Das Kapital Region
Presidential Palace
December 20th ,1914 President Marvin Washvelt gripped his pipe tightly in one had while his other clenched white with rage at the most recent communication.
“We’re at war with these… people called the Nourcourtians. I believe we were at war with them because we were accused of sinking their battleship or something.” His face soon curled into a slightly bemused smile.
“To think, one minute we’re marching off the soldiers to war against Breyberg and the next we’re marching off diplomats rather than soldiers to the peace talks in Shishiri. Politics and War make wonderful partners. Now. I want all forces mobilize-“
“Sir the army’s already mobilized, albeit still bloodied from the previous invasions and failed assaults. If the enemy army lands, then what are we to do?”
“It’s quite simple, I shall lead the forces in person.” Several of the Aides raised their eyebrows at this last remark before slightly chuckling, with one being blunt enough to think of it as a joke.
“That’s a good one, lead the forces in person. Sir, you’re sense of humor has lost none of it’s edges.”
“I’m serious. I’m only sixtey nine years old. I’m still young enough to mount my trusty steed and march the forces off to meet the invading Rusklandr.”
“Sir you are aware of your replacement, correct? The words Acting President Steel are leaving a rancid taste of shit in my poor mouth.”
“That’s not true, I can still command fully as both the president and general in the field. I do command the army.”
“Sir, If I may suggest an alternative, remain here in the capital while Minister Potters commands the advancing army.”
“No… I must advance with my men, my voters and my countrymen. If the navy can die splendidly, then I must show the people I am not some god like the infidels of Nihon. I bleed the same red that all carriebeanian citizens and slaves do. Inform Minister Potters of his immediate presence to the palace.”
“What of Emperor Tyler I once we re-coronate him ourselves?”
“Tyler the Ist will remain on the sidelines for now. I don’t need any distractions from national zeal. Just get Potters here.”
“Yes, President.”
One Hour Later The team of horses soon came to an abrupt halt as the carriage’s wheels ceased their consistent turning. It was about the same feeling of irritation that it’s occupant, Minister of the Army Jackson Potters was feeling. He was in the middle of organizing a large-scale counteroffensive complete with the surviving models of armored forces and confiscated Breybergian armor, along with large amounts of the dragoons and mounted infantry for close support.
Before even waiting for a response from the local servants, though they unofficially were still slaves, Potters clambered out of the carriage, where President Washvelt was tapping his foot impatiently as another small team of horsemen waited on the side.
Washvelt’s uniform lacked the political normality of his usual self, from his usual multiple piece vests and ties sprouted a traditional outfit of the Carriebeanian Presidential Guard, with Japanese style headband fitting over the rather large top hat the guard wore, complete with black uniform, golden buttons and epaulettes on each shoulder followed waist down by a pair of sharp blue pants.
All Potters could see was the shit eating grin that could not be wiped away from his face. With some mild annoyance, Potters was the first to make a snarky remark.
“What bet did you lose to wear something as ridiculous as that?”
“I’m leading the army in person you son of a bitch. I’m loathed to leave command for the idiot of a vice president. You know the other day I caught him sniffing glue for a drug high, fucking dumbass. I’m merely appointing you as President of the Lords, in command of the Capital City Defense Force of 65,000 and acting president of Carriebean while I’m gone. “
“You’re giving me a promotion, the title of acting president and 65,000 soldiers for my will? Consider me fucking flattered.”
“Just try not to fuck anything up while I’m gone, alright?”
“No promises. I hear rumors that the Jesuits are getting rather restless.”
“Well just feed them religious propaganda about the infidel of the week and you’ll keep your neck one hundred percent noose free.”
With a very hard to come to terms with and heavily awkward pat on the back between the commander in chief and the chief in command, Washvelt mounted on his horse as the small posse trotted off for the front lines.
Hobo CityGeneral of the Revolution Pabaladno Velspuli Casso’s footsteps echoed throughout the mostly deserted concrete hallways. Once vibrant passageways for the communist revolution, now hardly utilized by any of the surviving members. Normally the large convention center within Carriebean City would be places of radical revolution, though this had been snuffed out by the ever prevalent carriebeanian royalist and Jesuit radicals which seeped and infiltrated almost every faucet of the local government tap of information.
Several of their printing presses and publishing facilities within the city, those that had not been shelled hard in the civil war and bitter street to street fighting of the invasions, were seized under sweeping powers that had been granted by the occupation forces against “anti-allied” propaganda. They had not been exterminated, but their numbers were rather withering some.
