Part I.
The Death of a Benevolent Ruler Becomes a Precursor for Tyranny
The Lord Regent passes surrounded by member of the Royal Family
Royal Ulster Hospital, Wuthering Heights, Closian Commonwealth
The Castillian Social Union, 30 October 2028, 8:43 PM CDT
The Lord Caffery, the Lord Regent of the Closian Commonwealth, lie in a hospital bed, IV tubes inserted into the frail old man's arms as he tearfully looked at the people assembled around him, his eyes red and tired, the consistent sound of a heart monitor breaking the silence. At one side was his middle-aged daughter, the beautiful Baroness Charlotte of Wuthering, clutching the old man's hand into her own as she shed tears. The Lord Regent was about to pass away, everyone knew it, and the halls of the Royal Ulster Hospital were deathly silent as doctors and nurses mourned the oncoming death of their monarch.
On the other side of the Lord Regent's bed sat the Duke George V of Lilyshire, his son and Charlotte's older brother, with a very pale and distressed look upon his face. Internally, George knew that his father's passing would spell a difficult time for Closians, as they would bid farewell to the man who negotiated peace with their Castillian overlords and partially restored the Closian monarchy. His father was a national hero, and would leave a lasting legacy for decades, and as his successor, George would be unsure if he could adequately reign as monarch and fulfill the responsibilities that his father would leave him in a short time.
Quietly standing behind the other family members in the room, the Count of Cheshire, Matthew Caswell of, a first cousin to George and Charlotte, looked upon the dying monarch over the shoulders of grieving family members. He was often casted a black sheep of the Royal family, his mother dying when he was young and his father, the former Count, notorious for being absolutely mad. "The Mad Count of Cheshire," was his father, and Matthew had always lamented the reputation that had lasted even after his death years prior. Even though the press had covered him and his charities favorably, the Caswell name had been scorned as a result of his father. And to add fuel to the flame, his uncle was the "Hero of the Commonwealth", who had usurped the throne from the Caswell's since Gordon II's abdication.
And as the brother and sister lost a father, the cousin would exact his revenge overnight. The grip of the Lord Regent loosened as he looked into Charlotte's eyes, giving a faint, weakened smile. "Take care, my lovely daughter," he said as he turned his head to George, who sat up closer to his father, listening intently. "And you, my son, you have much responsibility. Rule with an even hand," he said as his breathing slowed, and the heart monitor increased in speed until the distinctive flatline was heard. Charlotte instantly broke into tears as the family silently mourned, George got up to comfort his sister, and the nurses came to take the Lord Regent's body.
After many of the family had filed out, and the body was removed, with just an empty hospital room aside from the brother, the sister, and the cousin, with the pitter-patter of rain on the window and the warm glow of a lamp in the corner of the room. George looked up and still realizing Matthew was there, standing silently at the siblings, inquired why. "What are you still doing here Matthew?," he said, slightly irritated. "Can you not see this is not a good time?"
"I'm terribly sorry about your loss," Matthew replied. "As he was your father, he was my uncle. He was a honorable man, a true saint," he said. Those words seethed through his teeth and tasted like vinegar. He absolutely abhorred the man, as he felt he had destroyed his father, not his father's own instability. "I too am mourning, as are you and the Baroness."
George knew of Matthew's dislike of his father, it was apparent as kids and as they both grew older together and his uncle's negative press started afflicting Matthew as well. To see the Caswell's lose the throne, and the Caffery's become the ruling house, George knew that Matthew took that very personally. He grew angry at Matthew and rose up from embracing his sister. "Matthew, will you please go? This right now is not the time for you to be cheeky," he told his cousin.
"Oh, now I'm being cheeky?" Matthew laughed at George's accusation. "Wishing you my condolences is being cheeky? Bloody hell George, he was my uncle too, you think I am not sincere?"
George grew even more angry at his cousin, his face turning red with fiery passion. "Go, now you bastard, before the staff witness this altercation," he told Matthew.
"Fine, I'll go," he replied to George as he gave a smirk and shrugged. "Please forgive me for being sincere, Your Majesty," the last part being Matthew poking fun at the Duke's new status as Lord Regent to-be. With that last remark, he left out the door, George standing there in a rage, and the fair Baroness weeping over an empty hospital bed as a terrible storm raged outside.
On the other side of the Lord Regent's bed sat the Duke George V of Lilyshire, his son and Charlotte's older brother, with a very pale and distressed look upon his face. Internally, George knew that his father's passing would spell a difficult time for Closians, as they would bid farewell to the man who negotiated peace with their Castillian overlords and partially restored the Closian monarchy. His father was a national hero, and would leave a lasting legacy for decades, and as his successor, George would be unsure if he could adequately reign as monarch and fulfill the responsibilities that his father would leave him in a short time.
Quietly standing behind the other family members in the room, the Count of Cheshire, Matthew Caswell of, a first cousin to George and Charlotte, looked upon the dying monarch over the shoulders of grieving family members. He was often casted a black sheep of the Royal family, his mother dying when he was young and his father, the former Count, notorious for being absolutely mad. "The Mad Count of Cheshire," was his father, and Matthew had always lamented the reputation that had lasted even after his death years prior. Even though the press had covered him and his charities favorably, the Caswell name had been scorned as a result of his father. And to add fuel to the flame, his uncle was the "Hero of the Commonwealth", who had usurped the throne from the Caswell's since Gordon II's abdication.
And as the brother and sister lost a father, the cousin would exact his revenge overnight. The grip of the Lord Regent loosened as he looked into Charlotte's eyes, giving a faint, weakened smile. "Take care, my lovely daughter," he said as he turned his head to George, who sat up closer to his father, listening intently. "And you, my son, you have much responsibility. Rule with an even hand," he said as his breathing slowed, and the heart monitor increased in speed until the distinctive flatline was heard. Charlotte instantly broke into tears as the family silently mourned, George got up to comfort his sister, and the nurses came to take the Lord Regent's body.
After many of the family had filed out, and the body was removed, with just an empty hospital room aside from the brother, the sister, and the cousin, with the pitter-patter of rain on the window and the warm glow of a lamp in the corner of the room. George looked up and still realizing Matthew was there, standing silently at the siblings, inquired why. "What are you still doing here Matthew?," he said, slightly irritated. "Can you not see this is not a good time?"
