What is and What Should Never Be (Vapour Only)

[Fanaglia]

***Please do not post yet. OP still under construction***



Das Burgische Amtsblatt
Sunday, 16 August, 1903
Factory Workers on Strike

Factory workers in northern Vitzenburg went on strike today, bringing industry in that region to a grinding halt. Most of these workers are employed by once-shuttered facilities recently reopened by the Fanaglian organization, Black Shield. Uwe Wenkel, the unofficial leader of Vitzenburger Fabrikarbeitsverein (VFAV), or Vitzenburg Factory Workers' Union, told this reporter that he and his comrades had joined together to take a stand against Black Shield, who he and the Union consider to be foreign invaders, hiring former employees of good, respectable Vitzenburger businesses for meager fraction of the wages they earned under the former management -- wages Herr Wenkel compares to slavery. "Except slaves are not made to suffer such harsh working conditions as we are. Slaves at least have the advantage of being valuable property; to Black Shield, we are easily and cheaply replaceable cogs in a machine," he adds.

While Black Shield claims to be a non-profit, humanitarian organization, much of its business in Vitzenburg concerns munitions and other military hardware. Dieter Herzlich, Black Shield's regional director for Vitzenburg, had this to say:

Black Shield's primary concern is humanitarian efforts. In many cases, this includes supplying food, medicine, building materials, and more to impoverished, war-torn, or otherwise-stricken regions of the world, including northern Vitzenburg, which has seen one of the worst economic recessions in its history within the last ten years. By choosing to operate much of our business in this region, we not only are able to reinvest that money back into the region's infrastructure, education system, and general well-being of its people, but we are able to give those same, honest Vitzenburger citizens something they haven't had in years -- jobs. And not just any jobs, but jobs that help people -- jobs that they can be proud of.

We have been accused by our critics of being tight-fisted, but our predecessors who once operated many of the same facilities we now do were not so frugal and, as a result, were forced to fold, leaving their hard-working employees without jobs, without the means to support themselves. Black Shield may not pay as handsomely as its predecessors did, but that fiscal responsibility is why it has been able to successfully help the disadvantaged back to their feet for nearly five decades. Of course, we would like to pay more to our employees, who work hard and certainly deserve nothing less than the best, but given the current economic situation, the status quo is unfortunately the best we can do for now. Our foothold in the region is growing, however -- and with it, wages are rising as well. In fact, wages in facilities owned by Black Shield have on average risen 41% since we first entered the market six and a half years ago. And we do our best to off-set the less-than-handsome wages we are forced to pay our workers -- sponsoring community events, funding schools and building infrastructure, and providing cheap employee housing.

Yes, some of our industrial efforts do go towards peace-keeping equipment, mostly for the Vitzenburger military. There is a demand both for jobs and for this equipment, the latter of which is presently being used by Her Excellency to finally put a stop to the endless, violent pirate attacks in the Imogen and bring freedom to the seas. Any and all money earned from these ventures is used to finance food, medicine, and community improvement projects not just here in Vitzenburg, but also in other parts of the world which are developing, struggling, or recovering from conflict or disaster.

I feel that Black Shield's neighborly presence in our great nation of Vitzenburg will only improve, if given the chance. Wages will increase, standards of living will rise, and the economy of Vitzenburg will not only recover, but become a powerhouse once again. But nothing happens over night. Our critics simply need to be patient with us.

Whether or not Herr Herzlich's prediction will come true remains to be seen, but his words seem to be met with mixed reactions by members of the VFAV. Many are hopeful and both sides of the dispute say they are willing to negotiate.

---

Fort Festungsstadt
Festunsstadt, Vitzenburg
18 August, 1903
09:15 Local Time

"Ah, Herr Wenkel! Bitte, come in! Come in!" Admiral Schweben greeted the union leader when he appeared in the doorway to his office.

"Guten Morgen, Admiral Schweben," Wenkel replied cordially, taking his seat across the admiral's desk.

"I see things are going well." He pushed Sunday's front-page story across the fine oak of his desk towards the man.

"Ja, things are quite well. What is our next step, Admiral?"

"Things are...not quite so well in the Black Isles, Herr Wenkel."

"How so? I have not read anything of the sort in the papers."

"It shan't be in the papers until at least tomorrow. The Vitzenburger aerial assault this weekend was a spectacular failure." Wenkel gasped. "None of the squadron returned to their ships, nor did their support manage to secure any ground. The casualty count is still undetermined, as many airmen and seamen both are still missing, but at least one aircraft carrier was sunk, with none of her crew accounted for."

Wenkel waited in stunned silence for a moment before speaking up. "The strike -- if only we had been able to better-equip our men..."