It seemed he would spend the rest of his days, trapped within the city until relief of a bullet through the thigh would bless him with a relatively painful and drawn out death. They had fallen from 90,000 armed communists to around a third of that number, being forced out of several of the surrounding cities due to disease, desertion and lack of supplies and large communication lines. He soon heard the telephone ring, picking it up with a slight frown.
“Speak.”
“Long Live the Red Banner!”
“Long Live the Red Banner, what is it?”
“Sir. Conditions within the capital urge for the red banner to chop down the hated tricolor of black, white and red.”
“Do you understand why it was so hard in the urban fighting-“
“Sir, I have made contact with several left leaning political groups along with a plethora of former Amanzo slaves that have been educated in our communist ways, they are eager to assist us in our goals of establishing communism within Carriebean. We’ve got to try once more.”
“But our numbers are dwindling, what makes you so sure the people will enjoy another attempt at a left leaning coup?”
“Your numbers will be left with just one if this plan is not immediately carried out. Just get to the capital any way. I’ll meet you in the Rang Forsarki Hotel, room 15.”
With the tender slamming down of the receiver to the telephone, he got up from the table and informed everyone of his immediate departure, much to the chagrin of his most loyal staff members and politburo survivors.
Carriebean City With the President gone for the front line, the defenses around several government buildings including Congress, Parliament, the Presidential Palace and several stagnating homes of the former Nobility sat with only light sentries outside each one, paid for by various slews of legislation passed by the far-right Patriotic Party. It was this somewhat cliched atmosphere that the left leaning union workers decided to act independently.
Much to the Chagrin of the onlooking Casso and the delight of the far more militant Vannessa Testsua Crumbs, the leader of the Communist Party within Carriebean. These two had butted heads frequently, especially after Casso’s discovery that she had been the one that had placed the phone call. Soon sitting down in the hotel room, with the door locked, the two looked out at the window at the growing protest of unemployed workers backed by the far-left and left leaning Communist and Farmer Parties, mirrored with the far-right counter protest by the in power Patriotic Party.
“The Carriebeanian peasant has labored too long in the fields of oppression and slavery, their shackles must and will be taken off by force!”
“Now, if we just go into there shooting off what little bullets we were able to both confiscate and smuggle into the city, we’d be outnumbered by the far right paramilitary forces. A lot of those are unemployed ex officers and military personnel.”
“But our force also has military personnel.”
“A fraction of what they have, and if we’re playing the numbers game, we’re going to lose. I’d say we just need to exercise caution and wait for a moment to arrive in order to strike.”
“But we’d lose the element of surprise, we must attack the nationalist forces immediately with everything we have!” Crumbs shouted, slamming her fist on the table with an emphasis on the ‘immediately’ part of her sentence.
“That is completely reckless for us to squander what little we have on the full force of our enemies. Conservation of our strength is needed.”
“You are not a true revolutionary!”
“I’m a revolutionary, not suicidal. You’re suicidal.”
“This kind of inaction is what condemned us to the gallows before! We must strike now, and if you’re not willing to do It, I shall!”
“What the fuck are you-“
Soon, Crumbs unveiled her trusty Colt pistol, soon grabbed out of her hands by the eager Casso, with both the man and the woman fighting over the firearm before a bullet was shot out, slamming into the window and causing a panic within the far right and far left parties on either side, with gunfire breaking out immediately in the streets, the bodies piling up as bitter fighting began to take place.
“Now look what you’ve done.” Casso sternly would state to Crumbs, who was in no mood to listen as she grabbed the pistol and ran down the steps of the hotel to personally join the fighting. While that was going on, Casso began to pack up his things again while changing his name on his luggage once more under another pseudonym.
Outside Nihonese Annexed Shishiri The locomotive screeched to a halt outside of the relatively small train station. The railroad had recently been laid down by Nihonese, with the small locomotive’s two small cars following behind coming to an abrupt halt, forcing a tighter grip by General of the Empire Kyle Morgan, the top Carriebeanian diplomat assigned for the peace talks, before he would met the fate of several unprepared passengers and various military officers of the Nihonese rising sun, crashing forwards due to the abrupt stop. Once he had assisted several people up, the doors opened up to a miniscule wooden platform, where two Nihonese military officials awaited. Shooting them cheery smiles, Kyle Morgan waved at them before grabbing his suitcase and leaving the train.
Approaching the gaurds, he tapped on on the shoulder.