"I'm terribly sorry about your loss," Matthew replied. "As he was your father, he was my uncle. He was a honorable man, a true saint," he said. Those words seethed through his teeth and tasted like vinegar. He absolutely abhorred the man, as he felt he had destroyed his father, not his father's own instability. "I too am mourning, as are you and the Baroness."
George knew of Matthew's dislike of his father, it was apparent as kids and as they both grew older together and his uncle's negative press started afflicting Matthew as well. To see the Caswell's lose the throne, and the Caffery's become the ruling house, George knew that Matthew took that very personally. He grew angry at Matthew and rose up from embracing his sister. "Matthew, will you please go? This right now is not the time for you to be cheeky," he told his cousin.
"Oh, now I'm being cheeky?" Matthew laughed at George's accusation. "Wishing you my condolences is being cheeky? Bloody hell George, he was my uncle too, you think I am not sincere?"
George grew even more angry at his cousin, his face turning red with fiery passion. "Go, now you bastard, before the staff witness this altercation," he told Matthew.
"Fine, I'll go," he replied to George as he gave a smirk and shrugged. "Please forgive me for being sincere, Your Majesty," the last part being Matthew poking fun at the Duke's new status as Lord Regent to-be. With that last remark, he left out the door, George standing there in a rage, and the fair Baroness weeping over an empty hospital bed as a terrible storm raged outside.
Part II.
Oh Heathcliffe, It's Me, Cathy! I've Come Home!
The funeral of the Lord Regent is held in Claremont Abbey
Claremont Abbey, Wuthering Heights, Closian Commonwealth
The Castillian Social Union, 5 November 2028, 12:00 PM CDT
Oh Heathcliffe, It's Me, Cathy! I've Come Home!
The funeral of the Lord Regent is held in Claremont Abbey
Claremont Abbey, Wuthering Heights, Closian Commonwealth
The Castillian Social Union, 5 November 2028, 12:00 PM CDT
The rainstorm had continued on for seven days now, and the Lord Regent's funeral had coincided with the worst day of flooding in the Closian capital of Ulster in history, with nearly twenty-thousand people displaced to the south of Ulster in the Hollybrook and Maidenhead districts as a result of the Bertram River Levy overflowing. And despite that tragedy, it would not delay the national tragedy that was the death of Lord George Caffery IV. As the rain perpetually poured, it flowed from the streets of the governmental district of Wuthering Heights downhill, into the valley where the levy had broken and destroyed the suburbs and farmlands alike.
The Royal Guard stood proudly in front of Claremont Abbey, which lie exactly five kilometres to the east of Wuthering Palace, directly staring at the Throne across the Wuthering Able Lawn, a vast expanse of green fertile land that was neatly manicured and adorned with fountains and statues, often enough children would play on bright sunny days football or fly kites, taking advantage of the gusts of wind that came from the coastline up to the hilltop where Wustering Heights lay. Each member of the Royal Guard held an SA80 at parade rest, bayonets affixed, as short decorative metal fencing separated the mourning public from them and the Abbey, the Guard's distinguishable bearskin covers soaked from the rain, their grey longcoats a dark charcoal color from the downfall.
Inside the Abbey, about eight-hundred members of the Royal Family, members of the Closian sub-national government, including the First Minister, George Michael Middleton, and several prominent members of Closian society sat in the pews of the beautiful, ornate structure of worship. Below the altar, the Lord Regent lie in state, the casket half-draped with the Closian flag, and the other half with the Blue Banner of the Castillian Social Union.
At the pulpit, the Archbishop of the Church gave the Lord Regent his last rites. He was immediately followed by the First Minister, who went up to the pulpit and gave the eulogy. "I stand before you today, the representative of a family in grief, in a country in mourning before a world in shock," he began. "We are all united not only in our desire to pay our respects to the Lord Regent but rather in our need to do so. His extraordinary accomplishment of unifying a country shattered by societal breakdown in the face of fascism will stand as a legacy of heroic endeavor and goodwill for fellow countrymen."
The majority of the Royal Family sat in the front few pews, Charlotte's piercing blue eyes were somber and tearful, the black mascara slightly running and the black veil covering her weary face of mourning and dread. George sat tall in a black suit, his face showing no emotion. With the broadcasting cameras covering the funeral for the public, and the attention partially focused on him as he was to be the next Lord Regent, he needed to convey a sense of strength in this time of sorrow, as a strong and effective leader should.
"The last time I saw the Lord Regent was on July the first, his birthday, in Lilyshire," the First Minister continued with the eulogy. "When typically he was not taking time to celebrate his special day with friends but was guest of honor at a fund-raising charity evening. He was magnificent of course, but I would rather cherish the days I spent with him in March when he came to visit me and my children in our home near Kintyre."*
As the First Minister finished that sentence, the large oak doors of the Abbey swung open, and several soldiers of the Royal Guard in their greens service uniforms, ribbons, and peaked covers stormed in with SA80 rifles, in a double-file formation, with what appeared to be the officer in charge in the front, a pistol in hand. "By the order of the King, I hereby place the following members of the Royal Family under arrest..." the officer, who was a major, began. The room fell aghast with confusion, concern and outrage. George immediately stood up and entered the center aisle of the Abbey. "What is the meaning of this? What King do you speak of? There hasn't been a 'King' of the Commonwealth in nearly thirty years," he exclaimed.
"By the order of King Matthew Caswell," the major replied. "You sir, are under military arrest."
The soldiers rounded up several members of the family including George and Charlotte, as well as all the government officials in attendance including First Minister Middleton, and others who had tried to intervene in the arrests. The general public stood outside Claremont Abbey in shock as the Royal Guard escorted George, Charlotte, and several others in handcuffs into armored cars, as sirens could be heard across the city and helicopters flew around Wuthering Heights. It was clear that the throne had been usurped, and the military forces from Robertson Barracks had been used as a vital instrument in this overthrow of the proper line of succession.
