All Quiet on the Front- IC- OPEN

by **The Industrial States of Columbia** » Sat Jan 11, 2020 6:18 pm

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1936 — ALTERNATE HISTORY SANDBOX RP

OOC — IC —Map — Theme
Roster · Discord

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ANNOUNCEMENT BOARD
Hello and welcome. Make sure to check the map before reserving, as it is updated with current claims.

OP Board
OPs: The Industrial States of Columbia | Military Lands of the Scottish People | The Palmetto

By the beginning of 1918, the Great Powers had been embroiled in four grueling years of war across the world, which many felt would be won by a final push by either the Entente or Central Powers. Instead, January of 1918 saw the first reported cases of influenza in Kansas rapidly unfold into a pandemic the likes of which the world had not seen since the medieval era. The first months saw tens of millions die, with over one hundred million dead within the year. Hostilities ended on both fronts by early 1919, as the sick and dying soon became the priority of the war weary nations of the world. Soldiers deserted armies or joined local militias en masse, to defend their homes, families, or their own skins. Cities burned and industry shuddered to a halt. As society unraveled through the years of death and sorrow, the old empires finally collapsed, ushering the Earth into the grasps of a new Dark Age. Against all this though, hope endured.

The year is 1936, almost a decade after the fall of modern society, and new powers are rising from the ashes of the old. Will you reclaim the glory of a lost dynasty? Or will you forge a new path in a fragile new world. The choice is yours...

RULES AND REGULATIONS

General.
There are a few rules and guidelines for the RP, listed here. These following six are basic and should be easily understood and followed, and after that will follow more specific info that is more liable to change.
Obey NationStates forum rules
Obey the OP and those appointed as per their role
Make sure you are not metagaming, godmodding, numberspamming, or generally RPing in bad form
Have a couple of paragraphs a post and good grammar & spelling
Exercise common sense generously
Be active every couple of days at least
Lore and Concepts.
There is some loose backstory you are able to work with for sandboxing past the POD in 1918. The following will be updated at OP discretion
Population decreased from 1919's totals by 40-60 percent universally, mostly affecting young adults and mid aged people at the time. This is to allow for easy computation bases and to make game play fairer. 40 percent loss is for nations that historically did better than their contemporaries, whereas 60 percent is for places like the front lines in Europe that were ravaged by the disease.
Population may be increased past this, however, the final decision on what is acceptable is the OPs. Do not try to dispute our judgement on the matter.
Equipment and technology has likely not advanced past the mid 20s development compared to our world. Some anachronistic older elements may be pervasive as well as alternative period technologies with justification.
Contact with other states may be unreliable. Some states may have more knowledge of the political landscape of the world than others. Surveys and exploration will be a game play element.

Breaching these rules may result in a user being expelled from this RP at the OP Board's discretion.

by **The Industrial States of Columbia** » Sat Jan 11, 2020 6:20 pm

reserved for important news updates

by **Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States** » Mon Jan 13, 2020 3:21 am

Marble Palace
Potsdam
German Empire
January 1936

Winter

From the window of the dining room, an observer could observe a few sights. One could look at the Heiliger See, the Holy Lake, which now stretched frozen through the cold, misty morning. Several ducks were skidding around the slippery surface, apparently confused about the solid state of what one would assume was their ancestral home. One could find it amusing to see the ducks falter and fail, while normally they slid through the water with such grace.

One could also observe the garden from the dining room. Its hedge rows, flower beds and grassy fields were all covered in a layer of snow, most of which had fallen the night before. So early in the morning, it still lay pristine and smooth, untouched by man or animal. The icy crystals glittered radiantly in the early morning sun, which began to pierce its way through the veil of grey clouds above, from which now and again stray snowflakes would fall.

One could also observe, as Wilhelm was busying himself with, the road that led up to the front of the palace. This road started at the entrance to the grounds, and then snaked for another hundred meters or so past the lakeside. The entrance used to be barred by a large cast-iron gate in a red-brick wall, but it had for convenience’s sake been replaced by a red-white roadblock. It was flanked by two guard posts, each manned by two men of the imperial guard. Wilhelm could just make out the white-brimmed military caps and the long winter coats.

It was 9 in the morning, which meant these men would soon be greeted by two trucks coming in from Berlin to deliver the palace’s supplies. Right on schedule, a pair of black lorries came driving up to the gate. They made their way slowly in the freshly fallen snow, coming to a halt next to the guard posts. Wilhelm balled his fist as his heart began to pounce. One of the soldiers started talking to the driver of the first lorry, while the others made their way around the back to check the contents. What was going to happen to these soldiers was vital. If they were shot and killed, they would have around five minutes until the lorries pulled up to the palace. Enough time to get some way into the forest beyond the palace. Now, it was unclear how far they could go after that, but…

The soldiers nodded to one another, walked towards the gate and opened the road block for the lorries to get through. Wilhelm relaxed his posture and sighed in relief. Just a lorry. Just bringing goods.

“Are you coming, dearest?” Cecilie asked. Wilhelm nodded, and turned to take a seat at the table. His family had gathered for a New Year’s Breakfast, and foodstuffs were being passed around handsomely. Wilhelm took his place at the head of the table to lead his family in a short prayer for the new year. Then, they dove in. His son, crown prince Wilhelm, was slathering the marmalade thickly on his toast, his wife giving him judging looks as he did so. Their daughter Felicitas, Wilhelm’s granddaughter, was being fed carefully by her mother, not quite tuned in to the significance of their celebration.

Louis Ferdinand, Wilhelm’s second son, paused eating a small sausage to look pensively out the window.

“Dad…” he began, carefully. “Me and Kira have been thinking…”

Wilhelm knew something disturbing was coming. Louis Ferdinand always started his most outlandish requests with the phrase that he and his fiancée had been thinking. Wilhelm patiently put down his fork, a piece of buttered toast still attached, and looked his son in the eyes.

“Yes?” he asked, which was a permission for his son to continue.

“Well, Kira and I thought… well… before we get married, we would like to see some more of the world, you know. See Paris again, or London, or Madrid. We would…”

“Out of the question” Wilhelm interrupted. There was no sense in letting his son get worked up at this point. He picked up his piece of toast and took a bite. “Way too dangerous”

“Ow, come on, dad! It isn’t 1930 anymore. Travel has become much safer. You can take an airship to London nowadays for…”

“I said no” Wilhelm interrupted again, this time more sternly. “Anyone might travel safely nowadays, but you are valuable. You are targets. I cannot allow you to go abroad, not until the borders of Germany are safely restored and we can vouch for your safety”

“So, never, then?” Louis Ferdinand answered coldly and viciously. Silence fell across the table. It was universally understood that getting Germany back to what it once was would be a challenging task, but such defeatism was never spoken aloud.

“What I think does not really matter. General Ludendorff would not give his blessing, and…”

“But he is not the emperor, is he?” Crown-prince Wilhelm interjected. “How that oaf keeps so much power after losing us the war is beyond me, papa”

“We have a special arrangement” Wilhelm retorted. He looked outside to see the four soldiers guarding the gate to the palace. They were not only there for the protection of the imperial family. “If I start throwing my weight around, it won’t take long for the general to find another”

“No politics at breakfast!” Cecilie interrupted. She looked worriedly at her sons, and carefully placed her hand on Wilhelm’s.

“Your father said no, Fred. That should be enough. I will talk to general Ludendorff about the possibilities”

“Can we at least take Felicitas out sledding?” Crown-prince Wilhelm asked carefully. “She has not played in snow before, and Fred can come as well, if he wants”

The emperor sighed. He looked at his wife, still holding his hand, who made a gentle nod in his direction. He nodded carefully.

“Alright, but be back before lunchtime, okay? And stay in sight of the palace”

His sons nodded graciously and immediately got up from the table.

“Thanks, dad!” they said in unison, immediately moving to get their coats. As soon as they had left the room with Kira and Dorothea, Wilhelm let out a resigned sigh.

“Thick as thieves, those two…” he let out. “It’s scary to think what they could actually pull off together…”

by **The Anarcho-Syndicalist Commune** » Mon Jan 13, 2020 1:02 pm

Vyborg, Former Russian City

The fog rolled off the waves like fingers uncurling and reaching out. The boy breathed in the cold air. Though the harshest months of winter ate at Fishermen like wolves, they must continue on to support their family. Vasily had been born after the great dying as his grandfather called it, and thus had been spared the horrors of that chapter of history. Still though, to be born in a survival of the fittest world, where tomorrows survival depended on how many fish you hauled in today, it was no true life. Before everything happened, the young boy could have gone and become a soldier. Now, he would live and die in Vyborg with the rest of his family, like his father before him. Alexander had been a brave but foolish man, who had fought the first of the Nordic raids. Like all men who had fought, he died, and left his family struggling without him.

The city was a shell of what it had once been. A town that had once had tens of thousands of people living in it had been reduced to an even thousand since the plague, if that. Though refugees from further in land sometimes ventured to Vyborg hoping it had been less effected than the rest of the Empire, those hopes mostly turned out for naught.

Vasily sighed at the monotony of his work, moving buckets of caught fish off of his grandfathers small boat. Pausing to breath for a moment, the boy looked out into the fog. A large shadow began to appear in it. Vasily blinked a few times to confirm that he wasn't seeing things. Pointing to the shape, Vasily yelled "Grandfather, I think there's a ship!" The older man at the end of the fishing boat rose to his full height and turned around.

A black prow breached through the fog. Recognizing the hull shape instantly, the old man yelled "Vasily, get your mother and grandmother and lock yourselves in the basement. Go now!" The old man drew an older pistol, from his own time as a military officer. Firing a few shots at the bow of the ship, he began to curse in the french he had once used to converse in the Imperial court with. Vasily quickly turn and ran as he heard several shots come from the ship. Several projectiles impacted the dock around him. Vasily made sure to ring the alarm bell as he ran into the town, yelling "WE'RE BEING RAIDED!!" as he ran. Screams began to erupt from within the town as the sound of artillery shelling began. The buildings in front of Vasily exploded as cannon balls ripped through them. The way he had intended on running was now blocked.

Making a snap decision, the Russian boy decided to run in the alleys, trying to get to his home. As he ran parralel to the harbor, he watched as the black hulled ships flying the red and black banner of the Hird unleash their warriors on to the town. Vasily heard multiple voices, man and woman, shouting in the myriad tongues of Norrvegr, with a few louder voices in the black tongue that the commanders used. As he continued to run through the town, the sounds of conflict grew as many of the village men joined in the combat. Vasily turned the corner to his house... to find it demolished. Several raiders were already picking through the ruins, while Vasily's mother was led off in chains.

Akershus Fortress, Ánslo, Greater Norway

The King sat at the head of the council table, playing with a pen in his fingers, flipping it between them. In front of him stood his councillors, each responsible for overseeing and executing his will over a different part of his realm. Before them, the Mad Swede, Eriksson spoke as their mouthpiece. The King owed the man everything he had today. It had been Eriksson who had created the ideas that now served as the basis of his country. Elof flipped to the next page of the monthly council dossier. "And lastly, your excellency, as you can see, New Viking raids on the Baltic Coast have been extremely successful. The east has been mostly stripped of resources and suitable thralls. Soon enough, we should be able to take back Aland and with it open the gates Austrlönd. This means of course that the Hird must be reassigned. We have determined three primary options, each with their own risk and reward. The first, of course, is Ísland. Pickings would be beyond easy to take, but how much is left on the Island is undetermined. The second is Skotland, which would also present an easy and undefended target, but to do so would risk angering English, which could be catastrophic for us. Finally, the Empire to the south provides us with a rich and undefended land. Their navy is pretty much nonexistent and the only other power of note in the sphere is of course the Marinerepublik, who would be more likely to side with us and not them."

The king put down his pen and stroked his beard, nodding. After a minute or two, he pointed to the Empire on the map and said "Our brethren to the south have suffered under Modernist rule for too long I think. Weakening the Empire can only serve to strengthen the Reich, and thus bring the Antirevolution another step forward. We shall send the Hird there. Allocate a few of the Ironclads for the task of leading the fleet. Piracy has not been too much of a concern so the fuel fleet should operate normally, unless I'm mistaken Admiral." A man in a fur lined blue uniform shook his head. The king smiled a bit and said "Good then, that concludes the internal matters. High Chancellor, stay so that we may discuss some external affairs, the rest of you may go." The council stood, gave a quick beat to their chests, and departed the room.

Eriksson and the King left the council chamber to go and stand on a balcony overlooking the city. Ánslo had been abandoned when the plague came, while it was under the name Kristania. In the days before the Antirevolution, when Haakon and the Parliament cowered in Drammen, the Hird had led the repopulation efforts, and now Ánslo was a bustling city again, the centerpiece of the Kingdom. Several fishing boats could be seen in the harbor, and the sounds of horse drawn carraiges could be heard. The King nodded and said "Our position at the moment is precarious indeed old friend. We need allies, and good ones."

Eriksson nodded and said "I have concocted a number of ideas on who we can approach for that manner. The Marinerepublik is an obvious first choice, but there are others in Suðrlönd who we may approach. My first proposal would be to try and reach a trade deal with the Carlists. We have the steel they need to advance their cause, and they have the iron we need to advance ours."

The King nodded and said "We must also at least court England. Though I hope as much as you to see Nordica rise one day, the Danelaw was a backwater of it to begin with and sometimes we must comprimise. Very well, send the diplomats then."

Summary:

New Viking raids on the German Imperial Coastline have been started, with raiders looking for weaker villages and avoiding confrontation at the moment.
A Trade Delegation has been sent to the Carlist Kingdom of Spain, offering an increased and exclusive Steel for Coal trade with the Kingdom.
A delegation has been sent to the Kingdom of England seeking a diplomatic thaw and to establish an Embassy.
A delegation has been sent to the Marinerepublik seeking to establish an Embassy and a defensive alliance.

by **Elerian** » Mon Jan 13, 2020 2:40 pm

Hiraeth

Many of Indianapolis' downtown streets were dead quiet. Five miles away, at the Motor Speedway a large chunk of the city’s population were watching a race. Along the sidelines, spectators from all over the state watched and cheered. They came in thick clothing and the frosty air turned their cheeks a rosy pink. The cold of winter was pervasive, but people still came in droves. From the stands wild cheers could be heard like the sounds of a great battle. Eleven cars of different makes and models made their laps around the speedway. One team from many of the major cities in the Commonwealth. It could be a reckless tradition but one the city council, and interesting enough that Jonathan Witlow, refused to not be upheld this year. The cars careened around corners with the skill only a practiced rider could achieve. But the race wasn’t without its dangers. One town’s driver, the one from Warren Park, took a turn too quickly and went careening into the center field.

Two men, Eli Lilly and Henry Ford were watching together from the balcony of one of the private boxes. This was a heated competition they both enjoyed. They caught glimpses of the cars, bedecked in bright decorations, as they made their way down their stretch of the raceway. As the cars got closer, they were able to tell which was which.

"There!" Eli pointed. "Damn! Indianapolis is in eighth!" Naturally, Eli cheered on the car, dubbed Piece o’ Junk by the other teams, from his home city. The Indianapolis car almost always lost. Eli couldn’t even remember the last time they’d won.

"I of course, wouldn't mind the car from Detroit winning. They're in second." Ford replied, watching intently himself.

"My money's on Chicago. The car had been catching up after being in seventh. Good driver, just got off to a rough start." Eli replied.

Another roar came from the crowd signifying another crash.

"Looks like Milwaulkee’s out. Who will it be?" Eli asked. He felt a rush as he always did during the race. One that could only be matched by the rush he’d felt while sailing during his youth. There would be many fortunes won and lost in Indianapolis after this race.

It was the last leg of the race. The cars could now be seen kicking into high gear coming straight at the finish line. Chicago was now in second and Detroit fell to third. Though the cars were so close the conclusion of the race still balanced on a knife's edge. Both men leaned on the railings to cheer their cars then cursed when the car from Columbus crossed the threshold first.

"Bullshit!" Ford cursed while tossing his wine over the edge of the railing. Eli also had a look of distaste on his face though was able to compose himself far better. It was strange how much everybody in Indianapolis cared so much for this race. In the days leading up to it, the most popular discussion was on who would win. Eli remembered walking into his board of director’s meeting before they began that day and found they were arguing over the trivial topic. Along with most of his employees.

