In An Age of Liberty [IC]

by **Liecthenbourg** » Tue Jan 29, 2019 4:55 pm

In An Age of Liberty

The Austro-Prussian War would prove to be the last of the Iron Chancellor’s ‘great successes.’

OOC | MAP | NUMBERED MAP | THEME

Pax Britannica, Bellum Gallico, Vindicta Brasilica

The year is 1903, 32 years after the conflict that shaped the European Continent. The Kingdom of Prussia, so confident after her successful wars against Austria and Denmark, manipulated the French Republic into a declaration of war. With the North German Confederation at her back, the Prussians marched off in honour and glory, to solidify the unity of the German people and carve their long deserved place in the sun: the time of France’s dominance would come to an end.

The French Republic, jacobin and ferocious, heir to the revolution, did not succumb to the quick victory that the Prussians had envisioned. Through Belgium, a French territory, did the Grand Army of the Republic lay siege to Cologne and best the Imperial Army on the relief at Bonn. Helmuth Von Moltke lay dead, the German Confederation in confusion and the Southern Germans suing for peace.

Europe has remained in the ‘MacMahon Peace’ ever since, German plans of unification shattered as the French Republic proclaimed hegemony over the continent.

The Americas see a giant in the South, as the Empire of Brazil - the so called ‘Portuguese Empire’ - looms over the affairs of her northern sister continent, the self proclaimed ‘Guardian of the Free Peoples of the Americas’. Britain and France remain stalwart, their possession on the continent secured by their navies - and British politicking has kept the Thirteen Colonies, once on the cusp of unity, at a hateful bicker ever since the failures of the Articles of Confederation.

The Orient, once a land of Confucian Tranquility where all nations bowed to the Middle Kingdom, lays in chaos. Japan, a feudal backwater all but forty years ago, rose in the fires of nationalism and European desires to reinstate their Emperor - until his authoritarian nature saw the Japanese turn against him, too, and proclaimed a republic in the name of ‘Jiyū, byōdō, yūai’, much as the French had done. Now the relentless ambitions of the Island Republic see it meddle in the affairs of the dying Qing Empire, but their mettle may well be tested by the Russian Empire.

The Ottoman Empire, subject to the carvings of numerous powers and national uprisings, sees itself as a husk of its former self. To the east, Persia encroaches across Mesopotamia while Greeks and Armenians have, under Russian auspices, declared their own Pontic State. To the south, the Egyptians have risen against them and claimed their southern territories, though French and British ambitions threaten their own control of the Nile. And now from within do the fires of republicanism burn, for ‘The Young Turks’ desire the reforms that the French instituted all but over 100 years ago.

Get posting!

by **Ruskland-Preuben** » Tue Jan 29, 2019 10:07 pm

Mons Viridis Super Omnes
January 3

Ah, Vermont, that small, independent republic in the Green Mountains, with a proud people willing to lay down their lives for the fledgling Green Mountain Republic. It would’ve been a regional power in New England by now if it weren’t surrounded by nations stronger than itself, such as the Confederacy, just across Lake Champlain, and south of the Republic was Massachusetts, and the one on top of it all, well, a commonwealth of it, just north, Canada, and by extension, Great Britain. The only nation as strong as the Green Mountain Republic was just east of it, the Republic of New Hampshire, which, most likely had slightly more power than Vermont due to the fact that it has a coast on the Atlantic allowing it to trade more, while the Republic of Vermont had to do trade through the rivers connecting Lake Champlain with the St. Lawrence River, controlled by the Canadians. The Republic seemed to have more disciplined troops, and a small navy in the lake, but that was it in terms of advantages, but even with all these handicaps, the Republic of the Green Mountains will emerge triumphant over all.

They just needed to ally with the British, more specifically, their close neighbors, the Canadians, that was all. And so Zed S. Stanton begun drafting a letter, details of which revolved around the fact that Vermont was a fragile state, and would be shattered if not protected, and thus due to that fact the Republic would desire to be a protectorate of the British. He also detailed the fact that Vermont would require little effort to uphold standards, and only needed little help in the form of military assistance to be able to establish a foothold in their former colonies.

On other things related to the state, President Stanton began a series of reforms to allow for faster industrialisation of the economy, on the military, he had been able to start building another monitor on the Lake Champlain for the navy, on the army, he was introducing an artillery corps to the all-infantry army, right now he was able to assign two guns near their capital Windsor, which was right next door of the border with New Hampshire. By the end of it all, he would have another monitor for his navy, 12 artillery units, and a fully industrialised nation.

That is, if nobody disrupted their efforts, which was likely as nobody really bothered threatening the little Green Mountain Republic, a waste of time, good men, and resources it would be if they were to invade, and Stanton wished to keep it that way.

by **Liecthenbourg** » Wed Jan 30, 2019 9:36 am

Império do Brasil
Reino de Portugal e dos Algarves

Independência ou Morte!

Chapter I: The Long Road

Pedro II,
Emperor of Brazil,
King of Portugal and
the Algarves

Paço de São Cristóvão, Rio de Janeiro, Empire of Brazil
January 3rd, 1903

Pedro's eyes fluttered shut as Afonso Celso, the Viscount of Ouro Preto and President of the Council of Ministers, paced about the wonderfully light chamber. Its high rise and domed ceilings gave the impression of a grand Byzantine courthouse, with hanging chandeliers that sparked in radiant beauty, portraits that adorned every wall and rugs and furs from menagerie of animals. Great windows invited the world into the Imperial Palace, whilst it beckoned the Emperor outside to his nation.

The Emperor of Brazil had invited the President of his Parliament, the Chamber of Deputies, to discuss affairs of the state. This had always been done: a period of private reflection between the two. Celso, having held his office intermittently between 1889 and the present, was the strong-man of the Partido Liberal. His brother, another influential figure, had been named Minister of War by the Emperor.

Yet he continued to ramble on about 'insignificances'. They had opened their meeting on the Liberal Party's proposition, on the banks of female suffrage, that women should be permitted to serve in both chambers of the house. Pedro had nodded in silent agreement over his third morning coffee and his brunch; an assortment of tropical fruit that he had hastily consumed in gusto and as part of a new regime his physician had prescribed for him.

"Of course." he eventually stated, allowing the Prime Minister to continue. "It makes reasonable sense; if they can vote, why can they not legislate?"

A smile had erupted over the Prime Minister's face. "And to serve in my position, or in positions of cabinet?"

"It would make logical sense, yet I do not see.... I do not see the need, you are more than capable right now. Let things take their time, Viscount -- let things occur... naturally."

That was the highlight of their morning. From then, the Viscount had entered a tirade on the notions of mining in the Amazon, securing extraction rights from the Andeans -- if they were willing -- and the upgrading of various ports around the empire: notably Macau, Panama and Lourenço Marques in Mozambique. He then went on a rant about the fiscal responsibility of the nation, highlighting that he felt numerous crop-shortages along the the belt of Minas Gerais, São Paulo and Paraná could not only prove to be disastrous for the rural communities, but incredibly damage global supply and further warrant an economic crisis in those states. Yet, the Viscount was merely relaying information that the assemblies had already discussed.

And at the fourteenth mention of coffee, Pedro's eyes were failing him.

"My Emperor?" the Viscount eventually inquired. His pacing had stopped, his right gloved hand clutching at a series of documents. His eyebrows were furrowed and the monocle he wore on his right eye rubbed nervously and tightly against his eye.

He stretched out his legs, reclining back on his chair as he looked at the empty platter before him. Drat. He'd eaten it all. Nodding uncomfortably, utterly ignoring whatever it was that they had been discussing prior. "Tell me about Foreign Affairs." he requested, smiling politely.

Afonso shuffled his papers with a defeated look on his face, but remained composed and reached for a glass of water. Drinking heartily, he set it down and returned to his upright position. "Well, as we know... the Grand Duchy of the Philippines is undergoing progressive attempts to solidify the power of its legisl-.."

"I said foreign affairs, Viscount." the gleam in his eye betrayed that of an entertained infant, smirking and giggling in his own humour.

A scowl of annoyance crossed the face of the Viscount for but a moment, the creases around his eyes tightening and his lips spreading thin. "The North is quiet, the continent -- filled with disgruntled Argentines. The world looks on at the French jacobin, Dreyfus, awaiting his next move -- and Iberia licks her wounds."

Pedro's composure shifted at that and he crossed one leg over the other as his eyes narrowed, a youthful vigour returning to his wrinkled face. Colour returned to his complexion, and even his beard lost a shade of white. "They do, do they?"

Bight of Biafra, Gulf of Guinea, Brazilian/Iberian Waters
January 7th, 1903

A squadron of eight ships, all originally stationed at São Tomé, and a single mission.

The dead of night, with naught but the moon to illuminate the dark waters before them. Beneath them, countless schools of fish could be swimming, gargantuan whales battling creatures of the deep, and all of mankind slept unaware.

The boats rocked, the metallic hulls groaning and creaking as they chugged onwards. Their chimneys let forth dark black plumes that were eaten up by the night sky, pitch black as it were. The gargantuan Bahia, a battleship with sky-piercing towers, huge guns and a demeanor that struck fear into the hearts of men, led the squadron - composed of light cruisers and a destroyer or two.

Like Caribbean pirates of old were they to plunder and raid; like Caribbean pirates of old were they to retreat into the depths of the night.

Brazil had wished to test her mettle against the old foe: and to rattle sabres did this squadron sleek through the night.

by **St George Territory** » Wed Jan 30, 2019 4:31 pm

JANUARY 4TH, 1903
O'SULLIVAN'S SALOON, FORT SELKIRK, SELKIRK COUNTY, YUKON TERRITORY, CANADIAN CONFEDERATION

The weary traveler pulled his scarf above his nose, seeking what little warmth that it could provide as the harsh wind blew another pile of snow off the roof, relocating it onto his head, mercifully covered by a beaver skin hat. The door giving way with a loud creak hit the traveler with a blast of warmth, the smell of good whiskey, and the sound of a fiddle playing in the corner. The barman yelled "Fáilte!" 'A new arrival?' the traveler wondered as he waved back, several Irish clans had made their home in the territory. Scanning the saloon revealed a myriad of different patrons, possibly stopping by on their way up North for a glass of Irish water. A few Canadian militiamen stood at the bar, retelling the same old lies they told a hundred times before, this time with added slurring, fur trappers in their wares, gold prospectors wasting their profits to feed a thirst that would never go away, and finally, his eyes stopped on two men wearing scarlet Norfolk jackets and high boots. The two men enjoyed a bottle of cognac and from the smell of it a Brazilian cigar- a months wages of smoke billowing up and coagulating at the ceiling.

Pulling his scarf below his chin, revealing a thick black beard and taking his hat off he put up a finger to the Irishman and in wordless understanding poured the new patron a glass. Lighting up a cigarette he awaited his drink as the men in scarlet appeared to take note of the new drinker in the establishment, downing their drinks and snubbing their cigars they went through a series of photographs procured from their breast pocket, stopping once they found one that seemed to please them. They stood and walked over to the stranger's table, taking a seat at his table. "May I help you fellers?" The traveler asked in a gruff voice that told he had not spoken in months, putting his cigarette in the ashtray and inching his hand closer to the iron on his hip.

One of the mounties chuckled and said, "You know this is a dry country, Mr.?" The first Mountie asked with a thick southwestern English accent.

"Mr. Arthur MacKenzie by the looks of it." The second officer said, throwing down the photograph showing MacKenzie's likeness; "Murder is a hangable offence, as well as threatening an officer of the North West, so I'd take your hand off your side piece." To which MacKenzie complied quickly and took a look at the photo with little interest.

"That may be me." MacKenzie said, picking up his lit cigarette and looking up at the Mounties with a knowing look that he understood that he'd been found.

"You are a hard man to find." The first Mountie said, "My name is Captain Sutton of the North West Mounted Police, this is Constable Bagshaw." Taking a small pause and resuming, "We have a small business proposal, well, not one that you could refuse unless you'd like a short drop with the warrant that you have."

"And the bounty on your head." Bagshaw quipped as MacKenzie shifted in his seat, looking at the nearby patrons. "One hundred dollars is a hell of a lot of money in this territory, bringing you in would give Mrs. Morgan a lot of comfort knowing that we got her boy's killer." He added in a hushed voice, masked by the fiddle.

"But there are areas where our jurisdiction is well, questionable... Alaska, Louisiana and the Free Indian land for instance- hell if you went to the Free Indian Territory we'd let you stay there, not like you'd last long there with a full head of hair." Sutton took a long sip of his recently refilled glass. "Anyway, back to what I was saying to the first land of our 'questionable jurisdiction', Alaska, as you know the Japanese acquired it from Russia- but it's a hell of a territory to police for a people concerned with protecting their own islands. The Territorial government is offering you a one-time deal, wreak a little havoc in their land, take as much as you want, furs, food, gold, timber, whatever. And if you don't want to end up at Stony Mountain, I'd take this deal, and we may even pay you for whatever you bring back." Sutton extended his hand in a sign of good faith.

MacKenzie sipped his drink and put out the butt of his smoke, shaking Sutton's hand and said, "If it saves me from the rope you've got yourself a deal, Mister." To which the two Mounties smiled and pocketed the photograph, taking out a piece of paper and quickly writing on it, tearing part of it and handing it to MacKenzie.

"You'll be heading to Beaver Creek and looking for an old Russian man by the name of Pyotr Kuznetsov. Don't worry, he speaks English just fine, just don't insult the Tzar." Bagshaw said with a chuckle, "You wouldn't want to see what he did to the last man who insulted Tzar Vladimir." And with that, the two men pocketed their cigars and said, "And I advise you not run, Mr. MacKenzie, this meeting could have ended a lot differently."

"Slán!" Sutton said to the Irishman at the bar who responded in kind as they headed out into the cold. MacKenzie ordered another drink as he looked at the slip of paper which had a rudimentary map to Beaver Creek and Pyotr's name. 'A job's a job I guess.' He sighed as he pocketed it and drank his whiskey.

