NationStates Jolt Archive

“An auto-mobile from the city, Your Highness.”

The Prince Regent of Weshield grunted his agreement to the guard. He stood alongside the man atop the ramparts of Dûn Editraequán. The home of House Laughlin, quite unlike that of House Callahan, was an ancient, crumbling edifice. It had been built in the days before Gallagan gold had poured into the South Shield, back when the seven kingdoms scraped out their meager living in much the same way. Her stone masonry dated from the thirteenth century after Christ died upon the cross; her silent façade had witnessed the wane of the Sentrian Empire and the wax of the Shieldian one. She stood silent vigil over Cape Jackson and the Straits, her forlorn walls the last thing Shieldian sailors cast their gaze upon before departing on far-reaching voyages of commerce, exploration, and war.

Below the castle lay the ruins of what had once been one of the great cities of the Shield. The fires no longer burned in Fort Jackson, but the legacy they left was branded deep into the metropolis’ hide. Destroyed infrastructure littered the streets which no police nor military man patrolled. There was dark talk on those streets, the Prince knew. Dark, seditious talk.

“Open the gates,” he decided at last.

“Your Highness?”

“Open the gates - I will hear what they have to say.”

“I - at once, Your Highness.” There was no arguing with a man like the Prince. Almost as soon as the order was given, Dun Editraequan’s massive, ancient iron gate creaked into action. Every movement it made sounded and looked to be its last. The lone Westerton motorcar which had been laboring up the long and winding path from the city now puffed itself into the courtyard which had hosted High Kings and Emperors. From it issued a single man. He looked to be four and twenty. An well-tailored business suit - albeit rendered ill-fitting by what had obviously been a time of dearth for the wearer - wrapped itself around a lanky five foot ten frame. Dark hair peeked from the rim of his fedora, from under which bright hazel eyes peered.

“It is usual,” said the Prince Regent, approaching the man with neither courtesy nor malice, “to call and make an appointment when one wishes a royal audience.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, Your Highness,” said the newcomer in a quiet voice. “I shall have to remember that for future dealings with the crown.” He glanced, quite unimpressed, about the regal settings. “I should like to see His Majesty King Alexander.”

“Damn it, man!” exclaimed the Prince Regent, his eyes flashing. “You know as well as I do the madness that grips my father!” His mind rebelled against itself. Why was he even dealing with this scum - this commoner? “I ought to have you thrashed for such dastardly impudence!”

“I shouldn’t like it if I had to ask again,” half-whispered the mysterious stranger. His calm tone only served to enrage the Prince.

“You won’t ask again! I’d sooner have your tongue wrenched from your head that submit to such ...humiliation! Now cease your mindlessness and depart at once!”

“Then I shall not ask - I shall tell you. I am seeing King Alexander. You will kindly take me to him.”

The guards saw the Prince shaking with silent rage. They feared that at any second he might explode and cause bodily harm to this stranger, who for some reason seemed to unnerve even the most loyal among them. Surely the well trained men who stood watch over House Laughlin were not scared of a single, unarmed man drove up from the city?

Apparently they were.

“I will take you to see my father,” agreed the Prince at last through gritted teeth. “But I warn you! this madness which has crippled a once sharp mind and blinded once omniscient eyes has proven too dense a fog for even our best physicians to peer through. There is strength still in his bones, but none in his mind.” This speech was delivered passionately, with the slightest hint of a sad tear that had often been cried before. Again, the guards shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t the Prince’s way to disseminate any sort of information, let alone something that close and personal to a total - and rude! - stranger.

“That is all I can ask, Your Highness,” replied the other with a slight bow of his head. “I thank you for your consideration.”

------

A great King of Shadoran and High King of the Empire had but ten years previous lay on his death bed in a similar room half the Shield away. Alexander’s room in Dun Editraequan much resembled Toto’s at Dun Adien; perhaps it was a little danker and a little darker. The two maladies which struck down the heads of the greatest families on the Shield, however, could not be more different.

“Alex? Alex m’boy? Is that you?” Alexander’s voice sounded steady and strong as his chamber’s door swung open. He was sitting in an overstuffed chair, attended by three maids, when the door swung open.

“Father!” cried the Prince, crossing the distance in several long bounds and embracing the king. Diplomatically, Todd hung back near the door. Strong fingers embraced the loving son, and for one second the royal family of Weshield was just another sick father and his worried child.

Then Todd closed his eyes. It is always harder to repair than it is to destroy. He swam in and out of consciousness; his mind touched King Alexander’s, then separated again, and then melded. He saw the neural passages rent by the passages of time and the ravages of Alzheimer's. He felt the old king’s emotions and lived in them for a brief second. Then, with a careful skill any electrician would have appreciated, Todd began to crosswire. He forged new passages, repaired old ones, and jury-rigged still more. Anyone who could have seen Alexander’s eyes in that moment would have been most surprised. As memories rushed back in, they brightened with a fire not seen since before the days of Charles Bradsworth. Memories of Alex’s last visit - just this morning - filled his heart with happiness.

“My son,” he whispered, nearly silently. “My dear, dear son!”

The Prince Regent, that unflappable young man who had guided Weshield and all its inhabitants so gracefully in the years following his father’s madness, broke down and cried. Todd respectfully kept himself in the background, his hands clasped politely behind his back. He had been holding back one recent memory from reaching the King’s suddenly rejuvenated brain; now it leapt forward with terrible ferocity.

“The - my subjects!” he gasped. “Destruction! chaos! - oh, woe be us! All is lost!”

“Not quite all, methinks, Your Majesty. Not yet,” said Todd quietly, stepping forward.

King Alexander looked sharply at the slight, tall figure which had stepped forward. “And who are you to interrupt me in my bedchambers? Speak now!”

“Majesty, I am but a humble subject of your realm. Todd Andrews is my name, late of the Westerton Motor-Car Company.”

“Andrews...” mused Alexander. “Yes, yes, I know you!” he cried. Todd had shoved that memory to the forefront. “The Director of Labor Relations, no?”

“At one time, Your Majesty.”

“Yes - well. I suppose, Mr Andrews, that you have a damn good reason for being here?” The royal tone wasn’t so much a question, nor even a command. It was a threat, and a poorly concealed one at that.

“Your Majesty, Fort Jackson lies in ruins. Thousands upon thousands of your subjects are dead; more die every day.”

“I know this!” cried Alexander. Apparently, Todd hadn’t connected the emotional responses quite right. “Why do you not cease tormenting me with my own failures?”

“Weshield, Your Majesty,” continued Todd as if he had not heard the king’s protests, “is strong. She can take her licks.” He smiled. “Come up to the ramparts, Your Majesty. You will see no more smoke, no more fire. The destruction is still there, but the conflagrations have been put out.

“However,” Todd went on, “it was not the Royal Government which did so. It was the people - the citizens - of Weshield, who rose up with one great voice, and righted the wrongs.”

King Alexander’s eyes flashed at the sudden rebuke.

“That is why the leaders of the interim municipal government of Fort Jackson have seen fit to have me deliver this declaration.” He placed a page of elaborate calligraphy upon the table. “It declares the Republic of Weshield, separate and independent from any treaties which may have required our underlordship to the Ancestral Kingdom of Shadoran or its Empire. And, I’m afraid, places the Royal Family under temporary arrest until such time as a constitution may be drafted. My apologies, Your Majesty.”

“’Given by The People’s Hand on this, the First Day of the Republic...’ this is an outrage!” declared Alexander, his eyes scanning the document quickly. “I’ll have you turned out at once. Guards! Guards!”

Nothing happened.

“I’m afraid,” said Todd, “that my men have already arrived and taken yours into protective custody. Apparently,” he added, his voice biting, “they had no more reason to serve a tyrant than we had to live under one.”

Alexander heaved himself out of the chair. His muscles were weak and unpracticed, but he managed to stagger a few steps towards Todd. “Now you see here! I’ve never done anything that wasn’t solely in the best interests of my subjects and their well-being.”

“I’m sure they appreciate it, as well. However, a paternalistic system cannot stand forever. Your ‘subjects’ have grown into full-fledged citizens, and they will not be kept down.”

“This insane enterprise will never succeed - the Empire will be back, with more troops than you can imagine! The High King will see you hanged from the ramparts of Dun Adien, as befits all traitors! And once you are dead, your only legacy will be the bleeding of an entire generation of brave, innocent Weshielders!”

“The High King is welcome to try what he may; it will be fruitless. You, Your Majesty, ought to put more faith in the fighting-man of Weshield. They flock to the recruiting stations, from Mansmouth to Dunerbridge to Sunswich. The passion of freedom fires the hearts of the Republican soldiers; they have tasted liberty once, and shall not lay it down again!”

While he had been speaking, Todd had also been slowly letting down his helping hand on Alexander’s mind. With a flash of motor control, Todd had him back in the bed, and then he relaxed all control.

“Your Majesty; Your Highness, I must bid you good day. I will be posting two men outside this room. Food and drink will be comfortably provided.” Todd bowed slowly and walked out the door.

That evening, as the sun set over the Western Marches, Dun Editraequan’s ancient stone walls rang with the ancient battle-march of Weshield. A small group of revolutionaries gathered to watch as the Royal Standard was lowered from its post high above the castle and Todd’s Bloody Lyre was run up.

Todd watched the maroon flag catch the breath of the land which had carried so many sailors to their adventures. It danced and fluttered in the wind, poignantly symbolizing the hopes and dreams of an ancient, proud people.

http://img78.photobucket.com/albums/v294/DrIquan/shieldflaglyre.jpg
The Bloody Lyre flag of Weshield

http://img78.photobucket.com/albums/v294/DrIquan/shield.jpg
A map of the Great Shield

“I don’t know how you can stand being down here,” grumbled Millie Richardson as she followed her cousin down the well-worn path. Her nose wrinkled in protest at the scent of rotting garbage. Aesfield was a small town - perhaps only half a thousand - but it still produced a prodigious amount of trash.

“I just hope he’s still here,” replied Andrew distantly. The only son of Sir John Sabot, Knight of the Most Honorable Order of the Cup and the Squire of Aesfield, squatted in the tall coastal grass and fixed his fine binoculars on a pile of garbage.

For several minutes, nothing happened. Millie squatted down behind Andrew and waited. The smell wasn’t so bad, once you got used to it. That is, if you didn’t mind not being able to breathe.

“There he is!” whispered Andrew at last. “Hurry, or you’ll miss him!” Never tearing his eyes from the glasses, Andrew was waving furiously for his cousin to join him.

“All right, all right,” she muttered, attaining the ridge and squinting down at a large pile of refuse. She put up her own binoculars. “What am I looking at, then?”

“See that big stove down on the left?”

“Yeah...”

“Look at the bird sitting on it!”

There was a long pause.

“It’s a seagull,” decided Millie. Her voice had that sarcastic edge, just like the calm before a storm breaks.

“Yeah,” agreed Andrew as the bird flapped down and picked at some piece of garbage. “Not just any common gull, though. Look how big it is! and that coloration!”

“I am.”

“It’s a California Gull,” said Andrew, glancing over at his cousin with the wide innocent eyes of the young. “Not a black-headed Shieldian one. Isn’t that exciting?” he asked, returning his gaze to the garbage heap. “Can you imagine what a journey he’s had? From one end of the Pacific to the other - why, he might even have passed right over Lord Westergate’s fleet!”

“Oh.”

Andrew frowned at his cousin. “I thought you’d be more interested. This isn’t something that happens everyday, y’know.”

“I know. I just thought it would be something - you know - more important.” Millie was fifteen now, and she didn’t have time to be distracted by bird watching.

For a moment, Andrew looked as if he might cry, but then decided he was too old for that sort of thing. He hid his screwed-up face behind the binoculars again and gazed despondently out at the junkyard. They didn’t speak for almost thirty seconds.

“Father said he’d take me to California after the war’s over,” said Andrew at last. “What I really want to see is a California Condor.” He paused to let Millie question him, then continued in the face of her refusal to play the conversation game. “It’s a great black bird, rather like a vulture. Much bigger than anything we have out here on the Shield. Why, according to this book I read, one can have up to nine and a half foot wingspans. Can you imagine that?”

Millie had heard this speech often enough. She tried to drown out the enthusiastic young boy, but it wasn’t quite possible.

“I just hope the war’s over soon,” Andrew continued. “There’s only a hundred or so of the condors left. They’ve been in decline for years, but all the human activity in the past century or so is really sealing their fate. In a few more decades, why, there might not be any at all!”

Millie grunted in acknowledgment. She was wondering how much longer she’d have to tolerate her younger cousin’s preachy monologue.

“Andrew?” she said, looking to him.

“One second! Look there, our boy’s trying to get that good looking morsel.”

“It’s trash.”

“And one of the native blackheads seems rather upset about it! We’re set up for a right squabble!”

He was watching the event unfold when suddenly a large rock landed right in the middle of the colony. It didn’t hit any of the gulls, but sent them all tearing and wheeling off through the sky, yarking to one another the whole way.

“What’d you do that for?” demanded Andrew angrily, spinning to face Millie, who was still brushing dust from her hands. “We may never have the chance to see something that special again!”

“Andrew, you’re nearly thirteen now. I’m fifteen.”

The importance of that fact seemed lost on him. “So?”

“So don’t you think it’s time you moved on to - you know - more normal things?”

“More normal than what?” His voice was defensive.

“Than sitting about staring at ruddy birds the whole day!” cried Millie, exasperated. “For heaven’s sake, Andrew, one day you might have to actually do something with your life.”

“Yeah. I’d like to study birds - all sorts. I’ve talked it all over with father.” Sir John was usually the deciding factor in any argument, and Andrew didn’t hesitate to pull out the big artillery.

“Look at you!” replied Millie, hastily changing the direction of her argument. “You’re filthy! You’ve been squatting in trash all day, looking at dirty birds who eat trash! It’s -” she paused “- it’s small wonder you’ve not a date of any sort to the ball week next in Mansmouth!”

“I could so get someone if I wanted to,” snapped Andrew. “But father says I’m too young for that sort of thing.”

“Andy, I hate to have to be the one to tell you, but any well-bred girl would reject your propositions. They don’t like you at all. I’ve heard them all talk. They call you stinky and weird and nerdy!” The words came spilling out of Millie one after the other.

Andrew’s bottom lip trembled. He and Millie, who had been raised practically as siblings in his father’s manor, had their share of fights. This one, however, bit deeper into his core being. “D- you don’t think the same thing, do you?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Do you?”

Millie sighed and brushed some dust from Andrew’s shoulder. “No, of course I don’t, Andy,” she said softly. “You’re practically a little brother to me. I couldn’t tease you, not ever. I do worry about you, though.”

She left a pause for Andrew to say anything. He didn’t.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt someday.”

“Do you hear that?” asked Andrew suddenly, as much to change the conversation towards a happier subject as from curiosity.

“Hear? What?” Millie was more than a little confused by the sudden topic change.

“It sounds like hooves on the highroad,” said Andrew, scrambling back towards the treebelt.

“No! - wait! It could be highwaymen!” exclaimed Millie, chasing after him. “Oh, Andrew Sabot, I declare you are the most incorrigible boy I know!”

They arrived on the highroad from Mansmouth just in time to see a horse retreating around the next bend.

“See? We’ve missed them anyway,” said Millie while trying to catch her breath. “Good thing, too - they may have been a lot of scoundrels and murders!”

“Not likely,” replied Andrew. “Their riding was too regular. Soldiers, if you ask me.”

“Soldiers?” Millie’s expression looked as confused as her voice sounded. “What business would the army have in Aesfield?”

“Dunno. Here, if we cut down Old Milller’s Path, we ought to be able to catch up with them in the town’s square.”

Millie made a face. “I hate Old Miller's Path. I’m liable to get a dozen spiders in my hair before we’ve put a rod behind us.”

“You big ninny,” snorted Andrew. “I want to know why they’re in town. Here, I’ll walk in front of you and cut down the webs, all right?” He hefted a switch of willow from beside the path and waved it about.

“Fine,” she replied peevishly. “But don’t call me a ninny anymore!”

The pair made their way down the long-abandoned shortcut. Millie by herself probably would have gotten lost, as the path sometimes became more of a creek bed or simply nonexistent, but Andrew knew the way like the back of his hand. Soon, they arrived in the town square. The soldiers, despite Andrew’s insistence on how much shorter Old Miller's Path was, had been there for some time and a small crowd had assembled. Andrew’s father and mother stood at the forefront.

“This is preposterous!” Sir John was insisting, Lady Sabot nodding furiously along with him. “Under arrest? On what grounds?”

“Citizen Sabot,” said the burly sergeant who appeared to be in charge of the seven cavalrymen, “you are not being put under arrest. Anti-royalist sentiment runs rife in the land; the Assembly simply worries for your safety.” This speech sounded like one that had often been repeated. “As such, they have seen fit to remove all those from the old safety to protective custody in the nearest large city. You will be well-kept and protected from those who would harm you. Please, citizen, do not make my job harder.”

“‘Anti-royalist sentiment’?” repeated an incredulous Sir John. “I see no evidence of ‘anti-royalist sentiment,’ do you?” He gestured about at the small crowd, who alternated between respect for their squire, fear of the soldiers, and a genuine belief in the ideals the republic embodied. “My family and I shall be quite content to remain where we are!”

“I’m sorry, citizen, if I gave you false ideas,” replied the sergeant in the same bored tones, “but I’m under strict orders to remove you. If I do not, then the local government will see no alternative but to have you arrested as a subversive.”

“A subversive against what?” demanded Sir John. “Against some over-inflated, Godless republic? Heaven help me that I should be so lucky!” He spat in front of the sergeant’s horse.

“Citizen Sabot,” said the sergeant, his voice at last taking on a commanding tone. “Like it or not, I will obey my orders.”

“My wife and son cannot ride to Mansmouth.”

“We will not be setting too strenuous a pace. I can carry the boy, and you your wife. Speaking of which, where is the boy?”

“Out,” said Sir John bluntly. “He left bird-watching this morning, and I’ve not seen him since.”

“When will he be back?”

“I do not know.”

“We cannot delay,” decided the sergeant. “Natters, run up the colors.”

A dismounted man unceremoniously hauled down St. Patrick’s cross and discarded it into a saddlebag. A carefully folded, maroon standard was removed from elsewhere and run up the pole. Andrew marveled at a second; it looked like the old flag of Weshield, but covered in dried blood. Meanwhile, Sir John helped his weeping wife onto a fine steed and Natters remounted.

“Breathe free, citizens!” declared the sergeant to the assembled crowd. “Never again shall any Weshielder bend to tyrant’s whip or outlander’s grip! Long live the Republic!” The crowd raised a halfhearted cheer, and the entire strange procession trotted out of Aesfield towards the highroad. They left just the Bloody Lyre and an empty manor-house to attest to the fact they had ever been there.

OOC: How well known is this? Woud I know what's going on ICly?

((Depends on how good your intelligence sources are. Andrews and the Republic aren't exactly declaring themselves to the world yet, but they're not exactly hiding, either.))

((Time to wait...and maybe offer covert military support, ala Kaiser Wilhelm II...but will this turn out any different than the first Easter Rising? :mp5: ))

((Time to wait...and maybe offer covert military support, ala Kaiser Wilhelm II...but will this turn out any different than the first Easter Rising? :mp5: ))

((Considering the complete disarray the Empire is in? Yes. In the long term, however, I don’t think a Weshieldian Republic is entirely viable. Basically, the only things they have going for them right now are Andrews and his powers. Should those become...suddenly unavailable, the Republic would be less well-placed to hold off encroachments from outside states.

As for weapons sales, I may have to get back to you on that. Weshield’s primary advantage, besides Andrews, is that it does have a port or two on the Western Marches / White Sea (depending on whom you ask ;)) and is well placed to receive outside assistance.))

[trips over a forum in motion]
Ah! Uh, what's that word? Tag! Not that the search function works yet... but I'm sure it will...
Looks good.
Right... back to being half asleep.

[trips over a forum in motion]
Ah! Uh, what's that word? Tag! Not that the search function works yet... but I'm sure it will...
Looks good.
Right... back to being half asleep.

OOC: Congratulations, this thread is now accessible through your control panel as a subscribed thread.

IC:

The Imperial Guild of cartographers cursed at rumours about a rebellion in Weshield. "WE JUST GOT THE ATLAS FOR 1955 DONE!"

<Or, a foretaste of the general Imperial reaction once I have more time>

The cartographers in LRR have a similar reaction, having been just barely beaten to finishing their 1955 altas.

In the LRR capital city of Westfield (when there was still a capital city of LRR), the government intelligence office reviews the situation in Iansisle. While they were quite a ways away from LRR (which is located up by kamchatka and the eastern 1/3 of russia), they did not want to have to attack a rogue fleet with all of three Tribal-class destroyers and a few squadrons of torpedo boats.

So naturally, something had to be done.

Stephen Alda found himself on a ship bound for Iansisle, with orders to reconoiter the situation. Why? Because the LRR cartography department wanted an accurate map.

If I get killed, I swear I'm going to kill those guys thinks Stephen as the liner slides out of the port, headed for Iansisle.

OCC: Is Iansisle in europe?

*tag*

"News," Vice Premier Park said, flipping the newspaper casually onto the desk of her friend.

Premier Chai Jun frowned and thumbed through it carefully. "Tabloids?" she asked dubiously.

Park chuckled. "Yes," she replied. "Only this tabloid is run by Section 6."

"Oh," Chai said. "So-"

"No one believes what they say," Park replied, with a smile. "'Cept us, of course."

"Yes, Hye-min," Chai replied, using Park's given name. "Hmm... you say Iansisle's leader is incapacitated?"

"Something to that sort," Park says. "The intel pukes havent really made up their minds yet as to what trouble the man's in."

"Alexander?" she asked, interested. "Iansisle?"

"If I remember my texts correctly, they were our rival in the scramble for Gallaga," Park said. "Although they did manage to get the better holdings first."

Chai nodded. "Perhaps we should send some herbs," she said.

Park looked at her quizzically. "The Westerners appreciate our medicine?" she asked skeptically.

Chai thought for a moment. "Well," she conceded reluctantly, "we'll give them something."

**********
A marked package arrives from Islandia, via overnight delivery. The package is labeled with the seal of the Islandian government (a spider and a leopard....haha to those of u who are arachnophobic) and contains several rare herbs (for restoring one's strength for short periods of time), a small, translucent crystal goblet of clear, shimmering liquid, and a jade replica of a British man o'war (circa 1700s).

A letter is also enclosed in the eclectic gift collection:

To the esteemed rulers of Iansisle,

Let time not be a damper on the well-being and happiness. Enclosed are several packets of rare herbs, traditional recipes used by our people for regaining strength and vitality in the midst of darkness. Also enclosed is a replica of one of your sailing ships from the 1700s, about the same time that our fleets met in Gallaga many centuries ago. I trust that you have not forgotten about us.

Best wishes
Premier Chai Jun andthe people of East Islandia

OOC: LRR, Iansisle is in the Pacific.

On the other side of me from Russia. Now you're crossing my waters. BAD NATION! BAD! BAD! :sniper:

IC:

The Imperial Aguan Navy was unusually jumpy today. The Micronesian and Alaskan fleets had been activated, and the Sunset Isles Cruiser Fleet was also preparing for an excursion.

The African High Seas Colonial Fleet remained at port in Mogadishu and the surrounding cities, under repairs. However, the Admiralty on a whole was *very* disturbed at the possibility of foreign vessels entering Imperial Home Waters.

The LRR vessels were immediately hailed by the commander of the Alaskan fleet, and given direct orders to return to port and await clearance.

~~

Prime Minister Clarissa Bencenoff picked up the phone in her office, and tried to set up a conference call between herself, the LRR President, and the Premier of East Islandia. As the phone dialled, she slowly pondered what she was going to say.

OOC: So um....what exactly is the level of communications at right now? I mean, I know I shouldn't expect to see cell phones (God and the tax on land line phones was hellish enough), but then again, I'm also seeing the horse mounted cav, so no cars...Hmmm...Well, gotta go to humint

IC:

The man stood amidst the crowd of citizens, watching the arrest of the man. Well, it was less of an arrest, and more of a removal from a bad situation for him. In the INSA, it was a common happening, however, it happened at night, quietly, and with SMGs. The flag went up, and he figured that this was one of the best times to take his leave. Despite the new friendship, or renwed would be the term, between the Domain and the Shield, certain parts of Iansisle was not quite freindly to Imitora.

He slid out of the crowd, and made his way to a black horse that he had purchased upon entering the nation. That was two years ago. He had started to blend in normally, and witht he level of technological comparison between the Domain and the Shield, and the near endless flow of cash in the INSA, made it easy for the cover story of a man who was deep in debt, and out looking for a new life to check out by any suspicious types.

However, now he risked blowing his cover. The cell phone was small, and switched it from the cell signal to the satalite signal. He dialed a number, calling up someone back home who had an idea of what his job was like, and spoke quickly. "Yeah, its in Weshield. It smells like pink roses. Naw, I don't think the zoos around here want any black tigers. Ok, I'll keep you updated, peace out."

The speak was purposely formed to sound like a code. It was a near taunt to those listening in. The sort of thing that said "Yes, we are talking in code, and no, there is no way you can figure it out." He mounted his horse, and rode off, towards Fort Jackson.

OOC: As far as I know, it's 1955, the Fascists run Europe, and the USA is under attack by the democracies. :) Funny, that.

((Well, Imi, we do have cars (the Shell-Westerton Armored Car, to be precise, as well as various marks of Walmintonian tanks), we just don’t use ‘em very much. :) Hopefully, I’ll be exhibiting more of Iansislean ground tactics and technology in this thread which is...sadly behind the times, to say the least.))

Presumably, the man was not present at the Aesfield arrest. After all, Aesfield was a tiny town - perhaps only half a thousand - and any stranger would have been promptly noticed. Besides that, Aesfield was only a handful of leagues from Mansmouth, and it was a one hundred and ten mile ride from Mansmouth to Fort Jackson. However, there were similar detentions happening across Weshield, so one would not have been too hard to find.

((for anyone wondering, Mansmouth is on the south bank of the mouth of that river separating Mansford from Weshield. Fort Jackson is nestled in that cape in southwest Weshield. The Great Shield, for reference, is roughly four hundred and twenty miles across and one hundred fifty miles deep.

EI, just a quick point (I know this is confusing; I just couldn’t go for a simply government structure ;)) Alexander isn’t the King of Iansisle. Iansisle is made of the Seven Kingdoms of the Shield, each of which has its own monarch. The seven owe their allegiance in a feudal-like situation to the High King of the Grand Empire of the Shield, which roughly makes up ‘Iansisle’. The High King is James III Callahan, who is also King of Shadoran, one of the seven kingdoms. Alexander (Laughlin) is King of Weshield. There’s also the Commonwealth, but I think I’ve been confusing enough for one paragraph!

Another note: there are two revolutions in Iansisle, happening roughly simultaneously. One is this thread about Todd Andrews’ bloodless coup in Weshield. The other is in the thread ‘A Glorious Enterprise’, which covers the much bloodier street fighting in Ianapalis between Lawrence Madders and Charles Bradsworth’s revolutionaries and the soldiers of the corporations.))

OCC: What, so Iansisle is in the Pacific Northwest? If so, wonderful! LRR is in the Pacific northeast.

IC:

Stephen wakes abruptly from a nightmare, to notice that the ship had turned around.

That's funny, he thought, is there a blockade or something?

The passenger ship that Stephen, formerly 1st Lieutenant Alda of the 47th Motor Rifle division in the Soviet army, was on turns straight around and heads back to port on the southern tip of Kamchatka.