George and Charlotte were placed into a black AMZ Dzik armored car which was part of a convoy of six equipped with emergency lights, with bulletproof windows from which the brother and sister watched a hostile military takeover happen. There was little violence, but the military forces of the Commonwealth had taken to the streets, setting up checkpoints on main thoroughfares and blockading bridges, tear gas and batons being used to suppress what little resistance had popped up. Just like the two siblings, this had completely caught the city by surprise. Spots where often a bobby could be seen on a street corner was now a menacing-looking solider in black armor wielding an automatic rifle. Between the rain and the chaotic scene, the usurping had left George in utter disbelief.
The takeover became more ridiculous and apparent the closer the convoy came to Wuthering Palace. The crowds of belligerent citizens grew larger, the violence more prevalent, until they came upon the vehicle gate, which was heavily fortified with chain-link fence and automatic rifles providing a bulwark between the roadway and the rabble of commoners in protest. As they entered the Palace grounds, George saw it. A bloody tank on the Regent's Lawn, facing the Ceremonial Gate and thousands of people.
The convoy made an abrupt halt in front of the main entrance of the Palace, one that the siblings were all too familiar with. They were unhandcuffed and then led through the doors at gunpoint into the grand main atrium. The room itself was truly remarkable, and down the staircase came another familiar face, that of the chief of the Closian Territorial Army, Lord Peter Hull of Marlborough. "Fancy you to return home from the funeral so early," he said as he approached the siblings. "The King has requested your presence in his court. What an honor that must be?"
"Lord Hull, I would have never expected you to betray your fellow countrymen like this," Charlotte said in disgust. Lord Hull had been a close confidant of the Royal Family for years, and for him to sell out the Caffery's for Caswell was a surprise. "He's going to appoint me First Minister, and we'll do away with the House of Commons," Lord Hull retorted with a snort. It made sense for the general to not be in a uniform then, rather a luxurious suit that seemed like an import. "Alright enough of this, let's move on to the court, shall we?" he said with a weasel-like laugh that infuriated the siblings.
The soldiers, the SA80s still trained on George and Charlotte, escorted the two into the main throne room, King Matthew's Court. As the doors swung open, across the ornate room sat Matthew on the throne, the Crown of Crystallia upon his head, popping grapes into his mouth as if he were a Viridian-era patrician or noble. "How dare you," George shouted as they entered the court. "You make a mockery of the throne, you usurp the power of the monarch for your own benefit, and you betray the trust of a nation? Do you realize the consequences you have? This will be a short reign for you, I guarantee it!"
"Well, at least I will go down in history as someone who had reigned as monarch of the Closians," Matthew haughtily replied as he stepped from the throne down to the siblings. "You will go down as a traitor, I will make sure of that, as well as a failure at that," he said as he looked at George. "You see, I'll say this was all your conspiring, you and pretty little Charlotte here." As he mentioned her, he squeezed Charlotte's cheeks with his hand, smudging the lipstick off her lips.
"You keep your hands off her!" George yelled as he raised his hand against Matthew, which was quickly caught and twisted by one of the Royal Guard. The soldier forced him down to the ground as he grimaced in agony. "You see Georgie, I've won. I'm the victor. And history is written by the victors. So when I order the press to tell the world that you had poisoned your father so you and Charlotte could succeed him, I will have uncovered your plot and apprehended you, turning your worthless father into a martyr and me into a saint," Matthew said as he threw Charlotte to the ground. Squatting next to George, he whispered to him. "The throne belongs to House Caswell, and I've reclaimed it."
The Royal Guard stood proudly in front of Claremont Abbey, which lie exactly five kilometres to the east of Wuthering Palace, directly staring at the Throne across the Wuthering Able Lawn, a vast expanse of green fertile land that was neatly manicured and adorned with fountains and statues, often enough children would play on bright sunny days football or fly kites, taking advantage of the gusts of wind that came from the coastline up to the hilltop where Wustering Heights lay. Each member of the Royal Guard held an SA80 at parade rest, bayonets affixed, as short decorative metal fencing separated the mourning public from them and the Abbey, the Guard's distinguishable bearskin covers soaked from the rain, their grey longcoats a dark charcoal color from the downfall.
Inside the Abbey, about eight-hundred members of the Royal Family, members of the Closian sub-national government, including the First Minister, George Michael Middleton, and several prominent members of Closian society sat in the pews of the beautiful, ornate structure of worship. Below the altar, the Lord Regent lie in state, the casket half-draped with the Closian flag, and the other half with the Blue Banner of the Castillian Social Union.
At the pulpit, the Archbishop of the Church gave the Lord Regent his last rites. He was immediately followed by the First Minister, who went up to the pulpit and gave the eulogy. "I stand before you today, the representative of a family in grief, in a country in mourning before a world in shock," he began. "We are all united not only in our desire to pay our respects to the Lord Regent but rather in our need to do so. His extraordinary accomplishment of unifying a country shattered by societal breakdown in the face of fascism will stand as a legacy of heroic endeavor and goodwill for fellow countrymen."
The majority of the Royal Family sat in the front few pews, Charlotte's piercing blue eyes were somber and tearful, the black mascara slightly running and the black veil covering her weary face of mourning and dread. George sat tall in a black suit, his face showing no emotion. With the broadcasting cameras covering the funeral for the public, and the attention partially focused on him as he was to be the next Lord Regent, he needed to convey a sense of strength in this time of sorrow, as a strong and effective leader should.
"The last time I saw the Lord Regent was on July the first, his birthday, in Lilyshire," the First Minister continued with the eulogy. "When typically he was not taking time to celebrate his special day with friends but was guest of honor at a fund-raising charity evening. He was magnificent of course, but I would rather cherish the days I spent with him in March when he came to visit me and my children in our home near Kintyre."*
As the First Minister finished that sentence, the large oak doors of the Abbey swung open, and several soldiers of the Royal Guard in their greens service uniforms, ribbons, and peaked covers stormed in with SA80 rifles, in a double-file formation, with what appeared to be the officer in charge in the front, a pistol in hand. "By the order of the King, I hereby place the following members of the Royal Family under arrest..." the officer, who was a major, began. The room fell aghast with confusion, concern and outrage. George immediately stood up and entered the center aisle of the Abbey. "What is the meaning of this? What King do you speak of? There hasn't been a 'King' of the Commonwealth in nearly thirty years," he exclaimed.