"It appears that I owe Stinson a few dollars" Ford grumbled.

“A man like you shouldn’t be gambling Ford. It isn't right." Eli reprimanded him with a grin. It was hypocritical because he had placed some bets in private with Stinson as well. Hardly anybody could resist betting on the races. Even the hardliner Oliver Powell had lost his prized tomahawk to a collegue. James Simpson had lost his prized luxury skiff one year, and Eli now owed Stinson a few hundred dollars.

"I was so sure it was going to be my team this year! They were underdogs, sure, but they should have had it in the bag." Ford said disappointed.

The two walked down from the box chatting. There was still an air of tension from the heated argument they’d had the last time they’d seen one another, but for now they seemed to be getting along. They ended up in the racetrack’s back entrance before the statue of Mark Twain. He was one of the greats, an American colossus in the realm of literature. Despite their wildly different upbringings, both men had read the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn religiously in their youth. The two stood quietly for a while studying it, and in a strange sort of way the statue only made them sad. Back before the fracturing of the United States this figure likely elicited pride and perhaps hope. But now, it was as if the greatness that America had once known had been lost, never to be found again. This was perhaps the hundredth time they had found themselves standing in the same spot before this same statue, but the first time that this feeling had crept over them.

"Don't worry Eli, we can come back." Ford said as Eli stared at the statue of Mark Twain.

"I’m not so sure." Eli responded right away. "How could things ever return to the way they were?." He paused deep in thought before turning to his friend. “Having faith is believing in something you just know ain't true" Eli recited from Huck Finn, a morose smile plastered across his face, before stepping away to rejoin the festivities.

* * *

A Crown of Ashes

“For those who have died to war, I say this, that truly they are loved, for they have lived the greatest lives of all and gave of themselves fully and utterly, to lay down their lives in battle. There can be no greater statement of intent, and I shall love them all now and forever, for they have given so much, who are we to not reciprocate, to not give of ourselves to bear any burden and endure every trial.” He asked the audience, representatives and their innumerable assistants and aides each in their own booths. The front of each emblazoned with the torch and stars of the Commonwealth. The emblem accompanied by the name of the representative’s home district.

“No I say we must continue on, we must bear the unbearable and yet more still, we must prove ourselves in this new age, only those who give of themselves so completely can live in this world, this world of hopes and dreams. We all have so much to give and we must do our utmost, only then can we stand tall and reply with open hearts and honest truths to our brothers and sisters and our sons and daughters that we have acted in their best interest as they so wished for us to do so.” Powell had kept his hands on the podium as he spoke, but now used them to great effect The air was taut with the deafening silence of the representative’s attention and all seemed to have even stopped breathing.

The applause and shouts of assent were practically deafening, the President could only smile slightly as he bowed out from the platform. It would seem that the motion had finally carried after several hours of intense scrutiny and what could generously be described as spirited debate and discussion. It had of course been otherwise as the Ideological differences between the platforms had only grown in the past few years.

The opposition had become emboldened and many were more forceful in their proclamations however they were not immune to the outreach of President Powell. Since his ascension, he had become well known and beloved for speaking from the heart and for the people, one of the few original members of the Interim government. The man had been one of the few token appointees, originally given office under the assumption he could be easily controlled and manipulated. Unfortunately for the military apparatus this turned out later to be a dire miscalculation. Some of the former members of the interim government who rose too fast would now spend their entire lives, short as they were, in confinement and internal exile wishing they had not been too ambitious.

The state apparatus had afforded Powell a great deal of leeway, but it was hard to say how long that would continue. Especially if the military felt Powell had gotten too big for his breeches.

* * *

The State of Things

Chicago had once been among the most important cities in North America, a hub for commerce, finance, and industry. Situated on the shores of Lake Michigan, the city had been a place of one of the largest cities in the world. Now, Chicago’s influence was cemented as the seat of the Midwest’s power, fanning out like spokes to the rest of the Commonwealth. The buildings that housed the facilities of the inner workings of the Commonwealth spoke volumes to the history and the power of Chicago. Thousands of buildings, ranging from vast apartment blocks to old American skyscrapers, spreading out from the nucleus that was the Windy City. The conflicts of the Commonwealth’s foundation, now seemed so far away. Though, they had still taken their toll. Purges had buried entire blocks in rubble, destroying some neighborhoods like Pilsen and Humboldt Park. The rioting had begun immediately after the outbreak, leaving behind scars that still showed to this day. A firm hand was needed to end the suffering. The extermination of the plague had been the ingredient needed to bring peace, and what a peace it was. Decades of prosperity and progress, only to be brought down by an upjumped flu from Kansas. The dominoes had fallen before anyone even realized what had happened. The house of cards that was the United States of America blown into the dustbin of history.

In the old city center sat the government sector, and within that sat the seat of power for the new Commonwealth. The Executor General looked out over the city from his office in the Montgomery Ward Building, his aged face reflected in the glass. Unlike many of the rebuilt city structures, the Montgomery Ward Building building was very conservative in design. The office of the Executor General however, was very much fit for the most powerful man in the Midwest. An elegant desk sat behind him, but was decorated with little more than a stack of papers and an aging photo frame. He glanced back at it, catching a glimpse of the woman in the photo. Even after all these years, she was still as beautiful as he remembered. Sometimes, late at night, he wondered if she was still alive out there, somewhere. He knew it was unlikely, of course. He knew exactly what had happened during the collapse of the old world order.

His teeth clenched. Someday, he was sure that something like the pandemic would never happen again.

Witlow looked out, not just at the city, but at himself. His hair had fallen out years before; a product of the stresses of his job. His face was wrinkling, tired eyes covered by a pair of thin rimmed glasses.The loud rumbling of the elevator cut the silence of the room. He turned to see his Ministers stepping out, and he moved to greet them.

The Ministers were his inner cabal, a pack of men and women assembled to maintain the Commonwealth’s new government. Captains of Industry, Generals and Technocrats, all handpicked and assembled by Witlow. Each followed him to the center of the office, where a large circular conference table sat. As each took a seat, Witlow took stock of the notables. The deputy foreign affairs minister, Leon Bridges, sat across from Witlow. The Bridges family could trace their lineage back to the founding of Chicago. They’d once owned a successful shipping company, but now they served the Commonwealth as Diplomats and Policymakers. With an old suit and hair slicked back, he looked one part old world and man and one part Southern Gentleman. Witlow's military advisor was Raymond Spruance, a man who had been instrumental in maintaining peace after the outbreak of the flu. He had been a sailor in the Navy, dressed sharply in full military regalia and a wolfish face that looked ready to kill without hesitation. He put Witlow on edge. Sure he was loyal, there was no doubt about that, but he was also a close book. Spruance eyed him down as he sat.

Witlow kept a close eye on the two of them. Bridges was the kind of man that would quickly go turncoat if he got a whiff of a better deal. Spruance worried him for more practical reasons. Not that he would desert, but that he would stage a coup and take power for herself. Clearing his throat, Witlow began. His voice betrayed his age.

"Welcome, everyone. I've called you here today because we now stand at a crossroads. As I'm sure you're all aware, efforts by the Interior Ministry have begun to spread our influence abroad. Preliminary reports indicate potential targets for the spread of our regime. These easy victories would surely give us a boost in approval, and annexing territory on the Great Plains would help alleviate food shortages. It could however put us in conflict with some of our neighbors. I would advocate that we proceed as planned, and divert some military resources to the frontiers to help keep things stable"

He went on, flicking a switch on the conference table. A bright fluorescent light illuminated a map of the region, with indications for the various nearby nations and states.

"Additionally, I've approved the acquisition of resources for the expansion of our tank corps, they’ve proven to be a valuable asset when combating incursions by nearby warlords and bandits. Spruance, I expect you to oversee their timely construction at the Rock Island Arsenal."

Spruance nodded, leaning back in his chair. Witlow turned his attention to Bridges.

"Bridges, I'd like you to personally oversee a delegation to our Canadian neighbors." There were tensions over the flow of trade in the Great Lakes. The Canadians seemed intent on trying to control trade in the region.

“Seems right up my alley Witlow, I can be on a train to the border in a day or two.” It would be best to try and thaw the cold relations between the two states, lest things get out of hand.

"If there are no questions” Witlow continued. “Then we'll be moving on. Regarding the current state of the economy..."

* * *

Into the Lion’s Den

Once, such a long time ago, the bar had been lively, full of those with money, but mostly those with only a little to spare. Once upon a time, dice were thrown and cards were played, and alcohol was served, just like any other tavern. A long time ago, it had been alive with the hustle and bustle of the poor and the suddenly rich, it had been filled with shouts of anger, loss and euphoria. A place that any gambler would have fit right in, maybe even met some friends along the way, if it were only once upon a time.

Of course, the bar was now empty, the drinks festering away and souring inside their tanks and bottles, and the tables and chairs showed their signs of rot. The blackjack, poker and all the other gambling tables' beautiful green felt was a dilapidated and fading brown, growing darker by the day, a sad reminder of the fun and not so fun times that were once held on them. The occasional card or coin laid around on these ghostly places, reminding all who visited of the bar's success, of the life that it had before the collapse and the horrific tragedy that was brought with it. While the Tavern had been spared the worst of the pandemic, it had died in its own way. The owner had packed up and fled before the bar began its inevitable decay, and its patrons followed, some of them leaving their winnings behind. A bar that catered to a hundred a day was now lucky to get a dozen a month, each of them picking through the wreckage left in the old world’s wake.

Today, the Tavern served only one man, and that man sat at the bar on an old high backed wooden chair, nursing a bottle of whiskey he’d had to bring himself. He wore a tattered old suit, jacket, shirt, trousers and all, that might have once been the cause of envy, but now it looked as old as the felt on the Gambling Tables. Dark, scuffed, and torn in places, similar to most who survived the collapse.

He was waiting, for who he didn’t yet know. That was the way these things worked, everyone was kept in the dark until all the ducks were in a row. For now though, the man nursed the bottle of whiskey until it was his turn to serve the Commonwealth.

by **Greater Redosia** » Mon Jan 13, 2020 4:40 pm

Land outside of the Albuquerque City Commune

"So as you can see, all these fields are all held together by the Collective Union." spoke the People's Union Representative, beside him several farmers who tilled the land looking tired from the days work. The city man smiled, moving his bushy mustache as if it were alive, which it probably was, "All of you are members of this new union, the ideal of a cooperative farm. All of you work together to farm this land, together you till and you plant. As such, you all benefit from its harvest which will be exported. The textile unions are looking for good cotton such as this, cannot complain at all."

The farmers look at each other, confused, "Then...who owns the land amigo?"

The representative laughed, rubbing his eyes from the dust that blew into it as he looked at the farmers. Then suddenly concerned as he realized that they were serious, "Why...you all do. I thought that after learning from the schools, the ones you grew up in as part of the party initiative to help all of you learn how to farm and of our the revolution." The farmers shook their head, "No amigo, know that, but who owns all this land now? Who do we work for?" The representative sighed, annoyed with the lack of knowledge these people had, "You all own the land, together. This land is your land, the new union is yours to run and manage. Together you can run it more efficiently than divided as separate people, you understand that right?"

"Yes...but how do we divided up our profits...Do we divide up the crops between each other o-"

"Quiet, quiet..." They were getting really annoyed now, "Look, listen closely. You sell the crops, then you divide the money together, simple. Equal among you all, for all people who work on the farm you get an equal portion to ensure that you are all able to live. If any of you believe that someone is not pulling their weight, you come together and discuss as a Union and determine what to do. You are your own masters to manage how you wish, together it is your duty for the revolution to be carried out and we can finally be able to rise as one! A classless people who can survive!" The party representative was filled with pride, looking at the farmers he held out his arms, "You will be getting new equipment to work with, new tools and all the abilities to rise higher!" But to the farmers, it was just same old days as before. Nothing new as they went to their fields, they look at each other and nod. Guess they were one big family now, wasn't that bad, the farmer boy did has something for that dairy girl.

Congress of the People's Union

"THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS! YOU CANNOT OVERLOOK OUR UNION AS IF IT WERE SOME OLD TÍA!" yelled Magon, looking out at the People's Union, the representatives of all the unions concerned greatly by the outburst. "The vanguards cannot simply start such blatant attempt at centralization without the approval of our Union, even then it is against the ideals we have set forth to forward the revolution. To continue socialism and to ensure that our glorious experiment thrives, instead of turning it into a statist hellhole!"

Villarreal could only shrug, looking at the Secretary making a fool of himself. He smiled and bowed, "It is our attempt of showing our form of the revolution, secretario. Is it wrong wanting the people to work together? Isn't that what the revolution calls for? The joint unity of the people, where there is no class dividing us. I believe we've done nothing wrong but encourage the unity of our people and the greater progress towards a more efficient system."

"But it's against our orthodoxy!"

"And tell me secretario...who proclaimed that your way of thought is the orthodox way? I don't believe the People's Union ever voted on such of thing. I believe we should hold a grand debate! One that will take months on end to truly show who's line of thought is correct!" The members of the People's Union start murmering among each other, what they were saying was true. They never got to decide which was the true line of thought of the movement, only that during the long years they followed the Magon brothers with their ideology. Anarchism that they lead, is it worth trading it for something more centralized?

"I obj-" But another voice came forward from the crowd, General Robles head of the centrists, "Silence Mr. Secretario! I believe this is for the best of all people that this be settled by the People's Union, as you have graciously created for this purpose. We must set up a debate and then finally vote on which is the path we take. Who is with me!" The centrists raised their hands, then slowly followed by the vanguardists and the opportunists, finally members of the magonists agreed as well, albeit slowly and not in great number. "As you can see, we have made our decision and we will prepare for this in the coming days. For which is the true path we must follow." Magon couldn't believe what he was watching, he turned to his brother who too was concerned that their experiment was coming towards a tipping point that could determine the future forever.

by **Military Lands of the Scottish People** » Mon Jan 13, 2020 5:32 pm

Home of the Rupprecht and his Old Guard.
Trier, Ruhr

The Crown Prince Rupprecht of Bavaria and his family.

Rupprecht would shortly sit down after the picture, waiting in his office, drinking a glass of Bavarian beer and reading reports. An hour of waiting and reading, a knock on the door was heard.

"Come in, come in." Rupprecht yelled, piling up his papers.
30 men entered the long room, filled with two bookshelves, a large table, and a map next to Rupprecht.
"Take your seats. I will be there soon."
The uniformed officers took their seats, one left empty at the end. Silence besides an occasional cough or the sound of some one moving. A minute passed. Than another. Rupprecht would soon stand up and slowly walking to his chair. Goering sat beside him, smoking a cigarette as he waited, Erwin Rommel reading a letter.

Rupprechts Adjudant, a young Officer by the name of Albert Turreldorf, pulled his chair out for him. Rupprecht sat down, his adjudant pushing his chair for him.

"Albert, please fetch the maids. We require drinks." Rupprecht said, pouring some of his beer on Goerings cigarette which was on an ash tray.

"What would you like, Sir?" Albert responded.

"What do you think, young man? Bavarian beer of course. Check in with the guards as well, see if you can acquire another cigarette for General Goering." Rupprecht said, remaining in his straight, stiff posture.

"No need, I have more." Goering responded, slightly agitated.

"I pay my debts, Goering. Now. To business. General Rommel, please, describe the our armored development." Rupprecht said, preparing to write down what he says.

"Well, Crown Prince, we have frivolousy tested our Armored Engineer vehicles against the various Renault tanks. Same results. The French 37mm Gun has proven to lack in armored fighting capability. Concluding with my staff, downsizing the cannon to, say, a 25mm one and increasing the power of the cartridge at the expense of any suitable high explosive ordinance. However the addition of two machine guns would help with Infantry support. The issue is that the wheeled design is simply unsuitable for such use. I recommend developing a chassis on top of a heavy duty farming tractor. Adding a superstructure to it and enough armor to prevent rifle fire from penetrating would be more than enough. Armament can simply be a open turret that sits on top of the superstructure towards the front, using a French 75mm Gun, and placing 2 machine guns on the side and front. It would have similar issues to the French "Saint Chamond", however with better utility. Requisitioning various tractors in use with farmers would work. They already use our stadtgas. The issue is suitable steel. This leads to the next point which Adjudant Heinrich Mueller will make." Rommel finished, folding up a piece of paper and sliding it down the table towards Rupprecht.

