Istanbul, Turkey
Congress of the Sublime Porte
January 8th, 1980 President Sultan of the Presidium and Minister of Foreign Affairs Wilhelmina Packard gripped her cigarette tightly in her wrinkled old hands as she brought it up for a much needed drag. With the declaration of war, she had found himself inexplicably smoking more. It was almost as if her body was urging just another hit before the capital was hit and she was coughing on sarin or buried under the Congressional roof and various building rubble when Europan artillery would obliterate it.
The sound of a door opening almost made Packard fall out of her chair with surprise. She suddenly sprung to life with paranoid terror, rustling in her desk for that firearm the Sultan had personally awarded her with for the years of service she had done for the Ottomans.
“Where the fuck did I put that damn gun… son of a bitch.” She mouthed as the door began to swing from it’s hinges and she quickly ducked down, one hand still in the drawer, fitting the grip on a revolver type weapon. Clambering the old colt army special out from it, she rummaged for a few bullets to hastily slide into the weapon before cocking the hammer and holding the gun close to her chest as a figure entered the office. Her heart was in her throat. Had the Europans broken through the lines that quickly? Would there even be enough time to conduct the plans she had envisioned… would she be sold off into slavery, forced to dance for a little europan prince until he was bored and she was cast off into a nursing home with retirement benefits?! The very idea of some sort of welfare state brought a mix of trepidation and joy to her mind as the shadowy figure revealed itself to be...Josif Gobbles?
“Gobbles? What are you doing here?”
The lanky skeleton scowled when his eyes peered at Packard’s pistol.
“I was going to ask you the same thing, m’am. Why are you not packed yet?”
Packard went into a half-hearted defense of her actions, still looking incredulous and taking longer and longer puffs from her increasingly shrinking cigarette still gripped tightly between her fingers with each drag.
“W-well I had to simply inspect the Sublime Porte, making sure the members had gotten the message to fuck off from the capital and meet in Baghdad. I mean, I got distracted by all the shit that was going on around us, the sudden rush of war and shit to the brain, you’d know.”
Gobbles seemed unimpressed by her answer and addressed her like one would a child for breaking a glass bottle.
“Missy Willie, you can't just stare at the Europan minister through a telescope. We’re going to be evacuating-”
“I know, just let me-”
“Let me finish. Willie, we’re evacuating the capital and launching enough SCUDs to ruin it, or at least make it hellish. An armed rearguard will remain in the city to fight to the death. I am going to give you an offer, command the rear guard or join us.”
Wilhelmina Packard thought for what seemed like an eternity. Every once and a while the room would shake when explosions would hit somewhat close to the building, with an ottoman officer checking in on everything and being dismissed by Gobbles politely with a .45 caliber bullet to the face.
“You know, for all the propaganda I spout, I’m more of a fleeing woman to a fightin’ woman. Get me the hell out of here.”
“Great, but before you do, you’ll need to put this on.”
She was met with a fake looking bead and very long set of dress clothes.
“W-is there another outfit for fucks sake, I cant be seen wearing a suit, I-I’ll be humiliated!”
“Humiliation, Packard, or death? Those are your options, I can dismiss Garrison Admiral Buster Monroe from defense of the capital and assign you.” Gobbles threatened.
With a defiant look in her eyes that gave way to a resigned drag on a freshly lit cigarette, she grabbed the fake beard and business suit to put on.
Ottoman Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs Loomis shaking hands with Europan OfficialsCrete As the Ottoman Foreign Minister, Wilhelmina Packard had been expecting to fly in a style and with as much dignity as an ambassador could muster. Now she was fighting for arm room with a bunch of fucking chickens on board the seemingly unsturdy airplane as it jostled around from even the slightest turbulence. She rustled in her pocket for another packet of cigarettes, sticking one in her mouth with much difficulty before reaching in her other pocket for… air.
“Son of a bitch, cheap ass jacket.” She mouthed off to the chicken next to her before leaning out of her seat and barking at the pilot.
“Pilot! Can you get me a fucking lighter?”
“I’m flying the fucking plane you dumb fuck. Ask someone else.”
With a pouty look on her face, Packard’s eyes scanned the room for the bald looking head of Mr. Loomis, who was kicked in the face to be awoken, much to his sudden anger at the sudden hit.
