Rebellion in the Tropics (Retconned)

[Peroniist Argentina]

Aboard the Argentine transports
While the Atlantian Relationship with Argentina was, at best, seen as merely an acquaintanceship, Argentina always upheld its promises. When the Confederation cried out for help, Argentina dispatched her finest soldiers and sailors. The President had ordered that they were to uproot the natives by any means necessary but that any negotiations with the natives would be left to the Atlantian politicians and the tribe. However, this heavily implied to take no prisoners, which had already added more tension to the ground forces.

The young Lieutenant Morales, a green officer who had never seen combat and had only been given political missions, was arguing with men of the 51st Skirmishers over the policy. The Skirmishers, unlike the Officer, had fought in many battles. They were expert Guerilla Warfare fighters, expert marksmen, as well as frontiersmen and explorers. The argument had started when the relatively young officer criticized their uniforms' lack of organization and cleanliness. His criticisms were quite valid, as the dark blue uniforms were dirty and worn out, with obvious repairs to battle damage on them. Sergeant Major Emelio Rossi, leader of the 51st Skirmishers, argued back that while their weapons, facial hair, and uniforms were not in line with military policies, this was allowed due to their missions and effectiveness. This bled into the two men arguing over their orders. Morales called for no mercy or quarters while Rossi warned that such actions would only create martyrs. The argument devolved into a screaming match, which led to swords almost being drawn when the sailors above announced that they had reached the port of the capital of Darianna.

Capital of Darianna
Ironically, the Lieutenant's first orders only made the enlisted men angrier with him. But seeing as how he was the highest-ranking officer of the Argentinean Land Contingent, his orders were not overruled. He did not want the men to rest and instead ordered the men into an inspection formation to show off their power to their Atlantian soldiers. Sergeant Major Rossi knew from this that the Lieutenant was rash, prideful, and would likely cause problems with his attempts to gain glory. The Argentinean forces consisted of 145 Men of the 12th Regiment of Infantry(C Company), 90 Men of the 49th Grenadiers, and 71 men from the 51st Skirmishers.
The reason for Rossi and the men's anger at Morales was because the men had vital gear and supplies that had to be taken out of the ships and organized. The Lieutenant had wasted valuable time showboating his soldiers rather than actually setting his men to work.

[Atlantian Dominions]

He did not want the men to rest and instead ordered the men into an inspection formation to show off their power to their Atlantian soldiers. Sergeant Major Rossi knew from this that the Lieutenant was rash, prideful, and would likely cause problems with his attempts to gain glory. The Argentinean forces consisted of 145 Men of the 12th Regiment of Infantry(C Company), 90 Men of the 49th Grenadiers, and 71 men from the 51st Skirmishers. The reason for Rossi and the men's anger at Morales was because the men had vital gear and supplies that had to be taken out of the ships and organized. The Lieutenant had wasted valuable time showboating his soldiers rather than actually setting his men to work.

Vernonville

The Argentinians had arrived, in the mind of Governor Shay Dunn, at both the best and worst times. The three hundred or so foreign soldiers nicely made up for the three companies of Regular troops that had departed to relieve Saundersville, but Dunn would rather have had Atlantians defending him than these swarthy Argentinians.

Governor Dunn had Colonel Shafer draw up his own troops to review alongside the foreigners. Two hundred men of the Regular Army in their khaki uniforms, alongside four hundred men of the militia. The Regulars looked the part of professional soldiers, although few of them had any more experience than limited duty in the Confederation’s western territories, manning forts and protecting towns against attack from Indijans. The militia, though they presented a professional appearance in their light gray uniforms and government-issued muskets, had the sloppiness of poorly trained amateurs.

Colonel Shafer and Governor Dunn arrived to inspect the troops and then invite the Argentinian commander back to the Governor’s Mansion to discuss what was to be done next. The men could take up beds in the barracks on the outskirts of the city vacated by the Regulars sent to relieve Saundersville, while Indentured workers on the docks unloaded the rest of the Argentinian cargo and transported it to their quarters.

