Knowing this work, the RU would found it and reprogam it for their own use
"What Madness Is This?" Volume I: The Union Forever
- Thread starter Napoleon53
- Start date
THE ANARCHISTS ARE TAKING OVER! CONFOUND THEM!
Drat them! Double-drat them! T H E Y D R I V E M E T O D R I N K.
FIRE OVER PHILLY
FIRE OVER PHILLY
The Wreck of the Tropic Beauty
"No, no, no. This can't be happening!" Sam Bush cried with a voice filled with horror. "What do you mean he has called for a meeting of all the clans?" he asked his secretary, Clark Anderson, a thin man with an impressive set of sideburns.
Anderson leaned with one hand against his boss's mahogany desk, which was so heavily-polished that it was practically a mirror. As Bush buried his face in his hands, Anderson could see it reflected in the desk. It was contorted with distress and an almost animalistic look of sheer panic. Bush ran his shaking fingers through his heavily pomade-slicked, middle-parted hair. His mustache drooped down depressingly and was as equally white as the rest of his hair. The Bank of the Union CEO had earned every strand running the Banking Clan as its unofficial head and spokesman. Even before the clans, the Bank of the Union had been one of the main sources of support during the rise of the Manifest Destiny Party in its infant stages. Sam had been key in managing finances for both the Immolation of Mexico and the Great World War. He had supported Steele because of his long-time friendship with ORRA Supreme Chief George Dewey. Anderson wished he could calm Bush down, but found himself struggling to do so. "Sir, if I may say, this is not necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps he merely wishes to discuss matters of import."
Bush looked up from his misery just long enough to scoff at him. "Bah!" he spat. "Perhaps he wants to line us up against a wall and shoot us! Perhaps he want us drawn and quartered! Tell me, Anderson, why the devil do you think he would call for a meeting of all the clans, something which hasn't been done since he took power? Just to check up on things over a cup of tea and some finger sandwiches?" Bush's mustache twitched and his face turned red as he continued to berate his long-time underling. "For God's sake, man, Steele just had the entirety of Kissimmee arrested last month! What kind of hooplah are you trying to feed me? I'm old but I'm not some dumb mick, Clark."
Anderson took a sip of the coffee he was drinking out a commemorative mug. The mug was celebrating veterans of Lincoln's Hammer. Anderson had fought in the 3rd Maniple, 1st Cohort, 2nd Legion, during the invasion of Quebec. He had seen death and the faces of those who knew they were likely about to die. They didn't look unlike Sam Bush did now. The only difference was the men he saw about to die were young boys in blue and khaki uniforms huddling in a trench whereas Bush wore a plaid three-piece suit and sat in an overstuffed buffalo-hide office chair. Anderson swallowed the coffee; plain black, just as he had drank it in Quebec. "Well, sir, what are your orders? The board will wish to know shortly I am sure." Steadily, he was growing more exasperated with his bosses theatrics.
Bush flashed his increasingly blood-shot eyes at him and answered in a quieter voice, "We'll go to the sit-down. We'll go. But if he's raiding Kissimmee, he could raid any one of us. Any bank, any clan, it doesn't matter. This man is obviously showing the country that he can do whatever he wants whenever he wants. We need to be on guard around the clock. The clans used to govern themselves and the President respected that. If we wanted to play around with numbers or have a few people roughed up, we could, providing we played nice with the government. This... I just don't know." Bush slumped down again. "This man... Steele is insane. He thinks he is some sort of Moses, coming down from the mountain to break the idol. I don't even think he's that religious but I'll be damned if he isn't a moralizing son of a bitch."
Anderson sat his mug down and took off his tortoiseshell glasses, biting the arm as he thought. Raising a bushy brown eyebrow, he asked, "Why do you think that is, Mr. Bush?"
Bush muttered, "He likes to control people. Other than that, I don't know. I don't know. Anderson, have my personal aeroship readied. I want full defensive operations. I don't think Steele is gonna blow us out of the sky in Philly, but I'm not taking the risk of going down without a fight like a bunch of toothless clay pigeons." The grizzled New Jersey titan of capitalism rose from his chair and made steady eye contact with his secretary for the first time in a while, his face growing more determined. "And at any rate, we might answer to the President, but the Banking Clan answers to no one else. We're going to cruise into Philadelphia looking like we could level that den of vipers."