“Hello, I’m the Carriebeanian negotiator for the peace talks that are happening. I understand security is tight, but here’s my credentials.”
Handing them a leather bound information book that detailed each and every diplomatic assignment and office document that legally bound him for diplomatic service in the archaic and somewhat complicated Olde Carriespeak written out, he looked over the documents with the guards, correcting several mistakes in pronunciation to most fish out of water looks on the guards’ faces whenever a weird word came up.
After being given back all his identification, he was escorted into the portion of Nihonese Annex Shishiri, soon stepping foot into the Nihonese Annex Shishiri Capital building, soon bowing.
“Greetings. I am General of the Empire Kyle Morgan, the Carriebeanian negotiator and diplomat for the peace talks.”
St. Osloverg, The Continental Hotel
Arengin UnionGeneral of the Empire Travis Revan stirred the glass of brandy in the rather nice-looking hotel room the Carriebeanian delegation had been moved to following complaints from the old woman that had initially kept them. He took notice of the Armored Cruiser
Cutlass, still anchored outside, this time with a perfect view of the ship as it sat at anchor. He was about to enjoy another sip of brandy when he heard a knock on the door. Coming to it himself, pushing the eager to answer military aide out of the way rather roughly, he swung it open for his eyes to take in the sight of a military man that looked Asian from the first glances. Soon the man began to speak.
“Hello, my name is Major Sato, head of the deployed Nihonese Imperial Guard. Are you the Boer delegation? If so, I have come to either escort you to speak with his imperial holiness the Emperor of Nihon or discuss on his behalf the terms of end the undeclared conflict between our two great nations.”
If this ‘Major Sato’ was expecting a rather long-winded tirade about the evils of certain people, he came to the wrong place as Revan asked him to:
“Hold on.”
Before returning with his glass of brandy that he swallowed down before gulping hard and replying.
“No, I’m General of the Empire Travis Revan of the Carriebeanian Delegation. I haven’t seen the Boer delegation at all since our arrival, well maybe a glance or two in the ball, but not much more than that.”
Revan soon snapped his fingers and beamed a smile before bowing his head politely at Sato.
“Goodbye, Major Sato. I wish you the best of luck in finding these Boers. I’m going back to my Brandy.”
With a slight swagger from the alcohol in his system, Revan slammed the door shut right in the path of his aide, which bumped into the door with a thud before the aide opened it up sheepishly and tagged along to follow Revan back to the small living room as he mused through the suitcase of literature he had brought along. Several classical carriebeanian stories and historical novels about various kings and presidents, including an autobiography on his disgraced predecessor in office, Arnold Paltcher.
“I needed just to have a nice drink of brandy to myself every once and a while, just sitting there with a cigar in one hand and a glass of brandy in the other, meditating about the meaning of life.”
“Alcohol and Tobacco are certainly the miracle elixirs of our time in meditation. If we had neither, we would be savages.”
“Books make a man tribalized. Brandy and Cigars make a man civilized. All the great workers of our time have had some tobacco or alcohol nearby at one point or the other.”
With that, the pair went back to enjoy a rather quiet night of reading with little interruption, soon climbing into separate beds after washing several dishes they had eaten off.
Carriebeanian Imperial Navy
David III Class Battleship Baja California of the Imperial Carriebeanian Navy Admiral Hood Von Hoth counted his heartbeat several times to indicate from the beginning flashes of enemy fire to when they would touch down. After counting for a total of ten times, the first enemy projectiles slammed into the oceans, then onto the
Amanzo, who would shudder momentarily before keeping up the barrage of six 14-inch shells onto the next enemy ship in her sights. The other turret cracked to life on the Baja California, drawing his attention to the current problems his flagship had been having.
He noticed a large array of fires and flames gnawing throughout the ship, with miniature explosions shaking the vessel from stem to stern. Taking a peek with the spyglass lying around, he noticed the flames continue to plague the
Samuel, a sister ship to the
Baja California. She would still continue to sail, with Hoth soon ordering:
“The Baja California shall alter course Twenty degrees to port, bring us alongside the Samuel, then come about ninety degrees immediately! We’ll put out her flames an unconventional way.”
Just as he was about to pay attention to his grumbling stomach, he realized an urgent minor detail had been overlooked.
“Fuck! Signal the Harold I to take temporary flag command until this ship hoists the flag P, in which case they shall respond with O that shall indicate command transferred to us.”