JANUARY 8TH, 1903
GOVERNOR-GENERAL'S OFFICE, PARLIAMENT HILL, OTTAWA, ONTARIO, CANADIAN CONFEDERATION

Governor General Arthur Grey sat behind his cocobolo desk, staring out the window to Gatineau, on the other bank of the Ottawa river, a pitiful sight in comparison to Ottawa and her elegant streets and fine London-inspired architecture. Smokestacks and industrial buildings littered their town, but it mattered little to the Viceroy as he was jolted awake by the door opening and the Captain of the Guard dressed in his bright red and black uniform saluted the Governor-General and handed him a letter, "A letter arrived for you from Vermont, your Excellency!"

"Thank you Boyd." The Viceroy said as he opened the letter from Windsor and began to smile, saying to himself, "Funny lad, but I'll humour him."

by **Krugmar** » Wed Jan 30, 2019 8:15 pm

United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland
Dieu et mon droit

Calcutta
Bengal Presidency, British Raj
January 3rd

It was not the greatest start to a day Lord Curzon had had in a long time. The servants had mixed up his and the Vicereine's beverages, leaving him grimacing at the unbalanced sweetness one teaspoon extra could wreak. He had lost several important documents pertaining to a situation in the Arabian Peninsula, of which he was still not entirely informed upon. The complexities of the Arab tribes befuddled most who were not Arab, and so now he was missing the ill-researched documents and questioning whether that was in itself a positive.

Yet this was not the worst to come. The Home Secretary of the Viceroy's Executive Council, Sir Ben Poole, had waylaid the Viceroy as he was making his way to his private study, the likeliest place to misplace unimportant documents.

"Your Excellency, what fortune to run into you as I was searching about for a servant who might know where you were."

Curzon sighed internally. Poole was a good man, of high standards and great repute, yet he had a tendency to provide far more information than one would need. "What good fortune indeed Ben, I expect you have something to request of me?" He asked.

Poole chuckled briefly, "Oh no Sir, though I understand why I have gained that reputation during my time here in India. It becomes so easy to become accustomed to requesting and ordering when your needs are met to by such extraordinary teams of servants and such disciplined and professional civil servants." He replied, though his chuckle threw Curzon off guard, making him unready for the later news.

"No." He continued. "Unfortunately my business here today is to inform you most urgently that we may have a situation emerging in Afghanistan. A message arrived not an hour ago detailing that one Lieutenant Philip Harrell has been murdered in Kabul, by a Pathan who the authorities, the Afghan authorities I'll add, have apprehended and are currently holding until further instructed."

Curzon sighed externally. The decision to incorporate Afghanistan into the Raj as a princely state had been a foolish one, a move designed to scare Russia. Russia knew that Britain did not have the manpower nor insanity needed to attempt an invasion of Turkestan, but it had worked. Russia knew that the path to India was now firmly blocked. Whether they knew how insecure British rule in the territory was, was another matter.

He held his silence for half a minute, weighing up his options. "Tell the Afghans to hand him over to our garrison in Kabul. He'll be tried under our laws, which he broke most heinously, and then executed."

Poole nodded, though he retained a worried look on his face "I agree with you Sir, but I worry that this Pathan's execution will only enflame the people further. They are excitable and prone to murderous outrages, whether it be on each other or god-forbid a good Briton."

Curzon agreed with Poole's judgement. He had toured Afghanistan several years earlier and had found it to be a beautiful yet perilous place, where tribalism hindered civilisational growth. In principle the expansion of the Empire was to civilise them, but in reality it had such difficulty imposing what the Afghans considered alien laws and customs. It did not help that many of their intellectuals were now framing their struggle as one of Mohammedanism against Christianity, a Jihad against the 'British Crusade'. Little could be done to quell such feelings.

"If Afghanistan still remains under our suzerainty by the end of my term, I shall consider my appointment to have been a success no matter in which other matters I fail in." He replied, gazing out through a nearby window into India. He just hoped that his term would not be the last term for a Viceroy, yet sometimes it felt like it.

London Town
England, United Kingdom
January 15th

The light was slowly fading as several men made their way into Number 10's Office, where the Prime Minister had spent much of the previous year. He was among them, and with him were the Marquess of Lansdowne, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Joseph Chamberlain, the Secretary of State for the Colonies, and St John Brodrick, Secretary of State for War.

Usually the men rarely gathered in the same place except for meetings of the Cabinet, but by 'chance' they were all attending the same dinner later that evening and so were all in London.

They had finished discussing the growing situation in India, though lacking the Secretary of State for India they had decided not to reach a firm conclusion until a further consultation. For now Curzon seemed to have the resources he needed to keep it under control, and Russia had not made any moves in the area to warrant suspicion.

"I daresay the Governor-General may be overeager in this letter, believing Vermont to perhaps be the key to claiming New England." Spoke Chamberlain. Canada was not in his remit, but he had kept up to date with developments in the dominion, lest Balfour catch him unprepared to render his advice.

"I am well acquainted with the situation in the New England region, and I think Lord Grey has every reason to desire less of a border with the Confederate States. That said arming Vermont may draw ire from Virginia, which has designs on the region itself and also views us as a naturally ally against the States and French." Replied the Marquess, a former Governor-General of Canada himself.

They turned to Balfour, but he had quickly lost interest in the issue and was skimming several reports he had left for a later light reading. "I shall leave it in your good hands, Henry, and those of your Office. Now if that wraps up our talks we should be off, lest we be late."

by **Greater Redosia** » Thu Jan 31, 2019 4:18 am

New California Republic
Chapter 1: Back in the Saddle

San Francisco, California
Capital Building of the National Congress
January 4th, 1903

"Do you not know how ridiculous this idea is! Obviously not if you truly are suggesting we vote to pass this law!"

Once again, debate was happening upon the floor of the National Congress. The body of the New California Republic, the democracy that was sought after so many years by those who are ruled underneath it. But sadly, there is no civility among the men within the building as they work with each other about to do with the current law being debated. Government spending to support poorer citizens of the Republic.

"How is this ridiculous?! Our people who need support and unable to help themselves out of the hole that they found themselves in, should get that support! What possible downsides could this bring!" yelled out a Republican congress member, "The Government has spending to spare, so we should spend it on its people!"

The Conservatives mumbled angrily, "There are several problems that lay with such a radical idea. One, those damned foreigners could be the ones taking the money! It's hard to tell one man who might be legal from another who isn't!" many in the Congress started talking silently in agreement, "Also! Why would the people work then? If the Government can just give them money? Hmm?"

The Republican could see he was slowly losing control of the room, until another member of the Congress stood, "Because it would help those workers be able to afford things such as foodstuffs and basic needs! They would keep working since we will set the limit of support to a certain amount! Enough to live but not thrive. It is the least we can do for our people." A socialist, the republican hated knowing he was supported by them.

"Well, then. We shall make sure to change the law given to us and have it changed with these new additions, as well as making some compromise that makes both of our sides happy. We'll see you again in this same room!" With that, the debating was over and the redrafting of the bill was put to terms. They would eventually meet again, but many simply hope the country can survive by then.

San Francisco, California
Presidential Mansion
January 12th 1903

The President looked down upon the map that was laid out before him, the current borders of the world. Showing the slim light that was the New California Republic, beside it the darkness of the State of Deseret. The Indian Free State, Canada, Mexico, and French Louisiana would also be shown on the map, but only the Free Indian State was capable of getting its full nation onto the map alongside California and Deseret. The landscape showing as different markers, mountains, deserts, and plains all upon this map.

"So...General General Fiske...What is the current situation between us and the people of Deseret?" President Pardee looked up at Fiske, who would point to the map, "The current situation is that war is inevitable between our nations. But we have several advantages they do not, one is having most of our population centers on the other side of mountains. Thus preventing any sort of incursion by Desert into our territories, though our southern border is left open to possible attack."

The Pardee waved this off, seeing that clearly. Looking for a way to make sure the war doesn't simply stay in a standstill in the south. Moving his eyes 'cross the map to look at the Indian Free State, looking slowly lower to Salt Lake City. Pointing at the small nation to the northeast, "What about the Indian Free State, how do they fair?"

The General shook his head, "They are small and their army is likely smaller. Their lands are forested and a mix of hills and mountains. Though there are many directions to there from our northern territories. We have four battalions in the north, at most 500 men. We also have two battalions in central California and five battalions in the south."

Pardee sighed, cupping his face in his hands, "We will need to mobilize our reserve battalions it seems..if we wish to attempt to win any sort of war. Even with the Indian Free State. We still go by the general mobilization plan yes? Six battalions to the north, four to the center and six to the south?"

Fiske nodded, "We do sir. That should bring our forces to be able to invade the Indian Free State, their armies should be too underdeveloped and weak compared to ours if we tread carefully. Not antagonizing the State of Deseret to make sudden invasion plans for ours. Though, I believe they would already have made them long ago like we have."

"Wonderful" Pardee groaned in annoyance, mostly from having to make these plans in secret due to the National Congress. "Fiske...I can trust you can't I?" Fiske gave him a nod in return, "Well, I need to make sure you can help me if I ever need you. General Norton is still around isn't he? Isn't he the one who's son to 'Emperor' Norton? Emperor of California?"

Fiske couldn't help but laugh, "Indeed he is sir. His only son, a sad tale it was for Norton...dying in complete poverty and having to send his son away so that he could live a good life. That man was truly one of virtue and God had taken him too soon."

"Well make sure you tell him that I trust him too, if I need to...I need someone to help me return the Government to the hands of stability and representation of the people...I fear that such luxuries are slowly slipping from our grasps..." Pardee mumbled to himself, the General looked at him with a sad expression. Seeing the powerless grip in the President's hands.

by **Ruskland-Preuben** » Thu Jan 31, 2019 6:51 am

Mons Viridis Super Omnes
January 20

The response from the Canadians was received earlier this month, and it seemed as if only part was accepted by the men in the higher ups, as no response on a guarantee of independence was received, what the Republic of Vermont got, however, was military resources from the British, from human resources in the form of officers that would train the troops of the Green Mountain Republic, to weaponry, mostly rifles and a couple of artillery pieces, mostly QF 4.7-inch Mk I – IV naval guns that were to be positioned upon the shores of the islands inside Lake Champlain, as well as near towns on the border of the confederates, the forming defensive line stretched from the county of Grand Isle in the north all the way to the Republic of Vermont's southern corner, the county of Bennington. About 10 artillery pieces have been made by Vermont's factories, to be stationed on the border with the Confederates, and that the third monitor in the Republic's navy was almost complete, soon to sail from the shipyards of Burlington. There also was a need for border fortifications on that one particular border as well, and the foundations for the forts on the villages of Alburg, Isle La Motte, North Hero, Grand Isle, and South Hero located in the isles of Lake Champlain were laid down, to be finished by the middle of April if nothing went wrong with the construction process.

As for the border with the Republic of New Hampshire, well, nothing much of note as of yet. The only thing that occurred there was the occasional scuffle between the residents of that area, and even then, those never blew out of proportion. Too bad the yet had passed, and it was now. Right across the capital of Vermont (or more like just a quick walk away) was the River Connecticut, and a brief hundred meters past that was the territory of their, sort of rival, New Hampshire. The town of Cornish was just past a heavily fortified bridge connecting that town and Windsor, and who knows what would happen if, say, they decided to shoot first? Windsor would be overrun in but a minute. Instead of relocating the capital somewhere else (that was the plan B anyway), President Stanton thought of a plan, something about securing the capital by adding a few more kilometers, perhaps a hundred, between it and the border, how this would be achieved, he was thinking of.

On other things, he decided to secure the Republic's western border differently. Instead of loudly rattling their sabers (read: sharp metal toothpicks) against their giant neighbor to the west, he would instead talk to them, while rattling the metal toothpicks, this time, much quieter than usual. He did all this by sending a letter to the Confederacy, detailing a possible non-aggression pact of sorts, and a trade agreement of sorts. The letter was to be worded as politely as possible, and give them a sense that Vermont was kowtowing before them.

All in a days work for President Zed S. Stanton.

by **The New Kargintina** » Thu Jan 31, 2019 7:54 am

The Confederate States of America

Chapter 1: The Remnant of America
To set the tone

Philadelphia Capital Building,
Pennsylvania, Confederate States of America
January 6th, 1903

The cold January winds filled the halls of the capital of the Confederate States as President Alton Parker made his way to the President's office. The usual January snowfall laced the streets of the former seat of the Continental Congress. Over a century later all that remained of the Founding Father's dream was a small but proud nation that lay surrounded by remnants of European Monarchy. The British puppets of Laurentia and Canada lay to the West and North respectively, the Kingdom of Virginia lay to the South and small pretender Republics littered New England.

President Parker admired the architecture of the new building, finished only two years earlier. Large columns shot up to the ceiling, holding up the grey stones so high up in the air. Outside, the massive tower peaked with the statue of Pennsylvania founder William Penn shut up one-hundred seventy meters up above the cobbled roads. People walked up and down the street, bundled up tight to counter the cold winter temperatures.

The only possible allies nearby where the Republic of Georgia, and the Department of Louisiana, an extension of the French Republic. President Parker hoped to secure and alliance with both of those nations in order to keep Britain and Virginia from getting involved in the CSA's New England pursuits. The first target was the pretenders holding New York City, the so-called "Serene Republic of New York". President Parker chuckled to himself at the thought of the small, weak nation to the southeast. Soon it would be under Confederate control. As he reached his office, Parker heard the noise of someone approaching behind him.

Alton B. Parker,
President of The Confederate States of America

"Mr. President?" It was Vice President Frank Black. Black was an exceptionally skinny man, far more so than President Parker, but very soft spoken. He was definitely better suited for Vice President than President. Funnily enough, Parker and Black had been rivals in New York politics, but when they went up in position and joined the Philadelphia elite the two decided it was better to put aside their few differences and gather around the same neoconservative cause.

