NationStates Jolt Archive

The rain had stopped falling upon the cobbled streets and courtyards of the Citadel, the palms providing veils of near-spherical orbs from the water collected upon the leafy greens and coarse raw sienna of the bark. Dirt deserts once dotted only by stalks of green and blooms of yellows, red, and lilac lay submerged beneath a new sea of deep browns. Above, azure skies once pregnant and grey reigned unchallenged and oversaw all the comedies of the circus below. Yet amid all the tent tops in this little corner of the enormous circus was one where the clowns and comics pretended to control the lands and the seas and the skies upon which they existed as but small drops upon a large and complex canvas of colour.

In the Cabinet Room a large mahogany table, its elliptical surface polished to a smooth and reflecting shine, formed the centre of a cadre of men and women who largely controlled the affairs of their fellow men and women--at least those who lived within the borders of their country and their colonies. At the centre of the table sat a lean man with silver-grey hair and a quiet, unassuming smile. Behind him, windows streaked with the remnants of rivers drying under the ever-harsh sub-tropical sun. He wore a charcoal-coloured suit, three buttons and a platinum-coloured vest. Beneath that a finely pressed white silk shirt and an alizarin tie.

'Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, lords and dames,' he began in a same quiet, unassuming voice. 'I should like to thank you for joining me this afternoon to discuss the ramifications of SABAR and how best we can prepare not just Avalon-on-Avon but the broader electorate and lastly the international community, heretofore--along with the public--kept deliberately in the dark. Make no mistake, if word should leak from this room about the treaty, I shall not have your resignation for you shall not have the time to leave it upon my desk.'

He watched intently, aware of his words and their present reaction upon his companions and colleagues. Despite the threat, he kept his smile and they theirs and so he continued. 'I have, as you can all bear witness, invited the chiefs of staff of the Royal Army and the Royal Air Force to join us, in addition to the Secretary of State for Defence, the First Lord, and the First Sea Lord. They are here to address the practical security concerns arising from SABAR and to answer any questions the rest of us may have that pertain to their fields. Are we all agreed to the agenda?'

'Yes, Mr. Prime Minister,' came the common reply.

'Very well then. As you all know, the former administration managed to unnecessarily ripple the sea with several foreign powers. It is my intention, and if I may speak for the Foreign Secretary?' The Prime Minister paused until given a nod by the man in question, 'the Foreign Secretary's intention to bridge these divides for the greater security of the United Kingdom. Gavin?'

The already introduced Foreign Secretary issued another nod and waited until the attention of all present rest upon him. 'Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister. As already noted, I and my ministers at the Foreign Office have begun to review the treaties, responsibilities, and other obligations of His Majesty's Government in the international stage and I have recommended to the Prime Minister a series of corrections in the course of this ship of state, if you may forgive the cliche.'

'First and foremost amongst these errors is the rank division between the UK and several other democratic states with whom, while we have numerous and not insignificant differences, remain solidly behind the principles of liberal democracy so treasured here in the UK. While the previous administration did well to instill in the public a feeling of near-hatred of these governments it is the intention of the Foreign Office to remedy those errors. This all, of course, must be done very quietly lest public pressure impede the actual negotiations of all such treaties. SABAR is just one of those treaties.'

'All present have already been briefed upon the evolving document, but, for those in need a brief abstract that remains classified is included in the folder we all received upon entering this room. Nonetheless, it is the opinion of the Foreign Office that SABAR will allow the United Kingdom and His Majesty's Government the breathing room necessary for further, more public discussions between the involved powers. The treaty, if and when ratified, would present us with guaranteed security--'

The Foreign Secretary paused at the scoff of the Defence Secretary. 'I do indeed hate to interrupt, Gavin, but I daresay that such a statement as that is a broad oversimplification of the facts. The facts are that such "realignment" would leave us with an impotent guard force for one of our most rapidly growing colonies. While the budget is tight,' the room glanced at the new chancellor who offered a broad and smug smile in reply, 'there can be no denial of the desperate conditions in which the men fight not just our enemies but to survive. Avalon-on-Avon has neither the proper equipment nor the proper rations to effect proper reconnaissance and surveillance missions. Make no mistakes, we are overstretched and that--'

'That, Quentin,' the Prime Minister interrupted, is another issue for another meeting of the Senior Cabinet. 'Before us is more directly the impact of SABAR upon security considerations.'

'Well, for starters, Mr. Prime Minister,' Sir Quentin Sterling responded with a blushed face. 'I should say that the consequences for the colony would be quite dire. The RAF and Royal Army would be stripped of most of their resources--'

'Their forces would be realigned,' the Foreign Secretary interjected to the harsh scowl of the Defence Secretary. 'This treaty neither caps nor even eliminates any number of military personnel in the whole of the armed forces but rather seeks to limit their deployment in a geographically restricted area.'

'And in such a vast and remote location that, sir, is tantamount to stripping Defence of the tools we need to defend ourselves in that theatre.'

'I would concur with the Defence Secretary,' a younger goateed man echoed. 'The Royal Navy too is expected to witness significant cuts that will undoubtedly leave us incapable of defending the colony let alone the neutrality of the island. Say what you will about the other branches of the military, but the Royal Navy has been, is now, and always will be the first line of defence. To so severely degrade our capabilities in that theatre is not tantamount to surrender, it is an abject capitulation.'

At the end of the First Lord's statement the room descended into managed chaos, various members and persons whispering, then talking, then near-shouting until reaching a crescendo topped by the unusually loud call to order by the Prime Minister.