"General, the Gendarmerie has identified a nation just North of us. Scouting forces have seen what seems to be more than just organized bandits and militias, as we have ventured as far as Oldenburg. Under the guise of merchants from Switzerland, we saw an actual military force and even heard of the existence of our old Highseas Fleet surviving. About a days worth of time spent at various public houses, and we have came to the understanding that this nation, called the "Marinerepublik", has most of the steel refineries in Germany. I sent this information to Consul Hess, and he is simply waiting on your word to send him and several others as ambassadors to make contact with this group in order to trade for steel that we desperately need."

Rupprecht sat down his pen, sighing.

"A neighbor to our north, aye?... I see. If they have control of the damned fleet Tirpitz built, then I say good on them. At least some one is getting use out of it. The issue I have is competition. Hopefully we can make sense of the situation. Send Hess. Heydrich, I want twenty of your best men to leave with him and his convoy." Rupprecht replied.

Heydrich stood up. "Right away, Sir." He then left the room.

"Goering, I recieved a telegram that you had something urgent that needed to be discussed. Please, speak." Rupprecht said, picking up his pen again and beginning to write.

Before Goering could begin to speak, Rupprechts Adjudant and a set of maids entered, giving everyone their beer. He then took his position behind Rupprecht.

Goering sipped his beer after it was delivered, then stretched out, wiping his forehead.

"Of course. Our great zeppelins have been going under magnificent restoration programs in Airbase Graf at Luxembourg. Our operational one has been refurbished completely as a suitable mobile head quarters, and we have even added a radio to it. During this, scavengers from Belgium told me a rumor of something going on at the damned British Isles. The Empire seems to not be dead. So of course, I figured why not test our Zeppelin and see if our restoration and refurbishment was worth it. We have not scouted anything past the Channel, and I feel that I could lead a team to see what is happening. Surely we can find where all this activity is coming from, and arrange a way to attempt to contact them. I have a Squad ready for deployment. I requisitioned those automatic pistols for use on the crew, as well as two Machine Guns. They are ready to leave as soon as you give the word." Goering stated, drinking on his beer.

"You will be on the mission, then." Rupprecht responded, face looking down at the paper and unmoving as he continued to write.

Goering gulped his drink, coughing a little and sitting forward.

"Are you sure? What if there are bandits or a disaster." Goering replied.

"I am sure you didn't worry about such things in 1918. Take the Mayor of Trier, what's his name... Heinrich Himmler? Make contact. Do not provoke. Do so and I'll get you whatever art piece you want when you are back."

Goering sighed. "Suppose it's a deal then. I will leave in two days. Suppose I should leave and contact Himmler than. He doesn't seem that bad of a fellow I suppose. I will speak to you in two days then, Sir."

Goering got up and then left.

Some small conversation took place afterward. Kesselring described scavenge operations, Dietl giving incident reports, and others listing logistics and maintenance, as well as the economy. Rupprecht dismissed them, not looking up the entire time.

After he had his adjudant fetch his wife and family, and contacted Reinhard Heydrich and arranged a dinner between the two families. Heydrich, a distinguished fencer, athlete, and Officer, recently destroyed a large bandit group in the Mauser factory in Wurttemburg. He was injured as a result, but recovered and was issued the Iron Cross and Pour le Merite.

The dinner was full of conversation and laughter, ending with a few drinks and a long conversation about internal politics and other things. Tomorrow, Heydrich would leave with Hess to the North, and the day after Goering with Himmler to Britain. All was going well.

In Luxembourg, a the town was somewhat operational again, with Kesselring monitoring reconstruction efforts with Rommel. Dietl would begin training a mountain unit, the 1st Gebirgjager-Feldgendarmerie "Edelweiss" unit. Three months of training and preparation was planned ahead for the new unit.

35 marauder and bandit bases were destroyed within the week as Operation Thorne began.

by **The Hindustani State** » Mon Jan 13, 2020 6:22 pm

Forbidden City

It was early in the morning, the Forbidden City, which has endured 3 coups, 2 revolutions, and a counterrevolution in the last 30 or so years, was frantic with activity. All the ministers, guards, soldiers, and servants had to be present in front of the Throne Room to perform their kowtowing to their Emperor in the morning. The Emperor himself wasn’t awake and present yet, but being late for this could risk death.

At the head of the crowd showed up the Regent for Life, Yuan Shikai, the man who actually controlled China, or at least the part controlled by the Restored Qing Dynasty. Warlords still controlled much of the coast, and Steppe barbarians dominated Manchuria and Mongolia. Shikai was an incredibly old man, having been Emperor Puyi’s first Prime Minister when he was crowned. He managed to use Puyi to gain popular support after the years of the terrible plague, and established himself as one of the most powerful men in Asia. His armies and militias were marching throughout China, conquering warlord after warlord to reestablish the glory of the great Qing Dynasty. A glory that was taken away by the Republicans.

Shikai was carried on his sedan chair by his servants and guards, who escorted him to the door of the throne room, where he was helped off the chair and took his position to kowtow as the Emperor appeared. He knew he wasn’t going to be leading the Qing armies for long, he had miraculously survived through the influenza plague, and lived to a ripe old age. He had managed to reestablish himself as a political powerhouse in Asia, yet his time was inevitably going to end at some point. He knew Puyi was an incompetent emperor, he also knew that with popular support overwhelmingly for a monarch, since it was believed the flu was a response by the divine for overthrowing and ending a centuries old tradition. While he pulled the strings right now, he worried after his death, people would be inclined to being directly ruled by a monarch just as they had for centuries, and the Emperor had to be a good Emperor. Unfortunately, he knew Puyi would never be able to lead the country himself.

After the morning ceremony, Shikai met in secret with a few of Puyi’s guards. He knew that in order to bring legitimacy to him, or whoever his successor would be, they would themselves have to be the Emperor, if regents continued, people would question their legitimacy, as it was believed that Emperors had the divine right to rule. He would formulate a conspiracy to place his own son, Yuan Keding, as the Emperor of China and the first emperor of a new dynasty, right as Shikai would die…

by **Nouveau Quebecois** » Tue Jan 14, 2020 10:45 am

New Dominion of Canada
Cabinet Minister, Cédric Lésage

Vivaldi - Concerto for 2 Violins and Cello in D Minor
Greater Toronto Area, Ontario
January 1936

As a delicate snowfall blankets the Greater Toronto Area, Minister of the Regent's Cabinet, Cédric Lésage, stood perched atop a military police convoy of vehicles on the outskirts of the city. As he peered through his binoculars, the eruption of distant gunfire seemed to correlate with flashes of light through the industrial district's hazy smog. Through the smog, a blinding green glow reached the skies, followed by a dark green stripe akin to a flare.

"Good. The gunfire is dying in the Southern District. Send Delta Unit there."

Next, a dozen riflemen in mismatched gear, gripping Canadian Ross' climbed aboard two jeeps and tore down the dirt road into the city. The rest of the convoy was pushed up by hand to reserve fuel.

"I don't see why this is necessary" interrupted a man draped in a military uniform similar to Cédric's. "I am perfectly capable of maintaining my District with the resources I've been provided."

Cédric lifted his eyes from his binoculors to stare downward at a man draped in a uniform almost identical to his. Vince D. Lagare, Commissioner of the Dominion Police. Appointed for his service in the military, Lagare wasn't particularly content to have a new fleet of bosses over his head.

"This isn't about your performance, Lagare. The Regent is very happy with how well your police troops have been handling the Industrialists. But Parliament has decided it necessary that we start to move Corps of Militamen to the borders. Our new neighbours have questionable intentions and we simply don't want to be caught off guard should the worst occur."

Cédric paused to adjust the scope of his binoculoars before distant gunfire erupted again, drawing his attention.

"Besides, you're under the jurisdiction of the Dominion Milita now. You answer to me whether you like me or not."

"I do, I do. But Parliament should be worried about overstretching their lines. What about the Expeditionary Forces?"

"The CEF has been sent Westward. They're supplemented by that... er-, those partisans. The New Dominion Movement."

"The NDM aren't exactly the most combat able."

"Of course not, but that is irrelevant. They're ethusiastic about spreading our influence and that's all we need. It's not like we're going to expect fierce resistance. We're mostly going to come across nomadic farmers and hunters who will be happy to return to the Maple Leaf."

"And then we have the case about the Great Lakes."

"We don't have to fear the GLC. Rumours in Parliment is that they are interested in discussing economics, and the sooner we pacify the Toronto Region, the sooner we can get an effecient diplomatic line running."

"If the Commonwealth is open to good terms, then New England certainly won't."

"New England knows exactly how we feel about their occupation of our country. They'll fold to negotiations without a doubt, but at the moment, we are in no rush."

"But the assembly line is. Iron manufacturing for our Carden-Loyd armour has been underway for a while, but production has been heavily stalled. We only have 12, and those were pre-purchased. Not to mention the question of what will fuel them."

Cédric holstered his binoculars as the distant gunfire began to fade into potshots, and then into silence, complimented by the whirring of machines. He stepped down from his jeep with the help of an adjutant and approched Lagare with a pat on the shoulder.

"Parliament has a lot to think about, Vince. Just keep your head down and keep Toronto safe, we'll handle the rest in time."

Vince returned a defeated look, with a pleading accent. "Then who is going to help us? Where are we without the Crown? If we return home to King V, the Quebecois will storm Parliament. If we go our own way with the sun, the loyalists will storm the Cabinet."

Cédric was already halfway into his vehicle before he stopped his adjutant from closing the door. "It is too early to determine the fate of our country, Vince. You of all people should know that." Cédric let his driver shut his door, and his vehicle returned Eastward, leaving Vince with his convoy of miltiamen.

In Toronto, a dozen Militamen dismounted two jeeps before entering a staggered line formation and firing upon a makeshift street barricade erected by the Industrialist Front. In an gunfight that lasted only a few minutes, the barricade was abandoned by it's defenders, who retreated into the dense buildings. Just as the Militiamen began to take apart the barricade, the windocells of the buildings on either side of the street exploded with returning fire. The Militiamen scattered, firing upwards in all directions. Only half of the unit were able to retreat in their vehicles back to the reserve lines. The rest scattered into pockets.

Summary:

The Canadian Milita are being garrisoned to the Southern Canadian Borders in normal numbers as border-guards. This is a standard precaution.
The Canadian Expedtionary Force is scouting Westward, looking to incorporate Western Ontario.
Two diplomats have been sent by train to the Dominion-New English border, with the intent to discuss the status of Canadian territory.
Two diplomats have been sent by boat to Newfoundland, with the intent of making contact with the British Crown.
Production for Carden-Loyd Tankettes is slowing down.
The Dominion continues to battle the Industrialists in the GTA.

by **Intermountain States** » Wed Jan 15, 2020 2:26 am

President's Mansion
Sacramento, North California
California Republic
January 1936

Ever since California was admitted into the Union in 1854, the city of Sacramento was designated as the capital of the Golden State. For a long time, it was the political center of California, home to many lobbyists and think tanks while some of the other populated cities such as San Francisco or Los Angeles were economic or cultural centers respectively. After the fall of the United States and the formation of California as an independent republic, Sacramento was designated as the capital of the California Republic. The Governor's Mansion was converted into the President's Mansion as a symbol of California's ascension as a (forced) free and powerful nation in the American West.

As the new year begins, President Frank Merriam was well aware of the Republic's standing in this world. Although the Republic has expanded her borders in bringing the Rocky Mountains and Southern Idaho into her protective arms, it can also be an issue as some members of his administration worried that it could overextend the Republic. Outside of his signature Rocky Mountain resettlement plan, Merriam had ran on strengthening the Republic's defense on the border, especially with the Autonomous Peoples being an unfriendly neighbor.

Although California and the Republic of Columbia up north do share a cordial relation in trade, being that they're both of American heritage, Merriam doubts the capability of Columbian forces in assisting California in a war against the Autonomous Peoples mainly due to distance. If the Republic is to find any strong allies, then she'll have to cross the Rockies and venture out east, which in itself is a risk. The Spanish flu has done a number in breaking down national infrastructures such as long range telegrams and functioning transcontinental railroads, California has been isolated from the rest of the American continent with the Republic's only neutral to positive foreign interaction being with the Columbians, a couple of independent counties and tribes outside of the Rockies, and some warlord state in Mexico. There is no guarantee that anything East of the Rockies would be friendly.

Despite his initial misgivings with the Republic of Columbia, it would be beneficial if the relations between California and Columbia grew into allies rather than trading partners with embassies.

"Secretary Mabey, I would like you to send a delegation mission to Columbia," President Merriam said to Secretary of State Charles Mabey after the secretary was summoned. "See if they are willing to enter an alliance with the Republic."

Camp Williams, Utah
California Republic
January 1936

Major Seth Hanlon was reading the morning papers at his desk, enjoying a hot cup of coffee to offset the winter morning when knocks were heard at the office door.

"Who is it?" the Major asked, slowly putting down the newspaper.

"Private Michael Delaney, sir General Terrance Holt requests a meeting with you, sir," the corporal answered.

"The General?" Hanlon wondered in disbelief. "He's supposed to be commanding soldiers at the Rocky Territory, why is he all the way in Utah?" He was definitely not expecting any visitors. However, whatever reasons the General is at his camp must be for reasons.

"Let the General in then," Hanlon replied. The door opened and Private Michael Delaney and General Terrance Holt entered the room, carrying a file. "Pleasure meeting you here, General," Hanlon greeted Holt as they shook hands. "Dismissed, Private," he said to the soldier, who saluted and promptly left the office.

"What brings the General of the Rockies over to a small camp in Utah?" the Major asked General Holt.

"My command is based on the eastern half of the Republic. Although I am based on the Rocky Mountain Territory, I do have command in some of the eastern states such as Idaho and Utah," Holt replied. "I'm been at numerous forts and camps, discussing with officers about a personal project I would like to create."

"What is this personal project, then, General?" the Major asked.

"I want to create a special military outfit made up of some of the best soldiers in the Army," Holt replied. "A force that could serve as a permanent vigil of California, using the nature of God's green earth to his advantage against our foes."

"Like Francis Marion's units at the American Revolutionary War?" Hanlon asked. Holt nodded. "I'll see what I can do in picking some volunteers once you've return to this camp after your other trip. Otherwise, I could send a telegram to your command at East if that works as well."

"Anything works," the General said. "If it isn't too much of a hassle, would you mind allowing me to stay at this camp for the night? I'll leave in the morning."

"That's perfectly fine, General," the Major answered. "Do feel comfortable in one of the officer's quarters. We have plenty of rooms right now as some won't be coming back until a few days later from their weekend pass." The General bowed in response and turned to exit the room.

by **Guuj Xaat Kil** » Wed Jan 15, 2020 6:51 am

Boston, New England

"Excuse me, but they're doing that and what!" A shout and the sound of a fist hitting a table echoed through the presidential office, along with a man sitting quickly in a chair. "Yes Mr. President, they've sent a pair of diplomats over to our side of Montreal," a slight pause from the man, before he resumed, "As well as station their troops over the border." President Howard pinched the bridge of his nose with his left before using both hands to rub his eyes, he sighed. "Send three envoys up north to meet them, I want them to word what they say carefully, try to provoke them into saying something they don't want to say, something we can use to convince" he ordered the courier who simply nodded in response, "And tell the St. Lawrence fleet to transfer over to Rimouski, yes that includes the three battleships they have, now go!" And so the man left, leaving him alone in the somewhat dimly lit room. Well, not truly alone, he had his cat on a nearby chair to keep him company. Coming over to the gray coated feline, he picked it up and returned to his chair with his cat in hand, who was trying desperately to get out of his grasp. "Ah you're so amusing, Schwarzkraut."

A door knocking interrupted his moment with the cat, after a quick beckoning for whoever knocked on the door, it was revealed that the black housemaid had brought over some tea. "Ah, of course, get it over here." And so she brought in the tray and placed it upon the table, afterwards the tea was prepared with speed. He simply tsk'd in acknowledgement and nodded before silently telling her to leave with a flick of his hand. She left swiftly with the tray, leaving him in solitude with his cat once more. And his mind wandered to the affairs of the state, both foreign and domestic. There was this so called State of New York occupying much of the Hudson upriver, they would be better off being a state of New England, then there was the unoccupied NYC-New Jersey-Pennsylvania triangle just south of both nations, and it was the former and latter he was most interested in. The latter for its resources and the former for the usage of said resources. Anyone could grab New Jersey, that would've been alright if not for the fact that there was a rather large nation just south of the currently unowned state, the Second American Republic.