A pair of MTBs, apparently modified Vospers, escorts the ship into port. Uneasy about the instability so close to home, the LRRN had its MTB squadrons, the backbone of its coastal defense, on high alert. The two Vospers mount 4 torpedo tubes, a 40mm anti-aircraft gun, and two 20mm cannon stations.

Outside Westfield, Prime Minister Eno Kazowski observes the 4th and 7th divisions as they participate in wargames by the seashore. LVT-4s are strewn about the battlefield, most covered in orange splotches from the paint shells fired by the Centurions of the defending force. Most of the centurions had also been "destroyed." Things were not looking necessarily good, as the "military excersize" had degenerated into a brawl between the two divisions. Portions of the brawl would be broken up by officers, but the majorty of the two divisions continued brawling.

The fistfights are interrupted as a squadron of Venom fighters makes a low-level run, followed by Il-2s. High overhead, a squadron of the LRRAF's brand new Hawker Hunters does aerobatics.

Kazowski spots a jeep driving up the sand road (submerged at high tide) that leads out to the island where the excersize is taking place. The jeep careens to a halt next to the clump of ministers and generals gathered on a low rise on the grassy island.

"Mr. Prime Minister, there is an urgent call for you from Iansisle."
"Is there now? Well, I best be going."

He steps into the jeep beside the driver, followed by a pair of infantrymen toting Sten SMGs, and is driven off to the capital.

In his office, he turns on the speaker phone.

"Hello?"

bump, yo

Tag

((oops...was that a phone call from one of my characters, LRR? Sorry, I'm just a bit confused.

Oh, and yes - we're in the Pacific Northwest...ish. More like the middle, really.))

President Jefferson awakes as the phone rings in his room. He reaches over and picks the phone up

"what do you want at this time of night Director Weatherford?"

"uh-huh."

"uh-huh"

"ok. call Vice-President Bottom and inform him of the situation as it transpires. Contact the government and see if we can get a meeting set up. Call Interim Presidents Johnson and Jackson as well. Iansisle helped us out when we needed it and we should be completely willing to do the same."

"uh-huh"

"Goodnight director."

President Jefferson says a prayer for the nation and hopes things work out well. I'll send in peacekeepers tomorrow if they request it.

... Vice-President Bottom ...


((he's really come up in the world, hasn't he? :) I don't think I'll be able to muster any more meaningful response for a while, though. I need to sleep now, and leave town tomorrow. I'll be back in a week or so.))

OOC: Yes, LRR. He's in the Pacific North-West.

To my direct East, and now that I'm stomping firmly on Alaska, my south, as well.

Your submarines in the other thread will also find themselves in trouble, unless they're aiming for a minor port. As the straits between us are about to become a battlefield, once I've gotten my naval reserves started out.

That's why *I* contacted you, my friend. Ian didn't telephone you, I don't think. *I* did. Are you going to respond?

OOC: Yes, LRR. He's in the Pacific North-West.

To my direct East, and now that I'm stomping firmly on Alaska, my south, as well.

Your submarines in the other thread will also find themselves in trouble, unless they're aiming for a minor port. As the straits between us are about to become a battlefield, once I've gotten my naval reserves started out.

That's why *I* contacted you, my friend. Ian didn't telephone you, I don't think. *I* did. Are you going to respond?

OCC: Sorry, I thought it was Iansisle. Yes I responded to the phone call at the bottom of my last IC post with a "hello?"

OOC: http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=6597483#post6597483

Here is the link to my ever expanding factbook and perhaps the explanation for Vice President Bottom.

((seemed more appropriate to this thread))

TO: The Naval Commander of His Iansislian Majesty's forces in the White Sea
FROM: His Excellency Baron Kampien, The High Commander of Her Imperial Highness's White Sea Fleet

It is with great pleasure that I announce that the Divine Imperial Admirality has approved an expedition against the seperatists in Weshield, with the express intention of restoring them to the Grand Empire's embrace. Her Imperial Highness and Her Excellency the Prime Minister have also given their approval for such an expedition, and it will be leaving forthwith.

If at all possible, action will be taken to secure the safety of the Weshieldian Royal Family, and the capture of the traitor's leader for a trial by your authorities. We would like your full co-operation, but we fear that even if that is not forthcoming, we must carry on.

Should we not take action against seperatists in the Grand Empire, the Divine Imperium might be next. This can not be allowed.

Vice Admiral Sir Kenneth Jones received the message while raising his flag on the battleship Prince of Shadoran. He was certainly glad to have a roomier flagship than that damned heavy cruiser. Prince of Shadoran was fresh off her working-up, and doubtlessly still had quite a few mechanical problems, but they could wait. Iansisle needed every ship of the line she had.

Normally, a message with such diplomatic ramifications would have to be routed back to the Admiralty. Their Lordships encouraged independence of command, but not interference in Grand Strategy. However, the Vice Admiral had been out of communication with Ianapalis for better than a week. Therefore he had to make a decision.

His gut instinct was not to trust the Roanians. Firstly, there was no telling what this intervention would cost in terms of Shieldian independence. Who knew if they’d actually leave? The Roanians had something of a bad reputation in that regard. Secondly, how about the blow to Shieldian prestige? That was all that held up their rule in South East Asia and Gallaga; it could not be lost.

Sir Kenneth wrote back to Baron Kampien a missive in which he very politely reminded His Lordship of Shieldian territorial sea claims and reiterated the fact that any incursion into such would be met forcibly by the Royal Iansislean Navy.

OOC: Iansisle, is this RP still open? I do not think His Majesty, Emperor Gustav II, would be to happy to see the Shield's monarchy fall to a bunch of *gasp* republicans. And the Congress of Lords would be even less happy about these little revolutionary escapades. With the majority of Valinor strength diverted to the Raumreich, only the forces on Earth would be in any position to move to the Shield or do anything, so it'd be a fair fight if it comes down to that. But rest assured, the Valinor would try to talk the republicans out of their dirty anti-royalist tendencies first. And if not, well, I think Valinon would at least try and whisk the royal family away to a safer location. Like a Valinor treaty port.

Valinon: Every one of my major international RPs is always open to those who would care to participate. If you feel it's in your country's best interest, feel free to join in! I make no exceptions due to technology, magic, manpower, or such things. Life would be so much more boring if I did. :D

By the way, expect a post in 'Glorious Enterprise' tonight / tomorrow morningish that ought to help explain just what the hell's going on in the Empire.

The pocket battleships of the Repentant-class were, tonne for tonne, some of the most powerful ships in the Imperial Navy. This one was no exception. Hundreds of Aguan and Altaran crewmen spent hours each day keeping the things in full working order.

But this specific pocket battleship had an even more important role. Because this was the flagship of the Imperial White Sea fleet. And Lord Admiral Baron Kampien was not a happy man. "What is the man? An imbecile? Doesn't he know what's been going on! There's no way the Grand Empire can hold itself together without assistance!" He turned to the moustachioed man and glared. "What should we do now?"

Reinhart Donitz pinched his brow, and shook his head. 'These Roanians are almost as bad as the old Fuehrer... one setback, and it's rage, rage, rage...' the German Attache sighed. "Send another message, explaining the situation in the Grand Empire, and give your word that the Divine Imperium of Novar Ohan and the Sunset Isles is only sending Legions to Weshield for the purpose of restoring public order and fealty to the Grand Empire..." He narrowed his eyes. "I do not think that the Riech would think kindly of you giving up, and from what I know of your own nation, neither would they..." the attache politely stopped himself from adding, 'slavic dog'.

Grumbling, the Baron did as requested.

The Atlantean-class submarine Blue 77 rides in the depths near Iansisle territorial waters. Blue 77 is just one of the many submarines still riding the waves of Earth in the name of His Majesty and in the service of His Majesty's Great Blue Fleet.
Reports from the scattered intelligence operatives within the Shield had grown increasingly erratic and disturbing. They had grown disturbing to such a degree that the Imperial High Command had ordered the Sol System Protectorate Zone to investigate the Shield, even as Valinon continued its vast war effort in the Raumreich.
Blue 77 had been the closest Atlantean near the Shield, and Commander Danjeville watches nervously as his command prepares to breech Shieldian territorial waters.
"Move to impellers," he says. The sides of the Atlantean begin to glow, as the "caterpiller" drives Valinon has designed for its subs nearly complete silent running activate and the more common turbines are cut.
"Take us to 985 feet. Set impeller throttle to all ahead one-third."
"Aye, sir, moving to 985 feet and continuing on course at all ahead one-third."
Danjeville turns to his comm operator, "Any updates?"
"Dragon Sun Territorial Command reports several nations moving military forces toward Shieldan territorial waters. Most recently the Roanians. They also report that the cruiser Musketeer is leading a cruiser group of two additional cruisers, four frigates, six destroyers, and a light escort carrier to Shieldian waters to establish contact with the Iansisle navy."
"Any additional orders."
"Reconfirms standing orders to enter Shieldian territorial waters, remain undetected, and investigate the situation."
Danjeville nods, "Then let us do so. Prepare to deploy a set of Mnesimache-class probes and two Orca-class mini-sub support craft to extend our operational perimeter once we have entered territorial limit pass fifty-five miles."
"Aye, sir."

Prince of Shadoran cut a dashing figure as she cruised the waters off Sentry Island, Queen Consort trailing behind her. She carried her compact 44,000 long tons fully loaded briskly north from the arm. Jones’ green ensign flapped energetically from the mizzenmast in the brisk twenty knot wind her headway generated. Her four massive primary turrets, each housing two 15”/42 guns of Walmingtonian design, were trained fore and aft.

At Harbor City, she and Queen Consort would rendezvous with Titan and Queen Jessica, which were just completing their refit. Lord Westergate’s and Sir George’s reinforcements would be arriving in just a couple days, bringing three more ships of the line and another battlecruiser with them. Then the RIN would be able to sally the most powerful line of battle since Unsterbank Shoal.

Vice Admiral Sir Kenneth Jones looked sadly out across the water. The southern shore of Weshield was just visable through the looming fog. He didn’t know much of what was going on there, but what he did know he didn’t like. And now this letter from the Imperium! It was far more than a mere Vice Admiral, even one in as important a position of Commander Home Fleet, Western Marches Area, should ever have to deal with; Jones prayed for Lord Westergate to have a speedy return.

He had discussed the new letter with Lord Westergate, as a matter of fact, who was now steaming in Colossus off the Noropian coast. Both men agreed that the Roanians were not trustworthy and that their soldiers must be kept out of the Empire until all other resources had been exhausted. The willingness and speed with which the Imperium had offered to help what was certainly one of its major rivals cast doubts on its intents. Alas, Westergate had been called away before a satisfactory return letter could be drafted, and Jones found himself doing so alone.

This letter was a little more brusque than the last one. It reminded Baron Kampien that His Majesty claimed his half of the Western Marches absolutely and that no Roanian man of war, no matter what its intent, would be allowed to violate that water. He agreed that the situation on the Shield was poor, but assured the Baron that it was salvagable without outside interference.

Jones sat back from his composing and sighed. Even in the plush luxury of Prince of Shadoran’s flag quarters, his entire body ached. Some of the pains were old war injuries, from both Salvador and his time on Antilochus, Noropia, and Behemoth. Most of it, however, were souviners of his time in a Beth Gellern work camp under the reign of Sopworth Igo. But those memories were too dark to linger on; he quickly picked up his pen again and finished writing the letter. He then had his steward run it up to the signals officer, who sent it off to the Roanian flagship.

-----

http://img78.photobucket.com/albums/v294/DrIquan/map.jpg
The Commonwealth

Submarines have a hard time sneaking into Troobodia Bay. Longshore transport has clogged the Southern Straits with sand, making the twenty-odd mile wide passage considerably shallow. The Northern Straits, while deeper than their cousins to the south, are still too shallow for any proper thermoclime.

Of course, a country with a technology base like the Valinor would doubtlessly have slight trouble overcoming those barriers, if they wanted to, and penetrating to Ianapalis, Delton, Empire, Harbor City, or any other port they wished.

(Hm, I'm quite drunk on cheap vodka, just now, but I thought I'd catch up a bit, anyway. I'll forget it, but oh well. Sorry if I missed anything that would have been helped by an angry socialist like Father, but he got a bit distracted (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=341625) what with heading a coup at home and all. I suppose that counts him and BG out of getting quite so directly involved :) Still, there's more likely to be a stream of BG tourists trying to bring communist (or Igovian) propaganda into The Shield, now. Oh wait, I say, "Igovian" as if everybody knows what that is.. I am too used to the introspective atmosphere of the Eastern Europe region, where Igovian thought is perhaps the most powerful force in a land of over a hundred nation states :) Long story short, sham communism, Kim Igo Sung thought. Why am I still typing? I don't know, it's just good to see that good story driven character heavy RP is still going on, I think. Yes. Wait, can I mix mild painkillers with booze? Lets find out.)

((Ian, we're both working from different scripts in our threads... shall I invade now, and put an end to this bickering by distracting you from helping the Walmingtonians and thus ensuring the Nazis have an easy ride?

Or shall we continue this charade? As it is, looks like I'm driving your ambassador to a heart attack...your call on both...))

Kampien almost tore his hair out in frustration. "What are we going to do? We outnumber them in the White Sea, and yet we're stuck! STUCK!"

The German very calmly and serenely pulled out his automatic pistol, and shot the Admiral dead. He then dialled up the Imperial Government. "This is Doenitz, Reich Naval Attache...your White Sea Admiral has met with an unfortunate accident. I recommend someone with...rather more ability, and less tendency to panic over details..." He looked out across the pocket battleship's deck to the distant Shieldian continent. "As it is, the Divine Imperium of Novar Ohan must choose whether to rise with its allies, or to fall with the Anglo-Saxons..."

==========

A note was somehow transferred to the provisional government in Ianapolis, advising the heads of the United Kingdom of the Divine Imperium's intentions to re-stabilise Weshield, and restore it to central control.

A postscript at the bottom, written with unusual force by Clarissa, said that if permission wasn't granted, a state of war would exist between the Divine Imperium and the Republic of Weshield, that Weshield would be given official recognition, and that once conquest had been affected, it would be annexed to the Imperium like any other conquered nation.

=========

Clarissa sighed, and looked out from her office. 'All over the world...the lamps are going out...we shall not see them lit again in our life-time...' She hated the neccessity of allying with the Germans. Hated the Germans themselves.

But there was nothing she could do about it...

((Ian, we're both working from different scripts in our threads...

((That's quite possible, given that very few of my threads, if any at all, have any sort of script. :) Usually the first two or three posts - the really long, wordy ones - are the only parts that are absolute. The rest of the plot is a murky shadow in the back of my mind towards which I try and steer the RP, but which is also changing with every additional post.))

The return message, written and sealed by Bradsworth himself, informed Clarissa that the United Kingdom considered itself to be a very close ally of the Weshielder Republic, and that any movement against the Bloody Lyre would create a state of war between the Shield and the Divine Imperium. The subtle, unwritten post script implied that Iansisle would attempt to involve Larkinia, Agrigento, Celeborne, and the other modern, large nations who were friends of His Majesty. The note was terse, short, and quite out of keeping with Mr Bradsworth's usual eloquence.

OOC: Iansisle, you make me feel ashamed for using my tech. I feel rather cheap and dirty.....*sigh* I guess I'm not as bad as most though.

Danjeville sets in his quarters, reading the reports and transcripts from the taps Blue 77 has put into the civilian and low-encrypt military communications of Iansisle. They are disturbing.
A faction of "republicans" is apparently trying to seize control of the Shield, and has detained the King and the Royal family. Danjeville has already carefully drafted a report on the overview of the situation, and it went out with the last whisker-laser comm transfers. Needless to say a sense of displeasure over these events will rapidly spread across the Earth treaty ports, the Five Worlds, and most likely to the Palace itself. The Alderman Emperors often looked at the Iansisle High Kings as kind of spiritual brethern in a social and political ideology sense. To see any harm come to them, well Danjeville certainly wouldn't want to be the one Gustav II held accountable for it.
He pulls his data-specs off and moves to go to his bridge.
"Kapitan on the con!" comes the familiar cry from his second, Korvettenkapitan Olison. Danjeville thanks him with a curt nod.
"Any word from the Musketeer and her task group?"
"They should be entering hailing range of Iansisle defense forces within the next forty-eight minutes, sir."
"Keep a close eye on the traffic control chatter, when they are mentioned, set a course away from Augsburg. Will move to swing around Troobodia, pass by Ianapalis and make for open waters again. We will rendezvous with the Musketeer afterwards."
"Aye, sir."

**********

On the horizon southwest of Turnish, the task force of Valinor warships appears on horizon. Their hulls are black and utilitarian gray, with their segmented armor plates slanted toward the water's surface as they glide over the seas on their massive hover systems. Powerful batteries and missile launchers cover their firing arcs as their sensors probe a vast sphere around them. Since the Knootian Shadow War, no one has seen a Valinor terretrial warship in action, and the Great Blue Fleet has worked carefully to preserve that secrecy.
A pair of Needle-class modular aerospace fighters, geared for interception and armed recon sweep ahead of the fleet of ships, launched from the attached escort carrier. Meanwhile, a hailing broadcast goes out across all channels.
"This is Kommodore Daughtery of the HMS Musketeer and His Majesty's Great Blue fleet," says a calm, female voice. "I am here to investigate reports of disturbances within the Shield of behalf of His Majesty and His Majesty's Government, and also render any assistance as able. I repeat this is Kommodore Daughtery of the...," the message repeats.

Admiral Adams heard the broadcast being emitted from the squawkbox and was very interested. He popped the speaker box once the broadcast ended and said in clear steady terms, "This is Admiral Adams of the Fultonian Special Operations Fleet within the vicinity investigating the disturbances within Iansisle and preparing for humanitarian missions. We are meeting with officials from his Majesties' Navy. Please send word on what is your purpose."

He popped the box off waiting intently.

"Someone send a copy of that message back to HQ and directly to President Jefferson now!" he stated very emphatically.

Officers began to react immediately to the hardcases command.

Clarissa Bencenoff narrowed her eyes at the returned message. The Prime Minister growled angrily, and slammed her fist against the desk. "Send an extraction team."

The First Marshal looked up, suddenly. "Sorry? For who?"

"I want you to find Robespierre. And see if you can't slip a little reminder to our lovely plague baccilus, Madders. Ask him why we weren't given prior warning as to the revolution, ask him about our ambassador. Before that, inform the 'United Kingdom' that their navy isn't obeying their orders now." The Prime Minister scrunched the paper up and threw it into a bin. "The patronising tone of that man..."

The First Marshal snapped off a salute, and marched from the room.

==========

The Imperial Council of the Armed Forces looked at the map on the wall. The Divine Imperium itself was picked out in red. The Divine Colonial Territories of Somalia, Madagascar and Yemen were in a lovely golden colour. Alaska was a nice green, and Micronesia and the other Imperial Island Protectorates were carefully picked out in baby blue.

Around the table, the Field Marshals, Lord Admirals and Air Marshals discussed grand strategy. Two clear factions had arisen. One pushed for the invasion of Weshield and the subsequent annexation. The other preferred to just launch an effective blockade of the Weshieldian ports, and to concentrate on increasing the Imperium's colonial territories at the expense of the Walmingtonians. Maybe even launch an invasion of Gallaga during the chaos of the Shieldians.

There were other breaches, but those were the ones currently at the fore. But they were all surprised at the suggestion of one of the Air Marshals. "We have the nuclear bomb, yes?" Air Marshal Mersenov asked, doodling with his pen.

Field Marshal Pitr Badenov laughed. "Of course we do! Don't you read your intelligence briefings?"

Mersenov nodded, and then pushed forward his doodles. "Tell me what you think of these..."

The men gasped as they looked through the drawings. "You... you propose we mix nuclear technology with rocket technology? Where did you get this idea?" Lord Admiral Razin asked, astounded.

"One of my technicians called it to my attention...but if it works, then we'll have become the premier power on this useless rock..."

The plan was audacious. That was clear enough. Rockets capable of a nuclear explosion... aimed at various sections of the Shieldian coastline or even at Walmingtonian colonies... if the range was improved, then even at Walmington itself!

The motion to test these nuclear rockets was quickly passed, all in favour. Mersenov was asked to provide a name for the project, and for the weapons themselves. Without hesitation, he replied, "Missiles. Nuclear Missiles."

It would take a few months to do the neccessary alterations, build the neccessary tools and get the nuclear weapons fitted correctly.

But the ICAF had plenty of time for anything that would kill more foriegners.

(I won't even pretend to have followed exactly, but I should at least have tagged this by now, eh? We don't want the Eastgaters to collapse in a month only to find that the rest of the ocean makes no sense and has left us further behind. Look at these show offs! Theeey think their so good just because they sail ships that weigh more than the Abargraptine fleet...oh...there's no 'but'. Heh. Oh, but the working man can't be stopped by a battleship? That'll do. All right, it's back to provoking people that can't fight back, for me.)

ooc: Hey Ians, it has been too long. What exactly is going on here?

((Ag: The Five Minute Explanation, Including Out-Of-Character Tidbits and an Absolute Minimum of Rambling!:

IanCorp, RM&M, and the East Gallaga Company seized control of the Tarriff government when it became clear that they would do little effective to try and quell the strikes and anti-corporate protests. However, that plan (though superbly effected and kept secret from the outside world) failed as their violent suppression was countered by more violent attack.

Meanwhile, the battleship Gurney was sent to bombard the city of Fort Jackson, capital of Weshield and home to the dissenting Westerton Motor-Car Company. The public outlash against the bombardment was more than expected, and the Corporations declared that the Gurney’s crew had mutinied and destroyed the city as an act of vengeance against strict RIN disciplinary procedures. HIMS Princess Royal was sent to sink the Gurney before she could surrender to Ryansisle. A corporate plant on Gurney blew the ship up with a 16 kiloton nuclear device when it became apparent that the Princess Royal wouldn’t sink her.

Back in Weshield, the government collapsed and citizens formed collectives to help themselves. The most powerful of these, led by Todd Andrews, a powerful psychic, effected a bloodless coup, arrested the Royal Family of Weshield, and declared a republic under the Bloody Lyre flag.

In Ianapalis, the Corporations were forced to evacuate the city in the face of increasingly heavy casualties. They fled to Thortraia, the home of RM&M. On the way out, however, a small group consisting of Grand Admiral Tri, Quinton, and Weathers and Lawrence of the KIG, tried to rescue High King James from where he was being held in Jameston Place. They succeeded, though Quinton and Tri were killed by East Gallaga Companyman William Ashtonbury. Weathers rode north to try and rescue Tri’s daughter, Dame Anna, and Lawrence tried to lead James and his sisters to where Princess Royal had suddenly appeared. They were captured by riflemen under the control of Charles Bradsworth. The Grand Empire of the Shield, and a new ‘United Kingdom of the Shield’ was established with James as the monarchial head but all other social distinctions of the Empire abolished. The United Kingdom recognized Weshield’s sovereignty and signed an alliance with the Republic. Meanwhile, Noropia, Gadsan, and the other Dominions are trying to figure out just what they ought to be doing.

*pshew!* Think that’s about it. Any parts you’d like me to elaborate on? (sadly, this is the bare bones version! ;))))

Everyone else: response coming!

ooc: Tri dead...they shall pay dearly for this :mad:

Any room in this tangled web for me??

ooc: Tri dead...they shall pay dearly for this :mad:

Any room in this tangled web for me??

Always, my dear, sir, always! :)

For an account of Tri's death, read the first post of 'the Glorious Enterprise' [/shameless plug]

Val: ((don’t feel bad about your technology! I really don’t care; do what you think would be in-character for your nation. Unless otherwise noted, Iansisle exists in all technological periods simultaneously :)))

“What do you make of it, sir?” asked the sixth lieutenant, the signals officer, after playing back the recording for Vice Admiral Jones and his flag captain. He let his immediate disdain for the concept of a female sailor, much less an officer and still less a task group commander (which was inbred by a lifetime of ‘learning’ in intolerant, biased, and very often blind to practical realities Iansisle that women were something to be cherished and protected as they couldn’t fend for themselves) go unstated as he awaited the Admiral’s response.

Sir Kenneth, however knew that the outlanders had radically different - and more correct, really - opinions about what a woman could and couldn’t do.

“Make to Kommodore Daughtery: quote, ‘I shall be hosting a Fultonian naval delegation’ - give time of appointment - ‘and would be delighted if you could join us. Prince of Shadoran is ill-fitted to receive helicopters, but Nike stands by to assist with transportation. Vice Admiral Sir Kenneth Jones, Commander Western Marches Area.’ Send that off at once, won’t you?”

---

Roania: The Royal Iansislean Navy might be wavering in its support of the sudden change of state title and form, but the Army Corps certainly wasn’t. Units across Shadoran, Vesshampton, Sentry Island, the Philippines, Borneo, Midway, Batam, Gallaga, and Dianatran had hastened to don their new, revolutionary uniforms and nationalize all sorts of corporate property. Fortunately, the brief period of wavering loyalties and indecision wasn’t long enough for the Dianatrani nomads to make a strike at any critical part of the Empire-Oasis pipeline. Personnel working for the Shieldo-Dianatranian Oil Company were quickly subdued and the largest oil fields in Tilsitia and the pipes which carried it to the sea were added to the United Kingdom.

Meanwhile, Charles Bradsworth sent another brusque note to the government of the Divine Imperium. It stated, in no unclear terms, that the duty of the Royal Iansislean Navy was to protect the territorial waters of the United Kingdom and its sovereign allies from threat domestic or foreign, and that he was positive that was just what it was doing.

Lawrence Madders, meanwhile, was in a considerably better mood. Even if he couldn’t have the interim premiership, that wouldn’t stop him from trying for it once the new constitution was drafted. And he was greatly enjoying, in the meantime, his new post as Director of War for the United Kingdom of the Shield.

It only took Vice-President Bottom three hours to "dock" with Defiance. A brief conversation occured between Bottom and Adams before a Special Operations Squad boarded a transport helicopter, A Secret Service contingent boarded another, and Adams with Bottom and the small diplomatic attache boarded the official helicopter of the Vice-President of the Republic.

The three glided gracefully in the air toward the Nike in the Northwest forming a holding pattern. The two military copters shown the Fultonian flag on its tail and the Vice-Presidential helicopter shown the Seal of the Republic. The three hovered over the craft forming a cirular flying patttern. A military helicopter swooped down hovering several fleet above the deck as two soldiers, clad in dark blue and black fatigues equipped with Fultonian modified m-16's and a variety of equipment, hopped out of both sides of the open aired vehicle and dropped to their stomachs. Almost simultaneously four more soldiers popped out of the sides of the vehicle taking slow measured steps toward the outer edges forming a semi circle. Immediately the helicopter swooped away.

The second copter flew down, and touching the deck only briefly, as six men in black and grey suits stepped out and slowly walked behind the soldiers. The helicopter then flew off.

The Vice-Presidential Helicopter landed in full force, onboard of the Nike, as three men with briefcases hopped out crouching followed shortly by Admiral Adams and Vice-President Bottom. The two walked tally toward thier awaiting greeters.

"Hello gentlemen, do we have a cozy space to conduct business?" Vice President Bottom smiled.

Vice Admiral Jones was apparently unsure about how to receive dignitaries aboard a helicopter. Playing it safe rather than sorry, Nike greeted the approaching helicopter with a nineteen gun salute from her light battery. Once aboard, Vice President Bottom was welcomed by the boatswain’s call and a proper side party. A short, dark man with Shadoranite features was there to greet the prestigious party. He was clad in the mess dress uniform of a post captain and saluted Bottom and Adams upon their arrival.

“Welcome aboard His Iansislean Majesty’s Ship Nike, Mr Vice President; Admiral Adams,” he said with a irritatingly formal Shieldian salute. “I’m Captain Botsford.”