'There can be no mistake that this treaty is significant. We have near three hundred warships currently stationed in that colony alone. Four hundred aircraft and at least four divisions.'

'Five, sir,' the Defence Secretary corrected.

'Very well, five. The point is that for a population of a few dozen million the ratio of service personnel to citizens is not only out of line with the rest of the empire but is financially insolvent at the level of local sustainability.' The Prime Minister paused to withdraw from his set of papers a single paged document, the texture of the paper smooth and the colours of the tables and graphs bright and vivid in contrast to the greys, blacks, and browns of the suits arrayed around the table. He looked up and nodded to a tall, thin man with brown hair. 'Rodger has the details of the financial aspect of garrisoning Sarnia.'

Rodger Livingstone offered a slight smile and a tilt of his head in deference to the Prime Minister. As Chancellor of the Exchequer he held the pursestrings of the Treasury and was in some respects the protege of the Prime Minister--except for that Livingstone had contended against the current Prime Minister Rodney Ingrahm, the appointment an appeasement and gesture of conciliation. Regardless of his personal differences he attended his duties and laid upon the table several brightly coloured charts and graphs.

'As one can see, the Treasury has appropriated significant funding for Sarnia where concerned with the Royal Armed Services. Approximately 42% of these funds doled out to the Royal Navy alone. Among the projects listed are the construction of a facility for the handling of some of these extremely large boats called,' Livingstone paused as he scanned through some lines of figures, 'ah, yes, supercapitals,' he said, pronouncing the last word carefully as if learning a foreign word for the first time. 'That project alone is expected to consume £62.7 million over the following six years. According to the latest report by the Royal Navy's own intelligence service and corroborated by the Royal Intelligence Service there are no other forces with such types of boat in Sarnia nor expected to be permanently based in Sarnia. The cost of stationing such a boat will be at least several hundred million pounds annually--more if it is used frequently on operational sorties. Coupled with the presence of two entire fleets as well as coastal patrol boats, we will be at near two billion pounds annually for the upkeep and maintenance of the naval forces in Oceanian Sarnia. I ask you, Mr. Noskovic, what threat do we face in that theatre that requires such a significant force? As I would posit that the astronomical cost is itself a graver threat to the financial security of the United Kingdom.'

Radovan Noskovic let his long, tapered fingers drum quietly and steadily upon the polished surface of the table. His steely, spartan gaze fell upon the whole of the table upon all of the faces. 'Indeed, Mr. Livingstone, the Royal Navy currently has plans to position such massively capable deterrents in Sarnia because from Sarnia we can more easily reach and strike our potential enemies. Of course, it may also be possible to review current contingency plans in light of SABAR and, if ratified, perhaps even review deployment plans. But as long as the treaty remains unratified we have one potential enemy in theatre and as such the Royal Navy will make preparations and plans for conflict with that enemy. Only when ratified, and most importantly only when proven viable, will the Royal Navy begin to scale back its presence at Port Royal and St. Ives. Bring me a signed treaty and I will initiate a review of plans. But until then, we must keep a decisive presence in Sarnia.'

For his part, Ingrahm watched stony-faced. Noskovic's nuanced answer provided him with the opening he could use--and he knew that Noskovic knew just as much. With the Admiralty separate from the Ministry of Defence both Noskovic and Sterling often had to compete for precious pounds from Livingstone's purse. Thus far, Sterling's intransigence on the issue had been predicated on support from the Admiralty. However, Livingstone's subtle suggestion that funding for supercapitals could be axed had worked just enough to provide the first crack, the first wedge Ingrahm could use between the two.

'While the Admiralty might well be off the hook from SABAR, the elimination of the primary--indeed, perhaps only--naval threat in the region does not qualify as the elimination of the secondary threats to the remainder of the Royal Armed Services.' Sterling too had seen Noskovic's ploy and leaned forward, pushing his own documents onto the table and onto the front-burner. 'We have some evidence that the continuing troubles to the south of Pavanne in Thames River are increasing. Riots and strikes have become endemic and the local government has watched police and military units simply walk away from the protests in solidarity with the protesters. We are watching the emergence of a new threat to regional stability, a new threat to the colony, a new threat to the United Kingdom. We must keep forces in the colony to prevent instability from spreading.'

'That, sir, is a ridiculous claim.' From near the end of the table, a distinguished gentleman with distinguished grey hair and a distinguished grey suit added to the fray in a distinguished fashion. He was Viscount Thomas Cahill, a former member of the Salisbury government appointed to the House of Lords so as to be able to serve in the capacity as Secretary of State for Colonial Affairs. Sarnia fell under his portfolio. 'We have stability in Sarnia, especially so on the western borders where we have the communists clamoring about the evils of Oceanian capitalism. And, as I recall, sir, there are no significant numbers of forces deployed along our western border--they are all to be found on the southern border with an enemy who, so far as I know, never prattles upon about the intrinsic evilness of Oceania.'

'That, Viscount,' Sterling quickly retorted, 'is because for every hundred bloody tribesmen with pitchforks they send against us we can respond to with a battle tank or a gunship or a strike aircraft. I worry more about the southern silence than the western wailing.'

'Suffice to say, Mr. Defence Secretary, having just last week spoken with Sir Basil, the governor of Sarnia, he personally expressed a great deal more concern about the western border than the southern. Nevertheless, despite the chaos to the west of the colony, the civil war raging upon the other side of the border, mining and development and settlement continued unabated and unaffected by the turmoil and instability. The current level of violence in Thames River, while dreadful, is not likely to impact the colony in any widespread and substantive manner. This of course,' he added, now more so addressing the Prime Minister and the Cabinet than the Defence Secretary, 'is entirely conditional on the level of instability remaining at or near its current level for the foreseeable future. Should an unanticipated event lead to a spike in violence my assessment could be wholly inaccurate.'