"By the order of King Matthew Caswell," the major replied. "You sir, are under military arrest."
The soldiers rounded up several members of the family including George and Charlotte, as well as all the government officials in attendance including First Minister Middleton, and others who had tried to intervene in the arrests. The general public stood outside Claremont Abbey in shock as the Royal Guard escorted George, Charlotte, and several others in handcuffs into armored cars, as sirens could be heard across the city and helicopters flew around Wuthering Heights. It was clear that the throne had been usurped, and the military forces from Robertson Barracks had been used as a vital instrument in this overthrow of the proper line of succession.
George and Charlotte were placed into a black AMZ Dzik armored car which was part of a convoy of six equipped with emergency lights, with bulletproof windows from which the brother and sister watched a hostile military takeover happen. There was little violence, but the military forces of the Commonwealth had taken to the streets, setting up checkpoints on main thoroughfares and blockading bridges, tear gas and batons being used to suppress what little resistance had popped up. Just like the two siblings, this had completely caught the city by surprise. Spots where often a bobby could be seen on a street corner was now a menacing-looking solider in black armor wielding an automatic rifle. Between the rain and the chaotic scene, the usurping had left George in utter disbelief.
The takeover became more ridiculous and apparent the closer the convoy came to Wuthering Palace. The crowds of belligerent citizens grew larger, the violence more prevalent, until they came upon the vehicle gate, which was heavily fortified with chain-link fence and automatic rifles providing a bulwark between the roadway and the rabble of commoners in protest. As they entered the Palace grounds, George saw it. A bloody tank on the Regent's Lawn, facing the Ceremonial Gate and thousands of people.
The convoy made an abrupt halt in front of the main entrance of the Palace, one that the siblings were all too familiar with. They were unhandcuffed and then led through the doors at gunpoint into the grand main atrium. The room itself was truly remarkable, and down the staircase came another familiar face, that of the chief of the Closian Territorial Army, Lord Peter Hull of Marlborough. "Fancy you to return home from the funeral so early," he said as he approached the siblings. "The King has requested your presence in his court. What an honor that must be?"
"Lord Hull, I would have never expected you to betray your fellow countrymen like this," Charlotte said in disgust. Lord Hull had been a close confidant of the Royal Family for years, and for him to sell out the Caffery's for Caswell was a surprise. "He's going to appoint me First Minister, and we'll do away with the House of Commons," Lord Hull retorted with a snort. It made sense for the general to not be in a uniform then, rather a luxurious suit that seemed like an import. "Alright enough of this, let's move on to the court, shall we?" he said with a weasel-like laugh that infuriated the siblings.
The soldiers, the SA80s still trained on George and Charlotte, escorted the two into the main throne room, King Matthew's Court. As the doors swung open, across the ornate room sat Matthew on the throne, the Crown of Crystallia upon his head, popping grapes into his mouth as if he were a Viridian-era patrician or noble. "How dare you," George shouted as they entered the court. "You make a mockery of the throne, you usurp the power of the monarch for your own benefit, and you betray the trust of a nation? Do you realize the consequences you have? This will be a short reign for you, I guarantee it!"
"Well, at least I will go down in history as someone who had reigned as monarch of the Closians," Matthew haughtily replied as he stepped from the throne down to the siblings. "You will go down as a traitor, I will make sure of that, as well as a failure at that," he said as he looked at George. "You see, I'll say this was all your conspiring, you and pretty little Charlotte here." As he mentioned her, he squeezed Charlotte's cheeks with his hand, smudging the lipstick off her lips.
"You keep your hands off her!" George yelled as he raised his hand against Matthew, which was quickly caught and twisted by one of the Royal Guard. The soldier forced him down to the ground as he grimaced in agony. "You see Georgie, I've won. I'm the victor. And history is written by the victors. So when I order the press to tell the world that you had poisoned your father so you and Charlotte could succeed him, I will have uncovered your plot and apprehended you, turning your worthless father into a martyr and me into a saint," Matthew said as he threw Charlotte to the ground. Squatting next to George, he whispered to him. "The throne belongs to House Caswell, and I've reclaimed it."
Part III.
The Mouse Escapes the Den of the Lion
The siblings are rescued from the King by an unlikely ally
Wuthering Palace, Wuthering Heights, Closian Commonwealth
The Castillian Social Union, 6 November 2028, 4:31 AM CDT
The Mouse Escapes the Den of the Lion
The siblings are rescued from the King by an unlikely ally
Wuthering Palace, Wuthering Heights, Closian Commonwealth
The Castillian Social Union, 6 November 2028, 4:31 AM CDT
George had paced the floor of his elaborate bedroom for hours, devising a plan of his own to attempt escape from the clutches of Matthew. Charlotte had accepted the capture, and passed out on the bed earlier on in the night after hours of sobbing and sorrow. Outside the chamber doors which were locked from the outside, there was a full compliment of the Royal Guard on duty with machine guns. Guards were posted down below the windows and balcony of the bedroom, with eyes both on his room in specific and the growing unrest outside the Palace walls. His bedroom, once a place of rest and refuge, had ironically become his prison. It was only fitting that his sister would be trapped with him as well, someone who he had once forbade from entering the domain as children.
Several large thuds and muffled noises were heard from outside the doors which alarmed George. The doorknob slowly turned open and in came a face that George was familiar, but not well antiquated with. It was that of Thomas Thorne, a liaison officer of the Premier's Special Service to Wuthering Palace. In his hand he clutched a silenced pistol, and possessed a smile. "Fancy seeing you here, Your Highness," he said as he entered. "I've taken it upon myself to get you and the Baroness out of here. Antietam is tracking on the whole situation, we aim to get you into Clasdon by noon."
"Agent Thorne, if I recall correctly," George replied. Charlotte had begun to wake up from her slumber as the two men conversated. "Thank you. How did you know that Charlotte and I were in here?"
