NationStates Jolt Archive

It was a hot, dry morning as usual in the city of Anchorage-in-Vineland, capital city of the small but expanding nation-state which bore the same name. The sun reflected brilliantly off Rasmussen Bay’s waters like it did most every morning, illuminating ships and piers already growing crowded with dockworkers going about the morning’s business. There were not nearly enough ships to fill all the docks, and they all relied on sails to move, though some of them also sported a smoke stack, indicating an engine of some variety. The port was technically outside the main city, though it was still shielded from the outside world by fairly thick curtain walls to either side, and direct entry to the city was possible through a great, iron-reinforced double gate, which was opened each morning, and a few smaller sally ports. The city walls, a marvel of construction considering the resources of those who had built them, were mostly stone and concrete, heavy timbers and great big steel beams. Dotted along the walls were defensive towers, housing riflemen and light artillery for lashing out at anybody foolish enough to attack the city. Such towers could be found all around the great walls. More soldiers patrolled said walls, dressed in the city colors, rifles in hand or slung on shoulders, occasionally using binoculars to gaze outward, always vigilant against possible dangers. Attacks were not as common as they had been twenty years before but the risks weren’t really gone yet. Eaters, bandits, hostile tribes and even some rival communities could make life harsh for the good people of Anchorage-in-Vineland.

Immediately outside the walls inland were the shanty villages of people who, for one reason or another, were not permitted entry to the city but stayed as close as possible to be in the protective shield of guns mounted in the walls. They were also the source of a fairly decent black market for goods not available inside the city walls. These small, ad hoc communities were horrible. The streets, such as they were had little to no plumbing, and were often flooded out by water, waste, and assorted filth. This was in stark contrast to streets within the walls, even the worst of which had been paved at some point, were lit by an impressive network of lamps (mostly oil, though a few electrical), sported built-in drainage systems, and were cleaned regularly. Many would say even the homeless beggars in the City lived better lives, and it likely wasn’t much of an exaggeration. At least they had alleys and the like to curl up in, reasonably tall buildings shielding them from the elements. The shanty dwellers had naught but makeshift huts, and what little fuel they could procure to make fires while they were out foraging in the country. Life expectancy among those who lived outside the walls was short. For a person in the shanties to see fifty was rare and likely viewed as a curse by the individual in question. Most shanty dwellers prayed life would be short and uneventful.

None of this mattered to the young man presently rousing from his bed in Rasmussen House, home of the City’s only ruling family, though he would find it important in time. Oleksander Rasmussen, son of the Lady Femke Rasmussen and Heir-Presumptive to her place as head of the City had only just managed to wake up at 8:30 AM local time. Normally he was up earlier, but today the seventeen year-old would have killed the first person to disturb him before the time he ordered. Mother had given him an especially important job today, and he wanted to be well rested. An important group of Outlanders was arriving in the Port District today, and he had been designated as head of the welcoming commission. This was an important honor, not to mention a big gesture of trust. The people arriving were mercenaries hired on by Mother to help put down some of the more troublesome people beyond the City’s bounds. It was important that they be given a very good impression of the City and its People. Mother was loathe to hire in outside help, both because it offended her own soldiers, and because such specialists were always expensive, so if she was doing this, it was critical they be convinced to stay on as long as necessary.

He walked quietly to his bedroom door, opened it and let the Equerry standing guard outside know he was awake. Then he went to the private washroom in his quarters to clean up. Once that was done and he was confident he could walk outside without causing anybody to gag he dressed in the uniform he wore when representing the City. It was modeled closely on the uniform worn by the Equerries, the City’s military-and to a degree social-elite, on formal occasions. Black trousers, black knee-high boots polished to a shine, a white button-down shirt with suspenders, and a blue tunic with gold trimmings. The gold largely symbolized command grade status, which he technically held, or would hold in time. He also strapped on a white Sam Browne belt, complete with pistol and sword. When he was done, he turned and looked to Lisa, the personal maidservant who should technically have been helping him out.

“Well, Lisa,” he asked. “How do I look?”

Lisa smiled and cocked her head to one side, her auburn curls shifting just slightly.

“You look perfect, Milord,” she replied.

In reply the young nobleman smiled and even laughed a little bit. Of course she would say that, he knew. It was a little-known fact that the young Rasmussen scion and his personal maid were deeply involved in an illicit liaison which had been going on for some time now. She would do or say almost anything to make him happy, and in return? Her family was terribly poor, something about sick people, and the coin he paid out to keep her quiet and willing doubtless went a long way. The fact that she was three years his senior, and almost certainly did not love him, made no different to him. She pretended beautifully, and had sufficient talents elsewhere to make up for the lack of devotion in his eyes. Following a moment before a full-length mirror, he grabbed his hat and riding gloves and left the room.

Later…

Hat upon his head and uniform checked one last time for any faults, Oleksander rode swiftly through the busy City streets on a white horse, surrounded by 24 mounted and armed Equerries, in dress uniforms much like his. They were in the less opulent districts now, and the steel-shod horse hooves clattered on somewhat poorly maintained paving. Tightly packed buildings housed all kinds of business places, from little family-run taverns, to gambling houses, to specialty shops, and likely a few illegal businesses as well, though of course they did not advertise openly. As they moved people ahead of them moved aside to make room or were otherwise pushed aside. More than once some poorly dressed common man would look up to shout in protest, only to catch his words in his throat at the stern-faced stare of an Equerry.

“We are nearing the Ocean Gate, Milord,” said the escort commander, referring to the entry to the Port itself, from which the Port District got its name.