Casa Madrugada

Queen Juniper read the message with trembling hands. The handwriting was poor, and the long time it had spent concealed on various persons as it made its way from Tayacoba to her “palace” outside Vernonville had smudged some of the scrawled letters, but she could read enough to understand what it said. Solomon Cristag had received news that the Atlantians had sent a large portion of their garrison from the capital to Saundersville by sea, to try and break the siege of the city. He did not think that it would work: his right-hand man, the shaman Tomlo, would capture the city before the reinforcements could arrive. That would leave the reinforcements from Vernonville unable to land, and they would have to turn back. While they were floundering at sea, Solomon was going to march on the capital with all his warriors. He would kill the soldiers who kept Juniper locked away in Casa Madrugada and liberate his queen, and then she would ride with him into the city as his men slaughtered the Atlantians and restored her to the throne of a free Darianna.

Once she had read the message several times over, she held it over a candle and watched it burn to ashes. It had taken several days for the message to reach her: Solomon and his men could be halfway to Vernonville by now. He might not be more than two days’ march away from Casa Madrugada. Her heart raced. She would be free, freer than any of her ancestors had been for generations. Yet she still felt unease at Solomon’s vicious enthusiasm for the murder of Atlantians. Her present captors were far less overbearing than the Maldonians had been. She had heard the stories of the horrors of Indentured labor, but surely it was better than when her people could be bought and sold like cattle? Yet whatever her misgivings, it seemed as though the die had been cast. She would be a warrior queen, no matter what she felt.

Saundersville

Major Jeremy Grant had come to oversee the line across the courtyard square personally. This would be the final stand of the Atlantian garrison: they would either break the Florens here, or they would be broken and the city would fall. He looked to where the cannons were placed, aimed to cover all the streets from which the enemy could appear. Those guns and their canister rounds would be his one trump card. He felt the doubt gnawing at him; should he have sent the guns to the market square? There had been very few survivors, and most of those were militia who had run very early. The Regular Army soldiers, it seems, had fought and died nearly to a man.

“Here they come!”

The shouted warning from the lookout on the roof of the courthouse snapped Major Grant out of his inner turmoil. He shouted orders of his own, and then the captains were passing their own instructions down to lieutenants and sergeants. Rifles were loaded and primed, and cannon crews stood by waiting for the order to fire. The first shouts and war cries began to echo from the streets. Soon he could see the mass of Floren warriors running towards the square. Gunshots began to pepper the air as Florens with captured guns began to fire at the Atlantians from long distance. The men stood behind their makeshift barricades, ducking down as musket balls and rifle bullets sent tiny splinters of wood or chips of cobblestone flying through the air.

A militiaman fell to the ground clutching at his neck, which was spurting blood profusely. Either a sharpshooter or merely poor luck, Major Grant couldn’t say. The man struggled for a few moments more and then laid still. Other members of the militia began to shift uneasily, and the major found himself tapping men lightly on the back with the flat edge of his sword.

“No man runs,” he said aloud. “Not one man shows his back to these savages, you hear me?!”

They were coming closer, and closer. Major Grant raised his hand, the signal to prepare for imminent action. Rifles were raised to shoulders and cannons primed. Just a bit closer...Major Grant swept his hand down, and the order to fire came from a dozen mouths at once. The sound of rifle and musket volleys was drowned out in an instant by the roar of cannons, which spat out the loads of double canister they’d been loaded with. The effect was terrifying. Florens died by the scores. The range was so close that a canister projectile or bullet could pass through more than one man before slowing down enough to become ineffective. The front ranks dropped en masse as if suddenly struck by an invisible sleeping sickness, or they were torn to shreds. The charge continued forward with a sort of perverse momentum, carrying men who were moving too fast to stop directly into the killing zone.

The Regulars and their breechloaders fired nonstop, bullet after bullet poured into the mass. Every few seconds they were joined by a volley from the muzzle-loading muskets of the militia. The cannons took longer to reload, but in time they too sounded again and sent more canister into the face of the enemy. It was too much for any sane person to stand. Rebels began to turn and flee from the unyielding storm of lead in front of them. Major Grant ordered his Regulars to fix bayonets and advance. Their boots and the cuffs of their trousers became soaked with blood as they stepped over and on the bodies of the dead and dying.