"Sir, couldn't that be viewed as a bit of, shall we say, aggressive posturing to the President?" Anderson picked up his mug and took another sip of the black brew. "I would think he would not appreciate one of the most powerful men in the Union landing in his capital with a small army. Rubicons, and whatnot."
The CEO shook his head, beginning to walk across the dark orange paisley carpet to the office door. He grabbed his fedora and briefcase before turning around in front of a gilt-framed painting of Custer on his wall. "Survival of the fittest, Anderson. Men like Steele only respect power. We're going to showboat. The Banking Clan is strong, Anderson, very strong. We own this country. And if we're marching to our execution, then we're going to go in style, damn it all."
***
The meeting of the clans in Philadelphia was a major event, the likes of which were unseen in almost 15 years. To be sure, there were times when individual or several of the clans would be called in to discuss important affairs on the President's agenda, but this total recall was unheard of. When the Banking Clan flew into Philadelphia airspace, there were already so many sky vessels that it almost blotted out the sun. Every major company in America was converging onto one spot, and with every company CEO came their corporate officers and teams, their secretaries and butlers. It was a sight unseen in the modern era. Sam Bush watched in awe from the observation deck of his personal aeroship, the dark-green Spirit of Hoboken, as the other businessmen were coming in for landings. The Banking Clan was supposed to put down at Crawford Park by Yankee Stadium, but the cluttered airways were making that a long and very tedious process. Many of the nation's top dogs had arrived by car, but the real show-offs of Pinnacle Power were coming in their caravans of aeroships, just like Bush. To the north, Bush could see the Bank of the Main's flagship, Tropic Beauty, coming in, its silver body gleaming in the sunlight like a metal Cuban cigar. It's massive propellers whirred on its aft-end, slowly circling the city just like the Spirit of Hoboken, waiting for clearance to land.
All across Philadelphia, there were giant observation towers staffed by Aeroforce crew to guide the ships down via talkiebox communication. Several smaller aeroships were flanking Bush's ship. These were the Credit to the Country and the Greenback--armored defensive ships to put on the show that Bush had desired. All around them circled the innumerable biplanes and prop-jobs bearing Banking Clan and Bank of the Union insignia. These flew in impressive formations, and the citizens thousands of feet below watched in awe at this show of force and wealth. Bush popped a Go-Go Pep lozenge as he continued to watch the goings on from the large window on the observation deck at the front of the ship. All around him were men in dark green uniforms bearing Bank of the Union insignia moving from switchboard, over to control wheels, and to engine access points, making sure the Spirit of Hoboken was flying high and not dropping like the lead brick it was built like. It was a state of the art vessel, just built in 1926, and it was Bush's favorite thing on earth aside from his wife Flora. He was stressed as stressed could be, but it still made him really proud to see what his wealth could do. Here he was, floating through the skies of the capital of the most powerful nation in the world on what previous generations would not have even dreamed of building. It dwarfed even many of the government patrol aeroships that were also hogging up airspace. The Bankers might have been one clan of many, but they were going to make an impression all right. They were showboating.
However, unfortunately for all involved, it was not going to be the type of impression which was desired. As the Tropic Beauty grew nearer, heading straight toward the Spirit of Hoboken, Bush began to sweat a little. Airspace was tight, but he could imagine no reason as to why such a modern vessel would need to fly so close to his own. It was then that he noticed one of its propellers was not spinning anymore. Odd, thought Bush. That shouldn't be happening. He hoped all was well. That was when, like a wretched ashy finger, black smoke started to trickle across the cloudless blue morning sky. Panic set in immediately. The Tropic Beauty was on fire on the aft end, apparently ablaze in its propeller drive shaft bay. This was bad. This was really bad.
Captain Henry Simmons' voice could be heard over the intercom of the Hoboken as the alarm klaxon roared and red lights flashed. "Alert! Alert! We have a clipped ship inbound! Alert! We have a clipped ship inbound! Everyone to your stations and prepare for evasive maneuvers!" Dozens of Bank of the Union aeromen dashed about in a frenzy of activity. It was like they were going into battle.