"Good to see you Black." Despite getting along well during their campaign, the two politicians never quite reached a first name basis.

"You as well Mr. President, is everything ready for the New York reclamation?" The plans for an invasion of New York had been preparing for months.

"Of course. The Navy will move to blockade the New York Bight. I will write to their government to end their illegal occupation of CSA territory. If they are stubborn enough to refuse will invade. We have 25,000 troops in Albany. About 15,000 of them will move south into the Hudson Valley before pushing onward to New York City, while the other 10,000 will stay at their post in Albany to discourage any Canadian or Vermont response. The Navy can shuttle the Marines to New York Harbor. We can bring up another 15,000 men from Army Group C in Maryland to move up through New Jersey and capture Jersey City."

"What about Connecticut?"

"New York City is our primary objective. If we can take it their will to fight back will be crippled. The New Yorkers cannot stand up to our military, that is certain. The only problems are Virginia and Canada."

"Isn't that why you're writing to France?"

"Precisely. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The British won't think twice about getting involved if we secure an alliance with the French."

"Wonderful. Times are changing for the CSA."

"Indeed, Mr. Black. No more will we cower in fear at the thought of the British or Virginians attacking us. At last the Confederate States will carve out our own place in the world. The idea of America will live again. Now if you will excuse me, I have letters to write."

"Of course, sir." Vice President Black turned and walked out of the room. President Parker looked down at his desk. He had two letters to write. One to France, and of course to the pretenders in New York.

As President Parker signed off the letter with the obviously unrealistic demands, he got a sick feeling in his stomach. If the New Yorkers refused, so many Americans would have their blood spilled by men whose ancestors fought alongside them over a century. "America, what did we do to you?" He thought to himself. We could have had something truly special in the United States, a land of liberty, of freedom, from Maine to Florida; but we threw it all away. He sent the two letters off to his messengers and retired to his chambers. Tough days lay ahead.

C.S.S. Clinton Battleship,
New York Bight, CSA-NY disputed waters
January 20th, 1903

The cold waters of the New York Bight churned under the force of the mighty Confederate battleship. Named for the first president of the small North American Republic, the C.S.S. Clinton was laid down in 1887 and launched in 1890. Since then it had been the flagship of the Confederate's fleet. Behind her lay another battleship, the C.S.S. Tomkins, also named for a CSA leader. Along with the two might warships lay twelve destroyers and seven cruisers, all bound for the New York Bight; the large body of water separating New Jersey, New York and Long Island.

The decent sized fleet had sailed from Maryland to close off the entrance to the Serene Republic's Capital and main harbor. It was a dangerous mission, many of the sailors had written letters to be sent home in the event of their deaths'. No one knew how the Republic would react, the letter from President Parker had been sent a week earlier, and the Serene Republic had refused to answer.

Captain Monroe of the Confederate States Navy stood on the bridge of the Clinton, looking with his spyglass out over the icy waters of the Bight. In the early morning it was near impossible to see further than a few hundred meters away with the fog and the darkness. A New York ship could be sneaking up at any minute and they might not even see it.

"Ensign Johannson, front and center!" The Captain shouted and the young officer came running. The green boy was barely over twenty-four, his blond hair and blue eyes easily giving away his German heritage.

"Aye, sir!" Johannson shouted.

"I want you to go down to the munitions with a few men and make sure there's no holes down there, the last thing I'd want on my ship is frozen shells!"

"Aye, sir!" The boy shouted before running off. Monroe chuckled as the Ensign disappeared from the bridge. He could tell Johannson was nervous as all hell the entire journey, and he wanted to keep the boy busy to keep the nerves from consuming him. He would need the boy in one piece if they New Yorkers decided they wanted a fight.

As he looked out over the water, the Captain thought over his family back home in Maryland. He only hoped soon he could be home, holding them again. ”Make the right decision New York, stand down.”

Philadelphia Capital Building,
Pennsylvania, Confederate States of America
January 24th, 1903

President Parker paced back and forth as he awaited the reply of the New Yorkers. A messenger arrived in his office, bearing a letter. But instead of being from the New Yorkers, it was from Vermont.

”Looks like they want to be spared huh.” The President thought to himself. He sat down with his pen and paper again.

by **Rodez** » Thu Jan 31, 2019 2:30 pm

The Russian Empire
Российская империя
Боже, храни царя

Chapter 1: Looking East

Winter Palace, St. Petersburg, Russian Empire
3rd January, 1903

Beyond the towering, ornately decorated windows of the Tsar's private study, everything was white. The streets of St. Petersburg were blanketed with snow, although guards were laboring to keep those nearest the imperial residence at least reasonably clear. Even the Neva River, usually black and swift-moving, was now alabaster and immobile, one enormous icicle to match those that hung delicately from the palace floor above.

Tsar Vladimir Romanov was anything but cold, however. Not only were the palace walls well-insulated, per the specifications of generations of Russian royalty, but the fire at the other end of the cozy chamber was roaring, and the tea that the Emperor sipped at eagerly did much to warm him. If he lived in a warmer clime, Vladimir had always thought that he could enjoy days such as this immensely, but as it was St. Petersburg was buried in snow eight months of the year - he wanted nothing more than a little sunshine and an afternoon out on the river.

There was a soft knock at the door. "Come in," Vladimir said.

A Life-Guard Hussar in full dress stepped cautiously inside, his saber clanking noisily against his belt buckle. "Apologies, Highness. Prime Minister Witte is here to see you."

Vladimir consulted his pocket-watch. "Ten minutes early," he announced stolidly.

"I'll send him back, My Emperor."

"Don't bother. Do I look particularly busy? Send Witte in." The Hussar bowed and departed.

The man who entered a moment later was a portly but dignified gentleman, who sported a neatly trimmed beard and an exquisite handlebar mustache, the ends of which curled so impressively that they terminated quite close to his deep-set, intelligent eyes. Sergei Witte bowed to his Tsar, though less grandiosely than the Hussar had. "My Emperor."

"Prime Minister," returned Vladimir. "As ever, you are too punctual for your own good." The Tsar took another sip of his tea and decided, with a characteristic straightening of broad shoulders, that it was time to get down to business. "The new Duma sits a week from now; what can I expect when I address them?"

"You are aware of the election results, of course," began Witte. "The socialists control a fifth of the chamber, but their internal divisions hurt their ability to coordinate. The moderate faction, the Mensheviks, have demonstrated their willingness to negotiate and compromise before. They supported our land reform eight years ago, after all. The Bolsheviks on the other hand have decried every reform as too small, but they alone are not enough to hinder our legislation."

"Who can do that?"

"Kadets and the Constitutionalists, but they have supported a great deal of our agenda in years past; there's no reason for them to change now. With your own appointees making up one-eighth, the way seems clear to proceed with our next legislation."

Vladimir's eyes twinkled. He had smelled opportunity when the Duma results came in two months ago, but now Witte was confirming it. "Good. I want you to proceed with debate on the police reform, wealth tax, and Ukrainian parliament bills. If we move things along quickly enough then perhaps we can push all of it through by the end of February."

Witte nodded, but his brow was furrowed with concern. "Are you certain regarding the wealth tax, Highness? The nobles are certain to be fiercely opposed."

"I am certain. We need to complete the Siberian Railway as soon as possible, and if additional funds are needed to expedite the process, then we will raise additional funds. Many of the nobles are indebted to the crown at any rate."

As he was pacing from the hearth to the wide desk at the opposite end, Witte stopped in his tracks, intrigued by something Vladimir had said. "The railroad . . . you intend war with Japan."

Vladimir shrugged nonchalantly. "I anticipate it, at least. I've said it before: our economic interests in northern China are great enough to warrant a war. I will not abandon Port Arthur, nor permit it to be outflanked by the Japanese."

"But the French . . ."

"The French are not by any means an existential threat, Sergei. They are an ideological foe, true, what with the radicalism of their leadership, but they are surely far more concerned with countering the British, the North Germans, and the Austrians than with affairs in the Far East. And on the German question, at least, our countries are actually agreed. No state can be permitted to unify Central Europe under one banner." Vladimir shook his head. "No. We shall throw our weight eastward, and see where that takes us. Now listen . . ."

Gorodok, Russian-Mongolian Border
11th January, 1903

What few villagers had awoken by dawn that morning had to scurry off the dusty streets to avoid the oncoming rush of Cossack horsemen, who had appeared with ghost-like suddenness from a stand of pine trees that obscured the view of the steppe beyond.

Gorodok was little more than a sleepy mining village with a military border post guarding a dirt road; it was towards this installation that the Cossacks, more than five hundred of them, made their way. Accompanying them were three smaller, company-sized bands of Tatars, Kazakhs, Uzbeks, and Buryats, pulled from auxiliary regiments across Siberia. In all, about eight hundred horsemen made up the little army.

The sleepy-eyed Russian border guards stumbled out of their barracks one by one. One, who bore a sergeant's chevrons, placed himself directly in the path of the approaching Cossacks, who slowed so as to not trample him beneath them. "What the hell is this?" he demanded. "The Governor didn't tell us a thing."

One of the Cossacks rode forward slowly until the unfortunate sergeant could feel the horse's breath on his face. The Cossack leaned down sternly until they were face to face, doing so with such confidence and authority that there was no doubt as to who was in charge of the unruly-looking band. "I am called Alexei Kalidin. These are my Chita Cossacks." He spoke softly, evenly, as if he were exchanging pleasantries.

The sergeant did not know how to react. After a long, awkward moment, he scratched his beard, looked down, and shuffled off the road. He had no more set foot off it than Kalidin kicked his horse into a canter, spurring his regiment forward.

A young horseman, who was so youthful that there was hardly a whisker to be found on his chin, glanced back at the stunned border guards and laughed like a madman as they rode into Mongolia. "Good thing the shooting didn't start there!"

Kalidin flashed an expression that, though intended as a smile, turned out more as a grimace. "Save that for the Chinese, if need be, young Ungern-Sternberg. Let's go meet some Mongols!"

The Most Esteemed Hwangje Junggugin,

Greetings,

No doubt you will view any diplomatic overtures from Russia with some suspicion. In this unfortunate era of power politics, and given the geographic proximity of our two states, I suppose it is to be expected. Nevertheless, I wish to communicate Tsar Vladimir's suggestion to you.

Russia's interest in Manchuria, while very real, is primarily economic. As you are aware, we control Port Arthur and maintain ownership over a network of railroads constructed in the region over the past two decades. We have also long sought the city of Harbin and Heilongjiang province at large, given that city's economic importance to our Pacific ports, as well as the large community of Russian immigrants there.

The rest of Manchuria, however, is not within Russia's territorial interest (or perhaps even capability) to rule. Given the chaotic state of Qing China, any reasonably powerful, enterprising state could seize control of it.

The one thing that is not acceptable to my Tsar is for that state to be Japan. Not only are Japanese expansionary goals indiscriminate - they are totally unrestricted. Worse still, the toxic revolutionaries currently in control of the Japanese state export political radicalism that is threatening to any orderly monarchy - as a fellow monarch, my Tsar hopes that you can see the obvious mutual threat that this presents. With the Qing falling into greater fecklessness and civil war by the year, Korea seems the obvious choice to fill the remaining void in Manchuria.

In the past, Russia has intermittently provided the Joseon Kingdom with arms and advisers. My Tsar wishes to construct a more permanent arrangement in that regard, one that would also establish a non-aggression pact between our countries, and guarantee Korean independence. Perhaps it may even germinate a future alliance.

I am confident that Korea and Russia can reach a mutually beneficial accord - after all, neither of our countries are going to be standing on the side of revolutionary poison. We may as well stand together.

Signed,

Count Sergei Yulyevich Witte, Prime Minister of Russia

by **Military Lands of the Scottish People** » Fri Feb 01, 2019 1:15 am

[align=center]The Blue Fleet, China
January 3rd, 1903

A recent Virginian expedition to Asia has seen some calm and relative peace in the seas, with little in the way of fighting. In reality, it was more of a vacation to the crew, who visited several islands such as the Philippines, Indonesia, and Hong Kong. Their previous intention was to sail to India and conduct a review of the Blue Fleets combat readiness, however the Virginian embassy in Hong Kong delivered a telegram to Admiral Matthew McGraw.

First Lieutenant Mac Smith would arrive to Admiral McGraws quarters within RVNS Washington. Carrying a telegram, he knocked on the door of the Admiral, who was sleeping.

"Bah, who is it."

"Its me, Leftenant Mac Smith sir, your new assistant."

"One moment..."

The Admiral slowly got up, wearing a pair of shorts and white shirt, opening the door as he went to his desk.

"Sir, I have an urgent telegram from Norfolk."

The Admiral pulled out a bottle of Scotch, pouring himself a glass. The aging Admiral really had no care for Naval command back at Norfolk. He thought they were pompous and British clones who loved to do nothing but harass those who actually are sent out to fight.

"What do those fools at Norfolk want now?"

"I do not know Sir, I did not read it."

"I doubt that. Hand it over, please."

Lieutenant Mac gave the Admiral the telegram, as the Admiral sipped his scotch. He began to read it.

It was within a letter, as apparently requested by the Command back at Norfolk. It had red lettering on it saying "urgent"

Code: Select all
TO: ADMIRAL MATTHEW MCGRAW FROM: ADMINISTRATIVE OFFICE OF THE ROYAL NAVY, NORFOLK RECENT DEVELOPMENTS MADE WITHIN THE ADMIRALITY COUNCIL HAS WARRANTED A COMPLETE RETURN OF VIRGINIAN AND CAROLINIAN SHIPS TO CHARLESTON. CANCEL INSPECTION AT INDIA, RETURN IMMEDIATELY.

McGraw sighed, finishing his glass of Scotch as he set the cup down, putting the telegram on the desk.

