Indentured laborers revolt and seize city (Retconned)

[Atlantian Dominions]

OOC: Well my previous thread didn't gain any traction, so let's see if this gets any response.
The year is 1874 A.D.

The Confederacy of Atlantian Dominions is a place of vast disparity. On the one hand, the new techniques of industrial production and corporate business have created vast wealth. The port cities of the Atlantian Dominions have become centers of trade and culture while the vast farmlands of the interior provide a cornucopia of crops to feed the growing population. However, this wealth and excess has not been acquired without suffering. The lowest of the low suffer in miserable poverty. Many of them labor under contracts of Indenture, forced to provide their labor to the Owners of factories, mines, or farms with only bad food and worse housing to compensate them. The halls of government are wholly deaf to their pain. Sometimes the Senators who represent the Dominions in the capital city of Cumberland are the same men who mercilessly exploit Indentured labor.

The Owners and Senators who comprise the upper class of the Atlantian Dominions are constantly alert for any threat to their position of power and wealth. The political system has been thoroughly captured for decades by the Democratic Party, who ensured that no idealistic reformers received sufficient votes to enter the Senate. Police, the National Guard, and the private militias of the Estates and the cities protected and served the interests of the bourgeoisie by cracking down on any subversive activity. However, in recent years the task of maintaining the status quo has become more difficult. The upstart Liberal Party has started to make inroads on the Democracy’s political monopoly. While even the most Radical Liberals make no serious demands for structural change, the same cannot be said for the Levelers. These dangerous extremists seek to demolish the entirety of Atlantian society in their mad quest for a utopian future.

Now, a new outburst of revolutionary fervor has erupted along the southeastern coast of the Confederacy. A secret underground organization of Levelers, who are suspected to have received training and assistance from devious Foreign Powers, have launched a massive uprising of Indentured laborers in and around the city of Caroline. The city is a prosperous port of medium size in the Dominion of Missama. Of most pressing concern to the International Community is that Caroline is a popular destination for foreigners, especially tourists. The last news to escape the city before the Levelers severed the telegraph lines was that the local police and militia were being overrun, and that many of the poorest members of the Leasing class had unexpectedly thrown their lot in with their social inferiors and joined the uprising. The city’s armory and harbor defenses are assumed to have fallen into grasp of the rebels.

The Senate has convened an emergency meeting to discuss the crisis, but many Senators were away from Cumberland for the winter recess. The Governor of Missama has announced a full mobilization of the Dominion’s National Guard, but it will take time for the Reservists to muster. All eyes are now on the so-called “Free City of Caroline,” as the Atlantian Dominions rush to crush this rebellion before it spreads, or before the foreign nations who are suspected of inciting the uprising come to support their puppets. Meanwhile, word races along the international telegraph lines, informing the world of the disturbance.

OOC: I'm open to all ideas and contributions, though I reserve the right as OP to ask you to alter something. Happy to discuss things via Telegram. My Factbooks have more information.

[Ceroat]

OOC: Most folk out here may be disinclined in the lack of attack helicopter inclusiveness. It's all half-baked battle plans in some obligatory game of wrestling without any general commitment to development of which most find themselves inclined to. Interest will hopefully grow soon, though (proper things receive proper response in time).

I'm prepped to pop in after I find some time to finish up my draft with more than simple technobabble for immersive 1874ness. Do get yourself familiar with electric commercial telegraphic code (1874 edition)! These things are expensive to send, you know. The Ceroat Expedition of 1874 can't surely invest too much until it's voyage overseas is assured.

Will be fascinating as the furthest back Ceroat's recorded RP lore goes back to is 1898, so it'll be lovely to expand even further back directly in the time period.

[Atlantian Dominions]

I'm prepped to pop in after I find some time to finish up my draft with more than simple technobabble for immersive 1874ness. Do get yourself familiar with electric commercial telegraphic code (1874 edition)! These things are expensive to send, you know. The Ceroat Expedition of 1874 can't surely invest too much until it's voyage overseas is assured.

OOC: Welcome to the story! I’m excited to see your post when it arrives.

Cumberland

When the first reports from Caroline had arrived in the capital city, they had been dismissed. It seemed as if it was simply another riot, a common occurrence in the slums of the great cities. The telegraph office had informed the office of Attorney General Wesley Mouch, the head of the Department of Justice, but they put no urgency in delivery of the report. Then more messages from Caroline started to come in. Soon they were coming in so quickly that by the time a message had been transcribed, a new message or two new messages had come in with new information that made the newly-transcribed message out of date. Each message brought more bad news, and more panic. Then the lines went dead. It slowly became clear that the city had been lost to the rebels. Soon messengers were racing across the capital city to wake the President, members of the Cabinet, and Senators.

In the vast circular room where the Senate convened, many chairs were empty. Senators were back in their home Dominions, enjoying the Winter Recess. Only those with pressing business in the capital had remained. Only one Senator from Missama was present. Charles Dade spoke very quickly, sometimes stumbling over words, and he was sweating profusely. He urged his fellow Senators to vote in favor of a motion that would summon Regular Army troops to put down the uprising. However, so many Senators were gone that the opposition party, the Liberals, had the votes to block such a motion. The Liberals who were present, led by Senator Leland Newton of Meadowland, saw the crisis as a chance to embarrass the Democratic Party government in Jubilee. In the next elections, the Liberals could use their failures to punish the Governor and his allies at the polls and install new Liberal Party politicians. For now, the Missama National Guard would have to handle the situation on their own.

Caroline

Smoke rose in lazy pillars from a dozen points in the city. The fires were mostly extinguished, though some still burned among the wealthier districts where the rebels had rampaged. Gangs of men, and even some women, wandered the streets looting shops for food and clothing and looking to exact revenge on any upper-class person they saw. Among the rabble Leveler demagogues exhorted the Indentured to more and greater violence against their oppressors. Sitting outside the harbor were two ships: the Coastal Patrol cutter Mason and the Navy ironclad Stafford, just out of range of the harbor defenses, forming a sort of ad-hoc blockade. It was stalemate: the two ships outside couldn't survive against the rebel cutter and the harbor defenses, while the cutter William, flying the red and black Leveler flag inside the harbor, couldn't sail beyond the protection of the shore batteries without being destroyed.

The rebel leaders were making preparations for the defense of the city and their planned march of liberation through the Dominion of Jubilee. James Quincy Addison and Fred Kinnan had traveled abroad, studied a variety of topics of importance for the revolutionary struggle, and returned to Caroline and planned the uprising. Fred Kinnan estimated that they had succeeded in organizing the largest uprising of Indentured laborers in the century, and they hoped to go on to greater success. Kinnan sent trusted men throughout the city to gather and organize all the captured weapons and military supplies, so the newly declared Liberation Army could march out and spread the revolution. Meanwhile, James Quincy Addison sent his own men to gather hostages as potential bargaining chips in case of a siege. His rebel soldiers started to round up wealthy Atlantian women, their children, and any foreigners they could find.

[Atlantian Dominions]

Carson

In the city of Carson, chaos reigned. The loss of telegraph communication had cast the whole situation in Caroline into confusion. No one was sure how many men the rebels had under their command, or what armaments they had managed to procure, or exactly what sort of fight the militia had put up before succumbing to the assault. There were some especially concerning reports that parts of the militia had in fact sided with the Levelers and turned their guns on their own officers. These reports were not yet confirmed, but they heightened anxieties nonetheless. Governor Quentin Daniels had called up the National Guard and ordered it to assemble in Carson, the nearest railroad hub. That process had begun, with Reservists arriving in small groups from towns across the Dominion.

Adjutant General Cuthbert Meigs, “Cuffy” to those who disliked him (but never while he or one of his toadies was within earshot), had begun to organize the men who arrived in the city. Some needed uniforms and weapons from the capital city’s stores. Others had drawn the necessary supplies and gear from closer armories and then made their way to the capital. All of them were bivouacked in the city's drafty and spartan barracks building until it was time to march for Caroline. It was thought that much more time would be required to gather the full force of the Dominion’s National Guard.

In the City Hall, General Meigs was thinking of how to salvage his reputation and protect his political patrons in the Dominion. That meant crushing this rebellion quickly and with as little outside assistance as possible. He had two hundred Reservists ready to march under the command of Colonel Roland Macarthur. Macarthur was not an Academy-trained officer; he was a political appointee, who had mostly used his rank to preen in his dress uniform at balls and galas. To provide some more experienced guidance and advice, Governor Daniels had succeeded in convincing Captain Robin McConnell of the Regular Army’s Engineer Corps to accompany the National Guardsmen. McConnell had been, in town on leave when word of the rebellion had arrived, a stroke of luck for the unprepared Dominion.

