NationStates Jolt Archive

It was a warm and rainy late summer's night in Weslyn. Cars sped through the streets and people dashed across the sidewalks to escape the penetrating downpour. In one of the countless dark and forgotten alleyways of the great city, two dark figures met.

"My people are in position." The first man said. He continued, "We'll be ready to strike in the morning as planned."

He was solidly built man with silver hair and square shoulders. He spoke with a Spanish accent, a consequence of being a Oltremare native.

The second man stepped back into the shadow of a fire escape. The only visible part of him was the red tip of his cigarette. "Excellent, excellent." The man said in a hallow and almost unnatural voice.

"I must thank you and your employer again, Señor, for the assistance you have given our worthy cause."

"Comrade Sanchez," the second man interrupted, "thanks are not necessary. My employer and I merely seek to right a horrible wrong. Hamptonian domination of Oltremare has lasted too long. It is time that they leave."

Sanchez smiled, he didn't really know much about the man before him or his employer. The only personal fact he was able to gather was the man's name: Mister Saunders. That is all that he went by. No one quite new if it was acutally his name or just an alias that he utilized when it suited him.

"Mister Saunders, the fact remains that you are helping us overthrow the oppressive regime of the Regent and the other imperialists. Come tomorrow morning they will come to know our anger. They will come to know our pain. We will make them howl."

Mister Saunders threw his cigarette into a nearby puddle and laughed. "Yes, Comrade, people will howl. The Front for Democracy will never be forgotten by Hamptonians."

Saunders pulled out another cigarette and lit it. It always seemed like he was smoking one. He dipped his head to Sanchez and began to walk out into the streets.

That's odd, Sanchez thought to himself as he saw the phantom-like Saunders coast down the sidewalks, the rain doesn't seem to touch him.

---Seaburg, Hamptonshire---

The Regent was circled by hordes of aides and security staff as he made his way from the Governor's Mansion to the Provincial Capitol across the street. With the aging Senator, and now Regent, Allenby walked his son, Governor Bernard Allenby III. The two were as close as one could get when it came to near-aristocratic families. The Governor, called "Chuck" by his father, was in the shadow not only of his more powerful father but of the long line of Allenbys that have filled Hamptonshire's history books. Chuck was following the same career path - Provincial legislator, Governor and, hopefully, the Royal Senate. The Governor now had the added weight of being, quite possibly, the next Crown Prince of the Grand Duchy. It was a lot to place on his shoulders but at fifty-two, he was well primed for anything thrust at him.

"How has the Metropolitan Assembly been treating you, Chuck?" The Regent asked his son as they began to cross the street.

"As well as can be expected, sir. The Assembly wants me head on a platter because of my education reform proposals, three Supervisors are threatening to resign, and the Eight District is practically threatening secession because I located the new Police Headquarters across the river."

Allenby patted his son on the back and with a smile reassured him, "Well, well. I didn't know that they'd be treating you so well."

The Governor and the Regent entered the Capitol building without event. The elder Allenby was in Seaburg for the keel-laying ceremony for the Royal Senate, one of the three new Royal Congress Class super-heavy aircraft carriers. The scheduled address to the Assembly was a mere formality but it did have the added benefit of giving the Governor some of the political cache of his much more popular and well-known father.

When the speech ended at 9:03am the Regent hurried out of the Capitol building. He had been scheduled to attend a special breakfast with his son and the rest of the Provincial Government but at the last minute the Governors of two neighboring provinces requested a meeting with him.

"If I had a choice I'd be here with you, son." Allenby told his son earlier in the morning, "But politics are politics. Governors Noguma and Salazar will huff and puff and say their peace. Once they're done I'll come back to Seaburg and we can talk about your future career plans."

Just as the Regent entered his armored transport, Chuck came out onto the front steps of the Capitol to see his father off. The normally cold and reserved Regent bowed his head to his son and entered the car.

"It was nice to see him again." The Regent said to one of his longtime aides.

At 9:10am, as the Regent was safely speeding along to the airport and the special breakfast was kicking off, an explosion of a magnitude not seen in Hamptonshire for generations ripped through the Capitol.


[OOC: Please, no IC reaction(s) to this yet. There will be more attacks that are going to happen at the same time. I am just RPing each one individually because they are important. That said, if you have any meaningful OOC comments, there is nothing stopping you from putting them here.]

---Hamptonshire City, Hamptonshire---

Mike Davis, a corporal in the 14th Royal Police Constabulary Division, made his normal rounds along the perimeter of the city's Diplomatic District. Corporal Davis was in the fifth year of his six year tour of duty. He was originally assigned to a Military Police unit operating out of McClellen but careful attention to detail and years of excellent service persuaded a friendly Major to transfer him. Now he was part of the Capital Cities Defense Force, one of the most lucrative and competitive postings in the entire Royal Armed Forces.

The Corporal sometimes found the hours upon hours of marching along the eastern perimeter of the Diplomatic District to be somewhat tedious. The City wasn't much for a lively population, it was pretty much a Government town. The gigantic and majestic parks and open areas were more for show than for use by the City's small civilian population. Still, every once and a while on patrol he'd come across the odd Senator or Minister. They always excited Davis though his true joy was getting a glimpse of an Ambassador. He knew they really didn't have that much power or purpose, at least not in this new modern world, but there was something exotic about them nonetheless.

Mike especially liked seeing Pacitalians and Rosians. There was something about those two groups of people that set something off in him. Like most Hamptonians he saw Pacitalians, especially, as very close friends, even as a sort of extended family. They were so similar to Hamptonians yet there were stark contrasts. It was that fact that set them apart from other nationalities and ethnic groups in the Hamptonian psyche. The normally xenophobic and isolationist residents of the Grand Duchy were secretly fascinated with the people of the Democratic Capitalist Republic of Pacitalia. They were familiar, yet foreign, easy to understand, yet complex, brothers and sisters but yet also strangers. On the dozen or so occasions when he managed to catch of glimpse of Ambassador Sigrinanta, Corporal Davis observed her as one would observe the sun: he dared not look directly at her but he could not possibly look away.

Today, though, he would have no such opportunity. The Pacitalians were away, called to an early morning meeting with Lord Rosecrans in Obsidia. It probably had something to do with trade, such details were not necessary to release to mere corporals. Davis marched down the wide sidewalk with his loaded SABR shouldered. He really didn't know why he needed a loaded weapon. The Diplomatic District was surrounded by the rest of the City. The half million men strong CCDF ensured that no hostile forces had a chance of touching the Capital Cities. Even normal citizens had to pass the strictest of security exams to enter the District. It's more to show off to the foreigners than anything else, Davis would think to himself on those long nights when the heavy combat rifle wore on his joints.

The young man's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the crackling of his radio; "Division Command, Corporal Davis. Please report".

"Uh..." he fumbled to press the "talk" button, "Corporal Davis, Division Command. Eastern Perimeter, Zone 4 secure."

"Proceed as normal, Corporal. Day watch will relieve at 10:00 hours. Division out."

"Message acknowledged. Corporal Davis out."

As the Corporal put his radio away the reflection of the rising sun gleaming off the sterling white outer walls of the Pacitalian Embassy blinded him. He had to blink his eyes several times so they would readjust to the ambient lighting. It was then he noticed the supply truck that brought the weekly supply of food to the Embassy.

Davis looked down at his watch. "Hmm..." he said to himself, "it's almost 9:10. They're running a little late this week."

Corporal Davis decided to stray a bit of his usual path and walk to the truck. Over the past months he had come to know the driver, a young woman by the name of Melissa Kurtz. There wasn't anything between them but he enjoyed their weekly discussion about the latest sports news. As the corporal walked closer to the truck he noticed that there seemed to be something different. He didn't know what, it wasn't so much that something looked wrong it was that something didn't seem entirely right. When he walked in the Embassy's shadow and the glare from the walls finally left him alone he started to look at the truck's cab.

That's weird, he thought to himself, the driver's a man. Melissa wasn't supposed to go on vacation for another two weeks.

He took one step more toward the van and he heard the sharp sound of a digital alarm clock go off. It was 9:10:00am. Corporal Mike Davis didn't live to see 9:10:01am.


[OOC: Same OOC statement as above]

---Portshire, Hamptonshire---

Prime Minister Ziller stood up and with passion in his voice yelled, "You sons of bitches better shut the hell up before I jump across this table and strangle you with your own ties!"

Deputy Prime Minister Daniel Pederson, who doubled as the Commerce and Transport Minister, shook his head as he witnessed yet another of Senator Ziller's infamous outbursts. Ziller had a fuse about a millimeter long and something always seemed to light it. Even now, at the Harrkona Island Provinces Conference, Ziller erupted at the first sign of opposition. As Pederson watched Ziller rip into Governor Lindsay of West Brooke, he was reminded of an episode almost a decade ago. As the Chairman of the Royal Senate's Armed Services committee, Ziller was trying to push through a military spending increase bill. Senator Walter Keeler was dead set against it and gave a damning speech on the floor of the Senate denouncing the increase as a "threat to traditional notions of Hamptonian security". When Ziller heard this he promptly walked over to Keeler and began verbally berating him. After nearly half an hour of intense criticism and yelling directly in his face, Senator Keeler broke down in tears.

I sure hope Lindsay doesn't fight back, it'll only tempt the old man. Pederson thought to himself as he took a drink of his cup of coffee.

"...and another thing," Ziller continued yelling, "your personal hygiene is highly suspect. In fact I damn suspect you of wallowing in your own crap before you came here. How dare you present me with these demands!"

Governor Lindsay, slightly shaking from the assault, quietly spoke up, "Uh, sir, they aren't demands. If you'll notice they're titled Tri-Partisan Suggestions for Possible Future Improvements to the Island Provinces."

"It doesn't matter what the hell you call it, you damned pansy," the Prime Minister retorted as he looked at his watch, "you're still trying to dictate to me!"

The Governors, Minister Pederson, the various aides, and the members of the PM's press pool all sighed as they looked down at their watches. It wasn't even noon yet.

Ziller turned to one of his junior aides, "Where is my damned blasted sandwich?"

"I...I..." the aide stammered as the Prime Minister's eyes burrowed deep into her soul, "I...I...I told the chef to hurry up. He should be sending it out any moment."

"I better have food in my hand before 12:15 or I'm going to personally kick your ass from here to Pacitalia and back again and then I'll kick you some more. When I'm done with that I'll drop kick you from here to Manium and once there I'll load you into a cannon and launch you up an elephant's ass!"

"Ye...yes sir, Mister Prime Minister."

Pederson felt the tension in the air. Well, Pederson thought to himself, you could feel the tension in this air while orbiting Jupiter. He wanted the meeting to get back on track. "If you would please turn to page four we can begin to discuss Governor Williams' proposals for education cost sharing."