"Leftenant, your task is to tell the rest of the fleet to prepare for travel, that we are heading home and I want to be ready by nightfall tomorrow."

"Aye aye Sir, I will do so immediately."

McGraw sighed, putting on his uniform as he prepared to head to the bridge.

The fleet took 4 days to prepare, resupply, and account for crew and supplies, and left for Charleston.

Savannah, Georgia
January 7th, 1903

County Councilman Edward Echols, a reputable man from Virginia, arrived to Savannah to discuss business with the Government of Georgia and their wealthy Cotton farmers. Echols was rather acquainted with Georgia, knowing all the big shots within the Government, having connections far and wide. It does Virginian businesses good, as the relationship between Georgia and Virginia is one built on economic trust and prosperity. Despite the difference in political beliefs, Virginia-Carolina respects Georgia, though sees them as an inferior nation. Like brothers that were lost to a bad cause. No matter the beliefs, relations are relatively warm, and Echols planned to keep it as such. He proposed a deal to try and work out a deal with the British War Office and Admiralty to try and outfit their army with the most modern equipment.

In this endeavor, it is hoped that a relationship between the two nations would develop.

Royal Palace, Richmond
January 10th, 1903

King Thomas the Fifth, the aging reigning king, was reaching his 67th birthday. He was becoming one of the oldest reigning monarchs of the world, leading his nation through civil strife, international wars and revolutions, and technological breakthroughs. He did not simply lead his nation, he established his nation as one of the most powerful nations in North America, considering its population and size. However he has recently come to terms with his mortality, knowing he cannot lead his nation forever, he as decided that he needed to designate a replacement. And that replacement is his Great Great Nephew John Adams. Last year John was crowned as Archduke of West Virginia, and has slowly yet steadily increased the revenue, increasing Hemp production as well as wheat production. He dealt with Worker issues in Coal mines by breaking down Unions while ensuring Worker protections from Companies, specifically life insurance and providing better, safer equipment.

He and his Uncle, after taking their pictures, would sit and discuss various topics regarding the realm.

After about half an hour of family related discussions, Thomas V would bring up domestic issues.

"Say, dear boy, have you heard of those dastardly riots within the Coalmines here in Northern Virginia? Things such as 'worker unions' and other Jacobin esque organizations. I heard West Virginia had issues with such groups last year, though you properly dispensed them yet ensured production would not cease or be harmed in any way."

"Ah, yes, I do remember those incidents. The largest was a Jacobin based Worker Union led by a German Jew Ernest Schmulberg, ironically against the Coal Entrepreneur Heinz Jablinski, a Polish Jew. Though I suppose ethnicity does not matter here. In any case, both held die hard stances. Both thick in the skull, both in the wrong. So I was given a proposition, a dilemma. Who was I to side with, and how would I deal with the Consequences. And I sided with neither."

"How so?"

"Well Uncle, it is rather simple. I threw them in a nice jail cell some where out in Frankfort and let their successor begin negotiations. I assure you, they were much more willing to negotiate than their superiors."

They shared a lighthearted chuckle before Adams continued.

"The deal was the Worker Union would be dismantled, the Coal Company would have to purchase safer equipment and ensure life insurance to their workers, a step in the right direction. Of course once I released both Mr. Schmulberg and Mr. Jablinski, they were infuriated. I just reminded them that the contract is legal and will be upheld by the West Virginian Court. If one is not willing to cooperate than one should not lead, I am sure you would agree with such a statement."

"My boy you are sounding more and more like a leader each and every day. Your studies in England surely must've done wonders, I wish I had access to such institutions when I was younger. Have you heard of the Country of Vermont?"

"Only a little during my last trip to England."

"Ah, then you should know its the smallest little country of forest and incest in the North East."

"Haha, yes something along those lines."

"Well I have seen reports that those Jacobins North of us in Philadelphia have decided to reject their national sovereignty which they have held since the times of Americas Revolution against Britain."

"Oh? It is that old?"

"Yes, quite so. Now it rejects its status as a country, and I can only see such reasoning behind it, as with their rejection of other North East Countries, as a way to expand. Now obviously we cannot have that. I want you to travel to New York, Portland, and whatever little town Vermont claims to be their capital. The CSA is just asking for a Coalition to be formed against them."

"Ah I understand. I shall head out tomorrow."

"Good. Now I believe your Cousin Nicholas..."

The Conversation returned to discussion on family and noble affairs.

The next morning John Adams would begin his journey, first heading to New York City.

by **Ruskland-Preuben** » Fri Feb 01, 2019 1:52 am

Green Mountain good, Confederate bad
January 25

President Zed S. Stanton was pacing around his small office in afternoon Windsor, thinking of the things to come. Tensions in the New England area were going to be at an all-time high at the rate in which things were advancing, or more aptly, devolving. He took a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass of it, but before he could down the red, alcoholic beverage, a man entered his room and interrupted him, a messenger, holding a letter bearing the seal of those dastardly Confederates in the west. "Mister President," the lanky man, in his late twenties, no doubt, began talking, "We have gotten a reply from Philadelphia, here, I'll give it to you.". And Stanton quickly swiped the letter out of the man's hands and into his and quickly opened the letter by slicing its bottom with a knife, he would need the seal unbroken for what he was going to do soon. He quickly read the letter and sighed in exasperation.

As was expected, the Confederate States refused their offer of a non-aggression pact, and instead, put out a rather one-sided counteroffer, the trade deal wasn't even touched on! It went like this, the Republic would become a state under them, and they assured that it would be similar to the relationship between France and Louisiana. That last statement was a big, red warning flag. Who was to say that they wouldn't invade the Republic? It was well in their power to do so, not to mention the deal that they would be allowed to make laws and keep an army, they could simply force their army through the Green Mountains and call it putting down a rebellion, and autonomy would be no more. "Hmph! 'Wish the best for both our people' my ass." He shook his head while his brows were furrowed in thought, "More like the best for my people.". He looked at the lanky messenger and told him to stay by the door a bit, he had many letters to write.

The first letter was directly forwarded to the British. It was imploring them to guarantee the independence of the various nations of the New England area, as that would be necessary to curb the influence of the Confederacy, they also told them to give a closer look to their nearest rivals, as these would most likely have letters from the Confederates, something about countering them British in the event that they would counter Confederate ambitions in the area. The second letter was forwarded to Canada and the rest of the New England states, telling them of the possible war that would come, and that they would need a united front if they ever wanted to survive the onslaught of the Confederate States. The third was forwarded to the Virginians, simply telling them that if they wanted Vermont's support, Vermont would give generously. All three stressed the importance of letters both ally and enemy, as the information in these could decide what to do in the next moves.

There also was the fourth letter, just the letter they had sent to his office, and something written on the back. "Thanks for the offer to all of us, we will consider it." - New England.

by **Vaterlandische Austria** » Fri Feb 01, 2019 10:59 am

The Andean Confederacy
Firme y feliz por la unión

Peru
January 3rd, 1903

A tropical cold rain whips down on Lima, the capital of Andean Confederation. For once the streets are quiet, the approaching bad weather enough to drive the workers under the cover. The House of Pizarro is likewise absent of any notable activity, with no official flag flying and closed shutters, keeping the rain out. In the living quarters of the palace, a lone figure is writing, accompanied by an oil lamp and a glass of strong liquor. Surrounded by files and papers, he is writing swiftly. He has much to do, and no amount of bad weather will dissuade him from doing his job

As always with the start of the new month, Cavallería desk would be buried almost quite literally by paperwork. Though other state officials may dread to work with such load, Cavallería love for tackling with red tape would put even the most zealous faceless bureaucrat to shame. He enjoyed the role of governing, and whether the ship is an ironclad or his beloved country, he would feel the same rush of passion driving him to work to his utmost capability. It simply never gets old for him, even after 20 years.

And for 20 years it has served him well.

The paperwork themselves isn't exactly a load of work exactly either, once you actually took your time to read them. While Cavallería does ask for issues of the country to reach his desk perhaps more than any sovereign around the civilized world, only the most pressing, or potentially sensitive issue actually reach his desk. Most problems are simply resolved locally, either by local officials who compromise with the law and the people to reach a deal all can agree with, or the military who enforce order on the people whether they like it or not. Whatever the case, most issues get resolved much faster than the time they would take to enter the Pizarro complex.

Those that did though, are often detrimental toward the development and survival of the confederation, which Cavallería often have to think thoroughly before deciding what would the best for his nation and regime. One such issue that came to his desk today came from Brazil. Apparently, some Brazilian entrepreneur has made himself quite a successful player in the mining business, and his expansion plan extends all the way to Peruvian mountains. Rejecting him would definitely sour the relationship with the Southern Goliath, as the Empire government backed his plan for their own interest while accepting him would mean an influx of new foreign assets and most importantly, capital. The Andean economy could use to not have more foreign-exchange earnings, imported goods became so cheap that much of Peru's small-scale local industry went out of production. A middle way solution must be found.

"Keep it small, keep it limited, keep it controlled." Cavallería mused to himself. He finally came to a decision: A small concession would be made to appease the Brazilian, but no more than necessary. District affected would be governed by a military officer, loyal to him and preferably incorruptible to avoid further concession. Satisfied with his solution, he quickly makes the preparation necessary to accommodate both the entrepreneur and his officer.

The second issue are the request from the Navy. Recent reforms toward military modernization opened up a can of problems that used to hide in the back of "tradition" and obsolete doctrine. Apparently, one of them is an odd division between officers of machines and those of deck that mutually ignored the respective functions. A new body of officers could mend this detrimental divide, but that would mean the General Command of the fleet needs to be restructured as well to accommodate this. As much as an admiral he is, Cavallería knew he needs to get outside perspective if he does not want this restructuring to be more than a political house of cards. An advisor needs to be called but from where? France is a likely option, but one that he wanted to be avoided. The Republique have had too much influence already. There's an option of its ally, and the Japanese are excellent at the sea, but they are untested. Mulling this for few hours, Cavallería finally decides to ask for help to the British. They may spark a bit of diplomatic tension with France, but not that could not be handled, and the British navy is world-renown for being quite excellent, more than Andean anyway. He will need to write a message to them.

Lastly are the issue of the railway. Progress has been made since the days of Canadian entrepreneur, Henry Meiggs and Guano boom expansion back in the 1800s. The central railway has been expanded to Cerro de Pasco and down to Arequipa and Guaqui in Bolivia. The goal now to reach from Lima to La Paz all the way with train, which will not be easy. Mountainous terrain and financial hurdles are sure to hinder the development of the Confederacy, and there is no way the state can fund the expenses without going bankrupt. Cavallería has for months preparing to create a board of investors from all around the world to invest in such a project. Dubbed by him as "Consultative Group on Ferrocarril Central del Perú", he hoped that this will invite Train Tycoon around the world to come and help him to realize his master plan.

by **Mifan** » Fri Feb 01, 2019 5:17 pm

Serene Republic of New York
January 10, 1903
New York Capital Building

It was another average day for the people of New York. Despite the snowfall, as was typical during the time of year, and the freezing temperatures, many people were still out and about, going about their daily lives, trying to make an honest living in the world. Arthur Powell looked out at the massive city, home to three and a half million people, covered in snow, from his office window and couldn't help but smile at how far the city and nation have come. Being born in New York, Arthur entered politics to make sure that his people were well cared for, and while his party's policies have focused on New York, he tried his best to make sure that the other states in the Republic were well looked after.

He turned and sat at his desk, picking up the morning newspaper that he had yet to read, before a knock was heard at his door. "Enter." The door opened, and he looked up to see his Vice President, walk in the room. "Ah Camden, I assume all went well in the Assembly?" For the last few days, Arthur has been trying to push a bill to allocate funds to subsidize farms in Connecticut to hopefully increase their productivity, and lessen the amount that the nation had to spend on importing food from elsewhere. However, his party was against it, not wanting to seem money get allocated to the state, instead wanting to use the funds to open new factories in the city and New Jersey. Camden shook his head and sat down opposite of Arthur.

"No luck, our party is a stubborn bunch. You'd think they'd be supportive of our ideas, but it seems that whenever it comes to taking money from the city, they are against us every step of the way." He sighed and ran his hand through his brown hair. Camden joined Arthur on the campaign trail as a fellow New Yorker, wanting to see the city grow to a larger economic power. While he and Arthur has had their fair share of disagreements, the two have learned how to compromise on certain issues. However, their party, many times, have proven to be a thorn in their side. Ever since they've tried to cut spending to the city for other matters, they were met with fierce opposition, but would always be able to garner support from the smaller states, especially if they benefited from it. "Sometimes I wonder why I decided to put up with this damn job." Arthur laughed.

"You knew what you were getting into the moment you decided to be my Vice President. Coffee?" Camden nodded, and Arthur asked for an aide to come and bring the two men some. The two men continued their conversation about a variety of topics, when the aide came back, without any coffee. Before Arthur could ask why the aide came back without anything, the aide handed him a letter and stood nearby. Arthur looked at it and saw that it was from the CSA. He looked at Camden, who was curious about who it was from. "It's the CSA." Camden said nothing, but sighed, waiting for the letter to be read. Arthur read it out-loud, and once done, his face was pale. "So that's how it is. This day was coming eventually. I just didn't hope it would be during our time in office."

"What are we going to do?" Arthur turned to the aide.

"Go get General Allen and Admiral Cole. Tell them that we have a matter of upmost urgency to discuss. I want them both in this tomorrow morning." The aide nodded and ran off, leaving the two president alone. "Well Camden," Arthur reached into his drawer, pulled out a cigar and lit it, "I guess we're going to have to deal with much more than we bargained for."