The revolt in Caroline had alarmed the wealthy Owners of the Dominion, and they were eager to see the Indentured rebellion put down and its ringleaders captured and executed. Paul Larkin, the wealthiest man in the Dominion, had sent a force of hired guns commanded by Samuel Jones to the capital to bolster the National Guard. These were hard men, including many foreign-born immigrants, who normally were used to break strikes or capture runaway Indentured laborers. They did not mesh well with the Reservists, who were largely members of the Leasing class who were serving as part-time soldiers for the boost to their social status rather than the pay, which was not exceptional. Thankfully Larkin had used his wealth to rent rooms for his militia in a separate building. They strutted around town, swaggering into bars and brothels while the Reservist force slowly assembled.

[Atlantian Dominions]

OOC: I'm going to try and put up one of these little posts every day to keep the RP near the front, in the hopes that more people express interest. I'm trying to avoid advancing the situation too much, so that nobody has to play catch-up to figure out how they can enter the RP

Carson

The sun was rising over the city of Carson. At the railroad station, there was a tumult of activity. Enough of the Dominion’s National Guard force had arrived that Adjutant General Meigs felt ready to launch the first expedition against the rebel-controlled city of Caroline. Under the eyes of Colonel Roland Macarthur and Captain of Engineers Robin McConnell, the Reservists carried their weapons and equipment onto a train which the Governor had succeeded in commandeering for the purpose of transporting the troops. Further down the line, the rough-looking men of Samuel Jones’ private militia force. These men wore no uniforms, save a blue band of cloth around the right arm. This was so, in theory, the Reservists wouldn’t mistake militiamen for members of the rebel army.

Colonel Macarthur orders came from Governor Daniels himself. He was supposed to take his men down the rails to Caroline and conduct reconnaissance, as well as block the Levelers from marching towards the capital or terrorizing the Estates near the fallen city. Governor Daniels was just as eager to see this uprising crushed quickly as General Meigs. Should it seem like there was a chance that he could put down the insurrection with just the forces under his disposal, he should do so at once. Captain McConnell had raised doubts about whether this force of only a few hundred men could achieve such a victory on its own, but he had no command power. All he could do was give advice and hope that the colonel listened when it mattered.

Caroline

The rebels had fashioned themselves a flag, the red and black of the Levelers, and a name: the Liberation Army. The city's arsenal had been captured wholly intact, and the weapons inside were passed out to arm anyone who pledged loyalty to the Cause. Most of the weapons were old Army surplus muzzle-loaders. There were even old flintlock muskets. It wasn't the most impressive collection of arms, but it was better than the clubs and pitchforks that many of the rebels had started out with. Some of the guns from the captured revenue cutter had been hoisted ashore and mounted on crude field carriages, along with the handful of old guns that the city militia had used in their desperate final stand. Together it was enough firepower to pose a threat to militia or Reservists, but the Leveler leadership knew they needed to get their hands on heavier firepower, or foreign support, if their Free City was to survive.

Fred Kinnan had sent groups of rebels, led by other foreign-trained Leveler men, out to break up the train tracks and gather supplies, more recruits, and more hostages from the Estates on the edges of the city. These raiding parties swept into rural villages, exhorting the Indentured laborers and the poor Leasing farmers to join their cause. Estate Owners and their lackeys were killed or taken prisoner, while their ornate country homes were put to the torch. Refugees began to flee inland. Owners and wealthy Leasing families gathered their possessions and fled for safety. Even in flight they looked the part of rich elites, often traveling in multiple carriages and wearing their expensive clothes and jewels. Whatever they left behind was looted or destroyed by the Levelers.

[Atlantian Dominions]

OOC: I wanted to add another post but I’m away from a computer today, so a simple BUMP will have to suffice.

[Marusany]

Off the coast of the Free City of Caroline

Among the collection of soldiers on the top deck of one of two steamers stood Colonel Sebastian Ris, a grizzled old officer made out of grizzled old sergeant material. When the postman came to him a week ago to deliver the letter of some group of revolutionaries wishing to open a contract with his unit, he almost thought it was too good to be true, what with its promises of a handsome down payment and a fair share of looting with the local forces. These thoughts resurfaced as he saw a city in chaos, nearby estates cinder skeletons in the middle of charred gardens, and some farmers wandering about with guns could be seen through his looking glass.

"Buncha savages, ey?", asked a nearby captain, chuckling as he looked out at the city. "Maybe," Ris mumbled back, "but remember, even a dog can learn to march in step with a company with enough training." Turning some revolutionaries into soldiers was going to be a more herculean task than he had originally assumed.

Caroline

After dodging some scuttled ships in the harbor, the 2nd Saint Adolf Infantry Regiment came to a stop at the docks and began to unload their stock of food, ammunition, breach loading rifles, and various support supplies. Several enlisted soldiers were sent around the city to find every tailor and soldier in the city. There was an army that needed to be built and one would be damned to think the uniform wouldn't at least be mad.

[Atlantian Dominions]

Off the coast of the Free City of Caroline

Among the collection of soldiers on the top deck of one of two steamers stood Colonel Sebastian Ris, a grizzled old officer made out of grizzled old sergeant material. When the postman came to him a week ago to deliver the letter of some group of revolutionaries wishing to open a contract with his unit, he almost thought it was too good to be true, what with its promises of a handsome down payment and a fair share of looting with the local forces. These thoughts resurfaced as he saw a city in chaos, nearby estates cinder skeletons in the middle of charred gardens, and some farmers wandering about with guns could be seen through his looking glass.

"Buncha savages, ey?", asked a nearby captain, chuckling as he looked out at the city. "Maybe," Ris mumbled back, "but remember, even a dog can learn to march in step with a company with enough training." Turning some revolutionaries into soldiers was going to be a more herculean task than he had originally assumed.

Caroline

After dodging some scuttled ships in the harbor, the 2nd Saint Adolf Infantry Regiment came to a stop at the docks and began to unload their stock of food, ammunition, breach loading rifles, and various support supplies. Several enlisted soldiers were sent around the city to find every tailor and soldier in the city. There was an army that needed to be built and one would be damned to think the uniform wouldn't at least be mad.

Aboard the A.D.S. Stafford

Captain Horace Grimsley peered into a spyglass from the deck of the ironclad warship and scowled. Since Captain Grimsley was known among his sailors for wearing an almost permanent scowl on his sea-worn face, especially once the vessel under his command had put to sea, it was something of a sight to watch Grimsley’s face contort itself into a deliberate expression of anger and disgust. Yet he had good reason to do so. Sitting in the harbor, mocking him by their very presence, were two tramp steamers. They had come in quietly at night, under the cover of a damnable fog, and slipped past his lookouts and the ones posted on the Coastal Patrol cutter Mason. By the time someone had spotted the ships and called the ship to quarters, it was too late. They’d gotten underneath the protective umbrella of the heavy harbor guns and Grimsley dared not risk his ship going in after them.

“Cumberland must know about this,” he muttered. His second-in-command, mistaking a private reverie for garbled orders, asked the captain to repeat himself. Grimsley collapsed the spyglass in a huff and spun about to face the First Lieutenant.

“Request Captain Moore’s presence in my quarters,” he said instead of repeating himself. Some time later, when the commander of the Coastal Patrol ship had made the short journey by launch to the Stafford and been welcomed aboard, Grimsley explained what he wanted.

“Make fastest steam or sail for Charlestown,” he said. “Get a message to the capital and inform them that foreign ships have run our blockade and docked in the harbor. They may be carrying troops, or supplies, or both.” The Stafford would remain anchored outside Caroline harbor in case any more ships arrived, or the ones in the harbor tried to make for the open ocean. Hopefully the Navy could rush some additional ships to relieve her and strengthen the blockade. Until then, Horace Grimsley and his ship would stand as the lone sentinel.

Caroline

The news of the arrival of the foreign mercenaries was greeted with reluctant relief by the leaders of the Leveler revolt. They had sent out many such messages before the uprising, trying to rally foreign support for their cause. Few of them had been answered at all and fewer still had been answered with promises of assistance. But Fred Kinnan and James Quincy Addison would take whatever help they got, even if it was from a greedy band of mercenaries fighting for money instead of men motivated by the glorious cause. Kinnan had mustered a group of rebels, including as many men who had worked the docks before the revolt as he could find, to help the mercenaries offload their ships. More rebels, and some people of the city who had found themselves trapped by the sudden uprising, came to gawk at the foreigners and see what sort of soldiers had just arrived on Atlantian soil.

Kinnan waited to greet the commander of the foreign unit and catch him up with what had happened. A few large city houses, the urban mansions of the Owners, had been marked as off-limits to the rebels. These were to be the temporary quarters of the 2nd Saint Adolf Infantry Regiment. The valuables inside were to serve as a sort of down payment on their promised loot and plunder, and there were women – captured wives, daughters, or maidservants of the Owners and wealthy Leasing class men who had either fled or been killed – available for the taking as well.

Once the regiment had settled into their accommodations, Colonel Sebastian Ris was invited along with his officers to the city hall, where Kinnan and Addison had made their headquarters. There they would discuss the next move for the Liberation Army and their new foreign friends.