“What the hell are you doing Missy Packy?! Oh. Here ya go.” With that, Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs Mr. Loomis handed her a lighter from his hat. Not even eliciting anything resembling a ‘thank you’, she turned around and anchored herself in the seat as the plane took another steep dive down and then jerked back up, thrashing her nearly seventy year old body around with many bruises and curses.
“For fucks sake…” Packard muttered as the small flame singed the tobacco product in her mouth, a quick flick of the lighter extinguishing it as she let out a singular puff, with a slight smile, the first one of today, grasping her face.
“You know smoking is bad for you?”
“Like you give a damn about my safety Loomis. I’ve been smoking for seventy six years now, since I was a baby. I don't see any ill effects and you’ll be hard pressed to find any. It’s none of your concern what I put in my goddamned body.”
“Bu-but your my woman. Oh jim jimmity. Can you at least hold off until we land? We should be nearing Crete soon. You did want to meet with these Europans, after all.”
“I was forced to meet with them, I’m not expecting a miracle at least, but we might get something tangible out of it, possibly a political marriage.”
“You think the narrator’s been playing too much CKII?”
“What? Is that another nerve agent we haven't used? If so, then why the fuck not?”
“It’s a video ga-oh to hell with this, you’re as dense as a fucking rock.”
“And you are as kind as you are an asshole.”
“Touche, now shut the fuck up I think we’re about to land.”
The aging DC-47’s landing gear hastened to deploy as the pilot reduced the speed as much as he could to lose a few seconds towards the landing equipment. He hovered over roughly a third of the runway before touching down and applying the breaks, the plane slowing down from one hundred and forty to one hundred, then dropping to seventy five, then fifty, then twenty five before stuttering to a small stall like speed of a couple miles per hour. The spinning of the propellers and the noise of the engines that once forced the ambassador to yell (as much as her hoarse voice could with all the smoking) soon coughed abruptly as black smoke poured from the engines.
The pilot then came up front to where Packard was and kicked the seventy year old woman off of the airplane, her landing face first on the concrete with a splat, yet getting up as if she was a cartoon character. Evidently, she was more upset at the abrupt divorce from tobacco tom than any broken hip or how much longer she would need to be in a cast after this whole event was over.
She turned to the pilot and looked angry at the man. Like a woman with a tobacco addiction, she hissed.
“Where’s. My. Motherfucking. Cigarettes?! Well? Get your head out of your ass and find me it!”
After several aides that had stumbled out of the plane were yelled at by Packard, the cigarette was found and she plopped it right back inside of her mouth, sucking on it akin to a baby with a pacifier.
“Ah. Much Better.”
With that, the Ottoman delegation arrived on Crete.
“Well that was very random,” Luigi Cadorna II watched anxiously as the Ottomans got off their plane and made their merry way on over to the Imperial delegation. This meeting was totally random if you asked Cadorna, but it appeared Salzburg would humor the Turkish subhumans this one time. So it really did strike him as strange when the Ottoman delegates were clearly white. He honestly didn’t know what to make of the situation at this point.
“Welcome to the Empire of Europa!” Luigi introduced himself to the Ottomans in Italian. “We should get going, mostly because there’s absolutely no time to spare! I am ambassador Luigi Cadorna II and I’ll be in charge of heading negotiations.”
Why am I heading negotiations again? Right, they needed someone to insult those barbarians, Luigi thought to himself.
Wilhelmina Packard’s face curled into a smile in between puffs on her favored cigarette.
“Thank you for your hospitality Il Duce. It is an honor to at least land on such sacred soil.”
Then Packard’s cigarette suddenly crumbled in front of her, much to the ambassador’s chagrin, almost enough to let out a swear.
“Son of a.. Sorry Il Duce, but you don't have to have another cigarette do you? Normally I have plenty with me, but this week really has been up sh-” she stopped herself just in time. “Shill’s creek without a paddle.” Her eyes conveyed a combination of pleading and embarrassment.
“Ah, I thought I smelt depression and self loathing out here. Montgomery Loomis, deputy minister of foreign affairs, bachelor, and the maker of the best goddamned cotton candy this side of the Medditerarnian Sea.”
With that, Loomis pushed past the old lady and politely bowed. His skin was as white as Packards, though a shade darker, indicating that he at least saw the sun as compared to the completely pale Packard, to whom sunlight was a foreign concept to the practical vampire.