Serene Republic of New York
January 11, 1903
New York Capital Building

General Liam Allen slammed his fist onto the desk in anger. Liam had been in charge of every Republic Army ever since 1894, and the 52 year old general has had to make many plans in the event of war with the CSA. "The bastards think they can just demand that we bow down to them!? We have been surviving and prospering on our own for more than over a hundred years, and they want to take that away from us! Don't tell me you're actually considering this." The men in the room waited for the general to calm down. Liam sighed and looked at the group. "At least tell me we're going to put up a fight."

"I don't know Liam," Arthur replied. "We're on our own. We don't have any allies and we won't be able to fight a prolonged war. Our military isn't capable of doing that, and you know that." Liam groaned in annoyance, but knew that the military was in no state for a prolonged fight. "I hope you have some form of plan in the event we are invaded." Liam nodded, and smiled, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a map of the nation, and the entire north-eastern United States.

"As you all know, the confederates have a much bigger military than us. Chances are, their main attack and focus will be the city. The Army of New York will most likely be doing the majority of the fighting, and as such, will have the important task of keeping them out of the city. I advise keeping the Army of Connecticut and Rhode Island in reserve, in the event that they try and make an assault in the region. That army isn't going to be much use on the front lines unless we equip them with better weapons."

"Sadly the budget isn't going to allow for that," Camden said. "They're going to have to make due with what they have. Maybe in the future we can build them up to a better fighting force, assuming we're still around to make that decision."

"We will be around, and I'll make sure of it, assuming Arthur doesn't bow down." Liam looked straight at Arthur when saying that, before looking back at the map and continuing. "The Army of New Jersey will keep defensive positions, and try and hold the southern flank. Hopefully there won't be any attack on that front, but if there is, the unit needs to hold the line, no matter the cost." Liam sighed. "In the event that our lines are broken through, we need Arthur's Republican Guard to do it's job."

"Don't worry," Arthur began," they will. I hope to avoid a war, but my men will be ready to defend the city to their dying breath." He proceeded to think over Liam's plan, when Admiral Morgan Cole stepped forward.

"Arthur, if I may, this plan isn't going to work in its current form." All three men looked at Morgan, wanting him to continue. "I doubt any of the armies will be able to hold the line for long. Despite the Army of New York and Republican Guard having the best training and equipment we can afford, they are too small to fight a larger force."

"There has been times throughout history where a smaller army has been able to win admiral," Liam replied.

"Yes, but can we do the same? I'm not saying this part of the plan will fail, but I believe we need more than that to win." Once again, the room waited for him to continue. "While ground engagements aren't my areas of expertise, I do believe we can fight them to a standstill. Assuming they head straight for the city, we don't need to hold the line for long, as long as we inflict heavy casualties upon them, we can win. We don't need to hold the line, but we do need to break their will to fight, and show that for every inch they gain, they will lose a massive amount of men."

"So as long as they take at least three times the number of casualties we can force them to stop?" Liam thought the idea over. "Maybe we can use this as a way to take New Jersey and some more of New York." The group of men continued discussing for hours, and agreed on a plan. They would wait until the last possible moment to respond, and hopefully, it would've been more than enough time to prepare the military and have the reserves called up. The idea of conscription was also thrown around, but was shut down for now, with the possibility of being brought up again in the future.

Serene Republic of New York
January 20, 1903

The mood of the city was much more different. The sight of the CSA fleet had many worried about the current state of the nation. The navy had responded by sending every surface vessel to the harbor to halt the CSA advance. While the navy was much smaller and weaker, it was by no means a push over. Morgan looked through his binoculars out towards the CSA fleet, and was glad that he sent the submarines up the Hudson River. If the war did start, he would order the submarines to submerge and take out the battleships quickly, before they could cause any major damage to either the city or fleet. He made sure that his ships didn't open fire, in order to avoid provoking the confederates.

Meanwhile in the capital building, members of the Assembly debated about what to do, and Camden hated having to deal with it. Liam had left the city to oversee the Army of New York, leaving the defense of the city to Arthur, and the defense of New Jersey, Connecticut, and Rhode Island, to their respective generals. The Republican Guard set about trying to build defenses around the city, in the event that the CSA enters the capital, ready to make the battle as bloody as possible. They also increased the security around the capitol building, limiting access only for government officials and foreign representatives.

Arthur continued to ponder on what course of actions to take. He didn't want to see the nation disappear and lose its autonomy, but didn't wish to see his people die. The nation couldn't fight a prolonged war on its own, and even it it somehow won, it would be in a very weakened state, that another nation could easily conquer them if they wanted to. Arthur's train of thought was interrupted when he heard a knock on the door and an aide poked their head inside. "Mr. President, a foreign representative is here to see you. He is from the Kingdom of Virginia and the Carolinas." Arthur nodded and told the aide to let him into the room. After two minutes, the representative entered the room.

"Hello President Powell, I am Archduke John Adams, heir to the Kingdom of Virginia and the Carolinas." Arthur during the introduction stood from his seat and went to shake the Archduke's hand. Arthur offered the Archduke a seat and offered drinks, which were accepted.

"Mr. Adam, what do I owe the pleasure?" Arthur hadn't expected any foreign representatives to visit the city during this time, and was caught off guard.

"Mr. Powell, I have heard, some unsettling reports that the CSA doesn't recognize any nation within the North East, including yours." Arthur nodded as a way of confirmation and sighed.

"The CSA not only refuses to recognize us, but also is willing to force us to submit to them if need be. I don't know if you saw before arriving here, but the CSA fleet is right outside the harbor, waiting for the word to attack. Sadly, I don't believe we will be able to last alone, but some others have differing opinions than me on the situation." John did notice the fleet when he arrived, and was already suspicious of the reasoning behind it.

"So, that fleet I saw is their's." Arthur opened his drawer, reached in, and handed John a letter, the same letter that the CSA had sent. John, read it, and understood fully what was going on. "I see. This is much more of a bigger threat than I thought." He put the letter in his pocket after folding it. "Mr. Powell, I would like to offer you a proposition. The CSA is a common enemy to both of our nations and many others. I would like to form a coalition against the confederates, in order to keep the threat at bay, and I would like you to be apart of it." Arthur was speechless for a moment, as he didn't expect an offer for joining a coalition, but having an ally, especially one as big as the Kingdom, was needed if his nation would survive. "Of course, if they dare attack you, my kingdom, and any other that joins, would come to your aid, and we'd expect the same of you if they are attacked."

"Of course. Having the CSA dealt with is something that this entire region needs." He paused before continuing. "Since we are talking about a coalition, would it be possible to form a trade agreement between our nations? Despite our industry, we need to import food from other nations due to our farms not being able to produce enough, we would gladly trade our goods for food and raw materials." John smiled and nodded, and the two discussed the details of such an arrangement, and before coming to an agreement. The two shook hands and stood up, giving their farewells, with John leaving the city to continue his journey.

by **Krugmar** » Fri Feb 01, 2019 5:45 pm

United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland
Dieu et mon droit

London Town
England, United Kingdom
January 21st

The Marquess of Lansdowne made his way into the Foreign Office building, away from the hustle and bustle of London's streets. As ever it was filled with civil servants, diplomats and messengers racing about. He was not three seconds in before some of the junior civil servants had noticed his entry and flocked to him, flailing letters and talking about business most urgent.

After battling his way through them he made his way to his salvation: the stairs. He ascended, leaving them to deal with the problems they had been assigned and had attempted to hoist upon him. Anything serious or urgent was given to his secretary or one of the senior civil servants. His mistake in his first year at the Foreign Office had been ignoring his predecessor's advice to ignore the juniors.

Upon his desk were three letters of note, unopened and still sealed. He opened the first and sighed, unwelcome news. Britain shared Russia's fears about the Japanese Republic, but the Cabinet felt that further action at this time was unnecessary. The ailing Emperor Meiji had always believed that a peaceful revolution would topple the Jacobins and restore the Imperial family. He felt that an invasion would be costly in lives, and would only enflame hatred towards them. The Cabinet couldn't agree more.

The Vermont letter was interesting, clearly highlighting that their republic was truly under threat of collapse under external pressure. The Cabinet did not want to become embroiled in an American war, but the Marquess had a fondness for Canada and the Americas, and believed that if Britain committed then the French would not. Senior British Generals had believed that the capitulation of French Louisiana would take a month, from a joint land and naval invasion. The Marquess was not so optimistic, but an overseas victory was all but assured, the trick would be removing such a war from the continent.

Finally, the Andean letter did give him some cause for concern. Brazil and the United Kingdom had continued the ancient Anglo-Portuguese alliance, and so the UK aiding a possible rival of Brazil's could harm relations. On the other hand a strengthened Andean Confederation would draw Brazilian attention back homewards and provide further divisions in South America.

He wrote the replies by hand at a quick pace, knowing that they would be formally scribed later by far more talented hands. He was not to stay in the Foreign Office for long, as there were several bills in Parliament that he had been asked to give his thoughts and vote upon.

by **Liecthenbourg** » Fri Feb 01, 2019 8:00 pm

Império do Brasil
Reino de Portugal e dos Algarves

Independência ou Morte!

Chapter II: Upon the Shores of the Gulf of Guinea

The Bahia,
Brazilian Battleship,
Flagship of the Guinean Fleet

Bight of Biafra, Gulf of Guinea, Brazilian/Iberian Waters
January 7th, 1903

The guns from the Bahia roared out in tremendous fury. A deathly orchestra of the modern age, reigning down shell and shot from the dark ocean blue onto the dimly lit coastal town of the Rio Campo. Like a rock she stood solemnly in the water. Like a castle her armour faintly glinted in the moonlight. And like the cannons that brought down the Theodosian Walls did her guns rock the world. She was imposing, a leviathan upon the water, a fierce beast representing the industriousness of man. Her desire for conflict and war and her methods to bring it out.

Her 305mm guns were raised in elevation and fired again, breaking the silence of the night with their thunderous boom!. Parts of the shoreline burst like fissures, the port lit up in smoke and flame. Alarms could be heard, even from here, and before long the coastal defences of the Iberian colony retaliated in their firing.

"Bring her about." Admiral Frontin proclaimed, and the Bahia turned on the spot, her guns still firing through the darkness. Around her, her squadron of cruisers and destroyers, scrambled around like an angry swarm of bees - firing and blasting away. They were screening their flagship -- but one, cruiser, the Joaquim Marques, took a hit to her stern and her steering became inoperable. She cut through the waves like a knife through butter, skirting across the water as she traveled to the South West.

Fernando Frontin,
Admiral of the Imperial Brazilian Navy

The rest of the fleet followed shortly after, with only rear guns taking shots at emplacements, fortifications and other such things. The mood was somber. Was this a pointless rattling of sabres: demanded by Rio? Did it have a wider purpose? Was that purpose achieved? Frontin could not tell. Yet he was above questioning his superiors: the love for the monarch in the navy was well known: the army had always had its reservations, but with the end of the coup in 1889 and the execution of de Fonseca and Peixoto, the exile of the rest and the restaffing of the military with monarchists had alleviated that a bit.

Frontin rubbed his chin and ordered a light signal to question the Joaquim Marques its status. The signal lighting played out in morse: "Able. To. Reach. Sao. Tomo?"

The lights splattered and flashed, coming back through stops in the shutters. "Yes. Steering. Temporarily. Fixed. May. Drift. Steer. Clear."

Once they were to return to Sao Tomo, Frontin mused, he would need to telegraph Rio to get a clear indication as to what happened. Did they succeed? He would report of course of a rough assessment of the damage they inflicted, probing the Iberian naval defences and likely pissing them off in the process. But a lingering thought crossed his mind: Brazil was playing a dangerous game. The Brazilian-Iberian War of the 1890s had attracted a fair portion of onlookers; how long could she stalk about the Iberian Union before someone would chase her away.

Yet his musings were distracted as he watched the small islands come into view again and proudly stared at the Brazilian flag that was being re-raised on its masts, saluting as that beautiful green, gold and blue flag with the Imperial Symbols at top it waved in the light breeze.

José Paranhos,
Baron of Rio Branco,
Foreign Minister of the Empire

Ministério das Relações Exteriores, Itamaraty Palace, Rio de Janeiro
January 19th, 1903

"Your point, Ambassador?" Paranhos slowly spoke, staring at the Iberian with a mixture of concern and confusion. His brow was furrowed and his hands were tentatively placed palm-side-down on the brazilwood desk. Behind him, to the left, a beautifully ornate grandfather clock ticked away the sands of time. The desk was composed and orderly, with several novelty gifts and the like from around the world: a wonderful made model ship from the United Kingdom, an honourary plaque reading 'Citizen Paranhos' from the French, amongst others.

A globe dominated the left corner of the room, and the man had a far greater love for the maps he had strewn around his walls than any portrait -- except for one decisive one behind him, next to the clock, of Pedro II.

"My point, Baron," the man inhaled, befuddled and furious, clutching at telegram papers before gently laying them out on the table. "My point is that your government permitted the attack on the port-town of Rio Campo, in the Iberian African Colonies. My point, Baron is that this is an act of war. Look at the devastation!" The Iberian man reached into the pocket of his suit, proffering out a photograph of the devastation.

His jaw clenched into a grimace and the scars on his clean shaven face almost opened in anger. Paranhos hunched over the table, but said not a word as the Iberian continued.

"Your precious 'Cisplatina'? Eh? Or was it 'Amazonas'? We know how you work, and whilst your little trick might have worked in Cuba all these years ago -- the international community wont be so foolish this time. Nor will Iberia. All the shots: not a single miss. All hits. This is barbaric, outrageous -- we demand compensation and an apology at once!"

Paranhos fought the smile that crossed his face: Hit or miss, I guess they never miss, huh?

The Baron of Rio Branco reclined back on his chair, tapping his foot against one of the desk's legs idly. The anger on the ambassador's face spread further, but he maintained it at an unpleasant scowl. "Well?"

"No."

The one word reply from the Baron sent the man storming out of the office, cursing in Portuguese and Spanish. It had cut through his demeanor away, chipping down the walls of ice that held the remnants of his temper. As he left, Paranhos sighed in... something, before picking up the phone and dialing.