'And so why not plan for that contingency,' Sterling hammered. 'Shall we put the lives of Oceanians in jeopardy simply because it is politically or financially expedient?' He threw a sidelong glance at the chancellor to underline his point.

'The fact of the matter, Sir Quentin,' Livingstone replied, 'is that the resources we spend on maintaining that massive RAF presence could be used instead to improve the infrastructure and thereby the economy of the colony. Management of inflation would be necessary, but by creating competition we see wages rise and thus consumption and thus standard of living and by the end we have a rock-solid, stable colony.'

'I thought the colony was already stable and prosperous?' Sterling responded, looking at the Colonial Secretary.

'More solid and more stable,' Cahill parried, 'just to clarify, Chancellor,' he added in deference to Livingstone.

'WIth respect to all that has been stated,' the Prime Minister finally chimed, 'I think we can agree to several key points that should serve as the common ground for the consensus that shall underpin this decision. First, while threats undoubtedly exist, none are a pre-eminent and immediate threat to either the United Kingdom or the colony. Second, the long-considered primary threat of the colony, especially in light of their own recent troubles and concerns with elements of the broader international community, likely sees Sarnia as a backwater and a more-or-less secure outpost drawing resources only because of the United Kingdom. Third, the stationing of our own forces to counter theirs is a significant drain on the Treasury. Fourth, there exist emerging threats that long-term may necessitate the armed services providing a stabilising effect on the continent. Fifth, from the statements of the Ministry of Defence, the Royal Navy, the Foreign Office, and the Colonial Office, the defence against the primary threat comes at the expense of guarding emerging secondary threats.'

'Therefore,' Ingrahm continued without a pause despite worried looks from the chiefs of the armed forces, 'I would propose that this government push forward on SABAR and secure ourselves from the primary threat to allow us to better mass our forces against those threats the empire faces today and to allow the colony to develop and hone our forces remaining in theatre to prepare for those long-term threats. This may mean the repositioning of Royal Navy assets away from Sarnia as well as those of the RAF and the Royal Army. For the immediate future, none of this shall entail reducing the size of the armed forces, but repositioning those forces selected for realignment for a much more rapid response to those more immediate threats. I feel I must stress this fact, Quentin and Radovan, there shall be no cuts in the armed forces for now. But in the coming years, if this treaty is indeed ratified as it seems it shall, you will be forced to reposition your forces and I would like both the MoD and the Admiralty to begin drawing up repositioning plans forthwith. Is that clear?'

'Yes, Prime Minister,' responded the chorus, now knowing the decision had been made. Indeed, after a few more minutes of pleasantries and then an afternoon tea, the Cabinet broke up and in silence each person returned to their office to begin drawing up plans and responses.

Colonial Affairs director Candace King was shuffling through a series of papers involving various matters. Her report to Deputy Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer Grant Haffner was due in a matter of hours and she had one last thing she needed to look up. As she turned to her monitor, she heard a light tap, tap, tap on the door to her office.

"Yeah," she said, not looking up to notice that her boss had already walked in the office.

"Candace, what's the status of your report?"

"Mr. Haffner," she replied curtly, making it clear that she didn't appreciate the disturbance while she was finishing up, "that report isn't due for another six hours."

"I'm aware of that Miss King," Haffner seethed, aware of the disrespect she was showing him and dishing it right back at her, "but I've got both Lorber and Newman breathing down my fucking neck. I need to know if you're going to be able to get that report to me in time for me to tell 'em what the situation is down in Pavanne."

"Not if you keep barging in on me every five minutes," Candace snapped. "You want me to tell the president what you're doing to me?"

Haffner stopped short. He knew Mike Sarzo would be reaming him out for the way he was treating King. His argument that their relationship never got off to a good start from the first day she was confirmed by the House and that they've had a tense relationship every waking moment would go over about as well as a Doomani-Sarzonian marriage. Even so, he was her boss and he had a right to expect a certain level of decorum.

"You want me to tell the president what you're doing, missy?"

That didn't come out the way I wanted. Fuck, Haffner thought. He could see his message was getting across loud and clear. She'd be written up for insubordination. Again. Lieutenant President Nicole Lewis would come down on her. Again. It was all Gray House officials could do to keep Sarzo from simply "blowing that place the fuck up and starting over" figuratively. Lorber was eyeing retirement as it was and Haffner would be the presumed choice for External Affairs, except Sarzo had something else in mind.

Both King and Haffner looked up and saw a figure emerge from the darkness of the hall, and were surprised to see First Partner Jay Tyler standing there.

"Jay?"

Both Haffner and King said that in unison and looked at each other as if to wonder about the first time they ever said anything in unison, but then they both looked back at Tyler.

"Is there a problem," Tyler asked in his best inquisitive tone, but both Haffner and King realised he knew there was a rift between the two of them and that it was playing out once again.

"No, sir," Haffner said. He could tell by the look on Tyler's face that the First Partner just wasn't buying it, but he was going to let Haffner off the hook. Besides, it's not like Tyler could fire him. Then again, had Haffner treated Tyler with anything remotely approaching the disrespect he and King showed each other regularly, he knew he'd punch his ticket out the door. Sarzo would never tolerate it for a second.

"What's the military situation in Pavanne," Tyler asked in an effort to get both External Affairs officials to focus on their task at hand.

