NationStates Jolt Archive

“In that case, sir, I might be able to make you a deal,” said Besterham, his shady eyes twinkling.

“Right,” said the Foothillsman who was collecting the toll, “that’ll be one dimy from each of ya.”

“Here you are, my good man,” said Besterham, handing over his piece.

“An’ you?” The soldier turned towards Lennon. “Naval officers get ‘alf price. Twenty five ken, sah.”

((ooc to Fultonia: Hey man. I had this whole elaborate thing typed out...but I didn’t bother to put it in a wp.

I’m sure you can guess what happened.

Anyhow, I’m really unmotivated, tired, and sick now. So forgive the piece of crap I’m about to slap out; there’s Star Trek that needs watchin’!

Basically, the Republic and the UK declared war on Thortraia and moved armies in. Weshield also invaded the independent kingdom of Mansford both to cut it off from foreign supplies and to use its treasury towards Weshield’s increasing money shortage. There was a massacre at the Mansfordian port at Shield’s End, which Andrews’ government is trying very badly to conceal. Erm, yeah. I think that’s about it. Oh, and Effit signed a military alliance with the Javian Kingdom of the Foothills. Expect to see some good posts - probably two or three - tomorrowish.))

Bradsworth Condemns Weshield
Premier calls Rape of Shield’s End ‘despicable’

IANAPALIS, Iansisle -- In an address before the Constituent Assembly Thursday, Premier Interim Charles Bradsworth of the Gull Flag Party issued a stinging condemnation to the neighboring Republic of Weshield.

“We have vested much trust in the Republic and Mr Andrews’ government,” said Bradsworth, “and we have yet to see any positive return. They have abused our trust, Mr Andrews has lied to my face, and they have taken increasingly belligerent and unilateral actions in regards to their neighbors.”

On the same day that Weshield announced it would support the United Kingdom in its righteous war against Thortraia, the Republic also unilaterally declared war on the Kingdom of Mansford, their northern neighbor. Mansford, being only about 10 per cent the size of the Republic and quite unprepared for war, was quickly overrun by an estimated 75,000 Weshieldian soldiers while Shieldian units bore the bulk of the war in Thortraia.

The war culminated outside the ancient walled city of Shield’s End, near the Great Northern Range on Mansford’s Western Marches coast. Modern artillery was used to smash down the ancient walls and a Weshieldian army promptly descended upon and sacked the city in such a way as to make the Vikings proud. Houses were looted and burned and women and children were murdered in the street along with those men who had surrendered.

The Republic released its official document the next day, which claimed that “no more than 250 civilians were killed” and that “officers in the Republican Army of Weshield acted quickly and with great morality, often at their own risk, to keep the incident from escalating any further than it did.”

These actions were excusable, according to the government of the Republic, because the unit involved was the Third Strike Army, “which was filled with raw recruits from Dalenshire and the Northriver.” The report claims that “a few instigators, all of whom will be hung following their courts-martial, were key in instigating what violence did occur among the largely impressionable recruits.”

However, the United Kingdom’s own reporter W.J. Fox was on station in Shield’s End the day of the attack. He has released his own estimates of what happened through a secure RIN steamer.

“I saw at least six hundred bodies in Goodwren Square [the central plaza of Shield’s End],” wrote Fox. “They were stacked like cordwood, one on top of the next. Men, women, and children. God preserve us all! I have never seen anything like it. There were more bodies, too, thousands! - all over the city, even in the cathedral. I couldn’t turn about without smelling death on the breeze.”

The Rape of Shield’s End, as the media here has taken to calling it, is sure to play a defining rôle in future relations between Weshield and the United Kingdom. Andrews’ government still denies Mr Fox’s report and calls it “the work of a lunatic out to destroy the Republic’s good name.”

“It doesn’t matter how many people died in Shield’s End, in the long run,” said Bradsworth in rebuttal. “The Republic has proven itself time and time again to be untrustworthy, perhaps even a rogue state. That they were willing to go to war with Mansford, without even the pretext of a casus belli, much less slaughter any civilians during the course of that illegal war, speaks great volumes about the current leadership in the Republic.”

Later in the speech, Mr Bradsworth addressed what he considers “a broken treaty” on Weshield’s behalf.

“According to the Treaty of Jameston, signed right in this very hall not a month ago, the Republic agreed to use its 30,000 strong First Shock Army to support our operations in Thortraia. To the current date, those soldiers are still busy garrisoning Upper Mansford against its own people, while the Army of the Daldon bleeds to uphold the cause of justice.”

On that front, the Army of the Daldon today fought its way to Rostun-on-rocks, just twelve miles outside of Thorntree. The Department of War and Field Marshal Pennyman believe that the war will be over inside of a week, even if the Thortraian Army has thus far avoided action and is believed to be saving up for a last-ditch defense.

“Who would have thought this day would have come?” asked Captain Sir Ronald Garland as he poured two glasses of brandy. “Me, a humble nobody, a dredge of the torpedo boat service, entertaining the famous Sir James Redford in the wardroom of my own command?”

“A lot of things have changed since the northern patrol, Ron. You’re every bit as famous as me now, and I’ve only got a month and a half seniority, too.” He accepted the drink and tasted it. “Queen Consort is a great ship.”

“Thank you.”

“Did I ever get a chance to offer you my congratulations for taking the Chicago, Ron? That was a damn fine bit of seamanship.”

“Thank you again. I think the Gazette worked it up a little too much, myself. The Yanks can’t seem to tell their ass from their elbows in the modern world.”

“Quite. Say, who’s in old Jason now?”

“A fellow by the name of Service. I’ve never heard of him, myself.”

“Dominic Service? I have. We were midshipmen together with Captain Woodlark in old Undauntable.” Redford smiled. “He was a year and a half senior to me back in those days. Has he posted yet?”

“What, and put someone who is actually senior enough in Jason? God forbid the Admiralty should do something like that! No, he’s still a commander, from what I hear.”

“That’d make him - what? - forty four, and just a commander. I suppose poor Service’ll ever get his flag.”

“Speaking of which, Sir James, why haven’t you gotten yours? Sam and I figured you’d have had it ages ago.”

“Somehow, I don’t think their Lordships took too kindly to my sinking one of His Majesty’s ships of the line and putting another in dry-docks for a year.” He laughed. “And besides, I’m a commodore as long as I’m visiting you, aren’t I? I ought to run the broad pennant up at once!”

“Well, commodore, I could check the books, but I’m rather certain visiting captains don’t get an eleven gun salute.”

“They don’t? Drat it all, you’re right. I suppose it’s back to Ianapalis to beg Sir Hunter again, then.”

“Funny thing about old Kennington, isn’t it? I thought Westergate would be a shoe-in; I wish Westergate would have been a shoe-in.”

“Having trouble with the local brass?”

“You can’t imagine what it’s like to serve under him. He’s a genius, I guess, but I’ve never met a more disagreeable man in my life. If only Jones had picked Queenie rather than Prince of Shadoran! Stillwell says he’s the easiest admiral in the fleet to get along with.”

“I didn’t mind Halders. He isn’t the sharpest man I’ve ever met, but knew when and where to let a subordinate take initiative.”

“Was it two hundred thousand tons of Erco shipping you took in the Arabian Sea?”

“Two hundred and fifty. I was lucky to be stationed there when war broke out with the Ercolana.”

“Ah yes, I remember. They used to say you sent so much Gallagan merchandise back that you were breaking John Company’s charter.”

“That was only the first few months, though. After that, the Ercos wised up and started convoying their ships. The pickings got a little thin.”

Garland smiled faintly. “More brandy?”

“No, thank you.” A few seconds ticked by on the Queen Consort’s old grandfather clock. “What was it you said earlier?” asked James, trying to get the conversation started again, “about Sir Hunter?”

“Just that I thought it was surprising that he was appointed First Sea Lord. Linhower was ready to retire Sir Hunter a year or two back, wasn’t he?”

“From what I hear. No, I don’t know what caused the sudden turnaround. It’s almost as strange as that business with Sir John.”

“Which one?”

“Northrupt.”

“The hero of Salvador? What happened to him? Did that old leaky bucket he calls a ship finally give out trying to round Cape Deliverance?”

“Nope. The Admiralty put him on half-pay indefinitely.”

“What!? Did anyone say why?”

“I couldn’t even get much of anything out of Mayfield, and he’s the most chatty bastard in the blue. All he said was that Captain Northrupt might be on the beach ‘for some time.’”

“It doesn’t make sense; if they were going to retire Odysseus, there’s half a dozen more modern ships either working up or in service that a hero of Salvador would improve drastically!”

“Ah, but that’s just it. They haven’t retired Odysseus at all. Gave her to some lieutenant commander as soon as Sir John finished refitting her.”

“Damned peculiar. Damned peculiar indeed.”

“Quite,” agreed Redford, setting down his glass. “I’m afraid, though, Ron, that I simply must be on my way. They’re expecting me back in Ianapalis inside of six hours.”

“Too bad,” replied Garland as the two captains stood. “Thanks for dropping by. It’s been a while, James.”

“Too long. Best of luck with old man Westergate. I know you’ll do fine, Ron.”

“Thank you, sir. May I show you to your boat?”

“In that case, sir, I might be able to make you a deal,” said Besterham, his shady eyes twinkling.

“Right,” said the Foothillsman who was collecting the toll, “that’ll be one dimy from each of ya.”

“Here you are, my good man,” said Besterham, handing over his piece.

“An’ you?” The soldier turned towards Lennon. “Naval officers get ‘alf price. Twenty five ken, sah.”

((ooc to Fultonia: Hey man. I had this whole elaborate thing typed out...but I didn’t bother to put it in a wp.

I’m sure you can guess what happened.

Anyhow, I’m really unmotivated, tired, and sick now. So forgive the piece of crap I’m about to slap out; there’s Star Trek that needs watchin’!

Basically, the Republic and the UK declared war on Thortraia and moved armies in. Weshield also invaded the independent kingdom of Mansford both to cut it off from foreign supplies and to use its treasury towards Weshield’s increasing money shortage. There was a massacre at the Mansfordian port at Shield’s End, which Andrews’ government is trying very badly to conceal. Erm, yeah. I think that’s about it. Oh, and Effit signed a military alliance with the Javian Kingdom of the Foothills. Expect to see some good posts - probably two or three - tomorrowish.))

"Here you are, my good man."

Lennon hands the Foothills soldier the requisite amount of money, and then turns towards Besterham.

"Er...what would that be?"

Meanwhile, off the coast of Tharia, a big black fin cuts across the waves, making towards a small fishing port, probably drawing the attention of the fisherman at the docks.

“Well, you need to get to Tharia, right? I need to get some... rather sensitive objects to Tharia, which I can’t send on one of my own ships or with one of my men. Naturally, it’d be dangerous, but - ” Besterham snickered “- if you think you’re getting from Noropia to Tharia via the normal routes on half a general, you’re sorely mistaken.”

He waved over the Gallagan waiter and asked for a cup of water.

“So, what say you?”