"Nein, Herr Wenkel. These men set off well before your strike. They would have failed with or without it. The reason I bring this up to you, however, has to do with the Fanaglians and Inorothians. Had all three collaborating nations given a full aerial assault on the islands using vastly superior Vitzenburger aeroplanes, it should have been a surefire victory. But Commodore Laffitte and General Tropi, in their small-minded pettiness, refused to comply with our plan of action. As such, our boys went in, unsupported, to their deaths; meanwhile, the Fanaglians and Inorothians, blissfully disinterested in the best interests of their Vitzenburger fellows, pursued their own plan of attack, seizing a completely different target area and capturing it for themselves. They made a show of coming to the aid of our own men, once their own interests were seen to, but, by then, most of the target islands were under Fanaglian or Inorothian control, cheating Vitzenburg out of her rightful conquest."

"Those bastards!" Wenkel cried.

"The Fanaglians. The Inorothians. Our esteemed kaiserin may believe they are our friends, but she leads us into the embrace of treacherous devils!"

"What do we do, Admiral?"

"If we follow Her Excellency, we shall surely follow her into destruction."

"Then we must not follow her any longer."

"Precisely."

---

Vitzenburger Fabrikarbeitsverein (VFAV) Rally
Lothering, Vitzenburg
23 August, 1903
16:32 Local Time

Uwe Wenkel stood atop a makeshift stage, waving that Sunday morning's front page before a roaring crowd of disgruntled factory workers. "This!" He cried. "This! This is what happens when we let our kaiserin's friends walk all over us!" The crowd roared with anger and booing. "The Black Isles were ours, and those meddling outlanders took them from us! Just like they took away our wages! Just like they took away our dignity!" More thunderous booing. "These are the subhuman scum Her Excellency is so willing to call her 'friends.' Whether she knows it or not, her 'friends' don't give a damn about her, nor about me, nor about you! All they care about is themselves! It may be treason for me to say so, but I doubt Her Excellency's judgement. If we continue to follow her so blindly, she shall surely lead us to destruction! I say we put a stop to this right now and follow her no longer!" Cheers so thunderous rose from the crowd so powerfully it shook the earth.

In the midst of the excitement, no one heard the gunshot. No one saw where it came from. But once a handful of members of the demonstration noticed the form of Uwe Wenkel go limp onstage, his crimson life spreading sickeningly quickly across his white shirt, their panic did not take long to spread to the rest of the large crowd. The National Guardsmen, posted around the perimeter of the demonstration to maintain order, uneasily attempted to maintain control by shouting orders to calmly exit the area at the designated points of egress, but the sharp urgency of their commands only served to further agitate the panicked people. A protester shoved a guardsman in an attempt to get by, but another guardsman stepped in to his aid, wrenching the flailing man off of him. Another protester came to defend his comrade, wielding the first improvised weapon he came across -- a large stone. When he clubbed the guardsman suppressing the other protester, the other nearby guardsmen's batons came out. One misplaced strike landed the man's limp figure on the ground, dead and bleeding.

The baton-wielding guardsmen soon realized their peril as they saw a dozen or more protesters, glaring at them with both vengeance and a sense of self-preservation in their eyes. They soon descended on the guardsmen with rocks, sticks, boots, and fists and it was only seconds before the next gunshot rang out in a guardsman's attempt at self-defense. Like a chain reaction, the rat-tat-tat of many successive gunshots arose all around the surging, angry, panicked crowd.

Over two hundred unarmed protesters were gunned down and forty of the fifty guardsmen posted there were killed -- some of them literally torn limb from limb -- in a day that would go down in Vitzenburger history as "Bloody Sunday."

War had begun.

[Fanaglia]

Fanaglian Embassy
Festunsstadt, Vitzenburg
24 August, 1903
01:21 Local Time

"Who goes there!?" Ambassador Kerouac sat bolt upright in his bed, stirred sharply from his slumber.

"It's Felix, sir," came the boy's muffled reply through the door. "A message has just come in for you from the BNI. It's urgent."

"How urgent? Urgent enough for me to get out of bed?"

"Hate to report it is urgent enough for you to get out of town, sir."

"What? Why you little..." he grumbled.

"Take a look yourself, sir; please don't take my word for it."

"I'm comin', I'm comin'." He wrapped his blanket around himself as he shuffled towards the door, squinting against the blinding light of the boy's candle once he did so. "Well?" He asked groggily. The boy said nothing, but thrust a hand-written message into his wrinkled hand. He held it at a distance at which his old eyes could read it, as well as catch the light of Felix's candle.

