Pallais
Capital City of Caledonia
He stared out the window of the expansive office, looking down one of the main boulevards of the city. A few short years ago, tanks had rolled across this strip of pavement, barreling down the road towards the palace which stood at the other end. That palace was empty now, an abandoned, cordoned-off relic of the monarchy that he had toppled. They had been fools. The Queen had been elderly, incapable of ruling a modern state. Her son was competent, but hampered by a trust in poor advisors. They had deceived the prince and filled their own coffers until the royal treasury had run dry, then fled Caledonia and left their dupes to the rage of the masses.
He had seen the writing on the wall and thrown his support behind the mob. His tanks had crushed the gate of the palace under their treads. The Queen and her daughter had escaped, but the prince had foolishly thought he could appeal to some latent patriotism in the crowd. Instead he had been thrown against the bullet-cratered wall with the rest of the aristocracy and sent on to the next world. Now he, Diego Gaspar Navarro, ruled the Democratic People’s Republic of Caledonia. He had filled the treasury again by playing on the sympathies of the wealthy world. He had given those without jobs employment and pride by drafting them into the military. He had returned to Caledonia the power it had once held.
Only one thing stood in his way: the princess. She remained a threat to him, because she had been beloved before the revolution. Those who chafed under his reign used her name as a shorthand for a hopeful future. As long as she lived, she could mobilize the international community against him and plot a return. The Avonians had given her and her mother sanctuary, and recognized her claim to the throne when the old crone had finally slipped away. Avon was an old empire, left behind by the tides of history. But they could still be a threat. Luckily, a way to deal with both issues had just presented itself.
“The Princess is going to visit Saint Georgia Island.” The other man in the room, wearing a uniform only slightly less elaborate than Navarro’s, repeated the main takeaway of his report. “She’s going to meet with some of the exiles who live on the island, and tour the new facilities the Avonian government built.” General Granger had been another forward-thinking officer, who had helped ensure the success of the revolution by blocking the loyalist elements of the military from coming to the monarchy’s assistance. Navarro had rewarded him with a top post in the new government.
“Prepare the military,” Navarro said as he turned away from the window. “Dig up the old invasion plans. We will accomplish many objectives through this one stroke. Not only will we capture the princess, but we will seize the new airport and harbor.” Saint Georgia Island stood astride major shipping lanes. If Caledonia was to take control of the new airport and harbor that Avon had so thoughtfully constructed for them, they would exert serious influence on the world economy. They would go from a nation not worth mentioning to one that could not be ignored.
“What about Avon?” Granger’s question had merit. Saint Georgia Island had once been a colony of the Kingdom of Avon. It had been stolen from the Caledonian Empire centuries ago. Now it was a part of their Royal Commonwealth. An attack on the island would be an attack on the United Kingdom as well.
“They will do nothing more than shout and stamp their feet.” Navarro had spent years building Caledonia into a power to be feared. He would relish the chance to demonstrate that power against Avon, and strike that fear into the whole world.
Galion
Capital City of Avon
It was raining in the capital, again. The island of Avon was notorious for its gloomy weather - days of cloudless sun were rare even in summer. Prime Minister Richard Pitt had lived in Galion all his life, so the soft patter of raindrops on the windows had long since stopped being something he noticed. It simply faded into the background. If only some of his other problems were so considerate.
One issue he wished would fade into nonexistence was the problem of Saint Georgia Island. The island paradise was a valuable member of the Royal Commonwealth. It provided the United Kingdom of Avon with a key forward operating base in a volatile region of the world. It had been a peaceful place until the bloody revolution had overtaken Caledonia. Now there were Marxists in the mountains, hoping to spread that revolution to the island. Royal Intelligence had begun to gather evidence that Caledonia was supporting the rebels directly with shipments of weapons and supplies. Just last month Pitt had authorized the deployment of a company of paratroopers to the island, to supplement the Royal Marines and the local defense force. The Saint Georgia Island Royal Associators Battalion was more of a social club than a military organization, and the company of Royal Marines that had been stationed on the island had been running themselves ragged trying to keep a lid on the situation.
Pitt knew the Caledonians had designs on the island. It had once been ruled by Caledonia, and that claim was one of the few things the new government had retained from the monarchical period. Pitt had embraced the big projects on the island--expanding the harbor and airport--not only for their economic benefits but also as a message. The first beneficiaries of the larger runway would be the flight of warplanes that had been dispatched to support the counter-insurgency efforts. Hopefully Caledonia would recognize the seriousness of Avon’s commitment to the island and keep its meddling to a level under the table. If they decided to escalate...Pitt went to pick up the phone that connected him to the Ministry of Defense. Maybe it was time to make sure the Royal Navy’s lone aircraft carrier was ready to sail. Just in case.