With a lurch or two, the train restarted and was soon chugging both northwards and upwards.

A few Tharian fishermen did indeed notice the submarine. Back during the war, a German sub had ranged off the Noropian and Tharian coasts, sinking many valuable ships and causing general terror among the local populace. Needless to say, most were rather frightened by the sudden appearance and did not hasten to sail out to it.

Minister Wheatly looked across the table, "I understand that the situation inside your confederacy is unstable and not very strong. As such teh government of Fultonia is willing to provide any support necesary in exchange for full trading rights in your territories. Do we have a deal?"

((Just to clarify, Fult, those are the folks from the United Dominions you're speaking with, correct? Sorry, just got a little lost.))

“Well, you need to get to Tharia, right? I need to get some... rather sensitive objects to Tharia, which I can’t send on one of my own ships or with one of my men. Naturally, it’d be dangerous, but - ” Besterham snickered “- if you think you’re getting from Noropia to Tharia via the normal routes on half a general, you’re sorely mistaken.”

He waved over the Gallagan waiter and asked for a cup of water.

“So, what say you?”

With a lurch or two, the train restarted and was soon chugging both northwards and upwards.

A few Tharian fishermen did indeed notice the submarine. Back during the war, a German sub had ranged off the Noropian and Tharian coasts, sinking many valuable ships and causing general terror among the local populace. Needless to say, most were rather frightened by the sudden appearance and did not hasten to sail out to it.

"Well...I suppose I'll do it."

Meanwhile, the Goose Bay slides into port...

OOC: Yeah, sorry should've clarified.

There was no real dock in the Tharian village as such; most of the fishermen simply pulled their boats up onto the beach after riding the flood tide in and lashed them there. The fleet had apparently just come in for the evening and the water was starting to ebb. In the town square, the Empire’s red, blue, and gold standard fluttered lazily on the land breeze, but there was no sign of a military presence among the tiny wood and stucco huts.

-----

Besterham drank the last of his water in one great gulp and set the glass aside.

“Spectacular! Look, we’re about an hour and a half out of Topton right now; we’ll be letting a lot of passengers off there. It’ll be dark by the time we roll into town. Why don’t you meet me in the forward smoking compartment at say...an hour past midnight? We’ll be up into the mountains by then, and it’ll give us a chance to discuss things privately.”

Besterham rose, flipped a keneral down on the table for the waiter, and picked his way forward.

Meanwhile, the train continued to gain altitude at a steady pace. Slowly, the ‘green hills of the Shield’ vanished; moss-covered mounds of the south were replaced by granite outcroppings surrounded by long, weed-like grass. Even the trees changed; the stout but rare oaks of the south could hardly be seen, but strange, stunted-looking pines and firs began to appear in ever-increasing stands. Off in the distance, the mountains quit resembling a purple line and became individual shapes. Their tops were shrouded by late afternoon and evening storms, but Lennon could see that the tops of many were snow capped, even in early September.

Every now and then, they’d flash through a little village. Each looked quite like the last and the next. There was a little brick town hall and post office, a rickety-looking wooden platform, and a small gathering of houses surrounded by land cultivated for low-intensity farming. There was a very old-worldly feel to the entire place.

At last, the train pulled up for its first stop in Topton. It was the first large railway exchange Lennon had seen since crossing over the Shadoran-Foothills border, but the city itself simply looked like the rest of the country writ large. There were a few very nice homes, the station was brick, and a courtyard visible through the hazy darkness from the train held a marble fountain and a few small statues. Roughly half the passengers disembarked at Topton, but only half a dozen people boarded. After some half an hour’s delay, they started up again, at around ten o’clock.

After leaving Topton, the altitude gain became more pronounced. It was impossible to see much more than fleeting shapes in the dark countryside, but Lennon could tell they were starting to go through a series of switchbacks and other, seemingly random turns while climbing rapidly. One or two passengers yawned subtly to release the pressure in their ears. Every once in a while, they’d flash through a tunnel. Truth be told, forcing a railroad through the Noropian Gap had been one of the Shieldian’s greatest engineering feats.

They were still climbing at midnight, and Lennon might start to wonder how much higher they could go. Most of the other passengers had long since wandered off to the sleeping compartments. At last, at about a quarter to one, the train came around a turn and started descending without climbing again.

------

The Comte d’Antangaux scowled across the table at Wheatly. “That sounds very good, Minister,” he said in his slight Noropian accent, wildly bobbling jowls and chins accentuating every word, “but the problem is that it merely sounds good. You’ll understand if I am, er, unwilling to commit the First Lord’s government to any course of action without a written document?”

“I’m sure Minister Wheatly didn’t intend this as a verbal contract, my lord,” said Astor quietly. “Minister, the government of Gadsan in wholly in favor of such a proposal. However, I will have to submit it to the Senate before any action can be decided upon; may I propose we adjourn for the day?”

Minister Wheatly smiled, "I will have a document on your desk tomorrow with the specifics. I think adjournment for the day would be a very nice idea. Anything I can do for you gentlemen until tomorrow?"

Gregor Lennon watches as Besterham leaves to wherever he was going in the train. The landscape is not exactly new to him, but heights in LRR are usually accompanied by prodigious amounts of snow and ice, and moss in the middle of summer when the temperature rises high enough to melt a lot of the snow off of the more southerly peaks.

Lennon gets up and returns to his sleeper cab for a nap.

Meanwhile, off the coast of Tharia, the Goose Bay manages to beach itself on the low tide.

The obscenity-laced tirade of the captain, a stout jewish russian, probably wakes up some who live closer to the water, as his multiethnic crew go about trying to unstick the sub. In the process, a detail of sailors tries to cauk together a fine-looking whaleboat, apparently brought up through the larger escape hatches in sections.

"I look forward to it, Minister," said Astor, rising.

"Minister," said Antangaux, a little more curtly.

"Good evening," smiled Johnson in his usual, jovial way.

The three went off to their respective quarters.

----

It wasn't clear whether the beaching itself or the antics of the captain convinced the Tharian fishermen that the submarine was of little threat, but a few of the braver ones approached the beach closely, even wading in a bit. They chattered amongst themselves in Italian for a while, before one hailed the Goose Bay in broken English.

"You need help?"

((sorry this is so short and crappy. I'm so tired that I'm about to fall off my seat. G'night, all!))

"Yes...when is high tide?" calls an Ensign from the bow of the submarine. Apparently the lights it had been making for were the village, not docks.

Dispatches from the Front, as reprinted in the Ianapalis Star-Tribune:


At the Front on the Sixty-seventh Day of the rule of His Shieldian Majesty James I

It is my greatest pleasure to report to the Constituent Assembly that yesterday, the seventh of September, my Army of the Daldon did take the city of Thorntree. The enemy forces have been routed and are in full flight.

Early on the morning of the seventh the enemy, which had so cowardly been refusing battle, met us in the outskirts of Thorntree. They attempted, with massed cavalry, to collapse my right flank and force me back unto the River Thorial. Many commendations must be given to the men of the Seventh and Thirteenth Regiment of Foot, who bravely formed squares and drove off the enemy, killing several score of them. Major General Lord Pentonwick thereupon arrived with his Hussars and did ride after the retreating enemy while firing pistol and killing several more of the enemy.

Lord Pentonwick, his men’s horses being better fed and cared for than those of the enemy, was about to overtake them two miles from our Lines when he did meet the enemy, fully uniformed and ready for battle. They fired into him and he was forced to retreat, leaving some numbers of wounded and dead to the ravages of the Enemy. Having received Lord Pentonwick’s report, I decided to swing Lieutenant General Chapman’s III Corps from my left flank in order to cut off the Thortraians’ retreat to between us and the city.

However, the Fifth Regiment of Foot, which was covering General Chapman’s extreme left flank, happened upon a rearguard of Thortraians near the bridge at Tharialdale. Acting with great initiative, Colonel Ranalte of the Fifth did turn the enemy’s flank and interpose himself tween them and the bridge, whereupon he did find several Engineers hard at work to dynamite the said bridge. Colonel Ranalte, to whom the Greatest Laudations ought to be accorded, thereupon decided that the Enemy’s intention was to distract us with a small Force to our North whilst withdrawing across the river, fortifying the heights there behind, and denying us Easy Passage.

Colonel Ranalte did therefore leave Half of his force behind to cover the bridge against future enemy assaults and send a runner to General Chapman forthwith. He then crossed the river and, finding ten enemy Guns guarded by light infantry only, did take and spike them. He fell back on the bridge and fashioned a crude defense, which he proceeded to hold against many Thousands of enemy troops for nearly one Hour until General Chapman’s reinforcements arrived. Colonel Ranalte’s brave actions did allow General Chapman to take the Sundral Heights and position his Guns thereupon. The enemy was thus caught between river, whose bridges except one he had Destroyed, and III Corps and forced to battle.

The enemy did attempt to scale the Sundral Heights, but Brigadier Hughes, commanding III Corps’ artillery, did fire unto them with Shrapnel and he soon broke and ran for the River. Finding Lieutenant General Sparrow’s II Corps crossing at the bridge and the others dynamited by Their Own hand, the enemy did become desperate and at two thirty seven, I received the Surrender of their commander. An hour later, I led I Corps, which had suffered the least of my formations and was the most ready for New action, into the city and took command of all the Services. While we found most of the War Criminals listed to us in the City, I regret to inform you that it would appear that the King of Thorntree and his topmost supporter have escaped into the countryside.

The Enemy conceived a most devious plan to prevent or further delay our Taking of Thorntree, and I must sincerely complement Colonel Ranalte and General Chapman and all the other fine men because of whom this great Victory was made possible.

God bless His Majesty and the United Kingdom,

Field Marshal G.R. Pennyman,
The Army of the Daldon

((Yeah, yeah, I know - I don’t have any responses for anyone, I suck, et cetera. Sorry! Alas, though, I only really have time to advance so many plots at one time, and this is the one I chose this evening. I’ll reply to all the other posts tomorrow; you haven’t been forgotten. ;)

~an extremely busy Ian))

"Yes...when is high tide?" calls an Ensign from the bow of the submarine. Apparently the lights it had been making for were the village, not docks.

"'bout six or seven hours," replied the same voice. "Not much use trying to free yourself before then."

"Alright...thanks," calls the Ensign as the sailors scurrying about the decks are allowed to stop work.

Some submarine crewmen jump down off the bow, where the water is only waist-deep, to check if there's any damage to the bow with their waterproof flashlights, S.O.E. surplus from the second world war.

"Looks alright, sah!"
"Good. Now we must provision!"

A detail of sailors, led by a lieutenant, wades through the water and towards the fishermen, towing behind them several sizeable dinghys.

"Where could we find a shop that sells fresh produce?"

A big Tharian, whose voice identified him as the one who had hailed the LRR crew earlier, stepped forward and jabbed a finger at his chest.

“That’d be me. I have a shop in town. We’re supposed to be closed for the evening, but I can make an exception. What’ll you need?”

Newsblurb
For all the information you need to know in less than a minute!