Bottom’s rather direct question threw Botsford for a temporary loop, but he soon recovered with the dignity that was expected of a King’s officer. “It is the Admiral’s wish that I provide you with transportation to his flagship promptly; you’ll be using my personal gig, of course, and the Vice Admiral will be glad to meet with you in his wardroom.”

Prince of Shadoran was lying hove-to in the calm black waters of Troobodia Bay a short way in front of Nike, clearly waiting for the mobile dock to put her boat over.

Vice-President Bottom grinned. "Thank You for the formalities Captain, I hope you don't mind the small security detail but it's protocol. Would you mind if our soldiers waited in your mess while we spoke, and sorry about the shadows but they have to tag along."

Admiral Adams was scanning the ship and the style of planes on the looming Aircraft Carrier while the diplomats seemed nervous and unsure.

Iansisle’s primary sea-based fighter, the MPAF-5N SeaSteed, was evident all along the deck and in the hanger. Also in large numbers were the BAF-2N SeaHorse, a monowing torpedo bomber and the BAF-3N SeaScreamer, a dive bomber. Only a few of the SeaSteeds looked ready to launch at quick notice. Adams might wonder why Iansisle, a country that had fielded land-based jet powered aeroflyers for a decade, had still to adapt a naval varient of any of its jets.

“Don’t worry, Mr Vice President, I quite understand,” said Botsford with a quick glance at the soldiers. “Perhaps they’d be most comfortable waiting in Marine Country?” Like all Iansislean men-of-war, Nike carried a small complement of marines on board. Because a MAFD was seldom required to land troops, Nike carried a single platoon, but they would definately welcome soldiers into their midst more readily than Shieldian tars, who were biased against land troops of any sort.

They soon arrived at Nike’s gig, which was waiting to be launched. A NCO and several ratings were all ready inside, and Captain Botsford motioned for Vice President Bottom and Admiral Adams to precede him.

“Sorry about the travel arrangments,” he said, “but Prince of Shadoran is a much more comfortable place to hold a conference than Nike.”

As they traveled to the ship Bottom pulled a cigar out of his left pocket and lit up taking deep breaths.

Admiral Adams leaned over to the Captain feeling noticably uncomfortable in his full military dress, "Captain, I would like to say it looks as if you run a very good crew."

Botsford accepted the compliment graciously. “Thank you, Admiral. We do try and keep things ship-shape. Nike is one of the newest ships in the fleet, and has her share of bugs to work out.”

They soon pulled alongside Prince of Shadoran. Lines were thrown down and Captain Botsford made to ascend the ladder. The day someone had to hoist him aboard in a chair was the same day he would retire. Still, it was lowered for Bottom and Adams, if they cared to use it.

On deck, Vice Admiral Jones was standing with yet another side party waiting to welcome them aboard.

M.M. Capodoglio
Outside Patrol Route Alpha3-EPAC
________________________________

The Type 800 Dolphin class submarine was one of very few of its kind in Marina Militare. Slowly it maneuvered its way through the narrow ravine that would provide its cover until it begins to near Sentry Island. Its mission was known to very few, but its purpose was quite clear. Outfitted for war, its weapons could reach far and wide, and it was not everyday that a submarine was called off its patrol like this during peace time.

A Valinor jet-coptor lifts off from the Musketeer, followed by another one from the escort carrier HMS Magistrate. They are escorted toward the Nike by a pair of Needlers. The sleek, silver, barbed-shaped objects cut through the atmosphere with a high-pitched roar. The jet-coptors they escort are smaller version, the type preffered by the Great Blue Fleet's officer core for personal transports. They settle onto the Nike's flight deck as the Needlers roar by, making an inverted loop and returning to the Magistrate as the 'coptors debark their passengers.
From the lead 'coptor comes a woman dressed in a spotless blue uniform of a Great Blue Fleet Kommodore. She has a disciplined military bearing, her long coppery hair the only deviation from military precision of dress and fashion--rank has its privileges in Valinon. Following are a junior officer, a Fregattenkapitan from his rank insignia, and a man dressed in a formal Valinor vest suit and great coat, looking like a throw back to Earth's nineteenth century. From the other jet-coptor exit a squad of Sardaukar, eight men in danger suits led by a Leutnant.
Kommodore Daughtery approaches Vice Admiral Jones with a calm demeanor of a junior flag officer meeting a senior one, granting him respect with her posture.
"Permission to come aboard, Vice Admiral?"

The Secret Service began to shuffle the Vice-President into the lift but he laughed and clenching the cigar between his teeth he climbed the ladder followed by Admiral Adams. The Secret Service were agasp as they hurriedly scaled the ladder. The diplomats rode the lift as they clenched thier briefcases.

As Bottom rounded the top he saw another delegation of blue clad personnel. He couldn't help checking out the nice body of the woman in front.

((As always, Ian, I remain confident in my ability to crush your land-based forces like the under-equipped, under-paid, and under-trained forces they are. Your navy, however, is another matter entirely.

By the way, if any more ships start coming through the straits, then the Divine Admiralty will order them closed.))

The White Sea fleet took effective action, splitting apart into two large combat groups and setting out for the two ends of the White Sea. Their orders were to observe, but not take action.

At the same time, Imperial Submarines had left WhitePort, heading for a closed section of the Shieldian coast. Clarissa's message was going to reach Madders, and Robespierre would be found.

==========

A single cloaked figure moved up to the parliament house. When challenged to reveal his identity, he threw his cowl aside and snarled, "Ambassador the Lord Baron Robespierre of the Divine Imperium of Novar Ohan and the Sunset Isles. The man who created this revolution. Who the blazes are you?"

ooc: Roania, what tech are you?

((In my RPs with Ian, here? NS1950+. Why?

Oh, by the way...Ian, does this change the traditional balance of power where-in your navy beats my navy, and my army beats yours, and our air-forces cancel out so that there's no real chance of either of us doing much in a war except screaming at each other over the small body of water that seperates us? Or is my secret weapon, the 'nuclear missiles' -yes, I know they aren't really missiles-, something that's going to come to your people once this unpleasantness is done.

I think a cold war scenario offers the most scope for roleplay, yes? Or rather, scope for roleplay besides the mutually-destructive-North Pacific-becoming-wasteland-everyone-dying kind. Or maybe we could act to each other like De Gaulle's France did to NATO, nominally on the same side but secretly wishing that the other people would vanish from the face of the Earth. I'm feeling very French lately. I might have my African colonies go 'Algeria' on me.))

ooc: I was just curious. :]

ooc: just so we all know my tech is NS1990's
by the way, someone who read our little plot said my Rping skills are shoddy. Am I making too many mistakes?

ooc: just so we all know my tech is NS1990's
by the way, someone who read our little plot said my Rping skills are shoddy. Am I making too many mistakes?

ooc: A couple of spots here and there, but overall I think its fine. Your fairly new here, and I wouldn't worry too much about such things. It just takes time for an RP style to develop.

The Valinor jetcopter was given a commodore’s eleven gun salute, and its occupants were met on Nike by Jones’ chief of staff, young Commander Lord George Clayburgh, the second son of the famous Marquess of Westergate. Lord George quickly showed the Valinor to the waiting boat and shuttled them over to Prince of Shadoran just ten minutes before the Fultonians. In the distance on both ships, a man or two could be heard to mumble about what bad luck a woman was aboard ship before being summarily ordered back to work with vague threats of punishment by whatever officer was present. Iansisle valued the advanced Valinor as allies, and she wouldn’t want to insult them over such a trivial matter.

“Granted Kommodore Daugherty,” smiled Jones as he saluted. “Welcome aboard His Iansislean Majesty’s Battleship Prince of Shadoran.”

Sir Kenneth cut something less than a dashing figure, even in the deep blue blazer and gold-studded cap of his mess dress uniform (full dress might have been appropriate for receiving foreign dignitaries, but the Royal Iansislean Navy’s full dress uniform was firmly stuck in the conventions of the Regency and something most officers preferred to avoid under all circumstances). Sir Kenneth was thin - gaunt, really - and his sunken eyes carried a sadness that even the cheery smile couldn’t hide. His sallow skin hung loosely on his bones; Jones couldn’t be much older than forty-five or fifty, but he looked ancient.

“We’re expecting the Fultonians to be arriving presently; I think I saw their belly-thwapter land right after yours,” said Jones matter-of-factly, completely ignoring or missing his mispronunciation.

Surely enough, with the second twilling of the boatswain’s pipes in ten minutes, Captain Botsford appeared and requested permission to come aboard. Jones’ flag captain granted it immediately, and Botsford stepped out behind the side party to let Bottom board.

“Vice President Bottom, I presume?” asked Vice Admiral Jones as the civilian suit - shockingly different from the gathered naval uniforms - appeared. “Welcome, sir, aboard His Iansislean Majesty’s Battleship Prince of Shadoran.” Jones had to admit, he was much more impressed with Bottom than he would have been if the Vice President had used the chair.

After everyone had assembled, Jones led them into Prince of Shadoran’s wardroom. The large, luxurious space, furnished with mahogany and teak, was decorated with the usual Iansislean lack of taste. The large model of the old Prince of Shadoran, a 74 gun ship of the line from C.H. Tri’s navy, sat on a table. A fireplace held a burning log of Shieldian oak (even if the room had its own climate control, a fireplace could never be out of place in Iansisle!) and the walls held pictures of various stages of Prince of Shadoran’s construction and trials.

“We’re a new ship,” explained Prince of Shadoran’s captain, who had been at Jones’ right hand while they greeted the dignitaries, “and haven’t had time to win our own honors yet. Drinks, anyone?” A steward stood by the liquor cabinet to fill any requests.

“I hope you don’t mind the informality of all this,” said Jones. “I thought it would be a good place to clear the air between all three of us.” The three of us obviously referred to himself, Bottom, and Daugherty. “Obviously, if there are any points which need to be refined, we can hammer them out separately and later.”

------

As with all Roanian movements in the Western Marches, these were watched closely by destroyers attached to Jones’ command. They were relayed back to Prince of Shadoran on a regular basis, where Lord George, who had left the party heading to the wardroom, helped Jones’ staff keep track on the large map in the flag bridge.

Prince of Shadoran, Queen Consort, and Titan stood on alert just on the Troobodian side of the Straits to respond to any hostile movements towards the Shield, the Noropian Head, or the Tharian Arm. They were accompanied by a dozen light and heavy cruisers, the Queen Jessica, the Nike and Apollo, and many destroyers.

Any threats by the Roanian Admiralty made to the United Kingdom about closing the Straits were probably laughed off. The Northern and Southern Straits were controlled on both sides by heavy Shieldian coastal fortifications belonging either to the United Kingdom or the Weshielder Republic. They had been the key to protecting Iansislean commerce inside Troobodia Bay, the mare nostrum of the Shield, and were thought impenetrable by any surface ships.

However, submarines of all countries would be advised against passing through them. Strong anti-sub nets protected the entrance to guard against proactive Yankee skippers; anti-sub mines were attached to the bottom - even Royal Mining and Manufacturing hadn’t made too big of a stink when one broke loose and sunk a coal freighter of theirs; they understood that Troobodia Bay bust be safeguarded against all intruders or they’d loose a lot more ships - and sloops and trawlers patrolled the surface on constant vigil. Minefields were also maintained against surface ships, but the main deterrent to those were the immense coastal fortifications, some with 16” or even 18” guns, which commanded the Straits from the heights of Weshield, Tharia, and Sentry Island.

((no, I don’t think it really changes anything about the balance of power. Madders is trying to build the army into a respectable force, but frankly, I don’t think enough generals have been minted to do that. :)))

by the way, someone who read our little plot said my Rping skills are shoddy. Am I making too many mistakes?

((I haven’t really noticed you making too many - if any - mistakes, Fultonia. Your prose isn’t quite as refined as some people posting here, but that’s all right - this is roleplay, after all, not writing the great American novel. I wouldn’t listen to whoever said that; you’re doing fine as far as I’m concerned and people only get better with experiance!

BTW, is Fult an acceptable nickname? :)))

M.M. Capodoglio
Awaiting Rendezvous, just miles outside of Troobodia Bay
_________________________________

"New course, Captain?"
"South," Captain First Rank Liborio Vivendi responded. "We will maintain position just over the thermo cline layer, leave our tail under it and see if we can acquire our target" He'd been away from home for almost two months and a new array was due when got back to port in another week. This scheduled overhaul was supposed to provide a major improvement in the towed array and propulsion system. After the refit Capodoglio would be quieter and would have better sonar and Vivendi was starting to wonder how much longer he could play this game.

"Speed, Captain?"
"Assume a target speed of five knots and a range of twenty nautical miles. We'll do seven."

"Sonar is picking up something sir", the voice crackled over the intercom. "The acoustical characteristics are a positive, it's our target"

The large freighter plowed its way across the calm ocean at a mean five knots, as it approached Troobodia Bay.

"How is our visitor doing?", asked Vivendi.
"I don't think he likes our accommodations, Cap'n"
"That's a shame, well, he won't be here for much longer,"
replied the aging submariner. "This is going to rough, but its what we've trained for."

The Freighter was nearing the coast of Sentry Island now and it began its hailing transmissions.

"This is Karachi Trading Company Freighter 09320 Andrea Galeria. We have a scheduled shipment of machine parts for Iansisle."


ooc: I think you know what I am getting at. Its upto you to accept the freighter and it shadow or to deny it entrance to the bay.

((I'm thinking Robespierre would like to meet with Madders, Ian...his proposal might interest you.))

Bottom walked slowly around the room smoking his fine cigar studying everything. He stated very matter of factly, "The architecture here is so much more amazing than Fultonian ships, ours are always so bland and dull. Nothing but business, I should suggest to HQ's that we make major renovations." He gave a full harty laugh.

"So, obviously we all have a dog in this fight. My intelligence tells me that his majesties forces have mutinied, or shifted thier loyalties in the least. The government of Fultonia is divided on this subject of the civil war. Even the ruling coalition isn't completely on board. In fact the only reason I'm here is because a popular president is taking a gamble. My question to you Jones, is what exactly do you think can be done? Furthur, how can Fultonia help the grand nobility of the 'United Kingdom'?" Bottom dropped some ashes into his ash pouch and leaned against a wall standing on his heels.

((I’ll accept the tail, Ag - our anti-sub thinking isn’t quite that advanced :). And I’d imagine that the freighter is making too much noise for our hydrophones to pick it up, yes?))

“Andrea Galeria, this is Commander Tadenson of the Royal Revenue Service. Please prepare to accept pilot.”

The message was brief and terse, but with good reason. The Revenue Service had been pressed hard the last couple years, both under the Empire and the United Kingdom. Now, with all the tariffs and duties Bradsworth and his government wanted to impose! - and least that git Madders was increasing their budget.

A small cutter bore a pilot out to the Karachi Trading Company ship. he was a short, grouchy, unlikable man who spoke no Italian and was contemptuous of those who did, but he was able to pilot the ship through the various mine fields and other obsticles war demanded.

-----

The guard investigated this strange man. “I’ll call the captain - wait here,” he decided at last. That decision triggered a whole series of phone calls which lasted upwards of twenty minutes.

At last: “All right, the Director of War will see you presently.” The man did not seem pleased with the final decision, but showed Robespierre up to Madders’ office.

EDIT: oops, sorry, Fult! Have your reply up in a moment!

Robespierre dusted his suit off, and entered the office. "Mr. Madders...you've done quite well for yourself..." he said, giving a polite bow. "Director for War, eh?" He inspected his 'creation', grinning happily. "Of course...it's not quite perfect, but I'm sure this whole 'United Kingdom' thing is just a brief fad... yessssss?"

He was uncomfortably aware of how little protection he had here. He knew that his only card, that he remained the ambassador from a nation technically at peace with this 'United Kingdom', was no longer worth much. But still... "I am impressed, though...by how you allowed someone else to take control of this country..."

'This imbecile had better remember that we wanted the Grand Empire to become a republic, James handed over, and the White Sea restored to its pre-1919 boundaries... still, this order out of chaos thing is working nicely...I expect that when I get back to Novar Ohan we'll have something new with which to re-take control of the Filipino situation...'

Jones lowered his body tenderly onto one of the hard-backed seats which surrounded the enormous mahogany table that dominated the wardroom and gestured for the rest to do likewise. Interestingly, he did not seat himself at the head of the table, nor did any of the other Iansislean officers. The Prince of Shadoran’s captain eagerly thanked Bottom for his compliments on the decor.

“Well, Mr Vice President, I can sympathize with the position your government must be in,” said Jones at last. “We haven’t had a reliable report out of Ianapalis in - well, it’s been some time, anyway. My chief of staff has been coordinating as best he can with Lord Westergate’s and Sir George’s* but without DNI our picture is still very incomplete.

“What do I think can be done?” he continued, tapping his chin. “Well, first and foremost, the Shield must be isolated. It’s a damn muddled situation in there, and I fear that stirring up the dirt might only make things worse. Once we know what we’re dealing with, we’ll be able to counter it - or help it - much more effectively.

“From what I hear, the only place with a real threat to the nobility is in Wyclyfe. But no one’s quite sure what’s going on there - some Igovian morons have managed to seize power, from what I hear. Weshield’s pretty bad; the aristocrats there have been rounded up and sent to ‘collective safety camps.’ Of course, there’s no immediate danger to their persons. In the United Kingdom (which is Shadoran and Vesshampton, plus Sentry Island, Dianatran, and the colonies), things seem to be continuing much as they always have.

((* Admiral the Marquess of Westergate and Admiral Sir George Rice. The Lord Commander Northern Fleet and Lord Commander Gallagan Fleet, respectively. Oh, and DNI is the Department of Naval Inteligence, a part of the Admiralty - the office of my Third Sea Lord, if I remember correctly, but I’ll have to check that.))

Madders’ office was in #3 Jameston Place, in the old office of the Minister of War. He was still in the process of cleaning up the effects of the last Minister, Sir Ian O’Bannon, who was presumed taken to Thortraia with the rest of the corporates’ puppet government. Except for the boxes filled with Sir Ian’s possessions, the office was absolutely Spartan. Only the oak desk and three chairs served as furniture, and the bare walls were broken only by dust marking where pictures had once hung.

The keen eyes of Lawrence Madders regarded Robespierre intently, but with no particular affection. He was not the speaker or the communicator Bradsworth was, but he was quite intelligent and highly ambitious. No doubt Robespierre didn’t realize it, but for every bit he considered Madders a tool, Madders considered him and his entire Divine Imperium a tool. They were simply there to have installed him back in the Shield and now their usefulness was at an end. Iansisle might not have quite the consumer culture America does, but its citizens knew full well what happened to expended tools - they were discarded, cast away. Any agreements that might have been made between him and the Divine Imperium were now worthless and quite the furthest thing from his mind.

“Mr Bradsworth is simply in power for the interim while a new constitution is drafted,” replied Madders at last, his voice surprisingly mild in response to Robespierre’s dig. A subtle insinuation implied that that condition would prevail upon the ‘United Kingdom’ as well. “Once that happens, elections will be held, and we shall see whose base of support is larger.”

Despite the best efforts of the new government to prevent political parties from forming, one could see a definite coagulation of the movers-and-shakers of the new United Kingdom around either Bradsworth or Madders.

Admiral Adam's seated himself at the table and took out his pen and notebook.

Vice-President Bottom spoke through his clenched cigar after blowing a large puff of smoke into the air. "Well, two things. With your permission the republic would like to mount a rescue mission for the nobles in Weshield. Secondly our intelligence says that the Shieldians mounted a pretty bloodless coup. If this true my government has no choice but to recognize them as an official government and offer humanitarian aid and many supplies. I don't like it but I'm not sure even President Jefferson can hold off the Libertarians from forcing the issue upon us."

He glided slowly toward a picture and turned around smiling, "We do however have something that might of interest to your majesties navy."

Jones grimaced. “Unfortunately, Mr Vice President, some git calling himself ‘the Director of War for the United Kingdom of the Shield’ gave all ships a wireless message a while back. We’re not sure just who he is, but he knew the proper Admiralty channels and codes.

“He warned the fleet that ‘the United Kingdom considers itself an ally of the Republic of Weshield and under NO circumstances are RIN units to attempt to violate the Republic’s sovereignty or aid those who seek to do so.’ I’m sorry, Mr President, but I simply cannot help you until we’ve gotten a better picture of what’s going on in Ianapalis.”

However, Jones’ face lit up - at least, as best his face could light up - and Bottom’s last words. “Indeed?” was all he said, but his voice conveyed much deeper interest.

((methinks we might want to wait till tomorrow on this thread so Valinon can say anything he wants to. OK with you? Or one more post from you would probably be fine too. Whatever you think best.))

OOC:I was actually about to suggest that very thing. I am actually very interested in Valinon, and Roania.

Robespierre actually knew what Madders considered him.

What Madders didn't realise, though, was that this tool didn't care. Or rather, this tool's masters didn't care. Project Firebird was right on track...and due to be tested shortly. The new napalm had also come along quite well.

Kali Bombs. Firebird 'Missiles'. Naptha.

The Shieldians would be punished for their hubris with a blaze of fire.

Whatever Madders thought...he and the opinion of his absurd little 'United Kingdom' were as unimportant to the Divine Imperium as the Divine Imperium's views had been to the Grand Empire previously. The Imperial Navy had never been able to match the Shieldians in terms of numbers...but each of its ships, especially the pocket battleships, could lay waste to large sections of coastline...especially in such a prize as Gallaga or the Phillipines. Prizes which the Divine Imperium now saw as its right. Maybe not today...or tomorrow...but someday, Gallaga would be under the Firebird.

Robespierre also didn't know it, but he was also meaningless in this new world. Perhaps he had a suspicion, but nevertheless he gave a cheerful smile. "Yes, quite...quite...still, I'm sure that you haven't...you know, sold out, yes?" He noted the scar on the other man's face. "Given in to the very interests which put down your peaceful revolts...exiled you... my dear sir, we...I, am your only real friend... and I want to help you further..."

((The DI, however, isn't going to be attacking anyone...nationalist sentiments should start to rise up in its puppet states and colonies very soon, just like in Gallaga. And two functional democracies rarely, if ever, actually go to war with one another.))

((Now, if only revolutions provided functional democracy! [/blatant cynicism] ;)))

As a matter of fact, Madders was just getting ready to serve on the tribunal for a former RM&M enforcer charged with being one of those who fired on the Grand Street strikers. And everyone all ready knew what his vote - and his recommendation for sentence - would be.

“Indeed?” he said at Robespierre’s last words in a rambling, semi-coherent rant. “Pray tell, friend, how do you propose to help me?” His voice gave away that he couldn’t think of a single way for poor, bedraggled, apparently friendless Robespierre to help him.

((I'm willing to step in and make it work... :mp5: ))

Robespierre laughed, the old intellect returning. "I propose a deal..." he smiled, wanly. "I know I'm on my own here...but get me and my family back to the Divine Imperium, and not only can I promise that the United Kingdom and the Republic of Weshield will be recognised as the rightful government of the former Grand Empire..." he pulled some folders out of a suit pocket, "but I can also guarantee Imperial Support against the Corporates...and against Bradsworth."

He slid the dossiers across the table. "This is a list of names of the people who either attempted to seek refuge in our consulates and my embassy during the revolution... this is a list of names of prominent Shieldian businessmen who I believe were in the Divine Imperium. Run down the second list, ticking off names as you want, and I can promise you they'll be sent here..."

Madders considered the dossiers briefly. The first list was fairly short. Most people seemed to have gone to ANH embassies and consulates seeking protection; with common knowledge circulated about the Shield, leaving the Revolution to jump into the Divine Imperium was out of the frying pan and into the fire.

The second list was about the same length. Madders scanned down it briefly, then looked up at Robespierre with cold eyes.

“This is quite a tall favor for simple extraction,” he said. “Forgive me if I cannot quite believe this is all your Divine Imperium would have of me.”

“He warned the fleet that ‘the United Kingdom considers itself an ally of the Republic of Weshield and under NO circumstances are RIN units to attempt to violate the Republic’s sovereignty or aid those who seek to do so.’ I’m sorry, Mr President, but I simply cannot help you until we’ve gotten a better picture of what’s going on in Ianapalis.”

OOC: So is this the point where I go ahead and send teh 69th back into Iansisle. The first time I did it (WAAAAAAAAY back when I started RPing, someone attacked you and I sent some troops to help, it was teh 69th), there were complaints of scraing the women and children and all but drinkning bars outa buisness. Just say ok, and I'll get to it...

OOC: So is this the point where I go ahead and send teh 69th back into Iansisle. The first time I did it (WAAAAAAAAY back when I started RPing, someone attacked you and I sent some troops to help, it was teh 69th), there were complaints of scraing the women and children and all but drinkning bars outa buisness. Just say ok, and I'll get to it...

((Ah, yes, I remember that! That was the war when someone sold all exploitation rights to iron ore and coal in his country to RM&M, then tried to back out of the contract, started pitching a fit, and refused to let RM&M workers into his country. And RM&M bullied the government into declaring war. Good times, good times.))

((Nice, Ian...let Imi in, but order the Imperium out... my cold war scenario is looking more and more likely...))

((Actually, I don't think I've 'let' anyone in. Imi can just come in if he wants - he has the technology to make my IC protests irelevant.))

((Would you allow me to stick myself into this mess? The Imperial Fleet has been sitting around for awhile in port... and I haven't entered into a good, non-World Cup RP recently.))

((MV, anyone who's got the time/inclination is MORE than welcome to join, most especially a role-player of your caliber!

Mind you, the RIN probably won’t take too kindly Imperial men-of-war near Shieldian waters, but meh. Who cares what they think? ;)

Oh, and about your post on the factbook: I’m afraid Iansisle has a southern neighbor, actually. It just isn’t shown on the map. Ryansisle - the Empire of the Golden Quarry. Effit is our eastern neighbor and Healdsburg our southeastern. Sorry!))

((Hmm... Does Ryansisle have a southern neighbor, then? ^^
Otherwise, the Crown Empire is somewhere in the Pacific... maybe southeast of the Shieldan Continent near Mexico/Southern California? ))

It seems like another lazy day in the city of Valerius Prime. It was also apparent that the emperor, too, was sucking in all of the aura that radiated from the day as he lied sprawled out across his bed, sweating. When will those mechanicians ever get the air conditioning fixed in his room again? He could just walk down the hall into the fourth floor lobby, where the air systems have gone haywire, too, but in a different sense. Anyone who enters that lobby needs to bring a parka...

The tall mahoghany doors of the Imperial Bedroom swung open without the proper fanfare of the visitor knocking and waiting for the emperor's reply knock. Emperor Alexander II sprung up, feeling obliged to put a false smile on his face. All the hate in the world could be directed at whomever awoke him from his slumber...

Apparently, it was Josef Radetzky, proud General of the 3rd Tabrizian Rifles. The man was reknown for his affable nature in the military. Speaking of military, the Valerian military machine, mighty under Alexander I (the current emperor's father), has become destitute in comparison with its navy. For an empire which spans over so much territory and houses 870 Million denizens of diverse backgrounds, an army of 8,000,000 is hardly enough; heck, it might not be enough for The Crown Empire and its 168 million inhabitants, especially with the von Plittersdorff family's bitter rivalry with the crown. They could possibly stir an uprising in the Triple Badenese Duchies at their whim. There was nothing worse than 13 million South Germanic people crying foul at The Crown Empire for its attitude towards them.

"Sire," Gen. Radetzky said with a quick bow. "Intelligence reports of a great bickering between the Divine Imperium and the Shieldians. In fact, the Shieldian government has gone through a major overhaul and now fancies itself as a United Kingdom. Weshield also has emerged as a new independent republic... I think... Our intelligence smothered crepes over this briefing, so it's really hard to make out anything from it."

