NationStates Jolt Archive

Marlund. For years, the nation had quietly been the site of untold misery and oppression. Slavery, the oppression of women, the persecution of Jews, Catholics, homosexuals, and intellectuals, the supression of all dissent, those were the traits that marked Marlund for most of its existence. While other nations flaunted their rogue nation status, Marlund was content to avoid world attention and the corresponding moves against it by the international community. The murderous regime just sat there, content to occupy its own little corner of the scarcely inhabited continent of Ambara and to bring untol misery to its own people.

Of course, Marlund was not completely without contact with the outside world. There was a great deal of commerce between the illegal, international criminal market in forced prostitution and the locally legal slave trade in Marlund. Marlunders would even pay to have people kidnapped to pursue their perverse ends and they would fund terrorist groups who attacked the free world. This proved to be their undoing.

A Marlund funded terrorist group created an explosion of epic proportions in the Danaan harbor of Armonvale, killing tens of thousands. Incidentally, this same terrorist group was responsible for terrorist acts and murders in Pantocratoria and is known to have had an unrealized intention to commit similar acts in Menelmacar and the C'tan. Another Marlund funded terrorist group purchased Pantocratorian Princess Theodora from her kidnappers and subjected her to severe torture.

Tracing the terrorist network, Danaan intelligence eventually managed to find the Marlund connection. A special military force, under the command of Brendan, then Duke of Algha and now Prince of Holista, was sent to capture or kill the terrorists responsible for the Armonvale attack. The mission allowed Danaan forces to do an unintended act of good. The troops discovered Princess Theodora and five other women at the base and freed them. They killed a large number of terrorists and took many more prisoner. Unfortunately, this was to be neither the defeat of the terror cell or the end of the operation.

A great many terrorists escaped to alert regular Marlund forces. The Marlund military moved quickly against what was, after all, an unauthorized foreign military presence on their soil. More substantial Danaan forces, waiting in reserve off the coast, were soon deployed. It was war!

The fighting was intense but brief. While, in absolute numbers, there were many casualties on both sides, the Danaan military was able to absorb them far easier than the much smaller Marlund military. Within a week, the territory of Marlund had fallen to the Resurgent Dream.

The liberal-minded Danaans had no taste for conquest or even for long-term occupation. They acted swiftly to set up a provisional constitutional monarchist government under the descendant of a prince who had ruled Marlund in pre-fascist days. Elections were scheduled in one year.

Of course, there were still terrorist and other rebel elements in Marlund. The new Marlund government, now recognized as sovereign, not only asked the Danaans to stay and help keep order, they also invited troops from Pantocratoria and Adoki to do the same.

Pantocratoria had a fortunate confluence of interests in the matter. The Emperor wanted vengeance for what had been done to his daughter. The Socialists sitting in government were sympathetic to the plight of the former slaves and desired to help them. Ordinary people agreed with such goals in the abstract but only in the abstract. What the people of Pantocratoria wanted out of this was safety for themselves from the maniacs who had committed acts of terrorism on their soil, even if they were largely done by Pantocratorian recruits and directed against foreigners.

Pantocratorian, Adoki, and Danaan forces were thus all sent. The Pantocratorian forces were under the command of the Duc de Montmanuel. The duke had previously been commander of the Empire's forces in Syskeyia before the Pantocratorian withdrawal from that conflict. Looking forward to a return home and to the arms of his young wife, His Grace was instead assigned a command of the new expedition to Marlund. It was inconvenient and frustrating to be sure but he thought he could live with it...until he found out the reason through some of his friends at court. The Duchesse de Montmanuel had not only been unfaithful with Prince Andreus himself but had conceived a child in the affair. To avoid scandal befalling his court and his son's new marriage to Empress Aurora of Lavenrunz, the Emperor had arranged for Montmanuel to be kept away from his wife with this appointment. There was an element of genuine hurt. It had not been a marriage of love. Most marriages among Pantocratorian aristocrats aren't. However, he was a man of normal sensibilities and had some natural attachment to the woman which had been betrayed. More prominent, however, was the humiliation, the scorn, the insolence of such a betrayal. Whatever his inner feelings, Montmanuel had been distracted the entire campaign.

The first Danaan commander was none less than Grand Duchess Nianki herself, who had also been the Overall Allied Commander during her tour. Any number of rumors surroung the time the warrior maiden spent here, including some regarding her and a young Pantocratorian officer which suggest she might not be a maiden after all.

Nianki left some time before the tragic events of the Shattering and was replaced as both Danaan commander and Overall Allied Commander by General George Reagan, an aging career officer. Reagan is an intensely private man and very little is known of his personal life, even by the closest officers under his command.

The commander of the Adoki forces was General Junichiro Ichida. Ichida was a rather harsh man who carried himself with an air of superiority towards the other officers, in spite of the fact that he commanded the fewest men. As a result, Ichido's company was often avoided by the other commanders.

The commander of the native Marlund forces was General Hans Schiller. A proud man who spent years in the resistance, Schiller couldn't help but feel embarassed at having to accept foreign help and it showed in his dealings with the other commanders.

At first, there had been fighting with the remaining terrorists, now calling themselves the Sons of the Reformation. These forces not only carried out terror attacks in the cities but set up a guerrilla war in the wilds to the East of Marlund, in land which was legally terra nullius. However, this frontier was rendered relatively secure after a good deal of hard fighting.

A large chunk of territory in the Northwest of Ambara was set aside for the establishment of a number of new Danaan principalities. Of particular note was a new Terran Selinia, which was considered an integral part of Selinia. Prince Aaron and his family were scheduled to move into a new palace on Earth in just a few years. The limited area of the Lunar Colony and the declining interest of the Danaan people and government in space affairs had rendered such a move ultimately unavoidable but many were surprised it had come so soon.

The Pantocratorians had established their own colony between Marlund and Adoki, so called Pantocratorian Ambara. The establishment of this colony was not only going well but had caused quite a stir among the lower nobility and upper gentry. After all, if the colony was going to reproduce Pantocratorian society, the new lands would need estates and titles and the only likely way to get persons of quality to move to such an untamed land would be to offer them newly created titles and lands there, albeit not so much above their current dignity as to unbalance the principles of hereditary aristocracy.

In the last few months, the terrorist threat had waned. While there was still a strong allied presence in Marlund, as well as strong military defenses for both the Pantocratorian and Danaan colonies, the emphasis had shifted more towards reconstruction. Reconstruction in Marlund really rested on four rather powerful people.

Reverend Heinrich Wolff was one of the main forces for the reform of religious institutions in Marlund. Rev. Wolff, a life long Marlund abolitionist, has been preaching the sort of doctrines associated with mainstream Lutheranism and has been fighting to get the Lutheran majority of Marlund to accept them. The elderly but passionate and learned cleric has been in debate after debate with many of Marlund's most notorious religious reactionaries. Of course, most viewers don't have their minds changed by such things. The change in how people actually lived would do more of the work.

Dr. Hermann Bauer was the official head of the reconstruction effort. An aloof figurehead, Dr. Bauer was an academic sociologist whose ideas tend to be abstract and to require lots more work before they became in any way useful.

Lucretia Farmer was a leader among the ex-slaves themselves. She had very little specialty training and was largely relied on to carry the needs and feelings of the community to the experts and vice versa. People felt they could trust her more than they could trust foreigners or Marlund whites.

Sarah Carter was a Danaan expert who was helping out the Marlunders. She was in charge of all the charity, social reconstruction aid, and other helpful materials being brought in by the Danaan government.

The Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp was the latest in a series of efforts to help breach the deep divisions that separated the peoples of Ambara. The camp brought children of all races and creeds together from the four nations which had holdings in Ambara. So that hiking, swimming, and the like could be done freely, without modesty being an issue, boys and girls went to separate camps. However, the two camps would meet at the end of the summer for a dance.

The camp was for kids aged thirteen to seventeen with councilors in their early twenties to help the kids deal with problems that might arise. Most of the councilors were young, middle-class, attractive college students out to do some good in the world. They tended to be idealistic and optimistic.

Today was the fifth day of camp and, at the girls camp, the teens were supposed to be going swimming down at the river. Alexis Ford, the young councilor, smiled as she watched them slip off their sandals and t-shirts and head in in their bathing suits. "Remember, don't swim into the middle of the river. That's where the current is."

Pantocratorian Ambara was seen by many ordinary Pantocratorians as a chance for a new and happier life, and had been the subject of a great deal of migration. For the settlers, it was hard going, but rewarding. There was still very little infrastructure in the colony, but that meant that there was plenty of work which needed to be done, and that meant that there were plenty of jobs for colonists. For Pantocratoria's most miserable citizens, a colonist's life was an appealing one - a new country, a new start, guaranteed work, and of course, the ducat had a lot more buying power in Ambara. People who had lived in tenements in New Constantinople could live in standalone houses on huge blocks of land in Andrium - for the cost of a plane ticket and a few months hard work in Ambara's uranium mines, instead of the lifetime of savings such a home would cost in Pantocratoria.

Isaakios Kostapoulos and his family had barely been able to afford their rent in New Constantinople's poorer suburbs, although mercifully, they could afford to rent in the city itself rather than in the slums and shanty towns which surrounded it, like Mortville. He had been a builder's labourer back in the Despotate. He had signed on for a colonist program, whereby he agreed to work in a uranium mine in central Pantocratorian Ambara for a period of three months unpaid (although his food and board were both paid for by the mining company). At the end of that period, he was given a block of land in Andrium, and was free to work wherever he liked. He had elected to remain at the uranium mine to take advantage of a scheme negotiated with the mining company by the colonial government and the unions, whereby he would receive half the usual salary over a two year period while the company paid for the construction of a large, family home on his block of land. He had gone from barely being able to pay his rent for a tiny, squallid tenement in New Constantinople to owning a large family home with a big backyard and plenty of space for the kids to play in his own right.

Josephine Gastin's family had moved from Montmanuel in Pantocratoria to the colony earlier that year, just before her thirteenth birthday. She had thought it was so unfair, moving before she could have one last birthday party with all her friends back in Montmanuel, and her thirteenth birthday had been a fairly miserable affair. She had made plenty of new friends to make up for it at the Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp, however, and the tears shed at her first birthday party in the new family home in Andrium were long forgotten as she eagerly followed the other girls into the river in her stylish (but modest) swimming costume. Her bathing suit was from a fashionable New Rome boutique, and was one of her birthday presents, as was her stay at the camp.

Like most ordinary residents of the Principality of Alekthos, Bahiga Mosharafa and her family had not come over from the Resurgent Dream proper but had instead been attracted by Danaan attempts to bring new immigrants, especially to the colonies in Ambara.

Bahiga's family had always been rather poor and her father had jumped at the chance to make a new life in an untamed land. Things hadn't been that easy and the Mosharafas were still reliant on the state to make ends meet. Similar problems among millions of immigrants resulted in a much more expensive welfare program in Danaan Ambara than in the rest of the High Kingdom.

Be that as it may, Bahiga had taken advantage of what might be her only chance to go to an outdoors camp. Moreover, the all girls environment allowed her to dress as she wished without fear of being brained immodest for the first time in her life. That being said, her bathing suit remained a cheap, one piece affair that could hardly compare to Josephine's fashionable one.

Bahiga was about Josephine's age. She hopped in right after the Pantocratorian girl and swam towards her. "That looks really good on you, Josie! Where'd you get it?"

Necrontyr Newspaper Stop-press

C’tani Government Announces Aid to Marlund

The war torn state of Marlund, long an overlooked nation considered by most to have been the classic definition of ‘rogue state’ has become the latest beneficiary of the Imperial Government’s foreign aid spending. Under the present regime, and the watchful eye of Danaan and Pantocratorian peacekeepers, Marlund has begun moving forwards.

While only a fraction of the total Imperial Aid budget, the sum, unofficially disclosed as around three hundred million credits, or slightly over six hundred million universal standard dollars, is expected to be the first of many this year, and anticipated to make a significant difference to several programmes in Marlund.

This comes in the wake of recent suggestions by several high profile commentators that the ‘overseas’ aid fund be tasked with sending funds to Labor Movement groups in Pantocratoria engaged in work against the poverty stricken slums…

Corrina Sharon cringed inwardly at the catcalls that greeted her from the construction workers along the side of the road. In her short skirt and high heels, the young woman had dressed to attract attention, though she had hoped for attention from more sophisticated men. Of course, construction sites could hardly be avoided in Solomon, the new capital of Selinia and her first Terran city, still under construction.

Corrina just wished the roads were good enough to drive on or that the bus system was up and running. She was finding the constant walking so inconvenient that she had considered starting to wear sneakers most places. Where she was going this afternoon, however, that was hardly an option.

While a young woman, a little bit of good business sense, a good deal of family fortune, and, most importantly, an extensive network of family ties, had made her one of the foremost bourgeois of Selinia through almost no merit of her own. It was as such that she was on her way to a colonization dinner of prominent investors, one likely to shape much of Terran Selinia's diplomatic future.

The people of Marlund owe a great debt of gratitude to the government and people of the C'tan for their generous aid. These funds shall go a great way towards establishing basic healthcare and literacy in the southern part of Marlund. Literacy is the key to many other areas of reconstruction. It is through education that the many citizens of Marlund forcibly kept functioning at an almost animal level for many centuries can learn to function as citizens in accordance with their natural dignity as free and equal men.
-Dr. Hermann Bauer
...
Vespasian Hunter sat in his small apartment in the town of Beyke, leafing through his dog-eared copy of Quotations From Chairman Mao. Like most of the former slaves, Hunter and his comrades still remembered when owning a copy of this book had been a capital offense. Hell, he remembered when a man of his race knowing how to read it or any other book had been a crime. Unlike most of the former slaves, however, Hunter was hardly grateful to the men he considered his new masters. He huffed slightly. He didn't intend to have finally escaped feudal-slavery only to fall under the rule of Danaan and Pantocratorian neocolonialism!

He huffed slightly. He didn't intend to have finally escaped feudal-slavery only to fall under the rule of Danaan and Pantocratorian neocolonialism!

OOC: I'd say 'chattel slavery' for the former. After all, Pantocratoria has more than a slight slice of feudalism of its own. ;)

"I got it for my birthday." Josephine answered as she swam out a little in the water, next to Bahiga. "It's from New Rome. C'est très à la mode."

The girl from Montmanuel disappeared beneath the water for a moment and then resurfaced, wetting her long hair, before straightening out and standing up in a shallow part of the water so that Bahiga could see the whole costume.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

Bahiga smiled. "It's so pretty, Josie! You look pretty!" She swam over to the other girl. "That must have been a very happy birthday." Although vaguely aware that Josie's family had more money than her own, Bahiga still assumed the bathing suit must have been quite the treasure.

Elizabeth Harding splashed over towards Bahiga and Josephine. She was a girl a few years older than the two of them. She was in a two piece bathing suit which was from as nice a place as Josie's but...all of her clothing was from places like that. Elizabeth came from a rather wealthy family who settled in the Principality of Amory because of the many opportunities to expand their business. "It looks lovely on you, Josephine." she said.

"Thanks, Elizabeth." Josephine replied to the older girl as she passed by, and turned back to Bahiga. "It wasn't a very happy birthday actually, we had just moved to Ambara and I didn't know anybody, all my friends were back in Montmanuel. I got really nice presents though."

She looked about uneasily, for some reason feeling like she was being watched, before shrugging it off and heading back underneath the water and swimming out with Bahiga to the other girls.

Princess Christiana tried to relax as her Boeing 767 – she tried not to take being assigned the smaller and older, though still luxurious aircraft as a slight – made its final approach in Marlund. She had made, it seemed, hundreds of humanitarian aid trips, but this was her first trip since being dragged through the press.

So, the normally unflappable firebrand felt uncharacteristically nervous. The Princess knew that the press, the politicians and even her brother the Emperor were watching her and waiting for her to provoke another scandal.

She sighed and closed the binder resting on her lap. She had read as much as she could about Marlund, but she still felt woefully uninformed and ill prepared. She glanced over at her long-time confident and best friend. Janet had been with her through more than she could remember and always been a source of strength and comfort. Ever since the press had revealed the… other side of their relationship, however, things had been strained. It was almost as if they had become strangers over night.

Christiana turned to the other side of the plane and glanced at Baron Janis Tagaarth. She and the baron had only recently become friends. They had, of course, been acquaintances for years, but in the last few weeks they had formed a much closer bond.

The baron had been looking for a job. Not really a job, more like a mission or a purpose in life apart from running his late father’s business holdings. Christiana had interested in him in her charity work, so it had seemed only natural to invite him along to Marlund.

Yet, somehow, that had only made things worse with Janet.

Christiana sighed. Soon they would be on the ground and busy meeting with local officials, as well as the Danaans and the Pantocratorians. Then, she would feel useful. And, she hoped, happy.

The Governor of Pantocratorian Ambara was former Pantocratorian Minister for Foreign Affairs and distinguished United Christian Front luminary, Sir Pierre Phocas. The elderly gentleman was waiting on the tarmac along with a small troop of the Colonial Infantry Legion dressed in their white dress uniforms. Sir Pierre's wife had died several years before, but he was escorted by his daughter, Marie, an attractive, almost-overweight woman in her late thirties.

Sir Pierre had been appointed to the vice-regal position for a number of reasons. He was a former minister of long experience and eminently qualified for the job, even if he was getting a big long in the tooth. Politically and diplomatically he was well respected, and came from the moderate wing of the United Christian Front (the wing which had rallied around Prince Basil). He was also the Duke of Montmanuel's maternal uncle, which helped given that the Duke of Montmanuel was in command of Pantocratorian forces in Ambara. To assist Sir Pierre, in the best traditions of Pantocratorian democracy, his son in law, Marie's husband, Philippe Andronique, had been appointed Mayor of Andrium, the colony's capital.

It wasn't clear who exactly in the palace had been responsible for arranging this stroke of apparent luck for the Duke of Montmanuel's relatives. The Emperor and Prince Basil were both known to hold Sir Pierre in high esteem, and Prince Constantine had developed a good working relationship with Philippe Andronique in his former position as Director of the Ministry of Public Safety. And yet the most popular theory was that Montmanuel's relatives had been the beneficiaries of this apparent windfall because of the intervention of the Despot, presently residing with his wife in Lavenrunz. If the move had been intended to stop Montmanuel's frequent letters to the Emperor, the Despot, and Duke of Adrienople (holding court on the Despot's behalf in New Constantinople) demanding the return of his wife, pregnant with the Despot's child, it had been thoroughly unsuccessful.

The charges of nepotism didn't touch the sides for Sir Pierre, however. He was used to having to prove that he was worthy of jobs thrust upon him apparently undeservingly, and he intended to do just that one more time with the governorship of Pantocratorian Ambara. He humbly awaited Abraham Goldfarb, Foreign Minister of the Resurgent Dream, with a self-confident and yet gentle smile.

Duke Heinrich von Homsberg stood in his new Marlund uniform, looking like a resplendent noble of any respectable court and giving nothing away in his personal appearance about the sorry state Marlund really was in. A small orchestra stood behind him, playing the Excalbian national anthem.

The Duke smiled and bowed as Princess Christiana arrived, kissing her hand lightly. "Welcome to Marlund, Your Highness. His Highness is looking forward to meeting you."

A sermon on audio cassette by Reverend Immanuel Schlegel smuggled into Reformed Marlund, Pantocratorian Ambara, and Danaan Ambara and distributed as far as possible, taking care to get it to the press and mailing one copy direct to Christiana and another to the Excalbian consulate, entitled A Sodomite Whore Visits Marlund:

"Is it not enough that the Danaan race-mixers, the Pantocratorian Papists, and the demon worshipping idolators of Adoki pollute fair Marlund, once a godly land, with their mere presence? Is it not enough that they seek to overthrow God's abiding and divine punishment on the children of Ham, known to anyone who bothers to simply read the Bible? Is it not enough that the worship of not only Mary and the Saints but even of demons is forced to be accepted by God's faithful as religion? Is it not enough that godless miscegenation and even bestiality are legally styled marriage by the Hell-bound puppets of the infidel?

"No! Nothing is enough for these foreigners whom God has given over wholly to a reprobate mind! There is no obscenity which they will not visit on Marlund, no insult they will not hurl at their Creator.

"We endured the insult to God's commandments regarding both the role of the man and the primacy of Man when a female creature, a rabid bitch who looked unnatural even for her monstrous ilk, was placed in overall command of the infidel armies. We endured the insult to God's Truth when the Pantocratorian armies brought with them hoards of false prophets and anti-Christs, preaching the worship of Mary, the whore "Saint" Joan, and the pedophile Pope Leo XIV. We endured the insult to God's laws when these same Pantocratorian idolators violated even their own false faith and turned our beloved nation into a den of whores. Oh, I guess it's fine to be a whore if you're a Papist! All you have to do is kiss a cracker and it makes it all better!

"Still, nothing, I repeat, nothing done so far has even compared in sheer iniquity to the act of the apostate Excalbian Emperor, who betrayed the Protestant faith by [[serving, obscene description used in actual sermon]] the Pantocratorian idolator and whore-monger Andreus, in sending his God-hating, feces-eating, filthy dyke of a whore sister to Marlund to spit in the face of God. Christiana, and the sodomite whore is no princess, spits in the face of her Creator by the mere fact of her putrid and incurably reprobate existence. She comes as a great whore to lead all of Marlund to unfaithfulness to God and to love of her father the devil. She also comes as a great whore more literally, to lie spread for every perverse and reprobate woman she passed in the street, even n***** sluts and Mohammadans.

"The death of this creature, one can hardly call her a woman, would be an act of a saint. Whoever strikes down this she-beast, raving like a rabid sow against God, worshipping at..., and sexually servicing Satan himself, would be a man of righteousness and, though he lose his life in the attempt, he would be a martyr, a jewel in God's brilliant crown. Remember, one day in the front lines of God's Holy Struggle is worth a thousand years praying in an ordinary church."

As the blue and gold 767 taxied towards a troop of uniformed soldiers and a small group of officials, Princess Christiana checked that she was ready to make entrance. The bluish gray pants suit she wore was of a far more conservative cut than was her custom, as was the white blouse she wore beneath it that fell only slightly open at the neckline. With her most recent controversy still bubbling in the press back home and with a decided chill in relations with her brother, she felt it better to at least play at being more conservative and conventional.

The crew opened the door of the plane and shortly thereafter notified the princess that everything was ready for her arrival.

Christiana gathered her portfolio and papers together and handed them to her long-time chief of staff. She and Janet briefly shared a sad, wistful look. Then, she turned to Baron Janis Tagaarth and the rest of her companions. “Shall we go?”

The baron nodded and Christiana turned to lead the group out the door and down the stairs. Halfway to the tarmac the princess paused and politely waved to the assembled crowd. She could not place the man in the Marlund uniform.

The uniformed man bowed as she stepped onto the tarmac. She offered him her hand and he kissed it.

“Thank you, your Excellency,” she said in response to his greeting, still not placing him or his title. “I am pleased to be here. May I present Baron Janis Tagaarth, the new Director of the Imperial Humanitarian Assistance and Development Fund, Mr. Ainars Bastiks, Senior Partner for Bastiks, Murniece and Derks, Monsieur Bernard Le Roux of Lhuillier, Bakchos and Damours, and my chief of staff, Janet Latsone.”

((OOC: Sir Pierre isn't with Christiana))

While the welcoming ceremony was going on, Danaan military vehicles drove onto the tarmac and a man in the uniform of a Colonel leaped down and approached Christiana with a bow. "Your Highness, we'd like to move you out of the open for now. We are going to have to reconsider your security arrangments as well. There have been some new developments."
...
Abraham Goldfarb stepped smilingly from the plane with his wife on his arm. He walked directly towards the knight and gave a small bow before offering his hand. "I'm Abraham Goldfarb."
...
Bahiga laughed a little. "Now you know people though, so everything's ok."

The princess momentarily looked stunned. “What has happened? What is wrong?” She looked from the colonel to the duke. Her voice was steady and calm, but there was just a hint of anxiety in her eyes.

The colonel frowned deeply. "I guess we should let her hear. Sergeant..."

An older sergeant stepped forward. "Your Highness, for what it's worth I'm sorry." He then played the recorded sermon for her, listening somberly as the speaker raved on.

The Colonel looked back to Christiana. "These have been circulated all over the country, Your Highness. I have no choice but to consider it a threat to your safety. Would you please come with me?"

A couple of the other officers smiled reassuringly at Christiana, especially the female officers who were rather supportive and sympathetic in their bearing. However, the Colonel seemed rather in a hurry.

Christiana’s face grew pale and her eyes widened. Other than that, she maintained her poise and an illusion of calm. The princess looked from the colonel back to the duke. She nodded slowly. “With your permission, your Excellency.” She turned back to the colonel. “I guess we should go, then…”

Ainars Bastiks pushed his way forward and leaned towards Christiana. “Your Highness, I suggest we just return to Excalbia. We can transact your business from there and return when circumstances are more favorable…”

Christiana turned sharply to Bastiks and turned to Baron Janis. “Janis?”

“Whatever you want, your Highness,” he whispered.

Christiana nodded. “I shall not be runoff by cowards, Mr. Bastiks.” Then, turning back to the colonel she said, “Colonel, shall we?”

"Yes, Your Highness. If you'll come with me..." the Colonel answered. Christiana was placed into the second of seven unmarked, armored vehicles with the colonel and the military caravan headed off. They pulled in to a nearby Danaan base after awhile and the colonel helped her down. "If you could let us know what all you wish accomplished on this visit, Your Highness, we can make sure it can be done safely."

"Monsieur Goldfarb, I am Sir Pierre Phocas, His Majesty's Governor." Sir Pierre replied, shaking Goldfarb's hand. "Permit me to introduce my daughter, Marie Andronique."

"A pleasure, monsieur." said Marie with a smile.