"They're a drain on our military budget," King sighed. "We're allocating 16 percent of our defence budget to that one hellhole when our budget for colonial defence shouldn't be more than 20 percent for all of our colonies."

"Why that much?"

"Pavanne borders Sarnia."

Both men looked at each other with realisation. Oceanian Sarnia. Relations between the United Kingdom and the Incorporated States were always frosty at best and harboured a decided undercurrent of hostility at worst. The nations fought an unofficial cold war of words and had been verbal combatants since the reign of King Michael. That situation only intensified after his death under Lord Salisbury, or Alasdair Tetley, as Haffner insisted on calling him.

Haffner's refusal to acknowledge the Marquess's title of nobility was unique to nations with whom Sarzonians were on less than friendly terms. Thus, Hamptonians often were referred to by given names instead of their titles. That is, when terms like asshole, shithead and fuckface weren't being spat out as accusations about the conduct of their Hamptonian nemeses. Even with the House of Delegates vote progressing into its third hour of counting and the tallies for both 'yea' and 'nay' approaching the two hundred vote plateau, he still referred to Praetonians by their titles. He always referred to nobles from the other United Kingdom -- Isselmere and Nieland -- by their titles. In fact, he was dating an Isselmere-Nielander subject.

But now wasn't the time for debate about whether to call the former Oceanian prime minister Tetley or Salisbury, and Haffner knew it.

"So what are we going to do, sink more of our defence budget into that shithouse of a colony," King asked.

"That's out of the question," Haffner said. "We can ill afford to divert that much of our manpower and resources to defend Pavanne, especially when our intel suggests that Oceania could ill afford to attack it. We can subdue most of the other threats in the region with a normal defence of the colony.

"So you propose we divert money from defending Pavanne to deal with the Doomies," Tyler asked.

"The Doomies aren't in the equation at the moment. The House is still considering whether or not to begin trade with them," King said. She was aware of the scowl building on Haffner's face at the mere mention of the word Doomies, but she continued.

"If the House doesn't ratify the Treaty of Uxland, we may be preparing for a different combatant."

She didn't have to clarify that comment. Both men knew what that could potentially mean, and they all knew there wasn't a Sarzonian alive in his or her right mind who liked the prospect. But the treaty smelled of something a growing number of Sarzonians wanted no part of, as approval ratings slipped below those opposing the treaty for the first time in a Portland Press Herald survey: 46 percent voted yes; 48 percent voted no. The margin for error was still enough to make it a statistical dead heat, but that underscored the urgency the government felt about the military buildup in Pavanne.

"Something's gotta be done," King said.

"What do you suggest, Candace," Haffner asked, making a point to be as professional as he could be, even though it pained him.

"We're going to have to develop some kind of dialogue with someone we don't particularly care for." She looked up at Haffner as if to say, "your move, Grant." She could almost feel the wheels turning over her last statement in his brain. She knew the idea that Sarzonia would approach Oceania was out of the question. Sarzonians usually don't make the first move to repair relations. Pacitalia was an exception because of the longstanding friendship between the two peoples. Oceania was a different story.

As for Sarzo, almost no one knew where he was, but they were sure he was monitoring the situation. Somewhere in the bowels of Ule City, they were right.

Undisclosed Location, Southern Border, Oceanian Sarnia

Lance-Corporal Kenneth Donaldson could not for the life of him understand how in the middle of nowhere it was so damned noisy and loud. He rested his rifle against the sandbags shielding him from ground-scavenging mammals and rodents so his hands could raise the matte-black, rubber-coated binoculars to his weary hazel-coloured eyes. Across the babbling, but slowly moving mass of black crisscrossed by ripples of pale blue moonlight lay sovereign Sarzonian territory. But between Donaldson and what he considered a pathetic excuse for a river lay thousands of anti-personnel and anti-tank mines amongst which were scattered dugouts and pillboxes like Donaldson's.

Just as his thoughts of flies and mosquitoes and chirping birds and bush-crickets led him to the insectile-number of explosives, a sharp and blinding flash ripped apart the dark night. Donaldson instinctively reached for his rifle switched off the safety and settled against the sandbags. In the distance, towards the distant eastern sea he could hear Corporal Henderson whispering some odd thing--just what though was a mystery. Though as his eyes scanned the jungle and the flat alluvial plain he could be quite sure it had something to do with the explosion.

He felt a slap on the back and turned to find one of the privates, face splattered with red, sticky blood. He was saying something, but Donaldson could barely hear him and so he just pointed to his ear and received a sympathetic nod. Apparently the information was passed along to Corporal Henderson who proffered a thumbs-up while taking his own rifle and readying the small trip-wire fire line.

And then it began to come together, just as distant din of chaos and confusion began to echo in his ears. The whiny preaching bastards across the border had discovered a spine after all. Hopefully the anti-tank mines would at least slow the Sarzonian armour down. The only thing missing, though, was the carumph of heavy artillery--but that too he simply could not hear.

Another slap on his back and he turned to face the bloodied soldier, the first casualty in this Oceanian-Sarzonian war--except instead of a steely, spartan gaze a wide and bright-eyed smile with hands pointing jubilantly out over the sandbags, over towards the border between Pavanne and Oceanian Sarnia. Donaldson swung about his rifle, training on nothing but a few clumps and distant trees. He glanced over at Henderson, by now apparently laughing rather heartily. He too pointed towards the clumps.

