” The knight called again, raising his tankard from the al fresco table at Anne’s Pantry “Play up, play up!” And the encouraged youngsters surged forward firing cap guns after the unpopular child, hapless with his rubber-tipped spear.

“Oof! Look out, young man!”
“Sorry, granddad!” Replied the rogue missile, darting off on the heels of a fleeing Matebele warrior.
“Granda-? get that youngster’s name, Wilson!”
“Really, sir! I hardly think-“
“Oh never mind, there’s Sir Henry, come on, come on!”

The two chief ministers of His Majesty’s government crossed the road, cautious more of excited children than motorised traffic, and joined the empire’s wealthiest man as he rose for a return trip to the bar- Mainwaring of course sent Wilson in his stead, urging Sir Henry to retake his seat.

Wayne began to talk of the children, half in reminisce over his glory days, while a less than inspired PM tried to steer the conversation to business, with only intermittent success.

Wilson returned, struggling with Sir Henry’s silver tankard, the Prime Minister’s personal glass –both kept by the bar staff despite arguable security issues usually of interest to such figures- and his own draught. No sooner had he placed the other’s drinks on the table than into his own flew an unidentified object large enough to spill at least half.

“What the devil have you got in your drink, man?” Inquired Sir Henry with a look of mild disgust for the DPM.

“I believe it’s a Jeff Williams action figure.” Replied Wilson, gingerly extracting the toy as its red-faced cap-handed young owner approached.

(this thread can consider itself more than tagged for future posting - it's been SUPERtagged.)

“Oh! Good news, George!” Said Sir Henry as the trio rose to leave after two hours drinking. “Walmington’s been rated one of the four hundred most politically apathetic nations on earth! They’ll never bother with a change of government this year!”

“One could almost say that trying to motivate them with this Empire Day could very well back-fire.” Said Wilson with a wry smile.

Needless to say, the Deputy PM took the tram while Sir Henry and the PM were chauffeur-driven to the coast, from where Mainwaring would open proceedings.

There’d be any number of foreign dignitaries, of course. The recently ousted British PM, for one, a Ceyloban prince, Canadian ministers, and Lord knows who else. SOW had its work cut out for it.

As the three vehicles trundled along at a very Walmingtonian twenty miles per hour (twelve in the tram’s case) already visible were the massive 15.5” guns of the third Glamorgan Class battleship, HMWS Churchill, set to be launched to-day.

(ooc:Yes, you can send someone if there’s a figure with little enough to do that s/he may commit time to being told how great is the Walmingtonian Empire and its armed forces)

tag

#tagged# for future reading...

Garand City, Adkarms
In the office of Bgd. General Frank Hasenpfeffer


Staff go-fers slowly paced about the office of Adkarms Commander-in-chief, Small Arms Procurement(CINCSAP). It was a slow news day. The small nation rarely had an opportunity to buy anything new for its military these days, given its relatively low tax rate and resulting low budget. In most departments, servicemen had to make do with American hand-downs, surplus and aid. Their shiny new M1 rifles were about the only equipment they had which they were the first users of, and even that had only been due to a contract overrun by Harrington & Richardson. Hasenpfeffer had been a rising star in the proud Adkarms Marine Corps, until a political enemy with some clout had him sidelined to desk duty. Things weren't looking any better today than they had been the day before, or the day before that. Same ol', same ol'.

"Sir! We've received a telex from the boys at Foggy Bottom. Looks like they need a Major or so to attend some foreign air show."

Now, generally speaking, the CINCSAP would simply take his trusty aide, Smithers, word at face value. However, today he was bored. Quite bored.

"Let me see that for a moment. Hmm..."

From what he was reading, his State Department was looking for a military face to attend Walmington On Sea's Empire Day celebrations to analyze whether their R&D gang had built anything truly innovative that he wouldn't have the budget to buy anyways. However, Hasenpfeffer had something else in mind. WoS had formerly been involved in a major war, with a standing army and navy much larger than could be sustained during peacetime. Given that nation's apparently socialist incoming government, there was a good chance that military spending might not be at a peak in the near future in WoS. This presented an opportunity too great to pass up: a foreign power possibly looking to surplus a great deal of modern equipment to make way for technically superior post-war gear. He might be able to pick up some bargains.

"Smithers, send a message back to State. Tell them I'm going myself."

OOC:

Well, there's one attendee. Please tell me that anything new you're unveiling will be a bit more... practical than that ol' CHAFMIR project from days yonder... :D

(ooc:Hee.. erm, well, I do have a few new small-arms projects in mind, and have had since the begining of the nation, but I'd been dragging my feet and was just going to introduce new aircraft (fighter command had completely changed, bomber command is still considered unsporting and improper, much like submarines and land/sea mines, and snipers, oh and shotguns in war.. normally they're at the centre of sport, but that's WoS logic for you) but since you've mentioned it, we shall display a new infantry rifle, sub machine-gun (both already planned), light machinegun and side arm (no idea what i'll use for the basis of those.. ideas? I'm thinking.. Browning hi-power, but that's too..unoriginal. Gah!) AAAny way, I shouldn't post IC just now, as you may have noticed I am raaather drunk. But I only drank ales with the best names, really I did! Jolly Ploughman, Staropramen, Formidalbe Ale, and so on. Oh, maybe new tanks, too.. but they shan't be up to scratch on the modern battle field.)

((ooc: ‘a figure with little enough to do that s/he may commit time to being told how great is the Walmingtonian Empire and its armed forces’? My dear fellow, Iansisle’s not ranked in the top 200 Most Politically Apathetic by having everyone be so busy they can’t go look bored at an ally’s military exhibition! ;)))

The news that Churchill was already being launched caused some concern in an Iansisle where the much smaller Crown class still hadn’t a single example with its hull complete. The issue wasn’t so much a fear of war with Walmington (or even bad alliteration), but rather the loss of face if the Royal Iansislean Navy fell behind in its post-war buildup. Of course, Iansisle still had seven capital ships not only launched, but in commission - including the 46,000 ton Titan, attached to Allied Naval Command, Atlantic Theatre, after her working up and a world tour.

In fact, the disparity between Walmingtonian hulls launched since the conclusion of the war wasn’t nearly as bad as it might appear at first glance. Actually, the four Crowns - HIMS Prince of Shadoran (building at Wright Nautical’s Ianapalis yard), Princess Royal (building at Jorgenson and Sons Ianapalis yard), Gurney (building at Jorgenson and Sons’ Ianapalis yard), and Queen Consort (building at Jorgenson and Sons’ Coastal Paradise Yard - would be ready to launch simultaneously in just four months. Another two to two and a half years of final fittings, six months or so of working up, and four 42,000 ton ships would be added to Iansisle’s line of battle. And of course her other yards were busy churning in massive numbers out the heavy and light cruisers, mobile aeroflyer docks, destroyers, and non-combat ships her line would require to be effective in battle (not that those vessels were considered to be anything more than a sideshow to the general public, of course!).

Interestingly, but perhaps quite irrelevantly, the term ‘Ship of the Line’ was actually making a comeback in Iansisle, primarily as a means of differentiating between actual battleships, which were meant to actually fight against their opposite numbers in the line of battle, and battlecruisers, which weren’t. After all, engagements like the Denmark Strait and the Bay of Bengal had convinced Iansisle’s Admiralty that the most decisive battles in the future would be decided by the closing of opposing lines. The fact that Iansisle was outnumbered in its line of battle by two of the three nations she considered to be her most likely opponents made the army-minded Walmingtonians’ impressive construction rate all the more frightening and embarrassing.

The man who had arrived in Walmington as part of the Iansislean delegation to watch the Empire Day festivities was perhaps even more acutely aware of the pressures the Royal Iansislean Navy faced in a post-war world. He was the Baron Linhower, the physically enfeebled sixty-eight year old First Lord of the Admiralty. While Linhower’s body may have been slowly failing him, his mind certainly wasn’t. He knew as well as anyone - better, really - how hard the alarmists in Iansisle’s press had been coming down on the government to respond to ‘the battleship gap.’

“We’re bigger than the United States,” Jerry Jameson had declared at a recent rally. “Much bigger, in fact! So why’ve they got more than twenty of the line when we’ve less than ten? It’s a shameful disgrace - one the Tarriff government and the Linhower Admiralty have led up, in full knowledge, straight into!”

Linhower sighed and pushed the thoughts from his mind. It wasn’t worth thinking about right now, not when they were so close to Walmington on Sea. He allowed his eyes to track about the room; Edward Tarriff, once and again the Commonwealth’s Prime Minister looked apparently slightly miffed at the fact that while Churchill - who, it might be added, managed to lose power for himself! - got a battleship named after him, he got only a heavy cruiser! Linhower suppressed a sigh; Tarriff had already approached him subtly and inquired as to the possibility of renaming HIMS Mainwaring - a heavy cruiser of the new Duke of Dorchet class - and perhaps bestowing the name of the Walmingtonian Prime Minister upon a torpedo boat or garbage scow. Linhower had argued that it was bad luck to rename a ship once she had already started her trials and shooed Tarriff from the Admiralty House. Now that Churchill had actually launched, the job of keeping the pouting Tarriff from snubbing Walmingtonian officials much harder on his harried aids and advisors.

The room’s only other occupant was five years older than even Linhower, and looked like a walking skeleton in his medal-adorned uniform. Admiral Sir Hunter N. Kennington, who had worked his way slowly up in the ranks through political patronage before being appointed the Lord Commander Grand Fleet at age sixty-one before the Battle of Salvador, was a decrepit choice as the commander of the force shuttling Linhower and Tarriff to the Empire Day celebrations. But he was also one of the best connected admirals in the Admiralty, and the one who had ‘fought and won’ the battle against the Pirates of the Northern Seas (by ‘fight,’ I mean being the Lord Commander Home Fleet, and by ‘won,’ I mean he was too busy chatting up Ianapalis high society to interfere with men like Sir Terrence Paul and James S. Redford), and his patrons had ‘convinced’ Linhower and Sir Richard Tri to give Kennington ‘one last hurrah’ before being unglamourously forced into retirement.

His ‘last hurrah’ was probably better termed a deliberate snipe at Walmington on Sea by Edward Tarriff, who had personally demanded that HIMS Aurora, first of the Duke of Dorchet class, be rushed through her trial period so she could join HIMS Redoubtable and Aquatic of the Elemental class and HIMS Queen Jessica on their way to Walmington on Sea. The force was quite unnecessary as an escort, even considering the importance of its passangers, and the need to ‘reinforce’ the Iansislean contribution to Walmington Station certainly didn’t justify sending a battlecruiser, heavy cruiser, and two light cruisers. At best, it was a redundant gesture made by an incompetent politician; at worst, it was a deliberate attempt to steal Mainwaring’s glory by flashing about the Royal Iansislean Navy at Walmington’s Empire Day.

Linhower knew it was the later - after all, Tarriff hadn’t ordered Tri to have Aurora and Queen Jessica accompany the small fleet until after he’d refused to change the Mainwaring’s name. He simply hoped, as the four Iansislean warships steamed north towards Southend at an easy (for them) twenty-four knots, that Mainwaring wouldn’t see it as such. After all, Iansisle already had enemies every way it looked: Germany, Chiang Maï, Japan, the United States, Calarca . The last thing she needed to do was offend her Atlantic ally.