"Welcome to Pantocratorian Ambara." Sir Pierre continued, leading Goldfarb over to a Peacock Motors limousine with a Danaan flag and the flag of the new colony on little flag poles on the front.

Goldfarb nodded to the young woman. "A pleasure." He then followed the governor to the cars and allowed himself and his wife to be taken to the meeting.

Zwingli Airfield

Homberg frowned deeply as he heard the ranting audio recording. He bowed to Christiana and shook his head regretfully. "I suppose you must go with them, Your Highness. It is my sincerest wish that you understand that men such as Herr Schlegel do not represent my countrymen." He stepped back and watched the Excalbians leave with the Danaan officers.

Beyke

At the Pantocratorian base outside of Beyke, a small truck was pulling up to the gate. The driver, Achilles Porter, was a man who had been ferrying supplies back and forth for the allies since nearly the first days of the war. Today, he was scheduled to be delivering a shipment of food and supplies from the Marlund Storage Depot a few miles outside of town. Porter smiled and tipped his hat to the guards at the gate as he stopped, getting out to let them examine the truck.

Meanwhile, six men were watching through a window as a local police officer made his rounds. They weren't elements of the former regime elements but black men, former slaves who had been freed by Pantocratorian arms. Freed, in their minds, only to become slaves again to neocolonialism. They ran to the door of their building and rushed out before the policeman had much of a chance to respond. One of the rebels grabbed his hand before he could reach his gun while another put a hand over his mouth. A similar scene was played out a dozen times elsewhere in the city.

By this time, the soldiers had become used to Porter. It was inevitable that after months of nothing particularly eventful being found on the man's truck they would stop searching it with the vigour required by regulations. The troops gave it the most cursory look over, and then nodded to Porter and let him into the base.

"Another exciting day at the front..." said one of the soldiers to his comrades with a sarcastic snigger.

The cars took the Goldfarbs and the Governor to the Ambaran Parliament House, which had just been finished in time for next month's elections for the Colonial Legislature. Sir Pierre guided the Danaan Foreign Minister about the Ambaran Parliament, which was built in the Pantocratorian style, combining Pantobyzantine and Baroque. The use of local materials rather than imported ones gave it an Ambaran feel, however, with Ambaran sandstone in place of marble, and locally mined bronze and copper instead of silver or gold lining. It was also much more sparsely decorated than such a building would be in Pantocratoria, since most of the artworks commissioned for the parliament were not yet finished. The only painting in the building was a large portrait of Emperor Andreus hanging on the wall over the grand staircase at the entrance, which was in itself an unusual official portrait since it depicted the Emperor as he was today, in 2005, as opposed to as the young man he was at his coronation.

The tour finished in the Premier's office, where Sir Pierre and Abraham Goldfarb sat down for a meeting, leaving the two women to roam the parliament's gardens with the press. Sir Pierre offered Goldfarb a drink of brandy, and then began.

"Monsieur, my staff and I are very concerned about the possibility that native insurgents will seek to interfere with the upcoming elections. While Andrium and the large towns are reasonably secure, most of the countryside is almost entirely unprotected. It seems to me, monsieur, that it is important for our governments to continue work together in Ambara to stamp out the various dangerous elements, such as those loyal to the previous regime in Marlund." Sir Pierre began. "I am confident that the worst is behind us, and yet the threat still remains and is very real to both Danaan and Pantocratorian interests on the continent."

Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp

Hiratsuka Tomida tossed her raven hair slightly as she slid into the water with the others. Initially the most reserved girl in the camp, Tomida had begun to open up slightly to the others over the last few days, although it still came rather hard to her. She swam over near Josephine, Elizabeth, and Bahiga though she didn't join their conversation on her own initiative.

Beyke

Kusonose Emiko frowned as she looked down at her laptop in a small cafe catering mostly to foreign civilians. The Adoki journalist was not popular with the authorities back home for two main reasons, she was a woman and she was associated with the rather weak opposition party in the Kokkai (Parliament), Shaminto (Social Democratic Party). She had become almost equally unpopular with Danaan and Pantocratorian military officials given the critical nature of some of her stories, especially regarding racism in the allied forces and the treatment of local religious sensitivities.

Right now, however, Miss Kusonose was worrying more about Pantocratoria than about the locals. Her next article, an editorial where she would have the rare privilege of being openly political, was to be about the difference between civilian and military authorities in reconstruction and the importance of shifting more power and responsibility to the former. Pantocratoria, with its PSA government and aristocratic military, seemed like the best example to use of the three allied powers.

That being said, the material she was learning about this foreign land was very strange. Emiko prided herself on being too enlightened to simply dismiss the people of other nations as barbarians, as many, even most, Adoki did. However, so much about how these people lived their lives was fundamentally different. This Andreus I Capet seemed so astoundingly humble compared to Emperor Nakamikado of Adoki!

Andrium

Goldfarb nodded to the Pantocratorian's words. "I could not agree more. However, I am not sure it is wise to think of them as native insurgents and not just because that makes them look better in world public opinion. They want Marlund back, not Ambara generally. They have, after all, shared the continent with the Adoki for centuries. That is why Danaan intelligence believes that terrorist activities in Pantocratorian and Danaan Ambara will follow the pattern one would expect them to use in the Resurgent Dream or Pantocratoria proper, were they able to reach those lands, and not an extension of the sorts of operations they conduct in Marlund."

He frowned a little, as another thought crossed his mind. "Forgive me for asking so unpleasant a question, sir, but it is something we must establish before we can effectively plan to counteract these terrorists. Do you have any reason to believe that their networks in Ambara might have had any sucess in their attempts to convert Pantocratorians?"

Christina bowed to the duke, she still had not caught his name, then turned and went with military officers. Her entourage followed her into the caravan.

As she sat in the somewhat cramped armoured vehicle she looked nervously at Baron Janis. He smiled and tried to look supportive, but felt his own nerves tearing at smile.

When they arrived at the Danaan base, the princess extended her hand and let the colonel help her down from the vehicle. She straightened her suit and looked around.

"If you could let us know what all you wish accomplished on this visit, Your Highness, we can make sure it can be done safely."

Christiana looked from Janis to Bastiks and Le Roux and back to the colonel. “We are here,” she said trying to sound as calm as possible, “to do what we can to help the people of Marlund recover from their terrible ordeal. I and my staff represent not only my own, not inconsiderable business ventures, but also the Excalbian Imperial Development Fund and the Cardinal Duras Memorial Fund.”

She stood taller, seemingly regaining her confidence, and flashed a smile that had made many swoon to do her bidding. “You may not be aware of this, Colonel…,” she paused as if waiting for a name, “but, along with a countrywoman of yours, I and my company, Peacock Housing, having completely redeveloped a former slum in New Constantinople, transforming it into a model community. We hope to offer our cooperation in similar projects here.”

Timon Air Force Base

The officer did help the princess down and escorted her to a relatively well appointed lounge. Other officers who were there immediately left. "Colonel Cadwallon Dindaethwy, Your Highness."

Dindaethwy paused for a long moment, as though considering what the princess had said. "Your Highness, the entire southern half of the country is in an economic state similar to that of the worst slums you could find anywhere in Pantocratoria."

He smiled ever so slightly. "There's probably a number of places where you could start a project. Beyke comes to mind. I'll take you to see Dr. Bauer tommorrow."

"Convert Pantocratorians?" Sir Pierre frowned, confused as to what Goldfarb meant. "What do you mean, monsieur? We have no particular evidence which would suggest that any insurgent organisation has been recruiting from our population, and frankly I don't see any public sympathy for them."

Andrium

Goldfarb nodded a little. "It is really just a matter of border security then, as least as far as the colony proper is concerned."

He looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. "I believe the struggle against extremism has to be won in Marlund and it has to be won in a battle for the hearts and mind of Marlunders, not on the battlefield. The terrorists and their theology have to be discredited and isolated. Ministers adhering to their doctrines have to be forced to the fringes of Marlunder religious life."

Goldfarb waited a moment before moving on to the obvious corrollary, the one he doubted the governor would like as much. "This will need to be done within the framework of the current Marlunder religious community. We can guarantee freedom of religion but on the whole we have to count on reforming and not replacing the Lutheran Church in Marlund."

“A pleasure to meet you, Colonel Dindaethwy,” Christiana said with a slight bow.

She nodded again as the colonel spoke. “Beyke?” She said to herself. “I would be pleased to meet with Dr. Bauer tomorrow. In the meantime is there anything more you could tell me about Beyke and let me know if there is anything else we can do today to prepare for our meeting tomorrow?”

Parliament House, Andrium
"Monsieur, if I may," said Sir Pierre. "It is naive to think that the sort of extremely widespread extremism which existed in Marlund can be done away with via platitudes like saying that this is a battle which must be won in the hearts and minds of the people. A harder hand may well be required. It is an ugly possibility, but a distinct possibility nevertheless. Lutheranism has a long history of intolerance and religious extremism. Elements which may appear extremist to you or I may appear to be fairly mainstream to ordinary Marlunders."

Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp
Josephine sighed when she saw the borish Japanese girl swimming over to them.

"Hi Tomida." she said quietly, not rudely, but not particularly enthusiastically either. "Hey Bahiga, do you reckon they'd let us swim over to the other side of the lake?"

Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp

Two men stepped out of the woods down by the waterside, levelling rifles. Without warning or provocation, they shot Bahiga and Tomida each through her forehead. They didn't seem grim or happy. Their faces were perfectly calm as though they had just performed a day to day task. The larger of the men turned his gun on Elizabeth and Josephine. "Get out of the water, now. You're coming with us."

The gunmen then herded the girls over to the field where a few other armed men had herded all the other white girls and councilors from the camp. The other camp girls and councilors were nowhere to be seen, although one might guess that they'd shared the fate of Bahiga and Tomida. A man who seemed to be in charge, not one of the two who had captured Josephine and Elizabeth, spoke coldly. "Alright, girls. My name is Hans. I'll be your guide for our little exedition. Right now we're waiting for the boys from the other camp and then we'll be on our way. Any questions?"

Alexis, struggling to stay calm, was hugging and comforting any of the girls who needed it. "It'll be ok. Just stay calm. We're going to be ok."

Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp

Elizabeth just stared unbelievingly as the two other girls sank under the water, blood pooling around the bodies. "Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." she muttered numbly as she followed the directions of the gunmen. It just wasn't real! It couldn't be real.

Parliament House, Andrium

"Marlund hardly represents the mainstream of Lutheranism." Goldfarb said slightly tersely, to remind Pierre it was the religion of millions of Danaans who Goldfarb represented. "However, I do not think it is an either-or situation. It would be foolish to abandon military and law enforcement operations on the hope of changing people's minds. Such operations must be strengthened, maintained, and increasingly turned over to trained forces loyal to the Prince of Marlund. However, minds must also be changed unless you intend to establish a continuing state of martial law in Marlund. I did not come here to discuss it with mere platitudes. I do have lists of names to be discussed in concrete terms. If we might go over them...."

Timon Air Force Base

Dindaethwy nodded. "Beyke is the largest urban center in the south. The civilian population is 78% African, mostly former slaves. The city has a small industrial base and a high rate of poverty and unemployment. For obvious reasons, it is generally considered friendly territory where we have received regular support and cooperation from the locals. The city is largely kept secure by local police and militia drawn from the people of Beyke itself."

Timon Air Force Base

Princess Christiana looked to Baron Janis and her attorneys, then back to Colonel Dindaethwy. "That sounds quite promising, Colonel. If our security can be guarenteed, Beyke could be the perfect location for our project. It seems there is certainly a need there that we can meet."

Timon Air Force Base

Dindaethwy nodded. "You should be as safe in Beyke as you would be anywhere else in Marlund, Your Highness. In the meantime, is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable tonight?"

Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp

Josephine screamed as Bahiga and Tomida were shot right in front of her as Elizabeth started to mutter, Josephine turned completely pale. Her jaw trembled but she didn't say anything or make any attempts to resist. She obediently followed Elizabeth out of the water and through the field, her eyes distant, lost in the horror of what she had just witnessed. She made no reaction at all as Alexis hugged her, although her eyes did look back towards the lake, where Bahiga and Tomida's bodies were still floating, left to rot.

Parliament House, Andrium

"I didn't say that it did, monsieur, merely that what may seem extreme to ordinary, moderate people like you or I would be much closer to the mainstream for a Marlunder." Sir Pierre clarified patiently. "Please, go on."

Beyke

Porter drove into the Pantocratorian base, heading for the usual loading dock where he unloaded his weekly supply of local foods for the soldiers' mess. It was only when the large truck was almost at the loading dock that it swerved, heading directly towards the the munitions depot. The driver stepped hard on the gas, getting as close to that depot as he could before Pantocratorian force physically stopped him.

At the militia headquarters, two men walked in wearing the uniform of the police. As they approached the desk, the first man spoke. "I'm Sergeant Cook and this is Officer Hunter. We heard you needed to see the reports on that brothel over in the East Quarter."

"Yeah..." said the woman behind the desk, frowning. "I really think it's disgusting but I have orders to tell you not to take them down. A lot of soldiers and officers go there and apparently someone..."

As she spoke, the two seeming police officers spun, each one shooting one of the two armed guards in the room. The militiamen were caught off guard, having thought they had no reason to fear locally recruited policemen of their own race. The man who had identified himself as Cook spun his gun back to the woman behind the desk. "Not a word."

Another two men walked into a small coffee house, pulling pistols and levelling them at Kusonose Emiko. "Get up and come with us!" they yelled. The other patrons of the coffee house backed away and slunk to the floor in terror, utterly confused as to what this could be about.

Parliament House, Andrium

Goldfarb casually took an envelope from an aid, which he then opened. "Unfortunately, the problem with finding the kind of men we're looking for is that most of them were executed under the old regime. While swarms of ministers now teach more moderate doctrines, most of them have very little credibility since they were preaching the opposite mere years ago. However, we have found a few names. At the opening of the Vatican Conference on Non-Human Sentience, the Reverend Ulrich Addicks was asked by a member of his congregation to pray for the 'death of all Papists' from the pulpit. Addicks called back that he would instead pray for 'unity in the name of Christ and healing from the Holy Spirit for the wounds which have torn the Body of Christ these last five centuries'. For this comment, he was forbidden from preaching for three years but suffered no more severe penalty. Rev. Hermann Bahr preached that it was possible for someone of Jewish heritage whose ancestors did not convert in the generation of Christ to convert to Christianity today. For this, he was arrested on charges of heresy, blasphemy, treason, and witchcraft. He was scheduled to go on trial for his life but was saved by the timely collapse of the old regime. Rev. Christian Edathy told a Sunday School class that we could not be certain that Christ was ethnically German. For this, he served a seven year prison sentence for libel. The list goes on in roughly the same way but there's one name I think deserved especial attention."

Just North of Pantocratorian Ambara

Martin Bullinger yawned as the dreary Marlund highway disappeared beneath the wheels of his large truck. He had been on the road for over two days now and was ready to finish this run to Pantocratorian Ambara, deliver the fine Zutern cheese in his truck, and get headed back to Zutern again with a truckload of Pantocratorian Ambaran goods. He just hoped customs wouldn't give him too hard a time. The checkpoint should be coming up.

Rural Thorlund

Victor Baden gripped his rifle tightly as he suddenly stumbled out of the woods. He had been hunting deeper than any of the Danaan settlers in Thorlund had been before and was sure he must be ten or twenty miles from the tiny frontier town of Zumwald. Yet the woods did not slowly clear as they did in the wilds but came to a sudden stop as though they had been pressed back by man. Was there another settlement out here unknown to the people of Zumwald?

Baden stepped clear of the woods and took a look around. The area was clearly inhabited. A dirt road ran through the countryside a few hundred feet downhill from him. He could make out the vague outlines of small farming villages in the distance. Turning to look down the road, Baden could see someone approaching in the distance...in a horse drawn carriage.

Parliament House, Andrium

"If you were to regard every victim of the previous regime as a potential leader, monsieur, the list of Marlunders would be endless." Sir Pierre replied. "The fact that these men are Lutheran ministers as well as victims doesn't necessarily make them of any use to us. Frankly monsieur, I believe it would be far better to not lend any support to any Marlunder religious leader, or to seek support from any of them for that matter. Better to look to secular community leaders. Religion was used to justify and support the previous regime, should we really seek justification and support from religion for the new one? We should be breaking the pattern of following religious demagogues and encouraging the birth of serious democratic debate and discourse, which will naturally lead to a more moderate position. It is well and good to name these religious leaders as demagogues who might be sympathetic to us, but the phenomenon which would have Marlunders listen to them is the same phenomenon as would have Marlunders listen to extremist preachers, or to demagogues of a different sort, violent revolutionaries of various political ideologies."

Sir Pierre smiled.

"I suppose now I am the one who sounds like he is spouting platitudes in lieu of concrete action." he admitted. "However, I genuinely believe that seeking support from the Lutheran Church would be a misguided step in this... battle for the hearts and minds of Marlunders. Let's not vest these men you've mentioned or any other with the sort of authority the previous regime's religious leaders enjoyed."

Northern Border, Pantocratorian Ambara

"Passport, declaration of cargo." said the soldier next to Bullinger's driver-side window.

The four soldiers at the checkpoint pottered about their business. The one in the office booth filled in the paper work as the truck arrived, did the background checks on the vehicle, and so on. The one standing next to Bullinger's door held his hand out expectantly, waiting for Bullinger to hand him the requested documents. The remaining two walked around the truck to the back, and opened up the trailer to look inside.

"Hurry up, passport, anything to declare, get a move on." repeated the bored soldier, stamping his foot impatiently, his rifle at the ready but pointed down at the ground.

The soldiers at the base in Beyke were taken completely by surprise at Porter's sudden turn towards the munitions depot. It was almost surreal, troops chasing after the truck, screaming for Porter to stop, firing at the truck's tires. The men inside the depot's office looked out the window in surprise, the realisation of what was about to happen just beginning to dawn upon them...

Beyke

Porter did not stop. He did not even stop as bullets pierced the rubber of his tires, rushing dangerously on the actual metal wheels just far enough to slam the truck directly into the munitions depot at high speed, detonating the seven or eight IEDs hidden in the rear of the truck. The blast wasn't that huge. It didn't have to be, in and of itself. It just had to be big enough to destroy the depot and detonate all the explosive and combustible material inside and it was more than big enough for that task.

The woman behind the desk at militia headquarters stood quietly with her hands above her head. The two fake policement walked over to the dead militiamen, claiming their military grade rifles in place of the simple sidearms they had been carrying. One of the men moved to the door and waved silently. Within one or two minutes, some dozen locals carrying pistols and other small arms were inside the lobby of the building. The men crowded near one of the doors. One of their number held his hand up before flinging it open. Then the shooting started in ernest.

The munitions depot exploded spectacularly, wiping out adjacent buildings, destroying most of the base. Within a few moments, the alarms began to flash and sound, as the commander of the base made his way through the acrid smoke which hung thickly in his office to his direct line to MATER.

***

The Duke of Montmanuel sat in the elaborately decorated chapel in the mansion on a former plantation which served as his headquarters. The sparse, severe room which had originally served as the mansion's room for prayer and contemplation about things divine had been lavishly furnished. Glittering Pantobyzantine icons and large oil paintings of Old Testament scenes, taken from the Montmanuel estate in Pantocratoria, now hung on the walls. A proper altar had been installed. It was draped in silk, and on top of it sat candlesticks and a crucifix of solid silver. A golden tabernacle now sat in the back right corner of the room, decorated with small statuettes of angels singing praise for its contents. Asides from the fact that it was still rather small, the chapel looked very Pantocratorian, and would serve well until a proper, free-standing church could be built in town. The idea of seizing the already existing local church building and converting it for this purposes had been suggested to the Duke, but he had thought it unwise and potentially offensive to the sensitivities of the native population.

"...with Him, in the unity of the Holy Spirit..." the priest sang as Montmanuel was woken from his quiet reverie by a gentle tap on his shoulder by his aide-de-camp.

"An urgent message from Beyke, Your Grace." the ADC apologised quietly. The priest's eyes fell on the ADC disapprovingly, but he otherwise didn't let the whispering conversation in the front row distract him. "MATER must speak with you urgently."

"Bien." Montmanuel sighed, rising to his feet. He genuflected to the tabernacle and then followed his ADC out of the little chapel. As the pair climbed the grand staircase of the mansion, the ADC filled him in.

"The Commander of Beyke Base reports that a suicide bomber, one of their regular shipment drivers, just drove into their munitions depot and blew most of the base sky high." the ADC reported. "He's requesting urgent reinforcements."

"One of their regular drivers?" Montmanuel scowled as he reached the top of the steps and turned left down the hall to the secure communications room.

"Yes, monsieur." nodded the ADC.

"Send an urgent message to all base commanders. Drivers and other delivery personnel to be rotated regularly. Don't give the sentries enough time to grow comfortable with them. And tighten up the searches!" Montmanuel ordered, before entering the communications room and closing the door. He then entered the sound proof booth, pressed a few buttons on his communications panel, and picked up the telephone receiver when the computer indicated that his link and booth were both secure.

"Montmanuel." he said simply, and waited for MATER's instructions.

Timon Air Force Base

Dindaethwy nodded. "You should be as safe in Beyke as you would be anywhere else in Marlund, Your Highness. In the meantime, is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable tonight?"


"Thank you, Colonel," Christiana said with a nod, "but I think all we need is to be shown to our accomodations. We will have some work to do to finalize our presentation for tomorrow. Will someone come for us in the morning or should we meet somewhere on the base here?"

Timon Air Force Base

Dindaethwy nodded slightly. "Of course. Someone will come for you in the morning, Your Highness." He turned to a sergeant quietly working at a computer nearby. "Lincoln, show Her Imperial Highness to her quarters."

The sergeant saluted the colonel and then bowed to the princess. "If you will come with me, Your Highness..."

A man listening to a headset suddenly pulled back from his console and looked to the Colonel. "Sir, we have insurgent activity in Beyke..."

Parliament House, Andrium

Goldfarb smiled. "Well, it seems we have a few minor disagreements, although the matter is not exactly up to either of us anyway. It was nice meeting you in person, Sir Pierre. I was hoping to see some of the work being done to build up the colony while I was here."

Northern Border, Pantocratorian Ambara

Bullinger quickly handed over his passport. "Nothing to declare." The soldiers did, indeed, find nothing in his truck.

Parliament House, Andrium
"Of course, of course. My son-in-law, Monsieur le Maire, is eager to show you about Andrium." Sir Pierre smiled, rising to his feet and offering Goldfarb his hand.

Northern Border, Pantocratorian Ambara

"Nothing but cheese." shouted one of the soldiers as he got down from the truck. He tossed the soldier at Bullinger's window one of the cheeses. The soldier caught it and weighed it up in his hand and nodded.

"Good. Move on." he told Bullinger, before turning around and returning to the booth, getting his bayonet out on the way to cut and share out the cheese.

Parliament House, Andrium

Goldfarb stood and shook the knight's hand firmly. "Of course. Just let me find my wife. It was good to meet you, sir." He headed off to the gardens, looking for the women.

Northern Border, Pantocratorian Ambara

Bullinger looked out the window, frowning. "Umm...excuse me. That belongs to the Sharon Export Corporation. Do you mind putting it back?"

Northern Border, Pantocratorian Ambara

The soldier turned around on his way back to his booth. He gave a half grin to one of his comrades as he did so, before looking Bullinger in the eye.

"Yes, I do mind." he replied. "Move on."

Northern Border, Pantocratorian Ambara

Bullinger met the soldier's gare squarely. "Well, it's not yours. So I don't see as you have any choice in the matter unless you'd like to speak to the police about it. I'd like to speak to your commanding officer, please."

"Fuck off." replied the soldier, cutting into the cheese with his bayonet. He cut himself a small wedge, and popped it into his mouth.

"No." Bullinger said calmly. "Get your commanding officer or I'm going to have to call someone down here to deal with you."

"I'm the sergeant in charge here." replied the soldier.

"Then I'm calling." Bullinger said calmly, picking up the radio in his truck. The sergeant could hear him report that civil crimes were being conducted by uniformed Pantocratorian officers stationed at the border, with the consent of the sergeant in charge, and that he was being denied access to higher Pantocratorian military authorities.

"This cheese..." the sergeant said to the other soldiers. "It isn't right... tastes weird. What do you think?"

He cut one of the privates a slice of it. He tasted it and curled up his face melodramatically.

"Definitely something strange, sarge." replied the private.

"I thought so. Maybe we should impound the vehicle." the sergeant replied.

About ten minutes later, the complaint was routinely forwarded to the Pantocratorian office in charge of that part of the border. Bullinger waited calmly in the truck the whole time.

"Sergeant, base calling for you." called the corporal in the booth.

"Fine." the sergeant rolled his eyes. He told the private with the cheese: "If he tries using that radio of his again, shoot him."

"You! No more radio!" barked the private as the sergeant walked over to the booth. He had a brief conversation with the lieutenant in charge of the checkpoints along this part of the border over the radio, and then returned.

"Get out of the truck." the sergant told Bullinger.

Bullinger stepped out of the truck.

"You want the cheese back?" the sergeant asked. "You try to stir shit with base for me for one little cheese? It's not even very good cheese!"

"It's company policy. If you don't like it, go talk to Daniel Sharon." Bullinger said with a shrug.

"It's company policy." the sergeant whined in an imitation of Bullinger's voice. "Shut the fuck up! Because you had to go crying on your stupid little radio, now we HAVE to impound your truck. Corporal, get the paperwork."

One of the soldiers went over to the booth and gathered several forms from pigeon holes and affixed them to a clipboard. He returned with a pen, and took a fresh copy of the truck's registration numbers.

Bullinger arched a brow. "You mean you lied to your lieutenant to get out of trouble? That will go over great at the hearing."

"How the fuck do you know what I said to my lieutenant? He was the one who ordered the truck be impounded." the sergeant replied. "And there's not going to be a hearing."