Ambassador Kerouac:

The situation in Vitzenburg has deteriorated. The northern provinces are in chaos after the death of a popular worker's rights leader at a rally in Lothering, which subsequently descended into a violent uprising. Word has spread quickly to the other major cities in the north -- too quickly. We suspect there is more to this than a protest gone awry; this appears to be rather the organized subversion by powerful, high-ranking Vitzenburger military brass, as we have feared.

As so much of the rioter's ire is directed towards perceived Fanaglian imperialism, any Fanaglian currently residing in Vitzenburg is now potentially in danger. The homes of several upper-echelon Black Shield personnel, many of whom are Fanaglian, have already been raided, with some having been confirmed dead and others still missing.

The BNI suggests the immediate evacuation of all non-essential embassy personnel back to Fanaglia, accompanied by a security escort. All remaining personnel shall take security measures and plan for the worst.

May the wind be at your back,
A.D. Antoine Chirac, BNI

Gone was any trace of prior drowsiness in the ambassador's countenance. "Sound the alarm, my boy," he ordered in a soft tone tinged with horror. Rouse all hands. We still have the opportunity to escape, but this is probably our last chance."

"Aye, sir," he nodded and ran down the hall, pounding on every door with a cry to rise and convene in the dining hall while Kerouc returned to the shadows of his bedroom to hurriedly dress himself enough to join the others downstairs. Of the embassy's staff, only twenty-one men, including the ambassador, remained; the rest crowded into carriages and tore away eastward into the night as fast as their horses could take them. The iron bars in all the windows were checked and the perimeter wall was inspected; the steel shutters were made ready to seal at a moment's notice. But, from the outside, it appeared to be business as usual at the Fanaglian embassy. They were prepared for a fight, which, God willing, would not come, but they did not wish to appear afraid, even if some of them actually were.

---

Castle Vitz
Vitzburg, Vitzenburg
24 August, 1903
05:36 Local Time

"What is to be done, Your Excellency?" Finn Klienn asked the kaiserin anxiously.

The weary woman was still in bed, surrounded by pillows and fine quilts, her hair unkempt and her face bare of makeup. This was how she spent most of her time these days, feeling far too unwell to do much else. Finn was her bodyguard. Her lover. Her most trusted friend. It was he who had taken care of most of the kaiserin's day-to-day duties for the past few weeks, ensuring her orders were carried out as she would have them done. The war in the Black Isles was not going well, at least for the Vitzenburger military, which certainly did not help matters. And there was the persistent, nagging thought that she may have a traitor in her midst. She was convinced that her ill health was as a result of one of Schweben's agents poisoning her. She had gone through six nurses, two physicians, and nine maids in two months, going so far as imprisoning at least two of them for suspicion on treason, yet her health continued to fail her. She began to believe her lover when he assured her it was just nerves, or simply an illness, or both. Now, with what had happened, she was no longer so sure. "What has been the generals' response so far?"

"The army has moved in to some of the more heavily-besought cities like Lothering to help the local police maintain order. The rioting seems to be contained in the north, for now; where there have yet been little to no displays of dissent, military presence is absent, for fear of exacerbating political emotions, but remains on standby. In Vessels, the mood is tense, but under control for now. Aside from maintaining a minimum level of order where absolutely necessary, there have yet been no major military mobilizations; not all generals have reported in at this time, but the consensus seems to be that they are waiting to see what course of action you wish to pursue, Your Excellency."

"What about Schweben?"

"Admiral Schweben is...he is one of the top brass who has not yet reported in."

"Schuhmacher?"

"Schuhmacher is among those awaiting your orders."

"I want Schuhmacher to watch out for Schweben."

"As you wish, Your Excellency."

"I want you to contact Kerouac, the Fanaglian Ambassador."

"He has already dispatched a message for you. Shall I read it?" She nodded weakly, her quilts rustling faintly with her matted hair. She listened with her eyes closed as he read:

Most Esteemed Kaiserin, Morgen of Vitzenburg,

I have received notice from the BNI of a rather volatile situation in your great empire's north. Their men have eyes on Admiral Schweben, who appears to be at sea, assessing Vitzenburger battleships that have been prepared for the assault on the Black Isles. Please let it be known that Your Excellency has the eternal support of both myself and of Her Majesty by the Grace of God, Autumn. I pray that Your Excellency should remember our friendship and support in these trying times, when our very existence in your great empire may shortly be in jeopardy.

May the road rise to meet your feet,
Ambassador Phillippe Kerouac
Fanaglian Embassy, Festungsstadt, Vitzenburg

"Oh, that Kerouac; such a gentle character," she sighed. "Tell him to keep a line of communication open between the embassy and Castle Vitz. We can help each other by keeping one another informed. Whispers, observations...anything."