IANAPALIS, Iansisle -- In a surprise move, His Majesty’s Interim Government has suspended all treaties signed with the neighboring Republic of Weshield.

“Until Mr Andrews and his government can come to their sense as start behaving like sensible people,” said Premier-Interim Charles Bradsworth, “then I see no reason why we should continue sullying our reputation by association.”

The canceled agreements include one which portioned off nearly half of Thortraia’s territory to the Republic in exchange for military help which never came. Bradsworth’s government has stated explicitly that those lands are now part of the United Kingdom of the Shield.

Bradsworth’s government cited Weshield’s failure to lend military aid in the cause against Thortraia, Andrews’ illegal war against Mansford, the ‘Rape of Shield’s End’ during that war, and Weshield’s recent decision to nationalize church property in the Republic as the reasons for cutting the agreements.

“The Republic of Weshield is quickly becoming an international pariah,” said Bradsworth, “and we would do well not to be associated with it. If the people of Weshield come to their senses and vote Andrews out of office, then we should be overjoyed to reopen relations.”

A big Tharian, whose voice identified him as the one who had hailed the LRR crew earlier, stepped forward and jabbed a finger at his chest.

“That’d be me. I have a shop in town. We’re supposed to be closed for the evening, but I can make an exception. What’ll you need?”

The Lieutenant takes out a piece of paper from his coat pocket.

"We'll need fifty heads of lettuce, thirty carrots, forty potatos...what's your freshest meat?"

“Well,” said the Tharian, scratching his head, “I can help you with the lettuce and the carrots, but I’m afraid we don’t have any potatoes. Haven’t in a few months, ever since the ships stopped coming in from the Shield. I’ve got a good store of barley and wheat, some olives, figs, and the avocados are ripe. Oh, and there’s a good supply of eggs. As for meat, there are some sheep and chicken ready for the slaughter, but no beef. Any of that interest you?”

((Is Lennon going to go meet Besterham?))

The procession moved with maddening lethargy. His Lordship the Earl of Furthingham shifted ever so slightly on the Westerton’s uncomfortable leather seat and turned the motion into a wave at the natives who lined both sides of the street; they showed no visible reaction to the gesture. All around his motor, soldiers of the Royal Shadoran Regiment of Foot marched to the maddeningly slow beat of ‘King Ian’s Triumph.’

It was hotter than Furthingham had even imagined it possible for hell to be. The viceregal uniform clung damply to his rather paunchy stomach and he could feel rivers of sweat pouring down his fact, where, directed by his jowls, they collected in great pools in the folds of his double chin. At one point, he was ready to leap out of the car, dash back to Nusheld’s harbor and take the first ship back to the Shield. Surely, no position - not even the first government-appointed Governor-General of Iansislean Gallaga since 1772 - was worth subjecting himself to this agony?

At last, the procession took a hard left hand turn and marched under the recently restored Tiger Gate. The enormous brown columns of the Gate had been destroyed during the Chiangese siege of Nusheld five years ago. The great statue of a prowling Royal Bengal Tiger which topped the Gate was missing a large chunk of its left hindquarter, a scar that survived from when its previous pedestal toppled under the fury of a Chiangese artillery barrage.

It was slightly odd to see the Gull Flag, albeit decorated with the Star of Gallaga, hanging all over the Viceregal Palace’s grounds. There was the great symbol of revolution and popular government at home flying proudly in support of the Iansislean Raj, the most reactionary and undemocratic institution abroad. It would have been much less hypocritical simply to stick with the old Cross and Stripes of the Company.

The Palace itself was a massive baroque structure whose white walls and elaborate grandeur contrasted quite sharply with the poverty and destitution just outside her walled gardens. It was obvious that the Company where the Company had used the grants Parliament voted them after the war for reconstruction, and it certainly wasn’t Nusheld’s hospitals and schools.

It was only a slight groan Furthingham gave as the Westerton pulled up in front of a small crowd of suits gathered between him and the Palace’s newly-installed air-conditioner, but his wife still sensed it somehow. She gave him a look that said quite clearly that he was not to goof this up. Why she wanted so desperately to live in this monument to misappropriated wealth in the heart of Iansisle’s tottering - and tropical! - colonial empire was quite beyond him, but so was the power to argue with her in this heat. Furthingham gave a weak smile as the driver opened her door.

A man who looked to be in his late thirties or early forties with a severe tan approached the Viceroy and his wife, bowing slightly at the waist. Furthingham noticed the Star of Gallaga, that knightly order of which he was now Grand Master, on the other’s lapel.

“Welcome to Gallaga, Your Excellency, my lady,” he said in a crisp Shadoran accent. “I am Sir Peter Senden, the president pro tempore of the Council of New Shield.”

“Ah, yes, Sir Peter. Director Appleton told me a good deal about you. Quite the exploit you had in Indore, wasn’t it?”

“I merely did my duty to His Majesty, Excellency.”

“Of course.”

“Would it please Your Excellency, may I present the other members of the Council?” asked Senden after an uncomfortable pause.

“Perhaps inside, SIr Peter?”

Senden smiled knowingly. “Of course. Please forgive me, Your Excellency; I’ve been in Gallaga too long. I’ve forgotten how harsh the Hot Season can be on newcomers.”

------

“What do you make of Sir Peter, darling?” asked the Lady Furthingham that evening as she was directing a group of native women in unpacking her bags.

“I beg your pardon, my dear?” called Furthingham from the next room. He was putting on his evening tuxedo.

“Sir Peter. How does he strike you?”

“Rather your typical Gallagan bureaucrat, I should think,” replied her husband. “Harmless enough.”

“I found him most impudent,” said Lady Furthingham without hesitation. “Imagine him speaking to you like that! He’s not even born of a proper family, is he?”

“No. He was knighted two years ago after that business in Indore.”

“Humph! I could have guessed. What sort of name is that anyway, Senden? Sounds downright Dianatranian.”

“It is. He’s an eighth Dianatranian, from his father’s father.”

“I thought he looked a little dark! Imagine, them putting a hollywack in such a high position! You ought to write Appleton at once, dear!”

“It’s all part of this damnable new scheme of Bradsworth’s, dear,” said Furthingham, coming to her door. He was putting the finishing touches on his tie. “They give the first priority to the common-born. Appleton’s just another one of them, even if he isn’t as bad as the real nutters, like Madders and Sharpe. They’re going through and clearing all the noblemen out of government positions, from the foreign service to the military. The Navy’s the only one’s who’ve managed to retain most of their officers, though you’ll notice Lord Westergate isn’t the new First Sea Lord.”

“Then why...” started his wife.

“Did they let His Majesty appoint me to this position? Well, even Bradsworth’s only human. He took King Ian III’s nationalization of the Company from 1750 and applied it verbatim. But I think that there was such a backlog of legislation he needed to muck-up that he didn’t have time to read the order completely. One of the provisos he missed is that only a peer of the realm can be the Governor-General of Gallaga.”

“They couldn’t change it once they found out?”

“Not without putting it before the Assembly again. There isn’t time to do that now, with everything else that’s going on, so they had to let His Majesty select a peer. Me. I imagine it’s quite the embarrassment for old Bradsworth: I’m appointed for life, unless recalled by the King.”

“And I’m very glad for that,” she answered, looking him up and down. “But you can’t do anything about Senden?”

“Indirectly. The Gallaga Office appoints two members - including the president pro tempore, I’m afraid - of the Council, the crown appoints a third, advised by the Gallaga Office, and I appoint four. So I will at all times control a majority in the Council over Sir Peter - and I have the option to ignore the Council if I so chose - but he still is in control whenever I’m out of Nusheld. But I really shouldn’t worry too much; I think I should be able to work with Sir Peter.”

“I don’t know how you’ll be able to work with a savage,” said Lady Furthingham fervently. She was strangely passionate about the issue ever since finding out that Sir Peter was part Dianatranian.

“Well, yes,” said Furthingham awkwardly. “Well, he is mostly Shieldian...”

“Any part a savage the whole a savage makes.”

“Savage or no, I’m afraid I agreed to have a drink with him at seven o’clock precisely,” said Furthingham, “and it’s nearly a quarter till now. Shall I see you at dinner?”

“Of course - just...”

“Yes?”

“Make sure the kitchen staff knows I will not sit next to him, darling, won’t you?”

“Of course, dear. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

--------

“That’s just about the time I noticed the Galler trying to tail me,” Sir Peter was saying. “He was doing a clumsy job of it, so I figured the Clerks hadn’t trained him...”

“Yes?” asked Furthingham, taking the glass of brandy he had just raised to his lips down. “What happened then?”

“I’m sorry, Your Excellency; I just noticed the time. I hadn’t realized it’d been nearly an hour and a half. But you must have been so bored by my story!”

“On the contrary, it was enthralling,” insisted Furthingham. “I know I wouldn’t last more than a day on Indore Station.”

“You honor me, Your Excellency. But I promised myself that I’d give you an update on the what’s been going on here since you left Ianapalis. It’s now half an hour until dinner, and I haven’t said a single word about it.”

“Can’t it wait? I simply cannot wait to hear the end of the story.”

“Perhaps over cigars after dinner, Your Excellency? There is some pressing business which I feel you’ll want to know before dinner.”

“If you insist,” sighed Furthingham.

“Thank you, Your Excellency. I trust that Director Appleton briefed you on the mutiny in Delhi?”

“Yes; dreadful business.”

“Dreadful, but not very damaging. We managed to contain it quickly and got the ringleaders off to the gallows without too much fuss. That’s the devil about these things; if word gets out that even one had temporary success, every Galler in the army will be ready to make revolution.”

Furthingham grunted and nodded.

“At any rate, we can’t prove Congress actively participated in that. We needed to get the instigators hanged, but we couldn’t risk making martyrs of them. But there has been a more disturbing matter near the Maratha border.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. We captured an insurgent crossing into our territory from the Confederacy and took him in for questioning, where he talked quite easily. Apparently, Congress has been expanding its activity into the Confederacy on a large scale, and they’re finding plenty of support.”

“The Maharaja?”

“Not yet, thank God. He’s young, and the Peshwa, who’ll not have anything to do with a secular organization, has him on a short leash. But they’re not doing much to actively suppress the movement, either. Our young man tells us, however, that the governor in Nagpur is providing a safe harbor for insurgents to operate just across our borders and working closely with the Congress.”

“We can’t lean on the Peshwa to deal with the governor?”

“We’ve been trying, but the Peshwa doesn’t seem too eager to risk destabilizing the Confederacy by exerting direct pressure over Nagpur. We’ll keep trying, I suppose, and see if we can get Clarca on board. It’s as big a threat for them as it is for us. Anyhow, here’s the real kicker: our man informs us that Hiresh Dhawan is working out of Nagpur.”

“Dhawan? But - I thought the Thortraians grabbed him when they pulled out of Ianapalis!”

“Apparently, he never made it back to Ianapalis. Shipped straight out of Tanah Burung for Nagpur. And he’s brought some friends with him. Members of the Rumbiak Brigade.”