"Give me your license." the corporal with the clipboard said to the driver. Bullinger handed him the license.

The corporal copied the details over and handed the license back to the driver.

"Hans Bullinger, I now advise you that your vehicle has been impounded under the Quarantine Act of 1873." said the corporal. "You will be taken into temporary custody while your cargo is thoroughly tested for compliance with the terms of the Quarantine Act of 1873. No charges are being laid against you at this time."

He handed Bullinger the clipboard with the declaration he had just been read on it. The only details which had been filled in were his own and his truck's - the soldiers had not yet filled in their details.

"Please sign here, here and... here to acknowledge that I have read the declaration to you in full and that you understand it." the corporal said, indicating the appropriate places.

Bullinger signed in the appropriate places and handed it back to the corporal.

"Place your hands on your head and spread your legs." the sergeant ordered. "Search him."

Bullinger complied. The corporal patted Bullinger down thoroughly, searching for weapons. There were none, of course. The sergeant looked disappointed when the corporal didn't find anything. He shrugged.

"Take him to the booth and keep him there until the jeep from base arrives." the sergeant ordered. "Get that truck off the road."

At A Port In Marlund…

The docks were well guarded by Danaan troops and an advance force of Excalbian Imperial Marines. The Marines watched warily as the low-built but massive INV Nautilus came into the port. Dockhands quickly secured lines from large armed freighter.

Before long, watertight hatches opened at both the fore and aft ends of the vessel. Gangways were extended and troops marched off the ship. Despite wearing the same camouflage uniforms and the same style of helmet as the Marines, these soldiers wore the blue and gold soldier patch of the Excalbian Imperial Army.

The first soldiers off the ship formed up their companies and moved to supplement the existing security. In short order, vehicles began to roll off the ship down the gangway. While there were a few tanks and self-propelled missile launchers, most of the vehicles were lightly armoured six-wheeled vehicles. Atop most of these, a thick, flat panel had been mounted on a pivot, replacing the typical chain guns or rocket launchers.

These panels had been experimental when they had first been used in the Esperi conflict, but now they were a standard part of the Excalbian arsenal. The panels – large microwave emitters – could incapacitate hundreds of people at a distance of 100 meters by heating the tissues under their skin. The Ministries of Defence and Technology insisted that the effect was non-lethal and left no lasting injuries. But it was incredibly painful and left its victims unable to offer any resistance. That made it the perfect weapon for crowd control and a variety of counter-insurgency missions.

With the vehicles moving steadily off the ship, cranes began lifting crates out of the holds and lower them to the docks below. Most contained standard military equipment. Some, however, contained new toys – tangible benefits of the Empire’s new, warmer relationship with Upper Virginia. In the old days, under General Altman, Upper Virginia’s army had been a tool of urban oppression and had developed a lightweight, fully armoured battle suit based on Excalbia’s own foamed alloy technology. It was resistant to anything short of a direct hit at close range from a high-caliber weapon. It also carried its own power supply that was perfect for a low-power, hand-held version of the microwave beam.

Of course, not every unit would equipped with new body armour and hand-held microwaves, but those who might be sent to patrol on the streets would have them.

RADM Beatrice Liene watched the unloading nervously from the bridge. She had been told the port was secure, but she still considered it an active insurgency zone and the sooner she could drop her load of jarheads and get back to her escorting squadrons at sea, the happier she would be. She checked her watch. The unloading was going well. With luck, she would be underway soon. Of course, she had two more ships to bring in and unload before the entire brigade was ashore, but at least getting Nautilus unloaded would be a good start.

Brigadier General James Joyner of the 3rd Brigade, 80th Light Armoured Division of the Imperial Army walked among his men exchanging salutes and nods. He paused here and there to pat a soldier on the soldier and offer a word of encouragement. All the while, he was looking for the officer in charge of the Danaan forces.

Timon Air Force Base

Princess Christiana nodded. “Thank you, Colonel.” She and her entourage followed Sergeant Lincoln to their quarters. They worked on their plans and presentations for a while, then they retired to their separate rooms to await the new day.

Beyke

Kusonose Emiko placed her hands over her head and stood, quietly. "As you wish, officers. I assure you that I've committed no crime, unless writing about the war from the perspective of working class blacks here in southern Marlund instead of from the perspective of Danaan, Pantocratorian, and Adoki capitalists and generals is now a crime here."

Frederickstadt, Marlund

The chief of port security in Frederickstadt was actually an Adoki instead of a Danaan. While Pantocratorians controlled the south and Danaans the north, it was Adoki forces which largely held the ports of Marlund and this was no exception, although a large number of Danaan troops had been brought in, mostly to make the Excalbians more comfortable.

General Nushiro Junichiro approached the Brigadier General. He was a small but fit man. In complexion and build, he was distinctively Japanese. He walked with a rigid military gait and carried a severe expression that made one doubt he ever smiled. He bowed to the Excalabian as he approached and said matter-of-factly "General Joyner, I have been instructed to welcome you to Frederickstadt." in halting English.

Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp

Josephine trembled as Alexis hugged her. She finally began to stir from her walking daze, and her eyes looked up at the man with the gun, before darting back down.

"They shot Bahiga and Tomida." Josephine whispered mournfully to Alexis. "Are they going to shoot us too?"

Frederickstadt, Marlund

BRIGEN Joyner recognized the shorter man’s uniform as Adoki and he recognized the insignia as that of a general. He bowed, then saluted crisply. “Thank you, General,” he said.

Reaching into the pocket of his camouflage jacket he retrieved a double-folded piece of paper, which he handed to the Adoki general. “Brigadier General James Joyner, 3rd Brigade, 80th Light Armoured reporting as ordered,” he said flatly. “Here are our orders assigning us to the joint Allied command.”

Joyner turned slightly to watch Nautilus untying from the dock and preparing to leave. “We’re not quite half-way finished with unloading, General. Once I get the rest of my men and equipment offloaded, we’ll be ready to deploy.”

Parliament House, Andrium

Goldfarb walked towards his wife with a smile. "Corrina, would you like to go on a tour of Andrium?"

She smiled to Sir Pierre's wife, with whom she had been chatting. "It was nice to meet you, madame." She then walked to her husband and took his arm. "I'm ready when you are."

Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp

"I don't think so, Josie." Alexis said, turning away with a slight sniffle as she took in the death of two of her charges. She breathed in deeply, trying to stay calm, and hugged Josephine more tightly. "Just stay calm, alright?"

Parliament House, Andrium

Sir Pierre's daughter, Marie Andronique, smiled, although felt a little awkward as she rose to her feet. As she understood the itinerary involved her husband, the Mayor of Andrium, showing the Goldfarbs about the city, and she was quite sure that she was supposed to tag along. Nevertheless, she didn't draw attention to the fact as she guided the Goldfarbs to the steps of Parliament House, where a limousine was waiting for them. Philippe Andronique was waiting besides the limousine with a smile on his face.

"Monsieur le Maire, may I present the Foreign Minister of the Resurgent Dream, Monsieur Abraham Goldfarb, and his wife, Madame Corrina Goldfarb." said Marie.

"Please, call me Philippe." the Mayor smiled, and offered Goldfarb his hand.

Andrew William Cook Memorial Camp

"But Bahiga and Tomida are dead!" Josephine protested in a quiet, mouse-like voice. "How can I stay calm?!?"

Beyke

"We're officers of the people's court, you slant-eyed little slut." said the first man. "And what you said isn't a crime. Being a social democrat, class-traitor, seducer of the workers is though. So why don't you come along peaceful and you won't need to die?" As he spoke, his partner tied Kusonose's hands behind her back tightly and began to force her back out into the street.

Men, now armed with military weapony, began to file out of the Militia Headqurters, splitting into fighting groups and heading for the various Militia, Danaan, and Pantocratorian checkpoints around the town. They left behind them a building full of dead men. As they left, other revolutionaries moved in and collected yet more military weaponry, fanning out over the city and taking fortifiable posts. A strong team stood to hold the building.

In the streets of Beyke, more men ran out, piling tires into large piles. They were not only piling flat, unused, or disposed of tires but were prying them off cars for this purpose. As they formed the piles, they ignited them, filling the sky with smoke and fumed and obscuring the view from the air, even while forming flaming barricades on the ground.

"Monsieur de Montmanuel, Beyke Command has lost contact with another three checkpoints. Whatever is going on there is serious." said an aide-de-camp as he got off the phone with Beyke Command.

"Agreed." Montmanuel nodded as he poured over maps of the city and its surrounds. "This insurrection needs to be dealt with quickly and firmly... broken before it has a chance to establish itself. The 6th Battallion of the Imperial Armoured Legion is the nearest armoured unit. Order them to enter the city. Get the local authorities in Beyke on the phone... I seem to recall the Mayor's name being Miller. Get him on the phone, tell him that we're sending in reinforcements to restore public order... actually, I want to talk to him. And get the status of the Ninth Provincials 17th Battallion, I want them in Beyke by nightfall."

"Yes, Your Grace." acknowledged the ADC, who then raced back over to the phone.

"And somebody get me some intelligence!" Montmanuel bellowed over to the officers who were supposed to liase between his forces and the IFIS, who scattered to their phones and computers in a hurry to get some information.

Parliament House, Andrium

Goldfarb shook the mayor's hand with a broad grin. "Abraham."

Corrina then offered the mayor her own hand, palm down. She smiled politely, rather enjoying her trip so far.

Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp

Alexis hugged her tighter. "Because panicking can't bring them back and can make things a lot worse. I need you to be strong for me, Josie. Can you do that?"

Timon Air Force Base

After some time, there was a soft knock on Princess Christina door. "Your Highness?"

Timon Air Force Base

Princess Christiana pulled her dressing gown close around and approached the door. “Yes? Who is it?”

Frederickstadt, Marlund

BRIGEN Joyner waited patiently for GEN Junichiro to read his detail orders and give him instructions on deploying his men.

Timon Air Force Base

"Lieutenant Gwynhavar Fuell." answered a woman's voice. "I have some bad news, Your Highness."

Frederickstadt, Marlund

General Nushiro read the detail orders. "The Excalbian Army has been charged with the securing the coastline outside of the port cities." he said, telling the Excalbian what he already knew. "There is a relatively secure road which travels both North and South of here which you can use to move to the places where you wish to construct your bases. I will have someone show you where it is."

Timon Air Force Base

Christiana cautiously opened the door. Her brows were knotted into a look of concern. “Yes, Lieutenant? What is it? What happened?”

Frederickstadt, Marlund

BRIGEN Joyner nodded in acknowledgement. “As soon as my brigade is completely off-loaded, we’ll begin deployment. Are there any areas along the coast where your forces have already established emplacements or where there have been any particular… difficulties?”

Timon Air Force Base

Lieutenant Fuell was a striking young woman who could hardly be a day over twenty-three. She carried herself with an air of confidence and dignity, although she bowed to the waist as soon as the princess opened the door. Her face was pretty in an assertive rather than a demure way. Her red hair was kept short to allow her to see properly to her military duties. An athletic figure could be seen beneath her neat Danaan uniform. She didn't look worried, although she probably should have.

"Your Highness, we just received word that there's fighting in Beyke. Friendly forces in the city are believed to have been captured or killed. The Pantocratorian base near the city is believed to have been largely destroyed. I'm afaird it will hardly be a safe place for Your Highness to go." She frowned slightly, looking apologetic.

Lutherstadt, Marlund

Lieutenant Sarah Abruzzo lay in her bed in the Katharina von Bora Hotel, stirring slightly at the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. Frowning, she reached for her glasses, adjusting them over her eyes as she sat up. A small frown touched her young face. Those weren't the footsteps of regular hotel guests. Rubbing her forehead, Abruzzo looked around the room. If there was going to be trouble, she at least needed to find her clothes.

Beside her, she could feel Chief Petty Officer Rachel van Meter pressed warmly against her side. It had been a nice night. Abruzzo was a little worried about the difference in rank but, given that they were in entirely different branches of His Majesty's service, she figured the redhead cuddling into her would never be under her command, nor would any of her fellow officers know.

That was when the door swung open. Abruzzo stared wide-eyed as Van Meter shot awake. Four military police rushed into the room, rifles pointed directly at the two women. A stern looking bald man in a lieutenants uniform followed them in. Probably a "mustang" to be a lieutenant at that age, Abruzzo thought with instinctive contempt. She was an officer through and through, despite the company she kept in her bedroom. SHe gave the man her iciest stare. "What exactly is the meaning of this?"

"Lieutenant Sarah Abruzzo and Chief Petty Officer Rachel van Meter, you are both under arrest for violations of regulation 207 of the Royal Code of Military Conduct, sodomy. Lieutenant Abruzzo you are also under arrest for violations of regulation 742, conduct unbefitting an officer. You will come with me."

"Yes." Josie said, although she didn't sound very certain. "What do they want? Are they going to kill us too?"

***

Montmanuel's aide handed him the telephone receiver.

"The Mayor of Beyke, monsieur." said the aide.

"Monsieur le Maire?" asked Montmanuel, speaking English with some obvious distaste and a pronounced accent into the phone from his headquarters.

"Your Excellency..." the sound was poor, with lots of static and gunfire in the background.

"Your Grace, actually." Montmanuel corrected him. "What's going on in Beyke, Monsieur le Maire? I've been receiving reports of a total break down in all authority."

"We have a full scale...Bolsheviks....possily foreign armed...Constantinopolis..."

"I'm sending in a battallion of the Imperial Armoured Legion at once to restore order, and a further infantry battallion should be there by nightfall." Montmanuel advised. "Where are you, Monsieur le Maire? Is your position secure? I can order Beyke Command to get you to safety at once..."

"I'm...City Hall...haven't seen...for hours. They have the city." There was a louder burst of very close gunfire in the background, adding to the static.

"We'll get you out at once." Montmanuel replied. "Is there anything else you can tell us or would like to ask us?"

"Yes, there's..."

There was a very loud burst of gunfire and then the line went dead. Montmanuel hung up the phone and looked to his aide.

"Beyke Command, at once." he ordered.

The tanks of the Imperial Armoured Legion soon rolled onto the streets of Beyke. Their crews were nervous about entering the city - civilians everywhere plus natural hard cover for enemy troops with anti-tank weapons made urban combat undesirable in the extreme for tanks. They sped through the city towards city hall, which had been identified by HQ as their primary objective - they were to secure the area and extract the mayor and the rest of the city's civilian government. The gunners were particularly on edge - they had been warned that the enemy might not be clearly identified and differentiated from the local community. Their immediate commander, Colonel Xavier Kostasopoulos, had ordered that anybody with a visible firearm not in a police uniform be fired upon - any other course of actions was too risky.

Timon Air Force Base

Princess Christiana smiled at the attractive young woman as she opened the door. Once the lieutenant began speaking, however, the smile quickly faded. “Dear heavens,” Christiana said, “do you have casualty estimates? How are you responding? We’ve sent troops, but I don’t where they have landed. Do you know where the Excalbian forces are? Are they involved in any of the fighting? Can I contact their commander?”

The princess’ mind raced. “What of my meetings tomorrow? Is there someone in authority I can see? I wish to proceed with our project, but of course security is a concern…”

Frederickstadt, Marlund

The remainder of the 3rd brigade of the 80th light armoured division of the Imperial Army had disembarked. The entire brigade was mounted in their vehicles and, along with their support equipment, ready to deploy.

BRIG Joyner approached GEN Junichiro and saluted. “With your permission, sir, I’ll deploy my men to the sites we discussed along the coast.”

Timon Air Force Base

"Your Highness, I don't have most of that information. I do know that the uprising is being handled by the Pantocratorians. No Excalbian troops are involved. We will have to move your meeting somewhere else. You are welcome to contact whoever you would like."

Frederickstadt, Marlund

"Permission granted." Junichiro said simply.

Beyke

The Pantocratorians faced heavy burning barricades blocking their way and heavy fire from inside the buildings of the city.

Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp

"No." Alexis answered. "They won't."

Timon Air Force Base

“That is a relief,” the princess sighed. “Thank you for brining me the news, Lieutenant. I am still looking forward to seeing Dr. Bauer tomorrow, however. I am sure there is some good we can do here. Do you know what time we will be meeting with Dr. Bauer?”

Frederickstadt, Marlund

BRIG James Joyner nodded. “Thank you, sir. We’ll contact you as soon as we establish our positions on the coast.”

The brigadier turned and climbed into the lead vehicle. Soon, a long column of armoured troop carriers, assault vehicles and light tanks rumbled through the gates of the port towards the coast road.

Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp

Commander Martin Jager looked with barely concealed contempt on the huddling girls and counselors. "The rest of our guests should be here shortly, you contemptible little whores. In the meantime, I want you all to kneel, facing away from me, and put your hands behind your back."

Timon Air Force Base

A small group of men stepped out of the car a few miles from the base. They frowned, looking carefully over a set of plans. One of them looked out over the landscape from the slight rise on which they found themselves. He got back into the car immediately afterwards. "I know what we'll do."

Lutherstadt

"Worthy of death! Worthy of death!" chanted a crowd which had gathered outside the prison where the two Danaan lesbians, Lieutenant Sarah Abruzzo, and Chief Petty Officer Rachel van Meter were being held. "Carry out God's sentence or we will!"

Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp

Josie blubbered as Commander Jager barked his orders. From the way he spoke to them, Josie felt sure that he was going to kill them just like they had killed Bahiga, despite what Alexis said. Crying and terrified, she knelt down on the dirt and rocks, facing away from Jager, with her hands behind her head, in a line with the rest of the girls. Her lips started to form the words of a silent, frightened prayer...

"Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grâce..."

Timon Air Force Base

"First thing in the morning, Your Highness." Fuell said. "We'll probably leave her around eight and get there by eleven."

Lutherstadt

Corporals Sarah Stroupe and Alexis Wheeler lowered their guns towards the crowd outside the jail house. "Maintain your distance!" Stroupe shouted. "Please, stay back!"

Andrew William Cook Reconciliation Camp

A long line of about twenty or thirty girls obeyed, kneeling and crossing their hands behind their backs. Most of them were blubbering or whimpering or praying. Alexis kept calling out "It'll be alright, girls! Everything'll be alright!"

Timon Air Force Base

"Will there be anything else, Your Highness?" Lieutenant Fuell asked.

Timon Air Force Base

“No thank you, Lieutenant,” Princess Christiana said with a nod. “Thank you for bringing me the news, tragic though it is.”

After Lieutenant Fuell left the princess intended to return to her room and call the Excalbian Mission in the capital for full briefing.

By nightfall the Pantocratorian elements in Beyke had taken much heavier casualties than they were expecting or than they were prepared to accept. House-to-house street-fighting was a costly, bloody business. As night fell, the troops withdrew to what remained of Beyke Command (whose reconstruction was already under way) and awaited more infantry reinforcement - the tanks of the Imperial Armoured Legion were virtually useless in the confined urban surrounds of the city. In the meantime, they relayed the situation to the Duke of Montmanuel.

Through the co-operation of the Marlund Government, Montmanuel obtained control of television and radio broadcasts into the city of Beyke. He had his media officer, Major Georgios Dimapoulos, prepare a simple message, which he then conveyed to the various broadcasters to broadcast into Beyke:


To the people of the city of Beyke,

Pantocratorian forces have withdrawn for the evening for two purposes. The first is to give the rebel elements within the city the chance to surrender. The second is to be reinforced to resume operations in the morning.

The rebel elements may claim to be acting in the best interests of Marlund - they are not. They have already set back the reconstruction effort in and around Beyke immeasurably and if they are successful in their objectives, they will set back the reconstruction of Marlund as a whole irreparably. Any person assisting or giving comfort to the rebel elements in the city of Beyke is acting as an enemy of the state, and will be treated as such.

When Pantocratorian forces re-enter the city tomorrow morning, any building from which they sustain fire or any other attack, or in which they otherwise determine that rebel elements are hiding, will be destroyed. Pantocratorian forces will make no attempt to enter and fight within such buildings - they will instead identify them as targets for artillery or airstrike. Civilians are advised to vacate any building being occupied by rebel elements. Any building sheltering rebel elements will be destroyed, without exception.

To repeat, Pantocratorian forces will destroy any building sheltering rebel elements. Rebel elements and enemies of the state cannot be allowed to set back the reconstruction of Marlund. If they surrender, they will be treated fairly. If they do not, they will all be destroyed.

MONTMANUEL

By His Grace's Command,
Major Georgios Dimapoulos
Media Officer

Timon Air Force Base

Fuell snapped to attention and bowed to the Excalbian Princess. "It is only my duty, Your Highness." She gave the lady a grim, forced smile before turning and heading back to her duties.

A short time later, Christiana could hear guards take up posts immediately outside her door. She might have had trouble sleeping. Her quarters, however luxurious, were still located on an air force base in the middle of an armed conflict. All night planes could be heard landing and taking off from the airfields within the barbed wire fortress as dozens of Danaan pilots began and ended missions to bomb possible Sons of the Reformation targets or to conduct fighter patrols of the air over Marlund, ensuring that no enemy forces felt comfortable taking to the air in any of the outdated but unaccounted for aircraft of the Marlund air force. On top of that was the noise of the helicopters, a steady, incessant noise that carried through the walls of the royal suite as the hovering vehicles patrolled the base itself. It was, in fact, louder than most nights. For the sake of Princess Christiana, the air patrol around the area had been doubled for the duration of her stay.

The Duke of Montmanuel's warning was airdropped in over the city of Beyke in the early hours of the morning. Low flying transport planes showered thousands of hastily prepared copies down over the city, littering the streets, covering rooftops, clogging drains. At dawn, the newly re-inforced Pantocratorian infantry moved into the city, moving slowly, securing one block at a time, firing upon anybody with a gun, or anybody who attacked them, as they had been ordered. When the troops sustained fire from a building, they either planted demolition charges on the building, requested an artillery strike on that building, or requested an airstrike on that building, depending on what seemed to best suit the situation. Overhead, R-31 Faulkner strike fighter bombers soared, swooping down to fire laser guided ordinance at nominated targets, then returning to a higher altitude for refuelling. Conventional artillery and missile batteries stood ready with the withdrawn Imperial Armoured Legion, ready to fire at request.

Timon Air Force Base

Princess Christiana was used to sleeping with guards in the hall and, as a child, had grown up on naval bases and was similarly used to the sounds of military operations continuing through the night. Perhaps the tempo was a bit faster and the pace steadier than what she had known as a child, but still, she found herself able to sleep.

However, the Princess woke up early, not disturbed by the noise, but troubled by thoughts of the on-going violence in Marlund derailing her plans. It would truly be a shame, she thought, if a few malcontents were able to keep their countrymen from progressing into the future.

Pulling her dressing gown around her, Christiana ventured into the hallway and knocked on the door of Baron Janis, the new co-chair of the Imperial Development Fund and the Princess’ newest and closest advisor and friend.

Baron Janis Tagaarth, still dressed in pajamas and rubbing his eyes, opened the door. “Your Highness,” he said, his popping open in shock, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Janis,” the Princess said with a smile. “I couldn’t sleep any longer and thought we should give some thought to contingency plans, since the occupation doesn’t seem to be going well…”

After a little more than an hour, Christiana returned to her room and dressed. Shortly afterwards, she gathered with the rest of her retinue for breakfast and to wait for their meeting.

Timon Air Force Base

The next morning, Lieutenant Fuell approached the Priness and her entourage as they were eating breakfast, coming to attention and waiting patiently to be recognized by the Excalbian lady.

Timon Air Force Base

Princess Christiana noticed the young lieutenant waiting at attention. She carefully placed her fork and knife on the edges of her plate and turned to Fuell.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," Christiana said. "Are you waiting for us?"

Timon Air Force Base

"I await Your Highness's good pleasure." Lieutenant Fuell answered. "There is no reason whatever to rush your meal on my account." She smiled gallantly and resumed her patient wait.

Allied Central Command

General Reagan frowned as he looked at the report in front of him. "The Pantocratorians did what?" he asked in a horrified tone.

"Well...sir...I think they were simply trying to keep the insurgents from trying to shoot at Pantocratorian troops. I don't think they realized that most people wouldn't have access to the news, that the terrorists would go out of their way and try to make it messy." replied Lieutenant Daniel Rabin.

"I know what they were trying, but...Never mind. How bad are the images out there, Lieutenant?" the general pressed.

"We believe images exist of dead or dying children from the age of five and up, at least one pregnant lady, the elderly, the enfeebled...all recently freed former slaves that are supposed to be being helped by our presence." Rabin answered.

"The terrorists intentionally herded particularly sympathetic seeming civilians into places where they were guaranteed to be collateral damage. The Bolshies are the war criminals here, not the 'birds'. Still...this'll play bad. Especially in Carasia. Get Montmanuel on the phone."

"Yes, sir." Rabin answered quickly, going to call the Pantocratorians and get their commander on Reagan's line.

Beyke

The Cross of the Pantocratorian Crusade fluttered in the breeze over the shattered city hall in the city of Beyke as the victorious troops of the Ambaran Infantry Legion mulled about the square, herding groups of surrendered Bolsheviks into trucks to be taken to internment camps outside of the city. There had been a lot of hard fighting, but the policy of destroying buildings containing enemy troops had spared the men of the Ambaran Infantry Legion the worst of the house-to-house fighting.

Lieutenant Henri Quibue and a squad of troopers searched through the remains of the city hall for the mayor and for the foreign journalists they understood were being held hostage. The building had already supposedly been secured, but they kept their rifles at the ready just in case, and poked their way cautiously about the place.

"I dunno how we're supposed to tell the difference between the hostages and the rebels..." complained one of the troopers in rough French. "They all look the same to me."

"Most of the hostages are journalists. Foreigners. They'll be easy to spot." Quibue replied, kicking an overturned table out of the way with his foot.

"And the others, sir?" replied the trooper.