The emperor's hidden clenched fists relaxed, and he brought his hands forward. His veins were still throbbing, but the anger at Radetzky's intrusion was receeding. "I might be more interested in colonizing Mexico and taking Central America, but I guess it might be to our interest that Iansisle is duly protected from any aggregated aggression by the part of the Divine Imperium and its lackies, if any," replied the emperor. "Send the Alexandrian Squadron up to investigate and figure out what exactly is the situation up in that region."

And thus, 34 dreadnoughts, 12 cruisers, 18 heavy cruisers, 30 subs, and 40 corvettes, upon order of the Valerian Emperor, set sail from Alexandria Harbour in King William's Sea. The squadron's destination was to arrive up either near MacMillian or to push further north into Turnish to establish contact with the Iansislian authority and to find out if Weshield actually existed.

A Divine Imperial Pocket-Battleship Cluster was on Summer maneouvres within the soon-to-be conquered Islands of Hawaii. At least, that was rthe current excuse. In actual fact, however, they were there to scan for fall-out.

Honolulu, after all, was meant to be have had the surviving American government figures in it. And the sooner it was certain that the Islands were safe, their bodies would be found and paraded in order to put an end to American resistance to Walmington, the United Kingdom, and the Divine Imperium.

However, they were well-placed to inform the Admiralty about the existence of an *absurdly* large fleet from the Crown Empire. The Divine Admiralty, in turn, was well in place to inform that of the United Kingdom that more of their 'idiotic and absurd guests' (exact words) were on their way.

The President sat in his office stewing over the latest report. Perhaps I've gone too far in getting involved with the Civil War on Iansisle. A fleet larger than the Republic's entire navy was steaming toward the area at this very time. Roania was deeply involved and appeared to be favoring the new government. Valinon had ships in the region and technology years ahead of ours. The Imitorans wanted a slice of the pie as well, I can't stand those elitists. Well, I guess we'll see how the Special ops works out and go from there.

Not to mention that the campaign was going to into full swing in less than a week when he'd have to announce his intentions to run for re-election. The Progressives had already announced thier candidate and the Liberals were holding their convention right now. The only good piece of news this week was that the Libertarians would not run a Presidential candidate as per thier agreement. Oh, how much it takes to be President of the Republic.

M.M. Capodoglio
Well Inside Troobodia Bay
_______________________

"Sir, the freighter is peeling off to port, at this depth we will be exposed when he passes over us", said Lieutenant Commander Piegallo.

"Noted XO, go wake up our guest, its checkout time", responded Vivendi, he didn't like having his submarine used like a bus. A hotel was even worse.

"Aye, aye Captain"

_______________________________________________




Villa Presidenziale
Sicilia, Agrigento
_____________________

"Mario, I think its time you take a stance on all this", Master General Luciello said, gesturing towards a stack of files resting in a overstuffed, grated metal tray labeled Iansisle.

"Gandolfo, I didn't want to put it off this long, but with the Red flag operation still underway, we had so much to lose. However I am assured that that will be taken care of, post haste."

"Yes Mr. President, it is being 'taken care of' as we speak."

"Excellent, get Dominic up here, I think its time for me to make a speech"

As civil unrest erupts in one of our closest friends and allies, many of you have been asking, "What role will we play in the future events of that troubled nation?" And I stand here today, after much deliberation, with the answer to that fateful question. As a nation, we will pledge our support in favor of a safe transfer of power to the democratic elements of Iansisle. However we cannot hope to achieve that goal until the safety of the nation's former leaders is assured. As of Six O'clock this morning elements of the Agrigentian Armed Forces have prepared to leave their families and speed across troubled seas to secure peace and to support his royal King James.
_________________
Mario Corleone
President
La Repubblica d'Agrigento


_______________________________________________





Apartment 4B, Alloggiamento Reale
Varisca, Saldenia, Agrigento
______________________________

Everything was packed and ready by the time he came back from breakfast. His old friends in the AIA really went out on a limb for this. He would make sure to thank them when he got back.

Carefully he looked over everything, hoping all his gear was where it was supposed to be. Knowing there was no room for mistakes, he repacked everything three times, just to be sure. Finally, satisfied with the way his things were arranged, he brought the suitcases and duffel bags to his car.

Soon he would be in the air, and soon after that...in Iansisle.

OOC: Iansisle, would it be at all possible for Rienhold Drake to meet with James II as a representative of His Majesty? And I apologize for not posting, personal matters to attend to, et cetera.

Kommodore Daughtery calmly walks in leading the Valinor delegation, now consists of only herself, the man dressed in the rather plain Valinor cut vest suit with odd pins and scarlet and gold trim, and finally a Sardaukar Hauptmann (OOC: Who I forgot to mention....*curses self*).
"Gentlemen," she says cooly, "please forgive our tardiness. Allow me to introduce the other members of His Majesty's delegation. First is Hauptmann Elirson, tactical advisor from His Majesty's Reichswehr, and second is Herr Rienhold Drake, personal envoy of His Majesty and House Alderman. I will now turn authority over to Herr Drake, as he is much more adroit at these types of affairs."
Drake nods to Daughtery as he takes his seat. There is something odd about the man, something that leaves a bad taste in ones mouth. He is the new Valinor, the arrogant, cold, and power-hungry generation bred into dreams of empire and glory led by the enigmatic Emperor Gustav II. And his presence is like that of a shark near a bleeding fish.
"His Majesty and His Majesty's Government support the His Imperial Majesty, James II, and the throne of Iansisle. As our brothers in terms of political beliefs and ideology, His Majesty will be greatly angered to see any harm come to the members of either the royal family of Iansisle, or the nobility, and will take steps to prevent this. To show his firm commitment to the security of Iansisle, Kommodore Daughtery's task force has orders to assist the Royal Iansislean Navy in seeing to it the Shield remains secure and defended. A stronger battle group led by Admiral Michael Perry, aboard the HMS Bartholomew is also being assembled in the waters of New Bergia to be dispatch to the Shield as soon as possible to supplement the RIN."
He takes a slow breath, "Also, I am to try and meet with His Imperial Majesty on behalf of Emperor Gustav II and share with him personally the concerns and opinions of The Throne of the Twin Suns and House Alderman on this matter."

... gesturing towards a stack of files resting in a overstuffed, grated metal tray labeled Iansisle

((Youse implying we’re a bunch of trouble?! :P))

One could sense that James’ address to the nation - and the world - over what had once been IanCorp’s wireless network was timed to respond to President Corleone’s speech. Specifically the middle bit, where His Majesty stated that....

“...We give thanks to our allies who seek to ensure our safety. However, we assure you that we need no looking after; Mr Bradsworth and his Government have been most gracious to us. There has been blood enough spilled on the Shield for a thousand generations; we would hate to see any more shed, even if in accident by well-meaning people...”

-----

((If I’m remembering correctly, Roania, MV’s pre / at the Great War in tech level, so his dreadnoughts are probably just that: 17-21,000 ton sorts armed with 11 and 12 inch guns. I think a fleet of 34 of them is certainly conceivable, given the number of ships Germany and Great Britain - both of which were a fraction of the size of the Crown Empire - managed to build by WWI. Maybe not practical, but certainly conceivable :).))

The RIN was keenly aware that its superiority in the Western Marches was being put to a test. Behemoth arrived from Sir George Rice’s fleet, adding a fourth ship to Vice Admiral Jones’ line, but it was still stretched thin. One could almost feel the tension on Prince of Shadoran’s flag bridge as that famous Shieldian paced up and down, waiting for the Fultonian and Valinor delegations and Admiral Lord Westergate.

-------

((certainly, Val. And don't worry about posting rate: remember, always put RL first! (or else, Heaven forbid! - you might turn out like me! ;))))

Jones tried not to let his discomfort with the situation show through. He was not a trained diplomat, nor did he have the inclination to become one.

“His Majesty’s Navy appreciates your offer of help, Herr Drake -” Jones might be able to speak fluent Welsh, but his German pronunciation was rather wanting “- and you may rest assured that we would never turn it down. Kommodore Daughtery, I’m sure my staff would love to get in touch with yours and hammer out the details.

“However,” continued Jones, “I trust you’ll understand that I cannot, under strict orders from Ianapalis, let any foreign men-of-war pass through the Straits?”

He listened to the next bit.

“If, Herr Drake, you would not be opposed to traveling either on a RIN courier or a merchant vessel, I’m sure His Majesty and the Government will be pleased to receive you. However,” and again he shrugged, “I cannot allow any Valinor military units beyond a bodyguard escort you to Ianapalis.”

San Giuseppe Naval Base, North Islandia
SANCOM HQ
_________________________________

"General, preparations are being made as we speak. The Marine Divisions are due in next week"

"Very well Private, you are dismissed", he said turning his attention to the lanky man at the other end of the room. "This is a nice office, I'm surprised it doesn't have a port-hole", he said half jokingly as Private First Class Laponato exited through the sound proof doors. The room was surprisingly austere, and General Luciello was shocked to see an old salt like Balducci living in such Spartan conditions. In fact the only thing in the room that didn't look quite so solitary was his desk, which was covered with papers.

"It gets the job done", he said, showing obvious disdain for all the paperwork he had to do. "which is more than I can say for some things..."

Such a perfectionist, its a wonder you made it so far Liborio..., he thought. "Well, the fleet is moving as fast as it can. It was right in the middle of refitting when we called it up" and I thank God you did

"So we pay £5 trillion for one fleet?", he said sharply, overstating the Navy's budget on purpose. If one man knew how to use what he was given, it was him.

"So what do you suggest? The 2nd fleet will be ready well before the 3rd or 1st would be able to get here, and the President is certainly not going to authorize the usage of any of the others for something like this. Not when its right to our north...", said the General. He was always good at being blunt.

The Admiral took a second, and gazed through the large thick windows that provided the only light to the dimly lit office. "The twelfth is out there."

"You mean the Pursuit Group? Its your call Admiral."

"I'll take it up North with a Sub Force myself."

"Very well, you have my authorization Lou, just do me a favor, don't start the fire until we get the rest of the 2nd up."

"I just remembered you Marines ain't that bad. Thank God Palladino didn't get the job!", he said, and both men started laughing. Sailors might not like Marines very much, but Army pukes were worse.

_________________________________

Grand Admiral Liborio Balducci, Secretary of the Navy and CINC 2nd Fleet, has just disembarked from San Giuseppe Naval Base, and is currently en-route to Iansisle, on a Mission of Peace.

The 12th Pursuit Group:
1 WC Arsenal Ship
1 AEGIS Fleet Guardian Arsenal Ship
6 Delfino class Catamaran Destroyers
3 Animoso class Destroyers
7 Orizzonte class AAW frigates
14 Nike class Catamaran Corvettes
2 Andrea Doria (NUM) Class Aircraft Carriers

The 11th Submarine Force:
19 SSN-21 Seawolf class submarines
9 SSN-688 Los Angeles class submarines
5 SSGN-726 Ohio class submarines

_______________________________________




While we are extremely glad to hear about your well-being, we still find it neccessary to have some sort of force present in the area to protect not only our interests, but to keep an eye on the proceedings. There are far too many ships in the area, ships that do not belong to the United Kingdom for us to rest soundly on our laurels.
_________________
Mario Corleone
President
La Repubblica d'Agrigento

((We might want to put the character interactions in a seperate thread entirely, at least those in Ianapolis. What do you think?

I don't think dreadnaughts are practical in any numbers, but I'll leave that up to him. My Pocket Battleships and Aircraft Carriers (oh, and my cruisers and so on), fill any needs I might have in regards to the navy, so I don't look into other nations much. I think I'm probably the second most-powerful fleet in the North Pacific, but... as I said, these guys are your guests.

So long as they stay in *your* half of the White Sea/Western Marches, the Divine Admiralty is just going to go about its business.

Oh, and when you have a moment check-out 'Allahu Ackbar'.))

This time it was a (brief) private note:

“President Corleone,

“We agree that the buildup of power in the Western Marches is troubling, but none of the powers there have yet threatened Iansisle. We fear that the stationing of any additional units may only serve to increase tensions in the area.

“However, Agrigento is a long-standing and trusted ally. We value your opinion and trust in your judgment. Agrigentian units may feel free to use Shieldian harbors as their own and we have passed words to Vice Admiral Jones to let your ships pass the Straits unmolested.

“God bless, King James I”

Operation: Lakeside Red
Troobodia Bay
________________________

The water was calm and the bright moonlight was visible from his relatively low depth. Constantly he would check his compass, he knew all too well the feeling of inertia so many divers had succumbed to in training. He would not fail this mission. If there was one thing that could be said for the Agrigentian Intelligence Agency, it was that it never left its agents behind. Maybe thats why recruiting was at an all-time high. No one wanted to work for an agency that would treat them as expendable. Darius Marquis had been working within the Iansisle government for years, secretly feeding information to the AIA, and in turn affecting countless foreign policy decisions. His reports were regarded as most trusted and were, for a long time, the only reliable source of intelligence from within Iansisle. All the while he was working for the Agency he was a valued public servant, and when he requested an extraction it was suprising to most...he indeed had a bright future in Iansisle. However, with the tremendous political change and civil unrest that would follow, no one could blame him.

So tonight, Agent Parigino was coming home. No, that wasn't the right way to put it. Iansisle was his home. Now he was going to escape.


ooc: I didn't think you would mind if I did that, remembering what you once said about spies inside of your country. At 5 Am this was the best I could come up with, hopefully its okay. So now, I must go to sleep. Goodnight all.

ooc: I didn't think you would mind if I did that, remembering what you once said about spies inside of your country. At 5 Am this was the best I could come up with, hopefully its okay. So now, I must go to sleep. Goodnight all.

((Mind? Quite the contrary - it's delightful to know that some have accepted my open invitation for espionage and other such hijinks.

Maybe this Revolution will leave us with some form of useful intelligence agency...of course, an actual census might be a better first step. :)))

OOC: Oh, just wait Iansisle. Gustav II is getting ready to unleash Valinor intrigue and manipulation on the Shield in a tour de force.

Drake gives an understanding nod, "His Majesty is well aware of this and has informed the High Command to restrain its operation as such. Unless specifically authorized by Ianapalis, our warships will not cross Straits nor make any attempts to do so. We will take whatever steps are required of us by the RIN's high command outside the straights though. Finally, the fleet from New Bergia is scheduled to arrive in four days time, I hope this will not prove a problem to traffic patterns?"
"And once again, I will not seek to force myself on your hospitality. I would like to take a courier as soon as possible, and it will only need to be prepared to carry myself. I feel that Kommodore Daughtery and her command could make better use of themselves here than seeing me to a conference."

(( Roania, are you calling me a god mod? Considering that I have several years of RP experience (not just at NS...) and rather hefty historical knowledge on the navies and militaries of nations around the tech my nation's military is mostly in, I find that quite an insult on my integrity. If it makes you happy, I'll cut down the size of this fleet. Sorry if I sounded too harsh, by the way. ))

Captain Theodore Francois aboard the West Baden, 14th dreadnought in the "Ians Expeditionary Fleet", was prompted by a desperate call from Head Admiral Valenski, from the capital city. Damn... it doesn't sound too good.

"Francois, there's a little... problem here in Valerius Prime," the speaker spoke. Oddly, there was cheery music in the background from Valenski's transmission. "You see, with the fleet that the emperor dispatched, he forgot about the military parade and festival in the capital today, and we're short on men here to man the marches and attractions!" This desperation that had brought Valenski into an apparent mess was miscalculation for a military parade? Francois sighed heavily and then radioed the order to the majority of the fleet to return. Only seven dreadnoughts and ten subs remained in this fleet that was meant to protect Iansisle. West Baden, Vittorio, Syl'Vana, Imperium, Stratiochus, Theodoric X, and Phillip III and the squadron of submarines steamed torwards their destination near the city of MacMillian.

After travelling a rather long journey, the fleet's ships raised a white flag below the proud flag of The Crown Empire. Francois tried to make contact with anyone from the small piece of land that was at the edge of The Shield Empire.

"This... This is Captain Francois... Francois of The Crown Empire... We Are Here With an Expeditionary Fleet..."

(( Ian, where should they be heading? ))

OCC: Hi everyone. I have to announce my withdrawl from this thread. Since my last IC post was sort of lost, and is 5 pages back now. Mabye some other time.

Jones smiled. “I’m glad you understand my position, Herr Drake: these new orders have put us in a somewhat untenable situation, especially since the Noropians closed Turnish harbor to us. Still, we value the friendship of the Star Empire and appreciate its help, but are sorry we have to be so forceful in the closure of our sea.” ‘Our sea’ was a common way for Iansisleans, and RIN officers in particular, to refer to Troobodia Bay.

“I shall dispatch a courier at once,” continued Jones, scribbling a note on a nearby sheet of paper. He sealed it in an envelope with his ring and gave it to Drake. “If you present that to the commander of the Shaman in Harbor City, it contains orders for his ship to carry you with all dispatch directly to Dun Adien. I will warn His Majesty of your imminent arrival. Oh, and you may use Prince of Shadoran’s cutter to take you to Harbor City, if you need it.”

He looked at the Fultonians. “The orders also provide for you, Vice President Bottom, if you should care to join Herr Drake.”

--------


((Well, the Noropians closed Turnish, which is usually the primary RIN base in extra-Troobodian waters. However, the United Kingdom has been getting buddy-buddy with the Republic, so Mansmouth ought to be open to you. MacMillan doesn’t have much of a harbor, else I’d direct you there.))

“The Crown Empire?” asked a receiver in RIFC MacMillan. “We haven’t had contact with them in - how long?”

“Since Sir John was sent to investigate that report of genocide and protect their sovereign rights,” said his commanding officer with a frown. Discipline in the Flying Corps had always been looser than is was in the Navy.

“They seem to be sending a pretty significant fleet - numerically, at least.” The officer grunted his agreement.

“Well, direct them to RIN Mansmouth,” he decided, “and put them in touch with Vice Admiral Jones; I’m sure he’d like to know about this.”

OCC: Hi everyone. I have to announce my withdrawl from this thread. Since my last IC post was sort of lost, and is 5 pages back now. Mabye some other time.

((Sorry to hear that, LRR. Another time, for sure.))

((Sorry to hear that, LRR. Another time, for sure.))

Ok. Hey, TG me if you have any RP ideas.

((Absolutely not. I'm just saying that having that number of 'dreadnaughts' is a waste of money, only to be beaten by buying a battlecruiser.))

Vice-President Bottom frowned and spoke softly, "Well, it would be of the highest honor to meet with his Majesty. However, before I leave may I have a few words alone with you on a matter of military and diplomatic influence."

He looked intently at the man letting him know the importance of this interaction.

OOC: Iansisle, I wasn't asking for IC permision (wow, I could sound a little more like an asshole....), but OOC permision. Just give me an OOC jmp in, and I'll handle it from there...as well as a general lay out of the area...

Vice-President Bottom frowned and spoke softly, "Well, it would be of the highest honor to meet with his Majesty. However, before I leave may I have a few words alone with you on a matter of military and diplomatic influence."

He looked intently at the man letting him know the importance of this interaction.

"O - of course, Mr Vice President. My private quarters are nearby; I trust they will suffice?"

Jones bowed to the Valinor. "Begging your pardon, Herr Drake; Kommodore Daughtery; Hauptmann Elirson." And he vanished with Bottom off to his spacious cabin's sitting room.

((I don't think I've ever known you to ask IC permission, Imi :P. Which area?))

M.M. Comandante
12th Pursuit Group, en-route to Iansisle
______________________________________

The Pursuit Group and its accompanying Submarine Force were making their way north with relative ease in the calm seas of the central Pacific. Soon they would be nearing Iansisle, but more importantly their mission objective: Extraction Zone: Red Envoy. While the taped discussion in his office just days before was little more than a subtle ruse to throw off inter-governmental suspicion, Admiral Balducci was still quite concerned about exactly what kind of water he would be treading. The political landscape of Iansisle was changing, radically it might be added, and it was not in his nature to except such rapid, and possibly violent change so easily. There was no telling how the new government would react if the mission was exposed.

At least with King James we knew what we were dealing with, while Liborio didn't necessary like monarchs, he knew James to be an honorable man, who would often bend-over backwards for the sake of Agrigento.

"Have them hoist the flags Lieutenant"

"Aye, aye Admiral"

Soon the flag-bags were emptied and the correct message was being conveyed.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v418/Agrigento/echotangofoxtrot.gif

_________________________________________________


M.M. Capodoglio
Holding position just off of Sentry Island
______________________________________

"Its 0800 Zulu time Captain, everything should be in position."

"Correct XO. Lets go to periscope deck."

"Bridge, sonar: we have a contact bearing zero-nine-zero!", announced a voice from the bulkhead-mounted speaker, startling the Captain and Crew alike.

Vivendi got up from his seat. "Set Condition X-1"

"Aye, aye. Battle stations," the OOD acknowledged the order.

"We have a surface ship, the bearing hasn't changed. It's closing captain"

"Very well, lets make like a black hole", responded the captain, stealing the Ohio's slogan.

(ooc: If you want to RP the surface ship Ians, you may. It could move on, not noticing the submarine, it could discover it, and blow the operation, or it could just stay right there, complicating things immensely.)

OOC: Hope I didnt come across as a dick, I'm just tired after a very long week of "Ma'am, Team Health is the third party repricing vendor for IAB, a benefits based association that allows access to PPO Pricing Rates based on the level of membership purchased by the memeber. We do not pay the claim, we simply offer a discounted rate for the member. So I'm affraid that the final cost does fall upon the member. Yes Ma'am, I can connect you with member services..." The general area I'm looking for I think is Weshield, the place where Andrews took over. Correct me if I'm wrong.

((eep..hope that code’s not for me, Ag, ‘cause I have no clue what ‘ETF’ means. ;)))

The ship passing over was HIMS Shaman, a courier ship, which was carrying dispatches for Ianapalis from Vice Admiral Jones’ fleet. Its powerful - and inefficient - engines made much more noise than one would have expected from an Iansislean vessel of comparable size.

Far above the Capodoglio, the Shaman’s crew had no idea there was anything amiss. After all, who would expect a submarine this far into Troobodia Bay when the ships guarding the Straits hadn’t picked up so much as a whisper in more than a month?

OOC: The general area I'm looking for I think is Weshield, the place where Andrews took over. Correct me if I'm wrong.

((Yup, the Republic of Weshield. It's on my map of the Shield, which I think is floating about in this thread, and on my website if all else fails. Weshield is relatively flat, rainy (like all other parts of the Shield) and grassy. It's countryside is peppered with medium sized towns and it is the second most populous of the Seven Kingdoms after Shadoran. Fort Jackson is the capital and Mansmouth the largest port. It borders Mansford to the north, Thortraia to the northeast, and Wyclyfe to the east. The river Mans, the second longest on the Shield after the Daldon, forms the border between Mansford and Weshield.

Anything else?))

(( Again, Roania, I apologize to you if I sounded like an arrogant prick back in that post.

I guess the dreadnoughts are a waste considering that the UK retired the original one shortly after WWI... ))

Captain Francois paced around his transmission radio with eagerness that was rare for someone who was so melacholy and serious. When the RIFC MacMillian returned his signal, it seems that he was heading straight into a different place altogether. "Mansmouth? Now where is Mansmouth?" Francois questioned as he searched for his map of The Shieldian Empire. He brought forth a map, which had a "Valerianrijk, Inc." insignia on the bottom right corner. Valerianrijk, Inc. was quickly monopolizing the steel industry in The Crown Empire and its colonies, and it was dabbling in the telecommunications sector as well. Apparently they made an entrance into stationery, but failed; the date on the map is 20 years old.

'I just hope that the fat cats in Valerianrijk do not dump steel on the Shieldian Economy with this turmoil... that could send a bad message about the Emperor...' murmured the captain as he found the location of Mansmouth. It was located along the central western coast of the Shield. Only a bit further and they would be in the grasp and command of the Shieldian authority there.

Without a doubt, the Director of Economics also worried about the long-term stability of the Shieldian economy. The United Kingdom, which had so recently nationalized so many companies, was doing all right, but how long that afterglow would last was anyone’s guess.

Iansisle had always been well regarded in the area of metallurgy. “Famous Shieldian steel,” as The Standard of Walmington put it, had long been a benchmark for how top-grade metal was measured. But with Royal Mining and Manufacturing nationalized, who knew where the steel industry would go?

Still, there were more immediate concerns for nearly every other member of Charles Bradsworth’s interim government and its allies in Weshield and Wyclyfe. And one of them was the large fleet from the Crown Empire. Where would it go? How long would it stay? What were Alexander’s intentions? All seemed convinced that getting them under the powerful guns off Mansmouth would be a good first step - excepting, of course, several advisors to the Weshieldian President, who thought that allowing a potential enemy of the Revolution direct access to their chief port was an exceedingly bad idea.

Nonetheless, one could tell from putting in at Mansmouth that one was not in the Iansisle off yore; the Republic had a distinctly different feeling than any part of the Shield had during the Empire.

(ooc: Well, the first flag means: "The rest of the flags are following the International Code of Signals", the second flag means: "I am directing my course to starboard", the third flag means: "Do not pass ahead of me" and the fourth and final flag means: "Flight Operations underway" - referring to Aircraft carriers. I was bored...decided to learn the language of the sea ;) )

"We still have them on passive, no pinging or reaction. They are maintaining course"

"We will wait until they are clear, I don't trust these shallow waters."

"Aye, aye Captain"

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


Splash Point Beta
Extraction of Agent Parigino

"Our first route was compromised, too public. Have you ever been scuba diving before?"

"In Iansisle? Certainly not", replied Darius, gripping one last file tightly. It was unusual for the Agency to request a certain peice of information from its operatives, especially when direct means of communication were nearly impossible, but someone high up in the Chain of Command had wanted this particular peice of data very badly, and now they were getting it hand delivered.

"Just follow my lead, and breath normally, our ride is not far now", Alpha at 0300 hours, Beta at 0342, and Charlie?, his mind was racing now, he didn't like snags, and he didn't like poor planning. This operation was an example of both. Screw Charlie, we have Beta, he assured himself. Too bad he doesn't know how to dive, I hate paddling

I really hate paddling, he thought, finding himself piloting the inflatable raft away from the shore.

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

"Its too late, bypass Alpha, we are going to Beta target"

"aye, aye Captain"

The electric-diesel submarine soon found itself rising to the surface at a vigorous pace, already late for its second rendezvous, after flatly missing the first. Gently surfacing to persicope depth, the raft was spotted and after a bitter battle with the wind and waves the two soggy men were brought aboard and given the usual suspects, strong coffee and warm blankets.

"Well, Admiral it seems that I have something that could help you in your bargaining with the insurrectionists. If you would please look over these." He reached into his pocket and brought out some simple diagrams of one of the three spacial strategic military platforms. Each platform carried 100 non-nuclear strategic missiles that could be aimed within a 100 yards of a target.

"The government of Fultonia is willing to use a show of force if necesarry to restore the proper government. If compromises must be made it would be preferable for them to be made in our favour at the very least." He blew a puff from his cigar slowly into the air.

OOC1: Can I get a link to your website, Ians?
OOC2: It should be of note that while my main military forces uses Halo tech, my Special Forces unit uses modern to near future tech, and since the 69th is technically considered part of IMSPECWAR, they uses 2015ish tech.

IC:

Come all ye valient heroes
and along with me devine,
I'll sing a song it wont take long
of the fighting 69th

The large ship, powered by twin plasma based reactors, slid into the waters of Weshield among the massive build up of ships from other nations. Flying the Burning Skull of Imitora, the captain totally disregarding any etiquite or rules of the sea, and came to a slow stop a mere five miles of teh Weshield coast. The troop ship held 15,000 very mean, very angry, very hard Marines from the 69th Cavalry Unit, or more commonly known as the Fighting 69th.