“The ones who’ve got the Knoots’ bees all in a bonnet?”

“The same. Hell if I know what they’re doing in Gallaga, but I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, Sir Peter. We have to do som-”

Just then, a butler appeared and cleared his throat.

“Begging Your Excellency’s pardon, but dinner is served.”

“Oh, the time,” grumbled Sir Peter, glancing at his watch before tucking it back into his pocket. “Well, we’ll have to continue this over cigars, Your Excellency.”

“Quite. If you’ll be so good as to lead me to the dining hall, Sir Peter?”

Minister Wheatly walked into the room, it had been a busy day. A talk with the Imitorans about a possible conflict in which the Republic would have to defend its allies, a meesage from Achleonia about possible talks and negotiations, and later that day he would have to meet with the nobles from Weshield who had been rescued. He rather hoped the seven person council would be made up of gentlemen, women were always so stuffy.

"Gentlemen, it's so nice to see you I hope your accomadations have been up to par. Here is the treaty we would like signed by yourselves."

Treaty of the Central Confederacy and the Grand Republic of Fultonia

Article 1 Installations and Embassies
Section 1: Military Installations
A general exchange of military officers by which a contingent of 24 officers of each nation will go through officer candidate school to better understand the culture of the others nation
Section 2: Embassies
A diplomatic embassy representing the Grand Republic of Fultonia will be constructed within the domain and staffed with a contingent of roughly 100 staff. To be guarded by 32 Army Regulars.
Article 2 Aid and Economic Support
Section 1: 4,000,000.00 Fultonians will be sent every year to be spent in a manner determined by the Confederacy. A team of Iansisle scientists will be accepted into the Fultonian Space program to train with out people and using our facilities.
Section 2: Several companies will be allowed to be started up in Iansisle to be initially funded by the Republic but in time privatized at time chosen by the parliament. THese companies shall include but not be limited to the airline, automobile, and train industries.
Article 3 Ecunemical and Educational Programs
Section 1: Programs for the enlightenment of both the ministers and youth of both nations. Schools of higher learning will be designated by both countries to allow students to spend no less than four weeks and no more than six years within each others culture and society to give a broader understanding of the world and government.

"How do you like what the bureaucrats drew up? Everythign is open to negotiation, not set in stone." Wheatly looked thoughtful.

“This looks good,” said Astor thoughtfully. Johnson hadn’t even looked at his sheet yet.

“We need to change ‘Cultural Confederacy’ and ‘Iansisle’ to ‘United Dominions for the Restoration of the Empire,’” said Antangaux, looking for anything he could to criticize.

“I rather like ‘Cultural Confederacy,’ actually,” said Astor, “but I’m afraid we must stick with what the bureaucrats want. ‘United Dominions,’ should be perfect, I would think, if that’s not too much trouble.”

“Where should their Embassy be?” asked Antangaux. He anticipated Astor’s answer and prepared to challenge the Gadsani.

“I know what you’re after, milord, but Château simply isn’t central enough. Lakeriverwood would be perfect, though I’m sure Minister Wheatly would love to set up Consulates in Château and Troobodia.

“Other than that, Minister, this looks pretty good,” said Astor.

Astor’s proposed changes to the treaty:

Treaty of the United Dominions for Restoration of the Empire and the Grand Republic of Fultonia

Article 1 Installations and Embassies
Section 1: Military Installations
A general exchange of military officers by which a contingent of 24 officers of each nation will go through officer candidate school to better understand the culture of the other’s nation.
Section 2: Embassies
A diplomatic embassy representing the Grand Republic of Fultonia will be constructed in the city of Lakeriverwood and staffed with a contingent of roughly 100 staff. It will be guarded by 32 Army Regulars.
Article 2 Aid and Economic Support
Section 1: 4,000,000.00 Fultonians will be sent every year to be spent in a manner determined by the Confederacy. A team of Dominion scientists will be accepted into the Fultonian Space program to train with out people and using our facilities.
Section 2: Several companies will be allowed to be started up in United Dominions to be initially funded by the Republic but in time privatized at time chosen by the parliament. These companies shall include but not be limited to the airline, automobile, and train industries.
Article 3 Economical and Educational Programs
Section 1: Programs for the enlightenment of both the ministers and youth of both nations. Schools of higher learning will be designated by both countries to allow students to spend no less than four weeks and no more than six years within each others culture and society to give a broader understanding of the world and government.

“Well,” said the Tharian, scratching his head, “I can help you with the lettuce and the carrots, but I’m afraid we don’t have any potatoes. Haven’t in a few months, ever since the ships stopped coming in from the Shield. I’ve got a good store of barley and wheat, some olives, figs, and the avocados are ripe. Oh, and there’s a good supply of eggs. As for meat, there are some sheep and chicken ready for the slaughter, but no beef. Any of that interest you?”

((Is Lennon going to go meet Besterham?))

OCC: Yeah, but I'll post it tomorrow. I don't want to miss Monty Python's Flying circus!

OCC: Yeah, but I'll post it tomorrow. I don't want to miss Monty Python's Flying circus!

((Heaven knows that wouldn't do! ;) See you tomorrow; enjoy Monty Python.))

"We'll take twenty-five chickens, and five sacks of barley, plus the lettuce and the carrots. How much 'll that come to?"

Meanwhile, Lennon rolls into Chateau aboard the train.

At the station, he walks out, wearing his mostly dry uniform, and takes Besterham's card out of his pocket. He begins to walk towards the address.

The barrel-chested Tharian thought for a moment. Most Iansisleans were bad at math, especially when it could profit them.

“Two hundred and fifty generals for the whole lot,” he decided at last, to a few muffled gasps from around the crowd. That was more than a 200% markup!

-----

((sorry, that’s my bad. I should have gotten you to Château first...sorry!))

The capital of Noropia had the distinct feeling of an important and old town. The streets were narrow and made of cobblestone; the buildings, for the most part, were brick or stone, and the magnificent Ducal Manor in the center of town was the very epitome of baroque grandeur.

Besterham’s store - a little hole in the wall with a sign bearing the exact same words as his card - was down by the docks. Inside, a single bored looking receptionist chewed on a piece of gum while she watched Lennon walk in.

“You’re that guy the boss met on the train?” she asked in a heavily accented voice.

The Lieutenant instinctively reaches for his pocket, and then remembers that there is a suitcase full of currency in one of the rafts. He goes back and retreives the suitcase out of the rubber dinghy, and counts through its coins, taking several minutes to sort the coins into several piles, which he conveniently dumped into a canvas sack.

"That should be enough."

Where they had come up with so much Iansisle currency was anybody's guess, but it was probably through regular trade with merchant ships from the various kingdoms over time.

Meanwhile, Lennon surveys the shop, feeling less and less comfortable every passing minute.

"I guess so," he says in his native Polish accent.

“They’re actually paying it!” the Tharians whispered among themselves is a mixture of English and Italian. “They’re paying it!”

An Iansislean officer would have haggled his way down to at least the eighty generals the goods were worth, and maybe a little more besides. The crew wondered why so many of the villagers were running off, until most of them returned laden with overpriced trinkets.

“I have good, hand-knit blanket! Only five - no, seven! eight!- generals!”

“Good, sturdy sea-chest! Was my grandpas! I sell for fifteen gen!”

“This is a figurine of a whale; I whittled it myself! Will you give me three generals for it, mister?”

“If you want,” said the first one who was selling the goods, “A few of your men and I can go round up the stores. The chickens still need to be slaughtered, so it may take a while.” He assumed that a submarine, unlike an Iansislean vessel, probably wouldn’t want live chickens aboard.

--------

Just then, Besterham emerged from the back. “Ah, Sub-lieutenant Lennon! I hoped I’d see you soon! Ready to hear about that business?”

"Eh...forget the chickens, then," says the lieutenant, somewhat put off by the idea of actually slaughtering them. If it were a frigate or destroyer, a few live chickens would probably be brought aboard and perhaps allowed to run around on the helipad.

Meanwhile, Lennon walks over towards Besterham.

"As ready as i'll ever be," says Lennon.

If it were a frigate or destroyer, a few live chickens would probably be brought aboard and perhaps allowed to run around on the helipad.

((LOL...that's a sight for sore minds' eyes!))

“Suit yourself,” shrugged the Tharian as some boys started running towards them with sacks of lettuce and carrots. But his nonchalant attitude couldn’t cover the fact that he really wanted to move some chickens and triple their usual price.

“Maybe me and my boys could slaughter ‘em, y’know?” he asked hopefully. “Only a general more a bird and we’d deliver them to you all supermarket like.”

Meanwhile, the villagers who weren’t trying to hawk overpriced junk on the sailors helped to load the submarine.

----

“Good. There’s not much time to talk, so I’ll not mince words. A steam packet is sailing for Thesia in two hours. I want you on it, and I want you to take this package with you.”

Besterham produced a thin paper envelope and handed it across to Lennon. “It’s very important that this gets through the blockade in the Southern Straits and into the hands of one of my men in Thesia - his name and address are on the envelope - without the Revenue Service or the Navy finding them. Think you can handle that?”

"No...its really alright. We won't be long sailing anyhow, and I don't think we could afford much more, considering other expenses down the road."

The sailors loading the sub with various provisions try their best to ignore the local merchants. Occasionaly, some trinket would be purchased just to quiet them down, but more often than not it had the opposite affect.

Back in Besterham's shop, Lennon looks at the envelope apprehensively.

"Er...I suppose. Where should I go to board the ship?"

“Oh.” The Tharian looked crestfallen, but he continued on and helped load the merchandise.

Eventually, the tide started coming back in and a few eager residents offered to help push the Goose Bay off the spit, if the submariners needed a hand. And for a price, of course.

-----

“Pier 19. It’s all been set up ahead of schedule. Just wear this -” Besterham handed a blue armband to Lennon “ - so that the captain knows who you are. Oh, and give me a call when the package’s been delivered.

“Now, I know the passage’s worth a pretty penny, but I can’t send a good man off without his pay, and I won’t hear of you refusing it! Here’s thirty generals - do good work, boy, that’s more than a week’s pay. Godspeed.”

Minister Wheatly scribbled a few notes and passed the document back to the delegation. "What about these proposed changes?"

Treaty of the United Dominions for Restoration of the Empire and the Grand Republic of Fultonia

Article 1 Installations and Embassies
Section 1: Military Installations
A general exchange of military officers by which a contingent of 24 officers of each nation will go through the officer candidate school of the other nation so as to better understand the culture of the other’s nation.
Section 2: Embassies
A diplomatic embassy representing the Grand Republic of Fultonia will be constructed in the city of Lakeriverwood and staffed with a contingent of roughly 100 staff. It will be guarded by no less than 32 Fultonian Army Regulars and no more than 120 military personell.
Article 2 Aid and Economic Support
Section 1: 4,000,000.00 Fultonians will be sent every year to be spent in a manner determined by the Confederacy. A team of Dominion scientists will be accepted into the Fultonian Space program to train within the Fultonian Academy of Science making full use of its facilities.
Section 2: Several companies will be allowed to be started up in United Dominions to be initially funded by the Republic but in time privatized at time chosen by the parliament of Fultonia. These companies shall include but not be limited to the airline, automobile, and train industries.
Article 3 Economical and Educational Programs
Section 1: Programs for the enlightenment of the ministers and youth of both nations. Schools of higher learning will be designated by both countries to allow students to spend no less than four weeks and no more than six years within each others culture and society to give a broader understanding of the world and government.