"Well..." started Quibue, rolling his eyes as if explaining the process to a small child. "Obviously, if they're holding a gun, the chances that they are a hostage are low, and you should shoot them. If they're not holding a gun, then the chances that they are holding anybody hostage are also low, and you should not shoot them. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." the trooper mumbled.

"Morons." Quibue complained surprisingly audibly as the squad moved through the building.

Pantocratorian Supreme Command, Marlund

"...reports that Beyke Command is now secure, and that the last rebel elements in Beyke are being mopped up as we speak." relayed Montmanuel's communications officer.

"Bon. I think it's time for champagne, gentlemen. Our boys did a damned good job up there, what what?" Montmanuel cheered boisterously. There were some reciprocal cheers from his staff as a servant was dispatched to retrieve some champagne from the mansion's cellars.

"Your Grace, General Reagan from Allied Central Command is on the phone, and wishes to speak to you." the communications officer said.

"Calling to congratulate us, I should think boys!" Montmanuel announced loudly to the war room. There were a few tired grins and nods. It had been a long night and day spent co-ordinating troop movements, airstrikes, artillery, and dozens of other things. Montmanuel took the phone and sat down on a comfortable couch to await his champagne.

"General Reagan?" Montmanuel asked as he picked up the phone. "I take you've been watching the show in Beyke, eh? I understand that the last of the Bolshie rebels are being rounded up right now, my boys are looking for the last hold-outs and trying to find any remaining hostages. How are things up there in Central Command, what?"

"Yes, I have been watching, Your Grace." Reagan said in a much more sombre tone than the Pantocratorian was using.

"Good good, and how are things up in Central Command?" Montmanuel repeated jovially.

"Rather grim." Reagan answered. "This is going to be a public relations nightmare for the allied forces."

"I don't really see how. I mean yes, that there was a rebellion was embarrassing, but that we put it down so quickly will surely convey our message that allied forces are not to be opposed." Montmanuel replied.

"How many civilian casualties do you count, General?" he asked.

"We haven't been counting civilian casualties, and I'm a Duke, General." Montmanuel replied with a frown.

"You're also a General." Reagan pointed out. "Our numbers say about around two thousand."

"I am a Duke foremost, and will be addressed as such or not at all!" Montmanuel chided Reagan.

"Including at least five hundred minor children." Reagan continued.

Montmanuel motioned with a hand to an aide-de-camp as an agitated expression began to spread across his face. He put a hand over the mouthpiece and issued an instruction to the ADC, who went and fetched a file. His only reply to Reagan was clearing his throat.

"A dozen pregnant women." Reagan continued.

Montmanuel looked over the file the ADC fetched him with insurgent/civilian casualty reports from the Ambaran Infantry Legion, but didn't reply.

"You do not see this as a public relations problem?" Reagan asked.

"You seem to have a lot of relations problems, General." the Duke replied.

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace?" General Reagan asked.

"So finally, you have taken to addressing me properly again, eh? Your manners, General, are quite appalling." Montmanuel complained. "I have some reports here from my boys, but I should remind you, General, since you seem to have forgotten, that these people were given adequate warning, specifically that any civilian giving shelter to a rebel was an enemy of the state and would be treated as such. I put it to you then, that the numbers you have produced, and I know not from where you have produced them, since neither my troops nor my staff has passed any such numbers onto you, that the numbers you have produced primarily consist of enemies of the state in the form of unarmed rebels, who were themselves sheltering armed rebels, with an unfortunate minority of genuine civilians who were being held hostage by the rebels."

Reagan didn't even deign to respond to the childish comment. "I am perfectly aware of all that." he said calmly.

"Good." Montmanuel replied. "We have very little way of knowing who falls into what category, naturally, but our estimates are that there were fifteen hundred and thirty unarmed casualties. I must stress again that I do not regard even a large proportion of that number as civilian in nature, and that any civilian casualties are entirely the fault of the rebels, who were warned, just as the civilians were, about what would happen. They chose to put civilian hostages in situations where they knew what would happen to them. That estimate of five hundred children is vastly overstated, as well, although I'm afraid I do not have a firmer figure. May I ask, General, if you in any way hold Pantocratorian forces accountable for these casualties, or if you disapprove of the measures we took?"

"I do not think that should be our concern right now. We do need to deal with the likely response to what happened in Beyke." Reagan said.

"And what will the likely response be?" Montmanuel asked.

"Large scale public criticism of the war, an increase in recruiting for insurgent organizations in Ambara, poorer relations with the local people for our forces throughout Marlund, Parliamentary interference from the Marlunders, from my people, possibly from yours..."

"On the contrary, there will be a decrease in recruiting of insurgent organisations. As for the other issues, I leave them to politicians and other riff raff." Montmanuel replied.

"As you wish." Reagan said politely.

"Is that all?" Montmanuel asked.

"It is, General." Reagan said and hung up.

"Childish idiot..." he muttered as he set about issuing the appropriate orders from Allied Central Command to help insulate all allied troops.

Two or three Bolsheviks glared sullenly as they were hearded from city hall. With them were also a number of members of the local militia, the Marlund Army, and the local police who had apparently turned sides and joined with the insurgents in a last ditch effort to save the people of the city. All in all, the Pantocratorians took about three dozen armed prisoners.

Two or three hundred more enemy soldiers lay among the great masses of civilian dead. Not one rebel building had been any emptier than it was every day. Men, women, and children stared up at the Pantocratorians with dead eyes and bloodied bodies from where they had been going about their daily business. One elderly man had been killed by pieces of shattered porcelain from his bathroom floor. He had died on the toilet with his pants around his ankles. A mother, who ran to bring her dog inside to keep it from getting hurt in the expected streetfighting, was wailing hysterically that her newborn and the teenage daughter she left watching him were blown to bits along with the rest of their building while she was outside. A young man dug frantically through the ruins of the dentist's office where his mother had gone that morning, full of hope at getting her long crooked teeth finally fixed with the help of reconstruction programs. A little girl looked down hopelessly at her dying puppy, seeming too stunned to recognize the body of her mother and father lying not ten yards away. Nearby, a baby lay on his mother's bare chest, suckling horrifically at a now dead teet from which he had recently been feeding.

Likewise, there seemed to be a great deal of confusion among the survivors as to why the Pantocratorians were here. A substantial number of local women, many of them elderly or unattractive, all of them dirty, bloody, and hungry, and they were offering themselves to the Pantocratorians in exchange for their lives or their children's lives in bad German spattered with a few words of broken, mispronounced French.

Ragnhild Dahrendorf forced a smile as she was ushered into the office of the Pantocratorian Foreign Minister. Her face looked like she hadn't slept for a couple days and her eyes seemed almost shocked. "Your Excellency..."

"Your Excellency... is there something wrong?" Raoul said, rising to greet her and picking up on her shock immediately.

"Has Your Excellency not heard of the incident at Beyke?" she asked.

"I have, please, sit down." Raoul said, indicating to the lounge suite in his office.

She sat, slowly. "What do you think of it?"

"I think it's terrible, Your Excellency, and I hope nothing like that ever happens again." Raoul replied, sitting down after her.

"Are there any safeguards being put in place?" she asked. "Any disciplinary measures?"

"Well wait, what do you mean exactly?" Raoul asked, feeling that things were getting a bit ahead of themselves.

"Well...I think that poor casualties should count as much as rich ones." she said. "You are aware that the Duke of Montmanuel broadcasted his warning by television and by pamphlet?"

"Yes." Raoul nodded. "I take it the incident in Beyke you refer to is specifically the Pantocratorian response, not the entire situation?"

"It is." she said.

"I see, well then I think perhaps you should start from wherever you planned to start. Take a moment to compose yourself if you like." Raoul said. "Would you like something to drink, or anything else?"

She breathed in a little. "I could use a drink."

"What would you like to drink?" Raoul enquired. "Water? Coffee? Something stronger?"

"Scotch, if you have it." she answered.

Raoul got up and went over to a liquor cabinet, and poured the ambassador a glass of scotch.

"I've not got any ice in here I'm afraid..." he said, handing her the glass as he sat back down.

"It's alright." she said, downing it. "Your Excellency, those people had no real warning. It was illegal for them to learn to read and write just a few years ago. There's been valuable work done since then but the literacy rate is still very low. The number of families who own a television or computer in a city like that is much lower still."

"What about radio?" Raoul asked. "It was broadcast over radio too."

"A little more common." she said. "But still limited to the middle classes."

"Well, every avenue for giving advanced warning was pursued." Raoul replied. "It's unfortunate, but Pantocratorian forces could hardly have done more in terms of providing a warning."

"It was a warning for social and economic elites only." Dahrendorf stated.

"It was the best they could do. There were no other avenues available to them." Raoul replied.

"So you intend to do nothing about it?" she asked, struggling to stay composed.

"I didn't say that, I said that they gave as effective a warning as was available." Raoul replied.

"Go on." she said.

"I don't have anything else to say about the warning." Raoul said. "Was the warning all you wanted to talk about?"

"I wanted to talk about the people who were killed." she said.

"Go on." Raoul nodded.

"Most of them were unconnected with the insurgency, overwhelmingly poor and overwhelmingly black." she stated bluntly.

"The Pantocratorian commander in Marlund advised the Cabinet that the number of casualties have been overstated, and that the number of casualties unconnected with the insurgency in particular has been overstated." Raoul replied. "And, whether the civilians were advised or not, the insurgents certainly were, and they still chose to endanger the civilians."

"We do not believe that we overstate the numbers." she said calmly. "As to the insurgents, no one is defending them."

"What I am saying, Your Excellency, is that the insurgents bear the primary responsibility for any civilian casualties." Raoul told her.

"Does the Pantocratorian Government intend to do anything about this incident?" she asked, putting her hand to her forehead and looking rather pale.

"Yes, we're doing everything we can to prevent future insurgencies from being in a position to seize control of a major population centre." Raoul replied.

"I meant about the victims or the actions of Pantocratorian officers." she said, leaning forward in an agitated fashion.

"Pantocratorian forces are assisting the city of Beyke in its reconstruction efforts." Raoul said.

"I'm not sure that's helpful." she said.

"Of course it's helpful!" Raoul replied.

"The continued presence of Pantocratorian troops in Beyke is a source of immense psychological distress." she said.

"Then perhaps your Government should ask the Allied Central Command to assign another allied power to reconstruction efforts in Beyke?" Raoul suggested.

"We will." she said.

"Good." Raoul nodded.

"In fact, we would wish to geographically rearrange allied forces entirely." she said.

"I'm sure you'll be able to work it all out with the Allied Central Command." Raoul replied. "We leave operational details to the Central Command."

"I see..." she said with an increasingly worried frown.

Raoul sat there, watching on with concern, but not really able to do or say anything that Dahrendorf would want to hear.

"The Bundestag is considering repealing the law making allied troops immune to criminal prosecution." she said.

"That would be unwise." Raoul cautioned. "It might become very difficult to maintain an adequate deployment if that happened."

"Your Excellency, the city would have frankly been better off in the hands of the insurgents." she said. "Who did you think you were saving?" she snapped. "You killed two thousand people to capture four hundred lightly armed insurgents and rescue a half a dozen journalists."

"Maybe we saved your Government, madame." Raoul replied. "How credible would a new Government have been if it couldn't maintain control of a major city in the face of, as you say, a band of lightly armed insurgents?"

"If you did, you did it by destroying everything our new government was supposed to stand for. I don't know how reconstruction or racial reconciliation will be possible in Marlund after this." she said.

"Your Government had forewarning." Raoul continued. "Even if the people of Beyke didn't, your Government did. It didn't take any action. It was quite content for Pantocratorian forces to take whatever action was necessary to regain control over Beyke. Only after it happened was the strategy criticised - one might accuse the Marlund Government of conceiving a strategy born through political convenience. Let Pantocratorian forces regain control of Beyke for it, and then criticising Pantocratorian forces for the method in which they regained it. If that method was heavy handed, then everybody was aware of how heavy handed it was the night before it was employed. Nobody said anything. Nobody protested then. You didn't make an appointment with me that night. The Marlund Government didn't contact Allied Central Command, or the Duke of Montmanuel. So my genuine condolences, madame, but your criticism of Pantocratorian forces comes several days too late."

"My government hardly had enough forewarning to make a considered response." she said.

"Do you suppose mine did?" Raoul asked. "My sympathy is genuine, madame, but the criticism isn't Pantocratoria's to bear alone."

"But it was Pantocratorians who pulled the triggers and Pantocratorians who were seen celebrating rather than mourning the results of their actions."

"And it was the Marlund Government which reaped the benefits." Raoul replied. "I'm sorry, madame, but if you came here looking for scalps, you won't find them."

"You really intend to do nothing?" she asked, shocked at what she perceived to be the inconsistency with his own past record.

"The troops are there at your Government's invitation." Raoul replied. "They will continue to do their job for as long as they are there."

"They were not doing their job!" she exclaimed, on the verge of tears.

"They regained control of Beyke." replied Raoul.

"They were congratulating themselves over the corpses of little children." she said harshly. "The Duke of Montmanuel no longer has my government's invitation."

"You can't pick and choose which Pantocratorian officers are invited and which ones aren't. Either Pantocratorian forces are there at your invitation, or they are not." Raoul replied.

"Then they're not." she said.

"Then, when we receive a formal written request to leave from your Government, we will do so." Raoul replied.

"Thank you." she said.

All Pantocratorian troops deployed in Marlund had been issued with cards with simple German phrases on them. The usual response to any approaches made to them by the inhabitants of Beyke was recited from these cards in the form of an accented German phrase: "Everything is under control. Please return to your home." or "We are here to help.". Those few troops who allowed themselves to be engaged in conversation were generally defensive about what had happened - they had come to liberate the city, it was the fault of the Bolsheviks that civilians had died, they had put them in harm's way. Many troops became embittered that their efforts, and the deaths of their comrades in arms, did not seem to be appreciated by the city's inhabitants.

Any obviously injured civilians they came across were immediately referred to the Ambaran Infantry Legion's medics, and taken to city hospitals or (if those reached their capacity) the Legion's own field hospital on the outskirts of town. Any bodies discovered were taken to a make-shift morgue in Nehemiah Park, where they were kept under guard and an orderly system of admitting civilians in to identify dead relatives and friends was quickly instated.

The Ambaran Infantry Legion's commanders quickly became aware that despite what they had felt they had done, the city's inhabitants didn't regard them as their liberators. The Legion's officers were instructed to keep strict discipline - there would be no fraternising with the civilian population, no embarrassing incidents in particular with the women which would make things even worse. The Cross of the Pantocratorian Crusade was taken down over City Hall only a few hours after it had been raised, and replaced with the Marlund flag.

Lieutenant Henri Quibue and several other officers with interrogation training interrogated the prisoners, who had been interned in their own wing of Beyke City Jail. He had just returned from the morgue in Nehemiah Park with one of the prisoners, identifying some of the bodies of the insurgents who lay alongside the civilian dead, and had become acutely aware of how heavy handed the approach taken by his commanders had been - when he had left the morgue the number of identified civilian dead stood at 1342, and was expected to continue to climb, with several hundred unclaimed bodies still awaiting identification. He had suggested to his immediate commander, who had agreed, that the interrogation of the prisoners should focus on the issue of whether there was a directive to intentionally endanger civilians through holding them hostage or through placing rebel troops in buildings known to have a high civilian occupancy.

The citizens of Beyke were not inclined to return to their homes or to trust the Pantocratorians. They would often scream "Murderer!" at the Pantocratorian soldier. Mothers and fathers held up the bloody and mangled bodies of their young children and cried "You did this!" sometimes in German and occassionally in very broken French.

The hospital and morgue were quickly filled to capacity. People flooded both in a desperate search for missing loved one, calling out their names. Even grown men were frequently in tears.

The women who were crowding the soldiers slowly realized that their efforts were unnecessary. As it became clear that the Pantocratorians were not going to shoot anyone, they were gradually replaced by an angrier crowd, cursing the Pantocratorians.

A number of the prisoners provided interesting information. One of the rebels, a Faenus Cooper, had been told that the Pantocratorians would be fighting on the street and that he should try to keep people indoors for their own safety. Damaris Cook was told that the Pantocratorians would try to take out large concentrations and that she should take up sniping positions in the most densely inhabited buildings to protect the people there. Bardelys Carpenter had been told that the Pantocratorians were trying to communicate with their agents in Beyke and that he should destroy their documents and get rid of anyone he saw reading them. Diophantus Tanner was ordered to destroy radios and televisions which might be used for enemy communications.

Lieutenant Helios Butler was an educated man aware of his rights under law. He informed the Pantocratorians that he was still an officer in the Marlund Militia until discharged by a Marlund military court and that he and his men were entitled to speak to lawyers before they had to answer any questions.

Some letters sent home by Pantocratorian troops in Beyke:


Dearest Maria,

I read and re-read every letter I get from you, especially when I go into combat. I always keep your latest letter and your picture in my pocket to read over again so that if I get shot or something happens to me, I will have seen your face and read your words not long before I die. I know you don't like it when I get morbid in my letters, and I'll try not to be, but by now I'm sure you've heard of what has happened here in Beyke. I hope you understand if I'm not cheerful.

It's good to hear that the children are so well. I love hearing everything about them, even the things you sometimes gloss over and say they're boring. They might be to you because you're there, but I miss out on the everyday boring things. Maybe I need more boring. Keep a close eye on them, and tell them every day that their daddy loves them.

It is a horrible thing that happened here. Everywhere there was fighting in the city, there are bodies, not just the enemy, but children, women, and other civilians. I have seen horrible things here in Beyke that no man alive would ever think to see, things that belonged in Hell, not on Earth. Dead and dying children. I found a boy in the rubble today, he didn't look older than little Kostas, although he might have been I suppose since so many of the children here, even the living ones, are malnourished and look younger than they are. His arm was crushed and his lung was punctured underneath the ceiling which had fallen on top of him. He was dying and crying for his mother and father. I called the medic, who told me that there was no hope and that I should try to find his mother while he gave the boy something to ease the pain. The mother we found unconscious outside - he died before we could wake her up. When she woke up she saw his body being carried away, and screamed like I have never heard anybody scream - the medic gave her a sedative and we brought her to the house next door for her neighbours to look after her.

There are so many terrible stories like this I hear from everyone in the unit, and I am sorry to have told you something so gruesome, but I had to tell someone other than the other men, who just look back at me with hard, distant eyes. They have all seen things as bad or worse. None of us know what to say to each other.

Please, look after our children and tell them I love them and kiss them for me everyday! Every injured, dead or dying child I see now in Beyke, I see little Kostas, or Theodora, or Isakios. It is driving me mad to be apart from them, I wish I had never been to this piece of Hell on Earth.

Yours always,

Spiro



Dear Maman,

Thank you for the scarf you knitted me. It is actually summer here in Ambara, as I told you, but it was still very thoughtful, besides which since it is so soft, I use it to cover the hard metal edge of my overhead board in my tank - I was always hitting my head on that thing, and now when I do it no longer hurts.

I am writing to tell you not to believe the lies they are saying about Beyke on television. I was watching the news in HQ this evening, and I never saw such biased unpatriotic propaganda. Yes, there were civilian casualties, but most of them were murdered by the rebels, and those who weren't killed directly by them were killed indirectly. You see, we warned the whole city that we would destroy rebel buildings rather than go in - the infantry wouldn't do it, and I can't say I blame them. So what the rebels did was round up civilians and put them in the buildings with them, hold them prisoner there, so that if they went down they'd take down all the civilians with them. It's disgusting.

The people aren't grateful at all. They don't understand what we were doing. They're so used to being run by bully boys like the last regime that they just assumed that when the rebels took over the city, things were sort of getting back to normal. You'd think that after we liberated them, they'd show a bit of appreciation - on the contrary, they're so used to tyranny that they don't know how to appreciate the freedom we've restored to them. Sometimes I wonder why we bother, we're just getting blamed for what the rebels did.

It makes me really angry when these ingrates disregard the sacrifices my friends made to liberate this city. My friend Jean got shot in the fight - he'll be OK, he might even get to go home to Pantocratoria out of it, but still. He was wounded trying to help these people, but they spit on him and on everyone else who has fought for them. And to know that it isn't just the ignorant blacks here in Marlund, who at least have the excuse of a poor education and years of oppression, but also our own media that's lying about us, making us look like killers, just sickens me.

Please Maman, tell your friends that we're helping these people, tell them you're proud of us, tell them to be proud of us too!

Love,

André

Some more letters home by Pantocratorian troops in Beyke

Dear Father,

I know we haven't spoken since I moved to Ambara, since Mum's funeral. I don't know if you follow the news to see where my unit is, I doubt you do, I don't blame you, but we're in Beyke, and you've probably heard what happened here. I'm sorry we fought, I hope you can forgive me. The things I have seen here really made me think, and I can't let all the bad blood between us stay. I'm sorry about what I said, and I forgive you for what you said, let's put it behind us and let bygones be bygones.

I haven't seen the news, but some friends over here saw it in the mess hall and said that it is really biased against us troops. I didn't tell them this, but I'm telling you: it's right to be biased against us. We may not have wanted to kill civilians, but we didn't want to go out of our ways not to do it either, and they say over a thousand innocent people are dead, maybe more. My unit heard a gunshot from a building we were passing, and the sergeant called in an airstrike. It was a big tenement building, and to be honest I don't even know if there was anybody shooting at us from the inside - for all I know it was a cap gun. The others say they're sure, but I have a feeling they are just trying to convince themselves of that. I don't know how many people were inside, and I don't want to know.

I don't know what the brass was thinking, but there are a lot of people here who are dead who shouldn't be dead. The people hate us, they don't understand why we did what we did. I don't know what to tell them - I wish you and Mum never made me learn German in school, I wish I couldn't talk to them at all, then maybe I wouldn't have to hear the stories and wouldn't feel I had to try to explain. It just isn't something I can explain to them. They hold us responsible, each and every one of us. Maybe they're right to, even though none of us made the decision.

I've seen whole families dead over here, Father. It seems so stupid and pointless to still be angry about a fight at a funeral which happened years ago when one of us or both of us could be dead tomorrow. I wonder how many of the dead here, the civilians, the troops, even the rebels, how many of them died angry at their fathers, their mothers, or their other love ones. All I know for sure is that I don't want to be one of them.

Love,

Markos



My dearest Irena,

I'm writing to you from Beyke, asking you not to worry about me. It isn't as bad as you see on TV, they're only showing one or two buildings which were hit and making it out like it is worse than it is. I mean, it is horrible that any civilians died at all, of course, but we tried to warn them. The rebels were holding them hostage mostly, trying to use them as human shields. It was incredibly cowardly, but when I see TV in the mess hall, the media is being even worse. They're making it sound like we intentionally killed innocent people, which is just absurd. Yes, there were casualties, and that's bad, but we liberated a whole city, so we saved thousands more.

One of the boys, a fresh recruit from Andrium, just looked over my shoulder at your picture and whistled. No, not that picture, you don't need to worry, nobody sees that one! But whenever I am writing you letters, I keep your photo nearby, the one of you that morning at the farm. The kid was pretty impressed - and he doesn't know the half of it. It gets me worried though, you probably have guys lining up wanting to ask you out while I'm gone. I'll have to make sure I get back alive just to kick their arses and let them know that engagement ring on your finger isn't just for show. And the boys here think snipers taking pot shots at them is scary - they've never asked Irena Nikephora to marry them!

Yours always,

Michael

Timon Air Force Base

Princess Christina smiled at the young lieutenant. She looked across the table at Baron Janis and the rest of her delegation, then back to Fuell. “You are not rushing us, Lieutenant,” the Princess said pleasantly, “to honest, we have been loitering over breakfast. I think we are all anxious for our meeting. Is it time to go?”

The Coast North of Frederickstadt, Marlund

BRIG James Joyner, Commander of the 3rd Brigade or the 80th Light Armoured Division of Excalbian Imperial Army, sat in his six-wheeled command vehicle in the parking lot of roadside café. As he looked through the armoured window of the vehicle – a cross between a tank and a dune buggy – he thought that calling this place a café might be overly generous.

Joyner cast a nervous look over his left shoulder. A young corporal was sitting in the swivel-turret in the centre of the vehicle manning the microwave emitter. After what had happened in Beyke, he was nervous – both about the possibility of his men falling under attack from insurgents and the risk that innocent civilians could be caught in the crossfire. The only relief the general felt was the knowledge that his troops were at least equipped with some non-lethal weapons.

The general knew, however, that high-tech weapons alone would not avoid another Beyke. So, here he sat, in the parking lot of a dilapidated restaurant conveniently located between his forward outpost and the nearest town, waiting to meet with local officials.

Secunda Cook leaned quietly against what had once been a hospital, staring blankly at the endless piles of corpses. The woman, young and relatively attractive but for the mud and the blood, was weakly holding a simple housewife's butterknife, which she brandished at any Pantocratorian that came near with a futility that only shock could produce.

An army truck arrived outside the hospital and troops wearing gloves and masks got out, and started loading bodies onto it. They had an armed rifleman with them, who saw Secunda and approached her. He pulled out the orange card in his pocket with German phrases on it.

"Are you hurt?" he asked in accented German.

"I'll die first. I'm a Christian woman." she said in the same language, brandishing the knife.

The trooper frowned, looking at the knife, and then at the card. He recognised the word "die".

"Die? Are you hurt?" he asked again.

"I'm a virgin." she said.

"Are you hurt? Yes or no?" the trooper repeated the question, not finding his card very useful.

"Why did you do this?" she asked, slowly coming to her senses as the man kept talking to her.

"No? Not hurt?" the man replied. He obviously didn't understand anything she was saying.

"No, not hurt. No thanks to you." she snapped angrily.

"We are here to help." the man read from his card, indicating to the knife.

"No. You didn't help." she said, pointing to the bodies.

"The morgue is at Nehemiah Park." he read from a hand written note on the back of the card. "Everything is under control. Please return to your home."