[Peroniist Argentina]

snip

Docks at the Capital

Lieutenant Morales's face beamed with pride when he saw the disorganization of the militia's uniforms and the way they stood. Of course, the 51st were a thorn in his back thanks to their lack of uniformity with their weapons as well as their facial hair. His mood shifted to a cocky smugness as he approached the Atlantian officer with Sergeant Major Rossi and a standard-bearer at his flanks. He extended a hand to the officer, noticing that the man was a colonel. Realizing too late that he had made a mistake, the Lieutenant swiftly turned his handshake into a salute. Rossi, his hatred of the Lieutenant quite obvious, looked as if he were barely managing to hold back laughter.

Most of the Argentinean soldiers were clad in dark blue uniforms, not a button or clasp out of place or undone. The Grenadiers wore light blue, in contrast to their fellow infantry, as well as having bearskin caps. Their uniforms were well-cleaned and their shoes were shined to perfection, with the only dirt being on their shoes coming from when they stepped off of their vessels. The 51st, on the other hand, were rather the opposite. They looked worse than the militia, with not a single uniform looking the same as another as well as many men carrying different guns. Despite their shortcomings, they were clearly men who had fought through hell and back on multiple occasions and would gladly do so again.

Once the order was given, the men quickly disbanded and began to collect their gear from their ships in an effort to assist the indentured servants. Once his horse was retrieved, the Lieutenant sat atop it and watched his men move their supplies to the barracks. Once there, the men rested up and, under Morales's orders, began to build defenses against any possible raids.

[Atlantian Dominions]

Lieutenant Morales's face beamed with pride when he saw the disorganization of the militia's uniforms and the way they stood. Of course, the 51st were a thorn in his back thanks to their lack of uniformity with their weapons as well as their facial hair. His mood shifted to a cocky smugness as he approached the Atlantian officer with Sergeant Major Rossi and a standard-bearer at his flanks. He extended a hand to the officer, noticing that the man was a colonel. Realizing too late that he had made a mistake, the Lieutenant swiftly turned his handshake into a salute. Rossi, his hatred of the Lieutenant quite obvious, looked as if he were barely managing to hold back laughter.

Most of the Argentinean soldiers were clad in dark blue uniforms, not a button or clasp out of place or undone. The Grenadiers wore light blue, in contrast to their fellow infantry, as well as having bearskin caps. Their uniforms were well-cleaned and their shoes were shined to perfection, with the only dirt being on their shoes coming from when they stepped off of their vessels. The 51st, on the other hand, were rather the opposite. They looked worse than the militia, with not a single uniform looking the same as another as well as many men carrying different guns. Despite their shortcomings, they were clearly men who had fought through hell and back on multiple occasions and would gladly do so again.

Once the order was given, the men quickly disbanded and began to collect their gear from their ships in an effort to assist the indentured servants. Once his horse was retrieved, the Lieutenant sat atop it and watched his men move their supplies to the barracks. Once there, the men rested up and, under Morales's orders, began to build defenses against any possible raids.

Vernonville

Colonel Shafer considered the Argentinian troops to be acceptable. The men of the skirmisher unit looked rough-and-tumble, but so did the best trackers and cavalrymen fighting the Indijans out west. The grenadier and their bearskins were impressive but Shafer would have preferred more of the light infantry. Shock troops might be useful in the final assault on Tayacoba, but in the march to the city would require troops who could effectively scout for enemy ambushes and range beyond the army to gather information. He was equally confused to see a mere lieutenant leading the force, but he marked that down to a difference in rank systems or organization between the two armies.

The barracks assigned to the Argentinians was on the edge of the city, and the men would find little in the way of raw materials for fortifications. When word got back to the Governor that the Argentines were building defenses, he hurriedly sent a messenger on horseback to the barracks asking Lieutenant Morales to cease. Governor Dunn wanted to avoid spurring the citizens of the capital into a panic, and the construction of fortifications would create an undue alarm. The message also invited Lieutenant Morales to dine with the Governor and Colonel Shafer that evening at the Governor’s Mansion.

