NationStates Jolt Archive

Jameston Place
Ianapalis, the Shield

Bread in the nation’s capital had recently soared to an average of eight generals a loaf. Just three months ago, a loaf would have cost a general and a half; a year before that, it was a mere teneral, just a tenth of a general. Part of the wildfire raise in prices was due to the hyperinflation that had resulted from the Republic’s massive war debts from the Jaizar campaign. The general was now at its all-time lowest value on the international market, with a single Walmingtonian pound being worth more than sixty generals. Domestically, the situation was even worse: a single coin general minted before the Yoke was worth its weight in gold, whereas the far more ubiquitous general-notes printed by the revolutionary government where considered better kindling than currency.

However, the meteoric rise in bread prices was also due to the fact that, as even average Iansislean now realized, that a famine was just over the horizon. The harvests in the north had failed spectacularly, due to a combination of an early freeze and the campaigns against Thortraia, the Javian Kingdom, and Mansford. Two years of trench warfare had converted the fields of the Jaizar valley into a hellish lunar landscape of churned earth and unexploded shells.

Worst of all, Tsar Alexander of Magnus Valerius -- acting more out of selfish interest than genuine concern at the regicide -- had declared war against the Republic, which was still trying to lick its wounds from the Effitian débâcle. Not only had his impetuous act severed Iansisle’s access to the cheap grain of the Empire, but his amazingly successful campaign against the Philippines had cut off the invaluable Nusheld-Fort Manly-Davao-Mansmouth route to Gallaga, along which rice was to have been shipped. Many wondered just what it was exactly, then, that the Navy was doing to help the war effort.

As grain prices shot up, other foodstuffs experienced a similar inflation. Ground beef, despite the ample grazing land in the Republic, was now eight generals a pound in Ianapalis. Apples were a general each; lamb was eleven generals a pound; a gallon of milk cost two and a half generals; a pound of butter was four; and, even in Ianapalis’ exclusive western quarter, a good 9oz cut of filet mignon was thirty-one generals.

With the average wage for an Ianapalis workingman still under fifty generals a week, families were starting to go wanting. Hunger bred discontent, which turned very easily into anger. Anger at the immigrant families of Tharians, Dianatranians, and Gallagans “who come here to eat us out of house and home, to force us out of work!” Anger at the Valerians, seen as the most recent outsiders attempting to meddle in Shieldian affairs.

And anger at the hapless National Assembly, so very visible in its home at Jameston Place.

Shieldians are a hardy, patriotic people, passionate in every aspect of their lives. When the government had announced the first levée en masse in Shieldian history, mothers and wives had gladly sent their sons and husbands off to fight and die in the Jaizar campaign. When, during the great petrol shortage of the early years of the war, the government had told them that rationing -- a quite foreign concept -- needed to be introduced, they willingly gave up their motorcars. Later, when everything -- food, cloth, metal, everything -- was rationed, the Shieldians gladly shouldered the burden. When the government had cried that there was not enough money to keep the boys fighting at the front, the Shieldian people had come to its rescue, buying billions of generals worth of war bonds that most knew, at least in the back of their minds, would never be redeemed.

This is how they were repaid. The great Shieldian people, who had provided the soldiers to fight the Republic’s war, the money with which it was financed, and the raw materials by which it was supplied, were being left to starve, many said, through the government’s lack of foresight and general incompetence.

During the war, confidence in the government had remained high. How could it not, with Charles Bradsworth at the helm? Bradsworth was a bona fide hero of the Revolution and a natural orator. Millions had tuned in across the Shield to listen to his weekly broadcasts on the state of the war with Effit. His words reinforced public confidence in the eventually success of the war effort and made them willing to bear any hardship “to see this business through.”

Then he was gone.

Perhaps Bradsworth was right and the referendum had been a vote of no confidence in his premiership. Perhaps. However, without Bradsworth’s steady hand, Iansisle had been stumbling from one constitutional crisis to the next. Ben Rinehart’s premiership was being undermined by his own ministers: of the twenty-two Directors, some eight, with Lawrence Madders at their head, could be considered fully in rebellion against the Premier Interim. As neither side was resigning, Iansisle’s government was paralyzed from within, unable to react swiftly and end the food shortage or the innumerable other problems facing the Shield.

And so the Ianapalis mob, already starting to feel the pinch on their stomachs and wallets, did the only thing they knew how to do: they rioted. What had started as a minor incursion into a Tharian neighborhood by a group of rowdy out-of-work longshoremen, with the police standing idly by, had quickly escalated. It soon became clear that this riot was something different. Police officers on the scene, who had usually been part of the mob’s deprivations against poor immigrants, reported that several units had come under attack as the mob swelled. More disturbingly, shouts of “Long live the King!” and “Hang the regicides from the lampposts!” had been heard ringing through the streets.

The Assembly, struck dumb by the sudden change in the winds, could only stand at Jameston Place and watch the fires burning out of control on the eastern end of the city. There was talk of evacuating the Assemblymen to Westergate, or possibly all the way to St Martin. None of these plans seemed to come to fruition. In the end, it was Lawrence Madders, acting on his own initiative, who saved the Assembly. As Director of War, he ordered Major General Nicodemo Ranalte’s IX Corps, forming the nucleus of the Iansislean Expeditionary Force sailing for the Philippines, to divert to the capital city to “restore law and order.” His convoy, then only six hours’ steaming time from Adien Bay, was only too able to divert.