She sighed, pointing to him. "You. You." She then looked at a nearby corpse and pointed to it. "This. You did this."

"Yes, the morgue is at Nehemiah Park." the trooper nodded gravely.

"You killed these people!" she screamed. "Go home!"

"Yes. Everything is under control. Please return to your home." nodded the trooper, frowning as he understood the word home. He pointed to the knife and then waved it away with his hand, as if to indicate that he wanted her to put it away.

She took a step back, frowning. She pointed to him and then pointed to the bodies again. He shook his head and pointed to the two men loading the bodies into the truck. She looked at him and then spat.

"Please return to your home. We are here to help." the trooper said, wiping the spit off his jacket.

She spat again, on the ground.

"Please return to your home." he shouted this time, as if making it clear that it was not a request.

"No!" she shouted in French. "It's my city." she stated firmly, returning to German.

The trooper looked back to the men loading the truck to check on their progress. Deciding that the woman he was talking to may have been muddy and bloody, but that she wasn't hurt, he wandered away from her. It didn't take her long to lapse all the way back into shock after the man walked away, brandishing the knife again at them. The trooper frowned when he turned around to find her pointer her knife again. He walked back over to Secunda, pointed at the knife, and held out his hand, indicating for her to give it to him. She gripped the knife tighter and thrust it as his palm. He stepped out of the way of her thrust and grabbed her forearm. He let go of his rifle in the other hand, letting it hang down from its shoulder strap, and pulled the knife out of her hand.

"Please return to your home!" he growled as he disarmed her.

She swung at him. He threw the knife away and grabbed her other forearm with his now free hand, stopping her from swinging at him again.

"Stop!" he shouted in German at her.

"You killed my father. You killed my mother. You killed my sister. What do I have left to go home too, you son of a bitch? My home is rubble!"

"Please... return... to... your... home." he repeated, before letting her go, taking a few steps back, and taking a hold of his rifle again.

"No home." she said slowly. She pointed to a pile of rubble. "My home is like that. Home."

Finally understanding that she didn't have a home to return to, he made a noise of understanding, and then checked another phrase on his card.

"Yes. I understand." he said first. "No home. Please come with us."

"Why? You blew up my home. You killed my parents." She pointed to the corpses. "Mama. Papa."

"We are here to help. Please come with us." he said. The men finished loading the bodies into the truck, and gave the trooper a shout. "Please come with us."

"No." she said again, spitting at his feet.

"Uhh..." he started, looking again at the back of the card at a hand written note. "There is a shelter at Abraham Place. Please come with us."

"No."

"Yes. There is a shelter at Abraham Place." the trooper said, looking back at the truck as they started. He made a beckoning motion. "Plus vite! Please come with us!"

She pointed to the corpses again. "Mama. Papa." Then she pointed at him. "Murderer."

"We are here to help." he said, sighing as he started to slowly back away to the truck. "Please come with us. There is a shelter at Abraham Place."

"She says you murdered her parents." said a voice in French coming from nearby.

"Tell her that if she has no place to go, we have a shelter at Abraham Place." the soldier answered in French, turning to the source of the voice.

It was a young black woman, better dressed than the others, although her nice clothes were or little benefit under all the mud and gore that covered everything. She spoke French like a well-educated woman, if not quite like a native speaker. "I think she understood, sir. But she doesn't trust you."

"Tell her we want to help. And tell her if we were going to kill her, I would've shot her when she tried to stab me." the trooper said. "Do you have some place to go, mademoiselle?"

"No." the woman said before turning to the scared woman and repeating the man's words in German.

"We can take you both to the shelter at Abraham Place." he said.

"I'll ask her if she'll go if I go with her." she said before addressing Secunda. After a brief conversation in German, she turned back to the Pantocratorian. "She will."

The trooper climbed up to the truck cabin, and offered each woman a hand to help her up. The more refined lady accepted. The scared woman refused and climbed up hesitantly by herself. The cabin of the truck had five seats. The two men who had loaded the corpses had removed their gloves and masks and sat in the driver's and front passenger's seats respectively. The back three seats were in the form of one cushioned bench. The trooper sat down behind the driver, leaving the other two places free for the two women. He set his rifle between his legs. The woman who wasn't terrified of him sat next to him, obviously. The other sat on the other side.

"What are your names?" the trooper asked as the truck rumbled to life and began making its way through the city streets.

"Colonel Rai Butler." the first woman said, offering him a dainty hand, palm down.

"Colonel?" he asked in surprise, taking her hand.

She laughed delicately as she let her hand rest a moment before withdrawing it. "I was a spy for the underground before the war, found myself in military intelligence afterwards." she said.

"Private Philippe Tradeur, Colonel, mademoiselle, at your service." the trooper replied.

"So what do you think of all this, Private?" she asked.

"Of what, mademoiselle?" the trooper asked. He supposed he would get the other woman's name later.

"Beyke." she answered.

"I wouldn't know, mademoiselle." replied the trooper, turning to face the front again, looking straight ahead.

"Oh?" she pressed a little.

"All I know is my orders, 'demoiselle." the trooper replied. "Protect this truck while we take bodies back to the morgue. Take any wounded we encounter to the hospital. Take any civilians with nowhere to go to the shelter. Nothing else, 'demoiselle."

"Surely you cannot avoid having an impression of what has happened here." she protested softly.

"Army doesn't pay me to have impressions, mademoiselle." Tradeur replied, still looking forward. "Headquarters will want to see you, shall we take you there then, after we've dropped the bodies and the civilian off, mademoiselle?"

"You shall." she answered demurely, looking off.

"Does she have a name, mademoiselle? The civilian?" Tradeur asked.

"Secunda." she answered. "Secunda Cook. She worked at as a short order place in a little restaurant on the other side of town. She was working about seventy or eighty hours a week. Her parents were invalids and could barely make ends meet on the dole. She was supporting all of them. It was hard but she was grinning ear to ear when she got the job, a real job, with wages, that she could leave if she ever wanted."

"When did she tell you all that then?" the trooper asked.

"I know people around here." she replied. "Her parents are dead now."

Private Tradeur nodded but didn't reply as the truck rumbled through the streets. She fell silent as well, looking out the window. Her manner cooled a little. The truck approached Nehemiah Park. There were crowds of people lined up waiting to be admitted inside the makeshift morgue to identify friends and loved ones. The troops watching over the crowd waved the truck in, and it passed through the security gates and pulled up outside one of the great tents. The men driving the truck pulled on their gloves and masks, and Tradeur pulled on his mask, and offered two disposable masks to the truck's two occupants.

"Stay here, we'll be quick." he told the passengers.

Butler just nodded. "Very well."

They were good to their word. The bodies were unloaded in only a couple of minutes, and the troops got back into the truck. The men removed their gloves and started the truck again.

"We'll take Mademoiselle Cook to Abraham Place now, mademoiselle. It's on the way to headquarters." Tradeur told her as the truck left the makeshift morgue and got back on the road.

"Very well." she responded again.

The truck rumbled along to Abraham Place, where it pulled up in front of another tent village with another set of security gates.

"Frauline Cook?" Tradeur said, switching to broken German, looking at Secunda as he undid his seatbelt. "Please come with me."

Butler spoke calmly to Cook in German. The woman nodded angrily, speaking back rapidly before she got out, following the soldiers. Tradeur marched her over to a check-in desk in a small open tent, manned by a staff sergeant who spoke German, flanked by armed guards. He left her in the line.

"Goodbye, Frauline Cook." he said in bad German.

She just glared at him angrily, waiting in the line. Tradeur shrugged and made his way back over to the truck, which started up again and hit the roads to Pantocratorian military headquarters. Butler rode in silence, frowning thoughtfully to herself. Knowing better than to speak to a superior officer unless spoken too, Tradeur and the other two Pantocratorians said nothing as the truck carried her to headquarters.

"You are fortunate, private, that you do not speak German." she said at length. "If you did, it would be much harder not to form an impression."

"Yes, mademoiselle." Tradeur replied mechanistically.

"I take it you have some idea of what most of the people are saying?"

"Yes, mademoiselle." the trooper replied.

"Very well." she answered, falling silent until they arrived.

Cabinet Chamber, Palais du Parlement, New Rome
Demetrios Raoul walked into the cabinet chamber, where Isabelle Folquet, Gregory Nikomedes, and Thibault Drapeur were preparing for a Council of Ministers meeting.

"How did the meeting go with the Marlundish ambassador?" asked Folquet, without looking up from the Treasury report in front of her.

"Fucking terrible." Raoul replied, slumping down in a seat and fumbling through his top pocket for his cigarettes.

"Do you have to smoke in here?" Nikomedes asked in his accented French.

"Yes." Raoul replied as he lit up. "You should've been the one to talk to her, those fucking thugs in uniform are your responsibility, not mine."

"Demetrios..." Drapeur frowned, looking up from his departmental reports. "Come on, the language."

"So what happened?" Folquet pressed.

"She wanted someone to pay. Montmanuel I think." Raoul answered as he sucked on a cigarette. "She wanted him gone."

"Naturally you refused?" Nikomedes asked.

"Certainly I refused, as we discussed. Just because I sympathise with her doesn't mean I could tell her what she wanted to hear." Raoul replied. "I told her that the troops were there at the invitation of her government, that her government knew what Montmanuel was planning, and that it said absolutely nothing beforehand, and is now only trying to score political points..."

"Demetrios!" Folquet chided.

"Well what was I supposed to say? The more I think of it the more it makes me angry. Everybody knew what that titled primadonna had planned and nobody did a damn thing about it. I'll be damned if I'm not going to remind them that while it suited them, they were willing to let Montmanuel use any means necessary, just like we were." Raoul answered defensively. He then rubbed his temples with a free hand. "I told her the troops were there at her government's invitation, and she said that they would revoke Montmanuel's invitation. I told her that they can't do that, they either take who we send, or they uninvite the whole lot of them. So she said they'll do that."

"Are they serious? Are they insane?" Nikomedes asked.

"Who knows, she seemed pretty beside herself, I'm not sure she was speaking entirely for her government. I told her we'd wait for a formal written request." Raoul replied.

"This is a disaster..." Drapeur groaned. "Somebody tell Montmanuel that he can't ignore the issue, he's got to say something!"

"I'll recommend that he..." Nikomedes started.

"Recommend?" Raoul interjected angrily. "You're the fucking Defence Minister, for once will you...."

"Demetrios!" Drapeur snapped.

"...for once will you stand up to Montmanuel and actually act like you're his boss rather than the other way around?" Raoul finished.

"Whatever Montmanuel does, your department should issue some sort of statement. In fact, I think you should do it personally, Gregory." Folquet said, more calmly. "We'll see how that goes down... if the press isn't savage, then maybe you could do the same, Thibault?"

"We'll see how it goes." Drapeur nodded.

"So I am supposed to be the sacrificial lamb?" Nikomedes demanded, angrily.

"No, you're the lab mouse." Raoul grinned, his false smile doing more to emphasise his aggressive demeanour than it did to soften it. "If you get through it fine, as we all hope you do, then the Chancellor will say something."

"You will forgive me if I think the distinction a fine one..." Nikomedes snapped. "Are we going to the Palace or not?"

***

Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, New Rome
The night before, as images from Beyke were beamed into the televisions of New Rome, the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator issued an official bulletin - the Emperor's armies had been victorious in battle, and to give thanksgiving, the Emperor would hear Mass in the Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator the next morning. Te Deums were to be sung in churches across the Empire.

But as dawn broke and the gates of the palace complex opened to the sounds of blaring trumpets, as the Emperor and his procession made their first steps along the purple carpet towards the Cathedral, the Emperor underneath his purple and silver canopy, fanned by ostrich and peacock feathers, dressed in all the usual finery along with his attendants and courtiers, a crowd had already gathered outside the Cathedral. And it was not the usual crowd of loyal subjects, hoping for a glimpse of the Imperial Person in the flesh. Much to the surprise and consternation of the Palace officials, the crowd was angry. They carried signs protesting what had happened in Beyke, and the fact that their Emperor would celebrate it.

As the Imperial Procession, with its ceremonial Varangian Guard dressed in glimmering dress uniforms and decorative armour, grew closer to the crowd upon which they had not yet laid eyes, police and Varangian Guard in distinctly ordinary uniforms were nervously standing around the crowd, wondering what to do. Surely the crowd couldn't possibly be allowed to protest in the Imperial Presence! Something had to be done.

"Dispersez-vous!" commanded the police officer at the loud speaker for the last time.

Naturally the crowd didn't listen. The officer at the loud speaker sighed regretfully and turned to the riot police, and nodded. The riot police and the Varangians pulled on their gask masks. The police loaded and fired shells of tear gas into the crowd. The crowd began to scream and scatter in surprise, and the Varangians and the riot police advanced forward on them, behind their riot shields, firing rubber bullets here, subduing protestors with bludgeons there, arresting the violent ones, and letting the rest run away. As the police rounded up the few remnants of the crowd and took them away in wagons, the Varangians quickly tossed as many of the discarded signs and placards into their vehicles as possible, before tearing off after the running protestors so that they didn't get any ideas about coming back.

The Imperial Procession turned the last corner before the Cathedral. The Emperor frowned - the purple carpet in front of him looked dishevelled and dirty, the garden looked trampelled, and some loose newspapers were blowing in the wind.

"What? No crowd today?" he asked the person next to him.

Timon Air Force Base

Fuell bowed. "As you wish, Your Highness. Please come with me." The lovely young lieutenant waited for the princess and her people to rise, smiling lightly the entire time. When they did get up from the breakfast table, she walked with them out the front door of the building to a string of cars. After holding the door open for the party, she climbed in after them. "If Your Highness has no objection, I will be personally escorting you to your meeting for security reasons."

The cars drove for about an hour through the broad plains of northern Marlund. Now and again, Christiana could see elephants or other large local animals ranging over the fields in small herds. There was little traffic in this area of the country. They only passed one or two other cars, which each had to be checked by a team of soldiers before it was allowed to pass the princess. However, after an hour, Fuell received a brief call on her radio. Frowning, she turned to Princess Christiana. "Your Highness, it seems Dr. Bauer is no longer able to meet with you. There's been an emergency. Dr. Bauer says to tell you that the Pantocratorian Army has far outdone anything you saw in New Constantinople. If the question is not impertinent, Your Imperial Highness, what could he be referring to?"

Diplomacy

The Danaan embassy acted quickly to attempt to secure the release of all Danaan citizens arrested for protesting the Emperor's celebration of a victory mass after Beyke. While they were polite, embassy staff made no attempt to hide their personal sympathy for the protesters. Cardinal Lewis wrote a letter to his colleagues in Pantocratoria questioning the propriety of celebrating such an event.

News Clips

"...Pantocratorian forces, in what most people are calling a war crime, pure and simple, arranged the slaughter of..."

"...Prince Brendan said that he had not intended his remark to be overheard, but did not retract his statement that the Duke of Montmanuel was neither an officer nor a gentleman..."

"...protests outside the Pantocratorian embassy, which I'm told broke two million at their height..."

"...after which the minister intends to meet with labor leaders calling for a general strike against and boycott of Pantocratorian shipping until a formal apology..."

"...mass protests in Carasia, verging on riots, seem to be..."

"...rumors circulating about a possible request for Pantocratorian troops to withdraw, rumors which most analysts of Marlund politics believe to be in earnest..."

Lieutenant General Isaac Theodosius, commander of the Ambaran Infantry Legion, sat in his newly established office in the headquarters of the Pantocratorian forces in Beyke, reviewing a fresh batch interrogation reports. Pantocratorian HQ was another compound of tents and security check points, an organised but temporary affair. Theodosius had hoped to take Betsch Manor, the finest home in Beyke, as his headquarters, but Lady Sachi Genji was in residence, and in light of the attitude of the people of the city to the troops under his command, he had thought better of evicting its noble occupant.

"Antistrategos, Colonel Butler of Marlund Military Intelligence is waiting to see you." said an aide-de-camp in Greek as he entered the room. "She's the one the troops found wandering the city streets."

"Yes... send her in." nodded Theodosius, setting the reports aside.

Butler was guided into the office. Theodosius was a strong looking man in his late fifties, with a vaguely noble bearing, and a receding hairline. He rose from his seat, and motioned to the seat in front of him. Behind him was an official portrait of the Emperor of Pantocratoria, flanked on either side by a flag - on the right, the Cross of the Pantocratorian Crusade, and on the left by the flag of Pantocratorian Ambara.

"Do you speak Greek, or shall I send for a translator, Colonel?" he asked in Greek.

"I'm afraid I didn't follow you, sir." she said in French as she sat.

"Oh, I speak French too." Theodosius replied. "Colonel Butler, I'm told?"

"Yes, sir." she answered. "Lieutenant General Theodosius?"

"I have the privilege to be he, yes." Theodosius replied. "I understand you were found wandering the streets by one of my men?"

"I was, sir." she answered. "Although wandering is not the word I would use."

"Go on." nodded Theodosius.

"I was assessing the situation." she responded.

"I see. And what was your assessment?" Theodosius asked.

"Grim." she answered.

"I asked for your assessment, Colonel." Theodosius frowned. "Not for a monosyllablistic opinion."

Butler frowned back, opening her mouth to talk before shrugging lightly. "Your presence here is resented by almost the whole of the local population and is considered an enemy occupation by a majority. Vespasian Hunter was only able to recruit a small cadre from the overwhelmingly pro-ally people of Beyke originally. If he were somehow able to return to the city, he would have thousands ready to follow him, or at least give him a sympathetic hearing."

"Really? After we have demonstrated the folly of resistance?" Theodosius asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes." she answered. "You have made it appear to the people here that you are their enemies. You have proved every word Hunter said true by your actions, in their eyes."

"We have also proved that to follow Hunter will lead only to destruction and ruin, surely?" Theodosius suggested.

"You have proved that destruction and ruin come beforehand and have likely alienated the entire southern part of the country. With all due respect, sir, if you continue this strategy, you will soon either have to abandon the country or be willing to undertake the complete extermination of her population."

"Very well." Theodosius nodded. "Thankyou for that frank assessment, Colonel. Now, what do you know of this Hunter and his organisation?"

Her frown deepened. "He is a Bolshevik who has gathered around him a devoted but largely ignorant cadre of armed followers, mostly centered in Beyke."

"Were you monitoring them yesterday and today? Do you know what their internal response to the ultimatum delivered last night was?" Theodosius inquired.

"No." she answered simply. "I was at no point assigned to monitor or infiltrate Mr. Hunter's organization."

"Damn..." Theodosius sighed. "What, if I may ask, were you assigned to monitor, Colonel?"

"I work behind a desk in Lutherstadt, sir." she answered.

"Oh, I see." Theodosius sighed again. "We're trying to piece together as complete a picture as we can of events..."

"I understand, sir." she answered.

"Were you in Beyke for personal reasons then?" he inquired.

"I was." she answered. "My parents live here."

"I see. Will you be staying with them, then, or do you require accomodation? We could make officer's quarters available to you." Theodosius offered.

"I require accomodation." she answered. "Their apartment building was destroyed."

"I see." Theodosius nodded. "My staff will arrange that. Your parents?"

"My mother has been wounded. My father wasn't. Both are alive and in need of a place to stay." she said.

"There's a civilian shelter at Abraham Place..." Theodosius said. "But perhaps we could arrange something a little more comfortable."

"Thank you." she answered.

"If you have any more information, Colonel, or think of anything else, please, don't hesitate to arrange to see me." Theodosius said.

"Thank you, sir." she said.

Theodosius stood up. Butler rose as well, saluting. Theodosius returned her salute. When she left, he sat back down and re-opened his reports. Hmm... there might be something here...

Allied Central Command

The word from Central Command was not good. General Reagan had been relieved of his command and sent back to the Resurgent Dream to be court martialled for having known about what was to happen at Beyke, along with a half dozen of his subordinates. While the Danaans had said nothing official about Montmanuel, the fact that they considered it criminal simply to have known his plans was some indication of how they felt. Reagan's replacement was General of the Army Henry Darcy. Deployments were moved around. The Pantocratorians, in particular, were moved East into a largely uninhabited area where Montmanuel would not have access to society (as if anyone outside the Pantocratorian Officer Corps would consider him fit company anymore anyway) or to a manorial headquarters. Colonel Butler was immediately given orders to take command of Beyke until more troops could arrize under Brigadier General Adam Haar to take permanent command. A limited number of Pantocratorian troops were asked to remain to assist Beyke command.

Imperial Daily Monitor

CHURCHES REBUFF "TE DEUM" REQUEST
Cardinal Poitiers-Phocas refuses requests from the Emperor and the Despot to celebrate Beyke "victory"

The Palace has refused to comment after Cardinal Poitiers-Phocas, the Archbishop of New Constantinople, declined the Emperor's request that Te Deums be sung at Mass throughout the Empire "to give thanks to Almighty God for the victory of Our armies in the city of Beyke", and the majority of Pantocratoria's Catholic bishops have followed suit, with the notable exception of Cardinal Conomos, the Archbishop of New Rome.

In his homily this morning, Cardinal Poitiers-Phocas told his congregation that "what happened in Beyke is a tragedy, not a victory to be celebrated with thanks to God. God had nothing to do it; it was an entirely human act, and, as so many human acts are, it was the cause of much human suffering." The Palace has refused to comment, although the Despotic Court of New Constantinople issued a letter asking the Cardinal's Evensong Mass to include a Te Deum and prayers of thanksgiving. Cardinal Poitiers-Phocas' press secretary told the Monitor that there would be no such hymn or prayers offered.

Patriarch Stephanus III has joined in the criticism of the capture of Beyke by church leaders, saying in a letter to Pantocratorian Orthodox bishops that "soldiers must always defend the weak above all, even above punishing the wicked" and calling upon Orthodox faithful to "pray for peace in the world, pray for the dead in Beyke, and pray for an end to killing in Marlund".

Sweyn Castle, Citadel Excalbia

With tensions between the Holy Empire and Knootoss on the decline and with Upper Virginia mostly under control, the morning National Security meetings at Sweyn Castle had lost much of their tension and had taken on the air of the perfunctory. Nevertheless, the Emperor insisted that they continue. So, every morning at 9 sharp the Imperial Chancellor, the Ministers of State and Defence, the Director of Imperial Intelligence and the military chiefs met at the entrance to the Map Room, prepared to brief the Emperor.

Most mornings, they were met by the Imperial Chamberlain, who both announced them and joined them for the meeting. This day, however, Lord Johannes, in a rare concession to his age, had taken the day off due to illness. So, it was the Lord Sheriff, Jacob Bergmanis, who waited at the doors of the Map Room to greet the Chancellor and the others.

Even as they exchanged pleasantries, Lady Jessica found herself thinking how Lord Jacob's smile reminded her of a wolf and how his eyes had something about them that seemed vaguely rat-like. Before she could think of more unflattering comparisons, the doors of the Map Room opened and Lord Jacob led the others inside.

The Lord Sheriff bowed to the Emperor, who sat in a finely carved, throne-like wooden chair behind the large map table that dominated the room. He announced the party and the Emperor gestured for them to take their seats.

After several minutes of routine briefings, Lady Jessica leaned slightly forward, towards the Emperor. "Your Majesty, have you seen the press summary we sent over on Beyke?"

"I have," David IV said somewhat noncommittally.

"And you have read the intelligence summary, your Majesty?"

"I have. It is truly a tragedy, my Lady."

"Yes," Lady Jessica shifted in her seat as she exchanged a brief glance with Sir Albert, "it certainly is, your Majesty. And, for that reason, we believe that it is necessary that we make some sort of statement. Even though it did involve our forces or our area of occupation…"

"What sort of statement?" The Emperor's eyes narrowed as he leaned towards the Chancellor.

Lady Jessica turned towards the Minister of State and nodded. Sir Albert reached into his portfolio and handed a sheet of paper to the Emperor. "The Ministry's press office, together with the Chancery and their counterparts in Defence and Intelligence, has prepared this statement, your Majesty."

The Emperor held the paper and began to read. Two-thirds of the way through, he stood. Everyone else in the room immediately rose to their feet. The Emperor continued reading for a few moments, before crumpling the paper into a ball and dropping it on the table.

"Certainly this is a tragedy," David said through clenched teeth, "but I will not condemn our closest and dearest ally…"

"With all due respect, your Majesty," Defence Minister Davis Robb reached for the ball of paper, "but this does not condemn…"

The Emperor caught the Defence Minister's hand and brushed it away. He looked squarely at the Chancellor. "Please advise my Minister of Defence not to interrupt me, Lady Chancellor."

The Chancellor nodded and traded nervous glances with Robb. "I am sorry, your Majesty," they said almost in unison.

The Emperor straightened his uniform. "As I was saying, I will not condemn an ally for falling into an insurgent trap while trying to honour their obligation to protect the innocent from the insurgents."

The Emperor looked down at the map table. "Sir Albert, you may release a statement saying that we regret the loss of life and that we extend our heartfelt condolences to the people of Marlund in general and to the people of Beyke in particular. We will pledge to do all we can to rebuild the city as quickly as possible. However, we should remind the world that the persons ultimately responsible for this tragedy are the insurgents, who chose to turn the city into a battlefield and to hide behind innocent civilians."

Sir Albert nodded slowly. Robb moved his mouth to speak, but held his tongue. Lady Jessica looked around the table, then said, "Your Majesty, I understand your wishes not to sound as if we are condemning the Pantocratorians, but surely we do not want to sound as if we are condoning their actions."

The Emperor looked over at the Chancellor. "I have given my statement. It will stand." With those words, he turned his back and walked away from the table. The Chancellor and the others bowed their heads as the Emperor left.

When the doors closed and the Emperor was gone, Robb turned to the Chancellor. "This will earn the Emperor no friends in the cabinet," he said in a low voice.

With a look of disgust Lord Jacob interrupted the Chancellor before she could speak, "I was not aware that His Imperial Majesty needed to earn anything from his cabinet, Minister Robb. Rather, it should be the cabinet worrying about earning His Majesty's friendship."