Without or with little much as a minor burp that resembled a hitch in the command, the order proceeded rather smoothly, with the captain of the Harold I signaling all ships to begin to turn towards a parallel course with the enemy. The reason for this was to prevent all the Carriebeanian naval vessels to go twenty degrees to port and then coming about 90 degrees.
Soon, the Samuel’s raging blazes were quelled by the massive amounts of seawater and waves pushed out by the flagship, with a much appreciative wail of the ship horn being heard happily by the skipper of the formerly distressed of magazine detonation warship.
After command had been reestablished with the flagship, Admiral Hood von Hoth was just about to remark to his skipper before another shell landed into the bridge, a hail of shrapnel and glass flooding the body of Hoth, with him staggering in the room for a moment before collapsing on the ground, with faint flashes being seen.
With the apparent incapacitation of the Admiral, the surviving officers from the direct hit on the bridge, which included Captain’s Assistant Hood von Tirpitz, who soon walked down to the medical mess to check up on the commander’s condition. Hood von Hoth’s face was covered in several bandages as he underwent surgery among the large shuddering of the wounded flagship, along with around a hundred other crying and bleeding patients from officers to seamen. Lowering his ceremonial hat to his chest, he cleared his throat before saluting.
“Admiral.”
“Captain’s Assistant. I am in no way, shape or from set to command the fleet. Keep the news of this incident secret from the entire fleet. If this gets out, there might be unwise decisions. Until My health recovers and I relive you of subsequent duty, you are to command the fleet.”
“Yes Admiral.”
With the ceasing of the snappy salute, Tirpitz left the emergency room and walked to the docking bridge where he had ordered the officers to gather. The Docking bridge was for all intents and purposes, meant as a last resort, with a far more dangerous position on it. It had two staircases on either flank of a raised structure, where the steering wheel and engine order telegraphs were. Soon these machines were ringing to live with new orders to the slave whipped boiler room and fiery hot engine room that continued to provide power to the vessel.
The occasional silence was broken up by the pair of 12-inch naval guns that boomed to life on the stern section. All ships of the fleet were doing something, from the destroyers and torpedo boats racing forwards at top speeds to deliver their torpedoes at close range towards enemy battleships to the continuing to shoot Armored Cruiser pairs that fired everything they had.
The
Takeda, stuck at the rear of the force unable to locate any targets, soon found first blood with the excited targeting of a presumed enemy battleship. Soon, it’s salvos plunged into the sea and apparently onto targets, with only the faintest of explosions being seen, though hardly heard from such extreme ranges for the 14 inch main guns. The
David II cracked to life with a hard port turn to bring her broadside into range, peppering two enemy ships with the polite salvos of four shells and twelve others respectively from her first volley of the battle. The relatively undamaged
Nagta unleashed her first volley, with the first turret’s crews so excited that the gun tampions had been neglected for removal, with the first volley shooting them out along with the large 14-inch projectiles towards enemy armored cruisers sighted.
Elsewhere, on either side of the fleet, a triplet of destroyers shuddered before dropping out of formation, signaling
Z repeatedly. Huge Columns of Water burst on the Armored Cruisers
Polly and
Blackbeard, indicating torpedo hits. More underwater artillery shells powered towards the rear ship of
Harold IV, with two massive columns of water being spotted as large as the flagstaff of the warship. More explosions and thrusts of massive amounts of wet real estate were thrown up into the air alongside the battleships
David II,
Nagta, and
Zhackary, with the latter ship shuddering down, losing steam with a direct hit into the boiler room. The Zhackary class Pre-Dreadnought would soon turn rapidly to port, filling in the open gash of the boiler room hit, capsizing within less than forty seconds, with only 1 man of her 621 complement being fished from the seas. The David II and Nagta were better built to take the torpedo hits, with more noticeable dipping in the David II battleship compared to a slight lean on the more modern Nagta battleship.
Order of Battle for the Carriebeanian Imperial Navy
5 X Amanzo class Dreadnought Battleships: Amanzo, Nagta, Uesugi, Takeda, Oda
5 X David III class Dreadnought Battleships: David III, David II, Harold I, Samuel, Baja California,
5 X Harold Class Dreadnought Battleships: Harold I, Harold II, Harold III, Harold IV, Harold V
1 X Zhackary Class Pre-Dreadnought Battleships: Zhackary II,
15 X Cutlass class Armored Cruisers
9 X Z class Destroyers
25 X S class Destroyers
2 X Doorman class Heavy Destroyers
30 X T class Torpedo Boats
10 X V class Torpedo Boats