((ooc: You may be drunk, but I’ve managed to out-ramble you! Haha! ...or something.))

((EDIT: Iansisle math: 2+1+1 = 5 :lol: ))

(ooc:Hehe, I'm having trouble keeping my Jolly Ploughman Premium Ale from spewing out of my nose, I must say)

"Hm!" Said Mainwaring, to no response from his driver. "The Ians are sending quite the force!" He went on, his voice losing volume with each unanswered word. "Very good."

The PM had managed to see Tarriff's deployment as a sign of strength on the part of the Ians. Much appreciated it would be, too! Yanks on one side, Jerry and Russia on the other, Britain going soft- it looked like they'd let go of their imperial holdings soon. Mainwaring was a man prone to changes of heart and whimsical bursts of inspiration. He was now picturing a world saved by and divided between two noble powers. Anyway, it'd be nice to see America and Russia forced to maintain major Pacific fleets.. and with both parties largely unable to access western European and African markets.. yes, probably all was going well.

Sir Henry meanwhile was dictating to one of his many in-car aides a message to the Cairo office of his distant Cape Company. The proprortionally low taxes he payed were largely responsible for Walmington's ability to maintain a war-readiness close to that attained in '42. The British might be about to give up their colonial influence out of leftist conscience, but that'd never be enough to drive them into war with Walmington for jumping into their bed even while it was still warm, would it?

The massive car shook a little as the brand new JFMkIIC Super Tern squadron thundred over en route to Southend.

(Aw, hell. I need someone to come around and read threads out to me. -squints-)

#tag#

“What the devil have you got in your drink, man?” Inquired Sir Henry with a look of mild disgust for the DPM.

“I believe it’s a Jeff Williams action figure.” Replied Wilson, gingerly extracting the toy as its red-faced cap-handed young owner approached.

(I... er.. well. I think I know who I'll be bringing to this little party :P )

If for nothing more than than the fact that I've wanted to Rp with WoS since the dimmond thread...

A tag for reading. Nay, perusal at leisure.

(ooc: Uh oh. Sir Henry, Mainwaring, Tarriff, Williams, and possibly a Tanah Burung and more all in the same place?
Yes, 'twas a shame I fell behind in that diamond thing, I thought. Was fun. I think I buggered off to London half way through. Anyway, I would post properly but I have to go and sip tea while my head throbs..heh)

The Alconian delegation was early, as always. And looked like someone had forgotten to tell them that the age of sail was over. The delegation had arrived not with a powerful taskforce but the protected cruiser ARN Elizabeth and an out of date battlecruiser AMS Patras. The Elizabeth was not really even a ship of the line anymore, she was actually the Royal Yacht and something of a symbol. And the battlecruiser was serving duty as less a guard ship then an armed oil tanker. In the end, both ships sat of Walmington in a gentle swell as the dignitary aboard attempted to figure out the day’s schedule.

The rough voice that sounded slightly underwater called out from his cabin. “Damn it all where is my tea…”
The steward kept his eyes forward, looking down at the pot and hoping for the liquid to come to a boil. The Vice Admirals staff officer just kept opening cabinets in a fruitless search. He was on a quest for where his boss, John “Mad Eye” Bellera had hidden the bagels. It was the kind of odd behavior the Vice Admiral was known for. The poor Lieutenant finally gave up and realized that the bagels were in Mad Eye’s cabin. The entire crew was a bit miffed at having to sail with a man who had once, as watch officer, ordered the Elizabeth to sail across the Black Reef. The fact that he had not actually sent the national icon to the bottom as a young Lieutenant demonstrated the luck the man had, and the complete lack of common sense.
“Damn it man, where is my tea!” A figure strode into the galley. He was six feet, craggy and a bit dominating. And well, the eyes or the eye, just sort of made you stare. It just sort of veiwed the world on it's own ambitions, which scared the hell out of people when it would suddenly swivel while the other just remained focued on you.

Either to avoid the eye, or to answer the question everyone looked at the kettle. Which still seemed unwilling to approach boiling….”Damn it, can’t you do anything right. How are we supposed to tame a continent if we can’t get our servants to boil a cup of tea!” He pulled a bag out of a pocket and produced the last bagel. He looked at the Lieutenant with a sort of evil grin.

The Lieutenant turned away in slight disgust. We can’t tame a continent if we can’t have our bleeding bagels you over ranked twit! He goes on and on about "taming a continent" as if the whole damn thing was his idea…oh yeah. It was... But it wasn't his money damn it! And that doesn’t give him the right to pilfer my bagel.
“Marty, are you going to stare at the glassware all day, or arrange for me to sail to the festivities?”
“We are taking the motor launch.”
“Oh, good…ah, carry on…looking at the glassware…”
The kettle started to rattle, sign that the water was ready. A few moments later the overbering Admiral was out of the pantry and back in the salon where he belonged.
“I’m going to kill him…”
“Why? He’s a hero. I mean who else would have the balls to buy an entire continent out from under the world power’s noses even when they are so busy shooting each other to notice?”
The Lieutenant looked at the steward with a sign of utter exhaustion at the stupidity before him. Which was similar to the look he had just received from Mad Eye. Well, without also staring at the oven at the same time.
OOC: If you don't recognize him well here is his picture http://www.spookytoms.com/TR-JackElam.JPG

IC:

Garand City, Adkarms
In the office of Bgd. General Frank Hasenpfeffer


General Hasenpfeffer stepped into his office feeling refreshed. Yesterday had been the best day in quite a while. His entire being felt invigorated, after State had responded positively to his request. He was due to embark, with a skeleton staff, for Walmington later that day, at precisely 13:30 hours. His contacts had even arranged that he and his staff would have relatively comfortable quarters while they sailed - perhaps half as fine as those enjoyed daily by the miscreants in the Air Farce, but that was another matter entirely. He hoped that there would be a steady supply of coffee somewhere in the vicinity of his accomodations on land, given that the natives tended to favor tea (or so he'd heard). Another consideration was the vicinity of a firing range; he couldn't allow himself to go out of practice, and the time he would spend on the ship getting him to WoS would be bad enough. Perhaps he'd be lucky enough to spy a look at a some Walmington military personnel testing out their new toys while there as well; though that didn't matter as much as satiating his own itchy trigger finger.


Garand City Harbor, Adkarms
13:12 Hours, on the ship


After minor hassles getting their luggage to their compartment, CINCSAP and his staff were squared away and hurriedly double-checking lists of equipment in their seabags. A few strings had been pulled, and the detachment of 10 men had been able to get their hands on some brand-new color cameras, along with the latest 200-speed film. That was a remarkably lucky break, given the expected lack of political support for their mission. At first glance when meeting his staff, he had immediately been able to tell that the 4-man security detail were guardsmen before seeing their unit insignias, given that they carried the older M1927* rifles, as opposed to the M1** rifles that had been issued to active-duty servicemen.

'It's nice to know how much they care about me back at State', thought the General. He figured it didn't matter, anyways. No one would bother attacking a desk jockey from a small nation anyways. Besides, his 1911 was all the protection he needed.

He felt the bulkhead next to him begin to rumble with the familiar rythm of diesel engines before he heard the propulsion systems freindly hum. They hadn't bothered to tell him how fast the AKS Sussigkeiten actually was; only that he'd arrive at his destination in Walmington in 3 days, at noon sharp. He'd figure that out later. Now was the time to hastily make the acquaintance of his staff.


OOC:


(ooc:Hee.. erm, well, I do have a few new small-arms projects in mind, and have had since the begining of the nation, but I'd been dragging my feet and was just going to introduce new aircraft (fighter command had completely changed, bomber command is still considered unsporting and improper, much like submarines and land/sea mines, and snipers, oh and shotguns in war.. normally they're at the centre of sport, but that's WoS logic for you) but since you've mentioned it, we shall display a new infantry rifle, sub machine-gun (both already planned), light machinegun and side arm (no idea what i'll use for the basis of those.. ideas? I'm thinking.. Browning hi-power, but that's too..unoriginal. Gah!) AAAny way, I shouldn't post IC just now, as you may have noticed I am raaather drunk. But I only drank ales with the best names, really I did! Jolly Ploughman, Staropramen, Formidalbe Ale, and so on. Oh, maybe new tanks, too.. but they shan't be up to scratch on the modern battle field.)


For the new pistol, I'd reccomend either a double-stack version of the P38 (though I don't know if that would fly in your country after your little spat with Jerry), or perhaps a CZ-52 in 9mm. Both are excellent pistols, though I would only reccomend them over a 1911 because that's just as unoriginal as the Hi-Power (same pistol, different caliber), and I also doubt that a European military would ever adapt a .45ACP sidearm. For the LMG... well, if you're aiming at a magazine-fed weapon, perhaps a variant of the Johnson LMG or the FG-42 would do the trick. If you're thinking belt-fed... maybe a belt-fed BAR?

JFYI, my emissaries are likely going to be wowed by whatever tanks and planes you put out there, given that we're using late-war Sherman variants (you know, with the 76mm gun and the improved-but-still-pathetic armor... Firefly, i think?) on the ground and Hellcats in the air, as a sample. BTW, if you were wondering about just what that M1927 rifle is, don't be surprised. Nobody ever guesses what it is. The specs on the starred rifles...



* Adopted in 1927, the M1927 rifle is essentially Adkarms' version of the K98K Mauser. Out of active service as of 1945, but still in the hands of reservists, and lots lying around waiting to be surplussed. The characteristics that distinguish this from a basic K98K are as follows:

- receiver mounted, aperture rear sight with 1MOA click-type adjustments for windage and elevation, with presets for ranges of 200-1200 yards in increments of 100 yards

- 2 stage trigger, 1st stage is approx. 4lb, 2nd stage is approx. 3 lb

- 24" barrel, with hard-chrome lined bore and chamber

- stock is a semi-pistolgrip type (similar to a Garand stock), made of Walnut

-caliber is .30-'06, with a 168-grain projectile fired at a velocity of 2,850 fps

** M1 rifle identical to US M1 Garand. In active service since 1945, but reserves are still waiting for theirs as production gears up after the initial purchase.

The Iansislean delegation, as typical of Tarriff’s government, was slightly-more-than-fashionably late. Captain Lord Andrew Clayburgh, a younger brother of the Marquess Westergate managed to make the entry to Southend without too much trouble (amazingly, someone in the Admiral’s staff had ‘forgotten’ to wake Kennington until they were bobbing gently at anchor in Southend harbor). There had been a lot of whippersnapping-calling and cane-waving at first, but by the time Tarriff was finally ready, Kennington had quite forgotten the entire incident. He bid goodbye to the captain and his crew friendly, boarded the motor-launch, and shuttled off to land with a small smile crinkling his aged features.

Queen Jessica -- Jessie to her crew, and ‘Jerry-mangling Jessica’ to certain less tasteful members of the press with a inclination towards word-play -- may not have been the newest ship among the small task force, but she was the largest and arguably the prettiest.