[Marusany]

Caroline
The Marusan soldiers were surprised while they set up in the the cities mansions. They hadn't expected them to be so... together? Nor did they expect to find a veritable gaggle of women in each one. After some debate among the soldiers of what to do, several officers stepped in and ordered the valuables be crated up and taken back to the ships and the women to be conscripted into non-combat roles (much to the displeasure of all present). In the end, each house was converted into a barracks with some other function, such as a mess, or an as armory, with one final house remaining mostly untouched for use as officers' quarters.

Colonel Ris was delighted to receive an invitation so soon after arriving. It meant he could get his new clients working on becoming proper soldiers, which would reduce his chances of getting killed for aiding a rebellion greatly. Ris, as it turned out, was rather a fan of not being dead. He grabbed his second-in-command, Captain Virgile Primeau, and a bottle each of wine and mead (traditional way Marusan officers of different units greet each other at their home forts), and headed for the city hall.

Ris, speaking through Primeau as he did not know the language, immediately going off on a long-winded lecture on why the rebel soldiers ought to be properly uniformed and the benefits of uniforms. After this he concludes with, "Anyway, enough of that for now. I'd like to know your thoughts on the idea of storming an enemy fort."

[Divine Great Viet]

OOC: I like this RP, I want to get in but I'm busy however. Anyway I'll observe this even if I cannot participate.

[Atlantian Dominions]

Caroline

The city watched the Marusan soldiers march along the streets of Caroline towards their billets. Children of rebels ran alongside the strange foreigners, sometimes falling into a comical imitation of their marching step and pestering the men with questions about where they were from and what they were here to do. Adult rebels greeted them with raised bottles or caps, cheering on the arrival of fellow soldiers of the revolution. Few of those men knew that the Marusans were here on contract, but just as few of them really understood the cause they were fighting for. They were largely illiterate and ignorant of the wider world. They had joined the Levelers to avenge the many indignities they had suffered under Indenture, or because they had been entranced by the idea of a world where they did not have to labor without pay and live in squalid conditions.

After some debate among the soldiers of what to do, several officers stepped in and ordered the valuables be crated up and taken back to the ships and the women to be conscripted into non-combat roles (much to the displeasure of all present).

The women that had been left for the Marusans were a collection of former aristocrats, in wealth if not in formal title, and their servants who had not joined up with the rebels. The servant women, accustomed to following orders, did as they were told. Some of them, maids and mistresses from the island colony of Schala who were prized by Atlantians for their beauty and submissiveness, happily complied with any whims of the Marusans, who they addressed as “masters.”

Even the women who had been the wives or daughters of Leasing men, the upper crust of the middle class, reluctantly obeyed whatever instructions they were given. The Owner women, on the other hand, made it loudly and repeatedly clear that the treatment they were receiving was beneath them. They demanded to speak with officers, protested the indignities they had endured, and demanded that the Marusans vacate their homes. They had rarely been challeneged in their lives and saw no reason that a bunch of foreigners should suddenly be able to boss them around.

Colonel Ris was delighted to receive an invitation so soon after arriving. It meant he could get his new clients working on becoming proper soldiers, which would reduce his chances of getting killed for aiding a rebellion greatly. Ris, as it turned out, was rather a fan of not being dead. He grabbed his second-in-command, Captain Virgile Primeau, and a bottle each of wine and mead (traditional way Marusan officers of different units greet each other at their home forts), and headed for the city hall.

Ris, speaking through Primeau as he did not know the language, immediately going off on a long-winded lecture on why the rebel soldiers ought to be properly uniformed and the benefits of uniforms. After this he concludes with, "Anyway, enough of that for now. I'd like to know your thoughts on the idea of storming an enemy fort."

Fred Kinnan and James Quincy Addison met with Colonel Ris and Captain Primeau in the mayor’s office. Where there was only a small dark stain on the upholstery of the chair to testify to the mayor’s quick execution, the room was something of a mess. Rebels had carried off the valuables and trashed the bookshelves and paintings on the walls. Loose papers littered the carpeted floor. One of the windows had been shattered by bullets, leaving jagged shards of glass like teeth around the edge of the frame. The desk had been cleared off in sloppy fashion, with the items that had once been arranged neatly on its surface swept onto the floor to make room for a large map of the Dominion of Jubilee which showed cities, towns, and transportation routes.

The two Levelers listened to Ris’ speech, translated through Primeau, with some consternation. They needed these foreign mercenaries to stiffen the spines of their rebel mobs and provide guidance on battlefield tactics and strategy. The last thing either of them was thinking about right now was what uniform their collection of laborers should wear. For one, they saw the worn clothing of their men as badges of pride. They weren’t Reservists or Regular Army men, strutting around in fancy uniforms. Their work clothes were their uniform, the symbol of their class.

“The issue of uniforms, perhaps, can be set aside for later consideration,” James Quincy Addison said.

“But the to the colonel’s second point,” Fred Kinnan interjected. “Our next objective is not a fort, so to speak, but we do intend to advance on the offensive.” He gestured for both men to look at the map. “We are here,” he indicated Caroline’s position on the coast. “The the city of Carson is several day’s march northwest.” He dragged a finger along the roads and rails connecting the two cities. “The government will be mustering troops to crush this revolution. But they will be National Guard men, not Army soldiers. If we can move quickly, and strike a blow against them, we will rally thousands more to our cause and seize the weapons and supplies in the Dominion arsenal.”

“We have comrades elsewhere in the Confederacy,” James added. “Fellow revolutionaries who will mobilize uprisings like this one. If we can show them that the Owners and their lapdogs can be beaten, we will inspire a wave of rebellion across the Atlantian Dominions.”

Hartfield

The trains had carried Colonel Roland Macarthur and his force of Reservists and militia a large portion of the way towards Caroline. At Hartfield, however, the station manager reported that the rebels had dynamited the rail bridge just outside of William’s Ford, the next stop on the line. After a quick conference with the Regular Army engineer, Captain Robin McConnell, Roland had decided to disembark his men at the Hartfield station and continue on foot. If the rebels had gotten to William’s Ford, a day’s ride from Caroline, they might have men waiting to ambush any trains coming down the line. Captain McConnell had agreed that it would be easier to defeat an ambush on foot then trying to fight from the passenger cars of the train.

The unloading process was long, and the National Guard colonel had been forced to seek assistance from the townspeople in getting the heavier supplies unloaded. The militiamen under Samuel Jones had refused to do any more than carry their own personal equipment off the train. They lounged about, chuckling at the exertions of the Reservists as they hauled extra ammunition and supplies off the train. Roland had to cajole the town into “volunteering” a number of wagons and draft animals, which were necessary to pull the two small mountain howitzers that General Meigs had instructed him to bring along for artillery support.

The process of unloading the train and getting everything ready for the march would take the entire rest of the day. Colonel Macarthur told his men to be ready to march at first light tomorrow.

[The Holy Columbian States]

Columbia, 1874
Washington DC

The late 1800's were a tumultuous period in the history of Columbia, just nine years prior, the country was split in half, between those who sought emancipation of those seen as property, and those who saw it fit to keep them in chains. The Columbian Civil war would take many lives, brothers, cousins, fathers, and sons; many on both sides of the conflict perished, but in the end the Union was maintained. Nonetheless, the country still felt the aftermath of such a bloody conflict, and there were high hopes to move on for a brighter future.

Thomas Graham Shaw was the current incumbent of Columbia, and he had seen it his mission to unite the country by looking outwards, towards new horizons, unfettered from the shackles of civil war that had scarred many. Since his presidency had first begun, he has worked hard to expand Columbian interest abroad; signing new treaties, fighting pirates on the high seas, colonizing whatever piece of land hasn't been taken from the great powers in the old world, anything. Despite all of this, the civil war is still fresh as ever, and those old wounds could only open wider, when the news of the Dominions had reached Columbia's shores.

President Shaw received a letter transcribed of the plight of the indentured servants of the Atlantian Dominions. Written from a Fred Kinnan and James Quincy Addison. The Dominions were not particularly in the center most interest of Columbia, more so recently then before, but now more than ever, was the countries attention towards the situation in Caroline. The situation was grim, there was little chance they could hold out against a serious siege, and they had even lessor chances of surviving the war in total.

Shaw sympathized with the rebel cause, no doubt there would be countless soldiers who would as well, but to support the rebels would in essence be a declaration of war upon the Dominions. But this was something that had to be done, not only as a good Christian man, but as a country who spilled it's own blood to bring freedom to those who were in the very same boat as these poor souls.

---

"What do you think?"

"With all due respect Mr. President, I don't think going on a foreign expedition to play world police is in the best interest of our country."

Ever since President Shaw received that message, he called for an immediate cabinet meeting to discuss the issue, ranging from what options they had in response, both to the rebels and to the Dominions as well. The meeting has gone on for several hours now, but it was only truly covering the idea of even invading until now. Shaw was a man of conviction, and was sometimes called a bleeding heart, and he was quite stubborn, once he set his mind to something, he wouldn't give up. This always made his Secretary of State Andrew Mcdonald more than a little vexed.

"With all do respect Mcdonald, this isn't about playing world police, this is about making things right."