“Ahhh,” Cadorna nodded before handing Packard a cuban cigar. “Here, enjoy. Anyways let’s get going!”
These people are… errr, very informal, Cadorna cringed.
It didn’t take too long for the delegates to arrive at the central government building of Heraklion. The city itself was rather quiet, disregarding the imperial troops who were running about. Numerous ballistic missile defenses had been installed out of fear of Ottoman SCUDs, as had some early warning radars shipped over from the mainland.
“Awfully nice of you to keep on your toes, with all these defenses mopin’ about.” Loomis noted as he squinted at the sight of a far away radar station on a mountain top, it nothing more than a faint grape in the distance.
“Of course they’d need to be prepared against the unpredictable, you never know when a hurricane powered by SCUDs might roll around.” Loomis half joked, but in the back of his mind made a mental note to pour in money for a hurricane composed of SCUD missiles, which sounded freakin’ amazing. Packard and Loomis soon walked with the Italians to the central government building, but not before perusing the various shops and small markets that had adorned the city.
Packard pressed her nose against the glass.
“Huh, you think they sell scorpions, I’d like a few of them just to spite the sultan.”
Loomis accompanied her in the perusing of the local wildlife held in glass cages and the stores, with their proprietors beaming with pride at the captured craft that hissed violently. He tapped the glass on a cage, with the scorpion soon going mad, hitting the glass with its stinger until tiring out.
“Poor thing. It probably needs to be barbecued.”
“Loomis! These are god’s creatures and I won’t be havin’ none of that eatin’ talk.”
“I’m just sayin, they’d look awfully nice next to a bottle of Kensin Ivanov BBQ sauce.”
Packard couldn't muster a retort to the blunted but cruel savagery that was Loomis. She simply rolled her eyes at the ridiculous assumption that scorpions would ever go along with… BBQ sauce. BBQ Sauce! Everyone and their mother knew that you enjoyed scorpions with a nice side of honey mustard and some spicy fifteen season herb and spice rub. To say any other method of BBQ was heresy.
“Sauce… what a dry topping.” Packard muttered under her breath as they made their way through the marketplace, avoiding some of the more sketchy looking shacks that were bound to sell weapons of mass destruction or ottoman terrorists trying to make an honest suicide bombing. She walked along the market place, staring out at the various shops. There were the cheese stands, the wine stands and one stand in particular which robbed her of attention. She was now fixated on the sight of some tiny italian stand. The location had nothing too particular that would make it stand out, barring some brightly decorated outfit that the manager fixed himself to. Rather, it was what they were selling which caught her attention. It would be an unorthodox solution, but if she couldn’t have honey mustard, she would be forced to bend her own rules of chicken frying and have the potential for pre marinated judgement by the fried food fuckers in heaven.
“Is that-” She sniffed a small plate which had a black liquid on it.
“-Balsamic Vinegar?”
The seller gave a nod in the affirmative before she picked up a cut bread piece and dipped it in the black stuff. The very acidic smell was biting and inviting to her nostrils. If she really wanted to quit smoking, she could very easily just binge eat french bread dipped in balsamic vinegar. But she had no real intention of quitting. Still, she had found her second husband practically. Looking the seller in the eye, who exchanged a long grin on his face to the Foreign Minister.
Packard then snapped her fingers, and without saying a word, Loomis rummaged through his pockets and threw down a literal gold bar on the table. The weight of the massive object shaking the shoddily constructed wooden stand.
“I’ll take your entire stock!” Soon Packard had corralled her husband into fitting bottles of balsamic vinegar into a wooden wagon, enough to make an ox tired from carrying it, and hitched up a random crete farmer to deliver the shipment to the airfield. Finished with the simple pleasures in life, Packard soon rejoined the rest of the diplomatic party and entered the government building.
Luigi did his best to ignore the Ottomans throughout the group’s short tour of the local city. These people… they were verifiably insane! How the hell had they even managed to obtain their positions? Then it dawned upon him: if the politicians were this crazy, the average inhabitants likely had the collective IQ of a donkey. It was both horrifying but also good news at the same time: defeating these monkeys would be far too easy!
Suppressing his desire to laugh maniacally, Luigi led the “Ottomans” into one of the building’s conference rooms. He skipped all the formalities and decided to get to the point.
“So, what brings you to Europa today? Is it peace you seek? Possibly lighter terms in light of the Empire’s inevitable victory?”