Saundersville

Smoke rose from a dozen locations in the city. The Florens had unleashed years of resentment, conscious and unconscious, on the portions of Saundersville that they had taken. Shops and homes were looted and set ablaze. Despite Eddie Tomlo’s strident preaching against the evils of alcohol, many rebels took hold of any bottle they could find and drained it dry. Drunkenness amplified destructiveness as inebriated rebels threw rocks and bits of masonry through windows or fired guns into the air with reckless abandon. Atlantians who hadn’t managed to flee the rebel tide for higher ground huddled in their homes, praying that the Florens would pass them by like the angel of death passed over the Israelites.

The rebels held, by the estimates of Major Jeremy Grant and his subordinates, one third of the city. The sudden, violent check at the courthouse square had stopped the Floren momentum cold. Runners arrived at Major Jeremy Grant’s headquarters to report that the rebels had stopped their mad, seemingly unstoppable charge forward. Skirmishing was constant and gunfire echoed from the streets nearly constantly, but no more significant ground was lost. Some of the militia captains wanted to counterattack immediately and drive the rebels out of their city, but Grant overruled them.

“They expected a quick and easy victory today,” he explained. “Let them stew on their failure for a night. Half of them will desert under the cover of darkness. Our men are tired, let them rest. Tomorrow we’ll drive them before our bayonets.”

[Mersdon]

Nightfall
Hannebrouck's Plantation, 50 miles W of Tayacoba

"Sire!"
The sun was setting on the reddened clay tiles of the company town of Hannebrouck, or as the locals knew it, the Plantation, and brevet-Major Elias d' Casarosa-Hannebrouck, Baron of Casarosa, second of his name, and commander of the Second Squadron in the King's Royal Dragoons, had taken the opportunity to admire the view from his cousin's balcony, and was more than content to feel the cool breeze of the nearby bay caress his worn face before the mosquitoes were sure to come out. He breathed in the jacaranda-tinged air, and turned around. The boy at the top of the stairs was a mulatto boy, maybe only fourteen years of age, but evidently part of his brother's household based on his mannerisms and impeccably starched shirt. He bowed.
"What is it that you want, boy?" Elias sighed. He swirled his half-downed goblet of the cane-wine that appeared to be the specialty of these parts in his glass, and watched the melting ice in it reflect the vibrant orange light of the sun for a moment.
"I was sent by the lord of the plantation, your lordship. He wishes for you to sup with him at six o'clock in the main dining hall, with some guests he said. Should we lay out a place setting for you, sir?" the boy asked, his voice still slightly squeaky. Elias could see his shoulders and how they were still a bit too broad and full for his still-slight frame; but there was no doubt in his mind that the kid would grow up to be a strong, strapping young man, like his secret father. His brother. He shuddered at the recollection of that memory. Poor girl.
"Yes lad. Thank you for asking." the Major said softly, and the servant-boy went down the stairs again, humming a soft rendition of "Brandy, You're a Fine Girl". He must've heard that when Lord Hannebrouck took him on the day trip out to Mustique-Isle, just a few hours' sail down south. Elias sighed again, watching the palms and the mango trees sway in tune with the gentle crashing of the surf on the sand just fifty yards away from the veranda. He sat down on one of the repurposed lounge chairs, nestled in the corner between the porch door and the west-facing window, poured some more of the cool water from the pitcher on the teak table before him (which was already beading up from condensation), and doused his face in a most ungentlemanly manner, the liquid running down in rivulets from his creased forehead, catching the dying light just as the three-quarters to six bell sounded from the kitchen.