7th Street Barricade
Ianapalis, Iansisle

Grimly, Harry “Doc” Donner kicked over a bloodstained kitchen table which had been part of the police’s improvised fortifications. He had already ravenously devoured the apple which one of the dead policemen had carried with him, but he was still famished. All the stores on the eastern end of the city had been looted already, and Doc -- a weaker boy not even old enough to fight for his country on the Jaizar -- had been left with nothing but the scraps.

To the north, sporadic shooting mixed with screams and improvised battle shouts. It was nothing different than the noises which had been erupting all over the slums of Ianapalis’s eastern quarter all week and the gang of boys on 7th paid it no heed. Anti-republic slogans were shouted, shots were exchanged with the police, and then the ghettos would return to a temporary sense of normalcy until the next day of no food produced a wave of royalism.

The man with a megaphone was screaming something about hanging the regicides from the same rope which they had used to murder their rightful liege when a new, terrifying sound was added to the mix: a rolling drum backed by the pipes. Doc’s gang looked at each other for a second, then scurried to see what this newest intrusion into their lives was.

If Doc was surprised to suddenly hear soldiers advancing across MacDunn Street, he wasn’t the only one. Hundreds turned out as a company of men, wearing the colors of the 2nd Foothills Regiment of Foot, advanced in marching order down Grand Street. One, a lieutenant, read aloud the latest gauntlet thrown down by the government.

“By the order of the National Assembly, an all-hours curfew is in effect for all citizens east of MacDunn Street. Any found on the streets without proper authorization will be taken in for questioning as a probable royalist agent. Any resisting arrest will be shot. Return to your homes now!”

There came after that declaration a good amount of shifting and murmuring in the crowd.

“I am not accustomed to having my orders disobeyed,” declared the lieutenant after a moment. He nodded to his sergeant.

“Third company, present arms!”

The crowd’s noise changed from one of confusion to one of anxiety as the rifles leveled at them.

“Take aim!”

“This is your last chance,” said the lieutenant. “Disperse forthwith, or I shall have my men fire into you! Disperse, in the name of the Republic!”

For a moment, it seemed as if the crowd would obey his instructions. Then, a cry: “Never give up the fight, boys! Forward, my friends, forward! Drive these cowardly regicides from the streets! Vive le roi!”

The crowd, half dispersed already, was confused again.

“Fire!”

A hundred rifle shots cracked out on Grand Street.

((ooc: Mostly just a story for now. Advancing the revolution and all that. This is happening roughly simultaneous to the latest posts in “Death of Kings”.))

The Final Soviet, Island of Portmeirion on the Burha Talab, Raipur, Chhattisgarhi Soviet State, Fourth Indian Soviet Commonwealth of Beddgelert

"...that it is, in light of these military developments and the ghastly rumours of which we have learned since working through the documentation, probably time to petition the body for a meeting of the Final Soviet to be arranged pursuant of the election of a Special Soviet to investigate, then, whether it is not perhaps time to call a referendum on the suspension of military aid to Democratic Kampuchea and the popularly-called Khmer Rouge, some time in the coming cycle."

"Yes, yes, thank you, comrade Dogmatix, the body has already recorded your motion and plans to reconvene in four days time to vote on the day to be allocated for such a meeting. A second assembly has been ordered to elect a body to draft a letter to Hanoi requesting further information on the alleged border raids and subsequent NVA action. Have we any other matters of Revolution Abroad requiring attention at this time? Perhaps something that has happened inside the last two decades?"

Gasps. Then a timid cough from somewhere on the steps forewarned of a young Tamil girl's preparedness to delay tea for another couple of hours by asking, "What about the situation in the Shield?"

Oh, Hell, now somebody was going to bring Wyclyfe into this. Graeme Igo pulled the stopper from his bladder of Geletian wine and set to pre-emptive treatment of some back ache sure to come before the session was closed.

(OOC: Mostly just a tag, for now, because the whole Wiki thing got me thinking about the good old days, and such turns of phrase invariably bring the likes of Iansisle to mind ;))

From an editorial in the Naval Review:

What, Then, Is the Navy Doing?
By: A Concerned Citizen

We Shieldians are descended from a hardy and resourceful stock. We do not expect a new Unsterbank in the first days of any new war. However, when the present Admiralty has repeatedly and consistently failed to properly address the Valerian Problem, much to the detriment of the great People of this Republic, one cannot but cry out “shame!”

The Iansislean Navy, paid for by the taxpayers during the Linhower administration and maintained by the Will of the People, manned by the sons of coastal towns and cities from Shieldend to the Jaizar, has been sulking in port for far too long. Grand Admiral Hansfield is deliberately conserving – some unkind souls might say ‘wasting’ – his potent force. While our battle lines rust in the Mansmouth Roads, the Valerian Blue and White fleet enjoys complete local supremacy around the Philippines and, consequentially, astride our lifeline to Gallaga.

Remember, if you will, the exploits of our South China Sea squadron in the Chaingese war. Deprived of Undauntable from almost the first day and comprising only two Mobile Aeroflyer Docks and some small cruiser units, the squadron constantly took offensive action against the potent Chaingese fleets. By this action, even after the fall of Galla-China, Sarawak and therefore our routes to Gallaga were never seriously endangered.