Donaldson fished for his binoculars and wiped the blood from the one lens. He adjusted the focus and settled upon the dead and limp Sarzonian. A sorry lot, he was, body singed black and the clothes ripped into a ragged covering of coarse black hair. But the face was odd. Odd, Donaldson thought, how they sent mutated freaks into battle. All the better, though, he mused, to rid oneself of the least capable soldiers.

At long last words and syllables returned to the lance-corporal from Nairn, a young man born and raised in the massive conurbations of the Home Islands and who could not wait to leave the god-forsaken jungles of Sarnia.

'You alright, Ken?' he heard Henderson ask.

'I think, so, sir, lots of eerie silence is all. Damn glad, though, that that Sarzonian bastard failed to get through.'

'What Sarzonian bastard?'

'The sapper, Corporal, laying in pieces out there,' Donaldson replied, pointing to the limp clumps of flesh and bone dotted by pools of blood.

'That is no sapper, dumbass, it happens to be one finely shredded wild boar. Probably walked right atop one of the anti-personnel mines. If not for the other several thousand I would venture to say we could have a feast right here.' The corporal let out another hearty laugh while some of the rattled privates lit cigarettes despite standing orders to the contrary. 'It was a goddamned boar, Ken, not a Sarzonian. Though truth be told I would be just as glad to see one of those bastards laying out there.'

Port Royal, Oceanian Sarnia

She was truly significant with her shapely curves and stunning lines. Avalon was a femme fatale cloaked in mystique and yet who was so well-known as evidenced by the thousands of clicking flashbulbs and brilliant, blinding flashes accompanied by faked clicks from digital cameras. She was the first of her kind in Oceanian Sarnia. The first true warship entirely built in the city of Port Royal.

Although not yet commissioned, that would be a week away in another, even grander ceremony, Avalon was an air-defence frigate, a new twist of upgraded sensors and weapons on an old but battle-proven design. And while Port Royal and St. Ives both played host to what totaled three hundred warships, none had been built in Oceanian Sarnia and none had thus garnered the attention of the colonials as did the new frigate. Truly, she was but an escort, but she was the colony's escort. The cruisers and frigates patrolling off the coast all arrived from distant places, from Philadelphia, from Devonport, from Portland and Breningrad. She came from Port Royal. She was already at home and would be manned by a Sarnian-born Royal Navy commander, although all knew that was just an Admiralty PR gimmick.

She was also, however, a harbinger. As her body slid down the estuary accompanied by manly and burly tugs on either side, she floated past her attendants and protégés with the silvery, glassy dance floor left to ripple and shudder in her wake. Along the banks of the Avon frames and hulks and keels lay at various stages of completion--superstructures nearing completion on a few. The Avarice and Adventure would follow Avalon in two and three weeks, respectively. But she was the first of this nascent shipbuilding industry. And in time she would be outdone in her colonial class and grandeur by more metropolitan and urbane designs--cruisers and dreadnoughts who stood naked waiting for their steel and aluminium garments before they would ever dream of appearing at any function be it formal or even casual.

And so Avalon sailed on, down the River Avon, away from Port Royal to her new home at St. Ives where she would be fitted out with weapons and the more sensitive elements that, despite all the fanfare, the civilian dockyards in Port Royal could not yet handle. She was, though, still theirs, still the people's ship. Still the next little piece upon the board, a pawn all dressed up in leggings and silk ready to strike at those across the board from her. Those to the south.

KBC News UK
http://uk.news.kbc.co.oc

A City By Any Other Name
18 March 2007

Parliament has passed the Local Identity Act, legislation that shall see local places and identities protected from the unitary authority in the capital, itself coincidentally likely to see a new name.

Passage of the Act caused breaks within the ranks of both the ruling Conservative coalition and the Democratic Socialist opposition, all primarily along ethnic/regional lines. Critical to the passage, the unanimous support of Súzvuk, which voted to support the bill in order to prevent English-sounding names being appropriated to places in Novikov.

Prime Minister Rodney Ingrahm hailed the legislation as a signal of a 'return to local self-government,' as the Local Identity Act will put the right to name places not in the hands of Parliament but local governments.

Some such as former foreign minister Ivan Valovich criticised the legislation as 'an attempt to subvert the nascent pan-ethnic Oceanian nation.' Valovich's remarks are seen as important given his long silence and reclusion from national politics after his retirement due to health problems. His sentiments were echoed by the majority of the Democratic Socialist Party.

Yet, the Democratic Socialists did witness MPs in the predominantly Russian-Oceanian and French-Oceanian western counties and constituencies voting with Mr. Ingrahm's government; and, with the passage of the legislation, many of those constituencies are expected to return to their pre-Anglised names.

Similarly in the Conservative Party, MPs voted against their government to prevent local initiatives from occuring, MP for Longwood North, Donald Hammersmith-Davis, called the legislation an 'affront to history' calling the Act an 'egregious example of political pandering' to the Novikovian political parties.

Among the first major places expected to witness renaming processes are the capital Imperium and the port city of Breningrad. Both were renamed in the aftermath of civil war in the mid-twentieth century. While several names have been put forth for Breningrad, it is widely anticipated that Imperium will revert to its colonial-era name of Georgetown, for the British monarch King George III who ruled as sovereign during the colony's first years.

'Indeed, Radovan, to some elements the idea is wholly unacceptable,' Gavin Astley punctuated his statement with half a frown before picking up his teacup and taking a quiet sip of the still steaming golden liquid. 'Nonetheless, it is in the interest of the United Kingdom to at least attempt a rapprochement with Woodstock and after talking with the Prime Minister, we both agreed that it would be best to bring you onboard this project.'