"Do we even know if these are the type of people we wish to support? How do we know they won't flay some child alive just because their parents were rich, not even slavers at that?" Mcdonald retorted.

"I think even if these specific band of rebels, are not the type of people who should have our back, that doesn't discredit the effort we would go towards to free others who suffer this injustice." These words came from the Secretary of Defense, Henry Davis Matthews, a shoe in for President no doubt, he and Shaw always saw eye to eye on everything, both had fought together in the war and if it wasn't for Shaw seeking a democrat friendly candidate, Matthews probably would have been his running mate.

"We need to consider our options carefully regardless, this is essentially a topic on declaring war on another country, are we prepared for the expense, so soon after the war?" Voiced the Secretary of Treasury.

"I'm all but certain that if we decide to pursue this war, then we can see it to the end. Even if these rebels have no idea what they are doing, or if they let vengeance fill their hearts, then it is our duty to guide them down the righteous path, towards a new dawn, how soon can we deploy a considerable force towards the Dominions?"

"It will take as a while to fully mobilize, but we have plenty of forces either out on patrol, or on active missions hunting pirates, they should have plenty of Marines on board and weapons and artillery to go." Matthews answered.

"Anyone you recommend to take command in the operation in Caroline?"

"I have a few in mind, I'll run them threw you later, but I think we can't go wrong."

---

It has been a few hours since the meeting concluded, and after much heated debate, a compromise was settled. Columbia would not directly pursue war immediately, instead use the time to build up it's forces for an invasion. In the mean time, a small force flying no flag tying itself to Columbia would set sail with a compliment of Marines, Army instructors, National Guard volunteers, and plenty of weapons and supplies for the rebel cause.

Captain Frederick Gordon would be in command of the battle group Liberty, commanding from his flagship the CSS Concord, along with several other ironclads and nimbler steam ships. The Ground component was to be under the leadership of Colonial Jamison Cole, a former slave who rose through the rank of the civil war. Together these men would work to ensure that liberty for those suffering under the chains of burden in the Dominions would be set free. And after a week of prep, they set out towards the port of Caroline.The trip was long, everyone knew what this was the start of, that they were all that were to be the only brave soldiers of Columbia to bleed until the rest of the armed forces were fully mobilized for the invasion, nonetheless they were prepared to lay down their lives, as many of them were veterans of the civil war. Some of them even fought on the loosing side, but nonetheless were committed to the endeavor, but by the time the Liberty fleet arrived within view of the harbor, they knew there was no turning back, a unique flag was raised, and upon it were the words "Liberty or Death"

OOC: A little something for the thread, I didn't have to much to go on so i did my best, and I got a little hurried at the end because of how late it is, I won't be able to respond until after 3 where I am at, but I will. I hope my post is alright, it's been ages since I last role played, so I'm preeetty rusty, but I gotta get my goof back somehow right?

Edit: I don't really have a lot of time to do a RP with this many "moving parts" involved, so I can't continue sadly.

[Atlantian Dominions]

(Post retconned due to player withdrawal from the RP)

[Mersdon]

(OOC: Are there any cartographic resources I could use to gain a workable understanding of Atlantia? Is it similar to the Thirteen Colonies IRL, or is it slightly different? I don't want to mess up the storyline here with some inaccurate information, but if it's okay by you, I'll place a small squadron about 250 miles offshore from Caroline.)

Off the mouth of the Lansdale River
Half a mile offshore from downtown Caroline
First Bell

Post-Captain Ser Jameson Caulkley sat in his spartan office in the stern of the visiting 3-turret iron-hulled frigate Westoak, resignedly lighting his first pipe of the day. The bosun hadn't been too keen on distributing the ship's reserve of tabac yesterday; he'd had to pull aside the quartermaster aside whilst the sailors lined up for their daily tot of watered-down lime rum and sachetful of snuff and was duly informed that the extra four days spent on station due to the situation in Caroline had reduced the ship's stores of the dried stuff by at least half. Ser Caulkley sighed, rubbed his aching wrist, and set down his pipe; the fine leaves left packed inside the bowl lifted their dulling smoke to the ceiling, and after a few moments teetering on the curved bottom of the pipe, the tabac shifted ever so slightly and glowed softly, righting the ivory-handled pipe again. He picked up the ebony nib-pen, twirled it around by the tips of his fingers for a few seconds, and set it down again, right next to the battered leather-bound personal logbook that was the King's issue across the entire Royal Navy.

Right. The log.

It wasn't even first bells yet, and that the Captain was up at such an ungodly hour was a testament to the stressful situation he had put himself and his ship in due to his action- or lack thereof- before and after the taking of Caroline by the Saintsbedamned plebeians onshore. The Westoak had been on a friendly port visit, nothing more, but a few days ago, like any other naval vessel of the time- the ship to revictual, the crew to release their pent-up energy and the contents of their coin-purses on shore, and for the officers to plan out the next steps of their journey, and maybe visit a few dinner-parties or partake in the intellectual salons that characterized this freethinking hotbed of ideas on the Eastern Coast. As the warship dressed its flags and dropped anchor just a few hundred yards beyond the sight of the grand mercantile warehouses and elegant townhomes spread out on the shore, the officers and crew of the frigate could not have known the powder-keg status of the city by a simple glance. As it turned out, the Captain's signing of those thirtysomething shore leave passes, with the very quill a few centimeters away from the thumb of his right hand, was a bad idea.

The visit ashore started off poorly. Fifteen sailors had found a dingy hole-in-the-wall alehouse by the waterfront, overflowing with the drunkards and retired sailors of the port district. As was the crew's wont, their fat coinpurses soon bought them a fair amount of trouble, as they got bloody drunk on cheap 'rum' made from buckwheat and beer of dubious quality and began to pick fights with the merchant mariners and other seamen there. It took the intervention of the local Carolinian police force to disperse the brawl, and even then, three men had to be shipped back to the vessel for treatment. The others, obviously, had their liberty revoked and were swiftly sentenced to a week in brig. The bar had been gutted in the fighting, and as the owner's pleas for compensation fell on deaf ears, the local Workers' Syndicate had sent an official petition to 'the captain of the visiting warship from the coal-stained lands beyond the sea'. After the city had been overrun in a few days of constant street battles between the local security forces and the inhabitants of the slums and tenements nearby, some 350 men, women, and children, mostly wealthy or intelligentsia, had managed to find refuge aboard. The frigate would have set sail that instant, but the fortress had then still been held by the Atlantians, as was part of the city center- until it wasn't. By the time the red-and-black flag billowed over the fortress, it was too late to move; the ship was too ungainly due to the extra weight from the evacuees, and no pilots were available to steer the ship out of the harbor without being paid more than 10 shillings for that service, an absolutely outrageous sum. Now, a proud two-masted, coal-fueled, ironclad ship, one of the more aged and stately ships in the Columbian Squadron, was effectively being held hostage by the elements and by the rebels onshore. The sailors and gunners could do naught but go through the motions of loading their weapons, swabbing them, and practicing their aim with blanks on a guano-covered rock outcropping in the middle of the channel; and every entreaty by the First Lieutenant, a native-born Atlantian by the name of Williams, had come to naught. To cap it all off, just before three bells the night before, the cannon stationed on the ramparts of the fortress had been wheeled out and were firmly trained on the centerdeck of the ship. All was not well aboard the ship; morale was flagging, victuals were dwindling rapidly (thanks to the new arrivals), and the supply of silver, ammunition, and rum aboard was lowering (in addition to the tabac ration). After a few moments running through the problems in his head, Ser Caulkley uncorked his inkwell, poured a small amount of water into the black stuff, and dipped his nib inside. Then, he began writing.

*three hours later*

...Finally, the Post-Captain spoke, opening his eyes after having shut them for a few seconds in seeming resignation.

"I would not have trusted the men to treat those gentle men and women of the hardy Atlantian stock found in Caroline with much more than luridness and a general sense of knavery. If only, Saints willing, I had the Admiral's second-rate and the entire Columbia Squadron alongsides. I could have easily taken on the entire cream of the town, burgher and blue-blood, child and adult, aboard. Instead, in order to feed our men, I have a stripped-down cabin barely fit for the most hardened and calloused of travellers, and yet our supply of the King's shilling and of the unspoilt produce from the shore runs low. But that is neither here nor there, Midshipman."

The 15 year old boy, a lad quick for his age but less than entirely nimble navigating the rigging above or the crowded gun-decks below, grimaced slightly as he responded. "Aye, ser, but as you said, that is out of our control. Taking on some 1,500 unfit, soft, green, people, many of the delicate sex, would be less than advisable for the entire squadron were it here, much less the 350 souls that made it alongside. Sad and crude as it may be for me to articulate in front of a superior such as you, sire, it is the prevailing opinion of the crew, as well as I, that they may have to be dropped back onshore. They are too much of a drag on our provisions and space, and already, tension is brewing between the old hands and their Atlantian betters. If steel came to handstrokes, we could scarcely contain their rage nor their low-class desires, even if we had the Marine contingent of a first-rate. We, as gentlemen of the blood as well as of our honor, must put them ashore where it is safe for us and convenient for them. To do that..."