There is no such material deficiency in the present Navy. Admiral Donahue and his Home Fleet’s line of battle outnumber the Valerian fleet by a margin of two-to-one. In MAFDs, the margin is three-to-one. In cruisers, destroyers, and destroyers, the margin is four-to-one. In sloops, frigates, torpedo boats, and trawlers; in colliers, supply ships, and transports, our preponderance is so overwhelming that it scarcely needs mentioning.

The Navy needs to realize that people are starving on the Shield. The conservation of Home Fleet and the Admiralty’s failed policy – ‘strong nowhere, weak everywhere!’ – must be abandoned if our great experiment in Republican governance is to be preserved against the reactionary forces presently aligned against it.


Oh, Hell, now somebody was going to bring Wyclyfe into this. Graeme Igo pulled the stopper from his bladder of Geletian wine and set to pre-emptive treatment of some back ache sure to come before the session was closed.

((Always nice to see you, of course, BG, and even better to know that we're causing an Igo some mild discomfort! =) But that question does lead me to think -- what IS going on in Wyclyfe? I've alluded to it being a "Beth Gellern protectorate" and an "Igovian state", but we really should come up with something definitive.))

“Magnificently executed, General,” said Lawrence Madders, his stubby arms crossed behind his back. “Simply magnificent.”

“Your Excellency is too kind,” replied Major General Nicodemo Ranalte, whose olive features, white teeth, black hair, and dashing good looks contrasted rather sharply with the diminutive, overweight, and balding Director of War.

They were looking to the east, across Adien Bay, at the industrial quarter of Ianapalis. Ranalte’s IX Corps, consisting of some 50,000 men, had been under convoy from Gadsan to the relief of the Philippines when a royalist insurrection in the Republic’s capital had forced its diversion to quell the political difficulties. Although a few plumes of smoke still rose from the east, by and large Ranalte’s troops, hardened and efficient after their trial in the Jaizar river valley, had quelled the counter-revolution. There would doubtlessly be much recrimination in the Valinor embassy when the émigré royal family found out about this wasted opportunity.

“When shall I begin re-embarking my men?” Ranalte asked after a minutes-long silence.

“Oh, I hardly think that you shall be headed to the Philippines,” Madders answered. “You’ve bloodied the royalists’ noses, but I have no doubt that they shall find a very real ally in these damnable food shortages. The Assembly is absolutely paralyzed, General, and if the government does nothing – and I’ve no reason to expect more than that – then there shall be far worse riots, and we will have much need for your men.”

“You want to garrison Ianapalis?” said Ranalte, arching one dark eyebrow.

“I should prefer not to use that term, ‘garrison’,” said Madders. “They will be required here for a time, or perhaps on adventures closer to home.”

“Adventures, Director?”

“Of the same sort which the Admiralty is presently embarked upon,” said Madders, somewhat cryptically.

Ranalte instantly knew that he was referring to the ‘rounding up’ of Tharian fishing vessels from off the Arm. Their cargoes were emptied in Iansislean harbors and then the ships were released to go back home. Thesia had been tossing a diplomatic fit over the practice, but its heated protests were ignored by the Republic. Madders, then, had some sort of plan to secure additional food for the starving Shield: some sort of plan, close to home, which involved the army.

“I’ve heard it’s rather cold in Noropia,” said Ranalte.

Madders smiled. “All the more reason to get the thing done before we’re deprived of this wonderful July weather. General, am I to assume that you will support me in this before the Assembly?”

“Director, you can count on my loyalty to the Republic,” Ranalte replied.

(OOC: Ah, yes, I did wonder if it was still so, hence the vague nature of the comrade's queery =) The Commonwealth has changed a lot since Salvador (well, since seven or so years after it, I suppose, in the last eighteen or so years by our reckoning), so Wyclyfe could easily have changed too, or been abandoned by the post-Sopworth Commonwealth, or even been subject to Soviet attempts to forcibly change it. Another world of possibilities that don't really have much to do with this thread, I suppose. Ah well, keep up the good work. I'm sure we'll deal with it at some point! I assume that the Shield still dislikes/distrusts/hates us, even in the Republican era? Maybe we should send a battleship (we have those, now!) to visit Wyclyfe...)

(OOC: Ah, yes, I did wonder if it was still so, hence the vague nature of the comrade's queery =) The Commonwealth has changed a lot since Salvador (well, since seven or so years after it, I suppose, in the last eighteen or so years by our reckoning), so Wyclyfe could easily have changed too, or been abandoned by the post-Sopworth Commonwealth, or even been subject to Soviet attempts to forcibly change it. Another world of possibilities that don't really have much to do with this thread, I suppose. Ah well, keep up the good work. I'm sure we'll deal with it at some point! I assume that the Shield still dislikes/distrusts/hates us, even in the Republican era? Maybe we should send a battleship (we have those, now!) to visit Wyclyfe...)

((ooc: Haven't we all changed quite a bit since Salvador? ;-) Our reckoning puts us at ~45 years post-salvador.

I think it's pretty safe to assume that the Republic has no great love for the Commonwealth, though i doubt it has the rabid anti-beddgelernism of previous eras. It's been more than a generation since Salvador, and we Shieldians have short life expectancies (all the more so with all the killing of each other we seem to be up to). Still, any expedition to Wyclyfe would have to pass through the Skull or the Weshield Strait, both of which are very jealously controlled by the Republic’s navy. Not that there’s anything we have afloat which could stand up to a modern battleship, of course, but it would certainly put a chill on defrosting relations between our countries.