"It will be done, Your Excellency."

"Do you ever tire of the 'Your Excellency' routine, Finn?"

"Just because I love you as a man loves a woman doesn't mean I cannot also love you as a man loves his kaiserin." He winked. "Besides, I like it when you are in charge." He grinned, but another one of her coughing fits (increasingly common these days) hardened his lips into a worried half-smile, the his once-bright eyes cool and concerned.

"Organize a speech for me, please, Finn," she asked weakly when her coughing had subsided.

"A speech, Your Excellency? You can hardly get out of bed! Forgive me if I'm out of line in saying this, but your enemies, whomever they may be, would love nothing more than to pounce on any opportunity to make you look weaker than you are."

"You underestimate the power of makeup, Finn, as well as the power of a woman as stubborn as I am. I won't let these bastards grind me down, nor will I allow this illness to do the same."

"If you ever wonder why I love you, Your Excellency, that is why."

"I love you too, Finn."

---

Imperial Seaport
Vessels, Vitzenburg
28 August, 1903
21:02 Local Time

Rear Admiral Deckebach sat in his office overlooking the docks, reading the newspaper. A tension gripped the empire; military personnel and civilians alike were on edge, eyeing each other with suspicion. Regarding the matter, Her Excellency had delivered a speech to the main courtyard of her castle, assuring the Vitzenburgers that everything would be fine. That the Fanaglians were allies, only there to help their friends in a time of need. That there was no place for hate in a nation of such great and powerful industry. That working together was the way to a peaceful and productive future, not just for Vitzenburg, but for the world.

Deckebach scoffed. The kaiserin was not wrong; however, she thought that decades of frustration and indignation could be undone with mere words. Her speech was not a promise to fix anything. It was an assurance that nothing was broken, which, as almost anyone could see, was not the case. He decided to move on from such serious, depressing matters, and turn his attention to the comics section.

He looked up when there was a faint rumble in the distance. Listening carefully, he heard nothing more, and resumed his funnies. Then there was another noise, less distinctive this time, but most certainly there. He became aware of a light outside. He dimmed his gas lantern to better see out the darkened glass and determined that it was a red-orange glow, coming from the direction of the city. He jumped from his seat and stepped outside for a better look. His eyes met something of a fantastic sight: the customs-house, just outside the perimeter of the naval barracks at which he was stationed, had just caught fire and was quickly becoming engulfed. Almost as if it were waiting on him, a klaxon sounded.

The base was under attack.

The barracks came alive; men shouting, running, loading weapons, moving horses and light artillery into defensive positions around the perimeter. What had started a few hours ago as a fairly large but peaceful protest had reached its curfew, but refused to retire for the night. Instead it swelled ever-larger and ever-angrier until it culminated in a violent snap. Whether the violence was first initiated by the protesters or the police was at that point completely irrelevant. Once armed only with signs and banners, the peaceful protest had transformed into an angry mob armed with torches, clubs, pipes, and firearms, some of which brought from home and others wrested from the hands of the police officers. They were then at the chain-link fence surrounding the barracks, the customs-house soaked with accelerant (most likely kerosene) hardly recognizable anymore through the flames.

The naval troops drew their weapons and pointed them at the approaching mob, threatening to fire if they did not desist. A tense standoff ensued briefly, until the attention of every one of the several hundred people present turned to a strange, distant, oscillating sound. As it neared, it became clear that it was the sound of a steam engine. The mob's silence gave way to cheers as they parted like the Red Sea for something the troops still could not make out. A column of smoke approached with the sound of the engine and what eventually came into view was the enormous and intimidating shape of a lumbering steam tractor crawling its way towards the meager barrier between mob and soldier.

Subcommander Blevins was on the megaphone: "Halt! You, in the tractor! Halt, or we'll shoot!" The tractor made no indication of an intent to comply. "In the tractor, this is your final chance to comply. You have three seconds! Halt!" Still no sign of stopping. "Alright, men, on my mark! Drei! Zwei! Eins! A round of rifle fire erupted like the sound of fabric ripping. The rounds richocheted off the tractor's boiler and iron wheels, tearing into anyone unfortunate enough to be standing near it, sending out a wave of panic through the mob, who throbbed against the fence like a vein in a weightlifter's neck. Meanwhile, the tractor trundled on, an angry juggernaut of steam and smoke. "Noch einmal! Mit Kannonen! Drei! Zwei! Eins!" Another ripping of fabric tore out, followed by a one-two punch from the small artillery. This time, it had an effect, and a profound one. The boiler split, shattered in a fantastic explosion, sending shrapnel, fire, boiling water and steam far in every direction, killing instantly many of the protesters and severely burning or wounding many others. There was nothing recognizeable left of the tractor and the protester crowd was decimated; bodies littered the ground, some dead and many dying. Pools of blood seeped between the salt-encrusted flagstones. Over the megaphone, Blevins ordered the survivors who still had the capacity to comprehend to surrender immediately, or face another round. The improvised weapons of the protesters clattered to the ground as those still able to do so, crying and screaming but defeated, raised their arms in surrender.