"I understand fully what you're saying, Hardcastle. Yet, we cannot move an iota beyond our current position, for fear of inviting fire from the rebel cannon over yonder on the shore, and from the cutter just behind the whalers' ships further down the harbor. Besides, even had we a skeleton crew and not a single cannonball or brass fitting onboard, there would be no way in which we could feasibly avoid their fire and not run aground on the rocks and treacherous shoals beyond the fort there. Unfortunately, none of the King's subjects nor the Atlantians are pilots familiar with the contours and depths of this part of the region. We are practically dead men walking, Hardcastle. We can barely move because we are so overladen as to be as maneuverable and fleet as an unshorn sheep in whale-oil, we have no inkling of where our relief is or when the Admiralty will even send out a packet ship to investigate our location, and we must somehow get 350 helpless souls off our ship to survive, and yet our honor would not survive such a blow as leaving them onshore to the mercy of the mobs there. We must do something that does not involve hauling down our colors, spilling our saltskins' blood on the sandy oaken planks below us, or throwing everyone without their sea-legs overboard."

Hardcastle frowned, again. "Sir, we could still sail out of here. If we stick to the channels we saw that last whaler take before the black and red flag flew over the customs house on the dock, we can still make it. The Lansdale is not especially silty nor fast-flowing, and the currents here are not as strong as they were but a few days ago. We will have a decent wind astern, and our cannon are well-maintained and their crews are itching to use them. I can still go ashore with a marine guard and have a packet ship by second bells ready to ship those here to the Atlantian ships just on the horizon."

Ser Caulkley sighed. He felt a small headache coming up. Already, the sun was rising over the harbor, illuminating the still-smouldering city beyond the snub-nosed mouths of the 30-pounder guns of the frigate and its surrounding pastures and glens, and his nose began catching the faint scent of the last of the potato and pork stew being prepared in the kitchen near the bow of the vessel. On deck, the first of the refugees began stirring, their sleep not helped much by the chilly, damp fog that had covered the water during the evening. There was hope, namely that the rebels would be too disorganized to let them pass, but the crew had to act quickly.

He spoke. "I am sorry, Hardcastle. We simply do not have the time nor the provisions to wait for a response. Besides, I cannot afford to lose one of the best midshipmen available in the Royal Navy's service. Gather the lieutenants, midshipmen, and the commandant of the Marines onboard as well, if you please, sirrah. I have a brief announcement to make."

The Post-Captain smoothed down his dress tunic and placed his pearly peaked cap firmly on top of his head. Walking over to the large, polished oak steering wheel at the edge of the poop deck, he gathered his trusted lieutenants, midshipmen, and the Captain of the Marine Contingent aboard, a grizzled, burly giant of a man named Higgins. "Gentlemen", he said simply. "We will feed the refugees and our men, and then we will haul our anchor and set course for the mouth of the harbor. I expect our men to be on their best behavior today; have them herd the Atlantians into my quarters and the workshops, and then run out the cannon. We set sail in thirty minutes."

"Is that all, Captain?" Captain Higgins said, his saber and percussion cap pistol tightly cinched around his waist.

"Yes, Captain Higgins. Dismissed."

The smoke filtered softly from abaft, and to his delight, a fair wind began blowing towards the open water. The rain-soaked Royal naval jack, colored a sooty red, white, and blue, began to luff in the wind, with the sound of wet cloth slapping across brass, wood, and rope soon making itself known. Above the Captain, three Marines began clambering up the rigging with a simian grace, blackpowder rifles strapped across their backs, soon reaching their predetermined positions looking over the bosun's position and where the rum cask and stew pot could be expected to be. His auburn hair began to act up in the stiffening breeze, and as the anchor fell onto the deck with a final heave of the winch by five sailors, he smiled for the first time in a while, and yelled out.

"Saltskins! Full Speed Ahead!"

[Atlantian Dominions]

(OOC: Are there any cartographic resources I could use to gain a workable understanding of Atlantia? Is it similar to the Thirteen Colonies IRL, or is it slightly different? I don't want to mess up the storyline here with some inaccurate information, but if it's okay by you, I'll place a small squadron about 250 miles offshore from Caroline.)

OOC: The continent of Atlantia is similar to North America, and Missama (where Caroline is) is geographically and environmentally similar to the OTL American Southeast, like the Carolinas and Georgia. Caroline sits at the mouth of the Lansdale River, which flows out into the Alcazar Sea. The river is not navigable for large vessels beyond the harbor. A railroad line connects Caroline to Carson, and from Carson to the rest of the Confederation. The railroad crosses the Lansdale at William's Ford, several days' ride upriver from Caroline.

[Peroniist Argentina]

The Fallen City of Caroline
Major Monte Varela gazed down upon the crowd below, a grimace upon his face as shots were fired in the street. While none were directed towards the Argentine Consulate, the crowds outside seemed ready to strike at any minute. The only thing, Monte suspected, that deterred such actions were the numerous elite Argentine riflemen. But he knew that, eventually, the crowd would storm the embassy in order to take hostages. The garrison only numbered 54 Elite Riflemen, 20 Marksmen, 4 Artillery Officers, and 2 COs while the crowd numbered in the thousands. Tourists who sought refuge had been accepted into the Consulate, filling up any room not occupied by the soldiers. Spare rifles had been given to any males who were combat-capable. An SOS and request for reinforcements had been sent home before lines to the Consulate were cut. The last message they received had ordered them to stay put and the Major had made sure to follow it. He had announced to the crowd earlier that no action would be made against them and that Argentina would remain neutral unless they themselves assaulted the building or any Argentine soldiers.

The Ocean, Coast near Caroline
One Ironclad ship glided smoothly across the waves, flanked by two Argentine Frigates and one sloop. Admiral Martin Benítez stood upon the deck of the ironclad with a pair of binoculars in hand. The fleet was quite close to Caroline, close enough to see some smoke from the fallen city. As per commands from the President, while the sloop, ironclad, and one frigate were filled to capacity with men and supplies, while the other frigate was only at half capacity in order to evacuate civilians. And the President was not playing games. Every sailor and every soldier were veterans of the numerous small-scale civil wars that had ravaged Argentina in the 1850s and 60s. The men were on edge as the city's port and the ships in it came into view. A white flag of truce flew above every Argentine ship, symboling their neutrality in the conflict. The Ironclad, ARA Dependencia, carefully approached the nearest vessel as the Admiral and his guard stood on deck. He wished to discuss terms and explain his actions to whoever the captain of the vessel was.

[Atlantian Dominions]

Hartfield

The column of National Guard and militia had begun marching at first light. This decision had been met with groans of displeasure from Samuel Jones and the militiamen under his command. They had spent the evening carousing in the town of Hartfield, drinking and making passes at any woman they saw. Captain Robin McConnell, the engineer from the Regular Army, had made his distaste for the amateur soldiers – more a mob than any sort of organized unit – clear to them and Colonel Roland Macarthur of the Reservists. Robin had also counseled Roland to proceed forward with extreme caution. The Levelers were almost certainly waiting to attack them along the road, probably when they tried to cross the Lansdale River at William’s Ford. A river fording was a slow and vulnerable operation. Robin had seen Indijan (indigenous Atlantians) tribal fighters do gruesome damage to a flying column of Cavalry while it was crossing a river in the west.

Despite these warnings, Colonel Macarthur was determined to push to Caroline at the fastest possible speed. He had arranged his men into a long, snaking column that took up most of the road it marched on, forcing wagons and other travelers to pull over and wait until it had passed. He had placed his best men, those with the most experience, in the vanguard along with one of his two bronze 12-pounder cannons. The militia under Samuel Jones were in the rear, assigned to guard the supply train, an assignment that the men protested as boring but accepted less dangerous. Roland estimated that his force would arrive in William’s Ford by the end of the day. He was urged to speed by the plaintive stories of the refugees he met along the road, Owners and Leasing families who had fled their homes in the face of Leveler raiding parties. Every moment he delayed was more time for the bandits to wreak further havoc on the area around Caroline, and muster strength for a march of their own towards the Dominion capital at Carson.

Caroline

The city’s atmosphere was becoming tense. The first days of the revolt had been like a pot boiling over, releasing pent-up anger in an orgy of violence and looting. When the smoke had cleared, the city seemed almost more at ease than it had before. Former Indentured laborers walked around with their heads held high. For some of them it was the first time in their lives when they had felt totally free. But then the realities of the city had set in, and the tension had crept back. For one, there was the fear of retaliation. Everyone knew that somewhere an army was certainly gathering to come and crush the uprising and put the Owners back in their place on top of everyone. In addition, it was slowly becoming clear just how many foreign elements remained in their midst. It was on these enclaves that the ire of the people now fell.