Unlike King Ian V, her sole remaining sister ship after King James II was sunk off Borneo, Jessie remained essentially unmodified, a last testament to how the Admiralty’s Department of Ship Design had envisioned the ‘battlecruiser of the future.’ For all their faults in reasoning, however, they had done a marvelous job implementing those mistakes. Her mixed armament, which might have appeared slapped-on and scattershot on another warship, managed to look dignified and refined, especially with all turrets fore and aft like they were now. Jessie’s narrow beam and all-but-not-present anti-torpedo bulge combined with her sharp clipper bow to give her a lean, predatory look (which was completely unwarranted by her actual service record.)

Baron Linhower made no secret, in private circles at least, of his desire to ease Jessie into retirement, even if she was less than six years old. He had always been a little wary of the concept behind the battlecruiser, and the mauling Jessie had taken at the hands of a commerce raider little more than a third her size just proved that to him. True, there had been extenuating circumstances - Halders’ refusal to press the battle when he had the advantage, a lucky shell that managed Jessie’s upper works, and some sheer audacity and daring on the part of the German commander - but to Linhower, the Battle of the Bay of Bengal had proven the complete uselessness of what he termed ‘Fisher’s mistake.’ In no small part, the First Lord of the Admiralty’s view of the Jessie was probably why Admiral Sir Richard Tri, the First Sea Lord, had seen fit to release her from the Home Fleet for service at Walmington Station.

But then, they weren’t in Southend to debate the use of battlecruisers in (what they considered) a modern navy. And if Linhower had his way, they simply wouldn’t have been in Southend at all - he would’ve taken the force to Port Perry or other suitably subtle location where they wouldn’t have to display the flag quite so prominently. But Tarriff had insisted, managing to remind Linhower that he served at the Prime Minister’s tolerance, and left the First Lord in little position to argue.

The roar of the Super Terns were another unpleasant reminder for the harried Baron. The JFMkIICs were just another reminder that the leadership of the aeroflyer industry had passed quite definitively to Walmington on Sea. It wasn’t so hard to remember a time when Iansisle’s Graye AeroFlyers had supplied the Walmies with their first jet engine, but Iansisle hadn’t managed to produce a single new jet craft since the overly-ambitious Derby project was scrapped.

It wasn’t that Graye hadn’t been trying - no fewer than four different prototypes had been built, but not a single one of them had passed the government’s muster to replace the famous MPAF-6 Colt, now designamted MPAF-6J and in its ninth major modernization. Graye’s newest project, the XJ-9 Noriker, was due to have the first prototype completed in just over a month. Linhower wasn’t optimistic; he’d seen the design, and wondered how anything that ungainly could possibly fit the government’s strict requirement.

It was with a major effort that he forced himself to concentrate on the quickly approaching shore; it was his unofficial duty to ride herd on Tarriff, and he didn’t mean to abandon that duty, not for a second.

The port of Great Walmington

The PM, having exited his car to a few friendly hat-tippings and the odd patriotic, "hurrah!" ambled leisurely about the sea-side end of town. Almost every local retailer had been encouraged to discount his or her wares, and Mainwaring swore he saw a beggar shuffle by gnawing on a leg of lamb. Tea rooms, butchers, and free houses dominated the capital's holiday district. Butchers? Yes, Walmingtonians oft would drop-in for a meaty snack during the day, with many butchers serving read-to-eat sausage, lamb, beef, and chicken. It was customary, if one was not in the mood for cod, to pick up such a roasted morsel before moving on to the chippy for a bag of chips.

Mainwaring settled for chips alone, expecting a large meal in more formal settings later. The newspaper in which his lunch was wrapped -The Standard, of course- spoke of little else but the day's expected celebrations.

Through a mouthfull of greasy, ink-stained potato-product the Walmingtonian premier mumbled to one of his electorate, "See that? That's a real warship. That's why Jerry packed it in!"

Mainwaring indicated the distant and aged Alconan battlecruiser with the wave of a chip, taking it for one of Walmington's latest warships.

Here and there trod a policeman, top hat extended far above the flag-waving throng, while semi-active Home Defence Volunteers rode about on bicycles or clung to electric trams, cumbersome CAFMIR rifles slung over their pension-drawing shoulders. There were already a handful of regulars posted on street corners or at what few carparks the city offered, new .40" Catania Pattern Chassire Arms Machine Carbines tucked under their arms, but no security was attached visibly to the many Walmingtonian statesmen and dignitaries.

In fact, considering that Walmington's Special Operations Wing had in the past couple of years played a part in the assassinations of both Ercolanan dictator Russolini and Germany's own infamous fuhrer the PM displayed no fear of meeting a similar end. Perhaps the lack of threat to his life was in part owing to the fact that most potential Walmingtonian enemies feared Mainwaring's possible replacements -Sir Henry actually amongst them- more than they did the "old duffer" himself. Or perhaps Walmington was just oblivious as ever to the conditions and intentions of ..foreigners.

..And Newrians.

http://www.army.lt/guns/gallery/F01.jpg
28rnd .40" automatic CA-MC Catania Pattern

(ooc:Oh yes, probably most of the action will go-down on Southend, an island just off the south coast of the mainland with an old city of half a million, and famously massive coastal fortifications dating back to the late C17th. It is the home port of the RWN. The capital Great Walmington and the city of Brighton, both on the mainland's south coast, are also open to visitation, but most of the military displays and major diplomatic functions will probably be on Southend. Right.)

OOC: Laughs at the primeir's little mistake. Wonders if the elctorate is trying to figure out who the people with the flag of a green Griffen and Red Wayvern on a feild of blue are. Or if someone changed the battle flag without telling them.

Vice Admerial Bellera, now actually looked like something out of a Victorian picture book as he strode out onto the quarterdeck. The massive blue and gold ensamble seemed to have very few marks of distinction other than a green ribbon with a large gold seal haning around his neck. Although the odd hat with the white plume was a fairly archaic touch.

It was striking compared to the more modern cut of his aides uniform. The high collar jacket and well cut pants was much more current. The gray peaked hat indicating he was a non-commanding officer. The younger man's uniform was made of silk, not tropical wool, which seemed like a better choice on this day.

But the three sliver lions heads on Bellera's collar did get an 'attenhut', full attention and a salute from the company of marines on board. While the Leiutenants single bar only got a salute from the Major.

"Well, now good...Well we are off. I hope that you all remember that you are all diplomats..."

The lieutenant interupted knowing where this was going, "You confined the marines to the ship...the crew on day leave has already gone"

"Oh, yes...well quite right..." The two men then walked down the ship ladder and boarded the motor launch. The man at the helm looked at them both for a minute and then pulled away. The second crew man had already thrown the lines off, and sat down in the stern.

"Well, I hope that you don't intend to...actually why am I here? Marty..."

My god did this completely fall out of that head of his... "We are here, as desired by our soverign Lord to keep the Walmingtons thinking that we are a perfectly harmless group of wogs and keep them from pokeing their nose into any of our buisness. They are already looking at Egypt with greedy little eyes with the English falling apart. We don't need their interferance in your project."

"Ah, yes...So we show up, act nice and stupid. Drink the beer, go ohh and ah at the new naval equipment...and hope they don't know that our jets go up and down vertically..."

"Yes, Sir...just be nice harmless, neutral wogs...who make great beer"

"Oh, well are we neutral...although I never did care for beer"

"Sort of...well most people like our beer"

"Oh yes...sort of...never did get the hand of Realpolitic as they say..or why people liked beer"

Never got a handle on simple navigation either...bleeding twit. And maybe if you didn't down a bottle of burbon every night you'd actually enjoy beer.
The aide thinks as he nods his head. By now the small craft was heading for a convient landing stage to the V.I.P reveiw stands.

And the driver was doing the normal policy of driving at almost 18 knots and ignoring the large wake he was generating. After all, he wanted to try some of the local lager, and was impatient to get to shore.

Southend

From atop HMWS Tarriff's incomplete 608'4"x64'9"x21'2" several labourers espied the distant Ians across the unreasonably wide bay, and most gave at least a friendly -though most probably unnoticed- wave or even a rowdy shout of some sort. This sort of un-Walmingtonian rabblery only increased as the 8" guns of Tuesday turret were tested in elevation for the first time. What do you know? They work!

..No, wait.. they won't go back down.

Ah well, there's nothing to be done to-day, the ale's already creeping aboard.

Ashore it had taken officials rather longer than might have been expected to realise that someone ought to be receiving foreign delegations on some sort of ..official basis. Everyone was in a good mood (anyone who wasn't would be completely ignored, anyway) and most had been convinced already to have at least one drink of some sort.

In something of a flap, runners were sent to find Admiral Longworth, and they had little trouble, for the Commander Home Fleet and his considerable entourage. Shocking as it may seem, the wartime head of ANCAT actually noticed the approach of foreign warships, and was already stood close to where the Iansislian launch would land. Currently he was looking himself over, afraid that he may have managed to get candyfloss on his dress uniform.

Great Walmington

The PM had been informed by a jostled civil servant that the Ians, and others, were arriving.

"Oh! We must be getting on! Wi.. where's that Wilson?"
"Prime Minister!" The little bowler-wearing public aide said, struggling to be heard over the passing brass band as he was half swept away in a cloud of children.
"Shall I.. shall we.. oof.. the ..display?" He said, nodding and pointing to the sky.
"Oh! Yes, of course! Right away! ...Get on with it!"

The PM fought his way through the crowds, displaying few of the manners typical of his countrymen.

"I've got a boat to catch! Get out of my way!"

Southend Strait (AKA Godfrey's Sea), between Greater Walmington and Southend

HMWS Phoenicia's steel deck was briefly a hive of activity before quite suddenly clearing of all but a few figures. Inbetween the Alconan vessels distant on one side, and the Iansislian partly obscured by the harbour mouth, the carrier prepared to make history. A footnote, at least.

Air Commander Walker really had no business being inside a fleet air arm cockpit, but he was rightly considered an important man and no one was really inclined to block him. The Wychwood Automation 1-W Little Bear 6,000lb turbojet behind him grumbled into the bright if chilly late morning, and moments later the Air Commander was away, soon heading a V-form of three near identical aircraft. The three circled wide over the Alconan vessels before making across Southend harbour where they began to trail smoke- Walker's central aircraft belched red smoke, purportedly (though it looked a touch pink), while the two outside skirted it with white.

(I am having great difficulty convincing my brain that I've actually woken up, so you'll have to excuse however difficult this is to make heads or tails of)

http://www.pbenyon.plus.com/RN/Photos/Images/Albion-SeaVenom_launch58.jpg
The first public carrier-launch of a Walmingtonian jet aircraft- a JFMkII* Ocean Tern leaps skyward

The battlecruiser crew was somewhat bored. You would be too if you had to hump around behind a sailing ship that could only make a paltry 16 knots to your 28. And no one had seem inclined to threaten the group. So as the new jets flew up above...

An AA gun crew attempted to keep their 40mm gun taging along on the lead craft as it swung overhead.

An officer on watch saw the little manuver..."Ay! What you think your doing, keeping your guns locked on a freindly aircraft..."

"I don't know sir, sort of fun it being so pokey and all..."

"Well, don't do it again...or...your going to be steam cleaning the aft quarter bilge..."