Senator Ziller folded his arms and began to pout as the meeting continued. If I don't get something to eat, he thought to himself, I'm going to get cranky.

He needed something to do to take his mind of his hunger and the "idiots" that surrounded him. While the Governors and Minister Pederson were beginning their heavy discussions, Ziller jumped up and made his way around to the other side of the very large solid oak conference table. As he was about to walk up behind Governor Nelson Cumberland, an old nemesis of his, and whack him in the back of the head, the food cart entered the room. The Senator looked down at his watch and then back up at the attendant pushing the cart. "Where the hell were you? It's 12:10, I placed my damn order nearly an hour ago."

The Prime Minister waited for his answer and his sandwich. What he got was a large explosion.


[OOC: Same OOC as above. Please not that Portshire is located three times zones ahead of Seaburg and Hamptonshire City.]

No one knew. Not a single person in the nation. None of the intellgence officials in the Federal Government. The generals and admirals were clueless. Nothing could have prepared anyone for what was going on. Within seconds and stretched across thousands of miles events were unfolding that were entirely unexpected. Entirely unknown.

Yet everything was going according to carefully set plans. A single dark and insidious force was guiding the day's events. Today was the day that the shadows struck out at the light.


---Seaburg, Hamptonshire---

The Regent's motorcade sped away from the Capitol Building toward the airport. Just a few minutes before Allenby had left his son and the rest of Seaburg's notable leaders and leading citizens. The Sovereign of the Hamptonian nation and people had to make a meeting in a nearby province. Those sort of last minute schedule changes and meeting cancellation at first vexed the aging Regent but now, after nearly a year in office, he had grown accustomed to them.

"Miss Kelly, when will we be back to the Capitol Building?" The Regent asked of his Chief of Staff.

"Actually," Miss Kelly said while reviewing her notepad, "we won't be able to return to the Capitol. After the meeting with the Governors you'll have to head straight off for the Royal Senate ceremony."

Allenby gave his chief of staff a cold and icy glare. Quickly, though, he realized it wasn't her fault. "Let us," he said as he adjusted his royal uniform, "make as best time as possible."

It was that moment that the Regent noticed that they were approached the corner of Broad Street and Grand Avenue. It was at the corner of these two of Seaburg's oldest streets that the majestic and awe-inspiring headquarters of the Royal Central Bank of Hamptonshire was located. The grand polished white limestone fascade of the first twenty stories shone like the sun itself. Above the great limestone pillars spires of twisting metal and glass pierced the sky. The headquarters was not only a momument to Hamptonian finance, it was a reminder of the greatness of the Grand Duchy itself. As the limosine approached the intersection the Regent strained his neck upward to try to see the upper reaches of the building. It was for naught. The heavily armored windows were too narrow to see much of anything.

The motorcade made a sharp right turn onto Grand Avenue. Throngs of waiting citizens lined the streets to try to get a look at the mysterious figure that was the new Regent and most likely next Grand Duke. When the last car of the royal motorcade made the turn onto Grand Avenue the busied and rushed peace of the morning as violently destroyed by pure chaos and destruction. That last car of the motorcade, a large black SUV, made its final journey: forty feet in the air and two hundred feet back onto Broad Street.


It was still 9:10 in the morning.

OOC: you're fingers must be aching after that. good work though, and when the time comes my people will be prepared to aid your government against the terrorists, if you need it.

---Hamptonshire City, Hamptonshire---

Crap, I can't miss another delivery, Chip Harris one of IberGen's many truck drivers muttered to himself as the stoplight turned red. IberGen was a partially Sarzonian-owned company in Hamptonshire that provided the Sarzonian embassy, among other customers, with foodstuffs. Twice a week an IberGen truck would pass the security barricades around the Diplomatic District and bring food to the hardworking Sarzonians in the embassy.

Chip was always on edge when he had to pull the embassy's delivery duty. He had had a few very minor run ins with the law from time to time and each time the Royal Police stopped and searched the truck, he felt that they would find some reason to arrest him. He hadn't done anything blatantly illegal in years but the sense of doom and guilt still hung over him.

"Finally!" Chip said as the light turned green. He crossed the intersection and came to the District's Northern Checkpoint. Before he stopped he checked the time on his watch. 8:50,, he thought to himself, it'll be at least 9:15 until I get out of here.

Like every other time Chip and his truck came through the Checkpoint, the Royal Police carefully examined the vehicle, its contents and its driver. After fifteen minutes of intensive inquiries and scans, Chip and his cargo were ready to be put on their way. He thought that it was a little odd. Every other time the security check lasted almost half an hour but today it was only half the time. Still, he thought as he sped toward the embassy, who am I to argue when the Royal Police speed themselves up.

He caught another break when he remembered that the Ambassador Pearson wasn't at the embassy today. She left two days ago to visit the University of Port Easton's School of Foreign Service and to serve as a guest lecturer at the University for the next six weeks. The Ambassador was a nice person, but she wasn't exactly happy when she would find out that day's delivery would be late as today's would be.

When Chip made the final left turn onto Leopold Avenue, he quickly keyed in the code that would open up the embassy's main gate. He glanced down at the clock in the dashboard. It read 9:09 AM. He was running late. When the clock turned over to 9:10 AM, the truck was still outside the gate and in front of one of the massive barricades placed by the Royal Police. He missed his 9:05 delivery time, but no one would now worry about that.



[OOC: Please don't bump my topic. While I appreciate your interest sometimes I don't have time to post. I put up my posts when I have the time. Thank you.]

OOC:

Although I think our two nations might not exactly have established diplomatic presences in our respective nations, this might pose considerable implications for the economic and defensive landscape of a post-catastrophe Schultaria Prime. I'm considering these events are some months after a comprehensive, six party (Celack, Hamptonshire, Manhattan Prime, Sharina, Spacer Guilds, Xeraph) agricultural aid agreement with my nation has been confirmed and Hamptonshire is well underway to committing Schultarian food relief in some physical form (Schultarian diplomats in Hamptonshire might still be mulling over the prospect of the Manium contract perhaps?).

If the Schultarian Nation has no bearing to the active storyline, than please consider the following thread as a mark of interest from your treaty-abiding, yet rabidly egalitarian, friends from the USSSP; I'll continue to watch with considerable interest.

---Weslyn, Oltremare Provinces, Hamptonshire---

As morning turned into afternoon the various participants of the twenty-fourth annual Udenlands/Oltremare - Federal Governments Conference broke off into their various special committees. Among the forty Royal Senators, half a dozen Government Ministers, five Governors and two hundred Provincial legislators were some of the most powerful men and women in the entire Grand Duchy. Senators Henri Loucet, Henry Flint and Joseph Fredricks walked around the various rooms meeting with other Senators and local leaders. The atmosphere was something of a cross between a legislative session, auction house and an open house.

Norman Koines, the newly appointed Deputy President of the Royal Congress, carefully walked into one of the smaller conference rooms. Inside, Governor Logan of Greater Easlyn was lecturing Senators Rekasford and Millar while totally ignoring Minister Alice McBride's polite attempts to bring her own points up.

"Senator Rakesford," Logan gestured to the Senator as he spoke, "as Chairman of the Appropriations Committee you have not once, not twice, not three times but have fifteen times denied an increasing in funding for primary and secondary education in my province."

Rakesford squirmed in his seat as the Governor continued, "How can you expect us to make a dent in our long term levels of high unemployment if you refuse to give us the means by which we can end it? And you, Chris," Logan now turned his attention to Senator Millar, "as a former Governor of Weslyn, I expected more from you. Since you've been named Minister of State for Internal Security you have not once come to Oltremare. Why?"

Millar started to speak but noticed Senator Koines enter the room. He stood up and with great relief welcomed his colleague, "Good afternoon, Mister Deputy President."

Everyone in the room turned around, even Governor Logan stopped to see who exactly was interrupting his session.

"Please," Koines said with sincere humility, "it's just Senator. No 'Deputy President' business."

Koines made his way around the room introducing himself to those he didn't know and making some quick small talk with those he did. It was a little after six in the evening and everyone was getting a bit tired. There would only be another hour or so of this tonight before the Conference adjourned for the day. Then it would only be another "exciting" (or as Senator Ziller said before he came up with an excuse not to go: So boring I'd rather cut off my own arm with a rusty knife and then jam both the knife and my severed arm up my ass) five days until the Conference concluded.

After shaking the hand of the Governor of Vestlige, Senator Koines checked his watch. 6:07. There was a scheduled ten minute coffee break at 6:15. Only another eight minutes, he thought to himself as he thrust his hand out to meet Field Marshal Kepplar's. After a couple of minutes talking with the aging, and highly opinionated Field Marshal, Senator Koines felt his head begin to throb. He looked back down at his watch, it was 6:10. He rolled his eyes slightly and then recomposed himself. He began to talk with the next nameless face in the room when he heard a rumble. It was a powerful and deep roar that he could feel in his chest. His lungs seemed to be vibrating. He turned around toward the doorway to try to see what was happening. All he could see was the wall. He clutched his chest as the rumble grew deeper and everyone silently waited to see what it was.

The Senator lifted his hand off his chest. It was promptly replaced by fire and steel.


[OOC: This was the last terror attack. Now I will begin the rest of the story though this still won't be open to other players for a while longer.

As for you, SP, these events are happening some 4-6 months after the six party talks. These attacks won't have a great impact on the agricultural reforms but they will have an effect on it. If you'd like to see if you can get in on a bit of this thread's action, contact me vis MSN Messenger.

UPDATE: I just don't have the heart or motivation for this right now. For the sake of allowing me to continue to RP as I try to get myself to do this thread, the events here are set 4-6 IC months in the future of current Hamptonshire.

There was chaos in the air throughout the nation. The minutes and hours following the attacks saw the Federal Government almost completely incapacitated. Thoughts began to turn back thirty seven years to the Soigacas Attacks that decapitated the central government. It wasn't enough that these attacks happened; it was that history seemed to be replaying itself. Smoke and flame licked the sky while mothers cried and a nation was frightened. No one knew what was to come.

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

---Obsidia, Emergency Command Bunker, White Palace, 30 minutes after the attacks---

Lord Rosecrans stood hunched over a table displaying the entire Hamptonian League. There were dozens of reports of confirmed and unconfirmed attacks pouring in from all corners of the Empire. The Regent was out of contact, the Prime Minister and most of the Senior Cabinet were presumed dead and a good portion of the Royal Senate was MIA. For the past half an hour, and for the foreseeable immediately future, Lord Rosecrans was effectively all that was left of the senior echelons of the Federal Government and Royal Armed Forces.

Lord Rosecrans brushed back his graying hair as a young aide handed him another data pad, "We have a report of another possible attack in Easyln." She said in a very grim tone.