OOC3: once I get the link from Ians, I'll start posting some moves.

Jones examined the plans with idle curiosity. Iansisle had a long and fine tradition of rocketry. Henderson of Copplestone had not only built the ‘Quicksilver’ turbojet engine, but also the famed Gurney-III rocket booster, which propelled the first Iansislean two-foot beeping ball of tin foil into low Earth orbit. But Jones didn’t know any of the specifics.

At last, he handed them back. “I trust, Mr Vice President,” he said in a quiet tone, “that this is not a threat?”

------

http://www.freewebs.com/driquan/geography.htm

Luckily, the RIN didn’t have any units in the immediate area. If they did, most certainly they would have opened fire at once at this impudent ship which broached the territorial waters of their ally.

"No sir, we would never threaten such a powerful ally of the Republic. Only to say that we hope you consider this a powerful bargaining tool to restore the old social order, and to at the very least keep the nation secure if this new government must remain. Just remember we can use them at a moments notice. So I guess we must be off so that I can see to the well being of the King, and perhaps meet with the insurrectionists myself." Bottom winked and walking away tossed over his shoulder in the Vice-Admiral's direction a small bullet which had apparently been fired connected to a string of sinew and looped with four brown beads (two on either side). "A souvenir hopefully you can use."

Jones, with surprising agility for one who looked as old as he did, caught the bullet. He did not follow Bottom out the door at once nor inspect his catch. Rather he set the bullet down on the table and pondered briefly. States had been threatening one part or another of Iansisle with advanced technology for as long as he could remember, but still Jones sat and thought.

At last, he returned to the wardroom that he might wish God-speed to the Valinor and the Fultonians, if they were going. He had no doubt they would offer the technology to smash his opponents to King James as well - and he also had no doubt what James’ ready answer would be.


(([/meawake]))

OOC: Indeed. Will you be creating a new thread, or will you be putting the courier being readied on this thread as well, Ian? Oh, and the website is wonderful. It reminds me I need to put mine up again.

OOC: Intresting set up...where would the heaviest concentration of anti-Royalists be?

OOC: Indeed. Will you be creating a new thread, or will you be putting the courier being readied on this thread as well, Ian? Oh, and the website is wonderful. It reminds me I need to put mine up again.

((I was hoping we might be able to skip the tedious courier part and simply plop the parties down in Dun Adien with the minimum of fuss...unless, of course, you had some sort of Fiendish Plan™ for the ride?

And thanks! It's a start, anyhow. :)

Imi: In the northern kingdoms, certainly...Thortraia with all probability. That's where RM&M was based, and what remains of there force has withdrawn there. Which reminds me...))

Writes the Fort Jackson Union:

Republic Supports Shadoranite Ultimatum!

FORT JACKSON, Weshield -- President Andrews today confirmed that, yes, the Republic will support the United Kingdom in its protests against the Kingdom of Thortraia.

“The Kingdom is now holding several citizens not only of the United Kingdom,” said Speaker for the President Patrick Halloway, “but also of the Republic and our honorable neighbors in Wyclyfe.

“The President thinks,” Halloway continued, “and his cabinet agrees with him, that the time has come to force those pretentious reactionaries to see reality. They cannot rightfully imprison foreign nationals without cause.”

The Republic, which has of late suffered a series of random and misguided terrorist attacks obviously directed at weakening the guard on her royalist resettlement facilities and kill those resident within, also started mobilizing troops along the Thortraian border.

“We do not wish to spill blood, either Thortraian or Weshieldian,” said Halloway, “but what must be done, must be done. Clancy would be well advised to give us back our people, or else we will have no choice.”

Wyclyfe, the third of the Shieldian states to renounce its monarch, has not yet made clear its intentions towards the hostage situation. Halloway was heard to comment that even the Republic’s foreign department has “no idea what’s going in Wyclyfe.”

So far, two days into the United Kingdom’s proclamation, there has been no response from the Thortraian government.

OOC: Ian, perhaps you could send a post over in regards to my botched "rescue". unless I'm just missing it cause I'm dead tried from weork and should probly be sleeping at 5 am after work.

Andrew had never been to Mansmouth before, nor to any town of more than two thousand people. The city seemed impossibly huge to him, sprawling along the south bank of the broad, slow River Mans and spreading far into the surrounding countryside. And out in the roads! - more ships than Andrew had seen in his entire life; more ships than he imagined could possibly exist. Some flew the new Bloody Lyre he had seen at Aesfield, some an unusual scarlet banner featuring a spread winged Gull, and most the Cross of St Patrick with naval ensigns. Andrew’s heart soared with joy; the RIN was here - maybe they’d already put an end to this ridiculous revolution!

But then he saw a cutter flying the Lyre row out to one of the RIN destroyers. The destroyer neither fired upon the cutter nor forced it to haul down its colors. Andrew sighed with disappointment.

“Turn left here,” said Millie with a commanding tone. Andrew started before he realized that she was talking to Greene. Millie’s idea of going to his father’s most trusted servant had been a good one, he had to admit. Greene had gotten the Westerton Jackrabbit from the garage, showed them Sir John’s secret stash of money, and driven them from Aesfield to Mansmouth.

“We’ll take lodgings at that inn,” said Millie suddenly, pointing. “I spent a not unpleasant evening there two years previously. The keeper is kind, honest, and discreet.”

“It looks expensive,” replied Andrew, rechecking his large coin purse for the hundredth time. They had only thirteen hundred generals, mostly in Jessica pieces.

“It’ll have to do,” said Millie with an air of finality. “We can’t risk being exposed at an untrustworthy establishment.”

“It might be better,” cut in Greene, “if they had no chance to consider me a manservant. Perhaps an uncle, taking you out to see the fleet?”

“Brilliant,” agreed Millie. “I don’t know what we’d do without you, Greene.” Like a good servant, he took the praise without a flicker of expression on his face, just like he took abuse.

Soon, they had been checked in. The inn keeper, a little pot bellied man named Honeybridge with a cherubic face, arched his eyebrows as the three signed in, but seemed to accept Greene’s lie.

“Lots of folk in town now,” he said in a comfortable drawl. “They all want to see the ships too, I suppose. Rumor has it the Maag-noose Whale-ruse is sending a fleet up here. If’n it weren’t crowded enough already!”

Andrew, Millie, and Greene laughed politely along with Honeybridge. He soon gave them their keys and directed them to two rooms on the upper story, with promises of a good supper near seven o’clock. Andrew and Greene retired to the first room, Millie to the second. However, they soon met again to plan the next phase of their hastily conceived plan.

“Well,” said Andrew, “now we’re in Mansmouth. But I haven’t seen any sign of mother and father.”

“They wouldn’t be letting them walk about the streets, would they?” scoffed Millie. “Honestly - we’ll find them soon enough. Any ideas, Greene?” she asked.

He nodded. “First thing on the morrow, we’ll make for the police office, where we can make some discreet inquiries. But now we must keep our voices quiet and our topics neutral - Citizen Honeybridge is an honest man, but heaven help us if those republicans have stationed a spy in this house, perhaps even taking lodgings next to ours.”

The children agreed and the unusual trio spent the rest of the evening talking about various inanities. The forced inactivity made Andrew squirm, but he forced himself to sit and listen to Greene and Millie. After supper they played cards before retiring, each full of his or her own plans for the next days action.

OOC: Fine by me, Iansisle.

Ianapalis from the water looked much the same as it had when Count Leopold attended the first Iansislean-Valinor talks all those years ago. Only on close inspection would one notice the battle-scared buildings and rubble-filled streets.

But the Shaman wasn’t going to Ianapalis proper; no closer than five miles, truth be told. Its orders, given in the strictest confidence by Vice Admiral Jones, were to put into Ian’s Isle without ever touching the mainland.

It had been a long couple days since Shaman had departed Harbor City with men of three very different nationalities on board. But at last, the Shaman’s skipper was ready to dump the Fultonians and Valinor onto the small pier in the cove below the walls of Dûn Ádien. A plank was put over after the small ship had been tied up. Several KIG men and the new head butler stood waiting for the Shaman’s commander.

“What is the meaning of this imposition upon His Majesty’s private domains?” asked the butler belligerently.

“I have my orders from the Commander Western Marches,” replied the captain calmly. “These men, from the Republic of Fultonia and the Star Empire of Valinon, require audiences with His Majesty as soon as possible.”

“We cannot - you have to go through Jameston - most impudent,” blustered the butler, unable to form complete sentences. But it soon became clear that the captain and the foreigners were not going to leave.

“Very well,” he said, regaining a more dignified air about himself. “If you’ll walk this way, please.” And he led them up to Dun Adien.

"My thanks," Drake says to the butler as he leads them away.

The butler led Drake and the others up the path from the cove and through the great gates of Dun Adien. Ian the Great and James the Liberator scowled down on them from their carvings in the doors. Then the party passed through the walk of the monarchs of the Grand Empire. The next pedestal in line was clearly reserved for the current James; he would be the first Callahan in three hundred years who wasn't remembered as the High King of the Empire. Then they were out of walk of Kings and into the Great Hall.

“You’ll pardon me, sirs,” said the butler, “but I must go rouse His Majesty. One moment, please.” He vanished down a side corridor and returned several minutes later with James VI of Shadoran, James III of the Empire, and James I of the United Kingdom.

His Majesty didn’t look well. He wasn’t ill in appearance; merely exhausted. His eyes bore the dark circles of one who had not slept in quite some time. His brown hair was already speckled with gray and a weary smile was not all that creased his prematurely lined face.

“Gentlemen, welcome. You’ll forgive my somewhat bedraggled appearance, but I was not informed that you were coming.”

On the large Imitoran ship, flurry was scattered over the deck. The main purpose was the preperation of the 20 onboard MV-22Is. With a capacity of 40 full armed Marines from the 69th Cavalry, the total landing force would be 800 Marine. Not the exact numbers of the gaurd that were to be marching on the camp, but enough for a heavy, fast rescue. Of course, that was under the belief that everything went to plan latter that night. On one corner of the large deck, a single MV-60I was being prepared, and six heavily armed, quiet looking men stood around it.

Less than 150 miles away, the temperate island that had been used for the training was now blustering with activity. A squadron of Angel IIs had been restationed, and so had several units from the 22nd SOTF and as always, their companions, the 1st SOU-D. Also, several special operations aircraft from the 158th and 121st SOAU had been relocated, and were waiting for operational orders.

OOC: Next post (in an hour or so) will deal with the botched rescue op, as well as the follow up.

Captain Francois' fleet made its way towards Mansmouth, going up along the coastline of the new republic of Weshield. The battleships that were the best of current technology in the Valerian navy, but there were rumors that the emperor was planning to scrap all of the proud ships that kept Valerian interests across the Pacific and its sphere of influence in the Valerian Continents safe in favor of newer ships designed off of technology taken from the conquest and annexation of New-Transylvania upon the request of the New-Transylvanian government that took over from the old one, so the reports say.

The fleet approached the ports of Mansmouth and began to find open docks. Once the fleet was docked, Captain Francois disembarked off his ship and glanced at the city that he and his crew now resided in... but for how long, nobody knows. What impressed the captain was the coastal fortifications and the gunnery located in the city. The ports at Alexandria and Trentino in which the captain had visited had fortifications that all seemed dwarfed under Mansmouth's guns, but maybe that it because those ports lied in the inland King William's Sea as opposed to being on the Pacific as Mansmouth was.

The butler led Drake and the others up the path from the cove and through the great gates of Dun Adien. Ian the Great and James the Liberator scowled down on them from their carvings in the doors. Then the party passed through the walk of the monarchs of the Grand Empire. The next pedestal in line was clearly reserved for the current James; he would be the first Callahan in three hundred years who wasn't remembered as the High King of the Empire. Then they were out of walk of Kings and into the Great Hall.

“You’ll pardon me, sirs,” said the butler, “but I must go rouse His Majesty. One moment, please.” He vanished down a side corridor and returned several minutes later with James VI of Shadoran, James III of the Empire, and James I of the United Kingdom.

His Majesty didn’t look well. He wasn’t ill in appearance; merely exhausted. His eyes bore the dark circles of one who had not slept in quite some time. His brown hair was already speckled with gray and a weary smile was not all that creased his prematurely lined face.

“Gentlemen, welcome. You’ll forgive my somewhat bedraggled appearance, but I was not informed that you were coming.”


Drake bows deeply, "Your Majesty, given your current situation it is a good thing to see you are still alive. Many in the Congress of Lords feared the worse when our communications broke down with your own nation and we heard the scattered reports of the incidents in Weshield. His Majesty himself has been greatly troubled by the reports garnered since Kommodore Daughtery was able to report a more complete report on the state of affairs within the Shield."
Drake reaches inside his great coat, "And that is why I am here, Your Majesty."
Drake pulls out a flat, black disc roughly a foot in diameter, "This is a Nu-space holoprojector receiver/transceiver tied to the Nu-space network here on Earth, and thusly to the greater network across much of the space known to the Valinor. His Majesty wishes very much to speak with you personally, but the war in the Raumreich require his attentions in Alpha Centauri, and so he hopes that this form of communication will be acceptable. Perhaps if you would like to retire to a more comfortable location....?"

The bigger Valerian ships probably wouldn’t be able to dock in shallow Mansmouth harbor, but the vast roadstead sheltered by St Lawrence Island provided plenty of room for any comers.

On shore, Francois was met by a severe-looking man in the officer of a RIN captain. Surprisingly, he was actually quite friendly.

“Captain William Bond,” he introduced himself as, a slight tugging at the corner of his mouth the closest thing to a smile offered. “I’ve been appointed acting commander of Port Mansmouth by their Lordships. I’m afraid Mansmouth simply wasn’t meant as a naval base, so you’ll have to excuse our rather primitive infrastructure.”

He led Francois into the large seaside hotel that was serving as temporary headquarters. “Can I offer you a cup of tea? Something stronger?”

James smiled at Drake, though it wasn’t one of his smiles from the happy days before the Revolution. “I’m honored His Imperial Majesty thinks so highly of me and my state.”

He gazed silently at the Nu-space ...contraption for a moment. Like most of his subjects, James was hopelessly terrible at using modern technology and yet insatiable curious about it.

“Perhaps if you would like to retire to a more comfortable location....?” suggested Drake. James snapped quickly out of his brief reverie.

“Of - of course. I should be honored to speak with His Majesty. The Honeycomb, perhaps?”

Alpha Centauri? He can place a wireless over that distance? Incredible! thought James as he led Drake and anyone else who would come out of the Great Hall, across the courtyard, and into Alexander’s grand legacy. As ever, the electric lights played off the gold-plated, indented walls to give the room an eerie golden glow. James could just imagine what it must have been like back in the day before the electric light, when only flickering torches could illuminate the room.

He indicated a comfortable looking, Larkinian made couch near a mahogany coffee table. “I trust this will suffice, Mr Drake?”

The squadran of F-16's made its way speedily toward the rescue operation until Command came over teh com

"Boy's, it looks like soemone else hit the other camp. We think it's teh Imitorans covering our butts again but we can't be sure. Any way, pilots are ehading your direction. Find them and take them out. No survivors."

the fighter group quickly targeted the incoming planes. Each plane flew fast and went high after launching two targeted missiles at thier interceptors.

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

The squads on the ground were seperated into 3 and 9 men teams. The three men fireteams provided cover fire and search and destroy tactics, while the nine rounded up the women and children on the helicopters gathering the men into an open area being guarded by one helicopter.

The mission was going well so far. Only two causalties, and although several wounds, minor. Once most of the men were gathered together, Lt. Major Dominick spoke through a mega phone, "Noble men of Iansisle, the oppressors wish you dead and have already begun the kangaroo courts in the so called United Kingdom. We will transport you to safety with your families where you will be provided funds and full rights within my nation. If you choose not to, and would rather take the hard road we will give you weapons and supplies. Seperate into two groups, loners on the left and thsoe wanting freedom toward teh helicopters. Two minutes."

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

The Special Ops Submarine targeted several of the air strips within Iansisle with thier strategic missiles. They would be fired once command gave teh word. Imitora was wired the following report.

Code Alpha Helix Double inverted:

Dear imitorans,
Strategic measures are being followed on all fronts. We advise you keep your troops away from Airial installations and help us restore the the proper government of Iansisle.

Department of Intelligence,
Direcotr Weatherford.

It seems that Mansmouth was not a port designed to be a naval base. Apparently, it might not have been much different if the fleet had been allowed to dock at MacMillian, but nevertheless, at least the fleet finally had a place to establish a true relation with the newly born United Kingdom. It seems that St. Lawrence Island offered some shelter.

As Francois was busy admiring the city from what he could see, he was approached by a stiff-faced man in uniform. Seems like this was the person they sent out for the greeting party. He looked as if he had an undying reason to be uptight and serious, but after Captain William Bond introduced himself, Francois thought differently; this person actually was quite friendly, and he apologized for the lack of accomodations.

"There's no need to apologize," Francois replied. "We did come at a rather unexpected time, afterall. I'm Captain Theodore Francois of the Alexandrian Squadron," the captain said, offering a hand as greeting. "I'm not sure if you've seen a map of The Crown Empire to know where Alexandria is, but the again, our empire's always been rather reclusive thanks to some of the previous emperors in our history." The Captain put his hands behind his back and followed Bond to a large seaside hotel. It seems that it might be the temporary headquarters for the whole admiralty of Mansmouth, and Weshield for that matter, since Francois was rather uninformed about the whole situation (as would the Emperor Alexander).

Bond offered Francois some hospitality which the captain, sick of seeing the ocean for days and eating the dried rubbish that the Crown Military called rations, accepted gratefully. "I'd like some tea... and a shot of Bourbon too." Bourbon was one of Francois's favorite spirits. He did not know whether the Iansislian (or, shall he say Weshieldan) liquor matched the quality of local distillers in and about the Royal State of Romanovna, but it was good to try something new...

(( Care to describe the hotel and all before I brashly and accidentally make a description as I did a little with Port Mansmouth here?

I'll also set up a link to the map to get you an idea about where the places I'm talking about are if you wish. :) ))

Vice-President Bottom was astounded at the palace. He admired teh architecture and inwardly was hoping he could one day come back and see the statue of James along with the others. he watched as the King made his way with the Valinon delegation. Bottom waited patiently and collected his thoughts.

The sun barely broke the surface of the ocean in the far distance when the Marines in the camp heard the crakling noise in their headsets. The noise, followed by a high pitched pulse, let them know what was comming. As medics among the men on the ground, twenty in all, moved about, and the six man WRITE team moved into place in case the gates were opened, the roar of twelve SARI99847J plasma generated superturbine jet engines piereced the air above them. Wishers looked up to see the 6 F-84C Angel IIs rumble through the air.

The Angel IIs were running passive, with their search radar off, running only on their attack radar. Although range and targeting ability was decreased, it removed teh only weakness of the Athena Mod. 8 Active Stealth System. Further, the GhostSkin had been deactivated, allowing the aircraft to be seen by the naked eye. The pilots were conserving power, possibly for a full burn scenario. Wishers watched as three banked off, and accelerated hard towards St Columbia (right?) Airbase. The other three pulled up, and held a circular pattern over the camp.
___

Meanwhile, several hundred, 800 to be exact, were awaken from their sleep an hour early. That was not what upset them, what upset them was the wake up came from a loud, blaring siren. The first 800 to launch quickly rolled out of their bunks, right into their boots, and in 15 minutes, all 800 had armed themselves and were charging out onto the deck to the waiting Ospreys.

Landing 800 troops in a small city was no easy task, and thats why they would only land 120 at a time. Every five minutes, three of the MV-22Is would litteraly swoop down on the camp, allow all forty troops on board to rope out, and then pull away. The three minute break would allow the 120 to seperate out into the city.

A 21st Osprey, an AV-22I would provide true top cover. This Osprey had been modified heavily to carry several 30mm Tri Barreld Cannons (as oppsoed to the one carried by the MV-22I), two 90mm mortars, and a single under wing mounted five missle LK227 Anti Air defense system. Opposite of this was a ABML-009 anti radar/electronic weapons Microwave Laser. This Osprey would slowly circle over the city, firing on incomming troops.

After thrity minutes of preperation, the first Osprey left the deck
____

At the camp, Wishers tuned his spot radio, and soon he was able to raise the pilots. "Hey boys, its your ground pounders. Listen, until those Osprey's get here, your gonna be our back up. We got twenty combat capable here on teh ground, plus many civies. You gotta be our eye in the sky till we get more troops on the ground, clear?"

The vocie came back crackling at first, but the auto tunner fixed the frequency. "No worries bud, we got it locked down up here. Will hold of fighters that come in hot, and provide over watch. ETA on the Osprey's is thirty five minutes. Good news, they got a banger bird with them." Wishers smiled. However, it didnt last long.

Now day, he like his other five men, stripped his ghile, and whiped a splash of water over his face, smearing and removing a medium amount of the black face paint. He checked his rifle, the brought it back up, and moved to secure a position near teh gate.
____

Near St Columbia, the first of the three Angel IIs dropped to 400 feet, skimming along a tree line, before breaking North, then swinging East to come in on St Columbia from the west. At fifty miles out, he pressed a thumb button on the stick twice, and moments later, the weapons doors opened, and two dark green, long and thick missles came screaming out of the bays. Each missile had a 850lb HE warhead. Each missile was sighted on a grounded fighter or hanger. The second plane in the formation fired two as well, and like the first, pulled back hard, screaming towards 5,000 feet.

The third fighter in the group had come in from the North of the base, and flew lower and faster than the others. In its centerline weapons bay, it carried only one weapon, a long, black angular missile that closely resembled a Tomahawk cruise missle. As it shot forward, the bay opened, and the missile fell into the fighter's slip stream, and kept on a straight path, even as the fighter climbed off.

The black weapon continued moving forward at 250 unpowered mph, when two long wings shotout on either side, and an engine roared to life. It descended to 100 feet, and shot over the main runway, opening its own doors, and spraying the runway with 200 mixed munitions, 50 and 100lb warhead bomblets. At the end of the runway, it banked hard towards the tower, but didnt make the turn, and slammed harmlessly into the ground.

The Republic of Agrigento, interested in maintaining both the peace and the status quo, would like to humbly extend our hand to your new nation in peace. We find the creation of this state, this Republic of Weshield, to be most intriguing. Is it possible for us to arrange a meeting to discuss our relations further? If so we would be most happy to provide our own representative, a secure location for the meeting, or both.
______________________
Dominic Somma
Secretary of Foreign Affairs
La Repubblica d'Agrigento

((I’d just like to reiterate that the UK has no royalist camps. They have been rounding up and trying some RM&M collaborators, but the nobility there is still quite free. Only the Republic of Weshield has moved noblemen to a safety camp.))

Noriker squadron hadn’t even sighted the bogies when their wireless units squawked with the voice of a panicked controller.

“We have contact separation ahead! Evaluate possible weapon tracks - Christ, look at them accelerate! - it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen!”

The squadron leader had no time to spend thinking about the message. His squadron mates’ lives depended on quick action. “Norikers, break and evade!” he called into the wireless. At once, the flyers broke formation and either dove or climbed in desperate attempts to evade the incoming missiles.

Most failed, and the single Noriker that survived did so only by hurtling towards the ground with blackness creeping in on his vision until he was well past the aerospeed safety mark, almost extra-sonic, to tell true, and screaming along the Weshieldian landscape with the tops of trees grazing his flyer’s potbelly.

-------

With cries of “damned be the better part of valor!” and “I’m not leaving the home of my ancestors!” most of the men refused the offer while simultaneously pushing their families into the lines to be evacuated. One woman was pushed by her husband into the helicopter line screaming for her son, who didn’t answer. The man retreated into the staying line making half-cohesive promises. Another man pressed the star of the Imperial Order of Knights into his wife’s hands and begged her to be safe while he stayed and fought for ‘the Iansislean way.’

--------

((Sorry, MV, guess I was a little sloppy on the description. Didn’t have too much time when I was writing that. :)))

The Humtorn, as the hotel was called, was of a fairly simple design. Long and low, its external architecture consisted of row upon row of windows, each in the exact same place, that were topped off by a simple gable. Red brick, as it is with most Iansislean designs, was the primary building material. It was trimmed with white painted wood.

Inside, the Humtorn was decorated in the usual gaudy Shieldian fashion. Trinkets graced every desk and table and the walls were hung heavily with photographs and paintings.

In the smoking room, several overstuffed leather chairs made up the primary seating accommodations. A large oak liquor cabinet stood in one corner, towards which Bond had made almost a bee line, and the room smelled faintly of fine Gallagan tobacco. Despite the heat of a late-summer day in Weshield, an oak log burned slowly in the room’s fireplace.

“I’m afraid we only have this cheap Mansford stuff,” said Bond, holding up a bottle of bourbon. He poured a shot for Fancois, which was a medium amber color, then two cups of tea. “This tea is really quite excellent, though,” he continued, taking a seat across from the one he offered to Francois and sniffing the steam coming from his cup delicately. “We just had an East Gallagaman, the Bahadur, put in from Fort Manly. They hadn’t heard of the Troubles, of course. Captain seemed right upset when I informed him the Company’d been nationalized.” Bond seemed about to elaborate, then bit down. “Still, excellent tea, isn’t it?”

Just then, there was a knock on the closed door. Before anyone could say ‘come in,’ it opened to reveal a man in a rather ridiculous looking uniform of burgundy and gold. Bond stood up and smiled.

“Ah, Commander! Glad you could make it! Captain Francois, please meet Commander Burse, of the Republican Revenue Service and my liaison to the Weshieldian government. Commander Burse, Captain Francois of the Crown Empire’s navy!”

Burse nodded, tightlipped, to Francois, but his main attention seemed focused on Bond. After a few uncomfortable seconds, Bond burst out “Well! Can I offer you something to drink, Commander? I’ve just finished making a pot for Captain Francois and myself.”

-------

((St Columba))

Heavy flack cannons and other assorted anti-air artillery opened fire on the approaching Imitoran aircraft, but they came in too fast and too low for them to be effective. Even as St Columba’s aircraft were being destroyed by Fultonian hands, their base was decimated by Imitoran ones. The runway was severely cratered and most likely unusable for some time to come.

At the camp, panic continued to reign in the absence of any attempts to calm it. With most of the guards torn asunder by heavy fire, some ingenious bloke got the idea to simply open the main gates. The crowd, terrified at being trapped in the compound so littered with body parts and the smell of death, stampeded out towards the distant lights of Fort Jackson.

------

[quote]Signor Somma,

The Republic would be most happy to have the chance to open relations with Agrigento. The President himself would be glad to meet with any representatives you care to send to us.

However, the Republic currently finds itself under assault by certain unknown terrorist nations. They have not yet attacked the capital, but the President feels it only a matter of time. We do not with to scare you; perhaps only suggest that a meeting in Agrigento might be best for the time being.

-------

It was bitterly cold in Dûn Editraequán, even in the dying weeks of summer. Cold winds blew off the Western Marches and swept up the sloping cliffs of Cape Jackson, straight into the castle and through holes in its ancient masonry. Todd Andrews had never felt them before; the city, safe below near its anchorage, had no such winds. Gently, he pulled himself a little closer to Jane’s warmth. Her breathing was so smooth and regulated; he had no wish to wake her.

But Jane was not asleep. Had Todd grown up without his extra powers of detection, perhaps he would not be at such a loss when he couldn’t use them. Jane lay under his arm with her blue eyes fixed straight up at the ceiling. She felt him move slightly closer to her, and decided to ask.

“Todd?”