And perhaps there were issues too, with Pennsylvania considering there was another large state with interests in it, the Great Lakes Commonwealth, but those folks they could reason with. From what he could gather from their moves, they seemed to be mostly interested in the two great cities of Pennsylvania on the west, Erie and Pittsburgh. Then there was that pesky northern Canadian neighbor. Perhaps a little bit of fear-mongering in the St. Lawrence and the Maritimes wouldn't hurt, these were former Canadian provinces that were currently experiencing a time of relative prosperity, and news about the communists in the Ontario Peninsula could be used to amplify fears. Yes, this would do before he suggested an "Act to Promote the Defense of the Republic of New England" to his gullible cabal of Councilors from Connecticut.

He rang a bell to get a courier, who promptly arrived at his office a few minutes later. "Now, here's what I want you to do."

Summary:

Three diplomats are sent to the two being sent by the Canadians.
Entire St. Lawrence fleet moved from Gaspe to Rimouski, they hug the coast as to avoid Canadian eyes.
Diplomat sent to Great Lakes Commonwealth to improve relations and discuss Pennsylvania.
1,265 troops are sent into White Plains, Tarrytown, Port Chester, and Harrison, New York to occupy them and prepare for the subjugation of what's left of New York.
Anonymous propaganda being distributed across formerly Canadian provinces about the "Quebecois Menace" and the "Red Menace" in Ontario, President Lovecraft denounces these but the effect is visible.

by **Granluras** » Wed Jan 15, 2020 8:18 am

There exists within the tightly woven machine that is Spain a collection of important bodies that interplay and contribute to its story. The characters of the royalty, of the government, of the people, and of the rebellious. Either quarter has its own degree of importance, as one part of the greater whole they belong to. The three settings where the tales of these quarters unravel are called Villamejor, Bailen, and Santatejo. All rest in areas close to each other, but vary drastically in their design and purposes.

Palacio de Villamejor, Madrid, Spain

It was a cloudy afternoon in Madrid, and the radio broadcast voices of weathermen all requested that the public remained wary of quite likely rainfall. Standing as only a three storey addition to the inner Madridian cityscape of classical and Baroque buildings, el Palacio de Villamejor didn’t appear all that important, and it wouldn’t to newcomers to the city. One wouldn’t guess that it was the seat of the nation’s President, of one of the most powerful political entities in the West. The building didn’t exactly radiate that.

Within its hallways rested numerous offices, reception areas, meeting rooms, and other areas. On it’s second story, towards the back (opposite to the front facade, that is) was a larger room. It was primarily composed of high quality and finely cut wood and other classical elements all woven into an extravagant Baroque design. Thirty feet across and fifteen wide, the fancy office - with walls covered in bookshelves filled with hardback encyclopedias, classical works, literature, et cetera; high quality Baroque-style tables, desks, seats, and other furnishings; historical and non-historical works of 19th century oil paintings favored by the President - was of the perfect excessive quality to bear the title of the President’s office. There seated, behind a curtained glass door that led out into a balcony/pulpit, at a large Baroque desk with a display of common office appliances was the legendary figure, the powerful autocrat, Efrain Galan.

At first glance he appeared as an average man, and his combed-back locks of black and some white gave him a touch of wiseful age. The grey bespoke suit he wore with a checkered pattern made from thin, white lines with a red tie, folded handkerchief, and an eagle lapel pin was his common look, though the Continental costume was not characteristic of a dictator. He looked like a humble businessman at the very least, and that’s what he went for. He wasn’t a tyrant, and he didn’t want to appear like one, since he was of humble beginnings and, as he frequently said, would be of humble endings. While that might not’ve sat well with his more radical ministers and senior politicians, he didn’t mind, as he knew he was truly the absolute authority in the country and he symbolized the sentiments of the people, not politicians.

“Wh..what’s five times six…” Efrain mumbled quietly, going over some logistical info from the Tercera División de Infantería that was dealing with rebellion suppression and border expansion operations in the unilaterally claimed province of Caceres.

As Efrain fumbled around with some simple dactylonomy, a well-groomed and intimidatingly dressed man stepped in. He had tan Mediterannean skin, pure black Mediterannean hair….he was Mediterannean. He wore an olive drab uniform that was impressively decorated, drawn tight around the waist with a thick leather ratchet belt, and bore epaulettes with a pair of crossed swords with a star over their intersection beside a crown. Here came now General de Brigada Horacio Leguizamo, a proud and radical senior officer of the Ejército Republicano Real who served as both a senior brigade commander and senior strategist, but also as a senior liaison between Villamejor and the military, as styled as by the Military Corporation. As Horacio’s polished black jackboots clacked against the ground as he saluted Efrain with a perfectly straight posture.

“¡Ave, mi capitán general!” Horacio proudly exclaimed while saluting.

Efrain gestured with a sigh.

“A gusto, Horacio.” Efrain said.

Horacio relaxed, and took a few steps towards Efrain. His jaw, whether consciously or if it was actually natural, was positioned to look very straight and square, perhaps to match some perfect Mediterannean appearance. It’s natural form was more diamond, as Efrain had noted upon first meeting Horacio several years prior, so it was likely it was an artificial alteration.

“I bring a message from the Military Corporation, Su Excelencia.” Horacio informed Efrain.

Efrain nodded with tired eyes. Su Excelencia wasn’t a style Efrain actually implemented, in fact, Efrain planned on simply being called Señor Presidente or Señor Galan. It was an uncontrollable motion passed by the Corte Corporativo in 1933 that further deified him against his will. He had just came to ignore and accept it now.

“Legislative or military?” Efrain asked.

“Pardon?” Horacio said.

“It is regarding military legislation or military operations.” Efrain elaborated.

“Ah. It’s regarding military legislation.”

“Mhm...go on.”

“Motion M-113 has passed through the Comité General del Militar, 37-40, and will now be passing into the docket of the Corte to be subjected to a general floor vote tomorrow.” Horacio informed Efrain, his hands folded behind his back, reinforcing his straight posture, as he spoke.

Efrain nodded slowly with disinterest.

“Yeah...umm, what is M-113 about?” Efrain asked.

“It’s a bill proposed two weeks ago by Coronel Ruiz that proposed the rebudgeting of around a billion pesos to the Directorio del Investigacion y Desarrollo in order to stimulate the development and improvement of military armaments. This is especially in light of the recent successful Siege of Avila that has allowed us to rapidly regain control of Duero. We’re reaching a point in the growth of the Republica Real where we can likely see rapid acceleration in our long-limited expansion.” Horacio explained and overexplained to Efrain.

As a military man, or perhaps a former one, the titles and responsibilities blended together at this point, this did interest him a bit. The reconquest of Spain was an important goal of his, even if his methods of doing so were more faceted than those of the military, and he was too joyed by the conquest of Avila. Although, a billion pesos? That’d definitely be coming out of the funding for the sciences and education, which was a damn shame. Perhaps he’d have to put his foot down.

“I see, what are we expecting the vote will be? The Military may be enthusiastic about this, but there might not be sixty-one other diputados who aren’t as enthusiastic. Will the Corporativo Académica be as enthusiastic? Will the Corporativo Clerical be as enthusiastic? Right there is eighty votes against out of two hundred.” Efrain inquired.

Horacio blinked blankly. His brain fired best when it came to shouting orders or performing the relatively simply duty of advising the President on military matters and politics. However, answering questions regarding political processes and minutiae wasn’t his forte.

“Umm...I…no se, Mi Presidente.” Horacio replied.

Efrain nodded with a sigh.

“Very well, then, Horacio. Dismissed.”

Horacio nodded and saluted straightly again, then turned on his heel and departed from Efrain’s office.

Efrain remained staring at the door Horacio had came and went through for a few moments, and then turned to the rotary phone on his desk. He picked it up and punched in a seven-digit telephone number into its dial, and waited as it rung and rung.

“Ejem, un momento tipo.” The raspy voice of a young man spoke on the other end.

“Javier…” Efrain spoke in a quiet but firm voice.

“¡Mierda!” Javier shouted, the sound of gasps, smashing glass, and incoherent, loud whispering following.

On Javier’s end, he just jumped up off of his large and soft bed with silk bedsheets onto his feet. Javier Casanova was Efrain’s young and intelligent French-Valencian Interior Minister. At only 37, Javier was one of the youngest senior politicians in the world, his youthful assignment owing in part to both his honest skill and his relation to Efrain as his nephew (his cousin’s son, rather than his siblings’). Javier had a uniquely accurate surname, as he was in fact a casanova. Additionally, what was happening before the phone call was (this is with a few details excised) laying down with a lowball of bourbon with some lady friends.

On Efrain’s end, he simply waited with low eyes as he listened to Javier carrel his audience out of his bedchambers.

“¡No te preocupes por mi túnica, él no sabe que estoy desnuda!” Javier shouted, groping the final girl out of his bedroom. Javier walked back over to his phone and picked up the receiver. “Lo...lo siento, Tío.”

“Estás desnudo, Javier?” Efrain asked.

Javier audibly winced on the other end.

“Si…” He sighed.

“I can tolerate only so much of your payasada, Javier.” Efrain said.

“I-I know, Tío.” Javier grumbled. “Did you call as a tío or as el Presidente?”

“El Presidente.” Efrain replied.

Efrain could just tell Javier had straightened his posture.

“How can I help, Presidente?” Javier asked.

“Well…um…” Efrain said, pressing his thumb against his cheek.

“¿Señor?”

Efrain paused. He lacked the confidence in being honest with Javier. Sure, he was family and a loyal politician, but he was also a manipulable and weak shill. He had to know who to trust. So, with a sigh, he spoke honestly.

“I find myself lacking confidence in my trust.” Efrain said.

Javier choked on his words.

“Y-you can’t trust me? Y-you...you’re…m-mi Presidente!”

“Don’t take it that close to heart. There’s more to it than that.”

“O-okay…”

“Let me just...say this,” Efrain said, carefully examining his words and piecing together a sentence, “I’d like you to call for a loyalty evaluation within the Policía Nacional Real.”

Javier raised his eyebrow.

“Is that what you were actually going to say?” Javier asked.

“No.”

“Mhm...well, this is something that I can do easily. I’ll just submit a memo to the convenciónes regional.” Javier replied.

“Bien, gracias.” Efrain said with a nod.

“Anything else, Señor?”

“No, that’ll be all, Javier. Let me hear word of this memo by tomorrow. ¿Entiendes?”

“Sí, Señor Presidente.” Javier replied.

“Hablaré a tú luego, niño.” Efrain said.

“Adiós, Tío.”

Efrain put down the receiver and sighed, leaning back in his chair while rubbing his face.

“There’s one thing done. This’ll probably make a difference over time.” Efrain thought to himself.

Efrain carried on with some more official paperwork, and when the five o’clock hour came he set down his utensils and left his office. He moved to the private quarters of Villamejor, and ceded his official duties for the night. Then, in nightwear, he took a seat in the classical living room of the private residence as he sat by a radio and listened to it drone on with a repertoire of classical music.

From the white double doors that opened from the living room into the bedchamber came a woman with a partly grayed head of light brown fashioned into a chignon. She wore a light blue cotton nightgown with white ruffling around the collar and cuffs. Señora Marianna Garrido, the First Lady of the Republic, the wife of Presidente Efrain. She took a seat on the old-fashioned floral armchair across from Efrain, and rested her hands on her lap.

“¿Que sucede, cariño?” She asked, noticing the tense grimace that had wrinkled Efrain’s face.

Efrain, after waiting a moment, looked towards her slowly, and shrugged.

“Formal, political matters, Maria. You need not worry.” Efrain replied.

“Have you considered that, perhaps, the First Lady doesn’t like to be on the sidelines of national affairs?” Marianne asked.

“There is no need for your position to be a formal one. I am the officeholder, I am the man who reunified the Kingdom. You just lucked out marrying me thirty-two years ago.” Efrain replied with a roll of his eyes. More suffragist nagging, he tiredly thought to himself.

“Is that what our marriage is? A lucky coincidence?” Marianne huffed with a coy tone.

Efrain shifted into a more defensive position and he put up his hands nervously.

“¡No, no! ¡De ningún modo, cariño!” Efrain said.

“Hmmf,” Marianne snorted, “you didn’t reunify the Kingdom either. Galicia and Catalonia seceded and a quarter of the provinces of the Kingdom remain independent, unorganized terra nollorum.”

Efrain sat back, a bit offended, and scoffed in disbelief.

“I reconquered more of Spain than those Galicians and Catalans! I reconquered and reunified more of a country in this Godforsaken world that anyone else has, besides the Brits and, I suppose, Nords!” He refuted with a proud tone, pressing a clenched first over his heart.

“You focus too much on expanding rather than consolidating. Why are you slowing, Efrain? Not enough supplies getting around? Not enough food being produced? Perhaps you should, oh…no se, subsidize industry more? Improve agricultural standards and practices? The Brits remain an intercontinental empire because they had a strong industrial base which, when the country came back together, they fired up once more. What did we have, Efrain? Barely a quarter of what the British have, and we still barely have made any more industry.” Marianne responded, showing off what years of sitting beside an autocrat could teach oneself.

“Oye, there’s only so much I can do.” Efrain said.

“You can only do so much because you limit your options!”

“¿Que?”

Marianne sat back and smiled, feeling as if she had the upper hand now.

“You close off our country from the rest of the World, priding yourself on some sort of...what is it that you call it, autosuficiencia? Every nation that has reopened their ports have a stable economy because they are able to buy highly needed materials from other countries. Even if we were to only engage in trade with the French we could get cheap glass, coal, metals, and some other industrial products since they’re all bundled up in Algeria. We probably could get all this, since we share the Mediterannean with them! Warm up the Valencian ports, Efrain!”

Efrain blinked at Marianne incredulously. His wife was this smart? Ay, Dios mio, he thought, I’ve created an American wife.

“Where did you get all this? When we met you were a liberal arts student, and when I was in France you were a housewife.” Efrain asked.

“Si tu es muy tonto saber la contesta, entonces yo no puedo ayudarte.” Marianne replied.

Efrain sputtered his lips and put a hand on his face. He sat back and grumbled in the confusing events of the last few moments.

“I…w-we suffer from a false association with the Flu, we do—”

“Then change public perception, Efrain. You prioritized the expansion of the health ministry, and it has the second most members, only surpassed by the Ministry of Defense. Efrain, use those members and prove our country is healthy.” Marianne interjected.

“You have a plan for everything, don’t you, Marianne?” Efrain snorted.

“Pretty much, I have a lot of alone time to think about important things. I can tell you how we could reconquer Galicia? They’re only a band of countrymen and commoners who lucked out by securing three good ports and most of our coal fields.”

“And the Catalans are just Marxian insurgents? Yes, perhaps. But, I cannot. I am bound to the Monarchy, especially since I saved their legitimacy and riches by seizing Madrid and expanding their powers in the 1930 Constitution. El Rey, even though young and a hypogamist, has been wisened by his rule and the continued whispering of his advisors. He seeks peace with the Carlists, rather than war or tension. ‘I am a distant, royal relative of theirs,’ he says, ‘and I do not think family, however distant, should be fought with’. If it wasn’t completely lacking an awareness of the issue it’d bring to his legitimacy if we made peace with the Carlists, it’d be almost adorable.” Efrain replied to Marianne, twiddling a band of his hair with his forefinger.

“All in due time then, Efrain. It’s only been several years since the last few epidemics of the plague ended. Society has only just began to recuperate. We have time to appease the splintered powers of Spain, we have time to reopen our country.”

Efrain nodded, and rubbed his temples with either of his fingers.

“I have a headache now.” He groaned.

“There’s some aspirin in the cupboard of the dining room.” Marianne said.

Erfain stood up and went to get himself a pill. Marianne picked up a book and read it. The night went on with greater peace. Efrain took to his bed at around 9:00, received a final brief nagging from Marianne on topics more official than he expected her to opine about, and then fell asleep.