A panicked gunner nodded with great enthusiasm...he did not want that task for all the beer and women in port.

****
The 'grand stands' were actually a large beef and chip dealer...Now the entire group was confused as to where the V.I.P stand really was.

"I see Marty that you have once again failed in your job..." began the Vice Admiral.

"No sir I did not..."

"We are lost....are we not?"

"Somewhat..."

"Somewhat?"

"Well we are in the general vicinity..."

"By general do you mean hemisphere...continent...country...time zone...plane of existance..."

I am going to plane your existance you bleeding twerp was the aides thought as the boat appeared to make circles in the straits.

Actually the locals appeard to be getting a good laugh at the strange man in the blue uniform with the white 6 inch plume rising from his head. The whole thing looked now like a farce...after all the Admiral had yet to sit down. Somewhere a child said ..."Mommy look at the funny man in the boat..."

OOC: I'm lost...OOCly and ICly here...working 12 hours then trying to type is proving to be a bit much on the wee brain...Ity bity bopity boop...where are the totsie rolls when I Deleted by auto Mod function

Southend, Walmington
On shore in view of the carrier demonstration


Hasenpfeffer turned away from a conversation with an aide towards the sea as he heard a rather loud noise behind him. His eyes grew to truly enormous proportions (perhaps the size of half-dollars, quoth several neutral observers) as he saw quite a shocking scene : a plane, without a propellor, taking off of an aircraft carrier. Now, he'd seen lab tests of jet engines and planes taking off of carriers each individually while on trips to America to view surplus war materiel; his nation had even contemplated buying an escort carrier of her very own(this plan, of course, was curtailed due to budget restrictions, as per usual). However, the combination of these two technological feats was a bit of a shock to the Adkarian CINCSAP, who had previously believed Hellcats to be wasteful(what, when rusty-but-trusty F-2F Brewster Buffalos still worked just fine!). After the initial awe wore off, however, a bit of a grin began to form on his face.

Why, if they have operational naval jets, they have operational land jets, and if they have both, they certainly have no need for props to take up room in storage...

As he mentally began percolating his collection of thoughts, he absentmindedly began playing with the lens cap on his camera. He and his staff had been able to snap a good deal of pictures of Walmington's finest carrying around nasty-looking new submachine guns, and had even been able to get a crisp shot of the receiver markings by utilizing a high magnification adjustable-objective telephoto lens. Perhaps those naval warbirds would be interesting for Adkarms' general staff to see with their own eyes? Hasenpfeffer instructed two aides to begin photographing the launched jet in-flight, while he coincentrated on the carrier deck in case more came aloft.

((ooc: I think everyone I need to talk to is here...I'd just like to apologize for my recent lack of posting. Essays, tests, work - oh, my!

Hopefully, I'll be able to get on later tonight - thursday for sure. Later, Ian))

(ooc: i can resist no longer, so although it's terribly inappropriate that any of my govt's officials should attend, attend they still shall)

Bi Kikere paced, fuming, around her office. Coach of the national football team, recently elected as one of the members of Tanah Burung's collective presidency, once voted the country's sexiest sports figure, she was at loose ends. The Crocodiles had ended their World Cup run, denied a title for the fortieth consecutive year. (And she remembered each year, each defeat like a stinging nettle pressed into her flesh.) The Cassowaries had done surprisingly well at ice hockey despite the complete lack of ice surfaces in Tanah Burung -- good lord, they had even managed to win a couple of matches. There were still no challengers in the only sport in which her country had ever won a world title -- the manly and morbid International Cup of Competitive Piercing. Tanah Burung had an active team at the moment in only one sport: field hockey. And Bi Kikere did not consider that a sport at all.

Loose ends? She was at the loosest.

On the other hand, she did have another aspect of her job title. She was, come to think of it, people's representative for sports and territorial defence. And although the prospect of a war was not exactly imminent, one never knew.

Her eyes fell across the news that the faraway land of Walmington on Sea was holding a showcase for their (no doubt) enormously bloated armed forces, which they were charmingly referrring to as Empire Day. If she fileld in the expense claims as "Umpire Day," no doubt the bean counters would approve a little junket. And, after all, Walmington was a sports-playing nation, and therefore Good People in her books. In fact, the chance to gloat over relative hockey fortunes might even present itself.

All in all, an opportunity not to be missed. Bi Kikere was a co-president. Why couldn't she do some foreign travel on the public dime? Yes, she'd decided. Time for this lady to make a state visit. The rubes would love seeing her off in style. She picked up the phone and called in one of the national blimps to take her Walmington-wards.

http://www.sciencenews.org/pages/sn_arc97/8_9_97/time8_6.gif
Bi Kikere's dirigible approaches

Departing Shadoran Airfield, Iansisle

Lt. Dan Tyler was sitting in the pilot's seat of the X-14. He'd been stopping off in Ianapalis to refuel when he got a new set of orders, he was to take some Ambassador from Iansisle to Walmington on Sea. Last time he was in Iansisle, he had to ferry an ambassador back to Larkinia to stop some kinda duel. He was starting to feel like a damn taxi service instead of a test pilot.

"You all right back there sir?" he asked through the oxygen kit as the jet crested 50,000 feet.

Jeff Williams looked up from the console he was typing on, "Yeah, lieutenant. I'm fine."

"I'll try to have you in Dubya-Oh-Ess in as short a time as possible," he said as Jeff nodded.

What if I have to stay there and cart him back to Iansisle? Tyler thought, What is there to do in WoS for a jet jock?

In Southend, Great Walmington, Brighton, and elsewhere efforts were finally underway towards the location and reception of foreign ambassadors and such. Civil Servants in their black bowlers, civilian police constables in their blue top hats, and SOW officers in their orange berets were all pressed into the great gathering effort.

PM Mainwaring was by now on a ferry bound for Southend, blissfully unaware of the disorderly chaos on either shore. Walmington hadn’t held a major international gathering of any sort since.. ah.. well, there’d been quite a lot of Canadian soldiers around at one point during the North African campaign. Evidently the Walmingtonian government was better at organising desert warfare and administering an empire than hosting a party or showing-off.

Security was..also a little odd. If anyone wanted to invade or bomb Walmington this would be about the worst time to try for the south coast- most of the Home Fleet was on hand, including Merry Mave (HMWS Queen Mavis), the RWN flagship, and currently all three Glamorgan Class battleships, though only one was fully operational. Still, despite SOW’s recent successes on the offence, espionage was not taken entirely seriously. SOW agents on hand were looking for Germans, Russians, Americans, and other agents related to those people, but WoS had pretty strict ideas about who was an enemy, and how to behave towards anyone who was not. While SOW had been willing to assassinate heads of state in enemy nations, and nuclear weapons had secretly been devised on Madagascar against those enemies, the nation still considered that everyone else must be treated with civility and respect. Hasenpfeffer and his camera-wielding party could probably expect to be untroubled in their photographic pursuits at least until revealing a name that might be taken by locals for Austrian.

For now visitors were free to come and go more or less as they pleased. There were precious few immigration controls at Southend, and even on the mainland ports tended to favour random passport checks and such over processing every incoming vessel or person.

On Southend there would be evident a few information centres, several prefabs going up during the hectic morning. Outside many were posted itineraries of upcoming events, which was well, as inside were generally few if not lone youths and old ladies, baffled by the chaos. Most would direct the curious back to the notices outside, or perhaps offer them a helpful cup of tea.

A typical notice read something like this-

To-day
11:30-20:00: Fairground opens, Front Way – Oldhill
12:00: Flyover by RWN aviators, seafront
13:00: Scouts and Guides parade; brass band, Rampart Street
13:30-15:00: Sir Henry Chaspot Wayne lectures on imperial industrialisation, Vale Odeon
14:30-16:30: Ice hockey; Norbray Red Bears Vs. Southend Cannonades; brass band, Ice Rink
16:30-20:30: Cultural exhibit feat. Togoloese drummers and Ceyloban blade throwing
20:30-21:30: Willie E. Hawthorne sings at the Dodecahedron; licensing restrictions lifted!

To-morrow
10:30-12:00: Mass; Timothy Farthing Cardinal the Armed Forces presiding, Godfrey Church of Walmington, Facade Street
12:30-19:00: Fairground open, Front Way – Oldhill
14:30: Ships of the Home Fleet fire salute to the empire to the allies to the armistice, off Featherhead

Monday
11:30-21:00: Fairground open, Front Way – Oldhill
11:30: RWA parade w/tank corps, Rampart Street (Dent Avenue – Gromly Way)
13:00: Military display feat. gunnery and new defence equipments, Copps Farm
13:30-20:00: Industrial display opens, City Hall

Many ordinary Walmingtonians were baffled by the large numbers attached to some of the promised happenings, and the elderly ladies staffing information booths were of little help. Everyone was delighted to see wartime licensing restrictions (early closing) lifted. No one was worried much about the prospect of putting a Walmingtonian marching band on ice.

The RWA parade, the observant might notice, was to go ahead along only the widest part of Rampart Street, stopping near a field of seemingly little significance just before the road surface becomes less than resilient.

The programme of events was scheduled to continue for days beyond the three listed, but most planned to happen was at least to have started by Monday afternoon.

“How typical,” muttered Tarriff under his breath. “He’s not even here to meet us!”

Linhower wanted to retort, but his political future made that a rather untenable option. He wasn’t particularly fond of George Mainwaring - not that the two had ever met - but the need to be contrary almost forced him into a defensive stance. After all, it was hardly the job of the Walmingtonian leader to dash about welcoming every single incoming delegation, was it? Why, there had to be a dozen new arrivals in just the last few hours, every one of them equally important! Not to mention that, considering Mainwaring’s not inconsiderable gifts to both Tarriff and his Free Trade Party in the past, it was quite proven the Walmingtonian harbored no ill feelings!

Instead, he refrained himself to commenting on the local Walmingtonian ships and yards, pointing out things of interest here and there. He was largely ignored by the rest of the party, who, like Tarriff, was pouting, dozing off like Kennington, or wondering precisely what the general-to-alcohol exchange rate was in Walmington, like the rating guiding in Jessie’s boat.

The non-essential crewmen of all the Iansislean warships had been granted liberty for the weekend, and most of them were eagerly counting up their latest paychecks. The rest were busy waiting to ambush those headed for shore so they could replace them.

If the average Iansislean was a good deal more restrained than the average continental European, he was still a good deal more rowdy and uncouth than anyone in Walmington on Sea. No doubt there would be some degree of excitement as in the neighborhood of four thousand R.I.N. ratings and marines, their pockets stuffed full of money, descended into Southend!

In the meantime, however, Linhower disembarked as gracefully as possible - and more gracefully than Kennington, who had to be helped out of the boat and pointed in Longworth’s direction, or Tarriff, who tripped and nearly lost his balance all together - and saluted the Walmintonian Admiral.

Longworth returned the Ian's salute in the Walmingtonian manner, flinging his hand up to the side of his face as if about to re-enact a scene from Fight Club, which of course he'd never seen, before snapping it back to his side with no less crisp haste.

While he was greating the rather important delegation the Admiral found himself raising his voice ever higher to compete with the background noise. Quite a number of Walmingtonians had seen the Ians coming in, and were excited to see some minor celebrities from the far side of the planet. One child cried out with some disappointment as he pushed his friend.