---

Later that evening, the newly-returned Major and his older brother began their first supper together in over six years. Much cane-wine was poured, and even more eaten. In the midst of the feast, Baron Casarosa decided to break out his decanter of some exceptionally strong Kentauri whisky, which much improved the mood of the dinner party.
"So, brother, what have you been up to back home? Have you met with any success in your pursuit of that young Brown countess? Her father is much disposed to a war hero suitor such as yourself chasing his pride and love, seeing as you evidently want for nothing!" chuckled Lord Barnard Hannebrouck, emphasizing the 'war hero' part as he ribbed his younger brother. "I-well- we are exchanging letters and such, and I had much hoped to ask her father for her hand before I was to ship out for Orangeville [in the Royal West Indies], but as you know, duty called well before I considered it ripe to propose, brother. Do not worry about arranging my matches, brother; I believe that I have enough of Father's paternal instincts to guide myself-" Good natured laughter filled the air, giving voice to the drunken happiness of most of the attendees present. With no wives nor children around to keep up appearances, the invited guests- Elias included- felt obligated and were quite happy to break out the hard stuff.
"And you wished to marry your social superior! An uppity baron such as yourself, only having received your fief from the Crown after five years of incessant conflict with his domestic enemies-" boisterously roared out the lord, belching on the heels of his last few words.
"Have you had enough to drink yet, dear brother? This cane-wine is very much strong, and a bit too much like lightning in a cup for my tastes. Yet evidently you stomach the stuff with the iron stomach of an old salt!" Elias smirked back, gently blocking the droplets of rum and spittle from reaching his immaculately pressed dinner suit with his handkerchief.
"And you that vile Kentauri stuff!" yelled out one of the plantation's white overseers, already uproariously drunk. "That stuff is fit for sheep-men like they and nothing more!"
"Alan, you old fool!" roared back Miguel, an exiled Slovan and the current alcalde of Hannebrouck Plantations. "You jest, surely, for you have downed half of the honorable major's wonderful gift, but have scarcely touched my section's wonderful three-year oak-aged product!"
"I have touched your section's product before, but I don't know whether it was oak-aged or three-year..." leered Alan. The rest of the table, fifteen people strong, roared with laughter. Much ribbing began, most of it of an unbecoming and scandalous nature.
Elias took the opportunity to step out of the room, excusing himself by mumbling to the table something about delirium from the thick haze of blue tabac smoke wafting through the chandeliers and the wainscoted walls, and stepped outside. Through the darkness, and through the new silk mosquito net on the veranda, he could see a series of shadowy figures darting suspiciously between the teak huts and adobe dwellings that made up the native laborers' quarters. He reached for his pipe, curious about what was going on, but he decided to refrain. His lungs would probably thank him for that later, but at the moment, the Major could think about nothing but about what the laborers could be up to, especially at such a late hour. He lurched towards the railing, leaning over the edge, and shouted at the figures. "Hey! What do you think you're doing there?"
Before he could listen to their replies, he was down with a musket ball to his shoulder, and the report of the weapon and the wild ululations of the shooter's comrades echoed throughout the night as the pitch-black night was torn asunder by the rising flames of the treated wooden shacks and the cane fields that was the town's livelihood. A gun battle soon erupted between the residents of the plantation and the mysterious maruraders, with the whites taking down dozens of raiders with their repeating rifles, but there were always more in the cane, waiting to pick off the odd man that would show his head in the lit windows of the manse. The women inside the plantation house started screaming and crying at some point thereafter, and the reports of the rifles from the surprised dinner guests slowly died down; by daybreak, there was nobody left alive within the plantation house; in fact, it didn't exist at all, having been razed to the ground- along with most of the town and hundreds of innocent victims- by an armed mob that no longer was there.

---

Aboard the HMS Duncan
10 miles off the Atlantian coast
"Three bells! Three bells!"
Post-Captain Lucius Wagner, KCE, OMDB stood on the poop, watching his novice midshipman gingerly try out the ship's wheel for the first time. The clouds were closing in, dark and heavy; the mountainsides not far away, lush with vegetation, were ringed with clouds and rain, and the wind was picking up, blowing them towards the besieged locality of Vernonville. The slightly battered 74-gun frigate, freshly re-hulled with a copper bottom and having just undergone a thorough cleaning and refurbishment, silently cruised through the choppy waves at longreach. The rigging monkeys had been ordered to come down (the captain didn't want any avoidable deaths to happen during this particular storm) and most of the crew had been ordered to battle stations. In conditions like these, the Captain thought, the crew could have an invaluable lesson in fighting in rough seas or adverse wind conditions. The ship rolled slightly to port, away from shore, and Post-Captain Wagner chose that moment to begin the drill.
"Roll tack to port! Bring starboard to bear!"