Palacio Real de Madrid, Bailen, Madrid, Spain

Much more prominent among the Madrid cityscape was the Royal Palace of Madrid, a massive Baroque and classical building standing in a region of the city solely dominated by it and its satellite buildings. The residence of the Bourbon monarchy, a proud and fiery symbol of the Castillian people. Within the southwestern wing of the palace, a small rectangular jut, stood the Royal Residence. It covered around eight hundred square meters and contained over a dozen rooms of the usual extravagant, Baroque style that filled the rest of the palace. One of these rooms, centered in the wing and larger than most of the other rooms, contained a large canopy bed with red and white sheets, a variety of dressers and full-length mirrors, classical artwork, and a variety of other decor that either had existed in the room for decades or which had been moved in by the new royals.

Standing in front of one of the mirrors, situated against the wall between two large square windows with beige curtains, was the tall, young, and square faced King of Spain. The young king, Alfonso XIX of Spain, was of mixed reception among the Spaniards. He was seen as young and naive universally, but also seen as capable by some; his hypogamous marriage didn’t sit well with aristocrats and traditionalists, but was permitted by the government due to the need for the unifying figure of the Monarchy to survive; he was also scrutinized by traditionalists and conservatives due to his inclination to be a reformist and modernist. No one really knew what to make of King Alfonso, which was a perception which he himself was well aware of, which drove him to simply do whatever he felt like he had to. The reception of his actions seemed as if they would always be 50-50.

At this moment, Alfonso was buttoning up the beige vest of his three-piece suit. It was one of four outfits he was commonly associated with: a beige, striped suit with a single button buttoned, atop a plain beige vest, under which was a white undershirt, and from his collar hung a checkered red tie. A classy and extravagant suit that matched his lifestyle, but was also just simple enough to convey a simple sense of fashion rather than an aristocratic one.
“Edelmira?” Alfonso called out as he finished buttoning up his outfit.

“¿¡Qué!?” Edelmira exclaimed from the adjacent bathroom about several meters away.

“Exactly what time do we have to be at this place?” Alfonso asked.

“Oh...I dunno, 2:00?” Edelmira shouted back.

Alfonso turned to his right to a clock and huffed.

“I’m not sure about that, since it’s 2:30 now.”

“Well I don’t know then, Al.” Edelmira replied, walking out of the bathroom topless, looking around the room for her white hourglass corset that went with the outfit she was to be dressed in.

Alfonso turned around after fitting two cufflinks with his personal emblem on them on his sleeves. He noticed Edelmira and smiled while bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Oye, allí están.” Alfonso said.

Edelmira turned to him and scoffed, rolling her eyes and turning away from him.

“Can you be any more immature, Alfonso?” She grumbled, spotting her corset and picking it up, pulling it down over her light bronze skin.

Alfonso walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. At 6’2, he was a handsomely tall gentleman, and at 5’5 his wife stood much below him, so that he was able to rest his own head atop hers, and he did such with her at this moment.

“We probably don’t have to leave for, err...ten more minutes? ¿Verdad?” Alfonso said, his hands crossing each other above her chest and holding the opposite shoulder. “So perhaps w—”

“No.” Edelmira said with a sigh, although she did lean into Alfonso.

“Oy, venga ya, Edel.” Alfonso said with a sigh.

“Yo dijo no.”

“Por fa—”

“No.”

“Este, estoy diciendo por favor.” Alfonso groaned.

Edelmira sighed, and then kneed Alfonso where it would hurt most, and stepped away from him with a disappointed laugh.

“There’s no time to mess around, Al, so get your brogues on while I get the rest of my dress on so we can get a move on.” Edelmira said, moving over to her own dresser.

Alfonso groaned, and agreed quietly. He stood slowly, and walked over to a wooden stand on the floor that contained quite a few pairs of clean and neatly arranged shoes. He posed up a pair of dark brown leather brogues and slipped them onto his feet. He looked over to Edelmira, who had all the undergarments on her and was now turning to the dress itself.

“Do you remember what to say?” Alfonso asked her.

“Oh, I have something to say? I thought I’d just be a pretty face to have o—”

“¡Ay, ay, ay! Cristo el Señor, how do you manage to shoehorn your nonsense into everything!?” Alfonso interrupted, throwing his hands up into the air with exasperation.

“Hmmf,” she snorted, “I’m assuming by ‘what to say’ are the brief and polite greetings and hellos I’m to give to these workers?”

Alfonso nodded as he shoved his left foot into the final brogue. He stood, clacked them against the ground twice, and turned to Edelmira.

“That’s exactly right. Now, you will also he meeting with uh…oh right, Señora Gloria Hidalgo, who’s the forewoman of the factory’s female workers. That’ll be something I’m sure you’ll adore. Be able to fester in your foolish ‘empowerment’ jargon and what not.” Alfonso informed her.

“And I suppose we’ll also plot to overthrow the government, too, Al?” Edelmira replied with snark.

Alfonso simply laughed and requested her to continue getting ready. A few minutes later, a valet came to the room to inform the King and Queen that it was time to leave. Edelmira delayed them a moment as she put on several pieces of jewelry, and then stood, put on her black shoes, and followed Alfonso out. They exited the building and stepped out into the Plaza de la Armería, where a four-car motorcade was waiting for them (all cars produced by Grupo Riberas, the Spanish automotive cartel). Three cars were driven by small guard details who’d protect the royal car while in transport, and the fourth contained the monarchs and a senior guardsman. The motorcade cars were identical to one another, and the spot of the royal car was a closely guarded secret, to prevent - in the highly unlikely incident - the monarchs from being successfully targeted.

They stepped into their car, and a minute later they were off. They were not en route to their primary destination. That would be impractical, as it would be a six hour ride. No, they were instead en route to the Cuatro Vientos Airport in southern Madrid, a semi-public airport used as the main airport for the transport of the King and/or Queen. The royal duo arrived at the airport three minutes later, and stepped onto the tarmac of the airport. Airplanes were a rare sight nowadays, but they were slowly returning as the oil wells in Arabia began to slowly restart and the Brits flexed its long underused muscles that it used to intimidate the Arabs into shipping that oil to the West. Slow developments had been made in recent years, and the Spanish aeronautic cartel, Construcciones Aeronáuticas SR, had succeeded in creating three series of small biplane airliners that could hold several people in their fuselages. However, these were created mostly on the backs of German and British inventions, which many were aware of, and which was why many didn’t buy them, keeping a vast majority of the market restricted to Spain.

The royal biplane, the EC-BOR (nicknamed el Realave), was situated in Hangar 3, which was in the shape of a half cylinder and had the royal emblem painted on its northern side. The motorcade arrived at the airport and dropped of the royal couple, including a senior courtier and a small guard detail (that would expand to well over a hundred once the two landed in Valencia). They boarded the small plane, which cabin was a bit cramped and had but two windows, but provided a non-turbulent, low-altitude, high-speed flight. The flight took off several minutes after three o’clock, and arrived at the Aeródromo Torrent an hour and a half later. The two mile perimeter of the airfield was surrounded by over two thousand people cramming each other in order to get a glimpse of the royal couple. It was an important and high-profile operation the two were on, so the crowd was expected, as were the hundred plus journalists, intelligentsia, and other upper-class dignitaries who were permitted a closer view at the base of the gate of the airport that el Realave was to disembark at.

As the airliner came to a halt on the tarmac, one of the senior courtiers who had joined them, Esteban Diaz, a Subsecretario del Rey, turned to Alfonso.

“So, per our correspondence with the Ayuntamiento Valencia and the Asociación Nacional de la Prensa, once you enter the terminal you will be met by a group of press members. They’ll be from several Valencian agencies plus several from across the nation. Our friends in the ANP have taken measures to ensure that the three journalists you are to take questions from appear apart from the rest of the crowd. Once you’re done with those three you will be moved along to the airport’s main entrance, during which you’ll be joined by a larger detail to protect from any citizens who might try to get too close…” Esteban informed Alfonso, who nodded along slowly.

“Well, what about when we disembark?” Alfonso asked.

“Pardon?”

“When we step out onto the tarmac. There’s bound to be some people gathered about. I am the King, visiting a major city of my kingdom. So what about them?” Alfonso elaborated, but still received a look of confusion from Esteban. “¡Por el amor de Dios, Esteban! I want to know if I’m expected to ignore my subjects when I walk by them!”

Esteban stuttered, and then laughed nervously.

“Sí, sí, mi Rey, I can understand that. Sin embargo, that’s not the usual protocol. There are usually never commoners along the tarmac, and based off of what I’ve heard they’ll be corralled behind the airport’s perimeter.” Esteban said.

Alfonso sighed, and shrugged his shoulders.

“The common rabble are as much my subjects as the patrician rabble i always meet with are. That’s probably why this meeting is so talked about in this country, since it’s the first time the monarchy has taken an interest in working-class plebs.” Alfonso said a bit solemnly.

Edelmira smirked, seated at his other side, and thought to herself, Ja, eso es mi Rey del Plebeyos. As the daughter of a Cuban merchant rather a Spanish noble, or even a Spaniard, she knew very well of her husband’s preference towards the common folk. Perhaps he can be turned into a little suffragist, she added.

Esteban glared at the King for a few moments, and then smiled. Alfonso noticed this and turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“¿Qué es?”

“Oh, nada. I’m just coming to realize what people mean when they say you’re an odd king. Although I don’t mean that offensively, Your Majesty.” Esteban said.

“Odd? Who is ‘they’?” Alfonso asked, a bit offended.

“Oh, just some staffers, an ambiguous variety. I’ve just overheard them, not really interacted.” Esteban answered, not receiving the King’s tone of voice.

Alfonso glared ahead with a scowl, and shook his head.

The plane hit the tarmac a few moments later, and, as explained by Esteban, the bland, traditional itinerary of walking past some aristocrats with faux interest occurred. The Aeródromo Torrent was a dilapidated airport, as much of Spain’s aeronautic industry was grounded as oil no longer circled the world as much as it had before. Two dozen planes sat in the Torrent hangars, and only two were used for the few rich flyers that needed high speed transport and could afford the fuel fees. The same was for all airports in Spain, all now part of an endangered breed. Esteban, Edelmira, a guard detail, with Esteban at his side, entered the terminal and were met by a large group of journalists as expected. Standing a few feet ahead of the rest were three journalists all holding microphones. Alfonso thought they were the journalists he was to speak with, and he turned to Esteban who confirmed that with a subtle nod. He stepped closer to the journalists, and took the three prearranged questions.

“What are you looking for the most during this trip?” One of them asked.

“I’m mostly looking forward to fostering a good, direct relationship with the workers of our proud country. I’d also like to acquire a greater understanding of the situation of labor in our country, which I can hopefully use to work with the Labor Corporation more closely.” He replied.

“Why did the monarchy decide to hold this meeting?” Another asked.

“Mostly because of what I just said. I want to foster greater relations with our truly integral laborers, and their bosses too. I want to understand the organ that drives our economy, and help develop it as a monarch and in these rough times.” Alfonso answered.

“Why isn’t Presidente Galan here? Wouldn't he be more viable to send to meet with our country’s laborers?” The third and final journalist queried.

Alfonso turned to Esteban with a look that spoke Are you kidding me?, and Esteban replied with a nod.

“Uhh...well, I and Señor have a philosophy as co-leaders of this country that we’re both the leaders of the Spanish people, and we both have equal prerogatives to interact with and serve our people. I can come here as easily and appropriately as Presidente Galan.” Alfonso answered.

After that, Esteban stepped in front of Alfonso.

“The King will not be taking any further questions,” he said, met with groans and complaints, ”yeah, yeah, lo siento, but he must be on his way, as his meeting is set to start in fifteen minutes. Gracias para tús tiempo.”

Esteban turned to the head of the detail and nodded, and they were off once more. Alfonso was lead towards the quiet and neglected airport, peering sadly at the underused infrastructure once filled with thrice as many people as it received in an entire year, and walked through it sadly. They entered a car, this time not part of a motorcade, and drove for ten minutes from Torrent to Valencia proper, near the old shipyards where the Valencian industrial complexes were built up at. The next hour of affairs could be summarized quite easily.

Upon arriving at 5:04, Alfonso, Edelmira, Esteban, and two guards stepped out onto the grounds of the Complejo Industrial de Maíllo. They were met by Sebastián Cadaval and Rolando Andrade, both managers of two plants within the complex, and Arturo Obregón, a senior foreman from Andrade’s facility. Sebastián was a tall and slim man who wore a black suit with thin white pinstripes, Rolando was more simply dressed but still formal, and Arturo was dressed with raggy worker’s garb with hands that were calloused and - despite obvious, rough scrubbing due to their smeared appearance - dirty.

Alfonso and his entourage were led into Andrade’s factory, which was a factory for commercial appliances, a field that Alfonso was told fit into the broad category of ‘light industry’, and then explained about its contrast with ‘heavy industry’. He was then given a ten minute tour of the factory and its machinery, which was explained primarily by Arturo (as Andrade and Sebastián didn’t know that much about the true mechanics of their factories). He met some workers along the way and exchanged short words with them before moving on. During this, Edelmira broke off to meet Renata Morterero and Ana Mancebo, the forewomen of the few dozen female workers at the factory to discuss, without the press attention Alfonso had, women’s labor issues.

The ladies were seated in a small office in the back of the factory, nestled between the offices of the other foremen and factory managers. It was small, dank, and repurposed from a closet in 1933 when the first few women were hired and subjected to the worker representation laws passed by the Labor Corporation in 1932. Renata and Ana were, while both nearly Edelmira’s age, more scruffy in appearance and bore their own likenesses to the Rosie the Riveter caricature.

“Well, ladies, I’m glad I was given the time to meet with you today.” Edelmira said, overwhelmingly self-aware of the disparity in regality between her and these women.

Both women, either postured with highly gruff and masculine body language, leered back at Edelmira as she spoke. An aura of scrutiny arose from them, and caused Edelmira, usually a cool woman, to sweat.

“W-well, I think we have about...ten or twenty minutes here, shall we begin?” Edelmira added, hoping to break these ladies’ silence.

“Alright,” Renata said, “let’s just get this clear.”

“Carajo...” Edelmira thought.

“We’re not enthusiastic about this meeting, Su Alteza,” Renata said, adding a tone to the title that was mocking, “what is it that you can accomplish? Most every woman in this country who’s the wife of some bigshot politician or other figure ain’t speak a word about women’s issues. Basically because you can’t, not without being scrutinized for being unladylike by the entire male establishment!”

Edelmira stared in awe as Renata’s rabble went on and on. Ay, I don’t even sound this moody when I bug Alfonso about women, she thought.

“...we’re all shoved under the carpet and made into second class citizens as workers! Over 90% of laborers are male, so us 10% are only treated with 10% of the respect the men receive. This ‘meeting’ between us? It’s nothing, just a setup cleverly crafted by the guys who put together this entire event to make it seem like the Monarchy gives even the slightest fuck about women in labor. Y—”

“You’re utterly wrong.” Edelmira interjected, straightening her posture and holding her head firmly.

Renata paused, and her eyes turned to Ana who shrugged.

“Alf…el Rey requested this event in order to learn more about our country’s labor issues. He has lately felt disconnected and the criticisms of his opponents have gotten to him. This is part of a larger plan to expand the duties of the Monarchy. This meeting was conceived solely by him, although it was planned by his less like-minded advisors. However, his intention for this meeting is to have me, an influential voice in his ear, gather info on the one caste of our workforce he knows he won’t be allowed to meet with. There are things going on behind the scenes and far beyond you that you are unaware of so, I’d highly suggest not jumping to conclusions on the thoughts of your superiors.” Edelmira spoke critically to the two, who’s blank expressions turned progressively brighter.

“¿Seriamente?” Ana asked.

“Absolutamente.” Edelmira replied.

The two sat up, having gained some more respect for their Queen, and Renata scratched her chin.

“So...do you have any idea of what King Alfonso wishes to know?” Renata asked.

“Bien, esta es mejor.” Edelmira said with a smile. “Let’s start with wages.”