“Mmmph?” he replied, his mind sleepy and his mouth pressed against her bare shoulder.

“Todd,” she repeated. He shifted slightly so that he lay looking up at the side of her face.

“Thought you were asleep.”

“I know,” she said. “But I’m having trouble sleeping.”

“Shall I call for a glass of warm milk, or some extra blankets? Maybe light a fire?”

“No,” Jane sighed. “It’s not that - not the cold.” She turned her head to look into his brown eyes. “You never told me who Yumi was.”

Todd coughed slightly in surprise. “Yumi? - you don’t mean to tell me, you’re jealous, do you?” His voice, awake instantly with the mention of Yumi’s name, was indignant.

“No, no,” she said. “Honestly, Todd, you need to spend more time around people when you’re not reading their emotions. I am a little hurt, though - she was obviously someone important to you, and I think I deserve to know.”

Todd rolled back over on the bed and contemplated the ceiling himself. “She was someone important to me.” He turned his head back towards Jane and smiled weakly. “I met her in the cave. There were four of us then. I was by far the youngest: only ten years. The others were in their late teens, I think. Yumi was the only girl there; she was different, too. Different from anyone I’d ever met until then.”

He sighed with memories long repressed. “I fell in love But I think I was always just ‘that cute little kid’ to her. We didn’t see each other for ten years, then we met in her country, all four of us. I was all grown up then and she was just as beautiful and exotic as ever. I found myself trying desperately to impress her. She was the only woman I had ever loved before I met you. But she always had eyes for this other one of us - Kerrick - and I never had a chance.

“Then her entire nation put themselves into rocket ships and blasted off for God knows where. She had to go with them. I wanted to go too, and she said I could as long as I was discreet, but --” His voice stuttered. “She left without telling me; without saying good-bye.”

Jane put a hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t even feel her presence anymore,” he said. “Haven’t for the past four years. She’s too far gone.”

“I’m sorry, Todd,” whispered Jane. “I never knew...”

“I never told you,” he said. “But I’ve tried very hard to forget her. I have you now, and I think that’s better than anything I ever dreamed about with Yumi.”

Jane smiled. “Todd Andrews, for a telepath, you sure do have a lot to learn about how a woman’s mind works.”

“The wrong thing to say?” he asked.

She wrapped her arms about him. “Yeah. But you’re trying, and that’s what counts.”

He smiled and soon had drifted off to sleep. But Jane, resting her head on his chest, lay awake for sometime longer. She hadn’t meant to ask him about Yumi; that had simply slipped out when the original topic seemed too awkward to bring up. It was almost three o’clock in the morning by the time her worried eyes closed at last and she slipped off into a troubled sleep.

OOC: I know that UK doesn't, but propaganda doesn't have to be true. plus in all honesty the Fultonian Intelligence service is sorta lacking.

IC:
The soldiers went through the crowd and took anyone 16 years or younger who were still in the crowd by force and through them in the helicopter. Then every man left was given a kevlar armored jacket, elbow and knee padding,rifles with revolvers, and a good amount of ammo.
"brave men of Iansisle, take back your country and be knwon as heros!" Lt. major yelled at the scared and confident men.

The helicopters then took off in the dead of night headed not toward the Special Operations group but into the black sea and toawrd Fultonia. With two mid air refuelings. 24 Special Operations Soldiers were left behind having changed into clothing typical of the average por Shieldian. They were carrying the same outfits as were handed out to the noblemen. They began to mingle among thier new brothers speaking of the honor it would eb to serve in the New Royal Iansisle Army.

OOC: Has mental image of these guys with modern equipment getting ripped to shreads do to lack of any formal military training whatsoever...and you know I'm not gonna drop that thing about your intelligence being lacking, lol...real post to come later tonight, and Bradfield, try to get on AIM, its alot easier to coordinate attacks.

Over Weshield, a satalite clicked away, relaying info instantly to the small Imitoran force attacking Weshieldian forces. One picture peeked special intrests, and the description was forwarded to Wishers.
____

On the lead MV-22I, Pvt. Kevin Bridges blasted the Drop Kick Murphy's "Bar Room Hero". He ran his hand along the CAR-190, and checked the rifle. It looked similar to the CAR-48, however, it lacked a cocking handle. The rifle fired from a 100 round magazine of casless DU ammunition, therefore the only dust off was the carbon dust build up in the receiver that was emptied along with every magazine change. The process was quick and simple, pull the mag, pump the valve once, slam in a new mag, and your set to go.

However, he realized that the aircraft had been flying for more than the known 30 minutes. He pulled the headphones out, and signaled the rope master. "Whats goin on?" he shouted over the sound of the large props just outside the cabbin."

"We've spotted a movement of Wesheildian troops, a little over 1,000. Gonna skip the camp, guys on the ground told us to fuck it. We'll drop suplies in later. Were gonna drop in around the Wesheild troops. Rope in around them."

Bridges nodded. "Sounds like fun shit," another man, holding a CSW-195 shouted. The CSW-195 was the Combat Squad Weapon, and it used the smae action as the CAR-190s, but fired from a 400round box, had a higher rate of fire, and a nicer little burp to it.
____

At this point, four MV-6As swooped down on the camp, comming to a hover short of the gate. Wishers had ordered the men to let the Royals go, once they were outside the main gate, it wasn't their concern. The MV-6As, all armed with two .30cal M2005 miniguns, firing SLAP-APDU, or Standard Light Armor Piercing, Anti Personel Depleted Uranium, rounds desinged to take on the multitude of Power armor utilising nations. They also carried two 16 round 70inch rocket pods.

A MV-22I came in low, hovered breifly as teh 30mm swept, looking for targets, then landed. The rear door opened, and Wishers and his six men, along with the surviving 20, boarded the Osprey, and watched as the ground slowly pulled away as the pilot took off. At full speed, the Osprey cought up to the landing group quickly.
____

The ETA of the Osprey group was just under 20 minutes till they reached the Weshiledian party. However, flying high above them at 25,000 feet, the AV-22I circled. FLIR cammeras observed the ground movement bellow. The pilot turned, and slowly descended till he was masked in the cloud cover.

From 10,000 feet, the gunners began to work their mouse trackballs, aiming the several (five in all) 30mm tribarreled cannons at the group. To them, it was like a video game. Point and click, one down. Point and click. Point and click. With each click, however, a pixilated bullet didn't streak across the screen and kill a demon or monster or Nazi or alien. No, instead, it fired a burst of 50 30mm HE rounds. The rounds were designed to rip apart tanks, and had a devistating effect on the human flesh.

Further, two more gunners worked the controls for the twin 90mm mortars, sending down a mix of HE and Incideary rounds. However, unlike the mass orbital bombings that the ISNF comenced before landing a force of Marines, the firing from the Sea Gull, the technical designation of the AV-22Is, fired sporadiclly, sending a round or burst out every now and then, just to keep the troops on their toes.

High above at 30,000 feet, six more Angels (the original six flying Tail End Charlie for the convoy) circled like steel vultures, their search radars on full power, looking for any enemy fighters.

The Humtorn reminded Francois of the four-story brick rowhouses that crowd many blocks in the capital of Valerius Prime. It seems that the Crown Empire and the new United Kingdom both shared the 'Old World Charm' in their architecture, but outside the State of Valeria, Tudor and Mediterranean architecure seem to dominate the other regions of the empire. The Shieldians also seem to want to decorate every space in a loud way, but then again, there are some citizens in the Crown Empire that are obsessed with portraits, landscapes, and life-scaled sculptures.

The smoking room that Francois was led into smelled of Gallagan tobacco. Francois recognized the wafting scent because he had Gallagan before. It easily wins over the cheap stuff that the Crown military offers its men. Francois wondered if that stuff was even tobacco. Maybe it could have been dried weeds plucked from the emperor's garden.

Bond quickly poured themselves some tea and got Francois's shot of bourbon. As soon as Francois got his hands on the shot of Bourbon, he drained it into his mouth. Indeed, Bond was right when he said this was cheap stuff, as it left much to be desired when it came to taste. However, if it provided Francois with the alcohol he desired, it was good enough. Francois swallowed the bourbon after he let the taste seep in after a second and then picked up his cup of tea. Francois inhaled the aromas escaping from the tea. "Is this Gallagan, Captain Bond?" asked Francois as he looked up from the brown sea within his little cup. Francois stocked only Ceylon tea in his home, but that was only because his wife loved that stuff. Over time, he too began to love that particular brew of tea. However, he would not mind trying any new types of tea. Not waiting for an answer from Bond, Francois sipped away at his tea and smiled soon afterwards. Indeed, this was tea that was very exquisite to his palate.

"Indeed, this is excellent tea," he replied to Bond. But just before they could start a conversation of sorts, a man in a ridiculous uniform busted into the room. The flashy burgundy contrasted from the dark faded blue uniform with grey trim that Francois had on. However, one could say that the knee-high black polished boots that Francois had on would be very impractical for his job. "Greetings, Commander Burse," Francois smiled as he lifted his cup of tea as a cheer. "Is there anything wrong?"

James smiled at Drake, though it wasn’t one of his smiles from the happy days before the Revolution. “I’m honored His Imperial Majesty thinks so highly of me and my state.”

He gazed silently at the Nu-space ...contraption for a moment. Like most of his subjects, James was hopelessly terrible at using modern technology and yet insatiable curious about it.

“Perhaps if you would like to retire to a more comfortable location....?” suggested Drake. James snapped quickly out of his brief reverie.

“Of - of course. I should be honored to speak with His Majesty. The Honeycomb, perhaps?”

Alpha Centauri? He can place a wireless over that distance? Incredible! thought James as he led Drake and anyone else who would come out of the Great Hall, across the courtyard, and into Alexander’s grand legacy. As ever, the electric lights played off the gold-plated, indented walls to give the room an eerie golden glow. James could just imagine what it must have been like back in the day before the electric light, when only flickering torches could illuminate the room.

He indicated a comfortable looking, Larkinian made couch near a mahogany coffee table. “I trust this will suffice, Mr Drake?”

"It will be more than sufficient, Your Majesty," Drake says and he places the holoprojector on a place near the floor beside the table. He then depresses a small inset activation stud.
A thin beam of white light pierces the air from the center of the projector, it expands to the edge of the disc rapidly and form begins to take shape out of the light. The form is that of a man apparently in his late twenties, although with Valinor pro-long and other medical applications his true age is most likely greater. He is of average height and a compact, muscular build. Dirty blond hair is combed in a simple upward fashion, and a vaguely unkept beard covers his face. Electric blue eyes stab across the light-years into the Honeycomb, and he is dressed in a simple vest, collared white shirt, brown pants, and black jack boots.
"Good evening, High King," says Gustav Alderman II, the partially self-proclaimed 'Lion Emperor' of the Valinor. "It is good to see that you are indeed well. Recent unrest in the Shield has caused much consertation within the political circles of New Koln since communications to Ianapalis broke down. I understand that there have been considerable difficulties, but my knowledge is still somewhat...vague, and I hope you will pardon my ignorance. Tell me what troubles the kingdom of House Laughlin?"

We are more than willing to hold the meeting in Agrigento, and to hopefully discuss matters that would remove the need for such security methods in your nation. If you would like we could provide or facilitate a secure method of transportation. We await your response.
______________________
Dominic Somma
Secretary of Foreign Affairs
La Repubblica d'Agrigento

Naturally, the Fultonian plants were spotted in a second. Anyone born and raised in Shieldian high society could spot a peer in a second, and no amount of training could quite make an Iansislean. However, they seemed eager to fight nonetheless; however, one major problem soon became clear.

“I must return home,” insisted one man, almost violently. “It is of paramount importance. I have thought of nothing else since I came here.”

“The Republic will never take my village,” replied another, examining his gun with squinted eyes.

“My horses need me. I shall tend to them,” said a third.

-------

Offered a chance between fight and flight, it is the rare Iansislean nobleman who will chose the former. While the working class was renowned for its sturdiness, like a great Shieldian oak, the vast majority of the quality fell in as either a duffer or a fop, or sometimes both. Soon, the camp was empty with the exceptions of children too small to run and parents clinging to their childrens’ corpses.

It was never a fair fight between the President’s Own and the Imitoran technology. The bloody poor infantry were ripped to shreds in the initial firing. Men instinctively fell to the ground as the withering fire cut them down like a scathe. Many found shelter in a roadside ditch, where they were quickly covered by the blood and bodies of the slain.

-------

((heh, just noticed that I’ve been referring to Somme, whom I assume to be male, as ‘signore’ instead of ‘signor’. Heh, oops. Sorry, Ag!

Signor Somme,

I greatly appreciate your offer. However, you will understand if I cannot come in person. The Republic is facing the greatest trials of its young history, and I must remain to provide what inspiration and leadership I can.

However, my top advisor - one Citizen Lionel Woodmend - can attend at your earliest convenience. He is a good man, and I trust him to the ends of the earth.

I trust this will be acceptable? We desire your Republic’s friendship over all else.

Todd Andrews
President, the Republic of Weshield.

-----

MV and Valinon: Sorry I couldn't get to your replies tonight. I'm terribly tired, and will have to put them off till tomorrow. I think I'm even starting to lose coherency in that bit I typed up for Ag.

Anyway, till the morrow, all!

This is certainly acceptable. Do you require us to pick him up? If so at what location? We are prepared to do so almost immediately, as our intelligence finds your current situation most dire. It is indeed with great hope that we wish to open the avenues of communication to your nation and acheive a lasting peace in the area.
______________________
Dominic Somma
Secretary of Foreign Affairs
La Repubblica d'Agrigento

“No thank you, Captain,” said Burse. “I’d rather been hoping to talk privately with you, sir.” He cast a sidelong look at Francois. “Of course, if now isn’t convenient...”

“And it most certainly isn’t,” replied Bond with a sudden crisp authority. “If you’d care to join us, commander, I’d suggest you take a cup and a seat.” He left unspoken the commands if not.

“Greetings, Commander Burse. Is there anything wrong?” asked Francois.

“Captain,” replied Burse, somewhat stiffly but while taking a seat. “No, not at the moment. I had just hoped - but never mind, here’s the tea.”

The three sat uncomfortably for several seconds. At last, Bond piped up.

“Well, Captain, this is turning into a most pleasant evening! But I feel as though I do not even know you - tell me, sir, are you married?”

-----

James pulled himself up to his full six feet, exceptionally tall for a Shieldian, as Gustav II suddenly appeared in the Honeycomb. Still, he recovered neatly.

“Emperor,” he said, “I trust you are in fine health, as is the Star Empire?

“However, I am afraid that you hear correctly the woes of the Shield. The Empire has dissolved at last - done in by regional nationalism and corporate high jinks.” He left unspoken the assertion that ‘High King’ was no longer his title.

“However, I have been proclaimed the monarch of the United Kingdom of the Shield, though it is a poor shadow of the old Empire. I apologize that this information could not be relayed to you sooner; the tenacious hold of the corporations disrupted most communications into and out of the Shield.”

((sorry for the delay, guys!))

This is certainly acceptable. Do you require us to pick him up? If so at what location? We are prepared to do so almost immediately, as our intelligence finds your current situation most dire. It is indeed with great hope that we wish to open the avenues of communication to your nation and acheive a lasting peace in the area.
______________________
Dominic Somma
Secretary of Foreign Affairs
La Repubblica d'Agrigento

((grr...in all my excitement about finishing Valinon's and MV's posts at last, forgot to reply to Ag's! *smacks self*))

Signor Somma,

The ancient home of House Laughlin, which serves as administrative headquarters for the Republic due to the state of affairs in Fort Jackson proper, would be an appropriate location. Dûn Editraequán is located in the highlands above the city, near Cape Jackson itself.

We look forward to opening relations with the Republic of Agrigento and eagerly await the results of Citizen Woodmend's mission.

--Andrews

Gustav II leans back in his chair, and a hand goes to his chin.
"No, it is not entirely your fault. The recent chaos in the Raumreich and the death of Count Leopold have turned our own lines of diplomatic contacts into a mess."
He stands, and the chair dissipates, and it becomes more apparent that James is easily an inch taller than Gustav.
"This news makes this matter further disturbing, and I doubt the Congress of Lords will enjoy hearing of the crumbling of the Empire. And to allow these corporations and nationalists to gain further power might lead to yourself being put in greater danger, King."
Gustav II crosses his arms, and pauses as if in thought, "In fact it is a state of affairs I am not willing to entertain myself. Truth lies in the fact our resources are somewhat limited, but there is a considerable force stationed on Earth that is simply too far away to be relocated in time to support our operations in the Raumreich. With your permission," Gustav says looking into James' eyes, "I would like to deploy elements of the Terra First Corps to the Shield. They are known as the "First and Only" and constitute the majority of our army on Earth. I do not think it would be practical to send all four battlegroups to the Shield, but perhaps we could deploy one or two? That way the Star Empire may show the solidarity that exists between Valinon and Iansisle, and work with your own loyal forces to ensure the continuity of a stable Shieldian state."

James’ back stiffened at the possibility of troops deploying to the Shield. “Begging the Emperor’s pardon,” said he, choosing his words carefully, “but I’m not yet convinced that foreign troops on Shieldian soil may be the best idea.”

He paused briefly. “I do hope you’re not offended; however, I put every trust in Mr Bradsworth and the government he has assembled.”

James stumbled. He didn’t know how much of what had been happening on the Shield Gustav knew, and decided to risk offending the Emperor rather than risk a misunderstanding.

“Charles Bradsworth, formerly the Grand Empire’s ambassador to the Alliance of the New Highlands, recognized the corporates’ plot to control the government by brute force and returned to lead the people against them. He has been declared the Premier Interim of the new United Kingdom - a more unified body which he feels will help to unite my people against abuse by large corporations - and has sworn full allegiance to me.

“I share your enthusiasm for a stable Shieldian state, but I also believe we may have - at long last - arrived at one.”

Commander Burse seemed to have wanted to privately chat with Captain Bond, but Bond adamantly refused to have his tea with Francois disturbed. Francois drank some more from his cup, letting the flavor play wonders with his tongue. Maybe he should find out if any local tea shops in his hometown sold some of these Gallagan imports. But then again, a small town of 5,000 or so inhabitants might not harbor such fine imports. It would be a shame if he would have to drive south into a larger city just to buy some tea.

Burse sat down in his seat rather quickly after Bond commanded the Commander to take a seat. The atmosphere became really tense and neither of the three men talked for several moments. Finally, Bond broke the silence and asked Francois, "...Tell me, sir, are you married?" The captain was aback for a slight moment. In such a casual conversation, why did they dare ask something personal like that? Well, it may be Shieldian culture to know people as soon as you meet them...

"Indeed, I am married, sir, to a beautiful woman named Katherine. I have a young newborn son as well. His name's Phillip. My wife insisted that we should name him after a Valerian king; she thought Laughlin or Theodoric would be nice, but I made her lean on Phillip. Laughlin and Theodoric were the names of several mediocre kings in my nation's history. Laughlin I Romali, though, was a decent king." Francois cut himself short as he knew he was getting carried away. "Why did you ask if I were married? Just wanted to know?"

“Mere curiosity, captain,” replied Bond. “I’ve always said, 'you can tell much of a man by his better half.'” Bond chuckled slightly.

Burse spent most of his time sitting rigid as a board and eying Francois suspiciously.

“I have a wife myself,” said Bond. “She and I have a nice little place north of Unity Square - erm, Revolution Plaza, that is - though we haven’t been blessed by children quite yet. Haven’t given too much thought to names yet; William, perhaps, if it’s a boy. Or Roger. I’ve always liked that name.”

If Bond was aware of his social error, he didn’t show it. Perhaps a good indicator why a man who had posted captain was serving as base shepherd while the Navy needed every officer it had at sea?

Burse cleared his throat in obvious displeasure with the course of the conversation. Apparently, he felt no need to even pretend to respect the rules of polite conversation.

The Gulfstream G550 continued its all too familiar flight path. Since becoming the official aircraft of the Agrigentian Department of Foreign Affairs, this plane and its sisters now had more mileage than Secretary Somma's 1976 Cadillac (A hard feat to accomplish). Soon after passing over Troobodia Bay the lush lands to the north began to spread out across the cockpit window as it slowly descended.

The usual escort was there, F-15Z's flying in close formation, and the destination was just ahead.

Dûn Editraequán Airport, this is the Agrigentian Airforce, requesting permission to land. We are ready for pick up.

Bond chuckled at the saying that he held dear. "You can tell much of a man by his better half". It's interesting to the captain, as he'd never heard of it. Having been raised in a backwater town, though, it was expected that Francois did not catch onto all of the sayings that are around.

Francois moved his gaze slowly towards Burse, and was shocked to see that Burse was rigid like a tree that taken in too much water during a monsoon. The man looked as if all flexibility in his joints escaped him, and he had a creepy gaze that was nervously set upon Francois as well. The Valerian Captain turned away and set his eyes towards Bond again, listening to what he had to say about his wife. "Ahh... no kids yet? William's a good name. Name of the 2nd greatest and longest reigning king of Valeria... although I think the records are off when it comes to the length of his reign. I didn't think he could reign far into his 100's, but maybe he had good heritage and lived long... or maybe he was incredibly lucky."

Francois looked nervously at Burse again. The Commander cleared his throat, almost shredding the warm atmosphere of conversation apart. "Commander Burse, if you need to talk with Bond, please go ahead." Francois leaned in towards Burse and added, "...Or do you just hate foreigners?"

((I was just practicing clearing my throat, and it came to me: after years and years of reading CS Forester, I suddenly and out of nowhere realized how you're supposed to enunciate "ha - h'm"! Go figure. Oh, and I’m still not sure why I was practicing clearing my throat. Just one of those things y’do, I suppose.))

The Gulf Stream was landed at Editraequán aerodock, just north of the city, where it was met by Woodmend himself.

“Gentlemen,” he said to the delegation, “I do hope you’ll pardon this hasty reception, but the President believes there’s not a moment to be lost.”

------

“I am glad you’ve decided to be so frank, Captain,” said Burse, also leaning in. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s this Shadoranite habit of dancing around an issue for days and weeks on end. The Weshieldian way has always been to go directly after what we want: be it what it may.

“However, you misunderstand me. I do not hate foreigners. I can’t say that I like an entire Valerian squadron sitting in Mansmouth Roads, but I do not hate you, nor your officers and men.”

“Really, Commander!” cut in Bond. “You’re completely out of order - Captain Francois, I hope he has not offended you in any way?”

Burse stood and bowed slightly. “With your leave, sirs, I shall excuse myself for now. Captain Bond: I should like a word, soon.”

"Quite understandable, we shall make haste back to Agrigento then, welcome aboard," said Gerardo Mancini. Gerardo's professional was listed as Diplomatic Greeter, but his job description was much less important sounding. Being a glorified secretary, who occasionally got to travel, was quite demeaning an idea to many, but not to Gerri. Despite being well past retirement he got a subtle joy that few could comprehend. He felt his own sense of importance by often being the first to meet important people.

"I hope you find your seats to your liking. Please have some refreshments"

Soon the engines were whining and the plane began to taxi around the runway.

The take-off was a bit bumpy, but the flight would be smooth. The Agrigentian Government spared no expense in supplying its more important passengers with ample snacks, and far too much wine.

Francois listened to Burse as he too leaned in. Burse explained his loathing for the Shadoranite habit of dawdling on a certain issue. Apprarently, it seems that Bond was most likely a Shadoranite, from what Francois deciphered.

Weshieldians apparently have their own to-the-point way, like Alexandrians, Trikoupesians, and Deliyannites of Magnus Valerius, but they also were rather calm and laid back as well. Badenese were too seperatist, the Nikeans were too racist, and the Valerians were decadent and ruthless intellectuals (hence, their dominance was due to ruthless tactics against their rivals). And that's not couting the Tabrizians, Metakians, East Valerians, Wilhelmstadtians, Aeloanites, or the other people who lie beyond Magnus Valerius in The Dominion.

Francois was relieved when Burse said that he did not hate foreigners... however, having several large foreign vessels in harbor seemed to have unnerved him. Bond interrupted the two, causing Francois to melt back into his chair into an upright position. As Burse excused himself, Francois nodded towards Burse in a notion of understanding.

"Captain Bond, Commander Burse has not insulted me at all... it's just that he was a little unnerving. As if he wanted my bones to grind into soup. But anyway, let us continue the conversation... erm, what shall we talk about?"

James’ back stiffened at the possibility of troops deploying to the Shield. “Begging the Emperor’s pardon,” said he, choosing his words carefully, “but I’m not yet convinced that foreign troops on Shieldian soil may be the best idea.”

He paused briefly. “I do hope you’re not offended; however, I put every trust in Mr Bradsworth and the government he has assembled.”

James stumbled. He didn’t know how much of what had been happening on the Shield Gustav knew, and decided to risk offending the Emperor rather than risk a misunderstanding.

“Charles Bradsworth, formerly the Grand Empire’s ambassador to the Alliance of the New Highlands, recognized the corporates’ plot to control the government by brute force and returned to lead the people against them. He has been declared the Premier Interim of the new United Kingdom - a more unified body which he feels will help to unite my people against abuse by large corporations - and has sworn full allegiance to me.

“I share your enthusiasm for a stable Shieldian state, but I also believe we may have - at long last - arrived at one.”

"Perhaps," Gustav II says with an understanding nod. "But I fear for the future of your own House, High King, if the masses are aloud to take too much control. Too many times we Valinor have watched as our friends in the way of noble blood are consumed by people ill-prepared to be released to these so-called democratic states. Too often their disappointment at their own governing failings have turned to rage against their previous guardians, namely their own nobility."
Gustav II sweeps his hands open in an expansive gesture, "Besides, I would hate to see the power of House Laughlin fall by the wayside in the future. For so long your family has protected, guided, and shown the people of the Shield the way of strength. This is not something either the Lords of Valinon or myself would like to see cast aside by some flirtation of the masses. And we will take what steps you will let us to prevent this. Rest assured, sir," Gustav II says with a reassuring half-smile, "if you were to agree to allow my men to pass onto the Shield, it would be on your terms and your terms would dictate when they would leave."
His hands return to behind his back, carefully folded and clasped, "I am called the Lion Emperor in my own realm, and although I have not ascribed to it, I am said to be the most powerful Emperor since my ancestor, Penrod, laid down the foundations of the Second Empire. This age of glory of empire and unity are not something I wish to be withheld, and I would be proud to stand next to strong House Laughlin in whatever path you would choose to take."

The commander was saddenned by the sudden weaknes of the royals. He commanded his men to travel with the royals and provide protection. blending in and sending info back to the Republic.

THe copters took off and traveled to fultonia landing in the capital city of Anora where processing began. women and children really were all he had. some old folk, and a few young men.

ooc: sorry guys for not bein on but killer overtime and packing before I head back to school has really taken alot of my time. more on "processing" soon

“Thank you,” said Woodmend, boarding the Agrigentian plane. He was an average looking man of just about average height - for a Shieldian, of course! - and rapidly thinning hair.

“Quite luxurious,” he commented briefly, admiring his plush surroundings. “One might think I was in a flying ocean liner!”

He drank as little wine as he could without insulting his hosts and listened politely to anything the Agrigentians may have to say while offering few opinions of his own.

-----

Bond opened his mouth and then closed it again. He sipped his tea and then started talking.

“Strange! The conversation was going so well - ah, I suppose it is this damned Weshieldian way. Never was able to understand them, myself: headstrong, impatient brutes. No head at all for social situations.”

He waved vaguely towards the door. “Burse’s a prime example of this. He’s a sensible enough man, most of the time. But he’s just a little too patriotic, if you ask me. Every second of his must be spent advancing the revolution, else it’s a second wasted!”

