NationStates Jolt Archive

Calm in manner, firm in deed. Firm indeed. The story was finally breaking, not in The Standard as was the norm, but in the Southshire Herald. The Standard’s prestigious staff were left either red faced or else whiter than their paper’s broadsheets. The empire’s wealthiest editor, Mr.Langley Bloodspite, was of the latter pallor, having earned almost as large a part of his fortune by not reporting things as by conventional means he could see the clouds gathering. Mushroom clouds, no less.

Lower-downs at The Standard, men and women like Parker Grey-Staunton and Elizabeth Duck, an enthusiastic reporter and his ambitious assistant, hadn’t been fortunate enough to receive Chaspot Company payoffs. To them the fact that Walmington’s most respected newspaper was beaten to the biggest story since war broke out with Germany –and by a second rate county rag at that- was something of a humiliation.

The story everyone was in Southshire to hear seemed like the sort of thing that should have been out for months. It turned out that Walmington’s wonder weapons –specifically those resulting from some mysterious thing called the Antananarivo Project carried out by Walmingtonian, Iansislian, British, and Calarcan scientists at the height of the Anti-Fascist War- weren’t the flawlessly clean war-winners they’d been touted as. The big stories were all coming from the so-called police action in the Americas...

The few thousand Walmingtonian war dead compared favourably with the near annihilation of the US army, navy, air force, and even the national guard. It seemed to most Walmingtonians that the wonder weapons were working against an enemy so corrupt that he hadn’t understood the basics of rocketry or even of armoured warfare, and was reduced to little more than cowardly sniper attacks. But, said Geoffrey Gregory of the Southshire Herald, it wasn’t at all so simple, and certainly not so clean. The few thousand civilian casualties regretfully expected by the nation and obligingly reported by The Standard and the Empire Service were, in fact, millions.

It was utterly unprecedented. Warfare on an atomic level sounded so precise and tidy, more science than bloodshed, but the horrors prosecuted in the name of order didn’t even stop at six million deaths. Freelance journalists, surprised to be turned away by The Standard, had sold to the Southshire Herald detailed reports including eyewitness testimony that told of some uncertain and lingering evil in New York streets. An evil that continued to kill even months after the deployment of these miracle weapons and that had prevented adequate policing of the city and kept out contractors intending to rebuild. The Chaspot Company was losing millions and an incensed Sir Henry had sent close friends into New York’s anarchic, bleeding hulk to find out what in the world was keeping his company out. His friends were dead or inexplicably and unspeakably ill. The same was happening in Detroit and numerous other cities, ports, and centres of militarism, economy, or governance.

As word spread and floods of journalists heaved westwards a measure of chaos began to spill back across the Atlantic to Walmington. Sir Henry’s personal constabulary was accused of thuggary and intimidation as the only man wealthier than the king scrambled to cover-up what was described as a monster with what amounted to a handkerchief. Newry threatened to rise again as “Captain” Marcus Cole and “Lieutenant” Owen Kilbane lead reinvigorated Newy National Socialist Party demonstrations against, “the corrupt bourgeois and their feudal puppets on the mainland”.

Over night one of the world’s oldest newspapers; printed regularly for over two centuries; saw its reputation flung spontaneously on to the chopping block, Sir Henry Chaspot Wayne; richest man in the history of a wealthy colonial power; faced financial ruin, and Prime Minister George Mainwaring slept through the breaking of an administration-threatening crisis the likes of which his leadership had never seen. Walmington had gone to war with the Nazis for less than this.

OOC: ...bugger me... :eek:

*moves WoS up the threat level...

*moves WoS's leadership up to 'remove ASAP' status

*forgets any ambition I might have had towards inland North America

*ponders an alliance with the United States

*doubles R&D on nuclear weapons

IC post coming later...I really hate what you seem to be forcing me into, my English friend.

The Walmingtonian Protectorate of British Georgia

Many of XII Corps’s battle-hardened recruits weren’t thinking much of the moral disaster unearthing itself back home, they had on their hands the thankless task of policing one of the most recently occupied states of the purportedly defunct union. A twenty-man platoon of the 117th King’s Rifle Regiment found itself uncomfortably close to what once was called Atlanta and to-day hardly looked worthy of a name. There’d been some trouble with bandits in the area, and irrelevant doctrine called for the grossly over-stretched Royal Walmingtonian Army to provide protection to the recently nuked population and to enforce the rule of law. Whether that be British or Walmingtonian was not precisely clear, but the men were bitterly inclined to press home Walmingtonian justice until London added some weight to its in-principle support of the conflict.