With a good reputation now achieved, Edelmira was able to dive into fourteen productive minutes of conversation with the two forewomen. The topics of wages, workplace safety, maternity leave, disparities in employee benefits, and workplace harassment were touched on during their discussion. At the end of their allotted time, the three stood and shook each other’s hands. A guard entered the room to retrieve the Queen, and she respectfully parted from the two women. She was lead back through the factory, and joined her husband at a high point looking over the factory floor, which had been crowded with its workers, journalists, and other individuals. In front of Alfonso was a podium with a microphone, and on the podium was a sheet of paper covered on either side with a speech.

“Oye, cariño.” Alfonso said as she approached.

“You ready?” She asked.

“Mhm, just waiting for the green light from Esteban.”

“Bien.”

“So, did you learn anything good from the forewomen?” Alfonso asked.
“Si, I’ll fill you in later.” Edelmira answered.

Alfonso nodded, and turned back to the crowd assembled below him. Esteban was towards the back, talking to the more prominent dignitaries in the factory, and the journalists manning the recorders for the radios and holding cameras for the newspapers. A minute passed and Esteban turned around and gave a firm thumbs up to Alfonso, who nodded and cleared his throat into the mic. A loud feedback echoed throughout the factory, and he gained the attention of the factory.

“Buenas tardes, señoras, señores, y trabajadores. I thank you for giving me the opportunity to come to this factory today in order to meet with you, talk to you, and understand you all as the backbone of our country. In these dark and uncertain times we all live in its more important than ever for every member of society, from the poor to rich, from the worker to the King, to look out for all they can and help build up society again. As King, I possess enough capital to look out for every Spaniard, and I want to do that, to look out for you Spaniards. What good is it be King if you treat your subjects as only aristocrats, and not every single person who live within the borders of your realm? In my view, the most important corporations in Spain are the Popular and Labor Corporations. Those two corporations consist of, pretty much, every Spaniard and represent the most important organs of Spanish society. To neglect them is to neglect one’s own body. You cannot be healthy if any of your organs are ill, and a country cannot be healthy if any of its organs are ill.” Alfonso spoke into the microphone his words written to be simple yet powerful and enticing. His eyes remained stuck to the crowd so he didn’t remain staring at the speech; he saw many of the people below him show looks that were indifferent, but many also showed proud and inspired looks. “I have learned much today about the mechanisms and minutiae of our country’s workforce. The people who I’ve met today represent the characteristics and demographics of the entire national workforce with a margin of error of only 10%, which is something some people who work for me and are generally smarter than me told me.”

Some sparse laughter followed.

“With that in mind, I will return to Madrid after this with an enlightened mindset, and attend a long and critical meeting with the Labor Corporation. I will seek to truly be the head of our state, the face of our country, the symbol of our people. I will do so by representing every little plebeian and patrician impartially. Hear me and believe me when I say: today, Spain changes; today, your lives change.”

Alfonso then took a deep breath as he prepared to hit the climax of his speech.

“¿¡Oís me!?” He shouted, releasing an array of intense gestures to articulate his words, like any good orator did. “¡Vos vidas van a cambiar! ¡Vos será exaltado entre el pueblo de España! ¡Como la columna vertebral nuestro del nación, mereceis eso!”

The once mostly apathetic crowd grew into a mass of applause, cheers, and whistling. Alfonso smiled happily, and looked at the happy faces exclaiming at him with thrill. However, he did not turn to the faces of the bourgeois and barons in the back who glared suspiciously and whispered disrespect to one each other. Alfonso relished in the cheers for a few moments, and then someone came up behind him.

“Mi Rey, it is time to move on.” They whispered in his ear.

He nodded and turned back to the crowd.

“¡Gracias por voz tiempo, y Dios te bendiga!” Alfonso said to the crowd before stepping away from the podium. He was escorted through the factory, with Edelmira and later Esteban at his side. At his behest, Alfonso went down to the factory floor and gave attention to a few dozen workers as he snaked his way through the factory.

He was met towards the entrance by Sebastian, Rolando, and Arturo and exchanged words with them again.

“Arturo,” Alfonso said to the humble and gruff foreman, “I heard that your eldest daughter, Adelita, is ill, correcto?”

Arturo blinked at Alfonso, surprised to be addressed any more by the King.

“Ehh…si, that’s true.” Arturo replied.

“Well, as I said up there I’d like the best of our country’s laborers. So, that’s why, when I get back to Madrid, I’ll be commanding a doctor from the prestigious Clínica Moncloa to head down here to diagnose and treat your daughter. Okay?” Alfonso said.

Arturo gasped with surprise, and chuckled.

“Well, th-thank you, Su Majestad.” Arturo replied.

“De nada.” Alfonso replied, giving Arturo a firm shake of the hand before moving on.

Alfonso and his posse were in their car three minutes later, and heading back to Torrent within five. The event was over, and the changes stemming from it were set in motion. Alfonso thought of himself proudly, and made a few pleading prayers to God as he flew back to Madrid to bless his plan with success. By eight o’clock, the royal couple were back in the Palacio Real, where they were welcomed by the part honest and part faux applause of their Royal Household and some nobles, then treated with a short celebratory dinner before they made it back to their private residence to conclude the night.

by **Nouveau Quebecois** » Wed Jan 15, 2020 11:55 am

New Dominion of Canada
Cabinet Minister, Cédric Lésage

William Billings - Chester
City of Lévis, New England
January 1936

Two Diplomats disembarked Lévis Station as the cold wind hit them hard. The warmth of the coal powered train began to dwindle as the doors shut and a Conductor ordered to disembark. Feeling their way around the steel platform, they stepped into the frigid city and began walking to the Collège de Lévis where they planned to meet three representatives of the New English Republic.

"When I return, remind me to Commission extra funds for the Pacific Railway Police. They could do well with warmer cars."

Dressed in greatcoats, crimson dress, and black ties, the diplomats stood out in the grey city. As they walked by what was the Quebecois, greetings were exchanged in traditional Canadian French, but returned with confused and solemn looks, and even colder stares. In particular, Cédric attempted to hold the hand of a barista, who rejected his advances but returned his coffee.

"Wow, elle m'a choquée. Ç'est comme š'ils ne nous connaissent pas."
"They've been through a lot. Only a few decades ago this place was ridden with disease. It's why we left in the first place. Remember that."

It wasn't long before the pair approached the grand walls of of the historic college. It's century of windows started down in quiet, empty for the most part. They stepped through the large wooden doors into the Grand Hall of the collegiate, still old and traditional, as the Quebecois left it.

"Parler d'une mauvaise réception. Où est le vin gratuit?" Cédric twirled under the skylight of the old building, and stood atop of the grand staircase. "J'adore ce qu'ils ont fait avec cet endroit. Littéralement rien! C’est trendy au boutte."

"Cédric..."

"Quelle gentillesse pour eux de quitter cette ville, exactement comment nous l'avons laissé."

"Cédric."

"Rien qu’à voir on voit ben. Je l'aime!"

"Cédric, come look at this."

Cédric ceased all sarcasm and gave his adjutant his attention. He was staring at the news bulletin for the college, next to the office. In particular, a bright red poster.

"Cédric, what does this say?"

"Nothing related to our jobs, I presume." The Minister scanned through the poster quickly, but soon his smug grin faded into an expression of disbelief. "Er, 'Mes Anglais...' blah, blah, blah, 'Ce sont les vrais...' okay, qui... 'elles sont l'adversaire-' Eh, quoi? Attendez. Wait."

Cédric re-read the poster with renewed vigor before realising what it was. Mandated propaganda against the Dominion. Accusations of Communist Activity in Parliament. Quebecois oriented propaganda against themselves, a paragraph of self hate. Cédric ripped the poster off of it's pin and shoved it into his adjutants hands.

"This is unacceptable, put this in your briefcase. We will consult our hosts about this at once."

Cédric then entered the college's office and begun demanding the receptionist in French to the room in which he'd be met with New English representatives. He exited a minute later, and pulled his adjutant alongside him, up the stairs. Angrily, he exclaimed,

"Ils veulent que nous partions, Ça vient de s'éteindre."

His adjutant replied in learnt French, strong English accent,

"Ministre Cédric, c’est pas si tant pire. Il s'agit d'une affiche."

Which only ticked him off more. The two men stopped outside of Room 140 - A. The former office of the State & World History Teaching Staff. Cédric stopped to control his bearings, and the two men readjusted their ties before entering the room to great their hosts.

Summary:

Dominion representatives are meeting with representatives of New England in Lévis City.

by **Khasinkonia** » Fri Jan 17, 2020 10:11 am

ヤｲメカモシﾘコロアｲヌモシﾘ
カﾘモ・カﾘ・サﾂポロポﾛクｲタｸペ・サﾂポロマチヤ・ウニぺｲケ
The Republic of the Ainu Domain・Kaimo・Hokkaidō・Satporo Prefecture・Sapporo・Prime Minister’s Mansion

January, 1936

The cold Hokkaido winter brought sleet and snow. Many nations despaired at such weather, but Ainu spirits were high in their native land. It was dawn, both metaphorically and literally. Although the weather was dreary, the mood inside the Prime Minister’s residence was pleasantly cozy. Compared to many other world leaders, the Ainu idea of a mansion was austere and small, but the home itself was by no means uncomfortable. The three-story home, like much of Hokkaido’s architecture, stood out from much of Japan for its distinctly western flavour. It superficially resembled a stone building in the Tudor style, with strong granite walls and hardwood floors. The roof, however, betrayed the location’s eastern sensibilities with a sublime hip-and-gable roof design. The interior had the main private apartment on the third floor, offices, areas for more private entertaining, housing for overnight guests, and the like on the second, other important rooms such as the foyer, dining room, and kitchen on the bottom, and a cellar full of useful things such as food, coal, and office supplies, as well as the home’s water heater. Although even Satporo lacked electricity, internal heating systems and water heating systems were not unheard of in some more prosperous residences.

As it went in many revolutionary regimes, the first elected officials in the republic were heroes of the revolution. The Ainu nation was anomalous among the majority of such nations not in its favouring of revolutionary figures, but rather the way in which they did so. Due to the mixture of the honour-based patriarchal Japanese culture, and the old Ainu matriarchal tribal culture, the republic’s elections had developed a strangely casual egalitarian character tainted only by nepotistic tendencies on regional levels, rather than candidate gender, bravado, or even the dirty money that scourged many nations. Of course, these things did have effects, the economic and cultural structure of the nation severely limited their influence. A quirky result of all of these factors produced a commonplace political phenomenon that no other nation in the world could claim: Peykekmatkar—Selecting a Peyke’s Wife. This trend extended to the very top of the government; indeed, the nation had not yet needed to construct a home for the Deputy PM, as she was indeed the wife of the Prime Minister. In no other nation did the Prime Minister and Deputy Prime Minister share a bedroom, much less a bed.

ShiPeyke Ramuannistehi and TuPeyke Monasnusir, often colloquially known as Iyapo and Tokko for their nurturing roles in the revolution, were an older Ainu-creole couple. A restless soul at heart, Iyapo awoke first to the cold morning dew, before dawn’s first light spread. He lit a lantern, and began to ready himself for the day. Both himself and his wife were very appreciative of the privilege of hot water, and so made use of their shower and bath regularly. Ramuannistehi usually kept his hair in a tight bun, but let it down when he bathed. A warm shower awoke the older man, and enforced the quiet peace of the cold winter’s morn. While Ramuannistehi was in the middle of his shower, Monasnusir awoke, and joined her husband in the bathroom. She brushed her long, greying hair as she hummed an old folk song. One that Ramuannistehi knew well. As one showered, and the other brushed her greying locks, the couple sang Hutare Chui and swayed in tune with the beat. Quiet mornings were a luxury much of the nation could afford, being at the intersection between industrialisation and agrarianism.

As the Ainu generally prefered tattoos to makeup, there was little to do in terms of getting ready other than being well-groomed. Within fifteen minutes, the PM and Deputy PM were ready for the day. As was the precedent on working days, they wore traditional Ainu robes. The two were similar in height, although built differently. Ramuannistehi was slightly taller, with a solid but still fairly athletic build for his age. He kept his pitch-black facial hair neatly groomed, and generally wore it in a spruce moustache with stubble elsewhere, resembling the younger brother of a grandfather. Monasnusir was slightly shorter, and was comparatively stout, with a matronly build and pale complexion that, combined with her soft, gently wrinkly smile, gave her the overall appearance of a new grandmother.

For breakfast, they warmed last night’s fish-broth soup with seaweed on the stovetop, and paired it with small honey-sweetened cakes that Monasnusir had received a week prior while visiting Usukeshi. As the rising sun’s rays trickled through their private dining room, which overlooked the modest garden their home had between itself and the street. None of the flowers were in bloom, but still the snow-covered cobblestone and the frostbitten plants were beautiful to them. For the first hour of the morning, they were free to relax, and indeed they did, partaking in green tea as they played a casual match of Go to sharpen their minds for a long day’s work.

Thematic Music

By noon, the nation was in full swing, and the Nipakpe was abustle with the sounds of legislature. In the NaPor, the annual Enesuk report on the civilian economy was under review. In a general sense, the report’s conclusion that economic analyses from the previous fiscal year had been correct in their projections, and the nation was on track to meet the goals set for 1941. Although there remained strong growing pains from the economic restructuring of the previous decade, the Enesuk had begun serving as a form of unemployment service, working closely with the Infrastructure Committee to provide displaced workers with work in the railway industry under the Railroad Committee extending the southern railroad lines to the north of the Kai and Karput islands.

In accordance with the Enesuk’s recommendations, the NaPor would compile requests and financial cost estimates from different government departments to submit to ShiPeyke Ramuannestehi, who would then review all of the reports, and submit a budget proposal to the NaPon by mid-February for tentative approval and distribution by the beginning of March so that the Agriculture Committee in particular could coordinate with local farmers.

Currently, the NaPor had completed the military maintenance and Ramu Itekiyayeramkomo augmentation fund proposal, which sought to taper off weapon production to maintenance levels over the next three years as village commonplace stocks approached levels deemed necessary by the plan. As this endeavour also was also, in part, designed to help ease the pains of an economy in shift, as well as to ensure national security, the setup for the project would create a new employment problem. Fundamentally, there was no easy solution to this issue, save for properly integrating the soon-to-be displaced workers into local economic environments. The most popular Enesuk proposal for a long-term solution to this issue was reintegrating displaced working-class individuals in their towns of origin by encouraging local industries to expand operations to accommodate them, while repurposing some of the military facilities for other industrial uses. More educated workers would be likewise given the opportunity to find work in their home villages, but would also be offered work in further expanding the nation’s budding education system in order to more universally provide science and math teachers to higher education. Establishing an educated populace was among the top long-run priorities established at the first meeting of the Nipakpe.

The NaPon, meanwhile, was engaged in the third day of discussing the NaPor’s newest education reform edicts, directed at standardising classroom material, and commissioning a common set of textbooks that teachers could educate from. Currently, the education period stretched from around ages 5-6 to age 16-17, in accordance with Ainu traditions regarding adulthood, with breaks allotted for planting and harvest seasons. The higher education system of the republic was remarkably small, being restricted to one university in Satporo, and another campus in Moruerani due to be opened by 1941. Within the next twenty years, it was hoped that more colleges would be opened up to properly bear the fruits of public education.

While Ramuannistehi was occupied with the NaPor budgetary fund meetings, as they expressly required the presence of the ShiPeyke, Monasnusir travelled by Class 5500 steam locomotive to Moruerani, standard fare for passenger trains. Class 8620s and Class 9600s generally dealt with freight. For expeditions composed of a number of influential individuals, the nation’s trainyards had single Class 4110 steam engine, which was usually reserved specifically for that purpose. At the moment, trainyards had a surplus of locomotives, as, during the early days of the Flu, Japanese overlords had still intended to expand railroad networks across Kai and Karput—a goal that they had been destined to leave incomplete. But now, with the resumed construction of lines, it was predicted that the final state of the railways would create necessarily underserved routes unless the nation produced a few new engines to supplement this future deficit, not to mention the need for shunters. The Railroad Committee, though very much able to maintain the ones it had, remained uncertain as to their capabilities for constructing new engines, and, since the continuation of the formerly stalled railroad expansion plans, had begun investigating the possibilities of constructing new engines as necessary. Although the construction of boilers had yet been dubiously successful, confidence remained that a workable engine could be designed and constructed within the coming five years.