"They don't walk backwards, fibber! Oh! I'll bet the Calarcans don't walk on their hands, either! Tom, you perfect scoundrel!"

On top of that, and rather more imposing than the largely mild exuberance of a Walmingtonian crowd, built the thunder of yet more aircraft engines as the distant church bell rang twelve.

Suddenly the Pacificers didn't seem so interesting to the masses, and Longworth did his best to briefly acquaint his guests with the planes above as he invited them to walk with him down Southend pier. That structure, one of the largest Victorian (or early Godfrey III-ian) piers in the world, was to-day operating an exclusive policy and accepting only the upper crust, and ended with a large resteraunt and bar as well as a good view of the many ships and aircraft out.

Longworth indicated MFMkIII* and MkIII*B Nexus fighters and ASW aircraft, now famous DAMkI*/MkI*B Musca nightfighters and light bombers, MFMkIV Siren fighters, yet more Tern of three marks, and old O/TMkI Acorn utility transport/ASW platforms.

Then, as the Admiral turned, hopeful of a stroll along the pier, something quite remarkable happened. The Walmingtonian sky thundered as never before and quite suddenly filled with amazing shapes, citizens shrieked without characteristic restraint before realising that... these were ours!

"And then" Said Longworth. "There's the RWAF's new girl. The Hussar. Those rather exceptional licks of flame.." He said, pointing apparently confused persons in the direction of the aircraft on realising that they were looking to where the JFMkIII's used to be a few seconds ago, "..are the result of a Stockley-Wychwood joint effort. The 1-W-2 Red Bear afterburning turbojet. Of course I can't say too much more about that off-hand, but you're covering your ears." He almost shouted. "Because of something we're calling extra-sonics."

http://www.vflintham.demon.co.uk/aircraft/lightning/56form.jpg
JFMkIII Hussar appear in public for the first time

Southend

Harold Finch sat on a seaside bench, cap on his head and chips warming his lap. He was much like any other retired Walmingtonian docker on Empire Day, and Gerald Bevin as he approached was much like any retired milkman on the same day.

“Harry.” The latter greeted his working man’s club drinking partner. “Heard you came close on Thursday, sorry I couldn’t make it, back was acting up something retched.”

“Oh, afternoon, Gerry. Aye, aye indeed.” Replied Harold. “Runner up.” He said, holding up a piece of newspaper torn from that wrapping his lunch. It recorded the results of the Southend-East Working Man’s Club Crown Green Bowling Trophy, March.

“Gi’s a chip, Harry.” Said Gerald, pinching several of the greasiest morsels without waiting for a reply.

Harold didn’t seem to mind. He was looking out to see with a slightly puzzled expression returning to his face.

“I must be going funny.” He said after a moment. “I could have sworn there was a fleet review on tomorrow.”

“Aye, that’s right.” Said Gerald, wiping fat from his fingers as he followed his friend’s seaward gaze.

“Then where’ve all the bloody ships gone?”

Gerald started to laugh as he spoke. “Don’t be soft, they’re right... oh...”

Two streets away-

“Ah, we don’t want to go on the stupid pier anyway, it’ll probably fall down!”
“Yeah, we can go anytime!”
“Who do they think they are? Ruddy coppers!”

The Burrows twins and their friend Francis Sykes made off along the seafront, Francis blowing a raspberry back at the constable who’d lead them off the pier. They’d find something else to do, why shouldn’t they, a few teenagers on Empire Day?
“Blimey, look at that.” Said John Burrows, turning his attention to the flyover. “Are they ours?”

“When’d we get those?” Added his brother, before a debate broke out about who did and who did not expect to see such wonders.

This went on for some time as the boys wandered to where they hoped, in light of their denial at the pier, to catch a good view of the big gun ships and carriers. Sykes, in a rebuffed attempt to use his brother’s army service to qualify completely invented inside information on the new jets, had eventually steered the conversation in an expressly military direction.

The boys too were by now noticing the conspicuous absence of the Home Fleet.

“Where’s Churchill? She can’t be gone!”

“She is!”

“Tarriff’s still there.” Shouted John from a precarious vantage-point taken up atop the seawall’s ancient iron railing.

“Yeah.” Replied his brother as Francis dashed over to see. “Paul says they’re having trouble with Tuesday Turret.”

“Why didn’t I know that?” Cried an indignant John, causing his brother a satisfied smile.

On approach to Walmington On Sea Airspace

The X-14 slowed to under Mach 1 as Tyler looked into the second seat behind him.

"Sir, we're almost there. It's time to land." He said as he activated the radio.

"This is Larkinia Air Force X-14, Lieutenant Dan Tyler and passenger requesting permission to land," Tyler said into the headset.

"Roger, X-14." Came the clearly transmitted response in the form of a well-spoken female voice. The Larkinian Air Force jet was guided towards Southend before being handed-over to the island's civilian control, where an equally well spoken gentleman took charge of Walmington's end.

The X-14 was given a path that might have allowed a distant glimpse of the half dozen JFMkIII Hussar as they swept down after supersonic sprints to unleash volleys of up to thirty six Wychwood AARMkI Grapeshot 2” (unguided) Air-to-Air rockets a piece against an unfortunate (and unmanned) glider. The wood and Newrian-linen airframe was shredded, though it took some time for the burning remains to finally splash into the North Atlantic.

On setting down at Southend International the Larkinians would be just over two miles from the bustling seaside, and unfortunately would probably be obliged to catch a 12mph electric tram if they wanted to get there by other means than their own bipedal actions.

There were lots of helpful Walmingtonians about, but again little by way of official reception. Everyone knew where something or someone was, at least...

The Alconian motor launch finally made it to a landing platform in Southend with the realization that someone had forgotten to tell them much of anything. Vice Admiral Bellera was in a fine mood at this hour, not really enjoying having jets screaming overhead. The Admiral and his aide exited the craft and attached their sabers. Then walked up the stairs to the crowd. They didn’t see much of anything but a large crowd nearby.
“Damn it all, where in the hell are we?” Bellera began.

“I’m not at all sure either sir, however we should be able to find someone who might know…actually isn’t that crowd a bit around a group of apparent dignitaries?”

“Yes, yes…It does appear that there is a Walmington Admiral…”

“Well if he doesn’t know then someone nearby should…”

The two began to make their way to and through the local crowd with the occasional “Excuse us please, Pardon,” and poking the admiral’s walking stick into the occasional back of someone who wasn’t moving out of the way.

*****
The pier Southside

A deep voice replied to the young man “Not surprising really…new designs on heavy gun turrets always have the occasional flaws.” The voice was obviously foreign and came from a man in a blue uniform similar to the aides with a peaked cap on. He just smiled and shook his head. “Now then, who knows where the fleet is at the moment, they may be organizing out at sea for the presentation. Or who knows maybe your at war with Clarca and no one has told you yet? But you boys do seem a bit ship mad…”

He stops chuckling and begins to take some more photos of the new jets as they fly overhead. The camera clicks rapidly as the fast speed shutter opens and closes.

Admiral Longworth caught the advancing Alconans with the corner of his eye just after the target glider had crashed down into the waves, and he was raving about the five thousand yard range of the Grapeshot rockets that claimed her.

"It appears we have more distinguished company." He said to the assembled Iansislians, extending a hand towards Vice Admiral Bellera and his company as they neared.

Not far away, as the three young friends idled along having been turned back at the pier, John Burrows' eye was caught on the fairly impressive looking camera held by the stranger who'd engaged them on the matter of the Tarriff and its absent sisters.

"Yeah, I knew that, they're just assembling where there's more space, they'll be back!" Said the younger (by fourteen minutes) Burrows.

"Thats' what my brother said when he took Catania." Replied a suddenly down-beat Sykes to Burrow's assertion that, "they'll be back."

"..And he just shipped straight through to Canada with the rest of III Corps."

"Yeah, Sam Wilko's brother's in Canada too." Added John. "Cheer up, Sykie, maybe they've sent the fleet to bring 'em all back! For Empire Day, like.. well.. the next ..bit."

John was evidently struggling with the terminology attached to a day that apparently extended through several dawns, and the trio resolved to pool their pennies and get some boiled sweets before the tourists took them all. They began to head off, John Burrows giving a timid wave to the uniformed stranger.

Bellera looked down at the hand with a bit of confusion…and then tried to both shake the hand and make a short bow at the same time. It looked a touch odd since the plume on his hat make a circular bob as he bowed. Bellera ended the odd display by introducing himself.

“Ah, yes Vice Admiral Bellera Royal Alconian Navy. Glad to be here, I notice your demonstrating your newest fighters for the crowds. Ah carrier capable I saw, wonderful just…wonderful.”

By this time one eye was looking over the water at the lone Tariff, the other had decided to wander over to a cute girl in the nearby crowd. “Hmm, Ah your not the Prime M…”

He is interrupted by the aide,” No, this is Admiral Longworth…”

“Oh, quite right, right… Ah, so Admiral I’ve been wondering, has your navy prescribed to the air power or surface fleet power proponents? The Clarcians seem intent on building a mass fleet of smaller craft and have ignored their cruiser designs recently...And they keep on harping about carriers all the time. They are sounding almost like the Yanks...”

Bellera had obviously not read the intelligence reports on who to comment and who not to comment about.

****
The Alconian decided that he should stop taking photos and left. Hitting the crowded streets he wondered if he could find anything decent to eat.

Drat -- I thought this may have doubled up on me!

((Hey, everyone. I just wanted to apologize for my recent lack of posting - it's pretty hectic around here (because 'here' keeps changing ;)). A+H, I haven't forgotten about the pirate thread; I'll post in it as soon as I can.

Later, all

-Ian))

“Indeed.” Replied Longworth to the Vice Admiral. “Although I don’t think we’ll be navalising the Hussars. Not unless Someone proves to us that they’re needed, and larger carriers justified.” Said the Admiral, watching the unrelated passing by of a quartet of JFMkI Cricket. “I expect the airforce shall be trying to sell a few of those.” He nodded at the Walmingtonian built, Iansislian powered, Calarcan designed three engine heavy fighters.

At Bellera’s mention of “the Yanks” Longworth’s face took on a most peculiar expression for a moment, briefly pale and obviously uncomfortable, but he quickly moved on, introducing the Iansislians, theTarriff’s namesake amongst them.

Blasted double post.

There was a curious mix of expressions on the Iansislean’s faces as the RWAF flashed its newest toys overhead.

Tarriff regarded them with utter disgust. so they think they can impress Ed Tarriff, huh? Ha! I’ve seen aero-flyers ten times more magnificent than that sorry lot! Just wait until the Noriker project is complete!”

Linhower was some degree more respectful and quite a bit more curious. After-burning? What the devil does that mean? A shame Longworth has to be so secretive about the whole thing - still, I guess there could be spies hiding behind every rock! I wonder if we could buy some of these, ah, ‘Red Bears.’

Kennington watched them with a rather silly expression upon his face. I wonder when lunch is?