---

By first bells (dawn) the next day, the crew was exhausted, and had wasted over a quarter of their powder and clay shot, but the Captain was satisfied that they had learned enough to be at least somewhat more confident in combat on the high seas. He handed over control- and the logbook- to the Royal Marines' Ensign Bruce, and went to bed, hoping to wake up in time for their arrival in Vernonville.

---

Three miles northeast of the leading frigate, still barely within telescope distance in the fog, Major Casarosa's revenge lay belowdecks, with the five troopships sailing like ducklings following their mother (in this case, another two 74s.) Watching the decently-sized flotilla making its way towards the battered ramparts of the town was a captain in the rose-blue and white facings of the Royal Dragoons, his fingers counting off the seconds until the first ship laid anchor behind his back. That rain-lashed captain was a certain Lodewijk de Hannebrouck, and his personal servant, a young boy found in the ruins of his brother's plantation named Elias, stood next to him, with an immaculately starched shirt on and wearing a thousand-yard stare. Hopefully, he could take the fight to the rebels with the King's sanction, now that Mersidonian citizens had been assaulted by these uppity slaves. He just wished that the cost of his first taste of war hadn't included his two brothers and the love of his life.

[Atlantian Dominions]

Three miles northeast of the leading frigate, still barely within telescope distance in the fog, Major Casarosa's revenge lay belowdecks, with the five troopships sailing like ducklings following their mother (in this case, another two 74s.) Watching the decently-sized flotilla making its way towards the battered ramparts of the town was a captain in the rose-blue and white facings of the Royal Dragoons, his fingers counting off the seconds until the first ship laid anchor behind his back. That rain-lashed captain was a certain Lodewijk de Hannebrouck, and his personal servant, a young boy found in the ruins of his brother's plantation named Elias, stood next to him, with an immaculately starched shirt on and wearing a thousand-yard stare. Hopefully, he could take the fight to the rebels with the King's sanction, now that Mersidonian citizens had been assaulted by these uppity slaves. He just wished that the cost of his first taste of war hadn't included his two brothers and the love of his life.

Vernonville

It seemed that the President’s call for foreign assistance was finally getting results. The morning after the Argentinians arrived, another flotilla of foreign vessels appeared on the horizon bearing towards Vernonville harbor. Governor Shay Dunn was pleased to learn that more foreign troops were arriving; with most of the Atlantian soldiers dispatched to the relief of Saundersville, the influx of non-Atlantian soldiers would allow him to continue to push Colonel Shafer for a march on Tayacoba, the epicenter (in his mind) of this damned rebellion. Shafer had pleaded delay, asking for more time to plan, and gather supplies, and train the militia - as if he was about to march off to battle against the Telviran Royal Army, and not a mob of savages armed with clubs and pitchforks. Now he would have no excuse to loiter in the capital.

The Regular Army soldiers were once again drawn up in review to greet the foreigners. Governor Dunn and Colonel Shafer mounted their horses and sat upon them at the head of the formation, waiting to greet the Mersdonians.

“Once these men are off the boats and seen to, I expect you to march for Tayacoba,” Governor Dunn said to Colonel Shafer as they watched the ships enter the harbor. “No more dallying about. You have more professional soldiers than militia now.”

Colonel Shafer thought the order - for there was no mistaking the tone of the governor’s voice - was ridiculous. Yes, he would have many more professional soldiers. But they would be a polyglot mixture, with who knows how many differences in cultures and military traditions to iron out. Marching immediately would mean sorting those issues out on the move and on the battlefield.

Pequena Vega

The small village was nearly deserted. When word had come that the rebels were coming, most of the inhabitants had packed up their belongings and headed in the opposite direction, towards the capital city. Those who remained were mostly Florens who nervously watched as the rebel army marched into town, with Solomon Cristag at its head mounted on a white horse. The fine mount had been a prize of war taken from a plantation not far from Tayacoba.