Radovan Noskovic smiled, appearing devilish almost with his goatee and lively, warm brown eyes. 'While it is true that I maintain some contacts in Sarzonia they all date to before the war--since annexation I haven't been back and haven't seen any of them. I don't think my influence is half of what you and the Prime Minister make it.'

Astley nodded deferentially to the First Sea Lord. 'True, perhaps, but you are the most aptly suited senior cabinet official to deal with the Sarzonians. Having reviewed the files from the previous administration and their closed-door talks with Sarzonian officials, the,' Astley paused for a moment, his eyes drifting lazily towards the frescoed ceiling, 'shall we say, differences in diplomatic style seem almost insurmountable. This is not to say that you are to leave the Admiralty, rather, when we eventually meet senior Sarzonian officials in a high-level ministerial capacity the Prime Minister and I should like it for you to be present.'

Once more Noskovic smiled. It was no great secret that since the inclusion of Novikovians into the cabinet, the dynamics of cabinet meetings had changed. While the air of stuffiness and rigid formalities and words said but unspoken remained, the comparatively straight-talking Novikovians brought a breath of fresh air. And so when the first mention of talks with Sarzonians had emerged in the cabinet meetings it had come as no surprise that Novikovians were to accompany any delegation. That and the fact that until the war Novikov and Sarzonia had been friendly allies.

'Now about the discussions a few days ago,' Astley continued, 'I have been talking with the Chancellor about defence appropriations for the Ministry and the Admiralty. As I currently understand there are currently plans to request funding for an additional five super-capital warships, no?'

Noskovic nodded. 'Currently, the only true threats to the United Kingdom are Sarzonia and the Khailfah--with the funds we can begin to acquire a significant strategic advantage that should ensure Oceanian control of the sea lanes of communication.'

'Well, suffice to say that the Chancellor and I have reviewed the proposals put forth by the Admiralty and have found the request incapable with the strategic plan put forth by the Prime Minister.'

'With respect, Gavin, I know from firsthand experience how dangerous it is to play politics with defence. Several years ago in Poldi'sk it was impossible to procure funding to build even an adequate surface escort fleet for the pitifully few capital ships we had tied to piers. Look at the results.'

Astley sipped his tea, more loudly this time. 'With respect, Radovan, national security is not determined solely by how many steel boats we can cram into the tub. It is also determined by things such as sound fiscal policies, including reasonable budget expenditures and low tax burdens upon the public and the business sector. Five super-capital warships in excess of ten billion pounds is simply unacceptable.' Astley replaced his cup on its neat saucer with only a little click between the two china surfaces.

'However,' he added much more slowly and much more calmly, 'despite the envisioned reduced threat environment owing to certain diplomatic endeavours just now getting underway, the Prime Minister, Chancellor, and myself agree that despite statements by some in Parliament to the contrary, we need not strike all five from the list.'

'And so what do you want in return?' Noskovic all but shot back with spittle and vitriol.

'A thorough review of the naval threat situation that includes reduction in general threat levels from not just Woodstock but also Istanbul.'

'Istanbul?'

'As you noted,' Astley replied, the thin whispering hints of a smile running across his lips, 'the two most significant and immediate threats to the United Kingdom are the Incorporated States and the Khailfah. It is the intention of the Prime Minister to reduce these threats to a more manageable level not just through military actions but also through the Foreign Office. While super-capitals may not be needed to combat the fleets of Woodstock and Istanbul, they could, perhaps be used to greater effectiveness elsewhere in the world.'

As if to close the thought, a small, shrill chirp emanated from Astley's pocket, prompting him to remove a small black device with silvery-grey keys and a large, vividly coloured display screen. 'Unfortunately, a slight situation requires my attention, Radovan. But please,' he said, standing slowly and dabbing the corners of his mouth with the otherwise untouched napkin, 'do think about this discussion and get back to me at the earliest convenience.'

Pakradesh, Royal Crown Colony of New Albion
United Kingdom of Oceania

It had started so peacefully, thought Alex Beckett, a captain in the Royal Army. A small protest in this predominantly non-Anglo city in the southeastern region of the Oceanian colony had deteriorated to the point where Beckett and his company now took shelter behind concrete barriers surrounding the municipal services building. Amidst the shouts Beckett could not otherwise understand were chants to Allah--chants punctuated by the staccato stabs of Kalashnikov rifles into the air and the occasional pings and pangs as stray rounds ricocheted off the barriers.

Slowly a pause developed as overhead the roar of a low-flying aircraft grew. It thundered into a scream then a sharp bang that elicited sharp feminine screams from within the mob. Beckett's superior had requested RAF flybys ending with a sudden jump to supersonic, the bangs serving to disrupt the crowds. With the crowd quieted, behind the barriers a slight whir could be heard as the turret to a parked Jaguar infantry fighting vehicle swiveled to face the crowd. Another such sound and the turret elevated. Then more loud noises as the Jaguar discharged several blank rounds into the air to frighten the crowd and force them back from the barricades.

Again from the sky came another noise, this time the steady thumps of a helicopter circling to land in the courtyard. With the protest, the local mayor and the lord lieutenant had chosen to arrive not by usual heavily armed convoy but helicopter. Beckett lifted his head only to drop it back down after a crack near his right ear. He sat almost contentedly to watch the helicopter begin its slow descent.

And then it all fell apart.