"Put me through to the Prime Minister, please. The Iberians have done as the Emperor expected."

Ministério das Relações Exteriores
To: Arthur Balfour, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland
From: Brazilian Minister for External Relations, José Paranhos, Baron of Rio Branco.
Your Excellency,

I hope this letter finds you in good constitution and prosperity.

His Majesty's Government is hereby informing you that due to a recent kerfuffle and skirmish in the Gulf of Guinea between Brazilian naval forces and Iberian coastal defences, the animosity between our nation states is likely to be on the rise again.

Whilst the Empire of Brazil and the Kingdom of Portugal and the Algarves would not expect Britain to bring itself into our global affairs, nor would she invoke the Treaty of Windsor in any potential conflict - as we did not in our previous war - it would be in our interests to see Britain cease from aiming to be a continental mediator; as she often nobly does. This is of course withstanding if Britain believes she can end this conflict all together, by seeing a return of the lands of the Portuguese throne to the House of Braganza.

signed, José Paranhos, Baron of Rio Branco, acting in the name of Pedro II, Emperor of Brazil, King of Portugal and the Algarves.

by **Military Lands of the Scottish People** » Fri Feb 01, 2019 9:03 pm

New York Harbor
January 20th, 1903

John Adams would board his ship, consulting his advisory staff.

"Hello, Your Highness, what course shall we take? I would suggest avoiding those CSA Ships, I believe that their presence has something to do with your current stature?"

"Johnson, the CSA is preparing for war. We must make headway immediately towards Norfolk. I need you to write a telegram towards Richmond to my Uncle and to the United Kingdom, this issue will surely turn into a crisis."

"My God Sir, right away. I knew those bastards would attempt something soon."

"Hurry, we leave in thirty or so minutes."

"Of course, I will see you soon Your Highness."

Lee Johnson would go to the nearby Postal office, sending a telegram to Laurentia and to Richmond.

Code: Select all
TO: THE GOVERNMENT OF LAURENTIA FROM: THE ARCHDUKE JOHN ADAMS, VIRGINIA-CAROLINA CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA TO ATTACK NEW YORK CITY, REQUEST COUNCIL WITH BRITISH AUTHORITIES, VIRGINIA IS PREPARING TO ACT TO STOP CONFEDERATE AGGRESSION.

Code: Select all
TO: RICHMOND, VIRGINIA FROM: THE ARCHDUKE JOHN ADAMS, VIRGINIA-CAROLINA SITUATION WORSE THAN WE THOUGHT, CONFEDERATE STATES HAVE ISSUED AN ULTIMATUM TO NEW YORK. WE MUST ACT IMMEDIATELY. I WILL LEAVE THE DECISION TO YOU. GOD BLESS VIRGINIA

With the telegrams issued, Johnson returned to the RVNS Royalty left the harbor, heading straight to Norfolk.

Richmond, Virginia
January 20th, 1903

Thomas the Fifth would be resting in his lounge room, reading a book on Frances War with Germany, wearing glasses. Some one would knock on his door.

Thomas V sighed.
"What is it? Tell Mister Louis I will not speak to him again today!"

"Sir, this is a urgent telegram from your Nephew John."

"Oh? Well bring it in, don't waste my time next time dear boy!"

A young black boy, around 17, named Jack Afflick, would come in bringing in.

"Here Sir, sorry I didn't want to disturb you."

"It is fine lad, let me see it."

Thomas would grab it, reading it.

"Bloody hell... The madmen!..."

"Sir?"

"Son, go to my desk and look in the top drawer. There should be my seal in there. Take it and head immediately down the street to the Ministry of War. Tell them to read this and to mobilize the Army."

"Yes, Sir."

The young boy would go to his desk, collecting the wax seal, returning to the King, who would hand him the telegram.

"Do not read that boy. I will give you five dollars once you've done this."

The boy's face would lighten with excitement.

"Thank you Sir, I will be there and back within a minute and a half!"

The Kings concerned face slightly was relieved.

"I will see you soon my boy."

The boy would leave as the King went to his desk and prepared an ultimatum.

To Alton B. Parker.

My dear Jacobin friend. I lived to see through your nations Civil War. I lived through to see your ship exploded. I have seen multiple Crisis's and Wars. This one you are causing in New York is nothing new. I am not phased at all by your movements and vocal opinions. Therefore I am here issuing my own ultimatum.

You are to withdraw from the Serene Republic of New York's waters, recognize the North East state governments, as they are sovereign and do not belong under your Jacobin thumb. If not there will be war. You will face the wrath of justice and your people will suffer from your incompetence. You have exactly two weeks to uphold these demands or you will face an invasion on a massive scale.

Pray to God and do what is right.

King Thomas V
King of the Virginias
King of the Carolinas
King over the Tennessee.

Finishing the letter, he stamped his seal and waited for the boy to return, who shortly did after. He gave the kid the letter to send to the Palace's Postal Office and gave him Eight Dollars.

In the Ministry of War, the Army ordered the mobilization of the First and Second Armies, as well as the Royal Army and Brown Fleet. They are to move to the Potomac River border, with the Royal Army defending Northern Virginia's Border on the Appalachians while the Brown Fleet prepares ice breakers to get through. Engineers are prepared to repair or make bridges. Thomas the Fifth prepared himself to head North to command the Armies.

by **The New Kargintina** » Sat Feb 02, 2019 8:43 pm

The Confederate States of America

Chapter 2: The Gathering Storm
The Coming Storm

Philadelphia Capital Building,
Pennsylvania, Confederate States of America
January 30th, 1903

The President was sweating. The New Yorkers were clearly not going to bow down without a fight, and now the Kingdom of Virginia and the Carolinas was threatening to get involved as well. He looked at the map of the former thirteen colonies on the table in front of him. Battle plans and scribbles were all over it as he tried to figure out how to defeat the small nation. The date of February 9th, the date upon which the ultimatum to New York would expire, was only ten days away. Across the table was General Robert McCoughlin, The General of the Armies; and Admiral Salen Kotch, Admiral of the Navies and Commandant of the Marine Corps.

"Mr. President, we have news from Vermont." VP Black came into room.

"Not good, I presume?" President Parker had come to assume all news was bad.

"Canada, under orders from Britain, is building and manning forts to protect against attack."

"So be it, our original plan to leave 10,000 men behind in Albany is being changed. We will leave behind 2,500. Vermont will not take aggressive action against us with Britain in their borders. They wouldn't want to risk being abandoned by the Brits. We will be sending down 23,500 troops through the Hudson Valley instead of the original planned 15,000."

"What about the Virginians? We're going to need a hell of a lot of men on the border if they decide to invade." General McCoughlin asked. He was in his blue CS Army uniform, medals and ribbons littered all across his chest. The General's thick beard hung down to his upper chest.

"Currently we have 65,000 troops on the border. But in our plans 15,000 of those men would be pulled away to move up through New Jersey."

"How many reserves do we have?" The President raised his head.

"80,000; Mr. President."

"Call them up."

"How many?"

"All of them." Parker said confidently. The Army had 120,000 men currently, the reserves would bring it up to 200,000. "Call up the reserves for the Navy as well, we need the extra Marines especially." The President pointed to Admiral Kotch. The Admiral's navy blue uniform was immaculate, well outshining the General's. His white cover with the anchor and rifle insignia was curled under his shoulder.

"What will we do with these reserves?"

"We need more men to New Jersey and the Virginian border. Send 20,000 men to our border with the serene Republic in New Jersey, 10,000 to link up with the men from Albany; and the other 50,000 to Maryland."

"Even with the reserves Mr. President, I'm not sure if it will be enough."

"We may not have enough, but southward they might." Parker allowed a brief smirk to come across his face.

"Georgia." The General knew what the President was referring too before he even said it. "Will they help us?" The General seemed rather intrigued but also skeptical.

"I hope so General, I don't know if we can hold the Virginians with only the men we have now."

"We can move the rest of the fleet to the edge of the Potomac, to keep the Virginians dissuaded from a naval landing." Admiral Kotch finally pitched. "We still have one Battleship and several destroyers left over that haven't been committed to the blockade already."

"Alright, General McCoughlin, Admiral Kotch; contact your sub-ordinates and carry out our plans. I will write the letter to Atlanta to hopefully secure an ally in this conflict."

Army Group A Camp,
Albany, Confederate States of America
January 31th, 1903

Lieutenant General Duke Inbren marched through his camp, several officers following behind him. All around; platoons marched, men tended to their equipment and Sergeants shouted orders at men sitting around. One particular platoon caught his eye. The elder NCO, accompanied by a particularly green Lieutenant, was marching around nearly perfect. It was nearly a comic sight, the NCO was damned near a half a foot taller than this superior, but took no issue following orders from the short boy.

"General Inbren, orders from General McCouglin." A Sergeant approached the General, snapping him out of his admiration of the platoon as it marched away. The Sergeant had a thick accent, he was definitely an immigrant, most likely from eastern Europe.

"Well I'll be damned." The General said as he folded up the letter.

"What does it say general?" A Colonel following behind him asked.

"We will not be marching southwards with the planned fifteen thousand men." The General looked up at the men around him, who all seemed concerned. "We will be marching with twenty-three thousand, five-hundred men." The men's spirits were immediately raised. "We will be linking up with 10,000 reservists on the border.

"What about Vermont?" Another one of the Colonel's asked. The General had so many obnoxious Senior Officers following him around, he'd be damned before he could remember their names.

"What about them? The letter says the Brits got them by the balls now, meaning Philadelphia isn't worried about them stabbing us in the back when we march south anymore."

"You mean, Parker's plans to invade Vermont have been ruined so he's moving all his troops away." A large, round Lt. Colonel who had certainly never seen combat decided to open his mouth and let drivel fall out.

"Watch your tongue Lt. Colonel, the President is a smart man. He knows what he's doing." Inben said it but he don't know if he believed it. He said whatever he needed to in order to keep his position. All the Officers around him were just eagerly awaiting him to say something wrong and take his job. "Sergeant, write back to General McCoughlin; tell him our forces are mobilizing. We will be moving our force to the New York border in the next few days."

"Right away sir!" The NCO saluted and marched off.

"The reservists will be green and not as well trained but we can make do. Scouts say the New Yorkers have 20,000 men in New York and 5,000 elite men guarding New York City." One of the Colonel's stated.

"There is no guarantee we will be able to swiftly crush the New Yorkers, but it is strongly likely we will prevail. It's just about trying to take as few casualties as possible. Most likely we will need the extra men on the Southern front with Virginia by the time we take New York."

"May God help us all."

C.S.S. Confederacy Battleship,
Baltimore harbor, Confederate States of America
January 31th, 1903

Rear Admiral George Wellton spied with his binoculars over the water, watching for any sign of the Virginian fleet. Of course, it was impossible that the Virginians would have sailed this far north without his knowledge; but he still liked to play with the imagination. Truthfully, the Admiral had been bored out of his mind since he was left in Baltimore with the only battleship not sent to blockade New York. He had been hoping for the Virginians to do something stupid.

"Admiral Wellton!" He heard a voice shout behind him. It was Lt. Colonel Jack Frederickson, the commander of the Marine Brigade for Baltimore.

"Lt. Colonel, it's good to see you."

"You as well Admiral, I bring news from Admiral Kotch. We are to prepare this fleet at once for Virginian attack."

"So I figured." The Admiral scratched his chin and looked out over the Potomac before looking back to the Marine Officer. "So this is it? The Great American War of our time."

"Indeed Admiral, what is our plan if they do attack?"

"Exactly what you’d expect it to be. Fight, and win.”

by **Greater Redosia** » Sun Feb 03, 2019 7:35 am

Chapter 2: I don't want to set the world on fire.

Fort Bend, Oregon
February 2nd, 1903

In the fort, men were being drilled. Marching back and forth in their rows and columns, though it meant little due to how things have changed much so during these times of war. These rows would shatter to chaos and the men fighting for their lives....least it made marching helluva lot easier. General Norton looked down upon the reservists. Six entire battalions that needed training, six battalions that will be sent off to war, six battalions that will be sent off to die.

Though Norton's thoughts were interrupted whe Colonel Royez rode up to him on his horse, giving a salute. The General of course, saluted back. "So then Captain, what news do you bring to me?" The Captain slipped down from the horse and brought forth an envelope, the seal of the National Congress upon it. Breaking it open he would then read it, rolling his eyes.

"Of course, provoke the Indian Free State once the battalions are ready. Don't they know that war wouldn't be good for our nation, especially the men that will die." Royez nodded, "I agree with you sir. Though many people believe in our destiny it is to move eastward, not to the coast but against the people of Deseret."

"Why must our people always just be ready for war? Don't they know how many die in it? Haven't we learned anything during this time? The costs and how the gains don't always matter?"

"Well sir...All I have to say is. Ain't that a kick in the head..."

February 4th, 1903
San Francisco Naval base, C.R.S Shady Sands

The Armored cruiser sat beautifully in the port, the plans were already being made for her when the time comes. Captain McLean looked down at the flagship of the Californian Navy, the largest and most powerful ship they had. Though they knew it would be nothing compared to larger nations on the east coast, due to the wars most likely being forced on land no one paid attention to the naval side of things.

Though, McLean thought, Admiral Edward Barry was fighting heavily for increased naval spending. Though the National Congress is having none of it, they want a land war and they're going to be given a land war. Though it left distaste for the Captain knowing that their Government is in the hand of a bunch of buffoons and can't even give more funds to the navy California should have.

"We should of had some battleships by now! We should be kings of the Pacific not simple contenders!" The sailor next to the Captain leaned on the railing, "You know sir, I heard from birds of mine that the President is just as mad as you are. In fact, I heard he's been talking with that Norton guy"

The Captain snorted in contempt, "Joshua Norton. General is nothing good I tell you, just like his father. Insane to all hell!" The sailor nodded continuously as the Captain ranted, "I know sir. But it might be to get further control of the Government. Think about it. If we finally get rid of that National Congress, we can finally have control of our politics again! Nothing is passing through nor is anything getting done. We need someone like the President taking charge again, hell, maybe let Norton take control. Think about it. Son of the Emperor of California becoming the new leader!"