At any rate, I’ve been pretty content to just say “Wyclyfe is off doing its own thing” and leave it at that. Still, there’s any number of things we could do: a native movement for reunification with the Republic, have Wyclyfe rather than Noropia be the target of Ranalte’s “adventure”, or even just set up Wyclyfe’s internal politics / relationship to the Soviet Commonwealth.

I’ve been looking for more NS-related stuff to do lately, and this fits right in. =) ))

(OOC: Supoyb. I'll have to brush up on my Shieldian geography, evidently =) I think that we're about 25 years past Salvador, but we'll say it's just something to do with us living longer. Ill-effects of opiates and grain alcohols be damned! And chariot-racing. Certainly some sort of expedition will have to be arranged, even if it is just one to assess the potential of Wyclyfe to be developed as a food exporter for the benefit of increasingly over-crowded Soviet India... which I assume is just left of Iansislian Gallaga ;) Oh, and don't worry... the Soviets may have battleships (eight of them), but we haven't got the faintest clue how to employ them, and the practice of electing and then democratically recalling officers whenever the fancy takes probably hasn't helped the development of our maritime prowess.)

(OOC: Congrats on the start of an excellent story - a pleasure to read :))

((ooc: Aw, what's twenty years between friends? I don't know how Wyclyfe will be as a food exporter -- I haven't quite determined how the current famine in the Republic would affect Wyclyfe.))

(OOC: Congrats on the start of an excellent story - a pleasure to read :))

((Cheers, mate. Glad you liked it. Hope to expand it more sometime when I'm a little less asleep =) ))

Captain Dumnor looked out over the bow of the S.C.S. Roncor II. He watched the waves clash against the proud ship, watched as dolphins flanked her and leaped above the breakers. It had been a long day, patrolling this particular stretch of ocean, but the cartographers were insistent that this area must be catalogued - so here they were. A lieutenant rushed up to the captain where he stood and saluted smartly. The captain turned and returned his salute.

'What is it, Lieutenant?'
'Sir, we've just intercepted a communique from the Ianislians. Apparently some sort of skirmish has broken out in the streets. It looks like a revol-'
'Don't you dare utter the "R" word in my presence. Do you understand? Piracy is long gone from the Bynzeki oceans, but this ship still has a plank.'
The captain sighed. 'We probably should report it.'

The captain and the lieutenant marched to the comms room, where a message was dispatched to the Bynzeki Peacekeeping Forces situation room, alerting them of the situation.

Dumnor hoped that soon several Bynzeki ships would be on their way to the Roncor II's present location. From there they could contact the Ianislian government, and make for Adien Bay...

((OOC: Hope this is what you're after. It was such a professional RP, I couldn't resist getting involved..))

((ooc: That’s fine with me, Bynzek. However, you ought to know that this post is merely the most recent part of a rather long and ongoing RP. The most relevant posts are:

A New Sun Rises in the East (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=312916). Enter Charles Bradsworth. A few speeches on the street and he’s appointed Ambassador to the New Highlands. Interesting retconns include the switching of Bradsworth’s name from Bradsworth to Bradford and back again and the change of Ben’s last name from Fullerton to Rinehart.
Whither Goes the Empire of the Shield? (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=316130). Enter Lawrence Madders. (in this thread, his name changes from Manders to Maders to Madders). RM&M forces the government’s hand in dealing with a strike and then calls for troops. Name of the massacre later retconned from “31st Street” to “Grand Street”.
The Star of the Northern Order (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=332145). Word leaks to Larkinia of events on the Shield.
A Pinprick of Light (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=331110): The Corporates bombard Fort Jackson.
Sweet Sorrow (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=335255): Iansisle withdraws from the New Highlands; Bradsworth returns to the Shield.
Twilight for the House of Laughlin (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=339389). Todd Andrews builds a new state out of the ashes of Weshield. Concurrent with:
A Glorious Enterprise (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=339838). Death of Sir Richard Tri. The revolutionaries take Ianapalis. A new state, the United Kingdom, is formed. War with Thortraia. War with Weshield. The Shield is reunified under one revolutionary banner. War with Effit.
Rough Waters (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=424329). Purges in the army. War with Effit continues. King James decides to flee Ianapalis. The UK uses WMD. King James flees; a Republic is declared. King James is captured and taken back to Ianapalis.
Trials of the Republic (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=450126). James is tried and sentenced to death. War with Effit ends.
Let Us Sit Upon the Ground and Tell Sad Stories of the Death of Kings (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=476229). James is executed. War with Magnus Valerius.

That about brings us up to speed. Now, then, the most important people to know:

Charles Bradsworth (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Charles_Bradsworth) The leader of the revolution. A brilliant orator. Served two terms as Premier before stepping down. Whereabout currently unknown.
Lawrence Madders (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Lawrence_Madders). Radical left-wing revolutionary. Director of War.
Benjamin Rinehart. Longtime ally of Bradsworth’s, but elderly and indecisive. Currently Premier Interim.
Nicodemo Ranalte (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Nicodemo_Ranalte). Brilliant general. Born on Sentry Island, not in Iansisle proper.
HIM King James I (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/James_I_of_Iansisle). Former King of Iansisle. Executed. His son, Ian, claims the title of Iansisle’s king from exile.

And, of course, my wiki article is a great place to find out basic facts about Iansisle: Linky (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Iansisle)

I hope that’s not all too overwhelming, but we’re (checks date on ‘New Sun’) a bit more than two years into this now. =) There’s a lot of stuff that’s happened. I’ll have a proper reply once your government makes direct contact!