He took the report but didn't immediately look at it. He stood straight and scanned the bunker. Everyone in there was young and unfamiliar. They were all caught off guard and forced into duties they never thought within their purview, much like himself. There were only two people, aside from his personal aides, that he knew: Fleet Marshal Sir Geoff Kirkssen and Pacitalian Ambassador Sigrinanta. Kirkssen was the first person in the bunker. By a stroke of luck he was the member of the Joint High Command Council that had "Doomsday Duty". Signora Sigrinanta was caught up in the rush to get Lord Rosecrans into the bunker. She was rushed along as sort of an after thought. Once it was determined that the Pacitalian Embassy was subject to an attack, she was kept in the bunker for her own security. The Ambassador sat quietly in a corner out of the way of the pandemonium unfolding before her eyes.

"Sir," Marshal Kirkssen nudged Rosecrans in hopes of pulling him from his 'thousand yard stare', "that brings the total of reported attacks to forty-eight."

"What..." Lord Rosecrans caught his own distraction and shook it off, "Yes, forty-eight. We will assume, though, that the vast majority are false reports."

"That is well and fine but the point stands that we are under attack from unknown sources and most of the government is out of action."

"Right," Rosecrans sighed, "we're in a mess."

The Regent's personal locator beacon was still working and rescue crews were working feverishly to find the presumably live Regent. Prime Minister Ziller's device, however, had stopped broadcasting. While it could have been a simple malfunction, it was most likely the case that he was dead. It was therefore assumed that Deputy Prime Minister Pederson was also killed. Without a Sovereign to appoint, a Deputy to ascend, or the Royal Senate to confirm, there was no legal head of the Federal Government or its executive branch. As Commander-General Lord Rosecrans had full authority over the military but even as Deputy Federal State Minister, he had very little civil authority.

Kirkssen took Rosecrans aside and whispered "Someone needs to get a damned State of Emergency declared. We need Martial Law."

"No shit, Geoff," Rosecrans scolded his friend and subordinate, "but no one can do that right now. If I tried, I'd be effectively leading a coup."

"There is an alternative, Philip. If we can get twenty-six Senators to sign a Writ of Emergency, you can be named temporary Emergency Administrator."

Rosecrans stood silent.

"I know it wasn't made for a situation like this but what on God's green earth was?"

Rosecrans grabbed Kirkssen by the arm, "Do you know what this will look like? It'll look like a power grab. A damned coup. The Regent is still alive somewhere under the rubble."

"Exactly," the Marshal said as he tried to twist his arm out of the lock, "he's somewhere we don't know and in an undetermined condition. History will forgive you for any perceived wrong. More importantly," he paused to straighten his uniform with his free hand, "the situation demands that you take charge."

Lord Rosecrans let go of Kirkssen's arm. It was a lot to take in for the weary statesman. The Writ would allow him to declare Martial Law and secure the borders but he would still be on very shaky political and legal ground. He didn't even know if there were twenty-six Royal Senators available to grant the Writ.

"Geoff," he said, "are there enough Senators to sign?"

"I took the liberty of contacting the Interior Office a few minutes ago." Kirkssen motion to one of his aides, "Once you give me the word I can get you the necessary signatures within two hours."

Rosecrans sensed there was something else, something that the Marshal was hesitant to say. "What's the trick?"

"Well...um..." Kirkssen struggled to find the right words, "in order to get twenty-six signatures in two hours we're going to have to get the signatures of all eight available Peer Senators. Including..."

"Peer Senators?!" Rosecrans interrupted, "You want the Peer Senators to sign? My God, how will it look if I sign the Writ that grants me emergency powers?"

"Well, there is a way around that. There is a Peer Senator we could get a hold of to sign in your stead."

At that moment both men turned their head to Ambassador Sigrinanta. This is absurd, Rosecrans thought to himself, we're going to rest our national security in the hands of a foreign head of state. God hope the People understand. He turned to the Fleet Marshal and they nodded in agreement. Kirkssen quickly saluted and went off to round up the twenty-five senators he could get his hands on. Lord Rosecrans walked to dark corner of the bunker to secure the twenty-sixth.

"Ambassador Sigrinanta," he called out in his most charming voice, "there's something I need you to pass on to Prime Minister Ell..."



As you know doubt have heard, Hamptonshire has been attacked by unknown agents. Among their targets were your Embassy, the Regent and the Prime Minister. At this moment most of the political members of the Cabinet are dead or unaccounted for and upwards of two-fifths of the Royal Congress share the same fate. That, however, is not the most troubling problem. Legally, as of now, there is no single person that can claim authority over any level of the Government or military. I'm trying to do what I can but, honestly, the powers I have are not enough and if I actually try to do what needs to be done I will be committing treason. I can put it in no stronger terms: There is no executive authority present in the Grand Duchy right now.

I know I'm putting you on the spot but I need you to sign this Writ. I can only imagine what you must feel at the prospect of becoming so involved in the internal affairs of a foreign nation but there is a reason why you have been accepted into Hamptonian society and the Royal Senate itself. If I were to sign my name to the document that made me Emergency Administrator I fear Civil War would break out. I need you, we need you, to act.

We, the undersigned Members of the Royal Senate, do attest that a State of Extreme Emergency has befallen the Grand Duchy; the Grand Duchy has been attacked by unknown parties and large numbers of senior officials are dead or otherwise incapable of exercising their offices. In accordance with this Situation We do appoint the senior-most member of the Senior Cabinet of the Federal Government, Lord Philip Rosecrans, Emergency Administrator. He shall execute the Emergency Powers of the Federal Government until such a time as a the Regent or Prime Minister is capable of exercising their office or the Royal Senate meets to duly appoint a Prime Minister.

Peace be with you,
Philip

Dusk was settling uneasily over Timiocato, an unlikely chill accompanying it as the sun fell beyond the wide horizon and the reflective water. Over downtown, gently cawing birds soared through the clear, tepid air. Their wings flapped delicately like newspapers caught in a forceful draft. The sounds of the city drifted upward from the streets - honking horns, accelerating engines, tires on pavement, the sweet sounds of violin-playing buskers, café chatter, laughing teens and twentysomethings, bells ringing along the docks and on the buoys, and water calmly lapping the beaches.

A peaceful, inviting scene, no less. Twenty-two kilometres to the north, however, it was a different story.

Prime Minister Timothy Ell and Senior Deputy Prime Minister Dr. Adrian Copilul-Minune sat in Ell's glass, steel, lucite and tile office, eyes firmly glued to the day's international developments. That same dusky sun was catching on the bulletproof-glass window frames of his cavernous top-floor office. The emerald, jewel-like eyes of an early Van Gogh seemed to come to life with the refracted beams of saffron streaming through; simultaneously, the sheen surface of a bronze head-statue gleamed with appreciation after days of thundershowers.

Ell sat in a leather office chair, his reading glasses fixated over the bridge of his nose as he tried almost futilely to read his computer screen and his printed notes at the same time. Meanwhile, Copilul-Minune sat, his left leg bent over his right, his head propped on a fisted left hand.

"Christ," Copilul-Minune blurted out. Ell looked up in a half-bored, half-surprised, arched-eyebrow gaze. The senior deputy prime minister caught the encouraging look hidden within the icy-green eyes of his superior and continued. "Can't these people keep anything locked up?"

Ell exhaled, though not out of relief. "What's wrong, Adrian?"

"A high-level agent or agents broke into a military warehouse in Generia and stole 150,000 firearms and 10 tonnes of ammunition. They literally just walked away from the place without any opposition. Generian officials aren't even sure if the goddamn steal was by agents or not. They're just guesstimating."

Ell paused for a second. "I thought the Generians were self-professed experts at security." He paused another second. "No, wait. That's the Bormans - the Generians lose firearms mysteriously all the time. Nothing to worry about, honestly. I'd say you could trash that memo, Adrian."

The senior deputy prime minister complied and the crumpled piece of paper bounced into the blue recycling container. They moved on to further notices of that day's international developments. Ten minutes later, all hell broke loose. His once-tranquil computer screen began blinking blood-red, an electronic bell-like tone sounding every couple of seconds until he opened it. "Urgent Message", it read. How many urgent messages do I get every day? Ell mused, chuckling a bit inwardly. The code at the bottom of the dialog box read '08'. Ell's musings turned to stony anxiety as he clicked the link almost furiously and waited, tense, as the full text of the mail message came up. It was from Lord Philip Rosecrans, the commander-in-chief of Hamptonshire's military forces, and a good friend of Ell's.

With every word he took in, his eyes widened slightly more, until the inevitable point he could not widen them any more. Worse still was the fact that he clutched a full coffee mug in his hands. The ceramic was no match for the sudden strength of Ell's hands; crushed, the remnants and the freed coffee splattered to the ground, making a brown and dusty pool near his chair. The prime minister was lost for words, but his mouth was open in disbelieving shock. Why was I not told about these events earlier? That's hours ago! Ell thought, even struggling to form simple thoughts.

By that time, his right-hand man was at his side, his mouth and eyes equally apart in shock and grief. Dr. Copilul-Minune facepalmed his forehead with emotional exhaustion and walked back around to his chair, plunking back in it. Ell put his elbows down on the desk and put his hands over his mouth, exhaling loudly. He picked up the phone and dialed Adriana, his assistant.

"Yes, sir?"

"Get a 20-plane ready, Adriana - I'm going to Hamptonshire." Ell said, his voice surprisingly devoid of the crushing worry he was feeling inside.

"Uh, of course, sir. Destination?"

"Hamptonshire City. And call District, let them know we need an AST team down at TII as soon as humanly possible to meet me there. They're coming with me."

"Very good, sir. I'll call you back when the plane's secured."

Ell hung up and dialed a four-digit number. His top advisor, Fabrizio Donatello Serra, picked up on the first ring. "Sir?"

"How fast can you get to Isolamunicipa?"

Donatello Serra swallowed something, probably a bite of his supper. "An hour?"

"Good. Fabrizio, we're going to Hamptonshire. Finish your supper first and ready an overnight bag. We may be there for a few days."

"Of course, sir. I'll see you then." Ell cut the call off and turned back to Copilul-Minune.

"You're in charge for the time being, Adrian. Call me if you need anything." With that, he closed his briefcase, shut his computer off, grabbed his tweed jacket and walked swiftly through the threshold and into the Bullpen. Adriana handed him the itinerary and wished him luck as he half-slammed the glass doors of the Bullpen open and rang for the elevator, and headed home for a brief goodbye with his wife before he headed to the diplomatic airport for the hours-long flight to the Grand Duchy of Hamptonshire.

---Obsidia, Emergency Command Bunker, White Palace, 75 minutes after the attacks---

Chaos was still King.