The Fallen City of Caroline
Major Monte Varela gazed down upon the crowd below, a grimace upon his face as shots were fired in the street. While none were directed towards the Argentine Consulate, the crowds outside seemed ready to strike at any minute. The only thing, Monte suspected, that deterred such actions was the one heavy cannon and the numerous elite Argentine riflemen. But he knew that, eventually, the crowd would storm the embassy in order to take hostages. The garrison only numbered 54 Elite Riflemen, 20 Marksmen, 4 Artillery Officers, and 2 COs while the crowd numbered in the thousands. Tourists who sought refuge had been accepted into the Consulate, filling up any room not occupied by the soldiers. Spare rifles had been given to any males who were combat-capable. An SOS and request for reinforcements had been sent home before lines to the Consulate were cut. The last message they received had ordered them to stay put and the Major had made sure to follow it. He had announced to the crowd earlier that no action would be made against them and that Argentina would remain neutral unless they themselves assaulted the building or any Argentine soldiers.

Outside the Argentine Consulate, a crowd of people had indeed gathered. They chanted songs of revolution and hurled epithets towards the soldiers blocking the entrances, but made no moves to seizing the building for now. They were restrained by the Leveler agents among them, who told them to wait and let the foreigners starve in their little fortress. In time, they would have to beg for mercy from the people to get food. In the meantime, the only offensive moves that the crowd made were to hurl the occasional stone, brick, or spoiled produce towards the consulate, daring the men inside to open fire and provoke the wrath of the mob. Armed rebels set up an observation post of sorts across the street to keep a watch on the Argentinians, while a small crew went to fetch one of the cannons from the city arsenal and haul it over to match the firepower of the building’s defenders.Other Levelers went through the hostages that they had captured and gathered in several locations, looking for any Argentinians who had not managed to flee to the safety of their consulate in time. These hostages would be separated out and brought to the part of the city where the consulate was located, to be used as leverage to force the surrender of the defenders and the people they were protecting.

The smoke filtered softly from abaft, and to his delight, a fair wind began blowing towards the open water. The rain-soaked Royal naval jack, colored a sooty red, white, and blue, began to luff in the wind, with the sound of wet cloth slapping across brass, wood, and rope soon making itself known. Above the Captain, three Marines began clambering up the rigging with a simian grace, blackpowder rifles strapped across their backs, soon reaching their predetermined positions looking over the bosun's position and where the rum cask and stew pot could be expected to be. His auburn hair began to act up in the stiffening breeze, and as the anchor fell onto the deck with a final heave of the winch by five sailors, he smiled for the first time in a while, and yelled out.

"Saltskins! Full Speed Ahead!"

Aboard the Westoak, the Atlantian refugees who had managed to get aboard the foreign ship were cold, damp, and frightened. They were various stages of dress as well – the uprising had begun in the early hours of the morning but the flames had first burst into life in the slums where the Indentured lived, well away from the luxurious city homes of the Owners or the nice apartments where the wealthiest Leasing class families lived. By the time the red and black tide had crashed upon these islands of luxury, it had been well into the day and many people had been out attending luncheons, receptions, and other such pastimes of the rich and leisurely. Thus, the people who had eventually fled pell-mell to the docks and tried to board whatever ships they could find had done so in their finery, or in pieces of it. Among the people stirring on the deck were three women, dark-skinned and looking beautifully regal in fine gowns. Lucretia Harris, a women in her forties and the wife of a lumber magnate, had reached the safety of the Westoak with her two daughters, Cordelia and Sarah. The daughters were only a few years apart, Cordelia in her early twenties and Sarah in her late teens. Their father, Lucretia’s husband, had been away from the city on business when the rebellion had begun.

The three women followed the instructions of the sailors who beckoned for them to take shelter in the captain’s quarters. They were apprehensive. “Does the captain mean to fight his way out to sea?” Lucretia asked one of the sailors assigned to direct traffic.

“Will we be in danger?” Sarah asked. Her older sister shushed her, admonishing her that the men clearly had other things to be doing than answering her questions.

On land, the flurry of activity aboard the Westoak provoked its own flurry of activity in the harbor defenses. Cannons on the fortress began to boom, warning shots – or perhaps merely poorly-aimed shots – splashing into the water fore and after of the ironclad. They were under strict orders from Fred Kinnan to prevent the foreign ship from leaving the harbor under any circumstances, as was the newly appointed captain of the captured revenue cutter William. As it became clear that the Westoak was making a break for the open ocean, these men (and some women) hurried to try and prevent the escape. Unfortunately, trained artillerists were in short supply. The crew of the William had enough seamen aboard to maneuver the vessel with care, but its guns – only six 30-pounders – were under the care of amateurs. They had enough training to avoid a catastrophic accident – hopefully – but their shots were unlikely to be aimed with the skill of the enemy vessel. Nor was the William going to withstand much bombardment, being wooden-hulled and unarmored. Yet it too began to move against the wind to intercept the Westoak before it could clear the harbor.

The Ocean, Coast near Caroline
One Ironclad ship glided smoothly across the waves, flanked by two Argentine Frigates and one sloop. Admiral Martin Benítez stood upon the deck of the ironclad with a pair of binoculars in hand. The fleet was quite close to Caroline, close enough to see some smoke from the fallen city. As per commands from the President, while the sloop, ironclad, and one frigate were filled to capacity with men and supplies, while the other frigate was only at half capacity in order to evacuate civilians. And the President was not playing games. Every sailor and every soldier were veterans of the numerous small-scale civil wars that had ravaged Argentina in the 1850s and 60s. The men were on edge as the city's port and the ships in it came into view. A white flag of truce flew above every Argentine ship, symboling their neutrality in the conflict. The Ironclad, ARA Dependencia, carefully approached the nearest vessel as the Admiral and his guard stood on deck. He wished to discuss terms and explain his actions to whoever the captain of the vessel was.

The Argentine vessels were arriving in the middle of a maelstrom of activity. The rebel-held harbor defenses were rousing themselves in an attempt to halt the escape of the Westoak. All sides noted the incoming squadron, yet with its white flag it was unknown what its purpose would be. The rebels manning the outward-facing batteries rushed to prepare their cannons – if the Argentines entered their range, they would open fire. The white flag of truce meant nothing to these men and women; they only knew that their leaders had commanded them to ensure that no ships entered Caroline harbor except those which were aligned with the Leveler cause.

[Peroniist Argentina]

Caroline

Outside the Argentine Consulate, a crowd of people had indeed gathered. They chanted songs of revolution and hurled epithets towards the soldiers blocking the entrances, but made no moves to seizing the building for now. They were restrained by the Leveler agents among them, who told them to wait and let the foreigners starve in their little fortress. In time, they would have to beg for mercy from the people to get food. In the meantime, the only offensive moves that the crowd made were to hurl the occasional stone, brick, or spoiled produce towards the consulate, daring the men inside to open fire and provoke the wrath of the mob. Armed rebels set up an observation post of sorts across the street to keep a watch on the Argentinians, while a small crew went to fetch one of the cannons from the city arsenal and haul it over to match the firepower of the building’s defenders.Other Levelers went through the hostages that they had captured and gathered in several locations, looking for any Argentinians who had not managed to flee to the safety of their consulate in time. These hostages would be separated out and brought to the part of the city where the consulate was located, to be used as leverage to force the surrender of the defenders and the people they were protecting.

Seeing as how the crowd was riled up and clearly angry, The Major withdrew the undisciplined militiamen from the front walls and placed them strategically within the consulate to defend a chokepoint and other strongholds. Additionally, he made sure to remove the Argentine flags out of sight in order to ease the crowds. His most decorated soldiers manned the walls, dodging the spoiled produce and other objects thrown at them. . While they were likely amateurs and not skilled, it was still a legitimate threat that concerned the men within. These crowds reminded the Major of Argentina in the 50s. He knew that the crowd's hatred would be turned against his men as the rich had fled the city. Fortunately, the garrison had a decent amount of food that would last a while and plentiful ammunition. Unfortunately, his supplies would not last forever and he had no spare staches of food. He privately cursed at the militaristic Argentine policies that caused him to have more weapons and ammo than food. Off in the distance, he could hear cannon shots from the harbor. These shots bolstered the morale of the Argentinian soldiers but the Major warned them to be cautious. Even if the navy had been fired upon by the rebels or vice versa, he would not fire until his men were under explicit danger. For now, all he could do was wait helplessly for reinforcements.

The Argentine vessels were arriving in the middle of a maelstrom of activity. The lone Atlantian ironclad was moving to engage an incoming flotilla of vessels flying naught but a piratical-looking flag, while the rebel-held harbor defenses were rousing themselves in an attempt to halt the escape of the Westoak. All sides noted the incoming squadron, yet with its white flag it was unknown what its purpose would be. The rebels manning the outward-facing batteries rushed to prepare their cannons – if the Argentines entered their range, they would open fire. The white flag of truce meant nothing to these men and women; they only knew that their leaders had commanded them to ensure that no ships entered Caroline harbor except those which were aligned with the Leveler cause.