Packard sat down in the conference room before exchanging a look with Loomis.
“Peace might be a possibility. I don't necessarily want war as badly as you might think, Count Luigi. The Ottoman proposal is thus, an immediate ceasefire all along the Europan and Ottoman Frontlines, the opening of an embassy between the Sublime Porte and the Europan Empire, Ottoman concessions in the forum of twelve thousand barrels of oil and five tons of precious minerals. I understand the militarily improbability of the Imperial Army-”
She soon realized a slight confusion before correcting herself.
“Sorry, our Imperial Army, at defeating you on the field of battle. The Ottoman Empire would be readily willing to concede on the latter points of trade and resources just to salvage the portion of a ceasefire. Even if it’s just temporary, I’m more than willing to take whatever you happen to have as a counter offer. If we’ve just been wasting our time with you, we’re sorry, and only ask that we are given enough time to leave safety and without any harm.”
Deputy Loomis scowled before standing up and reading from a small piece of paper.
“Should you reject that offer, Loomis has another solution. We would be more than willing to co-operate in the sale of the sultan’s vast male harem to suitable homosexual officers within Europa. All free of charge, just with the promise of peace. You can even break it right after, I wouldn't give a damn, just get me some of that sweet, sweet candied ass. Ohh by george… ooh by jimmity.”
Luigi cringed at the mention of the “male harem”. Was this Sultan a homosexual? Such behavior was honestly disgusting, and Luigi took a moment to wipe the thought from his mind. That said, Packard had been surprisingly… willing to talk. And the terms she’d listed weren’t insane either, if not totally desirable.
“Well ambassador, we in the Empire don’t partake in such carnal desires as homosexuality, but your other points seem surprisingly well considered. Of course, my own terms are… more tailored in light of imperial interests, but I’d say they’re relatively light on you. They are as following: a 30 km wide demilitarized along the border, open access to the straits for Imperial naval warships, reparations amounting to 10% of the Ottoman Empire’s annual oil production, and a one-year long non aggression pact. Let me remind you that we possess a formidable nuclear arsenal, and are not afraid to use it to defend our country if you continue hostilities.”
Ambassador Packard fit yet another cigarette in her mouth and barked at Loomis,who had been picking at his nose.
“Loomis!”
“Oh, by george, what the fuck is it Packy poo?”
She held up her face to the man and pointed at her cigarette, to which Loomis got a box of matches out and struck one, it slowly burning on the cigarette to enable her for a satisfactory puff before smiling once again. She took a long drag on the cigarette before clearing her now tobacco filled throat and lungs with a sharp, cancerous cough.
“I do not take too kindly to threats, Luigi. I’m not sure how you greet your grandmother, but if you threatened to beat the shit out of her, I doubt you’d be seeing her often! The Ottoman Empire resolutely rejects the proposed indefinite access to Imperial Warships. However, the points of a tenth of the annual oil production, offered demilitarized zone and non aggression pact are readily accepted. The most the Ottomans would be willing to compromise on this part would be your assistance in constructing a new canal straight through Turkey to link the Black Sea and the Medidterranian. I believe this would be suitable for my side. You will get access to the medidteranian ports via a long canal that also will provide ample farmland to the Turkish economy, probably making up a little bit in the lost oil production.”
Deputy Loomis then spoke up, a smile flooding his face like a cheating poker player with a purported ‘ace’ up his sleeve.
“If the Ottoman Empire and Europans were open for trade, with at least minimal tariffs of protectionist bullshit in place as a start, then the lost oil production would be a moot point, with us able to make up the losses in economic development with Europan companies that might bring the glories of indoor plumbing to the backwater regions of afghanistan-”
Ambassador Wilhelmina Packard then leans into Deputy Ambassador Loomis’s ear to mutter something incoherent.
“What do you mean we don't own afghanistan? Fine. I guess the backwater portion will be whatever the fuck the sand arabs in mecca are fucking about with. Goddamned savage infidel heretical motherfuckers. Maybe we all need is a good old nuclear holocaust, like the ones we’re doing to the jews and on the scale of what the jews do to the arabs in their organized reprisals. I hear Oy Vey III is very profitable this time of year in the arab fucking buisness.”