Monasnusir’s purpose in Moruerani was to meet and greet workers, and provide a speech while being hosted for dinner. At her table in the most prominent part of town hall, Monasnusir ate her soup quickly but not impolitely, as the itinerary demanded that Mayor Kewerupne introduce her before the main course, and that meant she was to speak, likely after hors d'oeuvres had been finished, but before the accompanying soup was.

Her understanding was, of course, correct, as it was only shortly after she finished eating that the jolly mayor stood from his seat next to her, and rang a little bell, which presently caused the low roar of conversation to die down.

The great portly cleared his throat, and began his introduction. As he did, Monasnusir stepped back from the table to the podium behind her.

“Esteemed constituents, guests, and friends, welcome! I hope that you all have thus far enjoyed the meal so generously provided both by our chefs and by our Earth. I’m terribly excited to be hosting and introducing our beloved Tokko this evening, and I’m sure you’re all just as excited to hear from her, so let us, without further ado, give our attention to TuPeyke Monasnusir!”

The crowd gave a single clap, as did Monasnusir. After the reverb, she put on pince nez in order to read her notes for the speech, and smiled gently to the public.

“Greetings, mothers, fathers, and brethren! I am very much obliged for your warm welcomes, and I pray that this winter has treated you all well…

In the western year 1922, we declared our Republic. This, I believe, created a new aeon for our peoples from the ashes of an era of suffering ending in a plague. Not since the arrival of the yayoi people have these isles seen such a profound upheaval in our way of life. Although we have experienced much, I stand before you as proof today that the Ainu people are resilient, adaptable, and every bit as capable as the Japanese. We merely have never before had the opportunity to demonstrate it. But those old times are now gone, and the future stands before us, ready to be seized if we are only willing to do so.

Although recuperating has been, and continues to be a vigorous effort requiring our full dedication, we are still recovering, and we will continue to build after we have finished recovering, and I believe that we have before us a prosperous future. As we continue forward with Japanese minds and Ainu hearts, I hope we shall one day transcend even this, as one Jomon people, to live in harmony with our fellow man and all the creatures of our dear Earth. I call upon you all today to, as was said in the western holy texts, love our neighbours, and to truly dedicate ourselves to righting the wrongs of the imperial days with both our fellow Ainu, and our Japanese cousins.

It is my dream that one day our islands to the north, and the Yamato islands to the south, may live in peace, and appreciate this unique position on Earth that we inhabit. The Japanese culture is ancient, but ours is even older. The Japanese may have the minds for lofty aspirations, but we Ainu remember our humble roots. It is only through combining these traits that we shall reach our utmost potential as a people. One Jomon people, forever united, forever safe.

It would be naive, however, to suggest that we may rest upon our laurels of brotherhood, and not remain vigilant. We still do not know all of the other nations and peoples that have survived that devastating Flu, and so I call upon you all to continue to work diligently to ensure that we are able not only to care for ourselves, but for those in need, as we must always remember our plight, and extend our empathy to those who need it. We hope that, though we strive for self-sufficiency, we may find others who have surely survived, and engage in a new and humbled international sphere.

We still possess a navy, although we generally need only use it for dealing with the few barbaric pirates that cross our paths, it remains a valuable asset to us, as we may be able to find if there are fellow nations with honourable aims in the world at large. I pray that we do, as to be alone in this world as a nation would be a truly tragic affair. Now that I have spoken to you all about the past and future, happy and sad alike, let me now speak of the present.

The Enesuk sends its warmest regards, and with those regards, I am proud to announce our contingency armament plan is nearing fruition, meaning that every man in our nation shall find oneself with the ability to hunt in a modern manner as well as to defend our nation, although the simple elegance of a bow and arrow, I understand, we shall still appreciate. With our housekeeping plans nearing their completion, in coming years, we may be able to dedicate our efforts to improving the quality of living nationwide by using the blueprints available to us in Aomori, Hakodate, and Satporo. It is our dream that one day, in the coming decades, every household in our nation will have access to heating and hot water.

Finally, I have one last coming development to comment on before we return to our meal: The telegraph. The Nipakpe, over the winter’s season, commissioned an investigation into the feasibility of constructing new telegraph lines from Aomori and Tumu Maciya, which sit at the peripherals of our nation due to remnants of old borders, throughout the rest of the nation. Although it will be a costly task, we believe that it is possible, at the very least, to extend and connect these lines to Hakodate, Satporo, Moruerani, and certain other cities in our nation, up to Mairuppo at the end of the Kuyi. Although this project will be difficult from an engineering standpoint for our capabilities, we remain confident that we will be able to achieve it, facilitating communication, and furthering bonds between our different localities.

Now, I believe, with this firmly optimistic tone, I ought to conclude my speaking, lest our food be disrespected by us waiting to eat it. Good evening to you all, and may you move into this next season in health!”

La Résumé

A normal quiet Kaimo winter’s morning.
Reports have indicated job-creation endeavours in Kai and Karput have proceeded according to schedule, meaning the railroad extension programmes should be completed before 1939, having been started three years prior to 1936.
Beginning of the budget-drafting process for the upcoming fiscal year.
A look to future long-run economic developments.
Planning for education reform and expansion over the course of a decade
Information regarding the current state of railroads and future plans for them.
TuPeyke Monasnusir speaks to the people of Moruerani, addressing history, culture, and progress.

by **The Surge Empire** » Fri Jan 17, 2020 4:52 pm

The Carlist Kingdom of España

The Kingdom is a temple, a temple held up by three columns, supported by many, held up by few. That is the definition of the Carlist Kingdom, The Three Pillars are the King, The Church and the People. without one, the whole thing falls. The Church provides morality for the people and the King. The People hold the King and the Church accountable and the King provides safety for the people and the church in his lands. because the King is the Kingdom, but the People are his people, and it is his duty to protect them, for he is the defender of the poor, protector of justice

Santiago - Capital of the Carlist Kingdom, Led by King Alfonso Carlos

"King Carlos" a older staffer calls out, "i got a report for you" he says, the man is dressed in a attire similar to Formal Spanish military uniform that is common within the Carlist Government.

"Yes, What is it, *cough* " The King descends into a coughing fit as the staffer waits, "Sorry go on, Luis"

Sir, call me Hernandez, that is my name. But anyways, The purge has finished with the last two generals of the coup have been dealt with."

"Purge, Dealt with!, this hasn't been a mass murder has it Luis?" the King said in a state of surprise and Luis stumbled back a slight bit

"Oh no, few have been executed, only 4 out of the ten, the two front line leaders and major organizer and the ring leader, the rest have been imprisoned except a man by the name of Sgt. Davis who i believe may be a promising member of the government. but otherwise no" Luis states in a slight state of fear and nervousness, but he tries to carries on before getting interrupted by Alfonso.

"get me his report, and do you have anything on our trading relations, and don't even mention the god damn British" Carlos shouted though to a degree where it was noticeable that he could get pissed, but that he wasn't angry. Luis than continued "Well, they're the English, not the British sir, Scotland is no long-"

Luis was quickly cut off by a pointed stare from the king, he shuffled his papers around to find the one he needed, "alright, i can get you that file by the way, but onward. The Portuguese have cut off trading because of the riots and they gotten closer to the British, at least that is what our sources say. french trading relations cooled a bit around that period too, but they starting to pick back up again, and we didn't find any Portuguese influence in the socialist networks, but that brings something else up." he pauses and finds the correct paper for the topic he's on.

"One of our Generals was found to be a Bourbon spy, they tend to hide within groups like republican groups like the network we infiltrated, its cause the know that we would look for actual groups"

Interrogate him" said the king

"Sir, we did so before, earlier this morning. he wouldn't speak with u-"

The King cut Luis off again "I mean Interrogate him"

The Cortes

The Traditional Cortes never existed with the Kingdom, for since its establishment while the people could elect officials, the military was given several advantages to run for office. this meant that military officers made up nearly the entirety of the Cortes. This became a problem when the king tried to push a bill that would reform the military into more of a meritocracy like the Prussian military. this resulted in major backlash and the failure of the reform.

The King then chose to announce he would go forward with the reforms in a royal decree as wells as weaken the Cortes. Several members of the Cortes, military men who were a part of the Junteros, 'rebelled'. a while later the King chose to give the Cortes to pass the bill so he would decree the weakening of the Cortes. by this point several military generals were refusing orders from the king. however at the day of the vote before the proclamation of the decree, 2 members of the Cortes were absents, this was because they were prepared to stage a coup on the king and the Cortes. the boarded up the grand hall, and force the loyal members of the military to siege the building down. the siege lasted for three hours.

the decree was proclaimed later that day, with the stipulation that the Cortes would be dissolved to a later point. however he did his best to make it clear that when it was reestablished, and it would be, that not only would the advantages be gone but so would the power the military's had over the government. however protests still occurred over the supposed lack of democracy in the nation.The military still remains the backbone of the nation however the people have had their voice returned.

Changes in Governance of Spain - Cold Steel

The King continues to talk to Luis over the path of which he should take on the Cortes, but he shifted over to the talk of military expansion.

"So,Luis whats the plan about basque and the region surrounding it," the King asked, before falling into a wheezing fit, "Sir, are you okay, would you like a glass of water. When the King recovered from his coughing, he replied "no, carry on" in a strained voice before really recovering.

"In those counties were are expanding our networks, we are working towards building a rapport with their government so we can start up schooling and medical initiatives in their nation, and hopefully win public support before we move the militia in. though we are moving militia toward the borders, it shouldn't be noticeable."

"Do they need those initiatives, its been a decade since the end of the plague, though they are quite small." says the king answering his own question.
"Alright," the King continued "what about the happenings in the other nations," he asked

"Well, in Catalonia, our support is low or just very secretive, cause Catatonia could just do a real purge on the 'reactionaries' like us, and i mean a true purge. In Portugal, our support is minor, and even then its Portuguese monarchist, it just so happens that the princess is your wife, the government is republican so there is no monarchy of course. The bourbons, well if we have any support anymore, its rare and the rest who supported us have been executed"

"Okay, Luis, could we do some railroad initiatives around the nation" says the King
"I'll have to talk with some advisers, but i can see what i can do about that, it will take me time to get an eta on completion so don't expect that immediately"
"Alright and while you do that, get our best speechwriter and have him come to me alright." the king says as returns to his living quarters within the palace.

by **Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States** » Sat Jan 18, 2020 2:22 pm

Marble Palace
Potsdam
German Empire
3rd of January, 1936

The German political dance was done in various ways, to various pieces of music, throughout the entire Empire. A slow dance, masked like a Venetian ball and performed with cloak and dagger, was played inside the Gerousia. This body held the most important generals and marshals of the empire, all of them over 60 years of age, and held most actual power in the Empire. They drafted legislation and presented it to the Emperor for ratification. Technically, the Emperor still enjoyed the veto, and could sign into law legislation entirely of his own accord, but he did not have the staff to perform his stately business. As well as enjoying theoretical power, he also enjoyed the hospitality of general Ludendorff, whose ire the Emperor was very happy to avoid.

A more lively march was played with the Ephors. These lower officers were in charge of both executing the law and ruling on judicial matters, and were theoretically very powerful. However, these officers always fell under the command of one of the member of the Gerousia, and they followed their orders to the letter. There was constant struggle within the Gerousia over who could have command over which battalion, mostly to collect the most Ephors under one’s wing. Ephors were elected, but only by the soldiers of the Imperial Guard, who were often instructed on how to vote by their superiors. Crown prince Wilhelm served as an Ephor, leading his own platoon in service of the Emperor.

The whole system was a mockery of what the ancient Spartans had devised. Ludendorff, his disdain for Christianity on full display, had chosen a semi-democratic Pagan system to emulate, of course twisting and turning it until he and his lackeys were in full control of the state. For the soldiers, the system was highly ritualistic, as they had been drilled in the system since birth. They were the keys to power, and Ludendorff enjoyed an almost god-like status with these people. Since the death of Hindeburg, Ludendorff had been the God of War, a veteran of the Last War, who were it not for the disease would have exterminated the French opposition. At least, that was what the statues and paintings and banners proclaimed.

The most delicate game of politics, however, was performed to the music of a soft English waltz, during the Friday afternoon tea at the Marble Palace. Here, the chairman of the Gerousia presented the Emperor with the bills he needed to sign into law. For the Emperor, this was the only way to get some sense of the politics going on in the higher levels of his government, about which he had absolutely no knowledge outside of what the chairman told him. Chairman Ludendorff, meanwhile, had to get the Emperor to sign onto his proposed bills without too much alteration. Neither man could call out the other, especially not Ludendorff, for respect for the Emperor remained universal among the soldier class, which he had lifted to a position of extreme prominence.

“So, what have we here?” the Emperor inquired. It was the formal opening move, and neutral with regards to the proceedings. An inquiring tone indicated a good mood on the part of the Emperor. Ludendorff opened his briefcase and took out a large stack of paper, handing them over one by one. Their order was of significance, with the most controversial ones being handed over first.

“We have a few more permits for the City… A few appointments and dismissals… And an infrastructure project to connect Kiel via rail”

Convention dictated that if the Emperor saw no use in arguing, he would discuss the last proposal some more, just to be polite, and then sign on to all three without discussing anything else. However, the Emperor quickly signed the infrastructure bill without much attention, putting his attention on the first two. This indicated a certain willingness to engage in debate with Ludendorff, who saw this all as a mere formality.

“These permits… Tell me more…” the Emperor said. Ludendorff sighed, but relented. He knew what the man was fishing for.

“New permits of Germans in the countryside. In return for the revocation of some privileges, they will be allowed…”

“What privileges?” the Emperor retorted, not waiting for the general to finish what he was trying to say. This conversation lacked patience, Ludendorff was quick to notice. The Emperor lacked patience. This instalment of Friday tea would not be a mere formality. The veteran frowned.

“Just something to take a burden of the Ephors…” Ludendorff replied. “It’s very complicated, so…”

“Oh, humour me, general” the Emperor replied, a kind smile drawing across his face. “I see myself as at least half a clever man”

“Just… they can’t file suit with the Ephors in relation to their employers, that is all. And they need to obey orders from citizens at all times”

There you had it. Limiting access to the Ephors in reality meant those people had no access to legal remedy in case of a violation. In essence, it turned people into indentured servants. This flew in the face of what Germany had been, at least in the eyes of the Emperor, who was the defender of all Germans within his empire. Still, even now he had little choice. His signature was a formality, even if he could throw a bit of weight around. All he could do was check if all the proper procedures had been followed.

“I assume this bill comes straight from the Gerousia?” the Emperor inquired. If it had not been passed by the Gerousia, at least he could ask Ludendorff to take it there for consultation. However, as the Emperor expected, Ludendorff simply nodded.

“Only one vote against it, too” Ludendorff said. This was a clear if somewhat obtuse invitation to inquire further. For a moment Wilhelm wondered whether he should indulge the general, but he could not hide his curiosity. Normally, there were two dissident voices in the Gerousia. Bills passed with two votes against at minimum.

“Only one?” the Emperor asked tentatively. The smile conjured by Ludendorff ran down his spine.

“That’s what the second bill is about” he answered, sliding it towards the Emperor.

“General von Lettow-Vorbeck has been removed from his command for disloyalty towards the Crown. At least, once you sign this document”

The Emperor stared at Ludendorff to see if this was some kind of cruel joke. There was no hint of insincerity about the man, however. Only that cruel smile that formed from ear to ear. Von Lettow-Vorbeck had been a beloved veteran of the Great War, and one of the few to actually achieve some victory in the field. He was part of the Victorious Four, including the now deceased Hindenburg, Ludendorff himself, and August von Mackensen, the other member of the Gerousia who openly opposed the agenda of Ludendorff. The removal of Von lettow-Vorbeck meant Ludendorff was consolidating. Before long, he would have no opponents left. Von Mackensen was old, and it was beyond a doubt that the younger Ludendorff would outlive him, even if he allowed the field marshal to die of old age.

“If it is an insult of the Crown, I would like to review the evidence” Wilhelm tried, but to no avail.

“No need for that, your majesty” Ludendorff said, playfully using the royal title. “I have carefully reviewed the evidence. The Gerousia agrees. Well, with two exceptions” he added, with a grin.