He watched in silent horror as a plume of white raced in from somewhere above and behind him, the contrails ending at the tail rotor of the helicopter. Instead of white smoke there were now plumes of thick, black, pungent smoke billowing into the air while flames leapt and darted in a death dance while the the helicopter began an uncontrolled descent, spiraling into the building with a horrendous crash and eerily magnificent fireball.

Whistles and screams emerged and grew louder, Beckett realising he had but seconds to shout 'mortar!' The ground shook with successive impacts of mortar shells within the compound. RPG trails appeared with a new fervour and impacted the remains of the municipal services building now ablaze in ignited aviation fuel. A few more struck the Jaguar, sending shards of metal into the air--the IFV now accustomed to such attacks shrugged the RPGs off as but mere pests.

Beckett and his men slowly began to contract their lines, scrambling to take cover behind something more protective against RPGs than concrete road barriers. With the barriers abandoned, a few rioters managed to stumble and fall over the concrete to breach the perimeter--a few well-placed rounds from the riflemen eliminating them rather quickly. But it mattered little as that small trickle became a torrent.

Incensed and instigated, the mob began to pour over the barriers, the few machine guns of Beckett's company then opened fire, mowing down swaths of people. In cities to the north, the machine guns worked, a dozen or so dead and the riot would fizzle out. Yet, cities like Pakradesh in the south were different. Oceanians were invaders. Oceanians were infidels. Oceanians were there to be slaughtered and their bloodied and broken carcasses removed.

Beckett signaled the Jaguar to open fire with its cannon, the rapid-fire rounds shredding the barrier and sending splinters of concrete, bone, and flesh back hundreds of metres into the mob. A soldier dashed over to Beckett from the building, his face blackened and crusted with dried blood. 'Lord Miller and the mayor are both dead, sir. We have thirty-three staff dead, fifty-seven wounded in addition to three of our own dead, one unaccounted for, and seven wounded.'

'Very well, corporal, who is in charge?'

'Sergeant Yarrow, the Lieutenant is dead, sir.'

'Instruct the sergeant to hold his ground and, to the best of his ability collect the wounded.'

'Very good, sir.' The young man darted back across the courtyard. Two-thirds of the way there, a cloud of red erupted from the back of his left leg. He fell in screaming agony. He watched as at the entrance to the building another soldier pointed towards a four-story building across the way; another soldier promptly fired an anti-tank missile and while Beckett failed to find the impact site, after the large explosion, two more soldiers rushed out to the fallen corporal and dragged his bleeding, writhing body up the formerly pristine, white marble steps and into the shell of a building.

Around the courtyard, the mob took shelter behind abandoned crates and various objects--though most remained outside the concrete barriers. Beckett picked up his rifle and with head held low made a quick dash for the Jaguar, banging and shouting his name at the rear entrance before it opened up. 'Back it right up to the steps,' he shouted, the nervous soldier inside apparently green and inexperienced. Nevertheless, as he exited the IFV its diesel engine roared to life and the tracks creaked and whined until the hydraulic doors opened against the marble steps.

'Fallback Bravo,' Beckett shouted, his company passing the word down the line until every soldier peeled back to the building under the cover fire of his or her comrades. Near the main checkpoint, the wrought-iron entrance gates finally gave way to the crowd under the weight of a speeding lorry. Before the vehicle could make it any further, however, the Jaguar's turret spun around and fired off a burst of rounds igniting the intruding vehicle in a spectacular display of fireworks.

An hour later, the courtyard lay awash in blood and bodies, mostly of the native variety--although sprinkled with a few Oceanian soldiers in bloodied and torn body armour. Beckett and two privates emerged slowly from underneath the lintel of the main entrance, remarkably left intact despite the collapse of much of the remainder of the facade. In the distance the thumps of helicopters, helicopters far heavier than that which now smoldered in the centre of the building. Grey flecks could be seen loitering in the clear azure skies above darting in and out of the various, slow-rising plumes of smoke, the remnants of the afternoon's brazen carnage.

Twenty-seven Oceanians lay in a drawing room, each draped over with a blanket or quilt or other piece of fabric; of the thirty odd laying wounded throughout the remainder of the building, twelve would join the twenty-seven within hours. The building had been held though the peace in this county lay shattered--RAF and Fleet Air Arm fighters had lain waste to buildings and entire city blocks. All just seventeen kilometres from the border with the Khailfah's colony. Beckett picked off some dried blood and flesh from his soon-to-be-scarred face; he hoped what had started here today ended here.

Colonial governor Don Westley wasn't used to being interrupted during his sleep. With the colonial capital a full 200 kilometres away from any other colonial border and several brigades of Sarzonian regulars and colonial militia guarding Bethesda, the capital was not likely to be overrun suddenly.

However, the aide standing in the doorway leading to his room didn't look like he was rousing Westley for random chit chat.

"There's been an explosion near the Sarnian border," he said.

"What," Westley said, shielding his eyes with his right hand in an effort to allow them to adjust to the blaring light in the hallway. "What kind of explosion?"

"Anti-personnel mines near the boarder. There's been some gunfire."

Shit. After Westly shook off the limited sleep he got before the interruption, he stood up. His bare feet tap-tapped as he walked over to grab a suit from his closet.

"What's the situation?"

"Hard to determine, sir. The Army is investigating carefully."

Westley knew they had to. One wrong move and Sarzonia could find itself embroiled in a war it could ill afford. Or at the very least, Oceania and Sarzonia could fight a proxy war with the two colonies serving as primary combatants. Either way, Sarnian and Pavannian lives hung in the balance.

Thankfully, the colonial government didn't have the authority to declare war without Woodstock's expressed consent unless it was on the verge of being invaded. But Westley intended to find out if he indeed were about to ask the Assembly for such a declaration.