Cheers, Ian))

Charles Bradsworth -- the leader of the Glorious Enterprise, the Golden-Tongued revolutionary, the moderate Premier of the revolutionary republic -- hit the ground hard on the stump of his left arm. He grunted with pain and rolled to take his weight off the severed limb. A hard kick from a booted foot rolled him back over onto his stomach, the left arm pinned beneath him.

“I think the traitor’s had enough, boys.”

Bradsworth recognized the voice. He opened his eyes -- the right one a real shiner -- and reached his head around. Who else?

“Larry. It’s been too long,” Bradsworth croaked out.

“Do not think that nice words will keep me from doing my duty,” Madders said. He nodded at the other man in the room -- an Ianapalis police officer -- who departed, leaving Madders and Bradsworth alone. “I suppose, Charles, I just want to know why you did it.”

“Did what, exactly?” said Bradsworth. The words were hard to get around all the blood in his mouth.

“Don’t think that an innocent act will save you on trial, Charles. The money you stole.”

“Money?”

“Millions of generals, supposed to go to new plantings in Vesshampton and nitrogen extraction in the south seas, funneled into the accounts of you and your cronies. We’ve seen your records, Charles. Did you really think the Justice Office was that stupid? Did you ever think you could get away with it?”

“What -- that makes no damn sense, Larry, even for you!”

“It’s a shame it all had to end this way, Charles,” said Madders. He lifted one corner of a blackout drape, allowing a little natural light to fall in on the interrogation room. “But a traitor should meet a traitor’s end. Tomorrow on the gallows of Gull Flag Square.”

“Tomorrow? But --”

“But what about your trial? My dear Charles, we’ve just finished it!”

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

“I must admit, Citizen, it is hard to believe that Charles Bradsworth himself is a traitor,” said General Ranalte. He was standing with Madders on the steps of St. Patrick’s facing the gallows. They had just cut down Citizen Farns, ci-devant Earl of Prinhill. The hulking Northman had been the next-to-last of the traitors captured with James at Wonwich. Only Michael Javial, ci-devant King of the Foothills, remained.

“You have, of course, seen the evidence published by the Justice Office?” asked Madders sharply. Ranalte knew instantly that he had tread on a sensitive topic for the unpredictable War Director. Tactical analysis dictated a slow withdrawal, not an advance or a sudden retreat.

“Of course, Director. It is most convincing.” Ranalte shrugged. “I suppose that the glory of Citizen Bradsworth’s early achievements nearly overshadow the corruption of his later years.”

“Nothing can overshadow the disservice he did the Shield by stealing food out of the mouths of starving mothers,” said Madders. “The sooner he is hung, the better, damn him.” He checked his watch. “If they ever get on with this business, that is.”

Ranalte decided that silence was the better part of valor and merely cleared his throat in an agreeable sort of way.

The boos weren’t as loud as they had been for James when he was led up the gallows, but the crowd showed an appropriate disdain for the (gagged) Bradsworth. Unlike the royalist prisoners, whose speeches about ‘divine right’ and ‘God’s Will’ tended to amuse the secular, republican crowd, Mr Bradsworth was not allowed the dignity of a final speech. The Director of Justice merely read aloud the crimes, explained their implications to the current state of starvation on the Shield, and declared that justice would be served.

And, on that July afternoon, so it was. The crowd raised a lusty cheer as Bradsworth’s neck snapped at the hard jerk of his fall.

Government House, Kingston

As usual Prime Minister Jorge Mondlan's strong support for the Gull Flag Republic is a strong source of discontent among parliamentarians, and a move steadily decreasing in terms of popularity and appeal amongst the general populace. The viability of Mondlan's strong relationship with the Gull Flaggers appears to take another significant fall once news of the Republic's dramatic destruction trickles back to the Robotic Archipelago. Not only, it appears, has Robotstan lost Valinon as an ally. Valinon now stands to be an opponent in battle, and the implications of this in particular are apt to be far-reaching and entirely negative. Mondlan, of all people, cannot even deny that fact. And reports of an impending famine in Iansisle only go further towards eroding general confidence on the part of Robotstanis in the Republic's leadership.

"...And how is it possible for the Labor government to interpret the situation in the Gull Flag Republic any other way? If, indeed, it could be called a republic in the first place. Nothing, right honorable ministers, but the failure of the revolutionary government to provide for the most basic needs of its people! Jorge Mondlan disgraces the people of Iansisle and the people of Robotstan with his continued support for those woefully incompetent revolutionaries, though we can hardly blame the Prime Minister for wanting to associate with those like himself. No honest man can stand behind the Prime Minister on this matter, one which has already cost us our alliance with the Valinor, and which promises to drag us into a costly and disastrous world war."

"Indeed, look to the execution of Charles Bradsworth, ministers. Not even the leader of their revolution could save himself from its brutality and its murderousness. No such men are fit to stand at the helm of a nation, and the Prime Minister refuses to recognize this plain fact. Let him swallow his pride, and break-off relations with the Gull Flag Republic, or let this Parliament install a man more suited to the office!"

The Prime Minister, meanwhile, is conspicuously absent, flying instead above the North Pacific in a DC-3 on his way to the naval base in Dubton. As opposition parliamentarians call ever more strongly for his replacement, Mondlan orders an increase in the support offered to the Gull Flaggers. The government envoy in Ianapalis is instructed to offer the Gull Flag Republic "unlimited" food aid should it become needed, along with a significant financial aid package in order to lessen the effect of the Republic's war debts. And at Kingston's navy anchorage, a force of A/S destroyers and corvettes, along with the old cruiser Winston Williams, gathers to escort prospective aid convoys.