The Captain simply laughed, "I doubt that Norton would do such a thing, claiming the Empire of California. What a hilarious idea, we're stuck with the Congress forever." He walked off, towards his quarters. Though the sailor looked ahead, imagining the future that could lie in wake, "Maybe to you sir. But not to me."

February 4th, 1903
House of the National Congress Head

Within the building, not only was there within the room the Head of the National Congress, James Phelan. The true leader of the nation that represented the majority in the National Congress, while the Republicans were more popular it was the Conservatives that were in control. Along with the National Council, the ones that made the laws. Though, sadly due to complications with foreign affairs in the past and another tedious requirement is that the National Council must approve of any and all messages by the Head of the National Council. A check and balance to ensure he cannot overthrow the nation with the support of a foreign power and gain absolute control.

"Alright, lets just get to the point. Here is the message I wish to send, it's simple. We tell the Canadians our intentions we have with the Indian Free State and we tell them our wishes to get closer with them and their mother nation. Thus, we benefit."

The National Council was passing the message around, the republicans shook their heads, "We are planning to go to war with them, yet you risk it on telling the Canadians? We might as well not go to war at all, the Canadians might interfere! What then Mr. Phelan!"

Phelan shook his head, giving a smile. "Don't you understand, us telling the Canadians gives the message that we wish no harm against them. Course, would you like me to add that to the message, just to make sure you aren't angry. I mean, in the end I have the majority and I'll gladly add it."

"You're what is making this country going to hell!" yelled the Council member.

"No, if anything we're the ones making it closer to god. In the end, I have the majority, I'll add the clarification to the message and send it right away. So stop acting so tense, we are going to be the ones who benefit from the war. We will declare it when we provoke them and we shall ride onward to victory!" The republicans and the single socialist sighed their discontent, knowing they have no means of going against the majority as of now. Maybe in the future, they thought.

by **St George Territory** » Sun Feb 03, 2019 12:07 pm

OOC: Small post, sorry, just not a lot to talk about.

JANUARY 30th, 1903
HMCS LOWER CANADA, BURLINGTON, REPUBLIC OF VERMONT

Several river barges made their way down the Richelieu, passing through Fort Lennox on the way. The recent orders from His Majesty's government were that the Canadian Confederation was to construct several forts along the border with the Confederacy, a job that the Canadian militia, led by General William D. Tremblay, a veteran of the Boer War, was more than happy to do. Several forts were to be constructed at Alburg, Grand Isle, Burlington, Dead Creek, Shoreham, Poultney, Manchester, Bennington, and a headquarters base for the British officers located in Windsor. St. Jacques-sur-Richelieu in Quebec was to be selected as another base of operations. Engineers were to construct the fortifications as well as telegraph wires to ensure proper communications between forts.

by **The Holy Dominion of Inesea** » Mon Feb 04, 2019 3:01 pm

Geunjeongjeon, Gyeongbokgung
Hanseong, Great Joseon Empire
January 25th, 1903

Jeonha. Pyeha. Jeonha. Pyeha. Jeonha. Pyeha.

The intoning of the Courts of the Right and Left echoed throughout the Gyeongbokgung. Jeonha from the Court of the Left. Pyeha from the Court of the Right. It was one of the rare occasions where the Scholars and Nobles seemed to be in agreement. Truly a shocking phenomenon, one that made Sinjong frown. Sitting on the Phoenix Throne, but behind the Royal Veil, he could make whatever expressions he pleased. And if he kept the Royal Veil up for the entire court session, he could even recline leisurely on the throne. However, the Royal Veil was, by his own tradition, lifted for important matters of state. And such, with some sadness, he ordered the two Sangboks to raise the Royal Veil. Sinjong’s face was set in stone by the time the Courts could see him, fixated with a neutral expression.

Before him were the sixty members of the Courts. Thirty on left were dressed in white or green robes. These were the scholars of the Court of the Left. The green robes were the senior scholars, the white their juniors. The thirty on the right were the remaining high nobles of the realm. Half were in purple of the senior rank, half in the blue of the juniors. For those in the Courts of the Right and Left, the Bone system did not apply. Only that of one’s rank. And every Minister, Scholar, or Noble here was of either Rank Nine or Ten. Only the Imperial Household, of Ranks Ten and Eleven, and Sinjong himself at Rank Twelve outranked them.

The nobles in purple and blue had screamed bloody murder when Sinjong’s grandfather had reformed the Courts after the Imperial Declaration. They had been all for the reformed Bone/Yangban system since it preserved their hereditary power to some extent. But opening the Royal Courts to commoners had caused several powerful Yangban to rebel. With Korean blood and Russian guns, the rebel nobles were put down. And the nobles saw their lands seized and broken up.

One of the purple-clad nobles and one of the green-clad scholars approached the Phoenix Throne on their knees, hands clasped at eye level. Sinjong did not like the false obeisance of his courtiers, but at least it was they and not him on their knees. The noble was Gukgong Lee Yi Sun and the scholar, Park Chimeol. Rivals that bitterly contested each other at every turn. Rivals that had assassinated each other’s supporters. Rivals that were now jointly petitioning Sinjong.

A letter had arrived from the Russian Empire. Tsar Vladmir was preparing to seize Harbin and the province of Heilongjiang from the crumbling Great Qing. Such a move was sure to inflame the Japanese, let alone the Chinese. It also moved the Russian borders closer to Great Joseon. Yet the Russians were offering to recognize Liaoning and Jilin as Joseon’s rightful territory. Many in both Courts had been advocating for Joseon to press her ancestral claims to the lands to the north. The ancient Korean kingdom of Goguryeo had included those domains before losing them to the Tang. Great Joseon was no longer a tributary to the Qing Chinese. She was an independent, westernizing state. She should claim her place under the sun, or so the Courts argued.

Park Chimeol lowered his head.

“Jeonha, the Court of the Left humbly implores you to agree to the Tsar’s offer.”

Lee Yi Sun lowered his head.

“Pyeha, the Court of the Right humbly implores you to agree to the Tsar’s offer.”

Collectively the two Courts lowered their heads. As one they intoned –

“Jeonha/Pyeha, the Courts of the Right and left humbly implore you!”

“Jeonha/Pyeha, the Courts of the Right and left humbly implore you!”

“Jeonha/Pyeha, the Courts of the Right and left humbly implore you!”

After the third intonation, Sinjong raised his hand the ministers stopped their cries. It seemed that he was in the minority. If both the Court of the Right and the Court of the Left wanted war, war it would be. Absolute ruler though he was, Sinjong knew better than to defy the united Courts. It was a quick way to end up dead and see a Russian puppet on the throne or Japanese coup destroy the throne. He gestured for silence.

“We have heard the Courts and agree to accept the Tsar’s offer. Minister of War, Vice-Minister to Japan, Vice-Minister to Russia, you may approach. Vice-Minister of the Purse as well.”

Two older men and two younger ones moved to the center dais from the wings. Three came from the Court of the Right, two in blue and one in purple. One came from the Court of the Left, clad in green.

“Minister of War Hwang, how fairs the Imperial Armies? What do we have to face the Great Qing? What would we need from the Russians?”

“Pyeha, the Second Division is stationed along the northern border. They are, as always, at the ready. The First Division is all south of Hanseong and will take time to travel to the north. The Third Division is currently spread around the country on exercises. Within a month we can have two of the three rifle brigades and the command brigade of the Third Division on the border. We can also get another rifle brigade form the First Division north. The Ministry of War does not recommend moving the remaining two brigades of the First Division nor the last Third Division brigade north. We need some troops in case the Japanese attempt a retaliation. In addition, we have weapons to equip 30,000 reservists with modern armaments. The Ministry recommends calling them back to service. In all, we will have 20,000 troops on the border with the Qing and 40,000 throughout the rest of the nation. Should the war drag on, we have 150,000 more reservists we can call upon.”

“Vice-Minister of the Purse, can we afford this?”

“Yes Jeonha, the Imperial Purse is bursting with gold at the moment. Your investments into railroads and industry and the land reforms of your father have greatly increased the Imperial Treasury. That said, Jeonha, no treasury can support war forever. A quick war, or a war where the Russians bear the burden of fighting, is one to our advantage.”

“Vice-Ministers to Japan and Russia, you may take my proclamations to the respective embassies. Great Joseon will be reasserting her authority over the borderlands due to Qing China’s inability to control her lands.”

Tsar Vladmir,

Hwangje Junggugin, in his Imperial wisdom, has deemed fit to accept your proposal. He too views the collapse of the Great Qing with much sadness. It is with a heavy heart that he agrees that the Chinese people are in need of new sovereigns. Great Joseon yearns to bring the Korean peoples of Manchuria back under her wing and is grateful to the Russian Empire for providing this opportunity. We also view the radical republicans in Japan as a grave threat to the stability of the region. It would be a shame to see them take more from the Qing carcass. With regards to your offer of weapons and advisers, the Hwangje Junggugin graciously accepts the offer of armaments. However, Great Joseon’s officers have been educated in both yours and others Great Academy’s. We must place our confidence in them.

Great Joseon lays at the ready. We can strike the Qing as early as next month. Let us coordinate our columns.

Signed

State Minister of the Right
Ok Yong-Chul

by **Rodez** » Mon Feb 04, 2019 6:51 pm

The Russian Empire
Российская империя
Боже храни царя

Chapter 2: Minsk Rising

Minsk, Russian Empire
13th January, 1903

"Are we all gathered?"

There was an assent of nods from among the gathered men, thirty or forty of them. It was hard to make out the individual faces in the dim light of the warehouse basement where the meeting of the Minsk Soviet of the Russian Social Democratic Labor Party was to convene, but Chairman Alexander Bogdanov could tell many of the men apart by their slight mannerisms. He was an observant man - perhaps this was why he was Chairman.

"Good, let's begin." Bogdanov lit his pipe, took a few strong puffs, and set it down on the crooked table around which the Bolsheviks were gathered. "Comrades, at our last meeting we devised a plan for revolution here in Minsk. Are we still committed to this course?"

There was no response.

"All in favor?"

A plethora of hands immediately went up.

"All opposed?"

There were a few hands, and some grumbling, but it was clear to all which way the Soviet was swaying.

"It's decided," Bogdanov said. "Let's review what was discussed, then. Yerokhin, your men are to seize the city's armory. Matskevich, you are to take your group and link up with our men in the garrison, and storm the constable. Litvinchuk . . "

Minsk
January 14th

The off-duty police officers napping the day away in the Minsk Constabulary awoke suddenly to the loud banging noise of the front door being broken down. With a resounding crash, it was thrown off its hinges. Men pushed their way inside - factory workers and a handful of soldiers - and began indiscriminately shooting the policemen who groggily attempted to reach for their weapons.

"For the Revolution!" they cried.

St. Petersburg - Winter Palace
January 17th

Tsar Vladimir was silent for a long time as he read the most recent report from Minsk. When he was finished, he folded the letter up neatly and placed it on his desk alongside a plethora of other state documents and communiques. "My God," he whispered.

"It's bad," said Lieutenant General Aleksei Brusilov, who had been watching his sovereign absorb the news for several minutes. "They have shot some of the more prominent landowners in the city. A similar uprising has occurred in Odessa, although with considerably less success. My subordinates report that most of the revolutionaries there have been put down or accosted."

Vladimir rose with great suddenness, as he was wont to do when nervous, and began pacing about the study. "I want a full mobilization of the Vilno military district," he said. "A full mobilization, you understand? I want the city back under control within days."

Brusilov saluted. "It will be done, my Emperor."

"This is ridiculous," Vladimir seethed. "I've sat the throne for nearly twenty years, and in that time I've done nothing but compromise with those who have demanded reform."

"These are not reformers, Highness," Brusilov replied. "These are Jacobins of the very worst order. Actually I'm not even certain that even the French would be comfortable with Bolsheviks. There is nothing for them but the noose. You have made substantive changes to Russian society, changes that the people have wanted for generations, but now is the time to smack down those who would challenge your authority."

Vladimir's eyes narrowed, and his lips parted in a ferocious scowl. "Yes, General. No mercy."

St. Petersburg - State Duma
January 17th

Transcript from State Duma debate regarding the Police Reorganization Bill, 17th January 1903

Alexey Aladin (Trudoviks): “The way forward is clear. The Okhrana’s extreme extrajudicial powers are a threat to the rule of law in Russia, and indeed a threat to the war against revolutionary extremism, which they claim to combat. Just look at the example of Yevno Azef, the double agent embedded by the Okhrana in the Socialist Revolutionary Party. As a member of the Tsar’s own security forces, he personally ordered the assassination of several police chiefs. What kind of police work is that, I ask all of you?”

T.R. Nekrasov (Constitutionalists): “I would have to agree with the delegate from Yekaterinburg. Russia’s police forces are a corrupt, bureaucratic mess. We must move as soon as possible to consolidate all police agencies under the Ministry of Internal Affairs, and to delegate their various responsibilities with specificity. No more of this confusion, wondering whom reports to whom. It’s ridiculous. The Tsar has already publicly voiced his support for such reforms, so let’s send him something effective.”

Pavel Axelrod (Mensheviks): “Reform yes, but of what nature? You would merely provide a constitutional permission slip for the oppression of the working classes. The solution is to localize and delegate police powers, not to centralize it. Let the zemstvos take control of policing on a local, town-based level. National police-forces are a favorite tool of tyranny – as we have seen.”