A shot splashed so close to the ARA Dependencia that water soaked the uniform of Admiral Benítez and his men. His infamous anger took over as he sprinted for the bridge.
"Man your stations and perform evasive maneuvers now. Ditch the white flag and fly our colors. If they fire again, we will return fire!" He barked at his crew. His orders were relayed across the ironclad and a flag signaler warned the other vessels to stay back. Unfortunately, the half-crewed Frigate did not have a lookout at the moment, only spotting the signal flags when they had sailed into the range of the guns. Realizing his mistake, the Captain went pale as he began screaming orders to turn the ship around and get back to the formation

[Atlantian Dominions]

OOC: With The Holy Columbian States withdrawing from the RP, I'm changing up the game plan somewhat.

A shot splashed so close to the ARA Dependencia that water soaked the uniform of Admiral Benítez and his men. His infamous anger took over as he sprinted for the bridge.
"Man your stations and perform evasive maneuvers now. Ditch the white flag and fly our colors. If they fire again, we will return fire!" He barked at his crew. His orders were relayed across the ironclad and a flag signaler warned the other vessels to stay back. Unfortunately, the half-crewed Frigate did not have a lookout at the moment, only spotting the signal flags when they had sailed into the range of the guns. Realizing his mistake, the Captain went pale as he began screaming orders to turn the ship around and get back to the formation

Coast Off Caroline

Captain Horace Grimsley had ordered his ship to go to full battle stations when the Argentine fleet had appeared over the horizon, but he had not sent the ship on an intercept course. For one, he had taken notice of some commotion in the city's harbor, where a foreign ship that had found itself trapped under the guns of the rebel-held fortress had begun to rouse itself. It had seemed as though it was intending to make a run for the open ocean, and Grimsley had been preparing to take his ship into range of the enemy shore batteries to provide the foreign ironclad with some covering fire. But that plan had been abandoned as the small flotilla of ships flying the white flag came under fire themselves from the rebel guns. He decided that it would be in the best interests of the Atlantian Dominions to ascertain what these newcomers were here for, and that wouldn't be possible under the guns of the rebel harbor defenses.

"Put us alongside them," he ordered his helmsman. The Stafford soon began to belch coal smoke of its own as it lumbered from the station it had maintained since the city had fallen. It began to move towards the Argentine ships, flying signal flags that indicated a wish to parlay. Once the ship was close enough it would use semaphore flags and signal lamps to request that the Argentine ships withdraw out of gun range, following the lead of the Stafford. Captain Grimsley had no interest in trying to conduct any sort of diplomacy while also under fire. On the shore, the rebels continued to fire at the Argentine frigate that had strayed within their range. Their initial shots were poorly aimed and wild, but the longer the frigate remained close enough to target the closer the shells would get to striking their intended target.

[Guuj Xaat Kil]

OOC: I am intrigued with this RP, may I ask of the state of the natives in Atlantia? Did they rebound from the smallpox epidemics (which means having sizable populations)?

[Atlantian Dominions]

OOC: I am intrigued with this RP, may I ask of the state of the natives in Atlantia? Did they rebound from the smallpox epidemics (which means having sizable populations)?

OOC: Most indigenous Atlantians are further out west. They were decimated by epidemics just like in the RL United States, though the groups in the southwest were less devastated than those in the northwest. They vary between assimilated into Atlantian society (though still discriminated against), tense but peaceful co-existence, and active resistance to government and private efforts to seize their lands for settlement and development. Indigenous Atlantians are a very small minority in Jubilee, and most of them are very poor and usually under Indenture.

[Mersdon]

-snip-

The cry came from the bridge, clear and bright and full of the giddy excitement that most brash young officers had in the Royal Navy those days. "Keep going, Saltskins! We shall see the fruits of our labor devastate these wretches and blasphemers yet, Saints mark my words!"

As the Westoak sluggishly gained speed, churning through the sea with an ungainly grace, the first salvo of shots from the rebel-held fortress punched through the waves a few hundred meters away from the ship, the cannonballs' impact sending up massive founts of water. Belowdeck, the passengers screamed. Some cried, some quietly prayed, and others decided to find out what was happening abovedecks.

"Sir?" Lucretia Harris attempted to gain the attention of the Marine subaltern standing languidly behind the barred oaken door's window. "I say, what is going on? Does the captain intend to fight his way out of the harbor?"

"Indeed, madam. As you may have seen before your ship deposited you onboard our frigate, there, unfortunately, is nary a way out to safety for you and I other than meandering our ship past the city's inner defenses and rebel cannon to beach this craft 20 miles upstream, on the Lansdale. Compared to risking the ill-aimed volleys from the fortress and an old revenue cutter that most likely was built sixty years ago in the last age of sail, the Captain believed that the best course of action would be to transit through the harbor mouth and rely on the whalers' channel to sea to deposit you safely back onshore, in a friendly location." the lieutenant explained, adjusting the scabbard of his saber. "Needless to say, the Saintsbedamne- excuse me, pardon my language, madam- the commons in charge of the city's naval batteries have little training on how to use them, and the tidal flow and the river's discharge remain languid, which means that we should transit out of here within the hour."

Cordelia came to the window, crowding around with a few other interested parties. "If we were to be sunk, God forbid, or hit, what is the Captain's policy regarding us?"

"We would, of course, be obligated under our gentlemanly honor to protect you as best we see fit, be it by sending you off in our longboats or by beaching our vessel to give the weakest among you the chance to seek safety elsewhere. The day is still young, and-"

"Yes, but will the common sailors keep their word?"

"I can only promise that they will do the best they can. The bosun and cook should be along shortly to deliver your apportioned lunches and-"

---

The First Midshipman, a grizzled old salt by the name of Willis, clambered down the cast-iron ladder down to the loading area for both turrets, foot over hand. The moment he set his black-booted feet on the floor, he was immediately hit with the stench of gunpowder and coal dust from belowdecks.

There, ten sailors were working like machines, humping shells. Two heaved each 90 pound chilled iron shell into position in the breech elevator, while two others cranked a steel shaft to raise it up to the deck; the last person passed the charge up with the armament above, 5 people to a gun. The ceiling was low, and the dimly lit, rank room was full of crates of shells and charges from floor to ceiling, balanced delicately by coils of rigging, wooden boards, and barrels of water and sand (needed to keep the sailors from slipping on the floor). The stink of potash and tabac hung heavily in the air. Although the sailors of His Majesty's most Honorable Navy were disciplined, the new greenskins on duty below clearly did not know about the dangers of using anything below the decks due to the risk of lighting the ever-present gunpowder residue on every surface on fire. Willis, looking around, could not see any, but just to make sure, he took out a cupful of sand or two and tossed it on top of the barrels. He looked on, satisfied and relieved, as a half-lit familiar-looking pipe's embers glowed for a moment, and then went still, on top of a small crate of spare rounds. He decided to supervise the crew for a bit, then go back to the captain's quarters to field any queries as per his orders and work out the breakfast schedule for the morning.

---

Ser Caulkley removed his cap, gently folding it under the crook of his arm, and left the supervision of the bridge to Lieutenant Willis, carrying his opera glasses in his free hand. The first shot was about to be fired from the aft turret, and he didn't want to miss the occasion.
Standing on the slightly raised circular metal platform, the rivets firmly securing the weapon and its base to the hull, he took a moment to admire the sheer power held within the 10 incher two meters away from his face. The weapons were a bit lacking in their newest coat of paint, sure, but three weeks of sailing across the Northern Reaches from one cold, damp port to another would do that to you. The crew were green, but given the minimum of training that Admiralty House had prescribed as the standard, they could most likely pummel to submission even the most proud wooden first-rate or even an ironclad 74 (that is, if they didn't end up fouling up the rifling due to their nasty habit of tossing sand in with the charges to counter embers from the tabac smoked downstairs near the loaders' area). As an added plus, the bosun and his rum cask had just been to the gunners, upping their spirits immensely as they worked in the salt spray coming up from the bow; the man was smart enough to not give the Marines their tot, or for at least the duration of this skirmish. The Captain's wandering mind came back to earth as his more focused side locked on to something to think about, namely the harsh *clang* of the two-part rounds finding their way into the barrels from the hand-cranked elevators below decks. Two gunners handled the ungainly weapon and its 11 foot long tube across the swivel's railing, lining it up squarely with the wooden sloop gaining speed as it cut free from the harbor, while the observer looked through the rough cast-iron rangefinder, calling out adjustments to the four men who cranked the elevation screws and locked the ball-bearings in the turrets themselves.

"Two-and-a-half miles out, range 5 miles, lower elevation by three degrees"

"Locked in, adjusting to thirty-three degrees"

"Targeted ship is moving out at about ten knots, adjust ball bearings to swivel five degrees to fore to account for movement"

"Locked in, elevation and bearings both"

"All is well." called the gunner over the sound of the waves, as a particularly large wave washed over part of the fore gun, soaking the pant legs of the men there to the knee. The paddle screw handled it relatively well; the giant contraption still strained for purchase among the tides but did not oscillate enough for its course to be of much concern.