Admiral Deckebach approached the line and took a position beside Subcmdr. Blevins. "Fine work, Blevins. Swift. Efficient."

"Thank you, sir," the officer replied. "I can't believe they seriously thought they could take on the barracks."

"That kind of anger makes you blind. Shame. A lot of people died who didn't have to."

"Looks like they're a little late to the party, sir," Blevins pointed out to sea, where Schweben's Black-Isles-bound ships had already managed to approach quite near to the port.

"Send them a message that everything is under control."

"Aye, sir," the officer replied with a salute and immediately conveyed the orders to a subordinate. Soon, the message was being heliographed to the ships. The officers breathed a sigh of relief as the grunts began to move in and begin making arrests. It was finally over.

BOOM! Out of nowhere, the heliographer's tower erupted in a pillar of fire, stunning everyone on both sides of the conflict on land. "Mein Gott! Was war das?" Deckebach swore. Then another explosion. And another. "They're...they're firing on us!!!" The admiral did not have long to be dumbfounded, however, for another shell struck quite near to where he stood, efficiently converting a nearby shack into splinters, one of which burying itself directly into the good admiral's neck, who fell, grasping uselessly at his throat and making sickening gurgling noises, to the ground where he soon expired.

Meanwhile, a certain protester shouted above the chaos to his comrades, "The sailors have come to join us! The fight's not over! To arms, my friends! To arms!" His calls were echoed through the surviving mob, who retrieved their weapons and piled onto the fence, dilapidated by the destruction of the steam tractor, and forced the barrier to the ground. They stormed the still-stunned naval troops, slicing, hacking, stabbing, clubbing, and shooting their way through. It was anarchic. Between the artillery fire from the ships and the gunfire between both sides of the land battle, it was difficult to be sure one was even firing on his enemy. Friendly fire, or casualties in general, was rampant on both sides.

The fight waged on for over an hour before calls to "cease fire" came from the surviving naval troops in the barracks, followed by a white flag. A message was sent out to the ships that the barracks had been sacked and the cannonfire went silent.

When the smoke had cleared and a landing party from the fleet's flagship came ashore, Admiral Schweben was among them, a smug smile of victory on his face. The survivors among Rear Admiral Deckebach's men were lined up along the edge of one of the piers, guarded by a mixture of armed protesters and Schweben's seamen. "Who is your surviving C.O.?" Schweben sneered to the prisoners. They were all silent. "My men report that both Rear Admiral Deckebach and Subcommander Blevins have been killed. So who is next in the chain of command?"

A young officer uneasily shifted his glance left, then right. "I...uh...I guess that would be me, sir," he replied tentatively.

"What is your name and rank, officer?"

"Captain Heinz von Steuffel, sir."

"Captain, eh?" Schweben condescended. "Tell me, Captain, when you took your oaths, did you not swear to protect Vitzenburg from all threats, foreign and domestic?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Would you not agree that Morgen, that weak-willed doormat to foreigners who would make us their slaves, constitutes a domestic threat?"

The captain swallowed hard. "Sir, no, sir. I pledged my allegiance to Her Excellency. I swore to protect Vitzenburg. She is Vitzenburg. My oath was to protect Her from usurpers such as yourself. Sir."

Schweben nodded with a frown. "You are an idealist. Your will is as strong as your loyalty. Too bad your loyalties were not better-chosen." Schweben turned away and the captain breathed a sigh of relief. Before he could take another breath, though, Schweben quickly drew his sidearm and put a bullet right between the man's eyes. His eyes rolled back and a trickle of blood rolled down his face as he wavered there on his feet for several moments before tumbling off the pier and into the sea.

"Who is your surviving C.O.?" Schweben repeated. He went down the line, interrogating the survivors about where their loyalties lie. Anyone who supported the kaiserin met the same fate as Captain von Steuffel. Anyone who swore allegiance to the Rebellion was sent to the ships to assess whether their loyalty to the Rebellion was genuine.

When all was said and done, only thirty-seven of the men who once served under Deckebach survived that day to commit treason against the empire.