“Oh.” The Tharian looked crestfallen, but he continued on and helped load the merchandise.

Eventually, the tide started coming back in and a few eager residents offered to help push the Goose Bay off the spit, if the submariners needed a hand. And for a price, of course.

-----

“Pier 19. It’s all been set up ahead of schedule. Just wear this -” Besterham handed a blue armband to Lennon “ - so that the captain knows who you are. Oh, and give me a call when the package’s been delivered.

“Now, I know the passage’s worth a pretty penny, but I can’t send a good man off without his pay, and I won’t hear of you refusing it! Here’s thirty generals - do good work, boy, that’s more than a week’s pay. Godspeed.”

The Whiskey-class attack sub manages to pull itself off the beach without much trouble, the newly-purchased foods loaded on board.

The captain and navigators, having discovered where they had gone wrong, steer the submarine towards the desired site. Once a safe distance out to shore, the black conning tower disappears beneath the waves, as the morning sun begins to rise.

Meanwhile, Lennon begins to head towards Pier 19 and the steamer docked there.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Besterham. I will make sure to give you a call when the envelope is delivered."

“I look forward to it, my boy,” smiled Besterham.

Pier 19 was home to an old tramp steamer. With her rust streaked hull, she hardly looked like she’d be able to make it out of Château’s harbor, much less around Cape Deliverance and down the Shield’s Head.

----

The Tharian people wave until the Goose Bay is out of sight, then wonder how to spend their unexpected windfall.

((sorry this took so long. It's been a busy week.))

OCC: perfectly fine. If I had a life, I wouldn't be on so much either, although today I 'discovered' a huge valley in the backwoods by main street...

IC:

Lennon walks up the gangplank and onto the old steamer, looking around for the ticketmaster. He notices the peeling paint and coarseness of the wood, which reminds him of his grandmother's rocker. He also notices how well he stands out compared to the other occupants of the steamer, dressed in a neat, if not perfect LRRN uniform.

The Goose Bay continues its underwater trip about sixty miles to the north of its former position. The submarine stays at periscope depth, and looks for the harbor at which it let Lennon off.

“Yeah? Whaddyaw’nt?” called a gruff tone from nearby. The owner must have heard Lennon coming up the gangplank. The second sentence was indeed said as one long word.

From out of a nearby hatch issued a dirty looking man in coveralls. Wiping grease from his hands onto his legs, he glanced Lennon up and down - and his eyes fell on the blue armband.

“Bessiboy?” he asked incomprehensibly.

------

((am I to assume that Goose Bay will just hang out there? The RIN doesn’t have any patrols on the western Tharian coast.

Oh, and have fun with that valley! Reminds me of good days. There used to be this creek (well, what we called a creek. Anyone from a wetter area probably would have said ‘trickle’ or ‘broken water main’) that ran through a little wood and meadow below our house. My brother and I used to go down there and make little forts or what have you. A piece of advise though: if it’s hot/wet and windy, find yourself a proper tree like an oak or sycamore. Don’t go anywhere near a eucalyptus. One of the damn things tried to assassinate us during a Santa Anna. *shifty eyes*))

"Is this vessel headed for Thesia?"

Lennon then watches the mechanic emerge from the hatch. With an already garbled understanding of english, he can't figure out what language the mechanic is speaking.

"Yes," he says, hoping it is the right word.

"Aye, Thesia," replied the first voice. "Why?"

"'e Bessiboy," called the mechanic.

"Really? Oh, splendid." There was a dull thud and the noise of some papers shuffling and a man who looked as if he'd been weeks without a shower walked out. "You must be Gregory Lennon," he said, extending a filthy hand.

"Courier duties. Oh...yes, I am."

Lennon shakes the man's hand.

"It ought to be an interesting trip. The Navy's predicting rough weather around the Cape. Still, life'd be no fun without a little excitement, eh?" He slapped Lennon on the back.

"Oh, almost forgot. My name's Sharpley. I do a lot of work for Mr Besterham, so don't worry about me or the crew. Jack here will show you down to your cabin."

The mechanic grunted and blinked his beady little eyes.

Lennon follows the mechanic down to his cabin on the steamer, and sits down on the bed.

"Thanks," he says, and tosses a coin to the mechanic as a show of gratitude. Out of his coat pocket, Lennon pulls a manual entitled The Maintainance of Lunkwill Company Marine Diesel Engines.

The mechanic grunted and caught the coin. He glanced with a surly expression at Lennon’s book and then left the cabin.

After fifteen minutes, Lennon heard the ship’s engines start up. Soon thereafter, they were chugging out of the harbor.

((I’ve more to say, but I need to work on another update right now. I’ll add to this tomorrow, LRR.))

Will Cleaton examined the apple for worms carefully. It was hard to see in the dim light of the very early morning but he had no wish to eat a parasite. Wiping it on his khaki sleeve, he took a bite. It wasn’t quite ripe, but tasted absolutely delicious compared to the unidentifiable meat-like food that Cookie had given out for dinner and was likely to do for breakfast.

“Hear that?” slurred his companion, juice running down his chin.

“Hear what?” replied Cleaton without bothering to swallow.

“Jet engines, I’m sure of it!” The other man was standing now with his hands cupped around his ears.

“Come off it,” grunted Cleaton, “what would a je...” His voice tailed off as he heard the distinctive, if distant, roar. Soon, the whole platoon was craning their necks to try and identify from where the sound came.

“There!” shouted one of the younger soldiers, a boy of perhaps seventeen. He was pointing west. Sure enough, a distinctively ‘potbellied’ shape flashed across the gibbous moon, followed by another and still another.

“Norikers!” shouted the boy, pleased with his identification, “a whole squadron of them!”

Now the flyers were visible as distinctive shapes against the dark sky.

“They’re headed right towards us,” pondered another man. By now, people were getting out of their tents in droves to see what all the noise was. South Thortraia was by now too remote pacified for any resistance.

Will watched the leading Noriker as it turned its nose towards the camp. Before he had time to realize what was happening, it fired its under slung rockets. They were big antipersonnel devices, modified from the armor-piercing 8” antiship rockets. Within seconds, the camp was a hellscape; shrapnel flew everywhere, cutting down both the curious observers and those who were still asleep. And then the second Noriker began its run.

--------

“It’s been confirmed, sir. Weshield’s launched a massive attack on at least two fronts. They used lightning aircraft strikes to take out our foreword positions and have followed it up with infantry. We’ve identified units from both the First and Second Strike Armies, sir, and we suspect that the Third may have crossed the Mansford-Thortraia frontier well north of here.”

“How’s the situation in the air?” Pennyman leaned back in his chair. He didn’t like this situation.

“Dead even, sir. We’ve more aerocraft, but they’re operating closer to home base. Our boys are holding their own but we can’t count on close air support. A communiqué from Bomber Command said they’re planning strikes on Weshieldian bases but God knows how long that will take to materialize.”

“And the fleet?”

“Westergate’s blockaded Fort Jackson, Mansmouth, and Shield’s End, but he’s not willing to fire into the cities.”

“I should imagine not!”

“He’s also landed marines near Fort Jackson, but Andrews had more troops near the city than intelligence led us to believe. They’re pinned down, even with fleet artillery support, and thinking about evacuation.”

“We’ll leave that us to the powers that be. What’s our situation?”

“Well, sir, the main Weshieldian attacks have been here, at Capden, and here, near Pents.”

“They’re trying to turn our flank,” said Pennyman, tapping the map.

“Sir?” asked the assistant politely, although he already knew what the general would say.

“They’re concentrating their attack on our left,” replied Pennyman, “trying to force us to withdraw from the Hansting Heights and fall back towards the Mans. Doubtlessly, the Third Strike Army is moving south to try and cut us off from the northern shore.”

“Clever,” said the assistant.

“Perhaps. But their man has given us an opportunity - see, he expects us to concentrate at Thorntree and try to hold the city, which would be a logical choice. We’d avoid being pinned against the Mans and be able to retreat over the Thorial and blow the bridges.” Pennyman took a breath.

“But he got a little too clever. If all three of their armies have been thrown into the fray, we’re outnumbered at least two to one, perhaps more with these losses. But since he divided his force, we have the opportunity to achieve local superiority. If the army concentrates here, at Haldsborough, we may have a chance.”

“You intend to force their right wing into giving battle in the Hansting Gap?”

“Quite. After they take the Hansting Heights, they have to cross at least two miles of field before getting to Hald’s Hills. We’ve got some big guns already in Haldsborough; we could position them in the treeline and hammer them.”

“Of course,” said the assistant, cautiously playing devil’s advocate, “that would require our force in Hansting to hold the heights for at least a day, and probably more.”

“You’re right, of course,” murmured Pennyman, scratching his chin. “Well then? Who’s in Hansting?”

“Part of Chapman’s III Corps,” replied the assistant instantly. “What’s left of the Fifth and Tenth Regiments of Foot. They got pretty chewed up in the Battle of the Sundral.”

“Who’d Chapman leave in command?” asked Pennyman sharply.

“Colonel Ranalte, sir.”

“Then we may have a chance,” muttered Pennyman. “I want you to scrape together whatever you can - light infantry, dragoons; whoever can make it quickly - and send them to reinforce Ranalte at once. Tell him he’s to hold the Heights as long as he can, and then fall back across the Gap. Have everyone else concentrate at Haldsborough. God willing, we can do this!”

Once more under democratic control, the White Sea High Fleet had started to send men home, returning to its pre-fascist size. Which was still fairly considerable, with enough fire-power to level Manmouth. It would have been more impressive if the UK didn't have enough ships in what they so wrongly termed the Western Marches to level Whiteport, Novaya Archangelsk, and Arzenopol. And even that was only a best case scenario situation.

Still, what could you do? There had never been a real ceasefire between the two nations. The Guilds and the Company had just ignored the undeclared state of seige, and so had most of the citizens of each side. It's generally believed by external historians that the actual cause of the hostilities between the Grand Empire and the Divine Imperium had been the tariff increases in the nineteenth century. The Altarans, the poor people of mingled Slavic and Mongoloid descent who held the majority of the White Sea ports in their state, had another way of looking at it. "That bunch of aquatic blunderers will rue the day they messed with the Divine Imperium."

That said, it's surprising that there were very few objections to the future Tsar deciding to marry a Sheildian woman. And none to her already being a divorcee. The press had glossed over it, the people didn't care... all in all, it would have been very surprising to the British, let alone the Sheildians themselves. They forgot that the majority of the citizens of the Divine Imperium, from Barons and Lord Mayors downwards, had always just nodded politely at whatever their superiors did and said, and then when and did their own thing.