------

((Just a reminder, House Laughlin are the Weshieldian monarchs. James is from House Callahan, Kings of Shadoran and until recently High Kings of the Empire. Sorry if that’s what you said and I’m just misreading it because it’s zero-dark-thirty out here! :)))

James smiled and bent slightly at the waist. “E - dear Lion Emperor, for it is such a fitting title, House Callahan is glad to have you as its allies. Currently, I do not fear that terrible sequence you mentioned, but it may be simple blind arrogance on my part. You have my word that the very second I feel my life or position threatened by Bradsworth or his so-called Gull Flaggers, I shall call you before all others.”

--------

((don’t worry about it, dude! We all have lives, and they take precedence over NS. I’ve been working my tail off the past few days, so haven’t been around much either. Oh, and just to let everyone know, I’m leaving for Tucson on Friday, so I’ll probably be out of touch starting Friday night and lasting a day or two.))

The royalists, in groups of two or three, tried to split up and return to their homes or search for loved one not present at the camp.

Meanwhile, their sons and wives and daughters were landing in Fuiltonia. Like most Iansisleans, they went into a technology-induced culture shock and were able to do little more than shuffle around with eyes the size of dishes and point at various things like computers and cell phones in amazement.

Francois grinned as Bond explained Burse's demeanor. It seems that Burse was right about these Shadoranites, if Bond happens to be one. Nothing seems to be obvious or taken seriously by Captain Bond. "Really? One second is often all it takes for someone to make a mistake in planning. I understand Burse's plight, as it has happened to my nation in the past." Francois recalls the old history that happened long ago when he was a teenager. The Orissan War... a civil war that brought foreign invaders into Magnus Valerius. It was all started by the Emperor Alexander I whom relentlessly fought for the removal of voting rights. Alexander I dealt with the rebellion in Orissa by slaughtering every single man, woman, and child in that city... then, came the foreigners.

Several of Francois's friends were killed by those bastards who invaded Valeria and tried to impose democracy on their Empire...

"So I take it that yoy are a Shadoranite?" Francois began, trying to spark some more conversation.

“Born and bred in Ianapalis,” nodded Bond with a touch of pride. Perhaps the Shield never would be able to get over the nationalist sentiments of those who comprised it. “My father works for RM&M in labor relations - well, he did back before the revolution, at any rate - and he was one of the first to denounce Royal’s top leadership.”

ooc: Welcome back Ians.

ooc: Welcome back Ians.

((Thanks. With any luck, the last of the moving was finished today and I should be able to post fairly reguarly from now on. I'm working on a post for Roania in the other thread and an update for Wyclyfe as well as a general update. However, for now, hunger calls. :)))

Todd drew his cloak more tightly about his frail frame as he stood on the ramparts of Dûn Editraequán and listened to the strong sea breeze as it whistled through the ancient stone. Strange how the bitter smell of marine animals’ corpses rotting on the continental shelf could be so relaxing. Even now, looking out over the vast expanse of the Western Marches, he could sense the drive that compelled young Shieldians from ages past to leave hearth and home and seek their fortunes upon the waves.

He heard the footsteps of his Paul Dreaman, his Director of Economics, behind him and felt his presence wafting up the staircase. Todd all ready knew why he had come; there would be no surprises. And yet he still wished that Jacobs would go away. A bearer of bad news is always unwelcome.

“Mister President?” Todd had insisted that the Republic use Larkinian styles of reference, despite the Principality’s ties to the Old Regime.

“Yes?” asked Todd, trying to conceal in his voice that he had been aware of the Director’s presence, even if Todd’s untrained ear could pick him out stomping up the stone steps.

“Mr President, I have some news - some ...bad news.”

“About the Republic’s coming insolvency?” asked Todd caustically. Dreaman cringed and briefly contemplated suicide.

“I - that is - yes, Mr President. Please, sir --”

“I cannot tolerate excuses, Dreaman. Do you think that I’m so ignorant about the state of my nation that you could hide this? Do you think I never check up on my departments?”

“I - yes - no, sir - no, of course not, Mr President!”

There followed an uncomfortable silence in which Todd’s brown eyes bore into those of his underling.

“Well, you see, sir, I simply thought that...”

“No, Mr Dreaman. You thought that you could cover yourself. You thought that your continued existence was more important than the health of a newborn Republic.”

“No, I...”

“Silence! I cannot abide the sound of your voice! There is no longer any place for you in this government, Dreaman, and I should much appreciate it if you have your desk cleaned out before the evening’s over!”

Dreaman’s face crumpled, but Todd could no longer look at it. He turned his back on the former Director and again cast his eyes out to the eternal beauty of the sea. Todd could hear the half-choked sob behind him, but he cared not. At last, the noises subsided and Todd heard the sounds of Dreaman’s footsteps retreating. He stood for what seemed an eternity, but was probably only a few heartbeats, considering the endless expanse of water.

Suddenly, a hand came from nowhere and stroked his shoulder. Todd couldn’t help it; he jumped. He hadn’t felt any presence, he had no warning. Which meant:

“Good evening, darling.”

“Sorry to frighten you, Todd,” came Jane’s voice softy. She lay her chin on his bony shoulder; Todd could imagine how uncomfortable that must be. His cheeks burned red with momentary shame. She kissed his ear. “You’re freezing.”

“It’s not so bad up here,” he shrugged, mentally kicking himself for displacing her head. Jane didn’t seem to mind; she just slipped a hand around his waist and gazed out to sea as well.

“It is beautiful,” she said, “with the sun ducking down behind the western waters like that, its dying embers scattered like fiery jewels across the water.”

“You should have been a poet.”

“Oh, stop! You know that was just a bunch of bunk I threw out!” She poked him.

“Verily. Sarcasm is a lost art, m’darling, but you seem insistent on finding it,” he grinned back, kissing her. Jane’s lips were cold; maybe it was the wrong time of year to be watching the sunset from the ramparts. Instinctively, he started rubbing the air molecules around their huddled forms, creating a glowing warmth surrounding them.

“I know you’re doing that, Todd.”

“What?”

“Making it warm. If I’m searching for sarcasm, then you’re digging after plausible denial.”

Todd just smiled and gazed back out to sea.

“I heard your conversation with Mr Dreaman,” said Jane carefully. That thought made Todd scowl. “Don’t you think you might have been a little easier on him? He’s a nice man, and a father besides.”

“He’s a liar. For a whole fortnight, he told me about what wonderful state the exchequer was in while we slowly spiraled towards debt and collapse. If I hadn’t known - that doesn’t bear thinking on.” He turned towards her fully, his absurdly oversized hands clutching her shoulders.

“Jane, this idea - this republic, this Weshield: it’s bigger than anyone or the sum of its parts. For the entire history of the Shield, we’ve been subjugated and stomped upon, be it by our own king or posing outlanders. Now, the great people of Weshield at last have a chance to rule themselves, and I will not let it be taken from them by a damn penny pincher skimming off the top of the treasury!”

Jane took a step back. “And this republic, is it bigger than Mansford?”

“Damn it, Jane,” swore Todd, before drawing himself up short. “I’ve told you. The King of Mansford was financing uprisings all along the Northriver and probably had his hand in those attacks of the protection camps.”

“And so you send in the young boys of Weshield, to defend God and the republic?” she demanded. “To defend it by capturing the House of Fischer and adding its fortunes to your own? Four hundred thousand men, Todd, from a country of only twelve million! Don’t you think that’s a little much to ask? No wonder Mr Dreaman was afraid to approach you! He couldn’t have continued paying the soldiers without driving us into debt. And how long do you think Mansford’s treasury will sustain your precious army?” She backed farther from his embrace.

“Damn it, Jane, I can’t talk to you when you’re like this!”

“And I don’t think I can talk to you at all! You’re not the man I fell in love with, Todd Andrews! You’ve changed, terribly and inconceivably!”

“Once these crises are behind us,” replied Todd hotly, “we can go back to being normal. But how can I rest with hordes of fanatic Roanians waiting to crush our revolution just across the sea, and no guarantee that Bradsworth will support us? Or those lunatics in Wyclyfe? Or the corporatists - don’t forget, they still have quite the support base in Thortraia, and Bradsworth isn’t willing to crush them properly!” He tried to take a step closer, but she retreated again.

“You’ve changed, Todd,” Jane repeated, the speck of a tear in her eye. Then she turned and fled down the stairs, leaving Todd alone atop the ramparts as the sun slipped below the horizon.

((Key Points for People Too Lazy to Read the Post:

1) The Republic of Weshield is quickly approaching insolvency, perhaps because of the massive army levees that have so far been enforced. Currently, some 10% of Weshield’s adult male population (3.something of total population) is under arms. How much longer the Republic can continue to make ends meet is anyone’s guess.

2) At the same time that the United Kingdom declared war and invaded Thortraia, Weshield turned on its northern neighbor, Mansford. Upper Mansford, the capital, has all ready been occupied and Weshieldian forces are encountering light resistance on their northern drive to the mountains. The Mansfordian exchequer is helping to keep the Republic’s finances afloat, but a new source of money has to be found soon.

3) Jane thinks that Todd has changed, and recoiled from his embrace on the ramparts.

4) Paul Dreaman, Weshield’s Director of Economics, has been dismissed.

I shoulda started doing these ages ago! ;)))

Shield’s End, Mansford

“Absolutely disgraceful!” shouted Field Marshal George Pepper as he rode through the cobblestone streets of Shield’s End. That little city, perhaps only seven or eight thousand in population, was the biggest port between Mansmouth and Turnish. The anchorage was tucked near Cape St Mary under the lee of large, wind-beaten cliffs. Currently, only a few slowly burning fishing vessels and two torpedo-gun boats flying the Bloody Lyre inhabited the roads.

The ancient city walls of Shield’s End lay in absolute ruin, shattered by the terrible destructive power of modern artillery. Inside the walls, slowly burning buildings bore witness to the dreadful assault that had followed.

As did the corpses of men, women, and children that lined the streets in various grotesque positions.

Pepper tried every rationalization he knew - my ‘men’ are just boys, freshly recruited from the streets of Fort Jackson; they had no previous combat experience; it’s been a long, hot march from the crossing at Mansmouth; and the northerners are hearty folk, so they may have been trying to resist. But no excuse could pardon the total slaughter which he saw. There was a boy, not any older than his five-year old son, lying in his dead mother’s arms with a bayonet hole in his chest. Who could do such a thing? What extenuating circumstances could possibly pardon such an act?

“Absolutely disgraceful!” Pepper bellowed again, as if repetition would somehow make the ghastly scene vanish. “I want to know who’s responsible, and I want them punished - disciplined - hanged! Do you get that, Yates?”

“Y-yes, sir,” stammered Pepper’s chief of staff. The Field Marshal was in a poor mood.

Just then, four soldiers in the khaki and burgundy of Weshield emerged from a nearby house carrying a baby grand piano. They looked at the Field Marshal’s staff, who looked back at them.

“Get those men, captain!” cried Pepper, pointing one long, pale finger. “I want them court-martialed at once!” The unfortunate looters turned and tried to run, but the captain of the general staff’s guard and his men were on them at once. Three were tied up without too much trouble; the fourth required a sharp strike with the blunt side of captain’s sabre to his head to be subdued.

“Absolutely disgraceful!” screamed Pepper to anyone who was listening one more time.

OOC: posted after the last post of mine on enterprise.

IC: The Iansislians names are taken down as well as a short geneology. They are taken picture of and given fultonian ID cards. They are all granted full citizenship and placed temporarily in posh upperclass apartments in Anora at government expense. Private security is placed around the building and under cover federal security personell are keeping tabs on the visitors, less for spying purposes and more for personal protection. Each family unit is assigned a case worker to help them adapt to life in Fultonia whcih they are assured will only last as long as the unrest in Iansisle. An election is to be held soon by those 16 years of age and older among the group as to which seven individuals will represent their interests and communicate their needs to the Republic.

This is the Fultonia election season so they may wish to watch the happenings on public television

http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=6985194&posted=1

OOC:

Argh... bad post. I have writer's block.

IC:

Francois listened and nodded as Bond proudly denoted himself as a Shadoranite, 'born and bred in Ianapalis'. Francois rubbed his bestubbled chin and took another sip of tea as Bond continued to talk about the RM&M. What was the RM&M, anyway? Francois decided to find out and curried more conversation between him and Bond. "Well, if you were to ask me, I would be an Alexandrian, born and bred in Alexandria," replied the sea captain with a grin. "So tell me about RM&M... what exactly is it? Is it a megacorporation? A Republic? An organization?"

((Don’t worry about it, MV...I’ve been extremely unmotivated of late ;). *tries to break that*))

“RM&M?” asked Bond in some shock. It was quite incomprehensible to him that someone might not know what those three letters and punctuation mark stood for; but then, that was just Shieldian arrogance bred of ignorance. After all, he had no bloody clue where Alexandria was, outside of Egypt.

“Why, sir, it stands for ‘Royal Mining and Manufacturing’ - the Royal Mining and Manufacturing Consortium of Ianapalis, specifically. They were the real bigwigs before the revolution. Owned nearly all the steel plants in the Commonwealth, as well as most of the iron ore and coal, forty per cent of our railroad track, and about a third of the merchant marine!”

He smiled. “Not the best track record on worker relations, either. Serves ‘em right, I guess: one day, they cracked a few too many skulls, and got themselves nationalized.”

((Not really sure how to respond to that, Fult...”everyone said ‘thank you!’ a lot?” ;)))

Republic Confiscates Church Property!
All holdings in Weshield and Mansford included in order

FORT JACKSON, Weshield -- The Republic of Weshield today announced that, in order to combat the inequities still inherent in the country, it would seize all property belonging to the Roman Catholic Church. Included are lands, buildings, livestock, and any other possible assets.

In addition, President Andrews claimed the right to appoint bishops and parish priests to be the dominion of the state and the state alone.

“People, in their zeal to attack the aristocracy, have forgotten that their is a second aristocracy buried deeply within Weshield. For too long have we been beholden to Rome in all spiritual matters; now is the time to break free and assert our independence.”

The Empire of the Shield had always taken a secularist approach to church-state relations, but had very rarely dared to tread on Rome’s toes. High King Ian III briefly claimed the right to appoint bishops in the mid-18th century, but soon relinquished the right and it was never reclaimed.

There has of yet been no response from Rome on the seizures.

OOC: Imi is watchin a movie but he'll post soon

IC:

The Anoran Times

Today President Jeffson offered a scathing critique of the Weshieldian Governemnt and its encroachment upon the fundemental values of freedom of conscience. The 34 page report released today by the Office of the President gave 5 major recomendations to the Weshieldian government that President Jefferson said would curtail consequences if they were not looked into.

1. The protection of both ecunimical and personal property rights
2. The cessation of hostilities against humanitarian aid workers
3. The guarantee of personal freedoms and rights
4. The protection of citizens of the republic
5. Better ways of raising funds and monies

"If the people of Weshield do not come to terms with the reality forming upon the Isles we will make them come to terms with reality." Jefferson stated during his press conference. The situation is seen as tense with hostilities still popping up and the Special Operations Fleet still circling the regional waters.

OOC: by the way Ian my President is single and i was wondering if one of your rescued nobles might be interested in yeah, well you take it from there.

First Speaker Frateli looked at the report on the news. The seizing of all properties belonging to the Church was a big piece of news in a Catholic nation. However, with all the other problems right now, Anna Frateli had more to worry about than the problems in Weshield. However, she coulnd't stand by and do nothing, so she handed the report to Father Domingo Chavez, and asked him to figure out what should be done. After all, he was the First Speaker's advisor on all situations regarding religion, both foriegn and domestic.

Father Chavez knew exactly what to do. He told Anna not to worry about the problem, and that the situation would be handled. He took a government car to a large church in Northampotin, where he entered the building, and requested to see Micheal Dover, Archbishop of Imitora. The priest at the door nodded, and promised to return shortly.

There was a knock the door of Dover, and the Dominican Archbishop looked up. "Come in." The priest entered the office, and bowed.

"Sir, there is a Jesuit here for you."

The Archbishop looked at the priest, and thought for a moment. The only Jesuit priest he knew was his war buddy and now assistant to the First Speaker Chavez. He ackowledged the priest, and told him to enter. He stood, and shook Chavez's hand. "So tell me Domingo, what brings you here today?"

"Micheal, we seem to have an Issue in a small nation known as Weshelid, out by Iansisle. Appearently, the goverenment has found it nessacery to confiscate all belongings of the Catholic church. They are taking it upon themselves to appoint their own clergy, and First Speaker Frateli is affraid this may turn into another Northern situation."

The Northern situation was the Imitoran excursion into North Ireland to remove the British troops from the area, and lift the English rule. Imitora had lost arund 50 Marines and two ships in teh attack, and the last thing anyone in power wanted was another one of those.

"I was wondering what your opinion on the matter was. The sword as been quiet lately since the end of the riots, and they are all warriors, so I would think this could be one of their situations. Just for protection, of course."

The Archbishop thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Tell the First Speaker she has my blessing to use the Gladeus Dei, and she will be in our prayers. Also, try to find out when she'll be holding her inaguration so I can be sure to clear my schedule for that week."

Domingo nodded and smiled, then left. He would draft the official response to the Weshieldian government, and have Anna sign in. He would then set the proper procedures in motion to have the Gladeus Dei, an Elite Paramilitary unit operating uner teh authority of Imitora's Archbishop, used for the protection of Imitoran Catholics and Catholic churches, move into Weshield.
___

Official Response From the Imitoran Government to President Andrews

Having come to the understanding that you have began siezing the property of the Catholic church, we ask that you step back, and look at your actions. Your attempt to remove the Church from Weshield can only cause serious problems in the area. Your actions violate the inate Human Right to choose their religion, and we find that your interference with this may indeed violate even more rights. It is not the place of the government of any nation to choose religion for their peoples. Therefore, I recomend that the following actions be taken by you, 'President' Andrews, or face serious consequences:

1. Cease the seizing of all Catholic properties, including, but not limited to: "lands, buildings, livestock, and any other possible assets".
2. Cease any actions that may have taken, or may be planned to take place, that will cause harm, discomfort, or situations other that may place Catholic citizens in any situation that will infringe on their freedoms.
3. Allow the Catholic church all rights that are allowed to other churches, as well as the right of the Catholic church to operate as it pleases, as long as it does not threaten the government in a violent way.
4. Allow the introduction of Imitoran Peace Keepers to insure that the above requests are followed. Peace keepers will be their under the assumption that they will cause no violence, unless their life, or the lives of those around them, are in danger. Peace keepers will not infringe on the government or military presence of the Weshieldian government.

Refusal to follow these acts will cause the automatic assumption that the Weshieldian government is indeed persecuting or otherwise violating the rights of the people and the Church in Weshield, and actions will be taken on any level deemed nessacery to positively confirm that those peoples are safe, secure, and free to worship as they please. I look forward to your response on the matter, and hope that no violence or harm come to anyone in this time of crisis. With Great Repsect,

First Speaker Anna Frateli

((oh, if you only knew what you’ve gotten yourself in for, Drew! *evil cackle*))

“Oh, blast it all! I’ve turned on the heat again! Dear! Dear!”

The Viscount Dunvels and his family, like most of the other émigrés, was having quite a hard time adjusting both to living in a modern world and doing so without servants. Fortunately for the distressed viscount, however, his wife came bustling out of the next room and shoved him out of the way unceremoniously.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Henry, I’ve shown you before! Just push this button! Why were you fooling about with the thermostat, anyhow?”

“I just wanted to know what the temperature was outside,” he protested.

“Well, then you don’t use this! We’ve a thermometer right out on the balcony. Honestly, Henry!”

“Can I help it that all this blasted modern technology makes life impossible?” Dunvels replied, his ire rising. “I mean, my God! It’s worse than a trip into Fort Jackson. There’s more horseless carriages here than even Marcus Westerton could have imagined!”

“Don’t you dare do that, Henry! It was very kind of President Jefferson* and his government to put us up like this. Now I expect you to start showing a little proper gratitude!” His wife waved a wooden spoon she had been carrying menacingly at his nose while she was speaking.

“All right, all right! How do you think I ought to show the proper gratitude?”

“Haven’t you heard the latest gossip?”

“M’dear, I’ve been much too busy fighting with the - what did you call it? - thermostat to hear any gossip.”

“President Jefferson is still unmarried.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t you get it, Henry?”

“Yes. He’s single.”

“And do we not have a daughter of marrying age?”

“Oh! You mean - marry Lucy off to him?” Dunvets blushed deeply. “No, no, that’ll never do. She’ll be quite jealous; remember, we married Elizabeth to a Duke’s son. Don’t you think we could at least find someone with noble blood?”

“He’s the president of an entire country! And you know Lucy’s never been, well, quite that orthodox.”

“Besides, I have no money for a proper dowry. That coat yonder is all I have left to my name! I can’t quite get back to Turned Estate and fetch a cheque, can I?”

“I don’t know if they give dowries here, Henry. Just...make the offer, won’t you?”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll go write the letter now. Be so good as to alert Lucy, won’t you? If she won’t marry a commoner, I’d rather not make the offer.”

“I’m sure she will, Henry. I know my own daughter.”

((* heh, I approve! Thomas Jefferson was the only president the US has ever had that I would have voted for in good conscious!))

((more to come later. Me --> lunch))

OOC: Speaking of marriage, how are John and Lizzy doing? How are the rebelions and what not effecting Noropia?

((Okay, so maybe “later” was a rather relative term in this case...sorry! ;)))

President Andrews replied to various criticisms of his government from sources both on and off the Shield in a televised statement.

“I’m aware that our most recent decision, regarding the traditional rights of the Roman Catholic Church in Weshield, has raised an amount of controversy among various governments around the world. It should be noted, however, that this new policy is in fact a continuation of our policy of equality of religion, not a curtailment thereof.

“Ever since the pagans of the Shield were converted to Christianity in the eleventh century, the church has effected an undue influence over the daily life of its inhabitants. They have extorted tithes from the people working the land, they have used public funds to build magnificent cathedrals to their own glorification, and they have reserved the right to try our citizens for heresy and such in their own courts.

“The time of the aristocracy in Iansisle had all ready ended. Only the clergy - stuffy, reactionary, and outdated - stood between Weshield and a truly enlightened republic of the people.

“Weshieldians will still be free to worship as they see fit. We have done nothing to impede that; we have simply cut away the ways by which the church asserted undue influence over the day-to-day life of our citizens. The Roman Catholic Church is no more important than any of our minority religions; Weshield cannot continue to prop them above the rest.

“First Speaker Frateli of Imitora calls upon me to, and I quote, ‘Allow the Catholic church all rights that are allowed to other churches.’ Well, Ms Frateli, we hadn’t done that before. We had allowed the Catholic church privileges far above and beyond those allotted to, for instance, the thousands of Gallagan Muslims and Hindus living in Weshield. Never again. From this day henceforth, every religion shall be equal within the Republic.

“Therefore, I call upon President Jefferson of Fultonia and the First Speaker: do not meddle in things which you do not understand. The Weshieldian Republic values equality before the law above all else; it was the inequities of the Old Regime against which we rebelled. Now that those shackles have been cast aside, I will not allow any power - foreign or domestic - to reestablish them.

“Weshield is free. Weshield is strong. Never again shall we tolerate tyrant’s whip or outlander’s grip. Thank you for listening, ladies and gentlemen, and Long Live the Republic!”

((Haven’t really had much to do with Noropia going on lately. They attended a conference in Lakeriverwood during which the ‘United Dominions for Restoration of the Empire’ (a defensive confederation of Noropia, Gadsan, and Troobodia) was founded. Noropia’s ambassador to Gadsan, M. le Marquis de St Helena, described Noropia as being ‘fiercely royalist.’ They did close Turnish harbor to the Home Fleet after it became clear that the RIN would support Bradsworth’s government in Ianapalis, though they haven’t actually taken over Iansislean military installations in the Dominion. They also sent M. le Comte d’Antangaux as a representative to Fultonia, though I’m not sure what came of that.))

OOC: Gotcha. Thanks for the update. I'd post, but seeing as that the world is kinda wobly, I just drank a 44oz Green apple slushy (half of which being a mix between jack and Makers Mark), and I'm very tired, I see nothing good comming from that post, so I'll give ya something in about 5 hours.....dsfsag

((Heh, I follow ya, dude. Make sure to take plenty of water! 'night.))

OOC: God loves Tylonol and me...I just wanna clarify, Iansisle, that all this fighting and stuff is totally IC, and I hold no OOC grudge agaisnt you and I'm not trying to get back at you for something. Personally, I think you are one of the top RPers on this site, and look forward to RPing with till either of us decided to say screw it to NS. But, I need to keep OOC and IC matters seperate, so taht I can RP with a general level of integrity.
IC:

Frateli looked at the response from 'President' Andrews, and frowned. "That little sack of shit. Telling me how to run my nation and what to do? (OOC2: Yea, I knwo the irony of that statement)." She put down the brief and nodded to Father Chavez. "You have my authorization to use contract the Gladeus Dei to move into Weshield, and secure any Catholic held properties. We're gonna need two or three units, this is gonna go beyond peace keeping."

Chavez nodded, and made a call. Prices were discussed, and teh decision was made for the Gladeus Dei to move in three days. He placed the phone down, and looked at Frateli. "You're doing the right thing, Ms. First Speaker."

She just nodded. "I really hope so."
___

Connor McManus sprinted from teh large black tire stack to an green air bladder a few yards away, and down to the left. As he moved across the open field, he squeezed the trigger of the CAR-48, sending 5.56mm death into the steel targets just 50 feet away. He dove behind teh air bladder, and pulled out the empty magazine, and slapped in a new one.

The Green County Forward Movement and Assault Course was designed by McManus, so he had an edge. However, with moving targets, poping in differnet places everytime, it was always changing. It was similar to teh LAPDs forward movemnt course, where you shot at targets while moving down a 100yd field, ending up using your pistol for close range. However, this was larger, set up more like a paintball speedball course, and always changing.

Connor was moving quickly, and as he made is way to the end of the field, he dropped the rifle, and let the sling cath it. He pulled his pistol, a heavily modified (by UMAC, of Course), Beretta M93R, and began firing. All rounds hit dead center in one fo the targets. He did this with two more magazines, then holstered the weapon. His breath was slighlty ragged, and he approached the UMAC official. He held up the rifle, and nodded. "Good gun. I like the way it feels, and its passed all our tests. When can you get us a full shipment?"

"Three weeks for 1000, 50 every month after that." Connor nodded.

"Perfect. We need 100 now, were about to move. Can you do that?" The rep nodded. "Excellent. Pleasure doing buisness with you."
___

The Gladeus Dei, or Sword of God, was a private security firm created specifically to protect the Catholic Church, and its intrests, hired by the Imitoran Catholic Church. It was in no way whatsoever sactioned by Rome, and in reallity Rome didn't even know about it. Over 10,000 people worked for the Private Security Wing, the group from which the Gladeus Dei was hired, and of that, 1000 were actual members of the Gladeus Dei.

And today, 500 were sitting on a helipad behind seven MH-47I Chinhooks. The heavily modified helicopters had been purchased by PSW, and used for transport. Only six were needed to transport the 500 operatives, the other one was used to hold two light FAVs and one HMMWV. These helicopters would take them to a carrier en route to Iansisle, where they would commit operations from. The pilots appeared, and moved into the helicopters.

McManus, who was the actual founder, if you will, of the Gladeus Dei, stood up and walked towards one of the birds. "Ok everyone, lets lock and load, rock em' up."
____

OOC3: It is assumed that, as of now, the government as yet to appoint a new Archbishop loyal to the Crown, and an Archbishop loyal to Rome is still in place. If not, then this goes to the former Archbishop, loyal to Rome.