The CEO watched in horror as the crew of his ship began to ready parachutes and recited prayers aloud over the din of the klaxon. He himself was quickly handed one of the parachutes by an officer in the bridge. Strapping it on, he began to shake uncontrollably. He had never had to jump out of an aeroship before, and he really didn't want there to be a first time. But as the Tropic Beauty drifted closer and closer despite the Hoboken attempting evasive maneuvers, it was becoming increasingly clear that he would likely being facing his fears today. The airways were simply too stuffed with traffic all about to safely and quickly move out of the way. Overhead were several aeroships carrying the executives of Craig-Jordan Rifles and Rounds, while down below were a sea of supporting Banking Clan ships. It was potentially going to be a massacre. Bush worked hard to swallow. In a few moments, he opened a pouch on the side of the parachute pack and took out a breathing mask in case of fire or fumes. After he donned the mask, he could hear himself breathe, each exhale fogging up the glass eyeholes a bit. The Bank of the Main vessel was drifting even closer and began to list entirely to one side as its props all began to shut down on its larboard end. What had been a smokey finger now was a fountain of black clouds that would put the smokestacks of the Colonel Ford plants in Chersonesus to shame. Visible flames now licked out as well. It was close enough that Bush could see panic-stricken crewmen dashing from one window to another.
About half a minute later, an explosion rocked the Tropic Beauty, sending debris and shrapnel showering down onto the city below. It's aft end was pulverized, all props shutting down. It was going down, but it was still headed toward Bush's ship first. Captain Simmons rushed up to Bush, his brown leather boots clacking against the steel deck of the bridge. "Mr. Bush! Sir!" he cried through his own mask. "If we fire upon the wounded vessel we may be able to save ourselves! But if we don't do something momentarily we are going to have abandon ship! Your orders?!"
Bush breathed in and out several times, contemplating one of the most horrific moments of his entire life. If they didn't fire, there was a huge chance that the Tropic Beauty would hit them head-on. If they used their turrets and grinders and brought it down, they'd be killing fellow Banking Clansmen but would be likely saving themselves. Finally, Bush pointed at the Bank of the Main vessel and said calmly, "Bring it down, Captain."
Within another thirty seconds, a massive barrage erupted from the Spirit of Hoboken. The crew of the Tropic Beauty was already beginning to bail out of their ship before the barrage began, but many were still inside, no doubt being ripped to pieces. Some could even be seen as the bullets hit home, puffs of red mist marking kills. In short order, several more explosions ripped through the ship, sending more shrapnel and corpses falling to the ground far below. Horrified pedestrians dashed for cover, women and children screaming in the streets. At last, the entire ship burst into flames like a lump of dry wood dipped in kerosene, sending it crashing down at high speed. Bush knew that government anti-aircraft guns had realized what was going on and had joined in on the manslaughter. It missed the Spirit of Hoboken by only several hundred yards. Bush wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but he couldn't. This was an absolute catastrophe. Never before had an aeroship crashed in the national capital, let alone one belonging to the Banking Clan. The Tropic Beauty had been carrying Bank of the Main CEO Jeffrey White, second most powerful banker in the entire Union. He could easily be among the dead. Parachutists filled the sky, falling to the earth through the smoke like fallen leaves. The Tropic Beauty crashed into a housing district, setting the neighborhood on fire. However, fire brigades were already on stand-by and they rushed to the scene, alarms ringing out over the screams and explosions.
***
Late that night, Samuel Bush was laying in his bed at the Marigold Hotel in downtown Philadelphia, still trying to stop shaking and still fully dressed in his suit. Though he had funded the deaths of millions, Bush had never seen combat or an emergency situation in person. He had never been near death. It was horrifying. Over 200 men had lost their lives that day in the greatest civilian air disaster in Union history. Jeffrey White's body was found south of Independence Hall, more charred pancake than corpse. Twenty civilians had been killed by the falling debris and actual crash. It was a bloodbath. Bush, a man who had funded genocide, let out a single sob. Then the phone rang.
He dragged himself off the still-made bed and slowly walked over to the phone on the suite coffee table. "Yes, this is Bush. Hello?" he said quietly.
A young man's voice came through on the other end. It was a clear, military-style voice. "Hello, Mr. Bush. All hail. Stay on the line for the President. He wishes to speak with you."
A cold chill ran up Bush's spine at those words. It was the last thing he wanted to do in that place or time or ever, but he dutifully remained on the line. Steele's familiar, unassuming voice could be heard after a few moments. "Hello, Comrade-Patriot Bush. All hail. I trust you are safe?"