The only real objection came from the Church. But that old power-broker had been destroyed in the years of Damien's reign, and was only now regaining some of its past lustre. However, the Patriarch's tacit support for the NSIWP reign ensured that it would be a long time before the blistering sermons delivered from the Catholic Church's pulpits would be listened to again.

~~

Prime Minister-Elect Baronet Simon Octavian Darquis III (Baronet being a courtesy title, and its holders being entitled to enter the Burghers), had watched the situation across the channel with scarcely concealed glee ever since his appointment as PM until elections could be held. With the Shieldians torn up with their own internal struggle, he could begin peace overtures with the UK, thus freeing up more naval vessels to resume the conquest of both African and South Pacific territories.

But how to draft it...

“I think they’re regrouping, sir,” said a lieutenant despondently. Colonel Ranalte didn’t know the young man’s name; he wasn’t part of the Fifth Rifles. “We hurt ‘em pretty bad that last one, but they’ve got to know we haven’t much ammunition left.”

It was true. They used the last belt for their machine guns repelling the last attack and each man had perhaps a magazine and a half left for his rifle.

“We’ve already held this position for thirty-six hours,” the lieutenant of dragoons pressed. “Can’t we fall back on Haldsborough yet?”

“General Pennyman’s had trouble moving his heavy artillery up the hills because of that squall,” replied Ranalte. “Come on, man: buck up!” A flashy smile creased his young face. “Is that any way for a Shieldian to act?”

The lieutenant seemed about ready to say “you wouldn’t know,” when the protest died upon his lips. “Yes, sir,” he said instead.

Ranalte returned to his field glasses. The Weshieldians were lurking about in the woods, ever since they had been bombed by those unknown aerocraft. They did indeed seem to be concentrating again, though. Ranalte knew that the entire First Strike Army - some thirty thousand men - lurked behind them. The state of supplies couldn’t be good; Weshield would have to make Thorntree quickly and appear ready for a campaign into Vesshampton to make a favorable peace. The Army of the Daldon was the United Kingdom’s only major army formation on the Shield itself; if it was defeated, the road to Ianapalis would be open, even if the Weshieldians couldn’t immediately exploit it.

“It looks as if they’ll try the left flank this time,” said Ranalte. “Let’s ship most of the Tenth Rifles over from the right. We should be able to maintain enough of a line there to keep the attack from changing focus.”

Clearly, though, it wouldn’t be enough. The defenders were down to a ragged two thousand, almost out of ammunition and running low on spirit. The lieutenant didn’t say so, but went to obey Ranalte’s orders. Something in the Sentrian’s personality demanded it.

------

“Hold your fire!” shouted Ranalte. One trigger at least had already been pulled and its shot missed widely. The Weshieldians were charging through the fields of their dead, screaming like banshees and waving regimental colors aloft.

“Hold!” shouted Ranalte again. Ammunition was too precious to risk wasting at range. The Weshieldians were now halfway across the field of the dead. They stumbled in the trenches of what had been Ranalte’s first line of defense - and stopped dead. For one second, Ranalte met the eyes of a young boy in the distance, and what he saw was pure, abject terror.

Then the Weshielders, stumbling over each other, turned and ran. Lyre banners and guns alike were dropped on the bloody ground. Ranalte could only stare in disbelief. Even in the far distance could be seen the army’s rearguard, in desperate flight southwest.

“We’ve got ‘em on the run!” shouted Ranalte in a sudden burst of inspiration. Seizing a Gull Flag, he hoisted it aloft. “To Fort Jackson!”

Their morale miraculously recouped, the Shieldians climbed from their trenches and let out a ferocious war cry. Ranalte let out a cry of his own and himself led their way down to the forest.

OOC: you're a busy man Ian but if you can find the time I still need some info on our proposed treaty and perhaps that little get together with Jefferson and a certain royal. nice twist with Andrews, are we going to see a truly united kingdom soon? busy busy

IC: It was the peak of the presidential and parliamentary election. For a bill to pass during this time was rare but Jefferson (with alot of Libertarian support) was able to get a bill passed and signed into law, the last of his term.

The gist of the bill is as follows.

All citizens rescued from Iansisle are granted full citizenship and rights within Fultonia.

Every family will be alloted a one time sum in the following amounts.

Those 65 years or older will be given 750,000 Fultonians
Those 42 to 64 will be given 550,000 Fultonians
Those 21 to 41 will be given 275,000 Fultonians
Those in the womb to 20 will be given 200,000 Fultonians

Those not 16 years of age ro older will have their monies administered by guardians chsoen form among the new citizens from Iansisle itself.

Every family is also alloted 100 acres of land in continuity to one another once being part of the Grand Capital of Anora. The City being paid an agreed upon sum to be determined by the Supreme Court of Fultonia. This land is granted Autonomy as a distinct although integral part of the Grand Republic.

They are to write and vote upon a new constitution to be approved by thier citizenry with a form of ogvernemnt to their choosing.

This new autonomous region will be granted territorial status and embassies will be established between the two powers.

The combat air fighters saw massive amounts of troops running in fear. They related the news back to Special Operations Command and were ordered to head back toward base, only to fire if fired upon on. The fighters took it upon themselves to fly low enough to encounter enemy fire, they didn't want the mission to be a total loss.

Off the coast of the Shield, an Avro Skackleton of the LRRAF suffers from engine trouble.

"Port number two afire, sah!"
"Can you put it out?"
"Doubt it, sah! Looks like we might loose us a wing!"
"Ugh. Alright, how's the rate of fuel lossage?"
"Won't make it within rescue range with the current lossage rate."
"All crew, prepare for ditching. I will bring us in towards the Shield."

The big Shackleton, a modified lancaster bomber, performs a careful turn and heads east, towards the coast of north america.

((sorry I've been so quiet. I had to leave town suddenly and my internet acess has been fleeting at best. I'll try to get on tonight; failing that, Sunday night.))

((Ok, Fult, I don't QUITE have a response for you yet (I've frittered away my time :() but I do have some things which everyone in this thread/TFHL might find useful.

First, concerning global RP matters is the updated map of Tilsitia (the continent on which Iansisle is located). The dark green is the old Commonwealth, the orange is Healdsburg, the yellow is Ryansisle/the Empire of the Golden Quarry, and the grey is Effit. Sorry it's in two parts, but I hate my paint program.

West Tilsitia:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v294/DrIquan/westtilsitia.jpg
East Tilsitia:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v294/DrIquan/easttilsitia.jpg

And here is the west Tilsitia map with the breakdown of the post-revolutionary states. Dark green is the United Kingdom of the Shield (Bradsworth's state). Dark blue is the Republic of Weshield (Andrews' state). Red is the Empire of Tharia (haven't done much with them yet). The light green is the United Dominions for the Restoration of the Empire (the countries d'Antangaux, Astor, and Johnson represent in the other thread).

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v294/DrIquan/rev.jpg

That said, I hopefully will have a reply for Fultonia sometime in the very near future.))

EDIT: and here's a quick physical map, just so the terrain is known. Desert is the bright yellow. As things get darker, they get higher, until you reach white, which is der über-tall.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v294/DrIquan/physmap.jpg

((So, Ian... I take it I can't expect a reply from you yet? Oh, and... wasn't something meant to be happening with all these nations getting back together?))

((Well, the UK overran Weshield, so the blue is sort of "historical reference." I don't know how Tharia'll be drawn back into the mix, but the Dominions ought to be coming home soon.

And, Mr impatient-pants, I'm about 5-10 minutes away from posting your next response :P))

((Well, the UK overran Weshield, so the blue is sort of "historical reference." I don't know how Tharia'll be drawn back into the mix, but the Dominions ought to be coming home soon.

And, Mr impatient-pants, I'm about 5-10 minutes away from posting your next response :P))
((That's... that's a new one on me, really.

Whatever it is you plan, do it quick-like... I could always attempt to conquer it first, and since technically it's not part of the UK... by the way, what's the yellow on the bottom map mean?))

((those are just the various other countries... I didn't want to bother filling them in. ;)

If you're thinking of invading Tharia, you're welcome to. I don't really have much going on right now. It's more or less agricultural, population numbering some 11ish million (I think...would have to look it up), with a Med-like climate and tons of hills. The natives speak Italian and don't like any foreign overlords too much.

Oh, and just so you know, there's a flippin' huge mountain range between Tharia/Ryansisle. That dark green area on the bottom-right (or south-east, even ;)) of the last map (better known as the Province of Dianatran) is basically just one huge desert, with significant oil reserves towards the center and very poor railroad/infrastructure connections to Tharia.))

EDIT: PS - just changed the East Tilsitia map. This one fits up better. Also, I made Effit bigger because it needs to be ~2 times larger than Iansisle to fit in with what's been RPed. NB - don't include Troobodia Bay, and then the new effit is actually to scale ;).

REEDIT: added physical map.

REREEDIT: stopped REEDIT from saying REEDID.

(Just popping by, don't mind me. I am realising that I ought to have spent time catching-up during this uncharacteristic Iansislian lull, but instead I sit listening to Robery Wyatt's Sea Song and re-organising the eight key divisions of the Igovian Soviet Navy, which never gets used anyway. [looks about] Have the commie-ishes fallen on their faces, yet? I hope that you don't mind, but some optimistic soul in the senate system suggested a name for Beth Gellert's first big-gun warship (funny time to start building those, eh?), and this month saw the launch of the first of eight (much troubled and widely scorned) Gull Flag Class amphibious-support bombardment ships. It hasn't got an individual name, as yet, because another bright-spark suggested naming her for one of the Iansislian heroes of Salvador, but then there was debate about how much offence that would cause, how counter-revolutionary they probably were, and how nobody could think of one, anyway :) It may be the Ood, since we finally withdrew the previous one. Why am I still typing? This is way off topic. Um, man, Effit is large! Yes, that'll do.)

((those are just the various other countries... I didn't want to bother filling them in. ;)

If you're thinking of invading Tharia, you're welcome to. I don't really have much going on right now. It's more or less agricultural, population numbering some 11ish million (I think...would have to look it up), with a Med-like climate and tons of hills. The natives speak Italian and don't like any foreign overlords too much.

Oh, and just so you know, there's a flippin' huge mountain range between Tharia/Ryansisle. That dark green area on the bottom-right (or south-east, even ;)) of the last map (better known as the Province of Dianatran) is basically just one huge desert, with significant oil reserves towards the center and very poor railroad/infrastructure connections to Tharia.))

EDIT: PS - just changed the East Tilsitia map. This one fits up better. Also, I made Effit bigger because it needs to be ~2 times larger than Iansisle to fit in with what's been RPed. NB - don't include Troobodia Bay, and then the new effit is actually to scale ;).

REEDIT: added physical map.

REREEDIT: stopped REEDIT from saying REEDID.

((So, you're telling me that the UK will let me conquer Tharia, and station Divine Legionnaires right next to their natural habitat? The desert? :cool: I'm cool wit' dat, me main man.