The officials in the ECB scurried about looking for the latest details on the rescue missions for the Regent and Prime Minister. The Generals, Admirals and mid-level Ministers of State that were left in the Capital Cities were slowly organizing themselves into a de facto provisional government. Fleet Marshal Kirkssen was well underway with his efforts to secure twenty-six signatures for the Writ, but it would still be over an hour until Lord Rosecrans would have the legitimate civilian authority he so desperately needed.

Rosecrans stood at a display console reading the latest casualty reports from the Weslyn attacks. People were dying, anarchy was threatening the nation and he had no way to stop it.

Who the hell creates a form of government this fundamentally screwed up! He thought angrily. I have to do something. I can't sit back anymore.

"Colonel Witcomb," Rosecrans called out to his Chief of Staff, "I have an order to relay to all commands."

The Colonel raced to the Lord's side with data pad in hand. "Ready, sir."

Rosecrans cleared his throat and in a voice loud enough to carry through the entire ECB said, "To all commands: All Royal Armed Forces units are to mobilize immediately for full domestic deployment. Officers are to ready subordinate units for Martial Law. Deployment will begin in three hours from the time of the receipt of this message."

Everyone stood with open mouths. Lord Rosecrans was ordering the military to prepare for Martial Law and domestic deployment before he was given the legal authority to declare a State of Emergency. If Kirkssen's efforts to get the Writ failed, there was no way that the deployment could stop in time. If the timing was perfect the Royal Armed Forces, under the orders of the Commander-General himself, would for all practical reasons be invading the nation.

Rosecrans could sense the tension in the room. "Colonel," he said in a softer voice, "please transmit my order..." he paused, "and make sure that my signature is attached."

Everyone broke out of their trance and returned to the tasks at hand. Even presented with a potential coup, the day's previous events still took precedence.

A polite bump for a certain person...

---Obsidia, White Palace, 435 minutes after the attacks---

It was almost 4:30 in the afternoon. Lord Rosecrans had been up for twelve hours, the past seven of which had been in the Emergency Command Bunker. He was trying to keep the nation together, to hold it all so that Hamptonshire could recover from the morning's terrorist attacks. Now he was in front of the bright lights and cameras of the Press Corp ready to give his first address to the frightened and bloodied nation.

"My fellow Hamptonians, at 9:10 this morning Central Hamptonshire Time unknown individuals attacked government and private sites in Hamptonshire City, Seaburg, Portshire and Weslyn. It is clearly apparent that these attacks were designed to confuse and decapitate the leadership of the Federal Government. We still do not yet have an exact casualty count but our estimates place the number of dead or wounded at six thousand including forty to sixty members of the Royal Senate, twenty to thirty-five members of the House, and excluding myself and the Prime Minister, the entire Senior Cabinet.

The Regent was also targeted in an apparent assassination attempt. After several hours of feverish searching by gallant Royal Police Urban Rescue companies, His Royal Majesty Bernard III was taken to an undisclosed medical center. While he is not yet conscious, the Regent is fully expected to return to the Capitals within days. The Prime Minister was also the target of an assassination attempt. He also has survived but his injuries are far more severe..."

Lord Rosecrans trailed off as he finished that sentence. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be in this position. He had never had the ambition to be a national leader. Now he had to swallow his trepidation and push through the speech to shaken nation.

"Because...because of the incapacitation of the Regent and Prime Minister and the current state of the Senior Cabinet and Royal Congress, I requested that the Royal Senate issue a Writ of Emergency. Three hours ago Associate Justice Charles Winterton of the Supreme Court swore me in as Emergency Administrator of the Federal Government. It is with great hesitation that I take this temporary office and with it the Emergency Powers granted to me. Upon my swearing in I issued an edict declaring Marital Law for the entire Grand Duchy starting tonight at 7:00 pm Central Hamptonshire Time. I have also deployed units of the Royal Armed Forces to urban and strategic areas to ensure the security of the nation. I have begun to coordinate disaster relief responses with authorities in the affected areas. I am also asking Governors to voluntarily close provincial borders to non-emergency traffic.

For the next days and weeks we will all be asked to give more of ourselves then perhaps we would like. Our great nation has faced this sort of test before and likely will face it again. While we do not know who has attacked us I guarantee that the Government will not rest until it has identified and found those responsible.

We have been bloodied. We have had the wind knocked out of us but we are still standing. The time ahead will be rough and perilous but, my fellow Hamptonians, your Government is determined and your Nation is resilient. Thank you and may God bless the Grand Duchy of Hamptonshire."

President Mike Sarzo was sitting across from Deputy Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer Grant Haffner as he was preparing his first report to the Cabinet. Haffner's boss, Mark Lorber, was at home with a severe cold and Lorber's nephew refused to let him out of his sight. So Haffner had been casting about for help to write this first report to the Cabinet in Lorber's place.

"The correct name is Doomingslandians, I think," Sarzo said. "Yes, I know the military calls 'em Doomies, but that's not their official name." Not that the rest of the Cabinet gives a shit, he thought. He grimaced, realising that the copy editor in him just wouldn't shut up sometimes.

"Incoming mail," Haffner's computer said in something that sounded like a new fangled version of the old America Online. Sarzo raised his eyebrow as Haffner clicked save on the speech and then on the message. Both men thought it was some Talzecki sleazeball of a CEO trying a phishing scheme.

"Oh my God, Mike, look at this," Haffner said, pointing frantically at the screen.

"What," Sarzo asked, his reverie snapped. He slowly turned his head toward the computer, stood up and leaned in. After a stunned five minutes, Sarzo slowly lowered himself back into the chair, his shoulders slumping from the perfect storm of shock, grief and anger.

"How many attacks were there exactly?"

"Six. We don't know anything about the well-being of anyone over there. Not Allenby, not Ziller, none of them. Except Lord Rosencrans. There's been a Writ of Emergency and a state of martial law declared."

Sarzo's eyebrow raised with no small amount of irritation. "And why in God's good name was I not notified of this when it happened?"

"There was a news blackout from Hamptonshire until only recently. And, fuck!"

"Now what?"

"Our embassy was attacked. Speculation is that Pearson was away from the compound."

"Was that RSTF-related?"

"Hard to say. Reports are all sketchy. But looks like we're in a major pickle."

"No shit, Sherlock. I've got to get to the Press Room. Have they finished the reconstruction yet?"

"Should be good to go."

"I'll be right back Grant. That report can wait for another day." As Sarzo walked off, Haffner only wished the delay was of any comfort after the day's events.

As Sarzo walked toward the Press Room, he knew he had to channel his emotions long enough to reach out to the Grand Duchy. And not just as a foreign leader of an allied country. For the time being, he too was Hamptonian.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v419/msarzo/GreatSeal.jpg
Official Statement, Incorporated Sarzonian Government

The Incorporated States of Sarzonia is shocked, saddened, and outraged over these diabolical attacks against the Grand Duchy of Hamptonshire, and we as a people grieve with our Hamptonian brothers and sisters in this time of loss.

However, I am speaking not just as the President of the Incorporated States of Sarzonia. I have also been conferred with the office of Duke of Portshire, and as such, I have an additional responsibility as a member of the Royal Senate. As such, I must ensure that the Hamptonian ship of state regains its direction and returns safely to its port of call. Should I be needed for a function of the Royal Senate, I am more than prepared to have Lieutenant President Nicole Lewis preside over the affairs of state for Sarzonia whilst I tend to matters in the Grand Duchy.

May the Grand Duchy never waver in her quest for all that is good and right in this world. May God bless the Grand Duchy of Hamptonshire.

Mike Sarzo
President
Incorporated States of Sarzonia

Duke of Portshire
Grand Duchy of Hamptonshire

Minor gore and language warning

One hour outside Hamptonshire City

The plane's twin Rolls Royce jet engines roared like lions, but it soared like an eagle, graceful as it entered Hamptonian airspace. The periwinkle, frosty sky seemed to foreshadow the ominous scene that would unfold before Ell's eyes in just sixty minutes. A full ivory moon hung low over the hazy horizon; wispy, muddy clouds straddled it and formed large shadows on the ground thousands of metres below.

Inside the luxurious, decadent jet, Prime Minister Timothy Ell, titles notwithstanding, sat, his right leg bown over his left knee, his head propped against his bent right arm, his mood pensive and solitary. A saffron-coloured briefing booklet lay on his lap, turned a couple pages in where large red letters listed every attack that had happened, and all the horrifying statistics of those that had died.

Ambassador Sigrinanta was all right, but the Pacitalian embassy had a hole in it the size of Goso. The Capital Cities Defence Force had cordoned off a four-block radius around the attacked embassies. Nothing else was going to get close to the embassy sector. Ell looked out the window, sighing. Well, they always say nobody's leadership ends easy - here's the proof.

He turned his head to look forward to the fore of the plane's spacious cabin. The chronographic clock with its light-blue LED display automatically adjusted the time through satellite relay, and it was already showing the requisite information in Central Hamptonshire Time. He stared, almost absentmindedly at the blinking hour/minute separator, while the events of the past hours played in his mind. He had signed the Writ that Lord Rosecrans had sent him and now Philip was the de facto, pro tempore leader of Hamptonshire. Lord Rosecrans was the best man for the job, Ell thought. For now, though... He was just thankful Philip was his good friend and that the two men would be able to cooperate to steer the Grand Duchy through this crisis.

Now, Ell was on his way to Hamptonshire, his senior advisor Fabrizio Donatello Serra and the AST diplomatic assistance team 20 minutes behind in a second plane. Ell drifted off into an uneasy stupor, accidentally knocking a box of half-eaten sambuca-filled dark chocolates off the mahogany side table. The plane descended just as his sleep was about to do the same...

The plane's tires touched down on the pavement of the boundless runway at Hamptonshire City and immediately taxied for a private hangar from which a heavy security detail would surround Ell, watching him from point A to point B to point C, keeping his life safe. It was a privilege doubly lain upon Tim because of his position as a Royal Senator, a member of the peerage and a prince, apart from his original title as prime minister of Pacitalia.

Slowing to a slightly squeaky stop, the plane's stairs opened like a lotus, and set down gently on the pavement. Two CCDF agents entered the plane and showed Ell their identification. The Pacitalian PCIC agents ran their Hamptonian counterparts' cards through the holographic scanner to verify their genuineness before handing them back, nodding.

The man with high cheekbones, ice blue eyes, a pointed nose and short-cropped strawberry blonde hair spoke in a nasal tenor. "Your Highness, I am Agent Hans Rijmssen, and this is my partner, Agent Robert St. Denis, of the Capital Cities Defence Force. We're here to escort you to the bunker where Lord Rosecrans is conducting the national affairs."

"Of course," Ell said, his ice-green eyes staring back kindly. "Let me prepare my briefcase and, then, we may go. May I introduce Agenti Samueli Brantizorno and Agenti Tommaso Calibassano of the Pacitalian Central Intelligence Commission." The pairs of two nodded at each other.