All the talk about the Yanks and the Clerks - new slang for the once ally, once enemy Calarcans - made Linhower fidget slightly. It didn’t seem to affect Tarriff much, but then, he was never much of one on foreign or naval policy. It’s so much trouble to stay in power that you’ve never time to do any actual work, isn’t it? thought Linhower with a scowl.

They greeted the Alconans cordially, if not warmly.

Admiral Longworth, finding himself surrounded by more VIPs than he'd really expected to encounter on the street, was quite glad of the usually less than inspiring sound of adolescents with drums and horns.

"Ah, the scouts and guides brass bands.. that'll be Rampart Street.. it must be one o'clock, gentlemen. I'm sure there are some amongst us yet to lunch, and there are any number of places to rectify that." As the Admiral spoke a young couple happened to pass by, holding between them a mess of greasy papers containing strips of beef and a carton of mushy peas.

"But, ah, before any of us look to that it might be best if we were acquainted with the afternoon's offered activities.. Sir Henry Wayne is to lecture at the Vale Odeon between thirteen-thirty and fifteen hundred hours, and the Cannonades are, ah, kicking-off against Norbray's Red Bears.." Longworth was suddenly struggling largely thanks to his ignorance of the nation's latest sports craze. Not knowing which side was starting the match as he (mis)understood it he fell back on an inapropriate footballing term, only to realise that he wasn't quite sure when they did kick-off, anyway.

A civil servant lately attached to his coat tails piped up.

"I believe the game begins at three, with pre-game entertainment for half an hour previous. It would be possible to attend the lecture without missing much of the contest.. provided Sir Henry doesn't go over his time." ..Which, of course, he would.

Longworth thanked the helpful little elf and, after a protracted and wistful glance across the road to a pie shop, the Admiral stated with a nod across the bay that he was to dine aboard HMWS Tarriff, and that there was an open invitation to join him directed at such respected figures as were assembled.

“Quite the full day that planned, then,” said Linhower quickly, before Tarriff could complete whatever he’d opened his mouth for. “I’d hate to impose on you during the entire thing, Admiral,” he continued. “Though dinner aboard the Tarriff” - he could have kicked the short, portly human being who bore the same name - “does sound delightful. We’d be honored to join you.”

Kennington looked a little sour at Linhower arranging for them to dine on some stuffy warship. He’d much rather be out talking up Walmingtonian high society.

The news of a hockey match had peaked Tarriff’s interest in the conversation somewhat. He’d only seen clips of the Red Bears playing -mainly in the IanCorp newsreels - and fancied the idea of seeing a live action game. The long anticipated Gulls-Red Bears match had failed to materialize this last Cherry Cup, and some doubted that it ever would.

Not our fault, at least thought Tarriff irrationally. After all, the Gulls made it to the finals, didn’t they?

"After all, the Gulls made it to the finals, didn’t they?" Bitch ;)

(Heh, I'll come back later when I've tea and could-have-been-made-in-Southend-itself pie in me.)

tag.

Bellera looked a bit miffed at the buisness, but then if the Outer Ministry had even thought of allowing foreign dignitaries to run about the place unescorted and pampered well...the phrase "government shakedown" would have been appropriate.

"Ah, yes...very nice looking ship. I'd be more than happy to attend lunch with you Admiral Longworth..."

The greasy meat and vegies was not that appitizing to the Alconians who tended more towards an oriental style meal or roasted meats...

(Sorry I haven't been on much guys, right after midterms my laptop decided it was a good time to melt down and do some time in the PC Hospital)

Jeff and Tyler walked down from the X-14. Tyler watched the airshow with a grin, he had been half-tempted to buzz the planes and the tower at Mach 2, but Jeff had 'wisely' talked him down from it...

"Try it lieutenant and I'll pull your ejection seat cords..."

"If you don't mind sir, I'm going to hang around here and catch some more of the competition," Tyler said.

Jeff nodded, "Gotcha. You know where I'll be if you need me. "

Jeff walked over to the tram and decided to walk it, this being his first time in Walmington on Sea.

IC:

Many thoughts were on the mind of the Adkarian CINCSAP, some weighty and most trivial. Chief amoung them, however, was the need for a schedule. He was tempted to walk up to a booth he saw that appeared to be offering information, but decided not to, as his English still carried a slightly noticable Adkarian accent (OOC: think a mix of an Aussie and a German accent and you're in the ballpark), which might arouse suspicion, espescially given his quite noticable picture-taking. As Hasenpfeffer continued on down the street, he saw a man struggling to carry several boxes of brochures towards a kiosk; sensing an opportunity, he offered to help the man, and managed to stealthily skim a schedule off the top. He walked back towards his huddled staff with a grin on his face. One of the reservists was the first to speak.

"I suppose we ought to check off the events we should go to, and perhaps send some smaller parties to different events."

The general agreed with this sentiment, and scanned the list for items of interest. He could hear some sort of trumpet or similar device beginning to play a few streets down, and decided it worth the effort to dash down to see the Scouts, as his own sons were First Class and Life back home. He'd visit the imperial industrialization speech himself with 3 others, while the rest of his staff slacked a bit to watch some hockey (there was quite a debate as to whether Walmingtonian teams would have a powerful Western style or a quick, agile European style). For the rest of teh night, they'd compare notes while watching the Ceylobans fling sharp objects. The next day, it was decided that they'd have to avoid the vicinity of the Godfrey Church, as it was assumed that any service in WoS would be Protestant, which none of his party were, and that the it was impossible to estimate the religious sensitivity of the natives. Their own Chaplain would have to give a quiet Mass in their apartment. It didn't seem likely that they'd be able to get the Holy Host through customs again, and it was not likely that they'd win an argument with border agents over whether the Corpus Christi was truly perishable. It seemed they would all have to become thoroughly holy tomorrow, ingesting some 30 pieces of communion bread apiece to rid themselves of the evidence.

Even numbers would, afterward, attend the fairground expo and the naval demo, before settling down for an early rest around 18:00 to prepare themselves for an eventful Monday. Hasenpfeffer was contemplating exactly how he was going to convince State to wire some more cash and allow him to stay an extra few days in case he spotted a real steal-of-a-deal and had to negotiate on the spot. He wouldn't mention that Walmingtonian food was head and shoulders above what he'd expected from a nation that seemed to have a culture most similar to the Anglo-Saxon tradition.

Before setting their plans into motion, Adkarms' unannounced representatives were briefed by their leader as to a few details to avoid detection.

"From now on, I am MR. Pepperhare. We arrived on the USS Susie Q., whose home port is Roanoke. You boys follow suit and Anglicize you names, that includes you, O'Sullivan. If anyone asks, we're journalists with the Roanoke Sun-Times, covering for the A&E page. Wagner, put that papal medal in your pocket and keep it there until it gets back in your seabag. We'll discuss exact plans for Monday tomorrow. Everyone clear?"

With that, the merry band of marshall 'newsmen' set on their way.



-------------------------------

OOC: Sorry about my general lack of posts, general school stuff got in the way (just know my Space Race display kicks much rear). Still trying to decide whether Hasenpfeffer will do something to obviously blow his cover. This is looking fun already 8)

Longworth said that yes, the Wayners (by which he meant the Wayne Class of heavy cruiser, of which Tarriff was numbered third and proving most troublesome to complete) were a fairly handsome class. He, like most in the Admiralty, always disliked the brief move towards 3x3 arrangement of the main guns, and was glad to see a return in cruisers and battleships of 4x2 layout.

The Alconians, if they wanted it, would be hard pressed to find much in the way of Oriental food in Walmington. There'd be a very few Gallagan (ie.Indian) resteraunts or take-aways to be found if one searched hard enough down Southends many little side streets, but that was as close as you'd be likely to get. The Orient was never at the fore of the Walmingtonian mind, at most a few might wonder why the Ians hadn't conquered it by now, certainly after Chiang Mai started making a nuisance of herself.

As the Admiral walked interested parties towards the warship he spoke a little of her condition, and serveral civil servants hung back incase anybody important decided against going along, and required further attention.

"She's not quite servicable as yet." Longworth said. "As you can see there's rather a lot going on around Tuesday turret. I understand she's being a bit shy about elevating her guns.. I'm sure it'll be worked out soon. I think you'll find the interior comfortable enough.. wiring isn't complete throughout, but the important sections are comfortable and well light."

By this he meant that the officer's mess and the bridge were in fine order, while insignificant areas such as the engine room and magazine remained in pitch darkness.

The walk around the harbor took them through a fair few crowds, but the Admiral strode through, creating wake enough for his guests to easily follow. A brief turn down Rampart Street gave a good view of the oldest and some of the most imposing coastal fortifications ever built in Walmington. They'd kept the tiny nation safe during her wreckless badgering of the Spanish Empire at its hight, and made the nation confident enough to challenge the Dutch and French at sea too when those nations fell periodically out of the British favour that traditionally meant so much to Britannia's mid-Atlantic offspring.

Eventually, as Rampart fell away the 8"/56 guns of Tarriff rose into view, with the exception of the two housed in scaffold-covered Tuesday. Elements of Model A, B, and D radar systems sat in rather tidy order across the upper works, and the four Wychwood boilers that should eventually push her 13,000 fully loaded tons towards 34 knots nestled unassumingly below a 3.5" to 5.8" belt of the finest steel this side of the Shield. So Walmington liked to think, anyway.

Southend Airfield

Most of the aircraft scattered about the Larkinians were modest civilian transports based on the Observation/Utility Aircraft MkI Acorn, capable of taking usually no more than eight passangers to the mainland and back. It was quite evident that Walmington lacked any jet powered or even any heavy or long range rotor-driven transports. With the war over, one might suppose that the national carrier would be in the market for such things, assuming they could now fly without an Ercolanan fighter crawling all over them.

A chain link fence surrounded what was evidently the facilities military aspect. Most of the displayed aircraft were now coming in to land. Evident was a great range of deisgns, though few of any one type could be seen. Six Hussars outnumbered any other model.

There was but one four-engine heavy bomber, of course it was of the only sort ever built in Walmington. The Distance Bomber MkI Stockley Oak looked a little like a Wellington fed on a Lancaster's diet, though the tail configuration took after the latter aircraft. She was just over a hundred foot long and almost sixty-five wide, making plenty of room for the large maroon and gold RWAF insignia she bore.

A couple of DAMkI Musca turned over their engines in the distance. Close to the fence a crew could be seen gingerly tapping at the rocket-pod that'd failed to loose one of its AARMkI Grapeshot 2" Air-to-Air rockets when the new JFMkIII's engaged a target glider.

(ooc: Hopefully I'll have some actual progress available soonish, I know the Adkarians are pretty much wandering around without much interaction with others.)

Jeff walked past the rest of the airfield on his way into the city and was impressed with the technological effort that Walmingtonians had developed during the war.

Tyler watched the planes land on the military side of the fence and grinned.

I've always wanted to fly one of these tricked out antique planes...

The Vale Odeon bar, Southend

“Two large gins, two pints of cider- ice in the cider.”
“Well, actually I-”

It was too late, Sir Henry had slapped a big blue note on to the bar and decided to move the conversation along, there was nothing Thunder-ten-tronckh could do about it.