Bush forced himself to reply quickly, "All hail, my Atheling. I am fine, thank you, sir. That was... quite the experience earlier. Such a tragedy. Do we know what caused the Tropic Beauty to go down yet?"
Steele let out a soft chuckle. Definitely not what Bush expected or wanted to hear. "I do. I blew it up."
That line caused Sam to almost choke. What on earth could the President have meant? Was he losing his mind? "Sir...?" he reluctantly edged the President on to explain.
Steele said again, "I blew it up! You're welcome, Sam."
"Sir? I don't understand...."
"Hear me out, Sam. Story time. I. Made that ship. Explode. No more Bank of the Main! You're welcome." Steele clearly was telling the truth and was not even batting an eye to admitting he had just committed mass murder of fellow citizens. "You're now the only game in town. Huzzah and all that."
The world started to spin even worse than it had when he thought he was going to die. "You... killed those people? Why? Sir? What is going on?"
Steele continued in a matter-of-fact voice, "I am, how you say, consolidating things. Trimming the fat, as it were. And Bank of the Main had been naughty little boys with their taxes last couple years. Now, I could have just raided Bank of the Main's offices and done it that way, but I am a big fan of chance. Or, I should say, I am quite interested in natural selection and I want only the strongest man in charge of something so invaluable as the Banking Clan. So I tested you. I wanted to see if you would kill to survive. It was a hell of a thing, waiting to see if you would actually bring that ship down to save yourself. But you did it. You lived. Thursday, when we convene at Yankee Stadium, I will announce I am formally handing over all Bank of the Main assets to Bank of the Union. You will be the undisputed national bank. No competition. This will be tremendous for the economy."
"Sir, with all due respect...." Sam trailed off, growing short of breath and biting his tongue from saying something that could probably get him a firing squad.
"Yes?" Steele pressed him, his content, almost cheery tone of voice now taking an edge. "Comrade-patriot, be careful what you say to me."
Bush felt his body go numb. "Sir, with... all due respect... thank you."
Steele chuckled once more. "That's the spirit! I'll see you Thursday, my good man. Chin up, you have been chosen by fate! You're going to do great things, Patriot-Comrade Bush. All hail!"
After he returned the salute, Steele hung up on him. Bush slowly leaned against the wallpapered hotel room wall and let himself slide to the floor, still clutching the receiver. "My God," he murmured to himself. "He's a fucking maniac."
That the name of the Presidents sextape
(I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself)
Banking Clan President George H. W. Bush shows off his patriotism with a fun jacket at his Fourth of July Extravaganza.
The Banking Clan's RUBCS (Republican Union Banking Clan Ship) Samuel Bush aircraft carrier is joined in it's carrier formation by the RUBCS Toledo Stinger, RUBCS Greenback, RUBCS Liberty, and the RUBCS Fastball. The Banking Clan has the largest private navy on Earth.
Banking Clan soldiers prepare to airdrop over hostile territory in South America
I would imagine that around the rest of the world they would be opposed on Biblical/Quranic grounds, but in the RU it would be like ancient Rome or Greece, namely its tolerated, so long as you still have children with the opposite sex. gotta spread that pinnacle seed after all!
Homophobia wasn't really a concept in the Greco-Roman world, the basic aversion to same-sex intimacy was just dependent on if you were on top or bottom, so maybe the RU is just bottom-phobic
Sexual Marxism will change all that. Every person in their place! On another note, a expanded universe entry mentioned William Moulton Marston and got me thinking. I don't think BDSM as an acronym will exist in the Union, but could see a similar concept arise as "Sexual Darwinism", working somewhat in tandem and preceding Sexual Marxism in the same way *Darwinism predated Scientific Marxism. Just as *Darwinism is "the weak exist to test the strong", Sexual Darwinism could arise to explain power differentials in intimate relationships. Hell Marston could develop it instead of DISC Theory to make a comeback from his firing.
Thinking on it a more authoritarian explicitly sexualized version DISC works just as well, and "Sexual Darwinism" could be a discriptive title used to help sell it to Union Academia. I'm not sure, what do you all think?
Pecuniate obediunt omnia!!
Also I have found a national motto for Holy Nippon:
A solis ortus cardine: "From Eastern Lands that First See the Sun."
(I'll post more and answer PMs later guys; gotta get back to work, alas).