For the Ians to finish Bradsworth seems to the Indian Soviets akin to their giving a final end to an Igo. Jolly dramatic.

The Shield must now be in enough trouble for drastic action in the North Pacific to yield there great results, so say the armchair strategists who, by its especially democratic nature, dominate the doings and don'tings of the Indian Soviet Commonwealth.

While the moderation of Shieldian Republicanism flounders and scourges its own desperate face, communist Wyclyfe flourishes!

That, say some comrades, is the mantra that ought to be given life and credence. The rest shall take care of itself.

Raipur

"...to recognise the Gull Flag as a conservative banner, all be it one under which Shieldian reaction was over-turned. The aim, in the theme of world revolution and on the understanding that none can really be free while one lies chained, must be the raising of an unblemished crimson over the republican bird."

Graeme Igo provided the base rhetoric upon which his younger comrades could raise a case for this or that, war or reward.

A comrade, identifying himself only as Vishal and raising a revolutionary left-fisted salute to the ceiling, stood quickly and hastened to spit-out some words before anyone else could take the floor.

"I say, comrades, that we must deliver substantial aid to Wyclyfe. There is no more need to attack the supreme Shieldian power. I propose the raising of a special Soviet to administer material aid and ideological advice to our comrades in that little state, and I propose the use of a single five year plan such as may provide a temporary but dramatic economic boom in such stark contrast with Republican misery as to make greater-Shieldian revolt a certainty."

Few if any immediate jeers and a fair few head-tiltings and some clear nods empowered Vishal to continue with phase two.

"...If I may, I should like to nominate myself and my experienced and educated comrades here, my good friend Marvan and this visitor from the northwest, comrade Sylvia Llewellyn-Gulati, as founding members of the Shieldian Liberation Soviet. I believe that a fact-finding mission may be in order, so as to establish the means and needs of the Wyclyf...i... the revolution in Wyclyfe."

Comrade Igo the elder sat Vishal with a pat of the air in front of him and turned the little outburst into something that could be voted upon.

Some time later he asked, "Quorum?"

No one really knew who was in control of the Gull Flag Republic anymore. Ben Rinehart was the Premier Interim -- at least, for the two months before elections -- but that office had lost nearly all its power. With no central authority, the individual 22 Directors followed more or less their own path. Ultimately, the power revolved around the army: there were now 185,000 men-at-arms on the Shield. Most were deployed to the west as part of the new defense initiative under Lieutenant General Nicodemo Ranalte. There was still an entire army corps, however, in Ianapalis and another lurking near the border with Wyclyfe (no, I don't know what the adjective is either >.> Wyclyfan?).

The army was under the control of the Director of War who, in triumvirate with the Director of Justice and the Director of Foreign Affairs, wielded much of the real power on the Shield. Rinehart had made a great fuss and threatened to resign over the mess, but the reminder of Charles Bradsworth's limp body hanging in Gull Flag Square kept him from openly declaring against the Directors.

Mondlan's generous offer, assuming it goes through Iansisle's foreign service, would be greatly lauded and welcomed. Food prices continued to rise, coupled with actual shortages in some parts of the country. Ultimately, the Republic saw the food crisis as much more important than the mounting war debts. Debts could always be repudiated; food riots could only be put down for so long before they turned into full-scale insurrection.

Wyclyfe, comparatively, was in much better shape. A largely rural country of just more than a million and no foreign adventures to burden her, she had peacefully emerged from the shock of violent revolution and was quietly shaping an Igovian future. An enigma even to the Republic, her government was perhaps not as democratic as some Soviet idealists dreamed it to be -- really, more oligarchic than anything -- but nonetheless public confidence in the government continued to soar with every fresh republican disaster. Someday, perhaps, the government could trust the people enough to listen to their voice.

Wyclyfe’s only fear was the Republic itself: a cornered animal, eighty times larger than tiny Wyclyfe, sitting across a long border with undisputed mastery of the seas. Wyclyfe’s aeroforce was nearly nonexistent and her navy was just a few brown-water patrol boats on the coast and the River Oes. She was defended mostly by Shieldian recollections of devastating Beth Gellern weaponry smuggled in before the Revolution; they could not know that, with the tightening of control on the straits during the wars, the ammunition supply in Wyclyfe had all but dried up.

All shipping to the tiny Soviet Democracy had to pass through either the Skull -- deep but narrow, with a fast current and a thermal layer -- or the Weshield Strait -- nearly twice as wide, but with a shallow, sandy bottom and a slow current. Both were constantly patrolled by the light ships of the Iansislean Navy, guarded by heavy guns on three of four shores, and -- with Ranalte’s new plan -- to be made by minefield completely impassable to surface and submerged shipping. There is no doubt that Wyclyfe would love to hear from its Beth Gellern benefactors; the problem is but how to arrive.

((ooc: Well, Magnus Valerius' last post was 3-23-2007. That's a bit more than a month ago. To be honest, I'm rather eager to get on with the business of the Revolution and progress to a stable Iansisle -- I've been in a constant state of turmoil since...what? 2004?

I think I'm pretty close to that. Just need peace -- or at least progress -- on the Valerian front and a few good RP posts and I'll at least be back to a stable government.