“The time of your liberation has come!” Solomon exhorted the villagers. “Join us! Fight for your queen and your island!”

Most of the people stayed in their homes, but a few brave souls did emerge to volunteer to fight in Solomon’s army. Many would join the march on Vernonville without a weapon, save for whatever they might bring from home. Some had old hunting flintlocks or sugarcane machetes. Some had nothing but their fists. There would be guns aplenty, Solomon pledged, when they overran the Atlantians holding their queen in prison and captured the capital.

Saundersville

The Atlantian ships with the reinforcements had arrived as the sun rose over Saundersville. The booming of their salute guns was a heaven-sent sound for the defenders, who now knew with certainty that the city would not fall to the Floren savages. Major Grant’s planned counterattack was delayed to give the men time to disembark from the ships and join with the surviving Regulars and militia from the garrison in pushing the enemy out of Saundersville.

Eddie Tomlo wasn’t going to wait to be pushed out. He’d sent out his runners in the pre-dawn morning, passing the word throughout the rebels that they would abandon the city and retreat into the countryside. It was not cowardice, but sound strategy. The rebels had no advantage in the narrow streets and confining environments of the city. They were at home in the sugarcane fields and tall grass. They would withdraw and allow the Atlantians to think themselves the victors. Then, when they marched out into the countryside, Eddie Tomlo promised his followers that they would ambush an annihilate the hated occupiers.

[Atlantian Dominions]

OOC: My time on NS has become more limited lately, and this thread wasn’t moving much anyway but I do want to have an IC conclusion. So this post will serve as a summary of the remainder of the rebellion.

The failure of Eddie Tomlo to capture Saundersville marked one of two critical reveres that ultimately doomed Solomon Cristag’s rebellion. Many of Tomlo’s followers deserted in the days and weeks that followed, and the officers who commanded the Atlantian troops that marched out from Saundersville were not so rash or impetuous as Colonel Meigs had been at Sabana Grande. The Florens could find no easily exploitable opening to launch an ambush on the Atlantian force that began a slow, inexorable advance towards Tayacoba from the west.

At the same time, Solomon Cristag’s main army reached the gates of Vernonville itself. There it collided with the combined force of Atlantians, Argentines, and Mersdonians gathered in the capital city. The rebels outnumbered the defenders; in the beginning there were three Florens for every soldier. Yet the superior firepower and skill of the Atlantians and their foreign allies more than made up for their weakness in numbers, and the numerical superiority decreased as more and more Florens died. The breaking point was when Queen Juniper, who had been rescued from her captivity in Casa Madrugada, refused to take command and rally the rebel army. She had become disenchanted with Solomon and his brutal rebellion, and saw no hope of defeating the Atlantians. In a fit of rage, Solomon Cristag strangled Juniper to death. The rebels soon fled back to Tayacoba with the allied army in pursuit.

The Atlantians advanced through rebel territory, enacting a terrible vengeance on the Florens as they went. Villages were put to the torch and anyone suspected of supporting the rebels was tortured and executed. The allied force from Vernonville met the Atlantian force from Saundersville outside the city of Tayacoba and laid siege to the rebel-held city. After starving the inhabitants and bombarding the city from land and sea, the Atlantians stormed into the city, massacred the remaining defenders, and unleashed a storm of looting and violence on the inhabitants. Solomon Cristag died leading his most loyal followers in a doomed last stand.

The fall of Tayacoba marked the end of the rebellion as an organized movement. The shaman Eddie Tomlo remained at large, leading a gang of holdouts who struck from a hidden camp somewhere in the Cordillera Mountains, but he was reduced to mere banditry and posed no threat to the Atlantian control of the island. In the aftermath of the rebellion, the Atlantians increased their efforts to eradicate Floren culture, language, and religion. New Indentured laborers, mostly Oriental immigrants from Yamai, were brought to the island to replace those Florens killed or imprisoned during the rebellion. The Territory of Darianna would remain a valuable colonial possession of the Confederation of Atlantian Dominions.