Wayne was due to speak in barely half an hour and evidently considered that he had no time to waste, putting away his double measure of gin in one movement while the nervous young Baron was still awkwardly thanking the barman for the drinks he didn’t really want. Wayne turned to his friend, taking hold of the pint glass the instant it left the bartender’s grasp- perhaps a split second before.

“So, Thunder, the hour is upon us. The third age of empire. The second wind of Sir Henry Chaspot Wayne.”

“Mh, it is?”

“Great days, ten-tronckh, great days- here, get another round in, man, I have a call to place.”

The Baron puffed out his cheeks a little after taking a sip at his gin and motioned to the bartender while Sir Henry heaved himself from the stool and headed upstairs, passing a public phone as he went. Walmington’s richest man surprised few by being granted greater freedom of movement and better than typical amenities wherever he went, and he was soon tucked away in a second floor office, accepting a cigar from the head of Special Operations Wing.

“Any hitches?” Wayne inquired.

“Nothing major.” Jones began. “Bomber Billy assures me you can give the address more or less as it stands..”

ooc:Alright, tonight I am a little drunk (and drinking! Spitfire is not what it used to be.. I'd expect more consistancy from a 306yr old brewery, but no. India Pale Ale then! It's giving me urges to do things with Gallaga- what happened to Erco's holdings and the 'buffer' before them?)

Er..-thinks- oh! Is there anything that..anyone particularly wants to do/say/ask? I'm half inclined to move on to Wayne's lecture, but I wouldn't mind an ambling post or two before then. Of course Sir Henry's going to drop a few bombshells (and/or clangers) that'll alter the mood of the thread somewhat.

(Ah, I missed ale in my eight? nine? days away from her!)

OOC: i've been waiting for lunch to pop up...

((Well, I'm not quite sure what happened to Erco's holdings...The first page of that Paradise thread has (my personal and highly unofficial) summing up of the situation in Gallaga, if you're interested.

As for here, sorry I've not been on much; it's been / will probably continue to be a fairly busy week. I'm all for moving on to the speech, but that's only because I'm terribly eager to see what Sir Henry's up to!"

(oh, so much Old Empire India pale.. 5.7%, not bad for a beer these days! -swigs- I might run a parallel dealy.. the ship and the Odeon. Since Southend is so open, and there are so many civil servants running about, anyone of any significance might be able to blag his or her way aboard Tarriff if they want to meet Longworth or the Alconians, or into the Odeon's seated or standing area, if they want to see Wayne (the boxes are mostly bagged by well to do Walmies- although there's nothing to stop anyone else's super rich characters getting a seat up there with the likes of Mainwaring and Thunder-ten-tronckh.)

HMWS Tarriff

The heavy cruiser was a fairly pretty vessel. It was hard to pretend that Walmington wasn't in love with Britain's Mighty Ood, all of her serious big-gun ships of the last generation emulated her silhouette (in our timeline Hood probably survived the war and retired peacefully, as Bismarck was engaged instead by Walmingtonian ships (Battle of the Denmark Strait- HMWS Queen Mavis, Iansisle, Thresher vs. Bismarck, Prince Eugen, Graf Heydrech, Iansisle and Heydrech sunk)). Tarriff was of the latest generation in Walmingtonian military technology. It was fair to say that doctrine was lagging behind science and industry, sure enough. The Wayne Class of which the ship was part carried eight 8"/56 guns (4x2), eight 4" guns (along broadside, 2x2, 4x1) and relied upon sixteen 2pdr guns and twelve free-swinging 2x20mm mountings for anti-aircraft defence.

She hadn't a chance against the Royal Walmingtonian Air Force with its new Mach 1 jets, but her new W-Model D MkII fire control radar meant that she could go toe to toe with anything Jerry had east, and pick off primitive American vessels west with ease.

Admiral Longworth, wartime head of Allied Naval Command Atlantic Theatre (at the suggestion of the possibly lament-ridden Iansislians), was more than happy to tell his guests anything they cared to ask about the ship or the history of Walmington's navy. Soon corned beef hash and peas would arrive, and accordingly the mood was set to hit a new low.

There'd be port, at least. The RWN still relied upon draught ale and liquors to keep its water in drinkable condition at sea. Yes, WoS mariners went in to battle on eight pints of Ceyloba pale ale and a mug or rum or port a day. It was well that their radar was advanced of that found in the service of their principle enemies.

To some of the most staunch and apparently sober Walmies it was fun to ponder which of their guests were most aware of the intoxication of the chefs and waiters serving them. The internationally reputed Walmingtonian reserve came, perhaps, from a desperate concentration on every minor detail, as required by such intoxication as carried by their sailor- ambassadors of the empire.

(ooc:That makes sense, right? I mean, people are seeing that the Walmy character is not just artificially sustained, but fabricated in the first place by the fact that our little fleet does all of our talking (as supproted by the tiny aircraft available on the island), and is putting all of its energy into appearing sober- over compensating, if you will. Man, you could get mugged-up real nice if you wanter off Cannonade Street ;) )

The (Alexander) Vale Odeon

The Odeon, often host to classical and popular musical shows, plays, and lectures of all sorts, was named for famous author Alexander Vale who, in 1865, published WoS required reading in the form of his collected works, "Modernity" that ended the so called Liberal Age in Walmington.

1802's Year of the Golden Harvest had almost brought socialist revolution to Walmington during the early to mid C19th, as mechanisation and prosperity birthed from a European backwater one of the world's most wealthy intercontinental empires. For more than two generations the traditionally prudish Walmy conservatives struggled to hold on in an increasingly racey environment, the Newry Risings almost brought civil war, and in the end it was Vale's writing that light the way back to civilisation, as the elite saw it.

On the near century old velvet-covered stage something was happening. Sir Henry Chaspot Wayne had barely done enough to be described as skimming over his reported topic. He was on a Walmingtonian tangent, one might have supposed.


“--Walmington is surrounded by evil empires. Not many years ago the icy north provided our most agreeable prospect when in the morning we woke and sought a window through which to gaze- the Antarctic! She at least keeps her hostility to herself!
“We as civilised people have taken it upon ourselves, as a sacred duty, to better God’s earth by a Crusade against the evils converging upon us.
“Have we not slain Russolini, and seen the southern evil of fascist Ercolana defeated?”

A concurrent murmur rose in the Odeon and Wayne continued his apparent tangent from the theme of imperial industrialisation but not before the PM was able to mutter, “A bit God-heavy about it, isn’t he?”

“Our seas are safer for it! And have we not fought for several years to free North Africa and Sicily from Mussolini, now fallen like Russolini before him, and from Nazi Germany and its own vanquished despot, Adolf Hitler?”

“Aye! Indeed we have!” “Yeah, that’s right!” “Hurrah for Walmington, woo!”

“..Well, the ‘hurrah for Walmington’ was rather heartening, but I can’t say I approve of the ‘woo’.*” Mainwaring muttered from his vantage point over the podium at which Chaspot spoke. Wilson, exchanging glances with a young lady in the fourth row on the floor, didn’t respond.

“Our allies too fought against some of those same foes, and Iansisle paid a heavy price for resisting an evil unique on their side of the world as it sought to bring death to her glorious, evolved empire.

“Now” The heavily moustached knight boomed on and on. “With European fascism put in its place and Chiang aggression forcibly stunted we are content that Stalinism is engaged in more stand-offs than its misguidance can hope to cope with. One stain remains untouched. Why is this? Who is this?

“They have long plagued us, violating our oceans, shaming our allies, and dishonouring our Anglo-Saxon and Celtic blood with their treachery and piracy.”

The Deputy PM’s roving eyes suddenly and quite noticeably widened in accurate anticipation of Sir Henry’s implication, and he sat bolt upright, hardly daring to look on Mainwaring’s reaction... which was apparently knowing.

“This afternoon the Home Fleet in concert with Bomber Command and Army Group Canada embarked upon Operation Re-vere, striking targets vital to the privateers of the British rebel colonies.”

No one seemed quite able to interpret Wayne’s remarks, a few in the audience whispering to one another over a general silence.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Special Operations Wing commandos born by glider, submarine, and back-breaking over-land march this morning ceased the Panama Canal, defeating and arresting large numbers of rebels. Forces were inserted from four sides, several platoons engaging from the west after Vice Admiral Giallo lead elements of the South Seas Fleet around Cape Horn. Rebel bases in the Caribbean have been similarly engaged by Walmingtonian and Imperial forces.”

Now even the murmuring few were statuesque, the only human sound provided by one nervous laugh before the object of Wilson’s earlier attention concluded that no one else thought Sir Henry the type to joke so.

"Detroit's piratical industries are no more, Washington's direction of terror burned out in a brilliant flash, New York's misapropriation of wealth and congregation of decadent privaterring rebels similarly extinguished.

"Henry Chaspot Wayne stands before you subjects and friends of the Royal Walmingtonian Empire to tell you of our greatest victory. The rapture is upon us and God's children spared as sin is blasted from our earth!

"And the on-going struggle against terror and piratical rebellion will be hard- the brutal Yankee, exterminator of all opposed, has spread far across a great land, almost so far as brother Canada, and the fight shall be long. This is why I speak to you of imperial industrialisation- alone we are outnumbered three, even four to one, with the empire beside us Walmington is a hundred million strong, and unstoppable!"

Sir Henry went on as if he'd made an every day, matter-of-fact assessment of the terribly ordinary Walmingtonian Empire and its typical dealings. Meanwhile Army Group Canada marched from Kitchener, Ontario, and heedlessly into radiation-swept Michigan as Mach 1.1 jet fighters and long range Musca continued to put US airfields out of action like so many Bantu villages in Wayne's Zimbabwe of the 20s. With no British assistance or German plunder, the Americans had no significant jet programme, and not even so much as a Mustang or servicable Corsair and their airforce, Atlantic fleet, centres of industry, government, economy, and population were burning or else collapsing before Walmingtonian tanks and near absolute air superiority. What anti-tank guns they had, even short-barrel 75mm, were shrugged off by relentless heavy cruisers and field supremacy tanks. If the south was to rise again, she'd best jolly well get her skates on.

Pearl Harbour finally happened- Naval Group Ceyloba's Swordfish, Wasp II, and Nexus responsible.

*Oh, I can steal one or two lines here and there!

Whats up mang,
Think you have what it takes to keep it real on the Charlie Murphy Islands? Sign up today and become a real fighting force, forget zombies ninjas and capitalists. We know who would win in a fight. Join us and keep it real, very real.

Representitive
The Angry Junkies


http://www.geocities.com/hollywood/6561/scarfaceshootsrifle.gif

-nukes scarface and his whole outfit..again-

Yes, bye.

OOC: :shock: You nuked Washington, New York, and Detroit? I assume you plan on turning America into your colony b*** after that. And I hope you were at war...because you just destroyed 300 million dollars of the Royal Family holdings in New York...we're going to be very, very pissed.

((just letting you know, WoS, that I did read (and enjoy) the post...I haven't quite yet decided how to respond to it yet. sounds like a job for the weekend!))

Tarriff was only listening to Sir Henry with half an ear. He looked up from his fingernails, which he had been spending most of his time admiring, when the word 'Iansisle' was mentioned. A quick nod of approval to Admiral Kennington, who was the best Baron Linhower could do to provide Tarriff with a watchdog on such short notice, and he promptly returned to ignoring Wayne.