I hate to write out MV, since he's a good friend and all, but a month's a bit long to wait. What does the community think I ought to do?

~Ian))

((I haven't been involved very much, so I'm not sure how right it is for me to comment, but I do look forward to seeing what becomes of the Ians when things are moving again :) Perhaps you can find some way to wrap things up without detailing too much from the Valerian perspective, for now. Note that WoS is trying to find a way to make friends with a bunch of Papist Republicans on the far side of the earth if we can ever help with the whole stability thing, since it looks like the reds are going to do their best towards a contrary end!))

((I haven't been involved very much, so I'm not sure how right it is for me to comment, but I do look forward to seeing what becomes of the Ians when things are moving again :) Perhaps you can find some way to wrap things up without detailing too much from the Valerian perspective, for now. Note that WoS is trying to find a way to make friends with a bunch of Papist Republicans on the far side of the earth if we can ever help with the whole stability thing, since it looks like the reds are going to do their best towards a contrary end!))

((ooc: Yeah, I've got the next little bit scripted out if I can just get to it -- the "Reaction" of this thread's title, in fact =). I'm starting to favor a plan where we can refer to a general cease-fire in the war with MV. We were starting to negotiate down that path anyway, before he got hit with RL. I figure an armistace with both sides retaining the territory held will suffice for now. If he ever gets back, we can figure out a more equitable solution at the negotiation table.

bah, this all reminds me that I need to do something with Gallaga.))

EDIT: Oh, yes, the part of this post which was supposed to be productive. I suppose that I'll give MV until this Tuesday (what's that...three days-ish?) to see if he's still active, then I'll move along. Does that seem fair?

OOC: Yes, something with Gallaga [shifty eyes]. Also, oh yeah, this thread! I remember... things! I suppose that I ought to wait for other matters to be wrapped up before the Soviets go using fancy means to run de facto blockades or anything, eh?
Well, fingers crossed for MV, and a note in the diary for Tuesdayish.

((k, so Tuesday might have been a bit premature. MV gets a temporary break while I deal with RL. Thursday, maybe, or Friday.))

((still no MV. =/ Consider this to take place "very soon after the cease-fire".))

Almost exactly fifty years ahead of NationStates standard time, on 40 Júdonolo in the Year VII of the Revolution -- also known as 25 April anno domini 1957:

Headquarters, The Army of the Mans
In the Seven Boars tavern of Mansmouth, Weshield

“It is absolutely imperative that I see General Ranalte at once, do you hear?” insisted the rather put-off naval officer who was presently waving papers in the face of the Sentrian general’s Chief of Staff. “I’ve the latest dispatches from Admiral Donahue and there are contained in them certain items of which the Army must be made aware! At once.”

“I’m afraid, sir, that I have the strictest orders to admit no one at all,” was the reply. “And, until I hear orders to the contrary, that is just what I shall do.” One hand meaningfully dropped in the area of the service revolver as the naval man decided to abandon the argument and make for the door. “Please don’t do that, sir.”

The standoff was tense but brief.

“You haven’t heard the last of this,” growled the naval man. “Just wait until Admiral Donahue returns -- don’t forget that he outranks your precious Ranalte. We’ll see how brave you are when the Roads crawl with ships of the line.”

“I eagerly await the Admiral’s return,” was the simple reply.

In truth, Ranalte wasn’t in his office, or even near it. Had the naval officer arrived just a day earlier, he would have found Ranalte pouring over a brief telegraph from Ianapalis:

“EXPECT TROUBLE IN IANAPALIS RE: ELECTION STOP TAKE RELIABLE UNIT AND RETURN WITH ALL HASTE STOP MADDERS STOP”

The next scheduled elections were to take place, of course, on 18 Cupodìnolo VII, a mere three weeks away.

“...and so, given the current state of unrest in the capital, it is the considered opinion of the Directory of Internal Affairs that nationwide elections be suspended for a period of two years, until 18 Cupodìnolo IX,” read Peter Angman, the Director of Internal Affairs.

“Is this proposal approved by the Premier Interim?” asked the Speaker.

“It is,” replied Rinehart.

“Treason! Betrayal! Fraud!” called some radical backbenchers. The economic depression had upset the political climate on the Shield very much, and most radicals were inclined to feel that their chances against the moderates were very good. These radicals included Lawrence Madders, Director of Justice and MA Eastergate. With a slight movement, just an inclination of the head, Richard Oldroyd, the radical MA from Clyfton, jumped to his feet with a protest.

“The floor will recognize the MA from Clyfton,” said the Speaker.

“Sir, this proposal -- I cannot speak from the rage! Outrage and tyranny! Judas in a grey suit!” Indeed, Oldroyd was purple and shaking with anger.

“The MA will kindly speak sense or yield the floor,” snapped the Speaker.

“I beg your pardon, Mr Speaker,” continued Oldroyd, appearing to regain himself. “This proposal simply has me outraged. The government is asking to put over the greatest sham which has ever been perpetuated by a state on its people! They are purposely delaying the democratic process, hoping to gain votes to stay in power by subverting the will of the people! The Constitution dictates that elections are to be held on 18 Cupodìnolo every second year, starting in III. There is nothing in the Constitution that would allow the Premier and his cronies to subvert this process, nothing in legal precedent even stretching back to the ancien régime! In short, sir, I charge that the government is acting here entirely unlawfully!”

Oldroyd’s tirade was answered with hearty cheers from the radicals and outraged catcalls from the moderates. Sam Longdale, a radical member of the cabinet, stood to speak.