"Quite simply, I watched them escort you all here earlier last night. Then I saw that the guards were still milling about outside the door, so I figured they hadn't moved you two yet," he told the Duke as he lit a cigarette. "I've been in contact with Antietam in secret all night, devising a plan. Matthew thinks I'm on his side at the moment, that is, until he finds about six bodies." Thorne opened the door to reveal the six guards he had quickly assassinated, their blood culminating into one thick pool of crimson.
"Very well," George said as he felt a bit uneasy. "What's the plan?"
"Well, there is no plan," Thorne replied. "We just get out of Ulster by any means necessary. If I have to shoot out way out, I'll do it. If I have to level half of Wuthering Heights, then by the grace of God, I'll do it." Thorne grabbed one of the dead soldier's SA80 rifles and tossed it to Charlotte, who had been sitting up and observing the conversation. "Here, you're gonna need this love," he said with a serious look on his face.
"I've never fired a gun before," Charlotte told him as she held the gun with two fingers by the pistol grip.
"Well you'll learn today, Your Highness," Thorne replied. "Let's get moving!"
The three of them moved from the bedroom into the hall, where George also picked up one of the rifles. With Thorne leading the way, slowly and meticulously through the empty but well furnished corridors. Slow was smooth, and smooth was fast. The two royals knew nothing about tactics, but it was common knowledge how to fire a gun, so as two members of the Guard turned a corner and immediately became aware that the sibling were escaping, one was dispatched by Thorne and the other by a hail of bullets from Charlotte as she squeezed the trigger. After the gunfire, it was apparent that something was wrong, and shouting and running could be heard from further down the corridor.
"Alright, it's time to bug out!" Thorne shouted as he urged the two to run with him towards to the nearest outdoor exit. "There's some loyalists in the TA that have a heli on the Regent's Lawn, they're gonna get us out of here!" he said as they ran wildly down a set of stairs and onto the first floor of the Palace. "There's a small Castillian naval force in the harbor right now that's fighting off TA land-based missile attacks and flying evac missions. We'll get you there and then on a plane to Clasdon, where Antietam is pooling forces together!"
Bursting through a side door out to the west courtyard, they immediately were spotted by the Royal Guard that was defending the Palace, and under the break of dawn, engaged in a firefight with them as they retreated to the Lawn where a Territorial Army LA-214 Moilor transport helicopter, with the rotors spinning, ready for takeoff. Several soldiers jumped from the side of the helicopter, their weapons poised at the trio.
"I thought you said they were on our side!" George exclaimed inquisitively. At that moment, as the soldiers neared, one lowered their weapon and the other three immediately turned to their left to provide covering fire for the trio as they boarded. The one who lowered their weapon spoke. "I'm Captain Hood, let's get you all to the Mary Anne!" he said as he ushered them onto the helicopter, the soldiers bounding back as they followed the Captain and the trio onto the helicopter, which promptly took off, and the door gunner laid down firepower onto the Royal Guard via a minigun.
To provide cover for the lone helicopter as it made a short journey to the small carrier that sat in the harbor, two Castillian LY909 Sparrowhawks dispatched earlier from Marlborough Airbase made a strafing run on Royal Guard positions on the Regent's Lawn, clearing most of any threat of surface-to-air missiles and causing confusion and disarray among the Closians, making way for the five minute flight to the light carrier CNS Mary Anne, which was protected by three destroyers that lobbed missiles back at the Royal Guard shore defenses that fired missiles at the small naval contingent.
As the helicopter touched onto the deck, the siblings were quickly ushered off and onto a HA-420 miniature jet. Thorne followed inside as the two siblings strapped themselves in, sitting across from them. "I'm exhausted!" he told the two.
"I thought you said there was no plan?" George asked Thorne, who just returned a smile. "There's always a plan," he replied.
Several large thuds and muffled noises were heard from outside the doors which alarmed George. The doorknob slowly turned open and in came a face that George was familiar, but not well antiquated with. It was that of Thomas Thorne, a liaison officer of the Premier's Special Service to Wuthering Palace. In his hand he clutched a silenced pistol, and possessed a smile. "Fancy seeing you here, Your Highness," he said as he entered. "I've taken it upon myself to get you and the Baroness out of here. Antietam is tracking on the whole situation, we aim to get you into Clasdon by noon."
"Agent Thorne, if I recall correctly," George replied. Charlotte had begun to wake up from her slumber as the two men conversated. "Thank you. How did you know that Charlotte and I were in here?"
"Quite simply, I watched them escort you all here earlier last night. Then I saw that the guards were still milling about outside the door, so I figured they hadn't moved you two yet," he told the Duke as he lit a cigarette. "I've been in contact with Antietam in secret all night, devising a plan. Matthew thinks I'm on his side at the moment, that is, until he finds about six bodies." Thorne opened the door to reveal the six guards he had quickly assassinated, their blood culminating into one thick pool of crimson.
"Very well," George said as he felt a bit uneasy. "What's the plan?"
"Well, there is no plan," Thorne replied. "We just get out of Ulster by any means necessary. If I have to shoot out way out, I'll do it. If I have to level half of Wuthering Heights, then by the grace of God, I'll do it." Thorne grabbed one of the dead soldier's SA80 rifles and tossed it to Charlotte, who had been sitting up and observing the conversation. "Here, you're gonna need this love," he said with a serious look on his face.
"I've never fired a gun before," Charlotte told him as she held the gun with two fingers by the pistol grip.
"Well you'll learn today, Your Highness," Thorne replied. "Let's get moving!"
The three of them moved from the bedroom into the hall, where George also picked up one of the rifles. With Thorne leading the way, slowly and meticulously through the empty but well furnished corridors. Slow was smooth, and smooth was fast. The two royals knew nothing about tactics, but it was common knowledge how to fire a gun, so as two members of the Guard turned a corner and immediately became aware that the sibling were escaping, one was dispatched by Thorne and the other by a hail of bullets from Charlotte as she squeezed the trigger. After the gunfire, it was apparent that something was wrong, and shouting and running could be heard from further down the corridor.