On this day an Observation/Transport Mk I Acorn had reported a sighting of, “suspicious activity possibly pertaining to the recent bandit actions against Walmingtonian, British, and colonial interests” and somebody had to investigate. That responsibility was belonged to the platoon in question, and wearily they carried out the month’s nineteenth pointless waste of time, by one fusilier’s reckoning.

The blast that erupted from the base of an otherwise quite useless telegraph poll came as a great surprise to the bored and frustrated soldiers, many of whom were loath to react in spite of their ample experience in months long passed. Two of them had fallen anyway, one dead. Apparently the bomb contained an incendiary device of some sort, for a significant fire was under way at the roadside. A few soldiers struggled to haul their fallen comrades away from the flames while others remained in some state of surprise, trying to ascertain whether or not they were actually under deliberate attack. The crackle of gunfire soon settled that as snipers engaged from bushes –all be they withered- on the other side of the road. A third man fell as the platoon’s NCO, one Sergeant Brent, bellowed at the rest to, “Take deep cover!”

As others fell back to the pilfered shells that once housed local families, gunner Andrews had already placed his .260” Wayne Chassire Arms Machine-Gun, Land, Mark II Lupine –a Walmingtonian-made Bren Gun chambered for the new intermediate round and belt-fed- on the bonnet of a burned-out car and was laying down a ferocious body of fire. He seemed to know what he was shooting at, too, as debris skipped up a few dozen yards away and incoming fire seemed to drop off. Brent halted between Andrews and the nearby houses as the last of the healthy recruits to reach the buildings dragged past the soldier wounded by the initial explosion. The Sergeant tossed his Mills Grenade to a point just beyond that at which Andrews’ shots were landing, and before it had hit the ground a second pre-planned explosion lifted the wrecked car off the ground, throwing Andrews into the wall as the bonnet struck Sgt.Brent across his right arm. The actual blast of Brent’s grenade was drowned out by a final detonation, which occurred in the room beside one of the two occupied by the soldiers. The militia hadn’t perfectly predicted the actions of the unit under fire, but they’d come close enough. The already shattered buildings all around that containing the 120lb explosive device suffered serious damage and ceilings collapsed on the Walmingtonians.

When the dust cleared five of the twenty fusiliers were wounded –several of them trapped- and six lay dead. Their NCO was amongst the most seriously hurt, and the nine that weren’t seriously injured concerned themselves mainly with guarding against a follow-up attack that never came.

The same thing was happening across the Walmingtonian area of interest in North America. News of unrest and anti-war sentiment at home couldn’t reach the more than four hundred thousand Walmingtonian soldiers on hand at much worse a moment.

((the sort of thing I ought to be tagging? Yes, I think so!))

*TAG*
OOC:
Not for participation, but out of interest... you've used my national motto as your titile. Free publicity! Woot!

OOC: Ours too, Macisikan.

For the record, the end of all this is not yet clear even to me... but it's probably fairly drastic. I don't think I can run all the nations I have acquired as effectively as I'd like, but I don't know which to get rid of. Some are alternative themes born of my indecision on what sort of state I wanted to run, and others were meant to be short-term spin-offs that took on a life of their own (damn... people and their positive reactions! I'm easily influenced!), and I've acquired other moderately developed accounts from friends who've lost interest since last April (Jesus, I'm getting old). The sum of that is that I'm going to have to ditch either WoS or New Eastgate and concentrate a bit more on the other. I think... WoS will survive in some form, but it needs shaking up, anyway. It looks as if the Americans, the fascists (Germany, distant Abargrapt (patiently waiting for Eastgate to become active enough to fall over dead), and is Roania fascist, these days?), and Sir Henry's self-preservation instincts may conspire to reduce WoS and end New Eastgate. Hurrah.

(Wait, did I just call Abargrapt fascist? [covers shins] I, uh, mean... Republican... with nought but coincidental similarity to the rise of Nazi Germany... right! [waits to be kicked for revealing that])

OOC: I'm not particularly fascist. More really, really, really ticked off. Firstly, to the current Social Democrat government WoS's invasion of the USA smacked of fascism

Secondly, WoS's Invasion of the USA, to the mainly conservative Imperial Press and nobility, smacked of bolshevism.

That's a nice thing you've got there. ;) The most I'm likely to do, though, would be invade your African colonies from Somali, scream a lot, and then try to kidnap a nuclear technician so I can level Ian's cities to rubble one after the other. :D An invasion beyond that would mean my Legionnaires either fighting their way across the USSR and Fascist Europe, or crossing two oceans and three war-zones.

I think I'll just concentrate on levelling the remaining Vichy colonies. ^_^ And then, the world!...after I, you know, restore the territorial integrity of Iansisle, fend off a Bolshevik uprising that seems to be rising its ugly head in Micronesian Peoples, and the Sunset Isles, and deal with the fact that I have a Nazi running around my largest city putting people to the torch.