"I believe the Minister's comment was intended for me, Lord Jacob," Lady Jessica said sharply.

"Pardon me, my Lady," Lord Jacob said with an exaggerated bow. "Now, if you will excuse me, I will take my leave. The stewards will show you out."

Gregory Nikomedes consulted with Spiro Bolkus and Manuel Sebasto in the Constantinople Party offices in the Palais du Parlement before giving his conference in the press room just outside the Government party room. The international media was crowded into the room, eager for some statement on Beyke from the Imperial Government. The lone podium in front of two crossed flags stood out against a sea of angry questions just waiting to flood over any speaker who dared stand there. Nikomedes was taking nervous breaths, trying to calm himself outside the press room while a parliamentary aide entered the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Honourable Gregory Nikomedes MP, Minister for Defence." the aide announced. Nikomedes entered the room before a flash of cameras and made his way to the podium looking on edge, but confident and in control.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, some time ago Pantocratorian forces captured the city of Beyke in Marlund from Bolshevik insurgents working to overthrow Marlund's new democratic government." he started, speaking in Greek. "As you also know, there have been substantial civilian casualties. These innocent casualties were unintentional, unavoidable, and unacceptable. The Imperial Government mourns for the people of Beyke, that they should have been made victims of Vespasian Hunter's attempts to overthrow the democratic government which, thanks to allied troops, the people of Marlund have chosen for themselves. There is nothing we can do or say which will bring these people back, nothing. All we can do is do everything in our power to avoid future civilian casualties in our efforts to reconstruct Marlund and protect its people and new democratic institutions from these Bolshevik terrorists."

In the Chancellor's office, Thibault Drapeur, Isabelle Folquet and Demetrios Raoul all watched the conference on the television. Folquet winced at the last word, and Raoul slapped his forehead.

"Who the fuck told him to say terrorists?" Raoul swore loudly.

"It must have been Sebasto..." Folquet speculated quietly. "It's something Sebasto would say."

"I am so sick of these stupid Greek farmers!" Raoul cursed, slamming his palm down on Drapeur's desk. The Chancellor motioned for him to be silent as he watched intensely.

In the press room, Nikomedes paused for a while to look purposefully about the room. In truth he couldn't see any of the journalists, all he could see was a sea of lights and cameras.

"I would also like to take this opportunity to extend the Imperial Government's thanks to the Pantocratorian troops who have fought to liberate Beyke, and have unfairly borne the blame for casualties which resulted from the insurgent strategy of making innocent people's homes and places of work a battlefield, from the cowardly terrorist technique of using civilians as a human shield. The fault is not theirs, and it is unfair for them to bear that cross." Nikomedes continued. "Their resolve, like ours, remains unchanged. We will not allow Vespasian Hunter and his network of hateful revolutionaries overthrow Marlund's first democratic government. We will not allow them to return Marlund to the dark days of slavery and oppression, whether those dark days are reimagined by Vespasian Hunter as a totalitarian Bolshevik state, or whether they are as they were before our troops came, as the Sons of the Reformation would like to see. The people of Beyke have paid a price in blood which they should never have had to pay. Our troops have paid a price in blood which they will continue to pay with that same steely determination. Our hearts and prayers are with the loved ones of the dead, with the people of Beyke, and with the brave men and women who stand between the people of Marlund and a return to tyranny."

Having finished his prepared statement, Nikomedes paused and looked about the room once again. Finally he drew a deep breath.

"Are there any questions?" he asked.

Princess Christiana nodded and stood, signaling the rest of her delegation to follow suit. Within a few minutes, the Princess’ chief of staff and her legal counsel had gathered their papers and joined Christiana and Baron Janis near the door. When everyone was ready, the Princess turned to Fuell and nodded. “We are ready, Lieutenant.”

The Princess, Baron Janis Tagaarth, Janet Latsone, Ainars Bastiks and Bernard Le Roux followed the young lieutenant to waiting motorcade. After the party had climbed into the waiting vehicle, Christiana turned to Fuell. “No, Lieutenant, no objection at all.” The Princess smiled and let her eye linger for a few moments on the lieutenant.

After an hour of driving across the deserted plains, Fuell’s radio interrupted the comfortable silence. As the lieutenant relayed Dr. Bauer’s message, Christiana’s face fell and her mouth slowly twisted into a frown. She shook her head slowly. “It is not impertinent to ask, Lieutenant, but I am not sure I can answer.” The Princess glanced at Baron Janis and then at Janet.

“I understood from you last night that the rebels had taken Beyke but that the Pantocratorians were counterattacking. I saw a brief message in the news summary this morning saying that they had retaken the city, but I fear I did not read any details.” The Princess seemed to involuntarily turn her head to look at Janet. “I gather from Dr. Bauer’s comment that he feels the Pantocratorians have done some kind of harm to the city,” she looked back to Fuell, “unfortunately, without knowing more about the situation in Beyke, I am at a little bit of loss. Do you know more about the situation, Lieutenant?”

Beyke

Kusonose Emiko tried to avoid speaking much to the soldiers who were rescuing her. She was escorted out of the remnants of the city hall, staring in black horror at the death and destruction. Shaking her head, she looked at the nearest Pantocratorian to her. "Can I get a notepad, please?" she asked.

Dr. Chikafusa Tabuchi waited quietly in line at the makeshift morgue, carrying his identification from the Adoki and Marlund governments. He showed it quietly to the soldier at the entrance before moving in to identify dead Adoki social workers. The look on his face was quiet and resigned.

Special Agent Jakuchu Baba was much less deferential to the Pantocratorian authorities, telling the soldier at the gate plainly, in English, "I am here to recover the body of Ministry for Intelligence Operations Department Deputy Director Baiko Ibi. I am taking the body into the custody of His Imperial Majesty's Service."

Back Home

The criticism in Adoki could best be described as shrill. Pantocratorian troops, and especially the Duke, were described on television as "utterly without honor" and as "barbarian devils." They were charged with the motive of seeking to conquer Ambara through the destruction of all other peoples living there. Adoki were reminded of the "mortal insult to our beloved Imperial Princess" at the hands of the Pantocratorian Crown Prince earlier in the year, a complete triviality which had been ceaselessly overblown by the Adoki press.

A xenophobic outburst was palpable in the streets. The old habit of pretending not to understand foreigners, even when they spoke perfect Japanese, was revived for a day. Foreigners were harassed at airports and on the streets. It was, of course, a relatively bloodless display of bigotry. Only one person was actually killed by a gang of xenophobic youths. Ironically, it was a black woman from southern Marlund, killed in a xenophobic outburst spanwed by alleged sympathy with the plight of her people in Beyke.

Princess Christiana's Convoy

"Hold on just a second, Your Highness." Fuell answered, slipping out of the car and running up to the one just in front of them. She was gone for about seven minutes before she returned with a collection of documents. "Your Highness, this is the imagery we have on Beyke. Apparently, the Pantocratorians threatened to open fire on any civilians in the same building as an insurgent, something the civilian population was unaware of. It seems a little over two thousand people have been killed, five or six thousand more injured." She handed the photographic imagery to Christiana. "This is what it looks like, Your Highness."

Palais Du Parlement

The Danaan reporters in the room all had a question about the action.

"Eirene BØ ellman, Agwenberg News and Record, are you aware that Danaan military commanders are facing criminal charges simply for knowing about this action beforehand?"

"Barthold Abse, Agwenberg Guardian, how do you respond to the hostile stance being adopted by the democratic government of Marlund, which you profess you seek to defend? Particularly, how do you respond to the request of the Marlund government that General Montmanuel be relieved of command?"

"Artur Abt, Agwenberger Rundschau, if Pantocratorians commanders in the field believe this is the best way to suppress insurgency, why have similar tactics never been used in the north of Marlund?"

"Junabui Saise, Tarana Times, what's going to happen to the Marlund soldiers taken prisoner along with the revolutionaries?"

"Edudewel Bach, Tarana Post, is it true that His Grace has taken up residence in a former plantation manorhouse and has employed the slaves formerly kept there as his personal servants?"

"Colm Caddick, Tarana Weekly, will Pantocratorian troops remain in Beyke under the command of Colonel Butler prior to the arrival of Marlund forces?"

"Wid Tarvin, Tarana Review, do you consider it fair that no investigation is being made into possible wrongdoing in this matter but two Danaan servicewomen have been removed from duty simply for loving each other?"

"Gaynor Abernethy, Un Cymdeithas, how do you feel about recent changes in Allied Central Command?"

"Reno Albbrecht, Wöchentlich Standard, does the Government feel that this incident might create any lasting problems in Pantocratoria's diplomatic relationship with her allies in Ambara?"

"Artanis Daeron, Foroma, do you believe there could be any possible links between Mr. Hunter's Bolsheviks and the Sons of the Reformation?"

"One at a time, one at a time!" Nikomedes insisted. "No more, I'll answer these in turn..."

"Are you aware that Danaan military commanders are facing criminal charges simply for knowing about this action beforehand?"

"Yes, but that's a matter for the Danaan Government, so I won't comment on that further." Nikomedes answered. "Next..."

"How do you respond to the hostile stance being adopted by the democratic government of Marlund, which you profess you seek to defend? Particularly, how do you respond to the request of the Marlund government that General Montmanuel be relieved of command?"

"You mean the Duke of Montmanuel." Nikomedes corrected the reporter. "First of all, and I must say, I can sympathise with their loss, but the Government of Marlund is being a little hypocritical here... it didn't say anything in protest when the Duke warned Beyke, both the insurgents and the people within, what course of action he would take. The troops restored control of Beyke to the democratic government. I'm sure their grief is totally genuine, but they're having their cake and eating too with their response. As for the other half of the question, the Marlund Government invited our troops to Marlund, and they will remain there for as long as they are invited with the commander we have assigned them."

"If Pantocratorians commanders in the field believe this is the best way to suppress insurgency, why have similar tactics never been used in the north of Marlund?"

"Because insurgents in the north of Marlund have never captured a major city, and the situation isn't comparable at all." Nikomedes answered. "Next."

"What's going to happen to the Marlund soldiers taken prisoner along with the revolutionaries?"

"I'm not aware that any Marlund soldiers were taken prisoner, and I don't see why they would be, unless they had themselves defected to the terrorists. All prisoners will be handed over to the Marlund authorities - we will only hold onto them at the request of the Marlund Government." replied Nikomedes. "The next question..."

"Is it true that His Grace has taken up residence in a former plantation manorhouse and has employed the slaves formerly kept there as his personal servants?"

"His Grace has taken up residence in a former plantation manor house. The location of the Pantocratorian Headquarters in that community has provided the major source of employment there. If His Grace has employed any of the locals as his personal servants, then he has employed them alongside his Pantocratorian staff. I don't really see the relevance of the question." Nikomedes answered. "I should also point out that, under Pantocratorian direction, the roads and infrastructure of that community have been built up, there is a school building for former slaves staffed by volunteers from Pantocratorian Ambara, there is a new church, and lots of other things."

"Will Pantocratorian troops remain in Beyke under the command of Colonel Butler prior to the arrival of Marlund forces?"

"Certainly not." Nikomedes replied.

"Do you consider it fair that no investigation is being made into possible wrongdoing in this matter but two Danaan servicewomen have been removed from duty simply for loving each other?"

"I won't comment on the second part of your question, that's a Danaan matter." Nikomedes replied. "In response to the first part, proper procedure has been followed in this matter, there is no reason for an investigation."

"How do you feel about recent changes in Allied Central Command?"

"I am entirely satisfied with them. Pantocratorian forces will continue to work with Allied Central Command, of course." Nikomedes answered. "Next question?"

"Does the Government feel that this incident might create any lasting problems in Pantocratoria's diplomatic relationship with her allies in Ambara?"

"No." Nikomedes answered. "Next question."

"Do you believe there could be any possible links between Mr. Hunter's Bolsheviks and the Sons of the Reformation?"

"I haven't seen anything which would suggest that the two are cooperating with each other, but I wouldn't rule it out." Nikomedes said. "For all their rhetoric, their methods are the same, and their end objectives are similar enough, albeit under different names. The Sons of the Reformation wish to reinstate a racialist tyrannical state which openly enslaves the majority of its population. Vespasian Hunter wants to create a new tyrannical totalitarian state which enslaves the entireity of its population and calls that slavery liberation. Ask the people of Eurusea whether they think they've been liberated by Bolshevik ideology."

Headquarters of the Ambaran Infantry Legion, Beyke
General Theodosius received the request from Allied Central Command to leave a detachment of troops under the command of Colonel Butler with complete disbelief and wounded pride. He wasn't about to leave his men under the command of a woman whom he described to his ADC as "an office secretary in military intelligence", and "a mere girl whose rank is entirely precedented on a brief stint in a rag tag resistance which accomplished nothing of note".

He considered the request briefly, before calling Allied Central Command back and making a counter-offer - some Pantocratorian troops would remain in the city until Beyke Command was reinforced, but they would remain in the city under a Pantocratorian commander. He informed Central Command that Colonel Butler was a military intelligence officer, not a regular army officer, and that she wasn't even a field intelligence officer at that, and that it would be irresponsible and inappropriate for him to leave Pantocratorian troops in her command.

Pantocratorian Command, Southern Marlund
Montmanuel was pleased to hear of the dismissal of the "insolent" General Reagan, but less pleased that he was to be reassigned to the east of Marlund. He had his aide-de-camp call General Henry Darcy of Allied Central Command. Before the ADC put Montmanuel on the line, he gently reminded Darcy that although the Duke held the rank of General of the Army, he was also a duke and thus was to be referred to not by his military rank but as befits a duke. The ADC advised that Darcy's predecessor had often been remiss in his forms of address and that the working relationship had become strained as a result. The ADC then put Montmanuel on the line.

"General Darcy I presume?" Montmanuel started.

"The very man, Your Grace." answered Darcy, speaking in a crisp, Amory accent.

"Allow me to extend my congratulations on your new command, General." Montmanuel began. "I am calling in regards to your request that Pantocratorian troops shift their responsibility to the East, instead of the South."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Darcy answered pleasantly. "I do appreciate your call."

"Not at all, General." Montmanuel continued. "I am calling because I think it would be best if I kept my headquarters here for the time being, rather than move it East, there seems to be no practical benefit to doing so after all, since we have built all the communications infrastructure required here for command and control. It would work just as well if my boys were in the East as it does with them here in the South. Moving the headquarters would just be a disruption."

"That compound will be needed by General Sahlu in setting up his new command in the south." Darcy explained politely.

"General Sahlu can establish another headquarters more easily here in the South than I could in the East." Montmanuel replied.

"There is already a headquarters compound available in the East." Darcy pointed out.

"It isn't suitable to my requirements, I've had my officers look into it." Montmanuel replied.

"Oh? That does sound rather unfortunate."

"Yes, it's a very unfortunate sort of place. So you see, I shall be unable to relocate my headquarters there, and I am told that there are no other appropriate sites." Montmanuel continued. "Happily, however, there is no need for me to leave, and every reason to stay here."

"Unfortunately, your current residence is not Danaan or Pantocratorian property." Darcy said. "I would very much wish to be obliging. Perhaps there is some other way I might assist you?"

"General, Tauscher practically didn't exist before Danaan and Pantocratorian troops arrived here. I am well aware the Marlund Government isn't particularly fond of me, but they aren't the ones who have provided the people of this township with a school, roads, rail, or a decent church. We have done all that for them and for the people of Tauscher." Montmanuel said. "Surely they can be persuaded not to behave like small minded children. I need an appropriate headquarters. I have an appropriate headquarters here in Tauscher. There is no practical reason for me to move it."

"Unfortunately, it is quite out of my hands, Your Grace."

"If it isn't a military decision, General, then whose is it?" Montmanuel inquired.

"I received word from the Marlund Minister for Defence." he answered. "However, I am not sure what you find so inadequate in the Eastern headquarters. I have heard they are most efficient and comfortable, unless one expects to be entertaining."

"I have heard that they are neither of those things. And naturally they don't have all the equipment and other things we require set up there already. I will not be moving there." Montmanuel replied. "Thankyou, General, I appreciate that there is little you can do, I will direct my enquiries to the Defence Minister."

"I am admittedly doubtful of your prospects, Your Grace. Nevertheless, good luck in your endeavour."

"Congratulations once again, General." Montmanuel said, before hanging up the phone. He turned to his ADC. "Write to the Marlund Defence Minister, and inform him that I am unable to move my headquarters."

Allied Central Command

Theodosius was informed that his request would be relayed to the appropriate person. It was, in fact, carried up to General Darcy, a man whose expression cooled to the intense and judging stare which he normally wore when angered by men of his own station in life. A reply was immediately sent back that he found General Theodosius's assessment of the Colonel to be in great contradiction to what he knew of her record and character, that he thought the original request to be the best plan for maintaining peace in the city, and that the original request stood but that he was certain the Colonel could rally enough men among those Marlund soldiers present in the city to handle the task if Theodosius found himself unwilling to leave Pantocratorian troops under her command. Of course, neither Darcy nor his staff were so naive as to fail to understand Theodosius's real objection. Nor, from what they had read from the Colonel's reports, were the typical country gentleman much impressed at his chivalry.

Ministry for War

Montmanuel received a simple reply. The manor would be claimed by General Sahlu and he had access to all the military structures in the East. It was unfortunate that he could not move into his new headquarters as his current one was unavaiable as of the Monday after next.

Headquarters of the Ambaran Infantry Legion, Beyke
General Theodosius informed Allied Central Command that after receipt of their reply, he had declined their request to leave Pantocratorian troops under the authority of Beyke Command. He also informed them that the last of his troops would be withdrawn by 3AM tomorrow as per their orders that Pantocratorian troops be reassigned to the East, to make their way to their new assignment. He also informed them that he had lodged a formal protest with the Pantocratorian Ministry of Defence, stating that in his opinion, the Allied Central Command was now compromising military operations and practical military considerations in order to advance a political agenda.

Autrey Palace, Holista, The Resurgent Dream
Theodora emerged from her office, where she had been speaking to her father the Emperor on the phone, looking a little upset. Brendan looked over, his brow furrowing in slight concern.

"Is something wrong, Teddy?" he asked.

"Don't!" she whined in protest of the nickname, although she couldn't help but grin. She went over and sat by him. "I just spoke to my father."

"Oh." he said, gently putting an arm around her shoulder. "I hope he's well."

"He was upset with you." she said, leaning into his chest.

"Oh?" he asked, running his fingers gently through her hair.

"He heard about what you said about his cousin." Theodora told him.

"Oh." Brendan noted. "I would be upset if I had a cousin like that too."

"Don't be clever!" Theodora frowned. "He said what you said was libellous. He said that the fact that his cousin held the rank of General demonstrated that he was an officer, and that he held the fief of Montmanuel demonstrated that he was more than a gentleman... he was very upset and wants you to withdraw the remark, whatever you may think of Monsieur de Montmanuel."

"Monsieur de Montmanuel may very well be a lord." Brendan said sharply. "But no power on this Earth could make a gentleman of him."

"Monsieur de Montmanuel's Great-Great-Great-Grandfather, on both sides, was the Emperor Constantine XXI. His maternal grandfather was the first Lord First Admiral. My grandmother was his aunt." Theodora replied, although whether she remembered the genealogy herself or had been freshly reminded by the Emperor was unclear. "My father felt you insulted him personally and his entire family to suggest that Monsieur de Montmanuel wasn't a gentleman."

"Being a gentleman involves more than birth, Your Highness." Brendan lectured. "It requires civility, honour, and a certain level of basic decency."

"It requires a lot of indulgent self-righteousness too!" Theodora frowned, pulling away from his arm around her shoulder. She put her hand on his other forearm and looked at him with apologetic, pleading eyes. "Won't you withdraw the remark?"

"Theodora..." he protested.

"I'm sorry Brendan, you know I wouldn't ask you for myself." she pleaded. "But the Emperor said he'll overlook it if you withdraw it... he even said that he'd appreciate it, Brendan, you can't believe how infrequently he would admit something like that... he must really want it, Brendan."

"And what exactly does His Majesty intend to do if I do not withdraw it?" Brendan asked. "I would like to think the Emperor is aware that I have done more than enough for both Pantocratoria and himself personally to outweigh some comment about his murderous cousin. I think that he should appreciate how mildly and gently I put my opinion of the duke."

Theodora burst into tears at the insensitive remark about what Brendan had done for Pantocratoria, falling back into the couch and pulling away from Brendan's touch.

"I just meant about Pantocratorian Ambara and some of the military operations!" Brendan said worriedly. "I would never refer to you as a favour done for your country. You know better than that."

"I'm sorry..." Theodora blubbered, trying to pull herself together. "You're right, of course, I... Brendan, I'm sorry..."

Brendan took her hand gently, bringing it up to his lips and kissing it softly. "I love you, Teddy."

"I love you too..." Theodora leaned into his chest again and settled down. "My father wouldn't say that he would be appreciative unless he really wanted it, Brendan, please... for him to actually admit that he would be grateful is incredibly rare."

"Theodora, this is a lot easier to say when you don't know...I keep all the documents with graphic imagery in my private study. I don't think any more people should have to see them than need to but...I have seen the pictures from Beyke. That's just not how Christians wage war."

"God, I don't want to see the pictures!" Theodora told him. "I don't want to know about the pictures! Don't you think, if you have seen them, my father has seen them as well? He knows what happened there. He still wants you to withdraw the remark."

"What if I apologized for the remark?"

"What would you say?" Theodora asked.

"That I'm sorry I made the remark." he replied with a faint grin.

"Couldn't you withdraw it as well?" she asked, snuggling up to him.

"Is it that important to you?" he asked.

"It's important to my father, Brendan." she replied quietly.

"Is it important to you?" he repeated.

"Is it important to me that my husband and my father get along?" Theodora asked back. "Yes, it's important to me, Brendan, and my father would be so happy..."

"Alright. Go tell him I'll do it." he said with a slight sigh. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"I'm sorry..." Theodora apologised, hugging him tightly in gratitude. He hugged her back briefly, although equally tightly.

"I hate myself for even asking..." she whimpered. "Are you sure you want me to go call him?"

"I am." he said.

"Then I'll be right back." she said, before kissing him softly on the lips, and slipping away.

He kissed back, settling into the sofa. She left the room and called the Emperor. After a brief wait, Monsieur du Plains-Demetrine put her through to her father, who was pleased wtih the news, and she re-emerged.

"He's happy." Theodora grinned. "He told me to thank you, and said that he appreciated it very much."

"Well, I do owe him." Brendan commented. "I owe him a great deal, actually."

"No... don't!" Theodora protested softly, gliding across the room and resuming her place next to him on the couch. She cuddled up to him again.

"Don't what?" he asked.

"Don't say it, I know what you're going to say..." Theodora pleaded.

"That he let me marry the most beautiful woman in the world?" he asked.

"Please don't!" Theodora begged, whispering, as if the praise caused her physical discomfort.

"Alright, I won't say that." he answered, just holding her.

"You know..." Theodora began after a minute or so of silence. "The Emperor told me to thank you..."

"Oh?" Brendan asked, smiling at her.

"I don't think I've thanked you properly, do you?" she asked playfully, biting her lower lip softly.

The Edge of the Eastern Mountains

The students and counsellors at the camp had their hands tied behind their back. They were marched at gunpoint for what felt like miles. They were allowed to sit down only once, during which time they were spoon fed a processed ham spread. After only a few moments rest, they were on the march again. This process was repeated for several days.

The night after the incident at Beyke, they were finally marched into what seemed to be a large terrorist camp. Germanic-looking men with guns flirted and danced with demure women dressed like housewives and peasant girls. Most of the labor around the camp was being done by shackled men and women of other races, mostly black or Asian.

A few of the better dressed men were laughing and toasting the Duc de Montmanuel. The captives were led to a large open space where they were ordered to sit.

Pantocratorian Headquarters

The Pantocratorians received a large flower and fruit basket, as well as a note that the Sons of the Reformation really liked the work they were doing and, in exchange for amnesty, would be more than happy to help them continue their work in the south.

Back Home

General Reagan was given a dishonorable discharge for conduct unbefitting an officer. A few thousand protesters outside the building demanded, to no avail, that he be charged with far more serious crimes, including conspiracy to commit crimes against sentience, a capital offense.

Heading to Pantocratoria

Gaëtan and Julie Cabal, Danaan social workers on duty in Beyke, were on their way to Pantocratoria, still in mourning. They were the parents of three year-old Sophie Cabal, who had died in the more or less indiscriminate attack on the city and they intended to bring a suit against the Duc de Montmanuel for their daughters death. They brought with them pictures of the adorable, rather Gallic girl, who looked like she could be the infant daughter of any Pantocratorian mother, and the phone numbers of the major Pantocratorian papers.

A Grudging Concession

Given Montmanuel's consistent and extremely befuddling refusal to move to a military headquarters in the East, General Darcy finally sent him an invitation to stay in the Damaske Section of Lutherstadt with the other allied commanders and direct Pantocratorian forces from there.

Henri de Montmanuel left St Stephen's Catholic Church in Tauscher, a small church built by the Pantocratorians in the little, largely Lutheran community in which the Pantocratorian Headquarters were located, accompanied by his officers, aides, and several servants. It was only a brief walk back to the plantation manor in which the HQ was located from the church.

As he neared the house, Montmanuel saw ahead of him a large number of local girls, ranging in age from about nine to twenty-one. Some of the older ones, he might recognize as servants at the house who had the day off (Sunday obviously being the most common day to take one's day off). Most of them, however, were largely unknown to him, faces he might have seen here or there but neither often nor conspicuously enough for them to stick in his memory. They were all dressed in what were likely their best dresses, although doubtless rather poor by the standards he was used to. Instead of moving aside or even going past on their side of the road, they turned towards the duke.