And soon to be Divine Overseas Territory #1... Heh heh... ;) Just as soon as I get men out from that accursed quagmire in Ethiopia... a thread you said you'd respond to.))

((LET you conquer? No, no, I don't think that was quite what I meant. We'll probably do something ineffectual like declare a blockade and yell at you. The Tharians, on the other hand, would take up arms and fight a guerilla war, when you were dependent on shipping arms through our ineffectual blockade and compounded by the fact that there're no real natural ports in west-Tharia, so you'd have to ship stuff through the southern straits and around to Thesia on the eastern coast. And, of course, you'd then have to find some way of maintaining enough troops in Tharia to be able to launch, without any way of transporting supplies into an inhospitable territory with a garrison of some 50,000 Iansislean troops.

There's a reason Iansisle's a naval-oriented nation: much like Greece, as the Persians found out, it's damn hard to fight an army over large stretches of land without dominance at sea. :)

BG: Happy to hear from you again, of course! Not much news brewing on the Wyclyfe side - just a very quiet, very secretive Igovian revolution. You can see them on the third map, actually - that little patch o' light yellow between the blue and the dark green. Of course, as the Republic is overrun, they might be asking to become a Beth Gellen protectorate/proper BG word. Maybe; haven't decided yet.

And of course I don't mind! Glad to hear about the Gull Flaggers, if not their reception. Hope they start to do something better soon! I love any reference to my country in someone else's!

But I CANNOT imagine how pissed the Widows of Salvador would be if you started naming BG ships after the martyrs. ;)))

((Humbug. Always making things harder, aren't you...

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v369/Roania/NovarOhan.bmp

Still, quake and quiver with fear at the immense power behind the military machine of the Divine Imperium! MWA HA HA HA! I should probably do a map of the Sunsets one of these days... but I rarely use them, as they're only my primary naval base. And I haven't had a war that required me to use my Grand Admiral in months...))

Of all the possible welcomes the émigrés could have expected, surely the one they received from Fultonia was still greater. Surely never before had such a rich reward been promised to the political refugees of any sort.

Of course, things were not so happy back on the Shield. Regardless of how much the administration detested it, aristocrats still formed the backbone of the country’s administrative force. There would not, of course, be restrictions placed upon emigration, but something had to be done to add extra incentive for the landed families to stay in Iansisle. Many of the harsher anti-aristocratic laws passed by Lawrence Madders’ Grand Street faction were repealed, much to the Director’s dismay.

The United Kingdom’s defeat of the Republic of Weshield, too, meant that many of the people now living in Fultonia’s hearts changed. On the one hand, they were eminently grateful for all that President Jefferson had done; on the other, they still had a home on the Shield, should they only chose to return to it. For some, who had lived in the same house as their ancestors stretching back to the earliest days of the Shield, the pull became too strong and they abandoned their new life in Fultonia. For others, radical royalist attitudes bade them stay until the usurper Bradsworth had been defeated and cast back into the sewer whence he came.

A letter also arrived at President Jefferson’s office, inviting him to a party where the Viscount Dunvets, his family, and their friends should like to show their appreciation. It also hinted that their eighteen year old daughter, Lucy, was very interested in the President and it would behoove him to strike while the iron was hot, so to speak.

------

RIFC MacMillan, the great aerobase on the southern tip of Sentry Island, picked up the damaged Shackleton on their radranger as it rumbled west. The base’s duty officer decided to send a message before scrambling interceptors.

“Unidentified aerocraft, you are on course to enter Shieldian aerospace. Please state your intention. Repeat, unidentified aerocraft, you are on course to enter Shieldian aerospace. Please state your intention.”

((sorry all these took so long. I’ve been terribly unmotivated of late. :())

"Ground control, this is Pelican 8 out of Petropavlovsk. We have an engine on fire and are loosing gasoline rapidly. Intending to ditch near shore, over."

The Shackleton continues westward precariously, as crewmen try desperately to get the engine fire extinguishers working. The aircraft continues to burn badly, and visibly looses altitude every minute as its commander tries for a ditching close to shore.

“Acknowledged, Pelican Eight. We are alerting Coastal Command to your situation. Please advise if you will be ditching in the ocean.”

“Acknowledged, Pelican Eight. We are alerting Coastal Command to your situation. Please advise if you will be ditching in the ocean.”

"Roger that, ground control. We will be ditching in the ocean."
"Get ready to ditch!"

The Shackleton navigator sights land coming up in front of the aircraft, and identifies it as the southern part of the Shield.

The aircraft makes a wide turn to run parallel with the coast as the fire intensifies, and looks almost ready to take the wing off. The pilot eases the nose down, and flares for a landing, cutting the throttle way back as the airplane eases into the Pacific amidst a plume of spray.

The crew immediately bails out into the ocean, and several life rafts are inflated as the pilot does a head count.

ooc: if we do this get together let's make a seperate thread

ic: President Jefferson was sad to see many of the Iansislanders leave his beloved nation but all were qualified citizens of Fultonia and thier children would be once they came of age as well. Karl was in the office looking over his invitations.

"Mr. President, I think a nice party before the election would do you well."

"Karl, I think you're right. Respond to the invitation and let them know I'll be attending."

"Roger that, ground control. We will be ditching in the ocean."
"Get ready to ditch!"

The Shackleton navigator sights land coming up in front of the aircraft, and identifies it as the southern part of the Shield.

The aircraft makes a wide turn to run parallel with the coast as the fire intensifies, and looks almost ready to take the wing off. The pilot eases the nose down, and flares for a landing, cutting the throttle way back as the airplane eases into the Pacific amidst a plume of spray.

The crew immediately bails out into the ocean, and several life rafts are inflated as the pilot does a head count.

“Roger that, Pelican Eight. Rescue craft are on the way.”

Depending on the crews’ geographical prowess, they might be able to identify the spit of land as Cape Jackson, the south-westernmost part of the Shield. Sentry Island’s craggy peaks loomed in the distance. After about fifteen minutes, the crew heard the droning of an MPAF-8* Spirit-R. The twin engine reconnaissance flyer dipped low over the downed crew and waggled her wings before climbing and starting to circle.

Soon thereafter, a small cutter from the Royal Life Saving Service appeared on the horizon, angling for where the Spirit reported the downed airmen. Fortunatly, the seas are fairly calm for the Western Marches.

ooc: if we do this get together let's make a seperate thread

ic: President Jefferson was sad to see many of the Iansislanders leave his beloved nation but all were qualified citizens of Fultonia and thier children would be once they came of age as well. Karl was in the office looking over his invitations.

"Mr. President, I think a nice party before the election would do you well."

"Karl, I think you're right. Respond to the invitation and let them know I'll be attending."

((would you like to start the thread or shall I?))

OOC: start out the link and I'll jump in if you don't mind.

IC: A letter from Minister Wheatly to the Royal Iansislian Navy

The people of Fultonia understand the difficulties that the people of the Iansisle face. However, we can no longer remain involved in operations around your grand nation. We remain loyal to the nobility and royalty of your grand nation and will stand shoulder to shoulder with them until proper leadership is restored. We offer our aid and support as we already ahve in regards to the Dominion, the nobles from Weshield, and your Grand King. If we may offer our services to people of Iansisle do not hesitate to send word. My God Bless Iansisle.

Respectfully,
Minister Wheatly

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

President Jefferson was ordering the Special Operations fleet away from Iansisle and they would begin heading home in one weeks time. THe fleet had been in the conflict zone for three months and needed to be reassigned to other areas of interest.

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

Communique given to the Gull Republic Prime Minister from Presidetn Jefferson

TO the leaders of the Gull Republic,

Today I make the decision to work secretly with your government. I can not officially acknowledge your government but in the interest of your people, I will work through you. Respond to this letter and we will begin communications.

Respectfully,
President of the Grand Republic Jefferson

Admiral Martin Hansfield looked up in annoyance as someone rapped on the heavy oaken door of the First Sea Lord’s officer. His tone slightly touchy, he called for the knocker to enter.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” started the Admiralty’s operations officer, “but we’ve just...we’ve...er, Admiral Hansfield, sir?”

“Something on your mind, Captain Atwood?” asked Hansfield in a bemused tone that still managed to convey the proper amount of danger.

“Your pardon, sir - I was just, er, expecting to see Admiral Kennington...” Atwood left unsaid that one might expect to find the First Sea Lord in the First Sea Lord’s office, or that Hansfield’s presence behind Kennington’s desk was highly unusual.

“Sir Hunter came down with a bad cold earlier, captain. He’s taken the rest of the week off. I’m just finishing the paperwork.” He gestured at the stacks of paper lining the desk.

“Yes, sir. Again, your pardon - I hadn’t been informed.”

Hansfield smiled thinly. There was a good reason for that. “Probably a communications problem somewhere along the line. Anyhow, captain, you had something to bring to the First Lord’s attention?”

“Yes, sir. A communication from Fultonia.” Atwood handed the hardcopy to Hansfield, who examined it carefully.

“Hmm. Route this to the Directorate Madders and the Director Rinehart. Have Rinehart’s people collaborate with Vice Admiral Mayfield’s office for the response. I want to see it on my desk by noon tomorrow.”

“Sir?” asked Atwood, who clearly thought that Hansfield was overstepping his bounds a little.

“I believe you heard your orders, captain?” replied the admiral in a questionless tone.

“Aye aye, sir,” replied the unfortunate Atwood.

---------

Minister Wheatley,

I are truly sorry to hear that your forces are being withdrawn and wish you best of luck on all of Fultonia’s future endeavors. The Royal Iansislean Navy has enjoyed working with your government these past few months.

For now, I believe in the ability of both the RIN and the civilian government to solve all the problems facing us, though we shall not hesitate to call upon our Fultonian friends should they need us.

God bless Iansisle and Fultonia,

Grand Admiral Sir Hunter N. Kennington Bt. FL IC
Approved the Rt. Hon. R.L. Laungdon, First Lord of the Admiralty
In the name of HM the King

-----

President Jefferson,

I was quite honored to learn that you have decided to work with us and I understand the need for secrecy. Together we shall be able to free the people of Iansisle from the forces which have held them back. I will contact you further when I return from Roania.

Bradsworth

ANORAN TIMES

In a bold move only four days away from the election President Jefferson has announced that the Special Operations Fleet currently working in Iansisle to stabilize the region is being reassigned to work in a little nation known as Sierra Cava. THey are to stop for a few weeks R&R before being reassigned. Many in the public began to call on the government to intervene in the troubled nation after a string of ads and news stories highlighting the troubled region.

No one is sure how this will effect the elections although....

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

Jefferson was preparing for a noble ball as Mandi his personnel assistant knocked on the door. "Come in Mandi."

"Sir, word has returned and the interim government is willing to negotiate."

"Very well, hopefully it works out. Have a good night out Mandi."

She laughed, "you too sir, I'm sure Jennifer and I will enjoy the night out."

“Roger that, Pelican Eight. Rescue craft are on the way.”