His briefcase closed and locked with the necessary files and his state-of-the-art Bluefox Prospecta 2320 laptop, Ell began to walk towards the exit staircase of the plane. Everything's going smoothly. Or so he thought. He appeared at the threshold to the staircase and looked over the tarmac. It was quiet, silent, as though the two Hamptonian guards were the only ones around besides Brantizorno and Calibassano. Despite the haze that, from the air, gave the impression that it would be foggy in Hamptonshire City, it was clear as a bell, a cool breeze wafting through the open tarmac. His nerves tingled a little and he looked right, somewhat on impulse. It was then that he saw a glint of something glassy in the moonlight. His SAFD senses kicked in almost simultaneously and his instinct told him what to do next.

"Down!" he bellowed to the agents as the near-silent thuff of a silenced sniper rifle sounded twice. To the normal ear, the sound wouldn't have registered, but to Ell's highly-trained ears from serving in the SAFD, he caught it immediately and knew exactly what was happening. They were being ambushed. But, not if he could help it. He looked back. The silent Hamptonian, St. Denis, and Brantizorno were keeled backwards into the plane, bullet holes creased into their foreheads, strings of bright red blood trickling into the clean blue carpet and turning it a sickening eggplant.

Ell tumbled down the metal stairs and flattened himself against the ground. Calibassano and Rijmssen followed, crouched down. They were all sitting ducks here! Ell realised. It's madness! He turned around. "Give me your gun, Calibassano!" The two guards looked puzzled. "JUST do it." Calibassano reached down into his ankle holster and tossed Ell his ceramic C-610 PB 9mm with a sceptical look.

"You two need to get back in the plane. Rimjssen, I don't know where the hell your CCDF backup is but you better get on that right now. Use the phone in the plane. And if you let that briefcase out of your sight, you'll be in deep shit." Rimjssen nodded and Ell set off towards the sniper, his life clearly in the sniper's hands unless he played his cards, and his footwork, right. He was already doubting himself, having been out of the SAFD for more than a decade and not touching a gun for about half that time, but he shook those thoughts from his head and kept concentrated on the task at hand. He was still chuckling inwardly as he thought of the scenario. A foreign leader attempting to beat down a sniper threat without trained assistance.

He dodged left and right as the sniper, surprised by the offensive, began to shoot. 12.7mm rounds pierced the pavement, some hitting the asphalt just centimetres from Ell's planted feet. Ell thought, That's odd. If he wanted to kill me, it'd only be too easy. He's just aiming to either disable me or shoo me away. But Ell knew that he was in greater control of the situation with every step he took toward the sniper, despite the fact that he was becoming an easier target to hit with those steps. The sniper was obviously impressed, enough so to become slightly alarmed, and he began frantically disseminating the rifle and packing it away. The sniper's reaction time was a bit too slow for his own good, as when he looked up Ell was nowhere to be seen. He panicked and tried to pull a handgun too late as Ell lunged from behind, his knee in the small of the sniper's back, his arm around the sniper's left arm.

"So, it came to this. What the hell do you want with me? You don't want to kill me, but yet you want me out of the way for some reason. So I'll tell you now," Ell hissed. "I'm not here to run the show. You're hitting the wrong target." He got up, the C-610's sleek barrel pointed into the sniper's back. "Get up. Now."

The sniper obliged, but turned, attempting a counteroffensive. A right-handed punch was tried but Ell absorbed the force with his right forearm while dropping the C-610 into his left hand and barrelthwapping the sniper in the kidney. The sniper's knees gave out; seeing red dots in his eyes, he dropped to his knees, groaning. Ell smiled grimly and pointed the gun at the sniper's head. "Now you see where you've got yourself. On your ass, when you clearly had the upper hand. You're a fool, my good man. A fool."

The sniper took the bait as he expected, but Ell was expecting a different move in the sniper's second counteroffensive and he was knocked onto his feet. Holding the gun tight, he switched it to his right hand and threw himself back on his feet. The two men grappled and Ell soon regained the upper hand, twisting the sniper's left arm behind his back and pulling hard. The sniper bellowed in pain, his face red. "Stop fighting me." The sniper resisted, kicking Ell above the groin. Ell was forced backward, releasing his grip and the sniper lunged at Ell. With no other options left, Ell was forced to pull the trigger. The bullet ripped through the sniper's heart and knocked the attacker clean off his feet. Dead before he hit the ground.

Ell suddenly went into an absentminded trance. He stared down at the corpse, suddenly shocked at his ability to get back into the SAFD groove after such a long time away, no less the fact he had just killed a man. Calibassano's footsteps fell not far away.

"Sir, what-- oh, my god, sir, what happened!? Sir!?" Calibassano said, a look of fear and slight admiration on his face as he looked down at the corpse of the sniper and then over at the disassembled sniper rifle not yet placed back in the polished wood case. "Fucking christ."

"I had to dispose of him," Ell said, spacey. "He was... being uncooperative and... belligerent..."

"Fuck..." Calibassano thought no more of it. Pulling out a custom gold-plated C-620 9mm, he shot the corpse three times. "There, if there's any inquiry, I pulled the trigger. I killed the bastard." He searched the man's pockets for ID. "Nothing in there. He's a John Doe."

Ell snapped out of it, walked over to the sprinting Hamptonian agent. "Rimjssen, we've got a dead corpse over there by Calibassano. Get that cleaned up ASAP. And where's your backup, man?"

Rimjssen stared. "Yes, Your Highness. But... what happened?"

"I shot him. What do you think?" He looked down at his ripped suit. "I'll need a replacement before I see Philip and Ambassador Sigrinanta. Go help Calibassano, I need to get to the convoy and get in contact with my senior deputy prime minister. I've got to tell him I got here safely," he added, chuckling once more.

"Of course, Your Highness." Ell walked the short distance to the convoy sitting out front of the hangar, and yanking the door open, he took a deep breath before he unleashed his verbal fury on the driver. "I don't know what the hell's wrong with CCDF agency HQ, but if I can't get the requisite protection on time when I arrive in Hamptonshire, there's going to be some definite changes around there. Fucking ridiculous." The driver blushed, mumbled, yessir, and started the behemoth black SUV.

The convoy began its cautious trek across Hamptonshire City to the bunker where Lord Rosecrans sat, trying to steer the Grand Duchy through the crisis.

Warning: Language


"Tell Governor Petron that he has to let the Royal Marines into the city. You can't have Marital Law without soldiers!" Lord Rosecrans yelled. It was against his nature to be so emotional but these were trying times and he was in an alien position.

"I'll pass the message on to the Governor."

"Make sure," Lord Rosecrans said as he blue eyes drilled deep into his aides soul, "that he knows that his cooperation is required not optional."

The now-Emergency Administrator excused himself from the collection of aides and bureaucrats and made his way to the commissary. He hadn't eaten since the early morning. Can't run a country on an empty stomach he thought to himself as he entered the mess hall.

"Roast beef sandwich please and the largest cola you have."

"That'll be ten kroner fifty." The cashier responded without looking up.

Lord Rosecrans pulled out his wallet and handed the cashier the money. "Ten fifty? I better be the best damned sandwich and soda I've ever had."

He took the sandwich and soda. Carefully pulling back the wrapper he took a bite of the delicate beef. He then sipped some of the sweat soda. He turned to the cashier, "You're lucky."

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

Lord Rosecrans walked back into the Bunker's main rooms. He was glad to be out of the harsh artificial lighting of the hallway and in the dim comfort of the Control Room. Aside from the short foray into the Press Room an hour ago, the ECB had become the duke's home for the day. The entire span of his tenure as Emergency Administrator was limited to his time a mile under White Palace. He wasn't a young man anymore; his days of glory and ambition were long since passed. The weight of the world was on his aging and frail shoulders but he would still solider on. It was his duty to protect the nation; if he needed to sacrifice himself to achieve that goal that was a price he was willing to pay.

"Phil," Fleet Marshal Kirkssen whispered to the seemingly distracting duke, "we've got a problem."

"Whaa..." Lord Rosecrans pulled himself back to the real world, "what now?"

"CCDF screwed up royally. Damn it Phil, they misplaced Ell!"

Rosecrans stood silent. He didn't quite understand what Kirkssen meant. Quizzically he spoke in a hushed voice so others in the room wouldn't hear, "Misplaced Ell?"

"They had him land at Hans Frederick International instead of Fredrick VI Air Force Base."

Rosecrans silently stared at the Marshal for what seemed like an eternity. His blue eyes came alive with a deep inner fire, "What the fucking hell!? Which Goddamned idiot did that? For the love of fucking God..." he was now yelling at the top of his voice, "I want the person responsible for this imprisoned. NOW. If anyone, and I mean anyone, makes any excuses they are to be imprisoned. I WILL NOT TOLERATE INCOMPETENCE!."

No one had ever seen Lord Rosecrans so enraged, he himself could not remember the last time he was so angry.

"Yes, sir," Kirkssen timidly responded, "and I took the liberty to order Ell's protection detail to intercept his SUV and guide him here. Royal Marine units have also secured HFI."

Rosecrans nodded in agreement as he found his seat. He sunk into the chair and tried to forget about what just happened. Dwelling on such things would only crush him and he didn't need anything else adding to the crushing responsibility on him now.

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

Ell's small convoy sped along the motorway as it wound its way around the outskirts of Hamptonshire City. It was beautiful scenery, some of the best in Hamptonshire: ancient majestic pine treats set against deep purple and blue mountains. As the convoy rounded another corner it was lost behind a hill. Ell was amazed by the beauty of the landscape but was concerned about the apparent lack of security. The attempt on his life weighed very heavily on his mind. It's not like Hamptonians to be that careless with security he thought to himself as the convoy prepared to come out from behind the hill. Ell looked out and set his eyes on the horizon. It was as the convoy was making its way to the intersection that would take it to Obsidia that he noticed something behind a nearby hill. It was something metallic looking.

"What the..."

Seemingly on command, assault and transport helicopters rose from behind the nearby hill. First by pairs then by dozens they littered the sky. Ell had come across not only his bodyguard attachment; he had come across the perimeter of the Capital Cities Defense Forces. Ell was seeing just the smallest bit of the six hundred thousand combat troops mobilized to defend the Capital Cities. As Ell's convoy sped off on the motorway to Obsidia fifty helicopters formed up over the SUV and the 374th Armored Regiment of the Royal Marines formed around the convoy to ensure the Prime Minister's safe arrival at White Palace. The five thousand Royal Marines now around the Pacitalian premier were in stark contrast to the reception that greeted him at the airport.

Ell looked forward to see what awaited him. Ahead he could vaguely make out the tops of the government buildings of Obsidia. To his left and right the dozens of hills were hidden behind Thor (http://s7.invisionfree.com/OMP/index.php?showtopic=286) tanks. With a smile he thought to himself, Now that's the Hamptonshire I know.