The Emperor was helpless. Right now, seated in front of his captor, Wilhelm felt his very life held in the hands of Ludendorff. He just had to squeeze and one of his family members would lose his life. An accident, a medical emergency… Wilhelm felt like the most powerless man on earth at that moment. Resigned to his position, he signed the two remaining bills into law. As soon as his pen left the paper, Ludendorff collected them and put them back in his briefcase. He tapped his hat to the Emperor and stood up.

“Thank you for your time, your majesty. If you will excuse me…” and before receiving an answer, the general had left the palace.

by **Nouveau Quebecois** » Sat Jan 18, 2020 5:49 pm

New Dominion of Canada
Regent of Canada, Maurice Duplessis

O' Canada (1908)
Ottawa, Ontario
January 1936

In the hallowed halls of Parliament, Duplessis had assembled his Regency Cabinet under dire circumstances. Canada thus far had been surviving on charcoal, and most vehicles were operated with such. While the Dominion had an excess of precious metals and rare ores to satisfy the economy, a secure means of producing coal, oil, and petroleum was desperately needed to continue the country's advance.

"As of current, Monsieur Duplessis, we have one offshore drilling project in Lake Erie producing all the oil consumed by Toronto. As of yet, geologists estimate the existence of petroleum reservoirs beneath the Canadian continental coast, but even from Nova Scotia through New Brunswick and Newfoundland, offshore rigs are entirely non-existent, and building one from scratch will be a monumental project."

"Thank you Rochester, but what are our options?"

"Our ideal options are to contact our friends from the Great Lakes Confederacy. They have easy access to their own reserves, but they know this and will likely drive up their prices. Our alternative is to return home to the Crown, but our diplomats to Labrador are yet to return, and we cannot be sure Labrador is still even loyal to the Crown."

"We can match the GLC's prices. We have an influx of precious metals to trade anyways."

"Ministre Duplessis, si je peux suggérer quelque chose... er, we don't have to cater to the Commonwealth's whims. There is another option."

"Minister Bennett, I am not opposed to appealing to the New Englanders for trade, but Nova Scotia has no oil reserves and only two known coal deposits to exploit. I doubt they will sell to us reasonably, if they even have excess coal to sell."

"But what if we didn't have to turn to our neighbours?"

"Do indulge."

"Members of the Cabinet, the honorary Canadian Expeditionary Force has driven westward with force. Already at Sault Ste. Marie, they have returned no reports of organised resistance. Minor skirmishes with bandit farmers and petty criminals have lead Militia Command to believe that the spares population of the East will warrant no meaningful resistance to integration with the Dominion."

"Cabinet Minister Bennett, how exactly does this aid our desperate fuel problem?"

"Think, Duplessis. At an increased rate we can drive straight to Saskatchewan. Saskatchewan is home to the vast majority of our oil and coal reserves, abandoned during the plague. If that's not enough, we can push onwards to Alberta. We don't need to integrate the entire Province, but if we can get the CEF stationed in Regina and Saskatoon, we can bring back all the fuel to power the Dominion, from the Atlantic to Toronto."

"... Correct, yes, correct. Those cities will be ghost towns, spare some farmers and rural-men."

"... That is no way to address the Regent."

The Regency's Cabinet immediately burst into a frenzy of discussion and debate. The new plan sparked a new front in the economic fight facing the Dominion. Some, all for. Others, unconvinced.

"Order in the Cabinet, please." Duplessis gave Bennett his full attention. "Minister Bennett, this is a dangerously large operation. If we could so easily integrate the West, we would've done so already. The CEF, even mounted on horseback, is not exactly a fast way of traversing the country."

"Never-mind hauling gallons of oil!" another Minister heckled. "If tomorrow brings war, we cannot stake our nation's bloodline on our neighbours!" another Minister countered. The Cabinet erupted again into debate before Duplessis had to echo his earlier calls for order.

"Minister Bennett, explain to the Regency's Cabinet at once how you plan to conduct this expedition."

R. B. Bennett, once the Prime Minister of Canada before losing out to Duplessis, and now a measly Minister of his Cabinet had captured the opportunity to proclaim a resurgence in his political career. Normally never composed in times of crisis, Bennett knew that now was a better time then ever to overcome his own weaknesses. He stood up and spoke, with unmatched confidence.

"Um. Well, simple, Minister Duplessis. Two words. The Canadian Pacific Railway."

"Three" interrupted a Minister. "Four, dumbasss. 'The' is a word." interrupted another. "Order at once." interrupted Duplessis. "Minister Bennett, please continue through the unlawful discussion."

"Members of the Cabinet, scouts of the CEF have reported little to no damage to existing railways of the CPR. Regularly, our charcoal and wood-powered trains make relays from Toronto through Ottawa by Montreal all the way to the coast. We can simply load a train up with workers, fresh CEF recruits, and supplies for the journey and we can settle in Saskatchewan for the long term."

The historic Prime Minister has recaptured his zeal, and the attention of his adversaries hand-picked cabinet.

"If we truly were so invested in taking our country back, the Pacific Railway must be where we start."

"All in favour?" Duplessis Cabinet was wholly in support of the re-purposed expedition, and immediately a discussion of logistics began. To appease the Communists, workers of the Industrialists and those who have been thus far jobless were to be selected to enter the Saskatchewan mines. Damned be the Union. Officers of the RCMP were tasked with raising at least a regiment of militamen for the expedition. Ottawa was starved of grain and cattle to make way for the East. After the dismissal, Duplessis was approached by his adjutant as he was entering his private car.

"Way to kill two birds with one stone, my Regency. Did you write the bumbling fool's script for him?"

"... I suppose you could say that."

"Monsieur Duplessis, ne lui fait pas confiance. Il vous tuera. Il veut ton boulot."

"... Rochester, have you finished the logistics calculations I asked you to?"

Rochester thought for a moment, then handed Duplessis his clipboard. "Er- yes sir. Cabinet estimates that we can depart as early as the end of the week, and we will hear back from the CEF before the end of the month. First shipments can begin as early as February."

"... And have you sent diplomats to the Commonwealth?"

"Yes sir. Against Cabinet, diplomats have been sent through Toronto to the Great Lakes Commonwealth to discuss fuel import prices."

Duplessis accepted the clipboard and scanned over it briefly. "Thank you Rochester. This is good work." Duplessis stepped into his car, before sharing a final thought with his assistant. "And please stop with the Anglo French. You are butchering my beautiful language."

Rochester's smile faded and he mustered a response. "O- Of course, your Regency."

"Good. Au reviour." Duplessis shut his car door, and began to back out of Parliament's driveway. "Au- Goodbye, but- that's my clipboard..."

Summary:

The Canadian Expeditionary Force, Canadian Mounted Police, Canadian Pacific Railway, and the Industrialist Unions are all preparing for a major expedition to Saskatchewan.
Sault Ste. Marie is being incorporated into the Dominion.
Diplomats are sent to the Great Lakes Commonwealth to discuss trade.

by **Elerian** » Mon Jan 20, 2020 2:08 pm

Canadian Delegation

Leon Bridges was in a good mood. Oh, what a mood! Lifted from the lowest ranks of the bureaucracy, appointed to one of the highest ranks in the Commonwealth, Bridges had a lot to be happy about. But today was among the first of his tasks since his patron, Executor General Witlow, had appointed him to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Even as his staff panicked and fretted over the current assignment to Canada, Bridges felt in his element. At last, something interesting was happening! An opportunity long awaited; a chance to demonstrate his talents to his superiors, and a game to test his skills and keep him entertained. The Dominion and the New Englanders were at odds over the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, and the latest information from over the border indicated that there was movement on their borders. For the Commonwealth, the route ahead seem plagued with uncertainty; who was to be trusted? Who could be relied upon? Both state's aggression was unexpected, and did not fit Bridges' previous assessments of their leadership. Clearly the governing elite of each nation was more ambitious in its territorial scope than was good for them.

"Sir, please, take this situation seriously," begged Bridges’ annoying aide, the elderly Nathan Vale, who looked on in despair as Bridges danced around his office cackling to himself.

"Oh, but how can I, Vale?" replied Bridges. "How can I, when God has played such a marvellously cruel and funny trick? The poor bastards, they don’t know what they’re getting themselves into..."

Bridges finally sat down.

"You’re too cautious, Vale. You see danger everywhere, whilst a younger, more ambitious man sees opportunity. Whenever great change comes, there are opportunities. It is the way of the world. And what fun there is to be had, from playing the game of politics against the skilled manipulators of other nations. See me, Vale? See how happy I am? Why, then, are you afraid? Certainly I wouldn’t be smiling if I didn’t see a way that the Commonwealth might profit from this."

"But the expansion of New England into New York must surely cause you concern, sir," retorted Vale. "We are friendly with them. But, they are also rivals to us. It is not in our interest for New England to become stronger. And the removal of the New York regime can only undermine the balance of power."

"That is so, Vale. But it is our duty to find a way for the Commonwealth to benefit from these events. To turn any potentially damaging situation into a triumph for our nation. Our agents will soon make contact with the New Yorkers. Then the first step of our plan will be complete. In the meantime, the tensions along the Gulf of Saint Lawrence can only make the situation more interesting. Do you not agree that it is entertaining to watch, Vale? The ebb and flow of regional diplomacy. The proposals and counter-proposals. Alliances and betrayals. Secret deals, silent manoeuvring. Blades hidden beneath canvas. And the satisfaction of being the one who holds all the cards? I love human beings, Vale. That is why I love this position. I love to see how they respond. People are so unpredictable. People are never boring, never predictable. Watch and learn, old man. A war can be won without firing a shot, with the correct words in the correct ears..."

Just then, the train they were on board began slowing. They were nearing the border to the Dominion.

* * *

New England Delegation

The steady clip-clop of a dozen horses accompanied by the stamping of thick boots upon the cracked and decaying road had urged the other travellers to wait by the roadside. A line of soldiers, donning thick leather clothing and grim in appearance, was marching in uniform fashion. Jump back a few decades and this would have been an unsightly, strange thing to witness but not in the present time. Society had taken a leap backwards despite time moving forward. This sort of sight was something the inhabitants of this unforgiving world were forced to become accustomed to.

The soldiers accompanied a small caravan of delegates from the Republic of New England. While there was no reason not to believe they were who they said they were, the frontiers of the Commonwealth were not always safe. So they had an escort for the trek to Chicago to treat with a Commonwealth diplomat. It was a bit of a jaunt, but the city was in sight far before they made it to its outskirts. A sight to see the degradation of one of the formerly largest cities in the world.

Regardless, the situation was what it was. The delegation was handed off to Agents of the Interior Ministry who handled their itinerary within the city limits. Once given their accomodations at a government complex near the city center, the diplomat was brought before a senior government official by the name of Roderick Scott. It was unclear to the Commonwealth officials what exactly the visit by the New Englanders was about.

“It's my pleasure to welcome you to our fine city. To what do we owe the distinction of hosting you in our Windy city?” Scott asked.

* * *

Knives in the Dark

A pair of wagons ambled their way to the edge of town. Their journey had been long, but their destination was within sight. Many miles had been crossed so that what was contained within the wagons could be in the right hands. But now, whether the desired outcome of their arrival was achieved was in the hands of fate alone.

Darkness fell over the road that the wagons creaked down. Their contents were meant for a certain group of locals, but they wouldn’t be handed over so easily. Promises had been made in return for armaments. Should they be successful, the locals would pledge their loyalty to Chicago. It was certainly a risky business, but one that the regime had appropriated a great deal of resources to be done.

The men that led the wagons stopped under a faded old world stop sign and tied off the reins. Their job had been completed, and now they would have to make the long trek back home on foot.

Within one wagon lay weapons and explosives enough to arm over a hundred men. In the second wagon was enough munitions to supply those men for many days worth of campaigning. It was now in the hands of the local revolutionaries to use the weapons. Tracing the weapons back to their origin would prove difficult considering these guns lacked serial numbers or the name of a manufacturer. Care had been taken to ensure these guns couldn’t be traced. It was a gift. A Gift that would remain nominally anonymous.

* * *

Pro Patria Mori

They were building a railroad.

The General Staff, in their near constant wargames, had discovered a number of empirical lessons about military efficiency. Foremost among these was that an army of this era moved at the speed of its infrastructure. Without roads, railroads, and canals, the finest army on Earth would be unable to maneuver fast enough to bring its power to bear.

And so the nine divisions of the active-duty Commonwealth Army spent most of their time either policing the frontiers, participating in the General Staff's famous wargames, or building infrastructure. In the case of Lieutenant Joshua Redding's platoon, this meant railroads. The narrow-gauge tracks were preferred by the military General Staff so that handcarts or smaller locomotives could be used to move artillery and shells efficiently across difficult terrain.

So that was why a few dozen teenage American soldiers, under the careful watch of older professional officers and NCOs, were working to clear a path in the hilly terrain of Southern Illinois. The standard Great Lakes infantry uniform consisted of a dappled grey wool tunic, visorless helmet, brown trousers, a leather pack, and cowhide marching boots. Given the January cold, most of Redding's men had opted to keep their tunics and helmets on even as they attacked the earth with shovels and picks.

They had left a single man on watch: Frank Dufresne, a corporal from Rutland with three years' total service under his belt, two years as a conscript, one as a professional. Coming from the hills of Rutland Ohio, Dugresne was no stranger to the rough terrain; he had grown up hunting wolves in the forest near the border with West Virginia. And so he noticed immediately the distinctive sound of hooves splashing through the stream down the hill, and when he leaned out from his position at the edge of the platoon's elevated work-site, Frank Dufresne looked to see a rough looking man on horseback staring back up at him through the bare trees.

"Halt!" Dufresne shouted. A second later, the and crack of rifle fire made his warning fruitless. A few yards behind Dufresne, the pick fell from Adam Gontier's fingers, and Gontier followed it to the ground, screaming from a round to his belly.

"To arms!" Joshua Redding shouted. All around, his men dropped their picks and shovels and bolted for the rifles and packs that they had left piled near the half-built railroad track. Dufresne had already taken cover and was returning fire. Soon, a dozen other soldiers dove into cover alongside him, shooting down the hillside from behind trees or bushes or piles of railway ties. And now, as Redding began to consider the possibility that he was witnessing the start of renewed conflict with the Missouri warlords, three reassuring facts presented themselves to Redding.

First: the Great Lakes troops were about one hundred yards from the interlopers, but they were also about fifteen yards higher up on their hill, through an expanse of pine trees. This meant that Joshua and his men could see the interlopers much better than the interlopers could see them. It also meant that it would be difficult for their foe to use their horses' speed and mobility to their advantage.

Second: there were maybe twenty Missouri riders desperately seeking cover in the creek below. Joshua had a full-strength platoon of thirty men. Admittedly, the Great Lakes men were mostly conscripts. However, the Commonwealth conscript had long proved himself a match for anything the warlords and bandits in Missouri could muster. And every rifleman was equipped with an Enfield M1917 rifle, a modern and reliable weapon that was almost certainly superior to whatever these ruffians had.

Third: the Commonwealth Army could be counted among the most progressive fighting forces on the continent. And so Joshua’s platoon did not consist only of riflemen. Since the previous year’s wargames, it now included a weapons team equipped with a Lewis gun.

And so, two minutes after the shooting started, Mitchell Graham and Thomas Pierce got the Lewis set up, and a deadly line of automatic fire swept the Missouri position below. Alongside the gunfire, rolled the war song dating back to the American Civil War: "Oh we'll rally round the flag, boys, we'll rally once again, shouting the battle cry of freedom!"

Three minutes, two thousand rounds of ammunition, and five hand grenades later, Joshua Redding thrust another six round magazine into the breach of his rifle, and then threw up one gloved hand and jerked it up and down. Cease fire. One man at a time, the line of Great Lakes troops fell silent. In the frigid winter air, the boy’s breath smoked alongside their rifles, and their faces were pale and set as the reality of the last five minutes began to sink in. Thomas Pierce made the mistake of looking at Adam Gontier's body, and his hands started to shake as he put a new magazine into the top breach of the Lewis Gun.

"Surrender now!" Joshua’s voice was hoarse in his own ears as he bellowed at the surviving Missouri troops below. "You’ve entered into the sovereign territory of the Great Lakes Commonwealth. Surrender and you’ll keep your lives!"

All Quiet on the Front- IC- OPEN

All Quiet on the Front- IC- OPEN

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