Depending on the crews’ geographical prowess, they might be able to identify the spit of land as Cape Jackson, the south-westernmost part of the Shield. Sentry Island’s craggy peaks loomed in the distance. After about fifteen minutes, the crew heard the droning of an MPAF-8* Spirit-R. The twin engine reconnaissance flyer dipped low over the downed crew and waggled her wings before climbing and starting to circle.

Soon thereafter, a small cutter from the Royal Life Saving Service appeared on the horizon, angling for where the Spirit reported the downed airmen. Fortunatly, the seas are fairly calm for the Western Marches.

The Shackleton crewmen, dressed in their british-style aviator uniforms and bright orange life preservers, wave towards the cutter from their life rafts near the fuselage of the plane, which slowly sinks.

“The floor will recognize the MA from Eastergate,” said the Speaker of the Assembly, the crash of his gavel echoing throughout the great marble halls of Jameston Place.

The abhorrence Iansisle felt for the corrupt party system of the ancien régime had retarded the development of factionalism in the National Assembly during its first elections of 18 May, a fact that was much celebrated by the pundits. However, no parties meant no official opposition and no shadow cabinet to counterbalance the government - and everyone knew just where the battle lines were drawn regardless of party affiliation.

The old county and borough system of the Grand Empire had been replaced by two hundred and twenty-five districts spanning the Shield and Sentry Island. Dianatran, Gallaga, and the other colonies, as always, were completely unrepresented at Jameston. According to the new Constitution - which had been finished and approved by the King just weeks before the election - each district elected one Member of the Assembly (which had taken its new name after the Constitution had been drafted) and one vote for the Premier. In theory, this meant that the Premier would control the largest block of votes without resort to the party system; in practice? who knows?

Of course, fumed Lawrence Madders MA Eastergate, the confusion with the constitution meant that Charles Bradsworth had time to put into practice the most galling misappropriation of votes in Iansislean history and assure himself the premiership. And now he sat at the front of the government, surrounded by his sycophants, as the Premier of the National Assembly and the MA from MacDunn, utterly convinced that he had done nothing wrong, nothing immoral!

Industrial Ianapalis, the very definition of a primate city, had received just eleven of the seats, and four of those - MA Jameston, MA Dûn Sâdôra, MA Westergate, and MA MacDunn - were for the affluent but relatively sparsely populated western section of the city! The industrial workers, on average, would have to vote more than three times to equal the votes of one person in western Ianapalis, and at least six times to equal the vote of a person from the rural areas. The rations were the same in the Daldon Basin, Dalenshire, and Editraequán - which were Madders’ faction’s primary base of support.

As a result, some one hundred of the MAs could be considered firm Bradsworth supporters - or ‘Gull Flaggers,’ as they were becoming known in news sources that dared to allude to creeping factionalism in the Assembly - and perhaps only twenty-five or thirty firm Madders supporters, or ‘Grand Streeters.’ The remaining ninety-odd Members of the Assembly were from strongly royalist districts in the rural and northern areas of the Shield, who could be counted on to vote with the moderate Gull Flaggers. Had the districting been done fairly, Madders could have counted on about fifty votes at the expense of the royalists and another twenty or so from the Gull Flaggers - enough to challenge Bradsworth for the government.

Madders could feel Bradsworth’s eyes boring into him as he rose from his bench in the front row of Jameston’s semicircular debating chamber. Two hundred assemblymen were hardly a drop in the colossal room, which was meant to hold two thousand members of the old Combined Parliament. The tile work on the floor between the Assembly and the government was still fashioned as a giant St Patrick’s Cross, although Gull Flag banners decorated every wall in the room. Madders snorted to himself - ten months in power, and Bradsworth had not even yet managed to remove one of the most obvious trappings of the Grand Empire.

To think that Bradsworth had even offered, in all sincerity, a cabinet position to him. He’d wanted Madders to give up every last one of his principles in exchange for the Directorship of the War Office; he’d wanted Madders to whore himself out to be a minority vote in Bradsworth’s flock of lackeys! Of course Madders had vehemently turned down the offer, as had most of his supporters, such as Daniel Sharpe, Edmund Crossel, Peter Finston, and Roland Sabot. Only Ian Appleton - poor, corruptible Appleton! - had been lured in by the promise of the Directorship of the Gallaga Office.

But now Madders had a plan - perhaps not a cunning plan, but one nevertheless. He cleared his throat and addressed himself to the National Assembly.

“Fellow Assemblymen,” he said, his loud voice booming across the nearly empty room, “we all know that democracy - one vote for every man - is the reason for such an illustrious gathering of minds from across the Shield and Sentry Island.”

Down in the Premier's seat, Bradsworth smiled. So Madders was still writing his own speeches - a shame. The Man with the Golden Tongue would have enjoyed some actual competition from the Man with the Bull for a Head. He settled in to listen to the remainder of Madders’ surely ludicrous proposal. Doubtlessly, he was still upset about his dismal showing in the Premiership Election - a mere sixteen out of two hundred and twenty-five, behind even the royalist candidate the Baron Desitian. Bradsworth, on the other hand, had won one hundred and twenty-seven of the districts - a solid majority.

“Surely, therefore,” Madders was continuing. “We must work to ensure that every man’s vote is worth as much as his neighbor’s, whether they live next door or across the Shield from one another; whether they live in an industrial project or a rural community.”

Bradsworth could smell the calls to redistricting a mile away. Not that this Assembly was likely to grant Madders that.

“Which is why, gentlemen, I would like to propose a full census of all the United Kingdom and its dependencies, taken every five years,” concluded Madders.

Well, thought Bradsworth with a wry grin, it appears even Larry can surprise us every now and then.

((ooc: This is sort of the “What are you talking about? I don’t have three finals for which I ought to be studying!” post. Don’t expect to see me again for a week, at which time I hope to catch up with any/everything I’ve let drop the past month or so. Cheers, everyone! :)

-Ian))

ooc:well well, a census. So I guess my operatives in country are going to have to stay put and adapt. LOL. Ok, I'm gonna declare an election victory and once we're both out of finals we can roleplay a little romance. :)

ic: Margaret was a married woman, her husband and herself spies for the grand republic. They had done thier patriotic duty and voted for Bradsworth for Premier. Sometimes she wished that she knew the number of other operatives in country but I guess that'll never be known.

((I hear you on that, Fult. So, I just found out that an essay (which I thought was due on Thursday) was due today. And I found out an hour after the thing was due.

Thank God my professor was very nice and understanding. She gave me until Wednesday as an extension, so now I'm busy cranking it out. Well, mostly I'm getting sources while watching NS update, but the basic idea is the same ;).))

((LOL, damn I-man, that sounds familiar! Good luck on that paper! ))

ooc:well well, a census. So I guess my operatives in country are going to have to stay put and adapt. LOL. Ok, I'm gonna declare an election victory and once we're both out of finals we can roleplay a little romance. :)

((Well, I'm done at last! The next week should still be pretty busy, but I ought to be able to set aside at least a couple hours most nights. In other words, I am *at long freakin' last* ready to RP that romance.

The only problem: I've forgotten all my character names/where to look them up. Mind if I just start pulling names out of a hat?

Lark: LOL, yeah. I'm going to try and keep it from being familiar here, too. Of course, with MY memory...))

“Is this really important, Ben?” asked Bradsworth wearily as he gestured his foreign director to a chair. “I’ve reports from every corner of the Shield and the empire - census reports from that damnable Madders. He was good enough about collecting the information, but when it comes to processing it -”

“It’s important,” replied Rinehart. “More bad news from Effit. Didanio is refusing to step down his mobilization. The War Office predicts they’ll have half a million men at arms marshaled on the Upper Jaizar in a month.”

Bradsworth set down the report from Dalenshire over which he had been pouring for the past hour and rubbed his sore eyes. “Well, that is bad news. The Gadsani response?”

“They’re continuing their own mobilization - War Office predicts they’ll be able to raise a hundred thousand men or so in the same time period.”

“Only?”

“They’re having a hard time raising capital in Lakeriverwood, Charles. They’ve had to build almost an entire modern war infrastructure and train a military force from scratch - that takes cash, a lot of it. With the amount of debt they’ve already incurred, even the UBC is having a hard time loaning them more and no one wants to invest in bonds. A hundred thousand more troops will be stretching Gadsan’s ability to feed and clothe them, much less pay them.”

“Are they courting our help?”

“Constantly, which is making the Noropians pitch an absolute fit. Effit, meanwhile, has been threatening to cease RIFC Insula Modesta if we loan Gadsan a single keneral.”

Bradsworth leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Well, Ben, I want your honest opinion here. We have more than 200,000 men at arms right now without counting the Gallagan army, the largest peace-time deployment in Iansislean history. 80,000 men in Gallaga, 50,000 in Dianatran, 33,000 in the Philippines, and 38,000 in Weshield. Can we afford to maintain the position as an imperial power and fight the Effitians in Gadsan?”

“We can’t afford not to fight, Charles, I’ll tell you that now,” insisted Rinehart at once, leaning forward with fire in his eyes. “Even with James, the Assembly still lacks credibility across the Shield. There one thing that could unite poor with rich, Weshielder with Normarcher with Shadoranite, and aristocrat with revolutionary -”

“And that’s a showdown with the traditional enemy over territory long held by the Iansislean crown,” replied Bradsworth with a deeper sigh. “I don’t like gambling on war, Ben - there’s too much left to chance.”

“It could be that Didanio has no stomach for a real fight,” said Rinehart with a shrug. “Just testing our resolve.”

“It could be Fashoda,” granted Bradsworth. “However, it could also be Sarajevo. Is that really a chance we can take, especially with a new mutinous plot brewing every other week in Gallaga?”

“Ah,” said Rinehart with a sly smile. “I thought you might mention that, my dear sir.”

Bradsworth arched an eyebrow.

“It just so happens,” continued Rinehart, “that I have been thinking long and hard on that very same problem for some time now.”

“You have.”

“Yes. I agree that we can’t fight the Effitians without plugging the Gallagan ulcer first. Now, what’s been our primary handicap in restricting the actions of the Rumbiak Brigade and the other rabble rousers? They have a safe haven to which they can retreat at any time without fear of reprisals. Why have they had so much success in brewing trouble? Because there hasn’t been a major punitive action to demonstrate the real power of the Raj since 1829.

“I suggest, therefore, that we go after these traitors right where they live. We have the resources in Gallaga to effect a direct invasion of the Maratha Confederacy. Two, three weeks and we can count on a loyal - and expanded - Gallaga for years.”

“My God,” mused Bradsworth, picking up a pen in his left hand. “When did you become such a hawk, Ben? Is there anyone else on whom you’d like to make war, so long as we’re at it?”

“This world wasn’t made for people unprepared to take risks, Charles,” replied Rinehart. “We have been handed here a golden opportunity to unite both Gallaga and Iansisle. In one theater, we can demonstrate the power of the King-Emperor to end a bloody and costly terror campaign; in the other, we can preserve that same power by helping to unify this country behind the National Assembly once and for all. And,” he added, tapping Bradsworth’s dropped report, “the best part is that Mr Madders has given us the means to destroy him.”