"Cover your ears!" the gunner shouted out. Instinctively, everybody from the upper deck to the marines in the rigging did just that, in time for the weapon's two projectiles to shriek out from the cannons' muzzles and arc into the sky, carrying their deadly, explosion-heated payloads towards the crowded harbor which the William was attempting to navigate through. The Post-Captain, though, was already moving on before the gunners began swabbing the gun. After passing each man seven silver pence for their deed from his purse, he dashed towards the bridge, hoping to catch a more detailed glimpse of what he presumed to be the Atlantian warships just a few miles ahead with his opera glasses. His hair whipped through between his eyes and his opera glasses, forcing him to brush it away in the wind. Before he saw the new mysterious ships- two frigates and an ironclad- steaming just beyond the limits of the fortress' range, Ser Caulkley muttered emptily to himself about the use that a floating telegraph station onboard the ship would be, if there were no wires needed to connect his vulnerable command to the Atlantian Squadron, or even the Western Cathay Admiralty fourteen days' sail south to the rum den and trading hub of tropical Kingsport. His thoughts also touched on where he had last seen his pipe. He was certain that it should have been in his cabin somewhere, securely stowed in his footlocker, he mused, as he flicked off a small soot particle from his shoulder.

Behind him, the dull rants and roars of the rest of the ship's side swivel turrets made their fury known upon the stone fortifications of the rebel-held town, and the evacuees all slid down to the floor and hid under the coarse woolen blankets and covers provided to them, hoping that the fighting would end relatively quickly. All questions, apparently, would have to wait until the guards posted outside the door could hear them once more. As the first brass charge casings clanked down onto the deck above, seething quietly as the humidity of the air and the seawater spraying over the flanks of the ship soddened the coal dust and gunpowder left on the outside of the cartridge, their decoupled shells ceased arcing over the harbor, and slowly, slowly, fell downwards. The ship heaved again and again, and behind the ship's gilded stern and the Naval Jack, the city of Caroline- a town full of vice, virtue, and, now, the venom of revolution, slowly began to slip away from view.

[Peroniist Argentina]

Coast Of Caroline

snip

The Argentine Frigate narrowly avoided another shot as it sailed out of range and back into the formation. She had taken minor damage with no casualties and had not returned fire during the event. Admiral Benítez noted the ship approaching from the safety of the bridge. After observing the oncoming ship's signals, he turned to his combat-ready crew.
"Get out of range of the harbor's defenses, we're about to have visitors. Stay prepared for combat, should they try to fire upon us."

The orders were relayed to the Argentine fleet, who retreated back just as another fleet appeared from over the horizon. Benítez could only watch in horror-filled awe as the newcomers opened fire on the defenses, landing hits from a distance. Determined to uphold the orders he was given, Admiral Benítez suspended his legendary anger and ordered the Argentine fleet to put some distance between the newcomers and themselves to prevent the rebels from thinking the Argentinians were attempting to break through the defenses by force. Just as quickly as the hostile fleet appeared, it slipped away smoothly, leaving behind chaos and destruction.(OOC: sorry for the short response, I'm just pretty busy as of now)

[Atlantian Dominions]

-snip-

Outside Caroline

The rebel shire batteries that faced out to the open ocean fell silent as the Argentine frigate escaped outside of their range. A final pair of parting shots splashed into the war behind the vessel, as if to draw a line in the shifting surface of the water. As the foreign fleet reorganized itself at a distance from the city, the Atlantian ironclad A.D.S. Stafford approached from the position it had been occupying since the uprising had captured the city. The sailing mast, which was currently bare as a tree in winter with the sails furled and unused, flew not only the flags of the Confederacy of Atlantian Dominions, the Atlantian Navy, and the Oceanic Squadron under whose aegis the Stafford operated, but also the signal flags used internationally to request a parlay. Captain Horace Grimsley wanted to speak to whoever was in charge of the flotilla that had seemingly wandered into this crisis.

Aboard the Stafford, Captain Grimsley was making his report for the day in the ship’s log. He described the arrival of the Argentines and the sudden decision by the foreign warship inside Caroline harbor to try and make flight for open seas. When that was done, he stepped back outside onto the deck and awaited the response of the Argentine fleet to his request, delivered by semaphore flag and lamps, that they allow an officer of the Stafford to cross the water between them and board their ship, to hear the reason for their presence here. First Lieutenant Paul Finley stood ready to board one of the ironclad’s launch boats and travel to the foreign vessel. He would be accompanied by the assistant to the ship’s doctor, a learned man who had sufficient fluency in a number of foreign languages to act as a translator if necessary, and a fresh-faced corporal of the ship’s Marine complement.

-snip-

Aboard the Westoak

Lucretia Harris and her daughters sheltered under the course textile shields that the foreign sailors had provided, clutching them tightly while the sounds and smells of naval battle assaulted their senses. It was, Cordelia Harris decided, worse to be here in this space than it would have to be out on the deck of the warship. Here she could hear and smell and feel the battle raging but she could see nothing. Her mind was free to run wild in imagining the ship coming to all sorts of terrible ends. The subaltern’s reassurances were not comforting, for they helped to frame an awful vision of her and her sister and mother adrift in a vulnerable longboat, at the mercy of the vicious rebels who had driven them onto this ship in the first place. She could do nothing but huddle under the blanket next to her mother and pray that the ship would make it safely out of Caroline harbor.

Caroline

The first two shells hurtled towards the rebel cutter William. Both rounds missed, raising great pillars of water where it plunged into the water of the harbor. The inaccuracy was not vast, and the William was in fact close enough to be soaked by the water thrown into the air by the Westoak’s shells. The rebel-helmed ship was not deterred by the near missed, and continued to try and block the ironclad’s passage and fired on the vessel with its guns. The Westoak’s later salvos did strike the ship in the fore and amidships, shattering wood and sailors and tearing grievous wounds in the hull. The ironclad would find no ships or natural obstacles blocking its path out to sea, though it would continue to face a torrent of fire from whatever batteries were in alignment and range to loose upon the vessel as it passed by.

Disaster struck the rebels as the Westoak was nearing the end of its harrowing gauntlet. A gun crew firing on the foreign ironclad from a battery near the customs house, in its haste to launch another shell before the ship passed them by, rushed to reload its cannon before it had been fully and properly swabbed. The powder charge detonated upon being rammed down and making contact with a still-burning ember, and the resulting explosion set off a pile of nearby charges that had been piled too close to the guns to speed the reloading process. Half of the battery was enveloped in fire and smoke. Pieces of stone from the works that had protected the guns from bombardment but not from their own crews were thrown into the air and splashed down into the Lansdale.

[Peroniist Argentina]

-snip-

Outside Caroline

The rebel shire batteries that faced out to the open ocean fell silent as the Argentine frigate escaped outside of their range. A final pair of parting shots splashed into the war behind the vessel, as if to draw a line in the shifting surface of the water. As the foreign fleet reorganized itself at a distance from the city, the Atlantian ironclad A.D.S. Stafford approached from the position it had been occupying since the uprising had captured the city. The sailing mast, which was currently bare as a tree in winter with the sails furled and unused, flew not only the flags of the Confederacy of Atlantian Dominions, the Atlantian Navy, and the Oceanic Squadron under whose aegis the Stafford operated, but also the signal flags used internationally to request a parlay. Captain Horace Grimsley wanted to speak to whoever was in charge of the flotilla that had seemingly wandered into this crisis.

Aboard the Stafford, Captain Grimsley was making his report for the day in the ship’s log. He described the arrival of the Argentines and the sudden decision by the foreign warship inside Caroline harbor to try and make flight for open seas. When that was done, he stepped back outside onto the deck and awaited the response of the Argentine fleet to his request, delivered by semaphore flag and lamps, that they allow an officer of the Stafford to cross the water between them and board their ship, to hear the reason for their presence here. First Lieutenant Paul Finley stood ready to board one of the ironclad’s launch boats and travel to the foreign vessel. He would be accompanied by the assistant to the ship’s doctor, a learned man who had sufficient fluency in a number of foreign languages to act as a translator if necessary, and a fresh-faced corporal of the ship’s Marine complement.

Coast of Caroline
An Argentine Naval Lieutenant stood out on the deck of the Ironclad, flanked by 6 Marines armed with Argentine Repeater Rifles and standing at attention. The Officer saluted the foreign men before taking a drag off of a cigar in his mouth. He was young and seeking fame in the Navy which had led to him being the first one to volunteer to go out and greet the men. He knew English quite fluently thanks to years of schooling, though he did have a very strong Argentine accent when he spoke it.
"Who do you stand with? The Rebels?" The Lieutenant asked, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword.
The foreign men's boat was able to pull up next to the ironclad and could easily board thanks to a net hanging over the bow. The Ironclad's crew waited anxiously at their stations. While confident in their own abilities, they had no clue if the foreign vessel's crew was elite or just poorly trained conscripts. Fortunately, the approaching foreigners appeared to be relatively peaceful and willing to negotiate. Despite this, the sailors remained on edge just in case.