...I'll get back to you on that, yeah?

ooc: Tag.... For the interests of Ercolana.

Hows it going WoS and Iansisle?, long time no speak!

OOC: Hello there!
This has slowed down mainly owing to efforts to sort-out things with Abargrapt as regards New Eastgate... it looks like I'll be changing my focus a bit, and I'm trying to figure out how, exactly. I think I've backed myself into a bad place. Sigh!
On the bright side, I have some cans and bottles of ale that're the size of your head. Soon as I don't feel so inclined to vomit, I'll drink them and have Sir Henry do something stupid to get things moving again.

OOC: Well, WoS, the Divine Imperium just tested a nuclear weapon itself.

Sure, it tested it on people who could be (loosely) considered citizens of said Divine Imperium, but I think that I can handle any mad, deranged schemes Sir Henry might concoct.

So, in the words of countless men across the ages (shortly before they were proven very wrong indeed),

Bring it.

Tag

Within the Holy Empire of Zedra, commanders were started to pay attention to this odd nation. They had heard of the 'attack' on America, the almost total decimation of that once proud nations military. They had at first applouded the military action. Yet now, things were a little more complex.

In the situation room, far below the Zedran Military Command bunker, far below a massive mountain in the center of Zedra, a heated argument was being waged. The Cheif Commander of the Army was speaking,

"The Zedran Military cannot stand while these weapons" He spat the last word, "are used against civilians! We are an honourable nation, filled with honourable people, we understand that every nation has the right to expand its power, yet we cannot tolerate the holesale slaughter."

The commander of the Underground Command, the technical name for the Zedran Secret Service,

"Listen, they are entitled to use whatever means they want. For us to interfere would be... illegitamate. At any rate, if they want massive citizen unrest, let them have it. Then later we can benefit from it."

The Cheif of Staff looked at his two subordinates, Army Commander Isaciel was a traditionalist, he was honourable, and would follow his code of honour to the grave. Underground Commander Michael was exactly the oposite, cunning, ruthless, and a politician at heart.

"Alright you two, calm down. We will just stand by. But I want to make sure that the RDF is ready, just in case, for some strange reason, they attack Zedra."

"SIR!"

The (new) Provincial Palace, Richmond

"Sigh. 'Edryd Virginia', it just doesn't get better than that."
"Oh, Eddy, you impossible... you act like somebody's just passed sentence on you! This is your day!"
"I miss Newry." Said the son of the king to his lady wife, actually scuffing his boots as he pouted. Fancy clothes aside, he didn't look like a man who'd just received the honour of being the first to carry an Anglo Saxon crown back to the rebel colonies. Prince Edryd, Duke of Newry Island, was now Prince Virginia...

In the newly conquered Divine Hawai'ian territories, an insiduous evil had sprung up. Around the rubble formerly known as Pearl Harbour, there was nothing. Nothing alive, nothing dead. Little structures, and no sign of the conquerers.

Because none of them could enter the ruins of the city. A cloying mist was all there was. Even in the harbour, no fish swam. Around the more intact buildings, and around the central structure (where hung an Imperial Flag), there were indeed bodies. American soldiers, Imperial Marines... none of them dead in combat, because there had been little combat, the native Hawai'ians instead rising up, alongside many of the immigrants, to welcome the restoration of even a puppet monarchy.

No, they had died where they stood, died from a mysterious illness that had sapped their strength and whose insiduous tendrils were even now starting to spread from Ground-Zero, and out towards the rest of the island. No preparations had been made for such an occurence, and no ideas were had as to how to solve the problem before more men lost their lives, and more of such a jewel of a territory became wasteland.

===========

The problem was in the material used, the Divine General Staff knew that. Unfortunately, the radiation could be contained, but not eliminated. There had to be some way to make the Thunderbird Rockets safer, or else there would be no way to make use of land conquered in such a way.

The problem was in the material...and the view of the DGS was that the Walmingtonians had access to better material. The question was how to get it...

ooc: Hola. I have been trying to find it, but to no avail. Has anyone here seen my naval information thread?

ooc: Hola. I have been trying to find it, but to no avail. Has anyone here seen my naval information thread?

((Afraid not. Have you checked your other pants? [/snicker]

Seriously though, I think a lot of those old threads got shuffled over to the archives at some point in time. You might want to check there.))

OOC: Oh, great! We stop sailing carriers around your islands for five minutes and suddenly there's a potentially hostile government again! Heh. Argh [runs around the rebel colonies trying desperately to secure order enough to pull-out some units].