**********************************************

"Gunny, what the hell's going on over there!"

"An explosion, sir. Just over the border in Sarnian territory."

Colonel Susan Handley regarded her gunnery sergeant with a look that told her she knew he was stating the obvious.

"I need more than that. Are they shooting at us or what?"

"Looks like we were shooting at them, sir!"

Dear God, why?, Handley thought bitterly. She gave strict orders not to shoot at the Sarnians unless they crossed the border and tried to invade Pavanne. It was a scenario she knew was highly unlikely. Her intelligence officers were able to tell her that the Sarnian government -- and the limited contacts it had with the United Kingdom itself -- weren't angling for a shooting match. The Royal Navy and the Incorporated Sarzonian Navy weren't expected to square off in this century's great naval battle.

Until those shots fired.

A frantic private scrambled up to meet the colonel and the gunnery sergeant with a look that mixed panic and exhaustion from the decametres-long sprint from the border to the command armoured vehicle Handley sat in.

"Sir, Sergeant!"

"Private, you look like you've seen a ghost," the gunnery sergeant said.

"Sir, a wild boar crossed the border between Pavanne and Sarnia. It caused one of their anti-personnel mines to explode."

And the Sarnians probably thought we were invading, Handley thought. Now this complicates things.

She knew the drills she'd been preparing with invasion scenarios in the event Oceanian Sarnia decided to play a game of chicken would be intensifying. That is, if the two colonies weren't sending their finest troops into harm's way.

**********************************************

Haffner looked disapprovingly at King. It was nothing knew for anyone who knew them both, but this look wasn't the usual withering glance of someone who couldn't stand his employee but couldn't fire her. Even though that dislike of King played a role in his look, it wasn't the primary factor.

"I'd rather swallow a live cockroach than open a dialogue with Imperium," he said.

"Grant, I don't think anyone wants to talk to the Oceanians," Tyler said.

"If you polled the Cabinet, I think maybe one in eight would be willing to talk to them," King said. "And most of them would want major concessions before we even sit at the table."

"I think that's a little optimistic," Haffner said. "I'm not aware of anyone in the Cabinet who's willing to talk to the Oceanians. "Though if someone were to secure a favourable treaty with them, it'd be the kind of diplomatic accomplisment that would give them a Nobel Peace Prize."

King rolled her eyes at Haffner's last comment, but -- significantly -- did so with her back turned to him. Even though it was possibly true that getting Imperium to agree to a favourable treaty would be a major coup, she wasn't interested in Haffner's hyperbole, nor was she consumed with the prospect of winning an award.

However, she thought if it came down to it, she'd be willing to give it a shot. After all, she was the liaison between the colonial governments and Woodstock. She figured if she could tame the wild beasts who ran the Sarzonian colonies, she might have a chance to talk to the Oceanians if she had to. Even though she was one quarter Novikovian, she thought that might actually help her cause. At least if another Novikovian happened to be there.

KBC International
http://world.news.kbc.co.oc

Albion Favours Oceanian Sovereignty
27 March 2007

The results of the long-expected referendum on sovereignty over the northern, Oceanian-dominated territories of New Albion have been officially certified by the Colonial Office with the requisite majority being met to continue Oceanian rule from Georgetown.

After this year's general elections, Prime Minister Ingrahm ordered elections held by mid-March for the entire colony of New Albion on the issue of sovereignty, with the populace given the choice of independence, Oceanian sovereignty, or Muslimeen sovereignty. The official reports indicate 62% of the population favoured continued Oceanian rule with 21% in favour of returning to sovereignty exercised by Istanbul and 17% in favour of outright independence. HM Government established 55% as the requisite majority for any action.

Despite the broad acceptance and support of Oceanian sovereignty, several counties in the provinces bordering the Muslimeen colony Al Malabaristan witnessed local support for Muslimeen sovereignty with two counties in the north favouring independence. Viscount Cahill, Secretary of State for Colonial Affairs, issued a press statement on the behalf of the government wherein he acknowledged the 'local complexities of the referendum' and promised that the government would 'search for solutions equitable to all parties.'

Sources inside the Colonial Office have stated, however, that any such solution would inevitably require consultation with Istanbul. Current borders fall upon relatively easily demarcated lines such as rivers and mountain ridges whereas the Muslimeen-leaning counties lay spread out across vast plains. There are this evening unconfirmed reports from the Foreign Office that Foreign Secretary Gavin Astley is due to travel to Istanbul for high-level talks between the two states whose relations remain chilled after a collision between warships at sea several weeks ago.

as I have very little time for NS at the moment, and the foreseeable near future, a little ooc background on this referendum. any real investigation would show that in large part the referendum was fair, though in the border provinces locally-specific instances of bribery and vote tampering could be found, roughly equal on both sides and overall of marginal impact on the whole vote. Presumably, neutral nations would have been invited to observe the elections to guarantee the fairness. In general, the high turnout, not mentioned but in the mid-60 percentage area, and skewed results in favour of UK sovereignty is proof of the massive shift of refugees between the border that has/is taking place. There is not yet a refugee crisis, but by year's end observers could make a case for it being possible--though not certain, as they could also report attempts by the government to provide low-cost housing and job training for refugees. Security in the colony is still largely tenuous, though it has noticeably abated with the occasional spectacular car or suicide bombing of government targets. I would have tried to include all that into a longer narrative piece, but sadly, such creativity requires time that I do not have so a long out-of-character explanation has unfortunately been necessary.