IC:


To the Archbishop of Weshield,

It has come to our attention that the so called President Andrews of Wesheild has made moves to remove you from power, as well as seize all Catholic Church held properties. We find this in sever violation of humanities inate right to worship as they feel right, and that this also puts the Church in a very volatile situation. This move can put you, and other Catholics, in danger, and we feel that the lack of the Weshieldian government's responsibility, matters need to be taken to ensure your safty. With your permision, 500 volunteers are ready to come and serve you as personal gaurds untill 'President' Andrews comes to his senses.

With Great Respect
Archbishop Micheal Dover, O.D., Imitora

The 60 men of the Special Operations unit, who were wearing traditional Iansislian clothing over thier Fultonian uniforms, had slowly contacted on another and met at a burned out tavern within Weshield. They had been radioed orders earlier that week, set up a base of operations and scout the surrounding area. They were each equipped with 100 Fultonians a piece, although they were still sketchy as to what was happening in the outside world.

Lt. Winters sat inside the tavern at a cracked oak table surveying a sattelite map of the landscape. "okay, boys I want you six to move out and survey the north, east, and west bringing back general information on teh area. Once that's done we'll consider our options." the six man team set out immediately to do thier business.

Archbishop Dover,

I have spoken with President Andrews personally, and I can assure you that neither myself nor any other God-fearing Catholic is in danger. President Andrews has agreed to let nearly all the bishops and parish priests retain their positions and continue preaching with only the slightest interruption. It is not the traditional situation, true, but times are changing, and the Church must change with them lest the Republic demand a full break with Rome.

Your offer is appreciated but hereby declined. I fear that adding foreign troops to Weshield might excite too much passion from the more radical of my flock and serve no practical purpose. If you must send anything, send food and medical supplies. There are still a great many wounded and hungry in the streets of Fort Jackson and around Weshield.

Rest assured, I am in no danger.

John Flourain
Archbishop of Editraequán

-------

((I’m assuming you want me to describe the general idea, Fult? If not, feel free to ignore this.))

Oxenton was no small town, but it wasn’t the size of Fort Jackson or Mansmouth either. A massive factory which manufactured ammunition for the Republic’s M74C rifles was the city’s centerpiece. It spent the entire day and night spewing out thick black coal smoke while shifts trudged back and forth between it and their homes. Trains left every twelve hours, carrying the product directly to the front in Mansford.

The city itself had that distinct feeling of a factory town. Dour faced workers crowded every open pub in the city for hours after their shift, speaking in low tones about the World Cup or the war while ingesting astounding quantities of spirits. A few hours later, they stumbled home and collapsed into bed, only to rise the next morning - or evening - and do it all over again.

The real importance of Oxenton was its strategic location; even when the first tracks were being laid, every surveyor had picked it as a major junction. Oxenton lay directly on the north-south route between Fort Jackson and Mansmouth. It also commanded the Dellem Pass, which cut through to Dalenford, and a way around the great rocky hills east of Fort Jackson for the easiest path to Wyclyfe. This critical intersection had turned a sleepy sheepherding town into an industrial center and the fourth most populous city in Weshield.

((er, anything else I can do to describe it for you, Fult?

Oh, and Imitora, don’t worry. I’d never take an IC insult OOCly. That’d mean I’m in real trouble, considering the amount of slurs my characters throw around! ;)))

Dover looked over the message, and forwarded it to McManus, who was already in the air. McManus looked over the memo, and nodded. "Well boys, dont look like we get to do any shooting today. We'll borrow some supplies from the Navy, and for every chopper that goes in, I want five men on it. Help with distribution and what not. We'll be landing in about fifteen, so look sharp."
_____

The Galdeus Dei operatives that weren't needed were sent home promptly, and those that were staying with the four remaining Chinhooks helped load up food and medical aid. The process took about five hours, and in that time, the carrier and its two escorts covered enough sea to allow a slight overload of the supplies, with the subtraction of some fuel.

After a breif flight from open waters to Weshield, the choppers found a large open area just outside of ton, and set down gently. The Gladeus Dei operatives, still armed, but not ready, set up tables, and began puting out food and bottles of water. One helicopter was set up as a field medical station, and those not working it stood outside near the food, making sure those who took it did so in an orderly fashion.

Lt. Winters was sitting in a back room with his back agaisnt the wall as the last team gave their report of the area. "Interesting, I think I've laid out a general strategy to use. I'm sending one six man team to blow up the railroad tracks and disable any station intersections. The rest of us are going to penetrate the arms manufacturing center to destroy it. We are going to remove our insignias so that if we are caught it can't be traced back to the President. We move out in eight hours, everyone eat and rest."

Ian, ya still there?

((Yeah, sorta. Right now I'm sitting in front of the computer refreshing NS every now and then while I write an essay. Sorry that I've been so quiet; it's nothing personal, just I really got hit hard by schoolwork over the weekend/into this week. I'll have updates as soon as I can.))

I feel ya there man, no worries at all.

((I am SO glad that essay’s done. I still have work I ought to be doing, but I figured y’all’ve been patient enough! ;)))

Fort Jackson still bore the scars that Gurney had inflicted upon her. Andrews’ government had done a decent job providing shelter (and, with the extensive system of conscription needed to fill out the ranks, often employment) for the survivors, but food was still a problem. Weshield was closer to being self-sufficient than Shadoran or Vesshampton, but still relied on massive food imports from overseas. Food prices were skyrocketing, and crafty merchants from the United Kingdom were taking advantage of the Republic’s desperate straits to make a killing with food imported from the Golden Quarry and the Empire.

Andrews was furious with this, but there wasn’t much he could do. The merchant marine had fled Weshield for Sentry Island after he started nationalizing the Company’s ships, so he couldn’t undercut the greedy Shadoranites. Likewise, he couldn’t place a low enough absolute cap on food prices, as the merchants would just move their business elsewhere on the Shield; it seemed that nowhere had enough food, except the Javian Kingdom.

Water was another major problem in southern Weshield. The Gurney’s 15” guns had destroyed most of Fort Jackson’s pipelines to the north and water purification plants. Local reservoirs and homemade rain traps meant that no one was going thirsty, but cholera (thought eliminated on the southern Shield since 1912) and tuberculosis were starting to rear their ugly heads.

On the military front, enlistment was still going strong as thousands of young men suddenly unemployed by the collapse of Westerton and fueled by revolutionary patriotism turned to the army. Unfortunately for the powers that be, so was desertion: the food problems in Fort Jackson, Mansmouth, Dalenford, and Oxenton were compounded by poorly organized supply systems on the front and morale was further hampered by irregular pay. Often, entire regiments were forced to scavenge for food in the fertile hills of Mansford, which in turn caused popular unrest across the countryside and reduced exports to Weshield itself. Often, dozens of men at the same time would slip camp at night and never be seen from again. Their place was taken the next morning by a hundred fresh recruits from the south, but everyone knew that the Republican Army simply could not maintain that level of wastage for long.

And so the appearance of Imitoran relief, even if it chafed at Andrews’ pride, was most welcome. At the refugee centers in Fort Jackson, Weshieldian controllers organized groups of the homeless families to go and receive their rations

------

The Fultonians would find Oxenford, for all its importance as an industrial center and railroad junction, amazingly devoid of military presence. A small garrison, perhaps some two hundred and fifty men, stayed largely in their camp on the northern outskirts of town along the trunk line to Mansmouth and played card games. Security at the main junctions of the railway and the munitions factory was similarly light; perhaps two or three police officers patrolled each, along with the minimalist police presence on the streets. Obviously, it was not somewhere the Republic expected to be attacked.

It was a sight one had to see to believe. Most of the Gladeus Dei were former members of one of Imitora's many Special Forces units. Some more than one. McManus had the most distinguished carrer, with time in the 22nd, NSWC, and Combat Recon, before being hired by Northampton Protection Specialties, the private security firm that contracted out the Gladeus Dei. They were rough men, many of whom were less than model citizens. They stood in their black tactical gear, with the gold sword fashioned to look like a Cross running down the right sleave, and rifles and shotguns slung over their chests. Yet their faces displyed smiles, some almost caring and warm looking as they handed out food and water to the people.

"More's commin in, and were looking at other necesities, like gas and maybe construction equipment to help rebuild water lines and such. Plus rumor as it that Dover, or hell, maybe Chavez might be rollin in. I'll tell ya, if that bastard Domingo isn't careful, he's gonna end up Archbishop," McManus laughed. He smiled, yet his eyes still scanned the crowd. It only took one trouble maker to make things bad. The man he spoke to was one of the team's designated marksmen, who looked through a pair of binoculars into teh crowd, checking faces. Their Chinhook was thirty yards from the rest of them, a mobile barracks.

"We could also use a new medic bird, the one we got is getting to backed up. She's been through the line already," he said, his tone changing. He reached down, and let his hand rest on his sidearm, a custom Beretta 93R chamberd in the .40 S&W, and with light modifications. "Want me to escort her out?"

"Naw, she's probly just feeding a family, let her go. In fact," he pulled a UMAC made walkie talkie from its pouch on his belt, and spoke into it. "Kevin, the lady about five yards from you, in the green. Give her an extra serving. Hell, we got extras, start giving out a double ration. Mike, tell everyone thats already gone through to get back in line for another ration. We have plenty for today, and another bird is comming in tonight."

The Gladeus Dei had the area set up like the Marines did in Somalia. A brief examination of history would show that it took less than two days for the Marines to restore order, and less than a week for the UN to loose it. The Gladeus Dei ran a tight shift, but it also made sure their was no violence or upsets in the line.

((I hate this. I have to wake up in three and a half hours, but I can’t freakin’ fall asleep, even while laying in bed reading a book that bores me to tears. *grumble*))

The people of Weshield, like those of most any part of the Southern Shield, were well used to waiting in queues. While there might be great and even violent panic when their lives were threatened, the common folk of the Shield were really a docile folk in peaceful matters. They lined up to receive their rations with an absolute minimum of fussing or arguing, though occasional cutters were yelled at and shoved harshly out of the queue.

The Fort Jackson garrison sent a company of men over to watch the proceedings, but they didn’t really do much of anything. They hung about the outskirts of the Imitoran camp, watching the people go in but doing nothing to stop them. One soldier even helped up an older lady who tripped and led her back to her place in line, where the others accepted her.

Double rations for the day was met with a hearty cheer from the people, most of whom probably intended to smuggle it out somehow and save it for the next day, in case something should happen to the aid station.

It was strange, watching the proud Weshielders queue up to receive help from the Imitorans, whom the Old Regime had demonized for the razing of Daezeman; in fact, had it not been for Beth Gellert, Imitora might even have been considered the “Great Satan” of the Shieldian peoples. But now, hungry and living in a city ruined circumstances beyond their control, they willing accepted help from whichever source chose to make itself available.

Not all the disadvantaged in Fort Jackson went, of course. Some families still held their pride and honor above their lives and were quite willing to starve amongst the rubble rather than accept help from the Imitorans. But those old sticklers were far and away the minority, despite Andrews’ government’s propaganda campaign to get more to follow in their footsteps.

The six man squad was moving adeptly toward the tracks. It was in the middle of the night and the team had skirted several guards who were jabbering about "supplies" and "real food". The team lay out in the tall grass near the track intersection as two slowly crept up near the rail lines and began to place the highly explosive c-4 wire explosives.

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The 54 men were using typical cover and run tactics as they crept to the edge of the tree line. Lt. Winters pulled out his night vision unit attached to his helmet and scanned the area of the weapons plant.

"Did you hear something?" asked one guard near the rail junction to another.

"Eh?"

"Did you hear something? Like in the undergrowth?" The first guard peered into the murky blackness, but didn't think to light his torch.

"Come off it, Ed. There's nothing out there. Probably just a rabbit or something."

"Sounded bigger than a rabbit."

"A badger, then. And for chrissakes, would you just give me a damn smoke? It's colder than Noropia out here."

"Ah, come on, Tom. I've only got three left, and you've never paid me for the one you had last night!"

"If you didn't keep mouthin' off to the sarge, we wouldn't be out here freezing our asses off! Just give me a smoke!"

"Fine, fine," grumbled Ed, reluctantly handing over a cigarette. "But you still owe me, for two now."

------

The weapons factory, still in operation cranking out magazines and bullets for the Republic's M74C rifles even in the dead of night, was a monolithic black structure. Enormous smokestacks poured a thick black coal soot into the air. There weren't very many workers to see outside, but every now and then one would come out to take a smoke on their break or eat a hasty meal.

The six man explosives team had set up three pounds of c-4 along a half mile section of track. Enough devestation to cause the entire military sector to come barreling down on thier position if ignited. The team was just finishing arming the detonator and being very careful to stay in the dark. The team leader had decided an assault upon the train station itself was futile. Destroying the track would inflict economic damage on the dictator's regime yet not hurt the people of Weshield itself.

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54 men had taken positions around the eastern and northern outskirts of the plant. The unit had set up three artillary mortar rounds angled toward the southern, western, and northern faces of the building. If fired they would send shells screaming right over the top of the building adn into the designated kill zones. The eastern zone had two javelin missiles targeted toward the largest entrance and exit point. A third was set up a little farther back in case a hasty exit had to be made. Saw gunners were assigned to each of the six two man teams. Fire squads aimed at the northen and eastern faces of the plant were there to provide fire against an unknown threat.

Lt. Winters motioned for J.D. to take sniper postion along the top of the tree. As soon as these two morons went back inside the attck would commence and he would order the tracks blown.

((response coming, Fult. For now, I am off to class.))

((Well, Tom and Ed are military sentries - albeit bad ones - so I don’t think they’ll be going back inside anywhere. But you can blow ‘em up if you want ;)))

The Weshieldian military and the private guards at the plant remained blissfully unaware of the Fultonians presence.

((Yeah, I know...hardly worth the wait, was it? Sorry...:())

After twenty minutes of waiting the commander decided to commence attack. The button was pushed and in the distance fireballs were seen rising in the sky and debris being flung threw out the area.

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The Special operations fleet had been stationed in the waters aroun Iansisle for quite some time. Intelligence reported that the Shieldians had commenced attack on Iansisle itself. 40 Fighter jets took off and headed for airbases and army formations bearingv the Weshieldian Banner.

The sound of the air being ripped apart by flame and heat woke Connor. He could tell by the way the flames bent as they hit the sky it was definately C4. He literaly rolled out of his bed, and popped up to his feet. He slept in fatigue pants and a black shirt. Around him in the helicopter, and in the others, the memebers of the Gladeus Dei sprung up, and quickly dressed.

As they exited the birds, they could see the flames burning in the distance. "F*ckin Christ, what the hell is that," Connor McManus swore, checking to make sure his CAR-46 was loaded. He had one magazine in the rifle, and several more on his tactical vest. "Get one of the birds fired up, blue, green, and yellow, take the FAVs, the rest of ya'll, jump on the bird," he ordered quickly.

The FAVs were similar to HMMWVs, but had a more powerful engine, and could move faster. Each held 8 men as they took of towards the flame. It would be about 60 to 75 minutes before they were there. They would act as a back up force to supliment the bird. The helicopter, a large MH-47I, would make it first, in four minutes. The helicopter, already on stand by, spooled up quickly, and seconds later, was airborne, heading towards the flames.

((I'm assuming you're talking about the explosion in Oxenton, Imi? Just making sure, because I was under the impression that your folks were helping out near Fort Jackson, the capital. Oxenton is an industrial town/railroad node about midway between Mansmouth, Dalenford, and Fort Jackson - in other words, probably a good fifty or so miles from any one of them.

I would write more, but I have a paper to finish, and then a nap to take, and then a class to attend. Later!))

OOC: Gotcha Iansisle, I'll change the truck times to make them more realistic. I think the bird time is still a good time though.

To most appearances, Todd Andrews was asleep. His breath was even and his eyes closed against the brightness of the real world. However, his mind was furiously at work with the events in Thortraia. He filled his soldier’s hearts with glee and elation while working to dampen the spirits of the Shieldians. It was extremely tough work, even for him, and his link with his surroundings was limited to a quick scan of the other personalities in the room.

Perhaps if he had been listening with his ears, he would have heard the door to his bedchambers creek open. Perhaps he would have heard soft footsteps upon the stone floor. Perhaps he would have heard the choked sob directly above him.

But he didn’t. The cold knife blade between his ribs came as a total surprise. All his attention focused back on the room - but still nothing. With a cruel sucking noise, the knife pulled out of his chest and then crashed into it again. And again. Finally, Todd thought to open his eyes. Already black was creeping in at the edges of his vision. He opened his mouth in shock, one last word on his dying breath:

“Jane!”

Oxenton was very quickly turned from a relatively quiet factory town into a pit of hell. The explosion on the tracks took out not only Tom and Ed, but several civilians in little huts near the railroad as well.

Local disaster forces were quick to arrive on the scene and put out any residual fires. The charred bodies of at least ten people, however, were too grotesque for any of the rubberneckers to even look at.

OOC: Damnit, I wanted to kill Andrews...oh well...

IC:

The helicopter soon arived, and landed in a clearing near the flames. However, contrary to what some would believe of Imitorans, instead of hitting the ground shooting, they hit the ground running to help the disaster units. They helped fight fires, while medics went around, administering treatment where they could. McManus hefted up his rifle to his shoulder. "Micheals, Sean, Ryan, Smith, come with me. I wanna do a low end search, push into the forest about a mile. We'll meet up with the other teams in the FAVs comming in."

The four men nodded, and McManus shouted out some more orders. "The rest of you, set up security, and start helping the docs." The other forty two men went to work to help.

((Sorry, Imi. I've had that death planned for a long time. :P

I assume this part of the RP is turning into a you and Fultonia thing briefly, while you help the wounded and search the woods? I'll just kinda provide the background. Oh, and BTW: check out 'A Glorious Enterprise' for relevant info on the Weshield-UKS war. Erm, UKS = United Kingdom of the Shield, in case I haven't made that clear ;)

And now, because I feel obligated to post SOMETHING in character: )

Jane was still sobbing over Todd's dead body when the presidential guard came and took her away.

((G'night, everybody!))

Lt. Winters heard the explosive blast and smiled. The Jevelins were fired and the heat seeking missiles flew into the building looking for targets. Mortar Fire began to reign down upon the buidling.
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The fighter squadron was flying in 8 five fighter teams. They were flying high and fast checking there scanners for targets and recieveing coordinates from the Air Craft Carrier.

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The six man team hed taken positions in the forest and were about to commence pick up operation but were stopped by the arrival of Imitorans. Special Ops would never pick the unit now. They immediately stripped to nothing but but black fatigues and light gear and began trekking toward the coastline triple time.

As the remainder of the Gladeus Dei mercs secured the town, teh MH-47 they had traveled on took off, and, along with two pilots and three crew cheifs, began searcing for the attackers. They had assumed that no one in their right mind would be dumb enough to fly directly in now for a pick up, and headed for the coast.

The crew cheifs, two on door mounted .30cal miniguns, and one on a ramp mounted .50cal machine gun, watched through infared goggles, searching for the heat of people moving arounf underneath them. They spoted a sudden coloration change in the air temperature in the forest, and one of the door gunners pointed it out. The bird swung so that both door gunners had a clear shot. They opened fire on teh blur, which had grown larger with more heat, spraying it with .30cal HE rounds.

"Ground six this is air five, they're movin towards the coast," the pilot said over his mic.

McManus, on the ground, opened up to all frequencies. "I want all birds airborne and hot. FAV group, change movements, head towards coast, full speed, lets cut 'em off."

The other three armed MH-47Is lifted off, one staying behind at Fort Jackson to continue with humanitary aide.
____

In her medium sized office in another part of the world, First Speaker Anna Fratelli looked over incomming reports from McManus & Stiles Inc., the corporation that suported Gladeus Dei operations. The man in the room across from her had been in this room thousands of times before. It always helped to have an expert who knew how to handle these situations.

"Well, Robert, what do you say?"

"If they open fire, then we'll have a full scale merc war on our hands. Executive Options has wanted to go in to Iansisle, or that area, for God knows how long. With half of them heading to Seria Cava to assist with the Versallesians, the other half are gonna want to taste some blood. I served with one of the McManus brothers, they're both top notch guys, but only one of them is the McManus in McManus and Stiles. From what I understand, Stiles is a bit of wimp, and if any of the GD guys take a bullet...well, he wont stop to put some cash in the coffers of EO."

"So you think I should tell them to pull out?"

"Not if you want McManus & Stiles to pull their support. Right now, they got 100% backing on you and any future campaigns. That means if you contue support of the Jefferson campaign in Fultonia, then McManus & Stiles will support the Jefferson Campaign in Fultonia. I wouldn't worry about Executive Options, though, you could shut them down, and they'll still be your lap dog."

"Thats becuase you support me, and you own what, 48% of the company?"

"49%, and its through stock. I'm just an influential share holder," the former INSA field operative and cheif smiled.

"So what do we do, you still need to answer that."

"Let the situation play out. If any of the GD guys go down, then I'll flex some muscles to keep EO quiet, and if the Gladeus Dei kill any Fultonians, then we'll slide some cash through the back door, a coupla flowers, and call it even. And remeber, your meeting me and Rachelle and the Duchess tonight at 10:45."

Fratelli nodded, and watched Fortier leave the office. She was damn glad he was on her side.

Specialist Winston was trying to remove his foot from being trapped inside of a rotting log when in front of him several yards he saw his team torn to shreds by machine gun fire from above. He immediately dropped shattering his ankle and pulled out his official Iansisle documents. See he was a "Prisoner of War", a loyal peasent who had been captured by the terrorist sympathisers. He flung his equipment farther into the wood and waited under the log.

"I'm gonna put the bird down, the rest can go to the coast, I wanna look for survivors," the pilot said into a microphone. He radieod his intetntions to McMansu, who approved. The helicopter began its descent when he realized there would be know clearing large enough for the helicopter. Therefore, the crewchiefs, who were all qualified pararescue jumpers, fastroped into the forest, armed with their CAR-46s, and appraoched the group of bodies.

"Quick check, look for survivors," one said, calling out over the wail of the twin engined helicopter.

Calling out in the vernacular of the local Iansislander nobility, "I have been captured by terrorists, I am a prisoner of war. Please take me back to my homestead so I can tend to my affairs." He hoped that would by him at least some time. Damn Winston, why did you sign up for Special Operations?

One of the men on the ground appraoched, keeping his rifle trained on the man. The other two were close behind him. "Shit," he swore under his breath, droping down to a knee infornt of the man. "His ankles f*cked up pretty bad boss man. Cracked."

His CO appraoched, keeping his rifle up as well. "Damnit, can we move him?"

"I wouldn't recomend it. Any weight could permantly destroy his ankle. Possibly extend the damage as well. We're gonna hafta cut him out."

The CO on the ground nodded. He looked at the man. "What house are you with?" he asked.

Between whines about a cracked ankle Winston mutters, "I am Lord Winston from House Whitman."

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Special Operations Command Operating in Iansislean waters had recieved sattelite confirmation and visual photo's that the Imitorans were all over the escape route. Word was sent to Anora on the situation.

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The attack on the munitions plant was going well. Lt. Winters surveyed the damage that had been done.

The CO nodded. "So how are we gonna get him out?"

The medic looked at his ankle. "I dont want to move it, risk further damage. We're gonna need to stabalize it, then isolate the ankle. However, the way his foot's caught, its not comming out. Easily at least. We're gonna need to cut it out, but the equipments on the bird, and it cant be dropped. What I need is to get the bird to land, and we can work from there. However, there is the small problem that we dont have anywhere for the bird to land."

"I got that," the third man said. "We can blow the trees, create a clearing. I got some poppers, it'll be quick and clean," he said, pulling his equipment out of a LBV.

"Right, get on it," the CO said. He called up the the MH-47I, telling the pilot what was happening. After nearly 30 minutes, the trees were down, a small explosive charge blowing each out, and the helicopter landed. After another 20 minutes of work, they had cut the man free, and loaded him on to the helicotper, the medic taking the proper measures to secure his ankle. However, hye was never offered morphine or any other pain killer.

After a thrity minute flight, they landed, and offloaded the man. "Mr. Winston," a new voice said, "you are now an official POW of McManus & Stiles, INC." This was McManus. In the background, the sound of several helicopters could be heard. Now that the rail station had been secured, they were off to the munitions plant.

Winston was in real pain, "Yes, why am I a Prisoner of War? Aren't we allied or some such thing?"

"You were found with a group of operatives who are in the process of disturbing peace keeping operations in a area secured by peace keeping troops. Documents can be forged, and lies made. Before we hand you over to the authorities, we want to get some proof you are who you are. Meaning, we are in contact with the Iansisleanian government, attempting to secure your identity."

While all this was being said, he was fingerprinted, documented, and a picture was taken. Even though no pain killers had been offered, the mercenaries did help him around. A thourgouh search made sure he didn't have a cyanide pill or the like in his mouth.

Suicide was never an option for Fultonian troops. Suicide was only allowed in civilian hospitals inside the Grand Republic. At the same time the POW was being processed the Executive Councel of Iansisle Refugees was convened with Associate Minister Benson. The Seven member councel was only temporary, until the refugees elected a delegation to write and ratify a constitution for the newly erected Autonomous Territory of the Shield. They wold hold elections the same day national elections were held in Fultonia. Benson leaned over the table, "How much do you support Fultonia and its efforts to support the oppressed nobility?"

Already, the so-styled ‘Executive Council of Iansisle’ was having trouble maintaining order.

“Absolutely and utterly ridiculous!” bellowed the chosen senior, the Marquess of Dunmouth, while banging his hand down on the table. He had served (briefly) with the RIN in those happy days before Salvador, sat in the Weshieldian House of Lords for twenty-six years, and become a Knight Grand Cross of the Most Noble and Venerable Order of the Sapphire for services rendered the Empire in Dianatran. “A written constitution for Iansisle? Completely out of the question! Our realm has survived, with this one minor hiccup, for three hundred years without one, and I see no need to take up that Yankee tradition!”

“Agreed,” said the Comte d’Antangaux vehemently. “We can only accept a complete return to the status quo - with proper punishments meted out to those responsible for this travesty, of course! The Conclave would have it no other way.”

“Being stubborn will get this body nowhere,” argued Astor, who was feeling a little surrounded as he was one of only two commoners on the council. “Bradsworth has offered very generous terms for the return of the Weshielder émigrés now that the Republic has been vanquished.” Johnson, his many chins wobbling, nodded his agreement.

“Some times it is best to make a compromise,” chimed in Lord Edler of Batraham, “holding out for the restoration of the Empire after so much of the world has changed is surely madness.”

“Perhaps your morals are up for trade, Batraham,” growled Dunmouth, “but mine are not. I will see the Empire reformed.”

“And, Mr Astor,” added Antangaux, “you ought to be more careful when making comments that might change official United Dominions policy.”

“Forgive me, my lord. My orders to encourage a rapprochement with the United Kingdom came straight from Lakeriverwood - I had no idea the Conclave wished to stick to its foolhardy obstinance!” Astor’s voice was sarcastic and biting.

“And now Gadsan shows its true colors!” shot back Antangaux. “Where are the brave words of the First Consul now that a bump appears on the road? Where is that ‘push-on’ Gadsani spirit so much publicized?”

“Given the three hundred thousand Effitian troops mustering on the upper Jaizar,” replied Astor, “you will understand if my government is a little less than eager to open as many fronts as possible.”

“Please, please, gentlemen,” pleaded Johnson. “Can’t we just bring this matter to a vote and settle everything?”

It was agreed. The final counts: three were in favor of accepting Bradsworth’s offer, three in favor of carrying on in hopes of restoring the Grand Empire without a constitution, and one abstained.

Both sides glared at the portly Johnson, who seemed to shrink before their eyes.