The Standard
PM faces leadership challenge... from HM!

...but, as Tory Party supporters of the challenge have repeatedly indicated, Walmington doesn't have a constitution, and there is legally nothing existing to prevent the head of state also becoming head of government. As the party prepares to deliver a vote of no confidence in long-sitting wartime Prime Minister George Mainwaring, unpopular since horror stories from the American war arrived in Walmington and were met only with tax increases, it appears that it may now come to pass that His Majesty King Godfrey III shall indeed be made party head.

With little more than a year remaining before the next General Election, it is anybody's guess as to whether His Majesty's unprecedented step will save or finish-off the Walmingtonian Conservative Party.

Walmington had been engaged in the Americas for over a year, and for the vast majority of that period, the US military had been all but a none-entity.

The Standard didn’t go into much more detail, usually.

Ohio

The 11th Kentonshire Rifles along with fragments of two Burnhampshire artillery outfits were fighting primarily on a want of better ideas. Not many more than two thousand Walmingtonians were attempting to protect the south-western corner of the only recently pacified state against reorganising US Army formations in Kentucky, and had dealt a great deal of damage at the river. Their position was important, as it pinned the main concerns of the east coast to the secondary concern of Michigan, where an awful lot of re-supply originated, and where efforts were being made to re-start industry.
Problems had really started when the “Rebel Armies” had mustered significant strength for an attack through Indiana. The idea of retreating behind the Miami River had been dismissed, possibly by somebody two thousand miles away in Great Walmington with one eye on a future honours list.

Cries to the effect that, “They’ve got 75mm’s!” were typically responded to with the words, “Bring-up the six-pounder!” and the sound of chattering Sherman tank treads would generally illicit the breaking-open of another Leech Grenade case. On the ground in Ohio as in Georgia and North Carolina (US attacks against Crown Prince Edryd’s Democratic Principality of United Virginia had abated since the Duke of Newry had Nashville and Frankfort repeatedly firebombed by the RWAF), the Royal Walmingtonian Army was increasingly finding itself outgunned by the supposedly inept rebel armies.

The Standard, the new Governor of New York (a Mr.Wayne, no less), and others like the former PM before his vote of no confidence all insisted that where the rebels appeared to be more advanced, it was only so in cowardly acts and inventions of trickery and terror. After all, rockets were really for Jerry, if not the ancient Chinaman, and the proper way for an infantryman to tackle heavy armour was by Leech Grenade or, failing that, Mills Grenade applied directly to exhaust or viewing port. Certainly not by some dirty, crudely named rocket that was probably more danger to allied infantrymen than to anyone else! The proper way to arm a tank was with machinegun and above-two-inch howitzer for infantry support and assault, or with lower-calibre high-velocity gun for anti-tank duties, this was self-evident, surely? To give one tank the capability to do both was just shoddy, lazy workmanship by an increasingly desperate enemy. Never mind that Lee tanks had been breaking-up Walmingtonian assaults and going toe-to-toe with Cavalry Cruisers for months or that Shermans were now out-matching the (at least less combustible) Cruisers.

Unfortunately for the men on the ground in America, most of Walmington’s productivity was now -since the confusing and controversial creation of His Majesty as, uhm, his Prime Minister- being directed into other things. Establishing a national healthcare programme at home, cleaning-up the unexpected mess made by attacking Michigan and New York and other places with atomic weapons, making Jerry and Uncle Joe think that the RWAF was still the world’s best (by building more bombers and bigger conventional bombs), these were all great strains. Then there was the rather silly idea -born of ex-PM George Mainwaring’s administration- that Walmington could build and maintain a navy to compare favourably with the Brits or the Ians, or to beat the Germans and Soviets combined. Without resorting to submarine warfare, of course.

(Yes, the Admiralty and Bomber Command remain institutions of two rather different sorts.)

Yes, the poor Wallies (as WoS's soldiers had first been called by German opponents in the last war, and had lately taken to morbidly calling one another), twenty-four thousand of whom had been wounded seriously enough to end their military lives or killed outright, would be best served by resorting to theft of enemy equipment. That was of course only if they actually wanted to be able to knock-out sufficient numbers of the hundreds of enemy tanks that now arrived on various battle fronts each month.

In spite of all his social progress at home, the new PM looked ready to lose the election he'd been forced to set for next month, because, the papers had it, half a million servicemen were almost unanimous in calling wearily for their absentee ballots. In trying to save the Tory Party from its fumbling ex-leadership, the King may just have killed its chances for another term.

(And yes, The Standard still considered criticism of King Godfrey III tantamount to treason, and differed from all of the other papers, putting another nail in its own coffin in the process.)