The whole time that Sarzo sat on Sarzonia One as it flew toward Hamptonshire, he was poring over the news events as soon as items hit his laptop. His mobile phone was on and primed in case the Department of Intelligence had some new information for him, but the silence of a telephone that didn't ring told a much more grim tale than a flurry of calls ever could.

Sarzo looked grimly at the business jet provided by Carthage Aeronautics, in sheer bewilderment that the myriad of regulations prohibited agents from Sarzonia's Federal Bureau of Investigations* from flying on Sarzonia One. He was amazed that such a regulation was in place and even he was forbidden to break the rules and fly the two agents directly on the plane.

He'd gotten into serious trouble with the Office of Personnel when he'd flown First Partner Jay Tyler to Timiocato for the Prime Ministerial Banquet on Sarzonia One even though Tyler was technically with the Sarzonian Secret Service. Tyler wasn't assigned to the beat, OOP had told the President he couldn't take Tyler.

"I'm the President and I'll fly him on Sarzonia One if I damn well please," Sarzo had said. "Uh, excuse me, Mr. President," the agent had said by means of trying to say that, no, Mr. President, rules are rules, but Sarzo got that look. The look that told even Sarzo's biggest political opponent don't fuck with me. Sarzo would hear it from the OOP director after Sarzonia One touched back down in Woodstock after the aborted trip to Timiocato, but this time, OOP would hear from him if he had to dissolve Parliament temporarily to do it.

All of that played through his mind as a welcome respite from the monotony cocktail mixed with some hard terror. Hamptonshire was a nation shattered by these terror attacks and Sarzonians were left to wonder what happened. The Sarzonian embassy was spared a Comino-sized explosion because the Sarzonian compound wasn't that big. But there was a great measure of physical damage, and more tellingly, mental injury.

Sarzo remembered the events that led to two of Sarzonia's greatest allies, Praetonia and Granzi, being devastated by massive terrorist strikes. He remembered sombrely that instead of genuinely uniting against a common foe, Jaxus Nine, the events nearly led to a colossal war among "allies." He hoped nothing of the sort would happen here, but he figured that with his title as Duke of Portshire, that would be less likely. Still, something struck him as odd about this whole arrangement, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Mr. President, we'll be entering Hamptonian air space within the hour. Shall I have the jet fly to Frederick VI?"

"Tell you what," Sarzo said. "How about we ask them where they want me to be when the plane lands so we can make my entry as painless as humanly possible?"

"Understood, sir."

Sarzo thought about it. The last thing he needed was for him to become a distraction to Hamptonians, some of whom he was sure weren't keen on a man who nearly led his nation to war against them earning a Ducal title. This was a time for the Royal Senate to unify the country against a common enemy rather than rip itself apart at the seams.

* Yes, I used essentially the same name as the U.S.'s FBI, but I decided not to come up with my own name for the agency.

All across the Grand Duchy people were glued to their television sets. They watched in horror and amazement as the day's events unfolded. As the clock ticked closer and closer to 6:00pm CHT none of those people knew that once again today evil and shadow would force itself into the hearts and minds of Hamptonians....


[Television screens across the nation go dark. In seconds a new image (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v114/hamptonshire/NS%20Pictures/tvscreen.gif) flashes on the screen. It remains for the duration of the broadcast. Two voices come on: One is hushed and speaking in relatively obscure dialect of Spanish, the other is much louder and translates the first voice's message into English.]

"We are the Front for Democracy. We are the ones that launched today's attacks. We have struck a deep defeat to those that oppress and subjugate true Oltremareans. We are locked in a war with a force that knows no morality, that knows no mercy. The Hamptonians have suppressed us for over a century. While our homes and land are purchased by imperialist industrial-capitalists, we are denied protection from this insidious form of exploitation. As more and more Nordics have come to our precious homeland, we have been forced to accept their customs, their way of life, their political system and even their language. Enough is enough.

We will continue our Struggle for Independence until we have forced the Hamptonians to their knees. Oltremare will know freedom. Its people will be able very soon to breathe the sweet air of independence. Unless the Federal Government of the Grand Duchy of Hamptonshire immediately grants all of Oltremare immediate and unconditional independence and removes all Hamptonian remnants from our precious homeland, we will continue our Struggle. The Front will bring our struggle to the doorstep of every single Hamptonian, no matter where they may live. As long as the Government of Hamptonshire continues to dominate over Oltremare, we will continue our attacks. Trust us, if our simple and reasonable demands are not met soon, the attacks of today will pale in comparison to what we shall do.

Freedom for Oltremare, At All Costs!"



[OOC: This broadcast happens while Ell is in transit to White Palace and Sarzo is still in the air. I'll get around to Sarz's post later tonight.]

One hour later

The fearsome convoy left the motorway and entered the wide, eight-lane causeway into Obsidia. Evergreen trees sprawled endlessly on both sides of the road, climbing and snaking up rocky, craggy peaks. It created the effect of ominous, impenetrable-looking walls of forest green. The roads were stripped of public traffic, but that was seemingly easily replaced by thousands of government and military vehicles streaking down the fast lanes of the blacktop at high speeds. Both roadsides were lined to the tee, littered, with Thor tanks, military checkpoints, and, most fear-inspiring of all, the large Phalanx platforms, looking like CIWS naval systems, towering on each side with rocket packs and cannons.

It was organised chaos as vehicles and personnel sprinted back and forth as fast as they could down each side of the road during this trying time in Hamptonian history. Prime Minister Timothy Ell sat inside one of the unwieldy but sturdy light tactical vehicles as it chumbered down the black road. The sun was setting behind him, the light standards on the roadside and on the towers illuminating the road and casting shadows. Ell did nothing but sit there with his mouth slightly open at the show of force. When the Hamptonians were under attack, they definitely went all out.

A pass opened in the mountains and Ell looked back at the glimmering lights of Hamptonshire City, kilometres away. Farther out into the city, the embassy district was still on fire, the smoke creating a huge gray tower over the damaged Pacitalian and Sarzonian embassies. Ell shuddered at the symbol of death and turned back to look forward. They were approaching the proverbial "Gate of Obsidia", the most important and secure checkpoint on the way to perhaps the world's most fortified modern city.

The army fatigue-colour LTV rumbled to a stop at the behest of the raised hand of a Royal Marine, doubling automatically as a CCDF commando. The driver rolled down the window.

"Passport and proper documentation, please," the Royal Marine said in a curt, sharp and commanding tenor, honed by many years of intense military training and service. His accent held the slight nasal pitch of a Søskendansk speaker, his dogtags gleaming as the lights of the checkpoint shone on them. "Quickly, now."

Ell handed the driver the manilla folder and his Pacitalian passport, who passed it off to the Marine. The Royal Marine/CCDF commando looked inside and pulled out a sheaf of papers, scrutinising every page for the proper signatures and stamps. Satisfied, he handed the papers and folder back to the driver and opened the passport. He almost dropped it when he looked at the name and corresponding picture.

"Roll down the back left window, please," he said, waiting to confirm that the passenger was who it appeared he was. The driver obliged and the tinted, bulletproof window began its slow, machinate descent into the doorframe. The back light clicked on and the Royal Marine took half a second before he snapped to attention and walked forward. "Your Excellency, welcome to Obsidia. Here is your passport, sir. Enjoy your stay."

Ell smiled and nodded in thanks. The gate opened and the LTV recommenced its slow, ox-like roll into the small, fortified capital of Obsidia. The concentration of Royal Marines seemed to stay relatively the same but the technocratic, forceful and cold aura disappeared almost as soon as the convoy entered the city limits. Stylish, contemporary buildings looked over flower-and-tree lined boulevards. The city itself was spotless - no homeless, no garbage on the ground, not even the littlest leaf from a tree. As the sun set, the dark silhouettes of skeleton-like late-autumn trees cast odd contrasts against the increasingly navy sky.

They turned onto what seemed the main thoroughfare in Obsidia, a ten-lane, signless boulevard, of which at the very end sat a glorious, majestic edifice. Its Polish white limestone glowed ivory under the aura of large vanille française-coloured spotlights mixing with the dark night. The White Palace, Ell thought. Thank God we're almost there.

The LTV and associated convoy entered the long driveway as Royal Marines guided the vehicle up the long stretch of pavement bounded on each side by Amalfian cypress trees and aquamarine hydrangea bushes. As the LTV came to a stop, two more Royal Marines opened the back doors and Prime Minister Ell stepped out of a metal cage and into a comfortable shield of makeshift Royal Marine bodyguards, their submachine guns drawn in marksman's stances, the troupe in a circular formation around the prime minister, royal senator, duke, count, baron, viscount and honourary prince that was Dr. Ell.

Entering the spacious chamber, the men immediately rushed down large stairs, deeper and deeper into the ground, concrete slabs rushing up to meet their feet and then zooming past as Ell and the Royal Marines descended. They reached the bottom, authentication was given both manually and electronically and Ell was guided through bulletproof glass doors and into an underground command bunker the size of a supermarket. Concrete pillars held up the alabaster roof from which dangled bright fluorescent lamps, television screens lined a wall and desks with top-line computers and telephony networks cluttered the floor. In the centre, on the shiny acrylic-covered cement floor, was a large interactive map on which shone projected images and the latest satellite movements. A ramrod graying man in a crisp ebony suit and a woman with a prim red blazer and black skirt and pantyhose stood chatting near the podium and control desk.

Ell walked over and quickly identified the two as Lord Rosecrans and Ambassador Sigrinanta. Sigrinanta's little pin (a Pacitalian flag) gleamed under the lights but that was easily overpowered by the bright, distracting fire of patriotism emanating out of Lord Rosecrans' cerulean eyes. Ell nodded at Pacitalia's most important ambassador and she returned the favour.

"Philip, my good man," Ell said kindly, a reassuring and genuine smile on his stubbled face, as he shook the hand of one of his greatest allies within the borders of Hamptonshire. "How are you holding up?"

Philip sighed with exhaustion and straightened his tie and suit jacket. "I'm holding up as duty commands, Tim," he replied in fluent conversational Pacitalian.

Ell nodded his understanding, not just the political rhetoric but the personal shock. In a matter of hours, Lord Rosecrans had been elevated from a non-governmental position to the leader of the country, and not of his own volition or political desire. Rosecrans continued in Pacitalian: "How was the flight? I heard you had some... issues."

Ell chuckled and replied in the same tongue. "Yes, but I got here in one piece, and I guess that is what's most important, is it not?" He turned and looked back at the cavernous command centre. "You wouldn't mind briefing me, would you?