"Your Grace!" called out the girl in front, who he might recognize as Fausta Fletcher, the fifteen year old daughter of his butler.

"Frauline Fletcher!" Montmanuel replied after a brief pause as he recalled the name.

The girls approached the duke, smiling nervously. "Your Grace, I know this is probably horribly impertinent, but could we talk to you for a moment?"

"Of course." Montmanuel replied with a smile. Over the time of his deployment, his German had improved considerably, and although he spoke with a heavy accent, his German was fairly understandable.

"Well..." she started a little nervously. "...we heard about the whole...controversy at school and all the things people were saying about you. At first we were upset but then we started talking about it and we remembered that we wouldn't even be in school if it weren't for you. I mean, it's not just all the physical abuse of the old regime or the external indignities. We literally wouldn't be able to think like we do now. I probably wouldn't know half the words I'm using."

"I still don't know half of the words you're using." Montmanuel joked.

She laughed slightly at the joke and Aeliana Cook, an eighteen year-old who worked in the duke's kitchen took over. "And it's so nice to work for somebody, to earn money for your own labour that's really yours, to have days off when you can do what you want. I mean, you've always been a respectful employer."

"Especially since you let us get training for skilled jobs while we're working for you." added Decima Butler, in what was actually perfect French.

"Your French is excellent, mademoiselle." the Duke replied to Decima Butler, remaining in German (with the exception of the word mademoiselle) himself for the benefit of the other girls.

Butler grinned. "Thank you, sir."

"Anyway..." Fletcher said, taking over again. "...we wanted to get you something to say thanks. I know it's not much but...we put our money together and it's what we could afford." She turned back to look at the other girls. "Who has it?"

"You didn't have to get me anything." the Duke replied, although he was curious about what it was.

At length, the girls passed forward an elaborate bouquet of flowers, of about fifty ducats in value. Fletcher stepped forward and held it out for the duke. "I know you have nicer ones inside already but...we wanted to get it for you."

"You really shouldn't have." the Duke replied, accepting the flowers. "They're beautiful."

"Monsieur..." prompted one of the officers, anxious to get back to work.

"You young ladies are very generous." Montmanuel told them.

They grinned at him and courtseyed.

"Thank you all, and thank you all for having me all this time." Montmanuel continued, handing the flowers to the impatient officer. "I'm sure the next Southern Commander will keep things going here in Tauscher. The school will stay open, your teachers have all agreed to stay on even though we're moving."

"We know." Fletcher said. "We're sure he'll be fine, but you were the one who showed us that..." she trailed off, as though suddenly embarassed by what she was going to say.

"You have shown me a great deal, Frauline Fletcher." Montmanuel said, taking her hand and patting it. "Thank you."

"Monsieur, nous devons retourner..." urged the officer now carrying the flowers.

"Oui, oui." the Duke replied. He looked back to the girls. "Have a good day, ladies."

Office of Internal Affairs, Kintyre, Barensburg, Eurusean Union

Faye Madigan stared in disbelief at the transcript of Gregory Nikomedes' interview, glancing up at the young intern, 'Ain't April first, so why y' bringin' me this nonsense?'

She blinked, 'Sir, I assure you that transcript is a hundred percent accurate, I checked it myself...'

Faye nodded, ''Course it is...Dear God, is he tryin' t' cause a diplomatic incident?' she turned, glancing out the window at the vast shadow of the Lucifer mortar Scarlet moving back to its depot along the road outside the city, 'Ask tha' people of Eurusea, indeed...Get on tha' phone t' Markos Catafrank at tha' Pantocratorian embassy, tell him I want t' meet with him in tha' state dinin' hall in Chopinburg at six.'

The Convoy

Princess Christiana took the pictures from Fuell and looked through them. The colour drained from the princess' face and her eyes narrowed. She handed the pictures to Baron Janis and looked down at her hands. "Bloody Pantos," she murmured. "To think I almost let that animal…"

The princess turned and looked out the window, starring into the wilderness. Baron Janis finished with the photos and passed them to Janet, the princess' long-time companion and chief of staff. He slipped his arm around Christiana and Janet, seated just behind the princess and Janis, reached out and laid her hand on Christiana's shoulder.

"Do you want to…" Janis began to speak, but Christiana turned and cut him off with a determined look.

"No. We go on. I will go to Beyke. They need me and my help more than ever. And I will give it to them." The princess turned to Janet. "Janet, call the Citadel. Let them know I want emergency relief supplies and medical personnel and military construction units ready to go; I plan to offer all of them to Beyke."

Janet nodded, knowing that when the princess was determined there was no point offering objections or counterproposals.

Christiana turned back to Fuell. "Lieutenant, can you let Dr. Bauer know that we are still coming? I understand perfectly if he has no time to meet with us today, but I wish to see this atrocity for myself and personally offer Excalbia's assistance in helping the victims and rebuilding the city. There is an Excalbian naval force standing off the coast and I'm sure some relief supplies and construction units can be deployed almost immediately."

The princess shook her head. "I know some Pantocratorians are selfish, arrogant beasts. But I am sure this was not the intention of their government. I've met Dr. Drapeur; he seemed like a good, caring man. " She shook her head again and looked away.

Tauscher, Marlund
After the flower and fruit basket from the Sons of the Reformation was inspected for bombs, poison, or any other security hazard, and after the note was removed for examination, the staff were about to throw the whole thing out. Montmanuel stopped them, however. He took the basket and called his butler.

"Fletcher, there you are." Montmanuel said as the butler entered the room. "I want you to give this basket to your daughter, uh... Fausta. It's a gift. Oh, and if you don't mind, can you be here an hour earlier tomorrow? There are some more things that need to be done before I leave. Lieutenant Barqueur is trying to get as much of the staff to come in earlier as possible, so if you see him, tell him I've already spoken to you about it. That will be all."

Early the next morning, much of the staff was gathered just out the back of the manor house. It was a native-only gathering - Montmanuel's Pantocratorian staff members weren't there, only his local staff, the staff members who wouldn't be coming with him to Lutherstadt. Montmanuel emerged from the manor wearing his dress uniform for the journey, carrying his polished gold helmet with a purple plume underneath his right arm, and resting his left hand by his ceremonial sword. He was accompanied by a Pantocratorian servant.

"Today is your last day as my staff." Montmanuel started needlessly. "You will all remain employed here at the manor under the administration of Lieutenant Barqueur until the new commander arrives. After that, well, I suppose that is up to him. But whether you remain employed here or not, the important thing is that you will remain free men and women, with rights and responsibilities just as any other. I'd like to thank you all for your service over the past months. Thanks to you, Tauscher has become a little piece of home, a little piece of Montmanuel, for me anyway. I am very proud to have been here, and am even prouder to have seen what this community is capable of with only a little assistance to stand on its own two feet."

Montmanuel turned to his dog's body beside him who stepped inside and then returned, followed out by several more of the Pantocratorian staff wheeling out dining carts laden with legs of roast ham.

"I've a small gift for each of you and your families. I hope you enjoy it. That will be all." Montmanuel concluded, before nodding to the staff with a slight smile.

He went back inside and took one last look about the manor before walking out the front to the waiting cars. His honour guard, in their white dress uniforms, snapped to attention and saluted him as he walked to the car, then turned around and stood to attention. The Imperial Equites Legion band played God Save the Emperor as the Cross of the Pantocratorian Crusade was lowered from the second of the two flagpoles out the front of the plantation, leaving only the flag of Marlund fluttering in the wind. Montmanuel saluted and the guard of honour fired a salute. The troopers folded the flag, and then marched over to the Duke. They saluted him and handed him the flag. Montmanuel saluted, accepted the flag, and then handed it to his aide-de-camp. He took one last look at Tauscher and then got into his car.

"To Lutherstadt." he commanded.

The Edge of the Eastern Mountains
Josephine was terrified and exhausted when they finally reached the camp. For most of the first day she had cried and blubbered. Now she was too tired to do much of either, but she was still very, very frightened. She obediently went along with the rest of the captives to the indicated area and sat down in the dirt. She tried talking to Elizabeth, but found that she couldn't on account of her mouth being so dry. All she was capable of was a miserable, dehydrated croak.

The Convoy

"Dr. Bauer isn't in Beyke, Your Highness." Fuell corrected before getting on the radio and speaking swiftly to the other cars. "We're going to Beyke."

The convoy turned itself around and began heading south. It was on the road for quite a few more hours, passing over pathces of unpaved dirt path and passing through many small villages and many hamlets of former slave cottages which had grown up around the larger plantations. On almost all of these there was some building set aside for social relief work, although in many cases it did not look like it was enough.

Sometimes, in the farming areas, the princess could see laborers hard at work out in the fields, tending indigo and cotton and grain or children skipping along on their way back from the newly built schools. Fuell smiled slightly as they passed the human scenes of everyday life, finding it much more pleasant than the endless empty plains through which they had been travelling.

A small crowd of men had gathered around the kneeling girls, smiling lightly and yelling at them in German. Josephine took Elizabeth's hand and scampered a bit closer to her. She didn't know what they were saying but she was scared. Elizabeth held her close, tears pouring down her own face.

"It'll be OK." Elizabeth told her.

"I heard them say Montmanuel..." Josie whispered hoarsely. "I'm from Montmanuel... are they talking about me? I'm scared..."

"They're talking about the Duc de Montmanuel." she answered.

"Can you understand them?" Josie asked.

"Yeah." Elizabeth said.

"Are they going to kill us?" Josie started crying.

"No." Elizabeth answered. "I don't think they will."

"Are they going to give us water?" Josie asked hopefully.

"They aren't mentioning it." Elizabeth answered.

"What are they saying?" Josie asked.

"That we're pretty, mostly." Elizabeth answered. "That we're better than...I don't want to repeat what he said."

"Better than what?" Josie asked. She looked up at the men, careful not to make eye contact. "They don't look very nice... are you sure they think we're pretty?"

"Unfortunately, I am." Elizabeth answered.

"Unfortunately?" Josie asked, very scared now.

"Unfortunately." Elizabeth said, hugging her tighter.

"I don't understand..." Josie whimpered, although in reality, it was more a matter of her not wanting to understand.

Elizabeth patted her hand. Josie pulled her knees up in front of her face and rested her head on her legs. After awhile, the crowd started to disperse, going back to talking among themselves.

"I'm so thirsty..." Josie whimpered.

After awhile, one of the women in chains, wearing very little else, hobbled over with a canteen which she began sharing among the girls. She was a young black woman of about eighteen years of age. She was attractive but not overly so and looked like she hadn't been allowed to clean herself up in quite a while.

"Why is that woman chained up?" Josie whined in concern as the cantine made its way over through the group of thirsty girls towards her.

"Because she was kidnapped by psychotic terrorists." Elizabeth said, trying to be funny.

"Don't joke about it!" Josie frowned. "So have we..."

"I know." Elizabeth said.

The girl arrived and held the water up to Josie's lips. Josie leaned forward and drank as much as she could while still leaving Elizabeth and the others enough water.

"Thankyou..." she murmured to the girl after she withdrew the canteen.

The girl nodded. "You're welcome."

Another girl, this one lighter in complexion and still wearing a casual outfit, equally chained, approached the huddled girls with scissors and began cutting the swimsuits off those who were wearing them, ignoring the normally dressed girls and counsellors.

"What is she doing?" Josie squealed as the girl with the scissors approached her. She started scrambling away from the woman with the scissors as best as she could.

"Getting ready to give us new clothes?" Elizabeth asked hopefully.

"Well she doesn't need to cut off our swimsuits to do that!" Josie squealed. "I don't want to be naked in front of everybody! Tell her, Elizabeth, tell her! This bathing costume was a birthday present!"

Elizabeth nodded and spoke briefly with the girl doing the deed in German before looking back to Josie with a frown. "She asked if I knew what they'd do to her if she disobeyed."

"But..." Josie whimpered. "I don't want to be naked out here with all these people!"

"What do you want me to do about it?" Elizabeth asked desperately, as her own suit was removed.

Josie cried as she looked up at the girl with the scissors. She couldn't stop her from cutting away her costume with her hands bound behind her back, so instead she just tried pleading "Nein!" and shaking her head emphatically. The girl paused, looking at Josie for a long moment. Finally, she sighed and turned away, moving on down the line. Josie sighed in relief, and rested her head back on her knees. After a few moments, one of the men came after the girl who had spared Josie. He knocked her savagely to the ground, kicking her knees out from under her. Then, as she lay prone, he went about just brutally beating her until there was blood everywhere. Josie screamed in terror as she saw what happened to the girl with the scissors... and then began trembling at the realisation that it was about her, and what the man would do to her.

The Convoy to Beyke

Princess Christiana watched the unfolding scene, touched by the scenes of people struggling to make a new life for themselves and their families. From time to time, she leaned over and pointed at something and whispered to Baron Janis. The baron would listen and nod and sometimes whisper back. Most of the time, however, he sat quietly reviewing documents on a small handheld computer.

Seating in the third seat, with two lawyers, Janet Latsone wore a definite pout and she absentmindedly flipped through a book.

After a time, Janet leaned forward. “Excuse me, Lieutenant, how much longer to Beyke? I think I need to make a stop…”

The Coast North of Frederickstadt, Marlund

BRIG James Joyner looked anxiously at his watch. He was becoming concerned that the local leaders weren’t going to come.

Aboard INV Nautilus

RADM Beatrice Liene starred gap-jawed at her staff aide. “What did you just say, Commander?” The admiral spoke in a half-whisper as she fumbled to put her cup of coffee on a nearby console.

LCDR Jacob Brown looked down at sheet of paper in his hands and read the text again. Then he looked up at the admiral. “Her Imperial Highness, Princess Christiana, is en route to Beyke to personally observe the damage. She intends to take personal charge of our relief efforts. The Citadel directs us to move all of our naval construction units into the city and provide security for Her Imperial Highness…”

“Damn it!” Liene clapped her hands together.

“Ma’am?”

“I can’t believe Lord Derek is going along this insanity! Sending a member of the Imperial family into that mess! Wanting us to send more forces… Marines…” The admiral shook her head and drew in a sharp breath. “Commander, contact Allied Command and request permission from them… and the Marlund government to dispatch our construction battalion and a battalion of Marines.”

“Aye, aye, Ma’am.”

Convoy to Beyke

"You need to stop, ma'am?" Fuell confirmed, frowning slightly as she looked out at the countryside. They were just now passing one of the new schools.

North of Frederickstadt

Mayor Margareta Idesheim stepped out of her car near the coast, running a finger lightly through her greying blonde hair as she walked towards the Iesians with a few guards.

Convoy to Beyke

“Yes,” Janet said, suddenly sounding somewhat self-conscious, “please. If there is a place to stop…”

Princess Christiana covered a smile with her hand. Janet’s sudden shyness was amusing. Still, the princess tried to relieve her friend’s self-consciousness. “If there is a good place to stop, Lieutenant, I think all of us could use a little break.”

North of Frederickstadt

(OOC: Assuming the reference to Iesians is a typo...)

BRIG Joyner gave a small sigh of relief as the Marlunders finally arrived. He nodded and two soldiers stepped out of the vehicle. “Good day, Ma’am,” the first soldier said, “I’m afraid we’ll have to ask your guards to wait here; we’ll escort you and the brigadier inside.”

The man looked down at Josie for a long moment before spitting on her tear stained face and walking away. Josie trembled in fear, but allowed herself a sigh of relief when it seemed like she was going to get horribly beaten like the girl with the scissors. The man pulled out his gun and shot Elizabeth through the forehead. Josie shrieked hysterically as her friend was murdered right in front of her, it was just too horrible.

"You did that." she was told, in German.

Not understanding German, Josie was convinced that he told her that he was going to kill her, and started weeping and begging for her life piteously.

The man rolled his eyes. "Stand up."

Josie didn't understand what he was saying, and kept begging. Emrita Fah was a few years older than Josie. She was interested in poetry and politics and wore glasses. Although she was moderately pretty, most of the other girls considered her a nerd. She was also the next girl to get a bullet clean through her forehead. Josie shrieked again, and squirmed backwards in the dirt away from the man with the gun. She wished she hadn't asked the girl with the scissors not to cut her bathing costume away, maybe then the man wouldn't be angry.

"Stand up." he repeated.

"She doesn't understand!" Alexis screamed.

The man sighed a little, moving back in to the milling terrorists and speaking with a few of his compatriots.

"Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grâce..." Josie started praying, whilst blubbering simultaneously.

Another man came over after a few minutes and looked from Josie to the dead. "What's your name?" he asked in French.

"J...Josie...Josephine... Gastin." she stammered between tears.

"Well, Josie Gastin, you killed these two ladies."

"No... no it was the man..." blubbered Josephine. "He shot them... is he going to shoot me?"

"They died because of you. Your actions made him shoot them."

"...no..." cried Josie quietly, mortified at the thought. "Please..."

"If you had acted differently, they would still be alive today. They would go on to laugh and cry. To fall in love for the first time. To see their own first born children crying in their arms. To grow into women and live full lives. Because of you, they're dead before they turned twenty."

Josie lay sullenly in the dirt while he spoke, crying and shaking her head as he told her she was to blame for the girls dying. She looked over to Elizabeth's body and howled pathetically.

"They had parents, parents who will wail and grieve and suffer beyond what you can imagine. Because of you."

"Are you going to kill me?" Josie finally asked as she cried.

"You deserve it. But I will let you live with the blood on your hands."

Josie squirmed over to Elizabeth's body, her face muddy with the combination of her tears and the dirt, wailing pathetically as she did so.

"I just didn't want to be naked..." she whimpered to the body. "I didn't mean... I didn't want... Elizabeth..."

"She was your friend, wasn't she?"

"Yes. So was Bahiga." Elizabeth cried. "They shot her too."

"A respectable Pantocratorian like you, friends with a Turk like that?"

"I hope the Duke shoots you." Josie hissed, barely audible through her tears.

"He only shoots niggers like Bahiga. Didn't you hear?"

Josie sat quietly, not replying. She hadn't really intended for him to hear it, it just made her better to think about the Duke of Montmanuel killing the men who had killed and kidnapped her friends. She looked at Elizabeth's body again and resumed crying. Shouting could be heard from the edge of the camp. The terrorist all immediately started running for guns, taking up defensive positions behind trees, even as their women fled the area.

Elements of the Ninth Provincial Infantry Legion's First Battalion had spied the sorry procession of prisoners from the summer camp, and had followed it back, at a great distance, to the Sons of the Reformation's base in the mountains. They had called in support and were now mounting an impromptu attack and rescue effort on the base. The Sons of the Reformation waited, clutching their guns, as they kept their eyes out for the Pantocratorian troops. Pantocratorian snipers had taken up hidden positions wherever they could at short notice. Six of them began opening fire on the defenders from their secret locations, providing covering fire as the troops of the Ninth Provincials advanced towards the camp, staying close to the ground and keeping suppressing fire up on the defenders to minimise their opportunity to get good, aimed shots in. Two or three terrorists went down under sniper fire almost immediately. The rest hugged their cover tightly, getting in one or two shots.

Overhead the sound of roaring jet engines could be heard, and a split second later, a C-32 Locust swooped low over the camp, a high speed camera attached to its nose taking detailed photographs which were at once broadcast to the Duke of Montmanuel's new command centre in Lutherstadt for examination. It was gone as fast as it came. The snipers kept up their covering fire as the Pantocratorians inched forward. Troops armed with rocket-powered grenades fired their explosive ammunition into guard posts and gun nests.

Josie felt strong hands on her as a man lifted her from behind. The other men and women from the camp felt something similar, as their captors used them as human shields. Josie shrieked and struggled to escape the grasp. As the defenders gave up their defensive positions for individual hostages, the Pantocratorians were able to surge forward. Snipers took carefully aimed shots where they dared, but the firefight died down as the Sons of the Reformation fell back from the front of the camp to their prisoners.

"Achtung!" started a German voice on a loudspeaker from behind the Pantocratorian lines. "Your position is hopeless. You are trapped. Surrender at once or be utterly destroyed!"

Another small group of the Sons surrounded the prisoners of other races. This group, without making any attempt to shield off the Pantocratorians, opened fire into the captives. The Pantocratorian troops instantly opened fire on the Sons of the Reformation who were slaughtering the prisoners, and moved forward to secure the survivors.

"Surrender! Lay down your weapons and release your hostages at once!" the German voice on the loudspeaker repeated.

The men finally complied, stepping out into the open with their hands up. The Pantocratorians rushed forward, shooting anybody who had neglected to throw his weapon to the floor, making securing the Sons of the Reformation, and any civilians or captives who were not bound, their number one priority. The overwhelming numerical superiority of the Pantocratorians became evident when the Ninth Provincials had more than enough men to guard each captured terrorist (or unbound civilian) on a one-to-one basis. A light mountain buggy entered the camp, carrying an officer and the soldier speaking in German into the loudspeaker.

"On your knees, hands behind your heads." the German speaker instructed. "All civilians, please remain calm while the area is secured."

The Sons of the Reformation slowly complied with the request. The civilians remained more or less calm during this, though a few were hysterical, screaming or trying to run. The troops slowly bound the Sons of the Reformation's hands behind their back with clear plastic wrist ties. The other troops went about with combat medics to check on the injured, starting first with the prisoners whom some of the Sons of the Reformation had tried to massacre when the Pantocratorians got inside the complex, then the girls from the camp, and then moving on to the other prisoners, eventually finishing with the Sons of the Reformation themselves.

"Will the enemy commander stand up?" asked the soldier on the loudspeaker.

The wounded were lying among the dead and it was sometimes hard for the Pantocratorians to tell the difference. The medics tended to their work as the Pantocratorian commander and the soldier with the loud speaker got out of the buggy and walked about the camp, inspecting things.

"Who is the enemy commander?" demanded the soldier on the loudspeaker.

No one responded to the request. A nearby Son murmured "Bloody Pantos."

Among the dead, the Pantocratorians found two or three small children. One little boy didn't look a day over five. They might have seen casualties that young before but this was different. These weren't collateral damage. The Sons had pointed guns directly as these little children and pulled the trigger, simply from spite, without any hope of military use.

While his troops moved about the camp, finding horror after horror, the officer frowned as it became apparent the enemy commander wasn't going to reveal himself. He said something in French to the German speaker on the megaphone.

"Under Article Eight of the Wolfish Convention on the treatment of Prisoners of War, you are all required to give no more information than your name, rank and serial number, if you have one." the man on the loudspeaker said. "Each prisoner will now provide his surname, Christian name, rank, and serial number if he has one, in that order, to the trooper guarding him."

The men all gave their names and ranks. The highest rank given was that of one Sergeant Hagan Hòbsch.

The Pantocratorians began to untie the girls from the camp, and set about trying to find the keys to remove the chains from the other prisoners, although some of them weren't waiting for keys, and instead tried to cut through the chains with hacksaws and pick open locks.

"Is the Duke of Montmanuel here already?" Josie asked in French, still in a daze as she was untied, sitting once again by the body of her murdered friend.

"You're Pantocratorian?" asked the soldier untying here.

"Yes..." Josie nodded, looked back at Elizabeth, and then began crying. "Why couldn't you have got here half an hour earlier?"

The Convoy

"Alright." Fuell conceded. "Pull over."

The motorcade pulled over near the small local school building. Two Air Force officers walked around to the car and escorted Janet out of the car. "What do you need, ma'am?" one of them asked.

North of Frederickstadt

"Good day." the mayor answered the soldier. Mayor Idesheim frowned at the request of the Excalbians, pausing a moment to consider. After awhile, she nodded. Turning to her own guards, she commanded them to wait for her, before heading inside.

"Good day, General." she said to the brigadier.

The Convoy

Janet frowned. She did not really want to say it aloud. “Well,” she said, “to begin with I suppose I need a toilet…”

Christiana smiled, bounding out of the car behind Janet. “And I would not mind stretching my legs and having some water, Lieutenant.”

North of Frederickstadt

BRIG James Joyner, having walked into the well-worn diner just ahead of the mayor, turned and nodded crisply to the Marlunder. “Good day, your Excellency. I am pleased you were able to join me today, Madam Mayor.” He looked around and the rather unsightly, torn vinyl benches and tables. He crinkled his nose, but managed a smile. “Would you care to take a seat, your Excellency? I regret that I could not arrange… more suitable surroundings.”

As the brigadier spoke, a few Excalbian soldiers took positions flanking both entrances to the restaurant. Apart from the Excalbians and the mayor, the restaurant was empty.

The Convoy

One of the officers nodded. "There should be one in the school building. Please come with me, ma'am." He smiled started to move with her towards the building, his expression serious.

As soon as the Princess bounded out of the car, Lieutenant Fuell leaped out, immediately moving in front of the Princess so that Christiana had the Lieutenant in front and the limousine in back. About a dozen armed officers jumped out of the other cars, quickly spreading out to cover the entire area, guns drawn. They not only moved into position but made sure to get a good look at every building or scrap of cover in the area. Only after getting a nod from every last one of them did Fuell back down and give Christiana an appropriate amoung of space. "With all due respect, Your Highness, you really do need to be more careful."

North of Frederickstadt

"Good day." Idesheim said, taking the profferred seat. "It is, of course, my pleasure."

The Convoy

Janet nodded to the officer and followed him into the school building.

Princess Christiana hid a small smile behind her hand as the young lieutenant scolded her. "Yes, Lieutenant," she said. Then, letting her smile warm, she dropped her hand and added, "Thank you for your looking out for me, Lieutenant." She looked around. "Somewhat stark, yet lovely."

North of Frederickstadt

BRIG Joyner nodded. "I am glad you came." The Excalbian general's face was drawn into a slight frown. While his eyes had a certain warmth to them, they were set in a decidedly grave expression. "I am sure you are aware of the events that transpired in Beyke. And while I have no reason to expect a similar rebel assault here, I do not think we can dismiss the idea. And should an assault be mounted, I want to be sure that we are on the same page," he gestured towards the mayor and then back to himself, "so that we don't have the kind of… unpleasant situation they had in Beyke."