Mikhail Rodzianko (Constitutionalists): “National police forces are a tool of necessity, Axelrod. God knows we wouldn’t need them if your rowdier ideological cousins had not initiated an armed rebellion in Minsk just three days ago! They say now that hundreds have been killed in the fighting. And I don’t want to hear about paranoia, or repression. Your party maintains associations, however minor, with an organization that seeks nothing less than complete social upheaval and chaos in Russia. I think that, at least on the matter of policing, a Menshevik’s opinion is illegitimate.”

Vasily Maklakov (Kadets): “If we are to discuss policing at all, we also must really consider abolishing imprisonment without trial. Otherwise any security force can end the lives of whomsoever they please, without the least bit of oversight. Now, I am as much in favor of having the criminals in Minsk hung as Mr. Rodzianko is – but not without trial. Any sane judge and jury would find them guilty of treason, among other things. We also cannot establish a national police agency without first securing the oversight of the man who is to lead them. I -and my party- will not support legislation that does not require the Duma to confirm the Tsar’s suggestion for Police Minister. We are the elected body of this country; appointments must meet our approval as well as the Emperor’s.”

After six lengthy hours of debate, President Segey Muromtsev called for a general vote on the bill. It ultimately passed, with 383 votes for and 264 against.

Contained therein:

-The abolition of the Okhrana

-The establishment of a new national police force, имперское бюро безопасности or IBB, Imperial Security Bureau, to be placed under the control of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, with a Police Minister leading the agency. The IBB will combat extraordinary threats to Russia’s security, but is not to intervene in local matters, which are judged the province of town constables.

-The Tsar will appoint his candidate to lead the IBB, but the Duma must confirm him by majority vote, and may impeach him by two-thirds vote if his conduct is found to be reprehensible.

-Imprisonment for a period of more than twelve hours without charge of a crime is hereby abolished. Imprisonment for a period of more than four days without a scheduled trial is hereby abolished – excepting members of banned parties, who may be held for up to forty days without trial, but not without charge.

The Duma sent this on to Tsar Vladimir for his signature and promptly began debate on perhaps the touchiest subject in all of Russia: The Jewish Pale.

Urga, Mongolia
January 23rd

Brisk and wild, the Mongolian wind tore across the steppe, wetting eyes and cutting right through to the bones of Colonel Aleksey Kaledin's little cavalry army. They stood off to one side, about eight hundred of them, while their commander attempted to negotiate with a quartet of Mongol riders, who had come as emissaries of the man that had brought Kaledin to this remote country in the first place.

A Mongol horseman leveled his rifle directly at Kaledin's midsection. "Why you see Namnansüren?" he demanded in broken Russian.

"I've told you," repeated Kaledin, for what must have been the fifth or sixth time. "I only wish to speak with him. Look." He dug into the pockets of his winter coat and retrieved a sealed envelope. "You see the seal? This is Russian Foreign Ministry. My orders come from the Tsar."

The Mongol scowled, but his gun wavered. After a tense moment he lowered it, to faint grunts of disapproval from his compatriots. "We take you to Namnansüren," he conceded. "You bring two men only. We go to Urga. You talk."

"Yes," Kaledin felt a rush of relief course through him. "That's what I want."

It took only a few minutes for the Colonel to select two men. Captain Osokin was one - the other was Roman von Ungern-Sternberg, the young lieutenant. When they had disarmed to the Mongols' satisfaction, they were led to the top of the ridge overlooking Urga, which was little changed from the medieval capital of old, both in size and construction. It was no larger than a mid-sized town of Western Russia - and no more modern than the 15th century, with the vast majority of its buildings made of worn stone or mudbrick. It sprawled outward in every direction, without even the resemblance of a plan or layout about it. Kaledin found it eerie how the city merely ended - no suburbs, no farms, nothing. Beyond Urga was only the steppe.

They followed the Mongols to a home that was distinguished from the others only in that it was slightly larger. Servants scrambled out of the house to take their horses by the bridle and lead them to an adjacent stable, while the Mongols that had escorted them beckoned the Russians inside.

The interior was uncompromisingly spartan, with unadorned mud walls, tiny windows, and furniture that looked as if it had sat there for a century or two.

A small, regal-looking man stood up from a chair in the far corner. "You are the Tsar's envoys." It was not a question.

Kaledin bowed low to Namnansüren, as the horse-traders in Novosibirsk had instructed him to. "We are, honored Prince. Tsar Vladimir sends his greetings." He beckoned for the official letter, which one of the Mongol guards promptly produced for his lord.

Namnansüren took his time reading the letter, moving his lips in tandem with the written words. It was obvious to the three Russian officers that the Mongol prince was well-versed in their language - he spoke clearly, though somewhat haltingly.

"You wish for my people to fight," he said finally. Again, it was not phrased as a question.

Kaledin chose his words carefully. "To . . . free yourselves from the yoke of the Qing, yes."

"Many Mongols will die."

"There is death in every war, honored prince. But that is why the Tsar has sent us - as assurance that Russia is mobilizing, and that in a few weeks we will have many thousands of troops to assist Mongolia. The decadent Qing cannot spare so much just to hold on to the country, which is only tentatively under their rule these days."

Namnansüren's eyes narrowed. "How am I to know that you are telling the truth? That your Emperor is not in league with the Qing? That you are not hucksters?"

Kaledin opened his mouth to reply, but Ungern-Sternberg spoke first: "Honored prince, if you did not believe us, then you could have had us killed without consequence. We are unarmed and utterly at your mercy."

The Colonel glared at the upstart eighteen year-old. Dumb, hotheaded boy. He'll get us killed.

But the Mongol prince only chuckled. "The boy is bold," he observed. "But not incorrect. It is true, I, and many others, have long sought opportunities for the Mongol people to shake off the Qing." He beckoned to the other empty chairs. "Come, sit. We'll have some tea. And we'll talk strategy."

Vladivostok, Russian Empire
February 2nd, 1903

The waterlogged streets on the outskirts of Vladivostok had been essentially remade by the boot treads of two divisions, as the boot-treads of so many men had ground the muddy ruts into nothing, and their supply carts had carved them anew.

from the relative dryness of the Hotel de Louvre, Captain Lavr Kornilov watched the new arrivals stomp in from the rain, their uniforms bedraggled and soaked through, but smiles still resting easy on their faces, with ribald jokes and folk songs exchanged among the men. Seeing them so happy before a war put Kornilov in a melancholy mood. Some of the men might've been veterans of the Boxer Rebellion and the accompanying intervention into Manchuria three years ago. A few officers might have even fought against the Turks on behalf of the Pontic State two decades prior. But most were green, training aside. Elite or regular, active-duty or reserve, this would be the first real war for most of them. Kornilov did not envy them their approaching loss of innocence.

Kornilov stroked his salt-and-pepper mustache and glanced at his visage through the window's reflection. He cut an odd figure for an officer of the infantry, being half-Kalmyk and half ethnic Russian. His cheekbones sat at a height comparable to an Inuit, and although his frame was smaller than most, he was still intimidating because of the fierce Mongol scowl that was directed on any soldier unfortunate enough to catch his ire.

He shuffled up the stairs of the hotel, which had been designated as the temporary campaign headquarters, to one of the finer suites on the third floor. This had been occupied by General Nikolai Linevich, whom the Tsar had directly appointed to oversee the upcoming campaign.

After the Cossack guards verified who he was, Kornilov entered the bedroom to find his superior poring over maps of the region. "General."

Linevich returned his salute. "Captain. How do the numbers look now?"

Kornilov gestured out the window. "With the arrival of the 3rd Infantry, we have eighteen thousand here in Vladivostok. Five thousand in Khabarovsk. More arriving by rail every day. The five thousand-strong garrison at Port Arthur is also mobilized, and the Pacific Fleet stands on high alert."

Linevich grimaced. "It makes me nervous. I worry that they're going to find us out before we have sufficient numbers to swamp North Manchuria."

"The Qing are in chaos, General. I wouldn't worry overmuch about their ability to organize a timely response to a joint attack from us and the Koreans."

The General was unconvinced. "I wasn't referring to the Qing, Captain."

Kornilov swallowed. The revolutionary Japanese were not a foe to be taken on lightly. And although war between monarchist Russia and Tokyo's Jacobin government might be an inevitability, Japan wasn't the target here. At least not directly. But if the Japanese were able to step in properly before the Korean-Russian alliance was able to close the noose around Manchuria, well . . . Kornilov didn't want to dwell on that.

He tried to assure Linevich. "We're well-prepared, sir. These are well-trained men - we're not leading the hammer blow with reservists. Besides, we have Mongolia."

The General pointed to a telegram that was nailed to the wall above him. "That's what we have, Captain. At least what we know we have. I haven't heard a word from Colonel Kaledin since he crossed the border into Mongolia. Frankly, we don't know if the Mongols strung him up, sold him out to the Qing, or if he's actually getting something done there. I wouldn't assume so much."

Kornilov read the telegram Linevich was indicating.

Army Headquarters
St. Petersburg
General Order 179
January 26th

Cisamur Military District- Full Mobilization
Irkutsk Military District- Full Mobilization
Omsk Military District-Full Mobilization
Turkestan Military District-Full Mobilization
Kazan Military District-Full Mobilization

"Russia too, is strong," Linevich said. His expression might have been a smile.

by **Liecthenbourg** » Tue Feb 05, 2019 5:04 pm

10th February, 1903 - Brazilian Edition

The Brazilian 'Espírito Santo',
flagship of the Brazilian Navy,
photographed in the mid-Atlantic

IBERIAN UNION AND BRAZIL GO TO WAR!

The Iberian Union has declared war on The Empire of Brazil and the Kingdom of Portugal and the Algarves, 'Brazil', following the latter's rejection of an ultimatum calling for a formal apology for an assault on Campo Rio and an indemnity for reparations. The Brazilian Foreign Ministry called these claims "dubious falsities" and noted that "Brazil will not succumb to the demands of a faux-nation that holds Portugal." Two days later a formal declaration of war was wired from Madrid to Rio. So far the conflict has only seen minor naval skirmishes and guerrilla raids across Africa. Brazil's continental allies in the Americas have not followed it to war, nor has Britain. This 'Second Brazilian-Iberian War' is expected to be inconclusive, as it is not believed either nation has the capabilities for a continental invasion of the other's metropolitan territory. (More on page. 3)

The Baron Rio Branco
and two ambassadors from
Northern America

BRAZIL ISSUES ULTIMATUM TO NORTHERN AMERICAN NATIONS.

The Empire of Brazil and the Kingdom of Portugal and the Algarves issued a formal diplomatic ultimatum to the nations of the Northern American continent. The increased aggression between the Kingdom of Virginia and the Carolinas, the Confederate States of America and the Serene Republic of New York has caused Brazil to seek to mediate. Her ultimatum demands "a ceasing of hostilities so that diplomacy and understanding can be achieved." The Brazilian Foreign Minister, José Paranhos, the Baron of Rio Branco, additionally called upon "the vast wealth of human rationality and compassion", calling on the fragmented nation states to "find common ground in their adoration for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." The Minister's ultimatum also solemnly added that "a failure to comply would see a renewed Brazilian interest in Northern America, in efforts to secure peace on the shared American Continent." (More on page 7.)

With shortages in Minas Gerais
and São Paulo, this year's
coffee harvest is set to be a bust.

COFFEE PRICES SET TO RISE AS HARVEST FAILS IN TWO BRAZILIAN STATES...

(Read the full story on pages 9-10)

by **Intermountain States** » Tue Feb 05, 2019 11:30 pm

Grand Duchy of the Philippines

Manila, Philippines
February 5th, 1903

Prime Minister Emilio Aguinaldo sat in his office, staring at the national flag of the Philippines. This was the flag of the country he fought dearly for, first against the Iberian colonizers and then their successor, the Brazilians. The flag of his own design back when he exiled in Hong Kong by the Iberians. Yet, here he is serving as Prime Minister of the Philippines. Granted, he felt that it was a downgrade back when he was President of the First Philippine Republic but the Brazilian Emperor installed his youngest son, Pedro Afonso into the throne after declaring the Philippines to be a Grand Duchy. While the Brazilians treat the Philippines like an independent country, the archipelagic nation is still in a master-retainer relation where Brazil is the master while the Philippines is the retainer. No better symbol of such a relation than Duke Pedro Afonso of House of Braganza. The Philippines simply traded deep rooted colonialism of the Iberians with liberal imperialism of the Brazilians.

While Aguinaldo does prefer total independence and a republican government, he knew that the country is fortunate compared to other countries among the Orients. India is under the dominion of Britain, Vietnam is under French control, and Indonesia has British and Batavian rulers. China, while still technically an independent country, their lands are under ownership of foreign entities like losing Hong Kong and Formosa to Britain and Japan. On top of all of that, the Middle Kingdom is dying with chaos to come among the provinces. The only country in East Asia to enjoy their independence are Siam, Korea, and Japan, the latter pursuing imperialism of their own with Formosa and parts of the Shandong province.

Japan is of major concern to the Philippines. They're a rising power in Asia and Formosa is only a strait away from the Philippines. While he know of radicals in the party who want to adopt a Japanese style government and to ally with them, Aguinaldo shares fears with conservative elements in the party who are worried about a Japanese invasion of the Philippines. They have the numbers and they're allied with France and have close relations with the Batavians. While there is a Brazilian naval fleet stationed in the coast and reinforcements could be sent from Brazilian-held Macau, the French could invade the Philippines from Vietnam, the Japanese could use Formosa to invade the Philippines, and the Batavians have their East Indies to make their move.

This could be fearmongering from himself. Brazil and Britain are strong allies of the Philippines and the military of the Philippines, although small, is well equipped and trained. Plus the Army isn't the final line of defense for the country's independence, there are perhaps tens of thousands of civilians willing to fight invaders with their guns, knives, and farm tools. It was how the Philippines fought for their freedom from the Iberians. However, he should prepare a cabinet meeting, anything is still possible right now.

In An Age of Liberty [IC]

In An Age of Liberty [IC]

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