Rosecrans nodded. "Not at all - this way." He gestured and Ell and Sigrinanta followed him to the largest TV screen. Rosecrans turned and muttered an order to the techie staring at his computer screen. The techie jumped a little and clacked around on his keyboard before a flash reported the TV screen was about to play something.

We are the front for democracy... we have been forced to accept the customs and ideals of the Nordic invaders... we will continue our struggle until every Hamptonian is on his knees.

Ell stared in abject horror at the increasingly apparent similarities of the Margherian independence movement in Pacitalia, and the Oltremareans within the Grand Duchy. It was all the same. Until absolute chaos the so-called oppressed would not stop their reign of attempted anarchy and death. This Front for Democracy had proved it today. And the battle lines were becoming all too clear.

The television feed piped into Sarzonia One had about as pleasant an effect on Sarzo as the sound of fingernails scraping a chalkboard. The Front for Democracy was picking now to try to secure its independence and it was employing tactics reserved by the Restore Sarzonia Task Force.

Sarzo grimaced and picked up a notebook. Instead of his laptop computer, he chose the old fashioned kind. The transfer of ink flow to paper was a strange sensation for a man thoroughly accustomed to his computer, but he didn't want to take any chances that some terrorist hacker would read his words before he had a chance to deliver the message to everyone.

After the news feed, one of Sarzo's aides handed him a sheet of paper. His eyes widened.

"Ell was shot at by terrorists. Holy shit," Sarzo said out loud. He made up his mind that when he got back -- if, now that a reason to doubt the certainty crossed his mind -- he would issue an executive order regarding personnel allowed on Sarzonia One. He wouldn't allow the OOP to dictate to him, especially in an emergency situation.

"Attention air traffic control, this is Sarzonia One. Request permission to land, over."

"Sarzonia One, this is Fredrick VI Air Force Base. Permission to land granted, over."

Sarzo grabbed his briefcase and slipped his laptop into the bag, putting the notebook under the front of his pants as the pen dangled from his right hand.

"Mr. President, we're getting a request from the Hamptonians to have the SSS remain behind while the Royal Marines escort you to the White Palace."

"Tell them the SSS is coming with me whether they like it or not."

"You know the Hamptonians. They aren't going to like that."

"Under the circumstances, I don't think they are going to have a whole lot of room to object," Sarzo said, sending a piercing scowl into his aide.

"All the same, Mr. President, you'd better wear this," the aide said. He put on the vest, which had a strange feel to it.

"Kevlar?"

"Spectra. It's three times stronger than kevlar. In case the Front for Democracy decides to try something."

Sarzo just grimaced and put on the vest. He strapped it on and silently followed his aides into the car. He heard the SSS agents arguing with the Royal Marines and saw wild gesturing. He got out of the car and gave the apparent leader of the continent of Royal Marines a look.

"After you guys botched the security for Prime Minister Ell, I think you'd understand why I'd want my own guys looking out for my safety," Sarzo said curtly.

"We understand; however, Lord Rosencrans's instructions..."

"I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK ABOUT LORD ROSENCRANS'S INSTRUCTIONS," Sarzo yelled. "You will allow me to have my secret service agents escort me to the White Palace. Otherwise I get back on Sarzonia One and fly right back to Woodstock. Comprendes?"

The indignant reaction by the Sarzonian leader and the Duke of Portshire turned the Royal Marines leader's face into a scrunched display of rage until Sarzo's clipped Spanish. That brought visual discomfort to the Royal Marine for a brief moment before he nodded his head.

"Tell you what," he said. "We'll go with the SSS. We will not leave our assignment."

Sarzo nodded his head, his rage gone for the moment.

"Very well.

The Royal Marine leaned in closely and gave a pointed rejoinder.

"When my commanders ask me to explain why I broke regulations, I'm going to have you explain it to them."

Sarzo turned and added one final scowl.

"Take it up with Lord Rosencrans yourself, then," he said before getting into the car and having it speed off. Even though the seven hour voyage from Woodstock to Obsidia didn't exactly qualify as a pleasure cruise, that journey never seemed to be so long as it was on this occasion.

---3:45am, ECB, White Palace, Obsidia—

As the previous day faded into the mists of time the work of reconstruction began. Lord Rosecrans paced the bunker as damage reports came in from the affected cities and intelligence portfolios on the Front for Democracy began to appear. Just before midnight Rosecrans had made Tim Ell "Special Advisor to the Emergency Administrator" and placed him in control of the disaster relief and coordination efforts in Seaburg. It was a mark of how bad things were that a foreign Head of State was now functioning as a high-level advisor to Lord Rosecrans.

It could only have been Tim, he thought to himself when he made his decision. Only the Pacitalian Prime Minister turned Hamptonian Duke and Royal Senator could be accepted into the Hamptonian Government during a time of emergency and even then it would probably end up costing Rosecrans down the road.

"Philip," Ell called out as Rosecrans was in mid-pace, "I'm having trouble from the Seaburg Provincial Defense Forces. They're saying I don't have the required security and command codes."

"We'll have to correct that, won't we?" Rosecrans said as he motioned for Fleet Marshal Kirkssen to come to his side. "Marshal, please note that I am giving Prince Timothy Security Access Level 3 and...um..." he paused to think how to indirectly give Tim command authority without also giving him a military rank, "ah...effective immediately the Special Advisor to the Emergency Administrator shall have command authority equivalent to O-18 officer rank."

Ell smiled, "Thank you Phillip."

"Your SAL 3 clearance will bring you on par with a Deputy Cabinet Minister," Kirkssen casually remarked as he walked passed Ell to the computer terminals behind him, "and your O-18 command authority will effectively place you immediately after the Joint Chiefs of Staff."

As Rosecrans stretched his hand out to Ell to thank him for staying with him in the bunker a junior military aide ran into the room and handed a small data pad to the Administrator. He quickly read the short message. By the time he finished the warmth that came to his face just moments before was replaced by the stone cold determination that pulled him through the past eighteen plus hours.

"President Sarzo is apparently demanding to have his security agents escort him to White Palace. It appears that he won't even enter Obsidia unless his guards can come with him."

Kirkssen balled up his left hand into a fist and pounded the nearest table, "God damn it, he knows that won't fly. Foreign security agents are not allowed into Obsidia under any circumstances. There are no exceptions...and, for the love of the Almighty, he's not here as a Head of State, he's here as a member of the Royal Senate!"

"Geoff," Rosecrans whispered, "calm down." Rosecrans turned to a nearby Royal Marine officer, "Major, please inform President Sarzo's convoy that his security detail may accompany him to Obsidia Checkpoint One, just outside of the city, but they will under no circumstances be allowed into Obsidia. If this is not acceptable he may instead go to Hamptonshire City to meet with Speaker of the House Reinard and visit his own attacked Embassy."

The officer saluted, turned around and began to walk away but Lord Rosecrans called out, "Inform Sarzo that should he be concerned about his security in Obsidia, a detachment of Omega Guardsmen can be assigned to his person."

When Rosecrans mentioned the Omega Guardsmen every person in the room, with the possible exceptions of the Pacitalians, felt a cold shiver go down their spine. The Omega Guard were the personal security force of the Sovereign. They were the unquestionably best bodyguards and soldiers in the entire Hamptonian League, if not the among the best in the world. They were trained for fifteen years before they could join the Guard and once Guardsmen they were, quite literally, above the law. A member of the Omega Guard would do whatever was ordered by whatever means necessary. In the five hundred year history of the Omega Guard they had not once failed in their duty. They were the dark phantasms that protected the Grand Duchy no matter the costs. There was little doubt that they would figure prominently in the coming weeks and months.

The Major went off to send the message to the convoy. Lord Rosecrans, Marshal Kirkssen, Prince Timothy and the dozens of others in the bunker began to return to the work at hand. Just as they all got back into the swing of things, a young communications officer's phone rang. After a brief conversation she switched the forward screen to channel fifteen and called Rosecrans, Kirkssen and Ell over. The three men stood silent as the black screen gave way to the image of an old man in bandages with blood stains gracing his wrinkled yet regal face.

"Your Majesty," all three men said as they simultaneously bowed.

"Please, enough with formality we must get to work." the Regent's voiced was strained. The three men on the receiving end of the video conference were shocked by the image presented before their eyes. The Regent laid on a bed with bandages around his bloodied head. His left arm was in a sling, cuts and bruises dotted his face. There was a look of great pain and suffering in his eyes.

"In your absence..." Rosecrans began to speak but was cut off by Allenby.

"I am well aware of your actions, Philip. I must commend you for the work that you have done. Your service to your country during its time of great need will be noted and rewarded." Allenby shifted his attention to the young Ell. "Prince Timothy, I must also thank you for coming to our aide during this crisis. I was informed that Lord Rosecrans made you a Special Advisor. If you..." the Regent stopped speaking. He opened his mouth but no words came. He raised his right hand to his neck and began to cough. What started as a weak cough quickly turned into a violent spasms. Blood trickled down from the corners of the Regent's mouth. As the three men in the bunker looked on in near horror the Regent's coughing subsided and a nearby nurse wiped away the blood from his mouth and chin.

"If you would excuse me," he tilted his head at the camera connecting him to the ECB and spoke through his crimson stained teeth, "I am still recovering. That leads me to the purpose of my call. Lord Rosecrans, I am still in no condition to fully reassume my duties and I have been informed that Senator Ziller is still under heavy sedation. You will continue to serve as Emergency Administrator. I ask you, though, to call for a special joint session of what remains of the Royal Congress to assemble in Obsidia in four days. At that time I will address the nation. Will you please do this for me?"

"Umm..." Lord Rosecrans stumbled over his words for a moment, "of, of course. Is there anything else?"

"As a matter of fact," Allenby paused to spit up a bit of blood into a waiting tray, "I think it would be prudent to name Mister Ell Acting Minister of State for Commerce and Trade. We need someone with international credibility to manage the markets and treasury to ensure the Hamptonian economy doesn't collapse. If you accept, Tim, you'll be effectively acting as head of the Securities Exchange Regulation Board, the Royal Treasury and the Royal Central Bank of Hamptonshire. I would give you the appropriate portfolios in the Senior Cabinet, but this nation isn't ready to have a foreign head of state in the Senior Cabinet. Do you accept."

Ell managed to muster a nod in response to the Regent's offer.

Allenby smiled, his reddened teeth blazing, and ended the teleconference, "Well then gentlemen, you have business to attend to."



---3:55am, Vibbard Royal Navy Hospital, Seaburg—

The Regent ordered everyone out of the room once he ended his teleconference with the officials in Obsidia. The only person that remained with Allenby was a lone dark figure lurking in the corner.

"Everything has gone according to plan thus far. I am impressed."

The figure didn't respond verbally, all he did was light what appeared to be a cigarette.

"The attack on Ell was a nice touch." the Regent added. The only response he received was the smoke coming from the man's cigarette.