Kennington, meanwhile, was wondering if Wayne wasn't perhaps understating Iansisle's participation in the war somewhat. After all he'd fought, if one defined 'fight' as sitting in a chair at the most fashionable Ianapalis social events while submitting occasional reports to the Admiralty demanding reinforcements for the Home Fleet. He approved whole-heartedly of the initial reports of the war, mostly by misinterpreting them - the Washington officials he'd met at various parties (or even, God forbid, in the process of doing his job) were quite rude, condescending, and vulgar - and he thought the Yankees were badly in need of a strongly worded diplomatic note.

"...Rebel bases in the Caribbean have been similarly engaged by Walmingtonian and Imperial forces.”

Right about there, Kennington realized that Wayne wasn't talking about any sort of diplomatic missive. The prospect of a shooting war with the United States was frightening - and yet, also very tantalizing, if Sir Henry was correct in his analysis of the opening action. Conventional wisdom held that God had intended the Pacific Ocean as Iansisle's domain. America's dominance of the Eastern half was often seen as an affront to Iansislean dignity, and successive generations of politicians had sought ways of breaking it.

The spoils of war that would follow Iansislean participation and a major victory were clear: Walmington was clearly playing for a total victory, which would mean a cessation of all America's colonies. The potential acquisition not only of the northern Philippines, long a strategic nuisance and insult, but also Guam, Midway, Hawaii, and Alaska was more than exciting; the removal of the American Pacific fleet as a threat was even more so.

Not that it would be a cake-walk, Kennington admitted to himself. Wayne hadn't mentioned strikes against the Pacific fleet, which outnumbered the Royal Iansislean Navy almost 1-1/2-1 in ships of the line. Of course, American technology lagged far behind the Allied and German equipment. But then, Iansisle's five ships of the line were spread awfully thin - Titan was here in Walmington, half way around the world from where she'd need to be! and Colossus was still in the Bay of Bengal.

Back in Ianapalis, High King James III sat bolt upright in bed. "I could have sworn I felt a disturbance in the force," he said in confusion.

"Eh?" His wife didn't sound terribly interested.

"It was like a million voices crying out in unison, then suddenly silenced."

"Go back to sleep," murmured the sleeping figure next to him.

((OK, so I guess I didn't really do anything in this post, but action is terribly over-rated, isn't it? Maybe the next one will be more exciting ;)))

**We have thread bleed here people...thread bleed!**

Walmington on Sea continued to behave as if war had not just been declared against the United States- because it hadn’t. Much as in some other universe the Americans wouldn’t lower themselves to making war on troublesome terrorists, rebels, communists, or Stone Age nomads, the Walmingtonian Empire didn’t have relations with pirates.

Aboard HMWS Tarriff Admiral Longworth was of course fully aware of Operation Re-vere, but he hadn’t brought it up with his Hubrian guests, instead preferring to talk about the heavy cruiser, or to inquire in broad terms about the state of their homeland, of which he admitted a relative ignorance. Even the Walmingtonian Admiral was hard pressed to pretend he really enjoyed the most of his meal, although other RWN officers about the table seemed to enjoy the corned beef, at least.

On the streets nothing had changed- the Adkarians continued to be buffeted by jolly crowds of little Walmingtonians, and the occasional reference to the strange lack of warships went on.

At the airfield a flight of Stockley Oak distance bombers rumbled back to earth, and one watching closely enough might have seen the various little tarpaulin draped carts that hurried out to the aircraft as their exhausted crews filed away to rest.

At the Odeon Sir Henry’s speech had taken an arguably disappointing turn, and he was actually going over the advertised subject matter. Wayne had a lot of plans worked out regarding the empire’s industrialisation, most of which centred in southern Africa, specifically in Waynesia. From the many quoted studies and reports it was apparent that Governor Beauregard Rain had a lot of ambitious ideas to contribute, and it was clear to see why Sir Henry had him on the Henry Wayne Cape Company payroll.

In the field... the Panama operation appeared to have gone well. Walmingtonian submarines, deployed at the insistence of certain shadowy figures in the resurgent Henry Wayne Cape Company, had made good use of their eight 21” forward tubes. Or of American inexperience in anti submarine warfare, at least. It was well that the Americans hadn’t the experience of modern warfare, for the A-Class submarine was not really one of the modern world’s finest tools of combat, despite its arsenal, which was impressive at first glance.

“Look at them!” Cried a characteristically inexperience Walmingtonian submariner as he stole a glance through the scope. “They just keep sending more through! ‘Who’s doing that?’” He mocked, as another American vessel went down.
Ashore, SOW Commandos, many of whom had fought in the 25,000 man airborne and amphibious assault on occupied Sicily, hopelessly outclassed the defenders. Naval artillery struck both coasts with deadly accuracy, and might well be blamed by the Americans for the various shipping losses. In truth it was likely to be credited with the same in Walmington, nobody likes submarines.

Hawaii hadn’t been quite the same. The original plan had called for the Calarcan navy to do most of the work here, with WoS really providing moral support and perhaps hassling O’ahu’s airfields while the Calarcan’s disposed of the fleet. For a time it had looked as if the attack would either be cancelled –which would be a tactical disaster- or else carried out by aircraft from HMWS Sparrow alone, which would have been pointless and likely suicidal. That was some time ago- delays in construction of HMWS Carthage were long forgotten, though the expense was a still nagging concern for Governor Sir James Frazer. Still, eighty aircraft could only do so much, especially since Sparrow was not able to operate Ocean Terns and had sent British Swordfish and Calarcan Wasp II into action instead.

The assorted biplanes had lumbered in as if undetected, found American battleships and carriers in port, and quickly attracted the beginnings of a hastily assembled fighter defence. If they were unprepared for an attack, the Americans were nothing short of stunned as JFMkII* Ocean Terns fell upon them, shredding runways and flight decks with Grapeshot rockets, and punching 1” holes through fighters that struggled into the air.

That said, the Gallagan Ocean Fleet simply hadn’t enough carrier-borne torpedo bombers to deal the knock out blow Great Walmington desired. The Walmingtonian attack came in one staggered wave, dealing some damage before the aircraft vanished with minimal losses. Initial reports sent on open channels from Captain Henry Bingham’s ancient GOF flagship HMWS Royal Oak (ex King Toto (I think)) to Vollombo indicated mixed fortunes. Many aircraft had been destroyed on the ground, but a significant number were thought to have survived. Several capital ships were at least crippled, a torpedo had hit one carrier and rockets, guns, and bombs damaged others, but most of them would probably not be long out of action.

From here in, Walmington could not really hope to press hard in the Pacific, but that was okay, Walmington had no interest in the theatre, and what was the US going to do, sail its fleets through Panama? Frazer at least was content to have chipped in and to have proved that the US Pacific fleet was vulnerable.

OOC: Operation Re-vere by the way was originally conceived in the 30s, and was likely to take place during the war, with Calarcan assistance. The Calarcan fleet was supposed to hit Hawaii and, after a WoS attack on the East Coast, to attempt landings around California or there about. Then Cal. departed and with DK the war fizzled out. I’m still kinda hoping Cal will have time and inclination to join in, but I’ve no idea what that’d do for Iansislian involvement.
Ech, I must admit, I'm not too happy with this post. The thread started off a lot better, but I just can't resist (shaky) vehicles for national (even before character) development. Damn it! Maybe I'll do better after sleep (aah! Dawn! Damn you, daylight saving!)

((Moved to the proper thread)) (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=3006164#3006164)

ooc: Ooh, I enjoyed that post. Makes me want to read up more on naval affairs of the day (whatever day that is), but I've cleverly put myself inbetween 1,000 pages of Dostoevsky and uhm, well, less pages of Aristotle, I suppose. Er.. where was I? (The lack of focus is all consuming)

I'm trying to decide whether to have a new thread related to the conflict.. I suppose I shall have to, though I'm not sure exactly how I'll RP it.. I suspect a lot will be reported by Mainwaring lauding over reports in The Standard while the rest of the cast attempt to do other things.. Yes, okay, I shall. Now that we've launched the affair from here, I'll need somewhere else to carry on (of course posts about the conflict are fine, even required, here), and here I'll try to get back into the event that is being Walmingtonian. Or being stuck on a small island with half a million+ Walmingtonians :)

Uhm, right, I'll come back with a link, shortly. The Pacific is going to get so messy (heh, that's right, I'll be damned if Walmington's making a mess in its own back garden).

Bosh! http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=137328 Further rambling surrounding current events.
While that's full of war-stuff, visitors to Southend will find that few people -even once it becomes public knowledge- will really feel or behave like they're at war.

ooc: Ooh, I enjoyed that post. Makes me want to read up more on naval affairs of the day (whatever day that is), but I've cleverly put myself inbetween 1,000 pages of Dostoevsky and uhm, well, less pages of Aristotle, I suppose. Er.. where was I? (The lack of focus is all consuming)

At least your lack of focus isn't expensive...mine consists of purchasing thousands (yes, at my last count, I had spent well over $1,500) of dollars worth of equipment to simulate combat, including real military kit, and toy guns from Japan that shoot little 6mm bbs.

ooc: Hehe. Oh yeah, you're supposed to get other kit for that, besides gun..pellets..t-shirt..ow. I stopped having my skin split by bits of plastic when they bulldozed the old wartime bunker and trench network, down the road. Damn three-generations-without-an-invasion-attempt!

OOC: Airsoft...more expensive than NS, and just as time consuming...I have two fully custom kits, each of which are insanly expensive, a little more than $700 a piece...

Gosh. A spring-powered G3A3 was really more than I could afford. [strokes chin] maybe I should sell it.. I could get drunk..maybe more than twice, for that. Still, it turned the tables a bit on the pistol-weilding hordes.

Ah yes, irrelevent tangents, how we love them.

Wait.. it can't really be a tangent if it's unrelated to the core topic, can it? Hrm. Oh! Another one!

ooc: Ooh, I enjoyed that post. Makes me want to read up more on naval affairs of the day (whatever day that is), but I've cleverly put myself inbetween 1,000 pages of Dostoevsky and uhm, well, less pages of Aristotle, I suppose. Er.. where was I? (The lack of focus is all consuming)

(Focus is really overrated...unless you're talking about lasers, of course. Or levers, but that's a fulcrum.

Looking back over that sentence, I've decided that I need to get more sleep.

Where was I? Oh, right! Thanks! :) I'm pretty sure I screwed up at least a couple technical aspects (and by pretty sure, I mean positive), but, like I said, the only way to find out is to screw up and have someone smack me and correct it. So if there're any brilliant former navy types out there that care to point out just where I went wrong, please don't think it'll hurt my pride! Where was I again? Oh, right!)

Governor Rain might hear a few loud snores emitting from a rather dumpy looking Gadsani, whose large mustache billowed out with every breath.

(There's something Jeff should say here... but for the love of life I don't know what.. maybe another scotch will help me figure it out.. ;) )

(Is there anything scotch won't fix?

Especially hopscotch. Or butterscotch. I don't even know if that's how you spell those words. Was there a point to this post? No, I don't think so ;))