The brigadier studied Mayor Idesheim for a long moment. "To begin with, I would like to ask that your local law enforcement and militia work hand-in-hand with my troops. If there is even the slightest hint that something… anything… is amiss, I want to be prepared to act proportionally, preemptively and decisively before something happens…"

The Convoy

The officer walked with Janet to the schoolhouse lady's room. He went in before her and checked it out before emerging back into the hallway. "All clear, ma'am. Go ahead."

The bathroom itself was...well, like one would expect a public school bathroom in an area running on very low funds to be. It had a few stalls. It smelled like human waste. The seats were dirty. The sink was rusty. They were almost out of toilet paper and there were cracks in the walls.

Fuell grinned almost wryly. "I'm just doing my duty, Your Highness."

She followed the princess's gaze as the older woman looked around the town. "It might be hard to believe this, Your Highness, but the standard of living here would have seemed very opulent to most of these people just a few years before. The median standard of living in this community is five times higher than it was before the war."

North of Frederickstadt

"I think I understand." Idesheim responded, frowning. "Of course, public support for the new regime is much lower here than in Beyke."

The Convoy

Janet wrinkled her nose as she stepped into the toilet. Still, better than a bush, she reasoned. Nevertheless, she went as quickly as she could in order to hasten her exit.

Princess Christiana smiled back at Fuell's grin. "You are most dedicated, charming, and lovely, young lady, I must say, Lieutenant."

The princess turned and looked around the small, barren-looking town. "It is hard to imagine that this," she gestured to the town around her, "represents a step up." Christiana shook her head. "I hope the Marlund authorities will allow us to work here; I think our model of redevelopment – already successfully used in New Constantinople – will do wonders for the people here. We can bring in industry, commerce… improve schools, libraries… housing…"

The princess turned back to Fuell. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I do tend to go on when I am excited."

Just as the princess finished speaking, Janet approached from the direction of the school. "All ready," she said, her eyes flicking between Fuell and Christiana.

North of Frederickstadt

BRIG Joyner's face seemed to grow tighter. "Unfortunate," he said flatly. "How low is public support, your Excellency? Is there a reservoir of support for the rebels? If so, we need you to identify the supporters to us, so we can begin to monitor them. And be ready to take the necessary actions."

The general maintained a level gaze at the mayor. "In addition, to facilitate communications, I would like to assign one of my officers – Lieutenant Malcolm Tucker – as a liaison to your security forces. I would also appreciate it if you could assign one of your people to my staff as a liaison. Finally, I would like to begin regular daily joint briefings. We could arrange for you and your security forces to participate through secure teleconference."

The Convoy

Fuell couldn't help blushing ever so slightly. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I am not used to being flattered so overtly by royalty."

As the princess was speaking, a few young faced appeared in the window, peeking out at the princess and the motorcade.

North of Frederickstadt

Idesheim shrugged slightly. "I don't have a figure to give you. However, public support is universally lower in the north than in the south."

She paused, listening carefully to the generals proposal. "I beg your pardon, sir, but why through a teleconference?"

The Convoy

The princess smiled at the lieutenant’s embarrassment, then turned towards the building. She waved at the young faces staring out at her. “Are those the students?” Christiana asked Fuell, even as she kept her eyes on the windows and continued waving politely.

North of Frederickstadt

BRIG Joyner nodded. “Understood. However, your Excellency, I do suggest, for all our sakes, that you pass on any information on support for the rebels, even if it is little more than rumour.”

The general rubbed his chin briskly at the mayor’s question about teleconferencing. “I suppose we are so used to it in the Imperial Army that we take it for granted.” He dropped his hands and shrugged. “It is simply the easiest way to allow two command centres to hold a joint briefing without the need for one group to travel the other. And, considering that we are in an area sympathetic to the insurgency, it also has the advantage of minimizing our travels and, consequently, the risk of an insurgent attack.”

Office of Internal Affairs, Kintyre, Barensburg, Eurusean Union

Faye Madigan stared in disbelief at the transcript of Gregory Nikomedes' interview, glancing up at the young intern, 'Ain't April first, so why y' bringin' me this nonsense?'

She blinked, 'Sir, I assure you that transcript is a hundred percent accurate, I checked it myself...'

Faye nodded, ''Course it is...Dear God, is he tryin' t' cause a diplomatic incident?' she turned, glancing out the window at the vast shadow of the Lucifer mortar Scarlet moving back to its depot along the road outside the city, 'Ask tha' people of Eurusea, indeed...Get on tha' phone t' Markos Catafrank at tha' Pantocratorian embassy, tell him I want t' meet with him in tha' state dinin' hall in Chopinburg at six.'

Markos Catafrank arrived at the state dining hall in Chopinburg at seven minutes to six, wearing an extremely well-tailored tuxedo and a fairly ridiculous top hat, accompanied by a translator and several diplomatic aides. Their general policy when it came to the sight of the comedically oversized weapons of war for which the Eurusean Union was infamous, like Scarlet, was to ignore so completely as to give the impression they they had not seen it at all. Foreign ambassadors standing around gob-smacked at the sheer enormity of one implement of mass murder or another didn't create the appropriate diplomatic image, or so it was generally felt in the embassy. He awaited his meeting with Faye Madigan in silence, while the aides speculated amongst each other about the purpose of the invitation...

The Convoy

The children waved back eagerly, youthful, dark faces pressed eagerly against the glass. A few of them turned aroung after a few minutes and ran away from the window, pleading with their teacher to let them go see the special lady.

"Yes, those are the students." Fuell said with a slight smile. "If you'd like, we could go talk to them."

North of Frederickstadt

Idesheim frowned slightly. "I doubt you'd find anyone supportive of the uprising in Beyke this far north. I was worried more about the terrorists than the insurgents. However, I do wonder how well the local police can work with you when they are not even allowed to accompany me to meetings."

The Convoy

Princess Christiana smiled. “Yes, let’s see them; I would like to hear what they think about their new school and the future.” The princess began striding purposefully towards the building, still waving occasionally and smiling at the young faces.

North of Frederickstadt

BRIG Joyner’s face remained unchanged. “I see,” he said flatly. “The terrorists being, I presume, the supporters of the old regime as opposed to the leftists in the south. How many sympathizers do you suspect? And do you believe anyone is in actual contact with these – terrorists?”

The general glanced out the window towards the mayor’s bodyguards, who remained under the watchful eye of his own troops. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “I have been overly cautious today. In light of what has happened elsewhere, I hope you will find that a forgivable act of caution, rather than one of disrespect.”

Joyner steepled his fingers and rested his elbows on the old, greasy table. “Nevertheless, I hope we will be able to build a cooperative relationship; the assignment of liaison officers and daily joint briefings will, I hope, begin to build mutual confidence and trust.”

The Convoy

"Yes, let's. But wait here for another moment, Your Highness." Fuell insisted before nodding to a few other officers. A couple of men entered the school and the children ran away from the window, going to watch the soldiers at work. All in all, Christiana had to wait about twenty minutes, before the officers came back out to give the all clear.

Fuell then followed Christiana into the classroom where the students had been hearded back to their seats by their teacher. They all peered up at Christiana. "Are you really a princess?" a little girl asked first thing.

North of Frederickstadt

"What has happened elsewhere is that our nationals were attacked by people who are supposed to be here to help us." Idesheim responded. "Marlund is a Sovereign entity with authority over its own territory. We didn't surrender that by asking for foreign aid and we don't think it's a fair condition for such aid."

The Convoy

Christiana waited somewhat impatiently, although she said nothing about the delay. Instead she used the opportunity to speak with Janet and review some documents on a hand-held PC.

When the soldiers finally gave the signal to enter the school, Christiana followed them in a wide smile. She walked slowly into the classroom and waved at the children. She nodded politely to the teacher. “Good day, Madam,” she said softly.

The princess looked down at the little girl who spoke. She crouched low, bringing her face down to level of the child’s. “Why, yes, I am a princess, dear,” she said smiling. “My name is Christiana. What’s yours?”


North of Frederickstadt

“No,” BRIG Joyner said flatly, his face still an impassive mask, “Marlund did not surrender its sovereignty when it requested foreign assistance. However, we did not surrender a reasonable expectation of safety when we agreed to provide that assistance. And, your government did offer us – and the other allied powers – a certain measure of freedom to take the steps necessary to guarantee your security and help you rebuild your nation.”

The general uncomfortably forced a smile, which looked somewhat alien on his face. The smile quickly faded and Joyner returned to his neutral expression.

“Now, your Excellency, I see no good coming of a debate over Beyke. I deeply regret what happened there and in no way condone Pantocratorian tactics. However, I also recognize that the entire tragedy was precipitated by the insurgents. And, my mission here is to ensure that nothing of that sort, whether as the result of terrorist or insurgent activity, happens here.

“Frankly, that is why I am holding my forces out of the cities and population centres; I believe such areas are best patrolled by civilian police, not by combat troops. Our forces, however, stand ready to provide support and assistance to your police and to engage any terrorists – or insurgents – once they are identified. That is why we need close cooperation and liaison.”

The Convoy

"Good morning, Your Imperial Highness." the teacher said with a deep curtsey.

"My name is Caenis and I'm eight and a half years old." the little girl said. "Are you a Carasian Princess?"

A number of other students raised their hands, some bouncing slightly in their seats trying to get Christiana's attention. The students seemed to range in age from six to twelve and there were about forty of them in the classroom.

North of Frederickstadt

"Very well." Idesheim answered grudgingly. "We will comply with your request. We shall have these teleconferences and coordinate our efforts according to the suggestions you have put forward."

Lutherstadt

Colonel Anne Shelley stood outside Allied Central Command with a small detail, waiting at attention to greet the arriving Pantocratorians.

The Convoy

“Well, Caenis,” Christiana said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. But I’m not a Carasian princess; I come from a country called Excalbia in the North Atlantic. If your teacher has a map, I can show you where it is.”

The princess looked over the other students. “Well, it seems your classmates have questions as well.” She looked over at a little boy with his hand bouncing in the air. “Yes, you there. What is your name, young man? Do you have a question?”

North of Frederickstadt

“Thank you, your Excellency,” BRIG Joyner said, relaxing just a little bit. “I have my liaison officer standing by, if you will allow him to follow you back to the city. I will await your liaison officer at his – or her – convenience.”

The general stood and bowed slightly. “Perhaps, for our next meeting, you might care to join me for dinner at my headquarters; it should be completed in another day or two.”

The Convoy

"I do actually, Your Highness." the teacher said, going to fetch a map and hanging it up on the front board for Princess Christiana's use.

"My name is Galenus, Your Highness." the little boy said. "I was just wondering...why would a princess want to come all the way from a palace to a place like this?"

There were still dozens of hands in the air. Fuell was trying to hide her smile as she watched all this.

North of Frederickstadt

Idesheim nodded. "Thank you, General. That sounds quite pleasant. I shall send an officer to you tomorrow and shall see you again in a few days."

The Convoy

Christiana knelt beside the little boy. "Well, Galenus, the truth is that palaces have their uses, but they tend to get lonely and boring. So, I like to travel and see new places and meet new people, like you. I also like to try to help when I can. Can you think of anything I could do to help you and your school?"

After she finished speaking with boy, the princess walked to the front board. She smiled and nodded to the teacher. "Thank you." Then she pointed to the Excalbian Isles. "This is where I come from – the Excalbian Isles. It is a place in the North Atlantic, near Greenland and Iceland." She pointed to the dot representing Citadel Excalbia. "And this is my home – our capital city; it's called Citadel Excalbia." She turned back to the class. "Would someone like to show me on the map where you live?"

North of Frederickstadt

BRIG Joyner nodded, then stood. "Let me show you out, your Excellency." He escorted the mayor to the door, opened it and motioned for her step through. Outside her security detail were waiting nearby with a small number of Excalbian soldiers.

Joyner gestured to a soldier standing near the six-wheeled vehicles. The younger man approached and saluted. Joyner sketched a salute, then turned to Idesheim. "Your Excellency, may I present Lieutenant Malcolm Tucker," the Lieutenant nodded to the mayor. "He'll be joining your security staff as our liaison officer."

"Your Excellency," Tucker said with a polite smile, "it is a pleasure." The soldier hoisted a small duffle bag. "I am ready to move out when you are, Ma'am."

The Convoy

"Oh! Could I have a kiss?" Galenus asked, grinning what he hoped was dashingly.

A little girl sitting across from him snorted slightly. "We need more up to date textbooks and more multi...multimedia equipment, ma'am."

A little boy raised his hand when she asked them to show her where they were on the map. Heading up to the front of the room, he pointed to Marlund on the map. "We're here, ma'am."

North of Frederickstadt

Idesheim smiled slightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Lieutenant Tucker. We were actually just heading back now, if you'll come along."

Taking their leave, she and her men returned to their vehicles and headed back to city hall with Lieutenant Tucker. City hall was a small Neo-Classical being with a few guards standing out front. Men in suits were moving in and out fairly regularly and there was a buzz of quite mundane conversation. It hardly seemed like a war zone.

The Convoy

“Why, of course, my young gentleman,” the princess said with a bright smile. She leaned towards the boy and gave him a gentle, motherly kiss.

Christiana turned to the little girl and gave her a knowing smile. “Well, then, I shall have to see what I can do.” She turned to where Janet, as always, hovered in the background.

With a nod from Christiana, Janet pulled out her satellite phone and began speaking in hushed tones. After a few moments, she walked up to the teacher and leaned towards her. “Ma’am,” she said in a hushed whisper, “what is your mailing address?”

Christiana stood and followed the second little boy to the front of the room. “Yes, yes, you’re quite right, young sir. Can you tell me how far we are from my home in Excalbia?”

North of Frederickstadt

Tucker nodded politely and followed the mayor to her car. He stowed his duffle bag and climbed into the vehicle.

Arriving at City Hall, LT Tucker took a quick look around. It was his first time in a town since arriving in Marlund. “Nice town, Ma’am.” Shouldering his bag, he looked around again. “If someone could take me to your command centre or security headquarters, I’d like to introduce myself to your commanders and get myself situated, Ma’am.”

The Convoy

Galenus blushed fiercely, although you could barely see it with his complexion. He looked down a little, grinning.

The second boy frowned in concentration. He checked the scale on the map and then took a ruler from the front of the room, carefully measuring the distance on the map. When he finally answered, he was only a hundred miles or so off, which was rather impressive for the crudity of the tools available to him.

Frederickstadt

Tucker received directions to the police station where he was given a rather nice office and some documents detailing the recent actions of the police and militia in Frederickstadt.

The Convoy

Christiana nodded at the boy, genuinely impressed at his calculations. “Excellent job, my young sir. You will be a master geographer or explorer, I think.”

Meanwhile, Janet noted down the school’s mailing address and turned back to the teacher. “You should be receiving a shipment of computers, TVs and DVD players within the week. Is there anything else the school could use, Madam?”

Frederickstadt

LT Tucker sat his desk, suitably impressed with the office and the politeness of the locals, and read through the reports. He made a few handwritten notes and waited to see if he would have a meeting with the commander of local police.

The Convoy

"Well..." the teacher said. "I wouldn't want to hog all the supplies. Maybe you could give those basic supplies to more of the schools around here."

Frederickstadt

Lieutenant Tucker was indeed soon called in for a meeting with Chief Artur Gaebler. The chief was a man in his mid fifties, still fit, although his hair and beard were quite grey. He rose as Tucker entered his office. "Good afternoon, lieutenant."

The Convoy

Janet nodded. “Of course. If you’d give the mailing addresses of the other schools, I’ll see to it that they receive comparable gifts, Madam.”

Meanwhile, Princess Christiana looked over the students. “Another questions? I have time for a couple more. Yes, you, young lady.”

Frederickstadt

LT Tucker snapped a crisp salute. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said. “Lieutenant Malcolm Tucker, Excalbian Imperial Army, reporting, sir.”

Lutherstadt
The Duke of Montmanuel's motorcade pulled up in front of his new headquarters in Lutherstadt, where Colonel Shelley and her troop waited to greet him. The car came to rest and an aide-de-camp in a dress uniform disembarked from the roadside passenger exit, moving along to the Duke's door on the curbside. Two guardsmen in their dress uniforms disembarked from the car behind the Duke's, one carrying a folded flag. The other trooper took up position behind the Duke's car door and stood to attention. He snapped a salute, and the ADC opened Montmanuel's door. The Duke of Montmanuel, wearing a splendid white dress uniform suitably decorated with medals, and carrying a shining gold helmet with purple plumes under his left arm, and a pair of white velvet gloves in his right hand, disembarked the vehicle. He received the salute from his ADC, and pulled on his gloves as he approached Shelley, followed by the trooper with the flag and the ADC.

The Convoy

The teacher walked over to her desk to jot down some addresses as the little girl asked her question. "Doesn't the Church of Excalbia have an episcipal discipline?" As she spoke, a few of the other students perked up as well. For whatever reason, they found that question very interesting.

Frederickstadt

Chief Gaebler smiled lightly. "At ease, lieutenant. Please, have a seat." He gestured to the seat directly across from his desk as he continued to speak. "So what do you think of Marlund so far?"

Lutherstadt

As the Duke approached, Colonel Shelley saluted crisply, the men under her command doing it in perfect synch. She stood at rigid attention before Montmanuel, not making the slightest noise without being addressed.

Lutherstadt
The Duke of Montmanuel returned Shelley's salute, and glanced about the building for a few moments with a critical eye. He preferred his own headquarters, but he could see he'd be quite comfortable here, and moreover, would have all the facilities at his disposal he might need. The fact that he had to share the building with Allied Central Command was, to Montmanuel's way of thinking, a mixed blessing. It had the benefit of allowing Montmanuel a more direct influence in the Allied Central Command, but it also had the drawback of putting him in the same place as the supreme commander. After a few silent moments, he said "Bon" and nodded, and walked into the building, his ADC hurrying ahead and opening the door for him on his way in.

Lutherstadt

"Dismissed!" Colonel Shelley said to her troops as the Pantocratorians went inside. She then crossed her hands behind her back and moved to follow Montmanuel, maintaining a disciplined silence.

As Montmanuel entered the front room, which had clearly been the entryway to some distinguished gentleman's home, decorated in red wallpaper with a shimmering chandelier of gold and crystal and a golden bannister on the staircase in the back. At the moment, however, the room was filled with officers and soldiers going about mostly clerical tasks. Any that Montmanuel passed directly saluted him but they didn't all drop what they were doing. It was, after all, a still operating nerve center for ongoing operations.

The Convoy

Princess Christiana looked at the little girl, her mouth slightly open. “I…,” Christiana gave the girl a lopsided smile, “well, I must say that is probably the last question that I expected to be asked!”

The princess crouched next to the girl. “I have to be honest with you, dear,” she said in low voice – as if sharing a confidence, yet loud enough to be heard by all, “although I am a member of the Church of Excalbia, I’m not really much of an expert in religious matters.”

Christiana touched her finger to her lips. “Hmmm, let me see if I remember what I learned in Church School…” Christiana looked into the child’s eyes. “We do have bishops and they do claim a lineage back to the Apostles… and the bishops have authority over their dioceses. However, each individual congregation’s lay leadership does have a lot of say over activities in parish, missions, budgets… and even some say in calling their individual ministers… And, together, the bishops form a Synod that governs the church, elects the Presiding Bishop… and even has a say in determining the Imperial succession…”

Standing and smiling, Christiana looked down at the girl. “Now, I have a question for you, dear… why are so interested in church government?”

Frederickstadt

LT Tucker dropped into a parade-rest stance, with his feet apart and arms folded behind his back. At the chief’s invitation, he took the indicated seat, sitting stiffly in the chair.

“Thank you, sir.”

The lieutenant’s brows knotted together as he pondered the chief’s question. “Well, sir, I haven’t really seen much of Marlund. We arrived in port and immediately deployed to the coastline along the highway and I just arrived in town today.” The lieutenant gave a hint of smile. “That said, the countryside is quite lovely and the town square here is certainly beautiful.”

The Convoy

The little girl fidgeted, looking down nervously as Christiana asked her return question. "I'm worried it'll make you upset. Your Highness. Do you promise not to get upset if I tell you why I was wondering?"

The teacher, meanwhile, handed a list of addresses to Janet as she and Lieutenant Fuell watched Christiana quietly.

Frederickstadt

"Things are lovely up here." Chief Gaebler commented. "It gets a lot uglier down south. How familiar are you with the conflict now going on, with the history of the country?" Gaebler inquired.

The Convoy

“Of course I won’t be upset, dear,” Christiana said, laying an assuring hand on the little girl’s shoulder.

Janet took the names and addresses and began entering them into her handheld PC. She looked up, as she typed, and looked towards the princess, curious to see what the girl would say.

Frederickstadt

“Well, sir,” LT Tucker said slowly, his moving back and forth as if trying to read a remembered but absent book, “I know that the Danaan High Kingdom invaded Marlund after the terrorist attacks on Armonvale, bringing down the racist dictatorship and establishing the current government under a constitutional monarch. In doing so, the Danaans and their allies freed people who had been held in slavery and established racial and gender equality. And I know that we are here now as part of the Allied peacekeeping force, together with the Danaans, the Pantocratorians and the Adoki.”

Tucker met the chief’s eyes somewhat sheepishly. “I’m afraid, sir, that that’s pretty much all I know…”

The Convoy

"Well, Reverend Cananis, who used to be the preacher around here, he would always say that everyone in Excalbia was going to Hell because they had an episcipal form of organization for their church. I don't think that's true or anything. I was just asking." The little girl sunk down a little in her seat. "I wish I hadn't told you that, Your Highness."

Frederickstadt

The chief nodded. "That is all correct, of course. I'm...not exactly sure what we're supposed to be doing together."

The Convoy

“Oh, don’t worry, dear,” Christiana said, stroking the little girl’s hair, “I don’t blame you for what this Reverend Cananis said.” The princess smiled. “You know how I told you that I’m not an expert in the church or in religion? Well, I’m not, but there is one thing that I did learn about the Bible and about God; God is a god of love, not hate. Jesus said that God loved the whole world and the only people He criticized were religious leaders who cared more about their rules than people… or God. So, don’t let things people like Reverend Cananis say bother you, dear.”

Frederickstadt

“Well,” LT Tucker said, “as the Imperial Army’s liaison officer here, I hope to be able to work with your staff on developing intelligence on any terrorists or insurgents operating in the region. Brigadier Joyner’s hope is that, by working with your people and concerned citizens, we can develop actionable intelligence that would let us – working jointly – preempt any plans to attack Frederickstadt and the surrounding area or subvert the new government.”

The Convoy

The little girl let the Excalbian Princess stroke her frizzly hair, peering up. "It's ok. He wasn't a very nice man anyway." She paused another moment and blurted out with child-like bluntness "This is the first time a white lady ever touched me other than hitting me."

Frederickstadt

Chief Gaebler nodded. "We haven't had any problems here so far. Still...it'll be nice to have some extra help to make sure we don't get any."

The Convoy

A few of the little girl's classmates snickered at her frankness. The girl bit her lower lip and looked down a little, embarassed.

Frederickstadt

LT Tucker nodded to the chief. "Well, perhaps we should start reviewing your intelligence; if we establish a good baseline, we should be able to better detect trouble at its inception…"

The Convoy

Tears welled up in Princess Christiana's eyes and she pulled the girl towards her, giving her a hug. "Oh, you poor dear," she said, her voice muffled and choked. "I'm sorry that anyone ever hit you. No one should ever hit you. And with the help of its friends, like Excalbia, I'm sure your new government will make sure you and all the other children will be safe from now on."

The girl blinked as she noticed Christiana was crying. "I'm sorry, Your Highness! I didn't mean to upset you." She kept hugging into the princess, starting to cry herself.

“Oh,” Christiana said surprised by the girl’s reaction, “you didn’t upset me, dear. I’m just sorry for what has happened to you.” The princess gently cupped the girl’s face in her hands. “But you don’t need to worry; you’ll be safe now.”

Christiana forced a smile. “Now, let’s talk about something cheerier; tell me about some of the things you enjoy doing.”

"Well..." the girl began, looking nervously up at the princess "...I like swimming and playing marbles and playing racing sticks and...I don't know. There isn't that much I've gotten to try out around here."

Christiana continued to smile at the little girl. “Well, I like to swim, too. Is there a swimming pool or maybe a lake or pond nearby where you like to swim?”

"Yeah..." the girl started "...but the minister says we shouldn't swim in front of grown-ups. Bad stuff happened to some boys over a couple towns because they let a grown-up watch them swim. The parents were upset."

"Your Highness, most of the children don't have bathing suits." the teacher offered by way of explanation.

Christiana tilted her head up slightly towards the teacher. “Ah,” she said, “I see. I understand.” The princess looked over to her assistant. “Janet, can we add bathing suits to our order? Enough for all the children?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Janet said. Then, lowering her voice and stepping towards Christiana, she added, “We should be going, your Highness.”

Christiana nodded, then turned back to the little girl. “Dear,” she said with a smile, “I’m afraid I have to get back on the road towards Beyke. But I have arranged for all of you to get some new school supplies and new bathing suits. Would it be alright if I came back sometime to see how all of you are doing?”

Even as the one little girl began to answer, all of the children burst out in the affirmative, smiling broadly at the Excalbian Princess. Princess Christiana was then taken the rest of the way to Beyke where she met with local leaders and was able to work out charitable projects of the same kind she had instituted in New Constantinople.

The children rescued in the East were returned to their families and the Sons of the Reformation captured in that battle were eventually placed in the prisons of the Government of Marlund to await trial for kidnapping and treason.

All was not well. The incident in Beyke had strained relations between the allied powers and there were now two distinct insurgencies operating in Marlund, as opposed to merely one. The allies had no clear exit strategy and were rapidly losing their one solid base of popular support. Still...there as hope...

FIN