"Alright, it's time to bug out!" Thorne shouted as he urged the two to run with him towards to the nearest outdoor exit. "There's some loyalists in the TA that have a heli on the Regent's Lawn, they're gonna get us out of here!" he said as they ran wildly down a set of stairs and onto the first floor of the Palace. "There's a small Castillian naval force in the harbor right now that's fighting off TA land-based missile attacks and flying evac missions. We'll get you there and then on a plane to Clasdon, where Antietam is pooling forces together!"
Bursting through a side door out to the west courtyard, they immediately were spotted by the Royal Guard that was defending the Palace, and under the break of dawn, engaged in a firefight with them as they retreated to the Lawn where a Territorial Army LA-214 Moilor transport helicopter, with the rotors spinning, ready for takeoff. Several soldiers jumped from the side of the helicopter, their weapons poised at the trio.
"I thought you said they were on our side!" George exclaimed inquisitively. At that moment, as the soldiers neared, one lowered their weapon and the other three immediately turned to their left to provide covering fire for the trio as they boarded. The one who lowered their weapon spoke. "I'm Captain Hood, let's get you all to the Mary Anne!" he said as he ushered them onto the helicopter, the soldiers bounding back as they followed the Captain and the trio onto the helicopter, which promptly took off, and the door gunner laid down firepower onto the Royal Guard via a minigun.
To provide cover for the lone helicopter as it made a short journey to the small carrier that sat in the harbor, two Castillian LY909 Sparrowhawks dispatched earlier from Marlborough Airbase made a strafing run on Royal Guard positions on the Regent's Lawn, clearing most of any threat of surface-to-air missiles and causing confusion and disarray among the Closians, making way for the five minute flight to the light carrier CNS Mary Anne, which was protected by three destroyers that lobbed missiles back at the Royal Guard shore defenses that fired missiles at the small naval contingent.
As the helicopter touched onto the deck, the siblings were quickly ushered off and onto a HA-420 miniature jet. Thorne followed inside as the two siblings strapped themselves in, sitting across from them. "I'm exhausted!" he told the two.
"I thought you said there was no plan?" George asked Thorne, who just returned a smile. "There's always a plan," he replied.
Part IV.
The Southern Offensive
The siblings are taken to Clasdon, where a task force is being gathered
Camp Victory, Whitechapel, Clasdonian Republic
The Castillian Social Union, 6 November 2028, 11:28 AM CDT
The Southern Offensive
The siblings are taken to Clasdon, where a task force is being gathered
Camp Victory, Whitechapel, Clasdonian Republic
The Castillian Social Union, 6 November 2028, 11:28 AM CDT
Camp Victory was quickly organized as a resolve to the usurping of the Closian Throne. A rogue army, a mad king, and multiple excursions into Clasdon by the Closian light armor and infantry leading raids on countryside villages meant that the border between the two countries needed to be secured. By this time, nearly a day after the cousin's betrayal, reports had spread out across the world that a civil war had effectively happened overnight. King Matthew had used the Closian nationalism fever that was brewing under the inaction of the Adams Premiership, and fostered a coup d'état within the Union's own borders, with nearly a million soldiers loyal to his cause.
The nearby hamlet of Whitechapel was named for just that, a lone white chapel that sat upon a grassy hill that overlooked small shops and homes below. It was unfortunate that the town was set ablaze by Closian forces, who were routed from the village by a light armored battalion of the Union Army, but the damage had been done. It was the story for many of the border communities, many of whom the townsfolk were slaughtered before Union forces could react. Camp Victory was the key part to stopping the excursions, raids, and eventually beginning an offensive against Closian forces should other means fail to oust King Matthew or at least bring the man to the negotiations table.
The expeditionary camp was situated around a ruined medieval-era cathedral, with combat engineers having built a pre-detonation berm around the northern and eastern perimeters with about twenty metres of soil. Helicopters were periodically landing and taking off from a grassy meadow by the cathedral, which acted as the headquarters for Camp Victory. The thunderous sounds of gunfire and explosions rang throughout the countryside as just on the other side of the berms of the camp roughly three kilometres away a skirmish between Closian forces and Union Army troops was underway. Artillery positions constantly gave indirect fire from within the camp, shelling the Closian forces that attempted an advance on the Camp.
Despite its proximity to a warzone, the Caffery siblings were in safe hands. The Closian force to their immediate north, the 4th Light Armored Rifles, lacked any indirect fire support missions or air support. Camp Victory received no returned fire, and as long as the Closian armor didn't break through lines and overrun the camp (unlikely, as the Castillians had just been reinforced with two battalions of infantry and one of heavy armor), there was no worry for the siblings to be in any danger.
In fact the siblings, despite being overthrown, humiliated, imprisoned, shot at, and then essentially exiled, were already calm and content, with Charlotte standing in on battle planning with high-ranking officers. This was fascinating to the news crews that were given access to Camp Victory. "As you can see that is the Baroness Wuthering with those officers!" one of the reporters exclaimed as the cameraman put the young woman into the frame. "It has been confirmed that the Baroness Wuthering and Duke of Lilyshire, the two Royal siblings, have escaped custody of the Royal Guard and are here in Camp Victory!" another said. George was not with his sister, he instead had the company of General Cornelius Theodore Lawrence of the Union Army. A famed archaeologist, military officer, and writer, he was famous for taking part in the battle for Kamenka in the former Red Star Union, taking command of Black Star forces who were embedded deep in what was essentially a guerilla movement. One that was successful, and one that shed more blood across Krasnova then the Ordenites or even Castillian regular forces. Lawrence was battle-hardened for sure, and one of few general staff level officers that still engaged the enemy on the front lines.
"Given your professional experience, when do you think we'll have the war wrapped up?" George asked the General. While he held a military rank, it was mostly ceremonial. This was closest he'd ever been to conflict.
Lawrence shifted in his seat, leaned back, and gave out a discerning sigh. "To be honest, Your Excellency." He stopped again, carefully selecting what he was to say. "I would expect that this war will never end." This intrigued George, who knew that manpower alone the Castillians outmatched the Closian Territorial Army by a twenty to one ratio. "What makes you say that, General?" he questioned. "They are outmatched!"