“The floor will recognize the Director of Justice.”

“Mr Speaker, honorable members of this Assembly. I wish it to be perfectly clear that Mssrs. Angman and Rinehart did not bother to consult the entirely of the cabinet before making this discussion. I, whose department oversees the imposition of order --”

“And a fine job you’ve done of it, with riots every week!” called some moderate backbencher.

“-- would be better placed, far better placed, than Internal Affairs to advise the Premier on the matter of security. However, I was not consulted. I can only conclude, therefore, that it is indeed the Premier and honorable Director’s intention to mislead this Assembly into subverting the Constitution and destroying the Republic. Therefore, I have no choice but to put them both under arrest for treason.”

“Entirely out of order!” exclaimed the Speaker, banging his gavel. Very few in the room paid him any mind.

“Arrest me, you toady?” Rinehart was heard shouting over the general din. The effort sent him into a fit of coughing. “Arrest me, you lapdog? he continued, pointing at Longdale. “By God, I’ll see you removed from the cabinet for that ugly insinuation.”

“If the Premier will not come quietly,” bellowed Longdale, “then I shall have to restrain him.”

“I’m not going anywhere! Arrest yourself, sycophant!”

Just when the Assembly seemed on the brink of one of its biweekly degenerations into fisticuffs, the only thing that could completely restore order happened. The doors banged open and troops poured into the room. All over the room, arguments ceased and everyone looked on in amazement at the rows of khaki-clad soldiers, fully armed. Everyone save Longdale and Madders, that is, who looked on with smug smiles.

At the rear of the line was a man in a non-issue khaki tunic and a red beret, whose wide, white smile contrasted beautifully with his olive features.

“Ranalte!” exclaimed Rinehart.

“This is completely extraordinary!” insisted the Speaker, banging his gavel. “General Ranalte, I insist you remove these men from Jameston Place at once!”

“Please forgive the dramatics, Mr Speaker,” said Madders. “General Ranalte and his men have orders to effect the arrests of Mr Rinehart and Mr Angman.”

“By God, Ranalte, I’m the Premier of the National Assembly!” demanded Rinehart. “Place Directors Madders and Longdale under arrest for attempting a coup!” It was a wild gamble, perhaps, but Rinehart was now desperate.

“Remember your loyalty, General,” growled Madders when Ranalte seemed to hesitate.

“My loyalty is to the Republic,” said Ranalte, “just as it has always been. Mr Madders, will you please come with me?”

Half the world away in Walmington, The Standard, only Walmingtonian newspaper big enough to maintain a useful number of capable employees in the Shield, was, thank God, still sufficiently injured by its role in the American atomic lie to be manipulated by Great Walmington. Waynesia could also, conveniently, cover any potential headlines originating from the Iansislian quarter. The Whig line? Let whatever's happening in the North Pacific happen, and let's see some stability, people. If we happen to have a greater than usual number of troops and ships east of the Cape then so much the better for Gallaga in the event of any turn for the worse in the Shield.

Some years ago there was a strong movement in the Home Islands for the rescue and granting of asylum to members of the Iansislian nobility. No such fuss was likely to arise today, no matter how deep the upheaval. Well, not so long as the place wasn't turning completely communist or anything like that.

((That opening sentence contained way too many direct references to Walmington. This competent and helpful post courtesy of significant sleep deprivation.))

It is perhaps the fate of a revolutionary government to go through several incarnations before settling on a workable form. The Grand Empire had collapsed because of its unwillingness to meet the demands of a changing social structure. Now the National Assembly was teetering because of an inherently flawed constitution. Bradsworth and the other framers had envisioned a wise parliamentary democracy where reasoned debate solved problems with minimal mediation. However, the backlash against organized political parties and the mixed governments provided for in the constitution had proven their undoing: without the strength of Bradsworth's personality to hold the cabinet together, the Assembly had disintegrated into anarchy where each individual director pulled for power on his own. The country had moved forward only because of the overwhelming patriotism of the average citizen and their devotion to the war efforts.

Now that the wars of the revolution were over -- or at least suspended -- the country was starting to turn on the Assembly, with their stomachs and pocket books revolting against the inefficient rule. The time was ripe for a new constitution, and the Assembly helped to write itself out of power.

The 250-member National Assembly still existed under the proposed Constitution of VII, although the office of premier had been eliminated. Each district of the Republic voted one member in, although the new house had severely limited powers. It could only vote on legislation, not propose it. The proposal of legislation was left to a new second house, the Chamber of Fifty, whose members were appointed by the President and confirmed by the Assembly. The Presidency itself was a new creation, born out of the frustration and lack of centralization in the Constitution of 1954. The President would have sweeping powers over appointments, diplomacy, and enforcement -- regulation of the day-to-day affairs of the Republic was left to him, with the Assembly and Chamber only providing general guidelines.

The elections of 18 Cupodìnolo VII did indeed take place. The ballot was simple -- the two or three candidates running for office in the voter's district, and two simple questions at the bottom:

Should the new Constitution be adopted?

YES / NO

Should Nicodemo Ranalte be the President of the Republic?

YES / NO

The choices were stark and there were no alternatives. As suspected, both passed by overwhelming majorities.

((just on the odd chance anyone's still following this thread, the Revolution's moving ahead abroad with this thread, taking place in Gallaga (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=534459). I'll still be posting here for more specifically Shieldian-related developments.))