“I can see that, Ensign,” the aristocrat replied. Minutes later, the small mounted party passed the Ocean Gate, and saw the foreign transport. It was larger, all in all than any local ship produced. The metal hull looked reasonably new and quite un-patched. No sails were in evidence. The mercenary soldiers debarking were easy to spot, and Oleksander directed his mount that way.

“Greetings, visitors!” he called out as he approached. “Welcome to Anchorage-in-Vineland. I hope you will enjoy yourselves here. I am Oleksander Rasmussen, and I have been ordered to greet you, and to be your guide through the City. Is there anything I can do for you here?”

The Xea'ji Warrior cut across the calm sea, the ship silent as it drifted along on the current. The ship was a typical container ship run by the Xea'ji corporation, a typical cargo haulage company of the many novan shipping corporations. Its cargo however was most definitely not.

On the foremost part of the box, a solitary man leant against the rail, the smell of the sea wafting past him on a strong wind. He wasn't particularly tall, but was most definitely well built. Major Jai Ka'lio was a very muscular man, his exposed forearms hinting at his form. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up, staring out to the approaching land ahead of him as the sea slapped against the hull. Behind him, crate after crate lay stacked up on the bow, alongside eight stacked portacabins acting as their accommodation aboard the ship. From a pocket, he pulled out a rifle scope, using it to look at the city coming up in the distance.

The image that confronted him was most definitely not one he had been expecting. From his experience, cities were ordered sprawls, ports massive abhorrences along the coast that brought in that necessary for the maintenance of life in the nicer inland and periphery towns. Instead, a relic from a foreign history book confronted him. He looked away from the scope, checking it, before trusting his eyes. He whistled loudly, before yelling out in Fegosian:
"Ei! Vagar'dai sia!"
Roughly translated, one speaking in English would use a guttural tongue to coarsely yell "Hey! Come have a look at this!"
The soldiers quickly paced from the portacabins, feet clanging as the sprinting up the metal stairs to the bow.
"Look at the city coming up! Check out the walls."
"Is that where we're going? Looks like an absolute dream."
"You wait till we have to drive things in. I can't imagine how anything could drive through there."

There came a call on a tannoy system, the captain speaking.
"We've just got a call on the radio from the port - we're cleared to make berth immediately. ETA of ten minutes."
The Major turned to his colour sergeant, who gave out a shout.
"You heard the man! Get your stuff ready ASAP. I want you all lined up on deck in five minutes in formation."
The men quickly ran back, moving towards the portacabins.

A few minutes later, all were standing in line, ready.
"Right then. Everyone got your documentation?"
"Yes sir!"
"Everyone got your weapons?"
"Yes sir!"
"Everyone turned out neatly?"
"Yes sir!"
The final call was much more muddled, as people quickly brushed up equipment. The formation of men separated from different cries by the corresponding lieutenants, before the captain and colour sergeant walked over. Prowling along each row, the pair looked at their kit. All the mercenaries had made an effort to turn out well, creases as sharp as knives ironed into clothing and berets neatly ironed. Helmets hung on their heavily packed rucksacks, along with their webbing. The uniform was predominantly temperate DPM camouflage, officers dressed in neat khaki number-two uniform. Once the inspection was finished, and kit flaws corrected, the rest of the men stood back.

"Right then everyone. You are representing the People's Nation of Alfegos, and our organisation. Thus, you are to behave to highest standards. Documentation and standard issue money must be kept in the issued wallet, for use in emergencies. Weapons must be transported unloaded at all times, and will be left in the area of residence whilst moving around the city. All you should speak english, so should be alright. We will move to the dockside, whilst kit is unloaded, then move the equipment along with the local army to the designated location provided. You will move in march step throughout, and are expected to move effortlessly. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir!"
"Good. Company, turning to the left... left turn!"
The entire company turned in time, shuffling due to their presence on a boat. Boots gleamed as they began marching down towards the ramp in ranks four men wide, cap badges glistening in the sun. At their head, the major and colour sergeant stood, the latter now bawling out the orders.
"Company! Company... halt!"
Now on land, the synchronous crashing of boots on the ground was deafening as they came to a halt, before ordered to face towards the city. Behind, the primitive dock machinery struggled as it unloaded the crates from the ship, depositing them on the quayside.

The major walked up to the welcoming party at the lead, his equipment left on the ship to be loaded onto one of the vehicles they had brought along. What greeted him was a man who had definitely made the effort to turn out well, making him almost wish he had brought number-one dress uniform. He stood to speak to the man, who from his research seemed to be one of the royal family, listening to his greeting.
"Thankyou good sir for your hospitality here - I must say this is one of the most civilised postings I have ever had. My name, as you are aware, is Major Jai Ka'lio. My priority is for my equipment and men to be moved to an appropriate resting area, which I am sure that my Lieutenants and colour sergeant will be able to deal with adequately. Hopefully, our use of motorised vehicles will not produce too many problems in this area.
As for myself, I would be most delighted if I were able to have a tour of the city itself, and would be most honoured if I were able to meet with my client herself. However, as I am sure you are aware, I currently have no mount, so would be happy if one were to be provided."
He quickly turned around to the colour sergeant and mouthed a word. The signal was passed along, until one of the riflemen in the unit came over carrying a small satchel.
"Well, I am now prepared to depart as soon as is possible. I will pass your military commanders over to my Colour Sergeant, who will organise the goods movement. If possible, the use of heavier transport would be good in terms of moving our supplies up into the city, so we don't have to leave the equipment to litter the docklands, and so that you can get at the additional consignment from the Alfegan Financial Ministry."

He smiled, shifting his position slightly to account for the weight of both the satchel and the AF-07 assault rifle on his back.