"War is mathematical, war is scientific," the General replied warily. "You have your constants, your variables. Ratios may provide substantial evidence, but your constants, aided by the ratios, are outweighed by the variables. I suspect that Matthew has a trick up his sleeve, in my professional opinion. We may be able to retake Wuthering Palace, and you may rule as a King, but the collaborators won't just disappear. And Matthew will become desperate as we close in on Ulster. Even with the TA's status as a reserve force, they now have access to some things they shouldn't."
George intervened. "What do you mean General? Does he have control of nuclear weapons?" The General again uneasily shifted, and leaned in close to the Duke. "Nuclear, Your Excellency, no, not at all. But chemical? Biological? The TA overran Somerset late last night. They threw three entire divisions up against two battalions of infantry at the base there. Premier Adams had commissioned it as a storage facility for some deadly viruses. Stuff we don't even have a cure for. Forget about the Blood Fever. I guess hindsight is 20/20, I'm afraid."
"How do you know this, General?" George asked.
"Well, I'm bloody C.T. Lawrence, Your Excellency. Of course I have to know!"
The nearby hamlet of Whitechapel was named for just that, a lone white chapel that sat upon a grassy hill that overlooked small shops and homes below. It was unfortunate that the town was set ablaze by Closian forces, who were routed from the village by a light armored battalion of the Union Army, but the damage had been done. It was the story for many of the border communities, many of whom the townsfolk were slaughtered before Union forces could react. Camp Victory was the key part to stopping the excursions, raids, and eventually beginning an offensive against Closian forces should other means fail to oust King Matthew or at least bring the man to the negotiations table.
The expeditionary camp was situated around a ruined medieval-era cathedral, with combat engineers having built a pre-detonation berm around the northern and eastern perimeters with about twenty metres of soil. Helicopters were periodically landing and taking off from a grassy meadow by the cathedral, which acted as the headquarters for Camp Victory. The thunderous sounds of gunfire and explosions rang throughout the countryside as just on the other side of the berms of the camp roughly three kilometres away a skirmish between Closian forces and Union Army troops was underway. Artillery positions constantly gave indirect fire from within the camp, shelling the Closian forces that attempted an advance on the Camp.
Despite its proximity to a warzone, the Caffery siblings were in safe hands. The Closian force to their immediate north, the 4th Light Armored Rifles, lacked any indirect fire support missions or air support. Camp Victory received no returned fire, and as long as the Closian armor didn't break through lines and overrun the camp (unlikely, as the Castillians had just been reinforced with two battalions of infantry and one of heavy armor), there was no worry for the siblings to be in any danger.
In fact the siblings, despite being overthrown, humiliated, imprisoned, shot at, and then essentially exiled, were already calm and content, with Charlotte standing in on battle planning with high-ranking officers. This was fascinating to the news crews that were given access to Camp Victory. "As you can see that is the Baroness Wuthering with those officers!" one of the reporters exclaimed as the cameraman put the young woman into the frame. "It has been confirmed that the Baroness Wuthering and Duke of Lilyshire, the two Royal siblings, have escaped custody of the Royal Guard and are here in Camp Victory!" another said. George was not with his sister, he instead had the company of General Cornelius Theodore Lawrence of the Union Army. A famed archaeologist, military officer, and writer, he was famous for taking part in the battle for Kamenka in the former Red Star Union, taking command of Black Star forces who were embedded deep in what was essentially a guerilla movement. One that was successful, and one that shed more blood across Krasnova then the Ordenites or even Castillian regular forces. Lawrence was battle-hardened for sure, and one of few general staff level officers that still engaged the enemy on the front lines.
"Given your professional experience, when do you think we'll have the war wrapped up?" George asked the General. While he held a military rank, it was mostly ceremonial. This was closest he'd ever been to conflict.
Lawrence shifted in his seat, leaned back, and gave out a discerning sigh. "To be honest, Your Excellency." He stopped again, carefully selecting what he was to say. "I would expect that this war will never end." This intrigued George, who knew that manpower alone the Castillians outmatched the Closian Territorial Army by a twenty to one ratio. "What makes you say that, General?" he questioned. "They are outmatched!"
"War is mathematical, war is scientific," the General replied warily. "You have your constants, your variables. Ratios may provide substantial evidence, but your constants, aided by the ratios, are outweighed by the variables. I suspect that Matthew has a trick up his sleeve, in my professional opinion. We may be able to retake Wuthering Palace, and you may rule as a King, but the collaborators won't just disappear. And Matthew will become desperate as we close in on Ulster. Even with the TA's status as a reserve force, they now have access to some things they shouldn't."
George intervened. "What do you mean General? Does he have control of nuclear weapons?" The General again uneasily shifted, and leaned in close to the Duke. "Nuclear, Your Excellency, no, not at all. But chemical? Biological? The TA overran Somerset late last night. They threw three entire divisions up against two battalions of infantry at the base there. Premier Adams had commissioned it as a storage facility for some deadly viruses. Stuff we don't even have a cure for. Forget about the Blood Fever. I guess hindsight is 20/20, I'm afraid."
"How do you know this, General?" George asked.
"Well, I'm bloody C.T. Lawrence, Your Excellency. Of course I have to know!"
Part V.
Is There So Much Hate For The Ones We Love?
The Adams Premiership is caught by surprise, and makes its initial statement
Mountbatten Manor, The Government Quarter, Antietam, Castillian Republic
The Castillian Social Union, 7 November 2028, 8:36 AM CDT
Is There So Much Hate For The Ones We Love?
The Adams Premiership is caught by surprise, and makes its initial statement
Mountbatten Manor, The Government Quarter, Antietam, Castillian Republic
The Castillian Social Union, 7 November 2028, 8:36 AM CDT
"A-Ha! Bloody King Matthew's done it again! If only I could get him on my show! He's one cheeky fellow, isn't he Lynn?"
Premier Adams sternly ordered for a staffer to turn off a television playing "Running Up That Hill! With Darren Cartage"* as he passed by in the hall, who was one of the many media personalities and outlets that non-stop was covering the unfolding events coming out of the Commonwealth. Except for the fact that Cartage was making a mockery of the national security apparatus being molested by a crazed megalomaniac, he had always found the Popular Unionist-supporting Morreyman* and "Little Castillian"* quite distasteful anyways. Flanked by an entourage of staff telling him things he already was aware of, he walked quickly to the Press Room, where Gilles Peterson, the Mountbatten Manor Press Secretary was taken on a hoard of questions from reporters.