"The death of my son combined with the recent and future attacks will allow me to consolidate power." Allenby paused. He strained his eyes to try to see the into the darkness. He was uncomfortable not being in complete control of everything around him. He continued, "Are the next phases ready?"

The shadowy figure in the corner finally responded. His monotone voice sharply pierced the air, "Everything that needs to be done shall be done."

"Excellent, Mister Saunders," Allenby pulled the bed's covers higher up on his chest, "Excellent."

[OOC: Preface-

I haven't had much time as of late, but I need to finish this thread. At some point in the future I hope to come back to this thread so I can finish the story in its entirety, but for now this will do. If you have any questions please feel free to reach me on MSN or AIM]



And so it was...


The next months saw the Grand Duchy tremble in fear. The Regent marched himself in the Royal Senate, bloodied and bandaged, and delivered the political speech of his life. It was through his eloquent fear-mongering that he was given dictatorial powers over Hamptonshire. Freedom of movement, speech and assembly were all abolished. The Royal Police were used as a secret police force, gathering up suspected members of the Front for Democracy. The great cities of Seaburg, Portshire, Hannon and Port Easton became virtual military camps. Hamptonshire was slipping into despair.

In Oltremare, the Royal Army and Royal Navy went after the terrorists that wrecked so much havoc in the Grand Duchy. They went from valley to valley, city to city, fighting insurgents and securing the Provinces for the Federal Government and the Regent. As the months passed on local commanders began to suspect that something wasn't right. The rebels were too well armed, they were too well supplied and, most importantly, no Oltremarean actually seemed to support them. Members of the General Staff brought their concerns up to the Regent. His response was to fire them and replace them with officers that completely molded themselves to his will. The Omega Guard, the elite bodyguard of the Hamptonian Head of State for the past millennia, was replaced by units of the Royal Police. The Omegas were transferred to the humiliating duty of acting as security agents for Hamptonshire City's numerous public parks.

Lord Rosecrans, Prince Patrick and other members of the so-called "Old Guard" at first looked with cautious concern when the Regent began his campaign to restore "Security and Democracy" in Oltremare. Once his authoritarian methods began to extend themselves to Hamptonshire Proper, Lord Rosecrans began to look for a way to reign in Allenby. By the time Allenby dismissed the General Staff, Lord Rosecrans and Prince Patrick saw that there was only one way to save the nation: rebellion.

With great hesitance, Lord Rosecrans led a coalition of fourteen northern and island Provinces to declare themselves the true and legitimate Government of the Grand Duchy of Hamptonshire. These United Provinces of Hamptonshire did not seek independence; they sought the removal of Allenby as Regent and the installation of a member of the Royal House of Pyotr-Hampton as the next Sovereign of the Realm. For a few days it seemed as though the Regent did not think anything of the rebel movement. This atmosphere of measured peace was shattered when elements of the Royal Police loyal to the Regent arrested and executed Prince Patrick. The lines were drawn in the sand from that point on.

Lord Rosecrans was yet again thrust into the position of running a national movement that he had no desire of leading. He had to overcome not only the disadvantages of finances and firepower, he and his movement was being viciously attacked. Again and again the Regent and Prime Minister Ziller addressed the nation about the "Insidious movement in the north led by traitors and malcontents. They are the servants of foreign powers that seek to destroy and dismantle the Grand Duchy and the Hamptonian League". Supports and family members of those that supported the United Provinces were arrested by the Royal Police. They were placed into large "Secure Housing Centers" and forced to sign loyalty oaths to the Regent before they could be considered for release.

The first turning point of what was increasingly being called "The Civil War" was the large scaled "defection" of most of the Royal Army and Royal Navy. Whole Army Groups and entire Combined Fleets refused to acknowledge the orders of the newly appointed General and Admirals of the Regent's General Staff. The Royal Navy, once again under the command of Lord Rosecrans, blockaded all of the Grand Duchy. The Regent's forces were contained in those Provinces still under his grip of fear. The Army and Navy became the targets of the Regent and his agents; they were attacked as "lackeys of foreign invaders". The Royal Police were the only branch of the Royal Armed Forces that still had a majority of its members as "loyal subjects" of the Regency. Hamptonian would not yet fire upon Hamptonian, but the battle lines were forming. The die was cast.

On a cold, crisp night in late winter the order came that would change it all. The Regent, through one of his puppet generals, ordered the bombing of Harrkona, the capital of the United Provinces. As the giant bombers loaded with cruise missiles silently cruised over the dark skies of northern Hamptonshire, a dark and somewhat familiar figure found its way into the office of Lord Rosecrans. Mister Saunders told him that Allenby had ordered the destruction of the city. With the information provided by the timely arrival of the intelligence agent, interceptors of the UP Air Force attempted to dissuade the would be attackers from hitting the city. All of their appeals were for naught, the bombers continued to the target. The interceptors were ordered not to fire unless the bombers fired first. It would be the Regent, not the "rebels", who would be responsible for Hamptonians killing Hamptonians.

At the fateful hour the bombers released their payload and the interceptors promptly opened fire. Within minutes the attack force was destroyed and most of the missiles were neutralized. The handful of cruise missiles that did get through hit the city, dozens of innocent citizens were injured and hundreds more wounded. By sunrise news agencies from across Hamptonshire and the world were beaming images of the aftermath of the attacks to televisions around the globe. When HNN aired a segment that called for the resignation of the Regent, the Royal Police promptly took the station off the air and raided all of its buildings. Before noon that day, news agencies and media outlets across Regent-controlled Hamptonshire were being seized by the Royal Police. Local mayors and Governors began to voice protest to the Federal Government, riots and peaceful civil disobedience marches broke out across the nation. When several Provincial legislatures attempted to vote to join the United Provinces, the Regent dissolved all Provincial Governments and placed all power in his hands. Gone was the veneer of democracy and stability that he attempted to present before, now he was out for blood. The three days following the "Harrkona Massacre" saw increasing activity by the Royal Police to arrest and "neutralize" people that threatened the Regency.

Even with all that was going on, Lord Rosecrans didn't have enough to fully tip the balance against the Regent. He needed something to pin on Allenby. He was sure that something dark and lurid lurked in his past. Mister Saunders came forward with certain suspicions that he had about the Regent. He said that he noticed several coincidences and errors in otherwise accurate government records. Rosecrans examined the record, with help from Saunders, and what he found shocked him to the core. Hidden in top secret government records was a chilling picture of a cold blooded killer. Bernard Allenby was responsible for the assassinations of several former Senior Cabinet members, Crown Prince Louis Cessar and countless other minor government officials. There was even evidence that seemed to link Allenby with the apparently natural death of Grand Duke Reginald Leopold I. Perhaps most disturbingly, it was Allenby that organized the Front for Democracy attacks. He provided them with the arms and funding that allowed the terrorist group to kill thousands of innocent civilians, including his own eldest son. As Rosecrans and his aides dug even deeper they found that Allenby was also the leading figure behind the Restore Sarzonia Task Force and numerous other terrorist organizations across the world. Armed with this information, Rosecrans addressed the nation.

"My fellow countrymen, we have all been deceived. The Regent, Bernard Allenby, is the force behind the terrorist attacks that have destroyed the balance of our precious nation. Mister Allenby is a murderer, a thief, and a traitor. He must be brought to justice, he must be removed as Regent immediately. I ask that the Royal Senate assemble to hear and consider the evidence."

The revelation only increased the unrest in the rest of the nation. Over a hundred million people marched in Seaburg, Port Easton, Hamptonshire City, Frederickberg and Antietam. With one voice they called for the trial of Bernard Allenby. What was left of the Royal Senate tried to assemble itself for an emergency meeting in Hamptonshire City. Allenby used his powers as President of the Royal Congress to disband the meeting. He then issued arrest warrants for the remaining Senators. Senators scattered as quickly as they could to avoid the grasp of the Royal Police. A few unfortunate members were arrested as they made their way to the airports.

Most of the Royal Senate was saved from the Royal Police by the actions of Cardinal Walter Luther, the leader of the Roman Catholic Church in Hamptonshire. When the Cardinal learned of the arrest warrants, he openned up the churches and cathedrals of the nation to the now fugitive lawmakers. As Senators gathered in various churches across the nation, parish priests and local bishops placed themselves in front of the doors. They stood firm as Royal Police agents threatened them with arrest and death. A majority of the Senate found itself in the National Cathedral. As Royal Police units closed in on the one hundred and six Senators that had found sanctuary in the building, Cardinal Luther himself stood at the great brass doors of the Hamptonian Mother Church. A thin line of black and white, of priests, bishops, Cardinals, nuns and brothers, made their stand between the Royal Police and what little remained of democratic government in Hamptonshire. Smuggled pictures and video of unassuming clergymen standing calmly in front of heavily armed police whizzed around the globe. People took heart from the example of the clergy.

Previously dissolved Provincial Governments issued proclamations allying themselves with the United Provinces, military units began to disobey orders from the General Staff and, perhaps most importantly, those members of the Royal Senate sheltered in the churches and cathedrals unanimously voted to depose Allenby. He and his entire Senior Cabinet were to be arrested and brought before the Supreme Court of the Realm for arraignment and trial. It didn't matter, though, what proposal or measure the Senate adopted. They were in no position to arrest the Regent or even suggest that he voluntarily resign after all, the only thing that allowed the Senate to exist at that moment was the grim determination of a handful of priests and bishops. Salvation came in the form of the Omega Guard. For the first time in a thousand years they disobeyed the direct orders of the Head of State and left their post. The Guardsmen left the parks and descended upon Hampton Palace. With ease they fought their way passed the Royal Police and Palace Guard. All one hundred Guardsmen pledged themselves to the mission; they were lead by their two best officers, men known only as Colonel Brimley and Mister Saunders. The Guardsmen effortlessly entered the Palace Complex and breeched the security around the Regent. In less than an hour after their decision to leave the parks, the Omega Guard had found and arrested the Regent, Prime Minister and a majority of the Senior Cabinet.

As the news of Allenby's arrest spread, some Royal Police units dropped their arms and returned to their barracks. Most of the Royal Police and other military and security units loyal to the Regent, however, were reluctant to stand down. It was only a televised appeal by Princess Anne and the former members of the General Staff and disbanded Joint High Chiefs of Staff that brought the crisis to an end. By the end of the day the Senate had voided all executive actions enacted by the Regent and reinstated the dissolved Provincial Governments. Before evening the Senate, now with all surviving two hundred and fifteen members, meeting in the National Cathedral had voted to name Lord Rosecrans Lord Protector of the Grand Duchy and to invest him with fully executive authority pending legislative elections and the conclave to elect the new Sovereign. That night Hamptonshire began the long journey to normalcy. Tomorrow would see the dawn of a new day and the beginning of a new age.