Loomis replied, disappointed at the news that Afghanistan was not a crown dependency of the Ottoman Empire. However, he was always a man to invoke such wise words from Buster Monroe, the sage advice of the chief ottoman extermination camp operator. Such advice was a genocide from time to time to weed out the bad from the good. But he was sure that such genocidal actions were approved by god. How else could he explain away the clusterfuck that were the crusades?
He shook his head and returned to conversation with the count.
“The Ottoman and Europan economies could be very intertwined. You know what the best sound in the world is? The sound of gold bars hitting barrels filled with crude oil. It’s a nice and very solid thunk sound, no real rhythm or pitch, just a whack and drop off. That is what the Ottomans can bring to the Europan Empire. If you would prefer solar power, maybe you can help us in that way, build a large facility in the middle of the bloody deseret to harness the power of that big ball of gas millions of miles away from earth, and we’ll get to dismantling our forward military outposts along the Vanz region.”
Wilhelmina Packard then interjected, mouth full of balsamic drenched french and italian bread.
“You know what the second best sound in the world is? Fucking eating french bread, just the crunch of it would be enough to make me think I died, and when you combine it with the balsamic, it’s just heaven waiting to happen. Maybe instead of selling them crude oil, how about we trade balsamic vinegar and italian oils for actual crude oil, set at ten boxes of balsamic for a barrel of crude.”
“Packy poo, can you fuck off with your french bread mouth- and for fucks sakes pick up a goddamned cigarette or play in traffic, you should chew with your mouth closed! The Count does not need to see a detailed history of your oral cavities! Unless you want to see a detailed history of Packard’s oral cavities?” Loomis then asked Count Luigi, who shook his head negatively.
“For one, ten boxes of balsamic is worth far more than a barrel of crude, and our country barely even uses crude at that. Domestic production here is more than high enough to satisfy demand.” Luigi began. “As for everything else? I’ve heard enough of this nonsense to know that getting our economy intertwined with yours is a recipe for disaster. You seem more preoccupied on obtaining kitchen condiments than seeking out reasonable trade deals, and for gods’ sake STOP EATING at the conference table!”
The Italian Europan sighed before continuing.
“Once again, my terms are not changing. You have to remember that Europa is negotiating from a position of strength: be happy that we haven’t decided to throw these talks out of the window and declare a war of total annihilation against you. As you’ll see tomorrow, the Russians will pay for their insolence in fighting us, and you too could be on the chopping block.”
Packard sighed before reaching over to shake the Italian Europan’s hand, readying her photogenic side when a photographer snapped a picture, the flash briefly disorentating her before the senses returned to her.
“I see. In that case, the Ottoman Empire rejects your proposal. Perhaps one crate of balsamic to one barrel of oil might work, but I can see that negotiating with your motherfuckers of milan is pointless. I’m getting the fuck out of here, fuck you italian pizza pasta fucker, we’re leaving!”
Packard then yanks Deputy Ambassador Loomis by the ear, much to his chagrin and over his yelping objections. Her pockets filled with the numerous bottles of balsamic vinegar, she gave the middle finger to the airport attendants, boarded the still smoking Douglas C-47, (which had it’s engine repaired thanks in part to a bunch of hammer hitting in several different languages) and took off from the Island of Crete, feeling frustrated with the negotiations that unfolded.
“That stubborn old bastard, they couldn’t even be assed to part with a single fucking crate of balsamic vinegar. Fucking negotiations were pointless! Probably a trap, If I’m being honest.” Loomis barked out, unholstering his revolver and shooting one of the chickens that just shit on the airplane floor.
“Now, Loomis, it wasn't all that bad, we did manage to come away with enough Balsamic Vinegar to make this plane almost crash into the sea, so that was something.”
Loomis stared blankly at her before slapping her silly.
“You. Stupid. Bitch! This means we’re going to war goddamnit! This was our one shot at diplomacy, and you fucking blew it! I’m fucking sick of your shit frankly Packy Poo!”
“B-but the balsamic vinegar-”
“Wilhelmina Packard. I’m doggone sick of all the bullshit you push and prod on me. You can take the vinegar and fuck right on off. Understood?”
“Wh-you have some nerve saying that to my face!”
“I have all the nerve in the world to say that to my wife. You’ve spoiled our diplomatic soup with this vinegar obsession of yours.”
“Well… Vinegar wasnt the only thing I snuck onboard-”
Loomis looked incredulously at Packard as she stood up from her seat and several wheels of italian cheeses and loaves of italian bread rolled onto the floor of the airplane.