As he neared the room, he could hear Gilles introduce him, "Ladies and Gentlemen, no further questions. All rise for the Premier of the Union." The room stood in unison as Adams approached the podium and gestured for them to be seated. He quickly surveyed the room, the quiet, concerned, and anxious faces of many journalists peered up at him.
"My fellow countrymen, I come to you in a time of great trouble. Our prosperous Union, built upon the foundations and ideas of freedom, liberty, and the right of man, has been struck a devastating blow from tyranny. This comes at a time of confusion and disarray, when domestic politics and the greed of some within positions of power have used their power not to rule evenly over the people, but to strike an iron fist among those who cannot defend against such tyranny."
The Premier had no teleprompter in the room, no papers to read his speech from. It was all sincere and straight from his mouth to the press.
"At noon yesterday, the Closian Territorial Army dispatched themselves across the constituency of the Commwealth of Castleclose, and subsequently arrested members of the Royal Family who were in attendance of the funeral of the Lord Caffery. These actions have been committed under the auspices of Matthew Caswell, the Count of Cheshire, who has declared himself King of the Closians. It is known that Caswell has sacked the Parliament of the Commonwealth, and we've received reports of Closian forces engaging in mass murder on rural towns on the Clasdonian-Closian border."
The room fell in shock as the Premier confirmed what were originally rumors.
"But my fellow countrymen, and I do mean it. All of you, from Bristol to Ulster, Clasdon to Veracruz, you are all entrusted under my Premiership, and it is my sole responsibility to provide for your liberty and prosperity. My Premiership will fight this injustice to the people behind Caswell's curtain, with the full might of the Castillian National Service. A broad and concerted campaign is being designed to swiftly overthrow the Caswell regency as soon as possible, and with combined arms, the Castillian forces shall prevail."
The room gave a small applause, and the Premier continued.
"My dearest Matthew," the Premier said as he looked straight to the camera. The Union has the sovereign authority to use force in assuring its own national security. That duty falls to me, as Commander-in-Chief, by the oath I have sworn, by the oath I will keep. I can assure you that you will be tried for your crimes. That the Caswell name shall be dirtied by not the actions of your father, but of you. And that the proper persons will be restored to the Closian Throne, a symbol of pride and tradition among your people. This is something I can promise, Matthew."
Premier Adams sternly ordered for a staffer to turn off a television playing "Running Up That Hill! With Darren Cartage"* as he passed by in the hall, who was one of the many media personalities and outlets that non-stop was covering the unfolding events coming out of the Commonwealth. Except for the fact that Cartage was making a mockery of the national security apparatus being molested by a crazed megalomaniac, he had always found the Popular Unionist-supporting Morreyman* and "Little Castillian"* quite distasteful anyways. Flanked by an entourage of staff telling him things he already was aware of, he walked quickly to the Press Room, where Gilles Peterson, the Mountbatten Manor Press Secretary was taken on a hoard of questions from reporters.
As he neared the room, he could hear Gilles introduce him, "Ladies and Gentlemen, no further questions. All rise for the Premier of the Union." The room stood in unison as Adams approached the podium and gestured for them to be seated. He quickly surveyed the room, the quiet, concerned, and anxious faces of many journalists peered up at him.
"My fellow countrymen, I come to you in a time of great trouble. Our prosperous Union, built upon the foundations and ideas of freedom, liberty, and the right of man, has been struck a devastating blow from tyranny. This comes at a time of confusion and disarray, when domestic politics and the greed of some within positions of power have used their power not to rule evenly over the people, but to strike an iron fist among those who cannot defend against such tyranny."
The Premier had no teleprompter in the room, no papers to read his speech from. It was all sincere and straight from his mouth to the press.
"At noon yesterday, the Closian Territorial Army dispatched themselves across the constituency of the Commwealth of Castleclose, and subsequently arrested members of the Royal Family who were in attendance of the funeral of the Lord Caffery. These actions have been committed under the auspices of Matthew Caswell, the Count of Cheshire, who has declared himself King of the Closians. It is known that Caswell has sacked the Parliament of the Commonwealth, and we've received reports of Closian forces engaging in mass murder on rural towns on the Clasdonian-Closian border."
The room fell in shock as the Premier confirmed what were originally rumors.
"But my fellow countrymen, and I do mean it. All of you, from Bristol to Ulster, Clasdon to Veracruz, you are all entrusted under my Premiership, and it is my sole responsibility to provide for your liberty and prosperity. My Premiership will fight this injustice to the people behind Caswell's curtain, with the full might of the Castillian National Service. A broad and concerted campaign is being designed to swiftly overthrow the Caswell regency as soon as possible, and with combined arms, the Castillian forces shall prevail."
The room gave a small applause, and the Premier continued.
"My dearest Matthew," the Premier said as he looked straight to the camera. The Union has the sovereign authority to use force in assuring its own national security. That duty falls to me, as Commander-in-Chief, by the oath I have sworn, by the oath I will keep. I can assure you that you will be tried for your crimes. That the Caswell name shall be dirtied by not the actions of your father, but of you. And that the proper persons will be restored to the Closian Throne, a symbol of pride and tradition among your people. This is something I can promise, Matthew."
***
Terms Defined
Kintyre: the residence of the First Minister
Morreyman: slang for a Popular Unionist and supporter of Jacques Perier, derived from the Morrey riots staged by PUP members in August 2028
"Running Up That Hill! With Darren Cartage": a comical talk show hosted by television personality Darren Cartage, a former radio jockey from Norchester
Little Castillian: slang for Castillians who sympathize with isolationist and xenophobic views
Kintyre: the residence of the First Minister
Morreyman: slang for a Popular Unionist and supporter of Jacques Perier, derived from the Morrey riots staged by PUP members in August 2028
"Running Up That Hill! With Darren Cartage": a comical talk show hosted by television personality Darren Cartage, a former radio jockey from Norchester
Little Castillian: slang for Castillians who sympathize with isolationist and xenophobic views
