I for one would love to see the Loomies become something like that! It would add flavor and nuance to this already spicy Madness recipe!
"What Madness Is This?" Volume I: The Union Forever
- Thread starter Napoleon53
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I for one would love to see the Loomies become something like that! It would add flavor and nuance to this already spicy Madness recipe!
THE THING ON THE DOORSTEP
THE THING ON THE DOORSTEP
Supreme Marshal Ambrose Jansen, circa Operation Manifest Climax
Supreme Marshal Ambrose Jansen, circa Operation Manifest Climax
Ambrose Jansen sighed as he pulled up to his mansion in the suburbs of Philadelphia. It was half-past midnight, November 1, 1936. He had just sat at the right hand of Joe Steele at the Union Banquet Hall, observing National Thanksgiving in the face of incredible debacles unfolding across the Caribbean and Panama. Tomorrow he would be back at the slog in the situation room of the Capitol Building. He would smoke multiple packs of cigarettes and he would imbibe frequently. He would curse and blaspheme. He would pound his fist into the tables like a jackhammer. Orderlies and advisors would frown at his manners. What had once been a noble Southron gentleman, hero of the Great World War, was reduced to a lump of quivering, shaking flesh by the unbelievable military disasters caused by the Neutrality League. He buttoned up his wool overcoat to be ready to brace against the wind as his Rollarite pulled up to the gate of his estate.
The black iron gate doors, some twelve feet tall, swung open as rain drizzled overhead. The tips of the bars came to razor-like points, intended to ward off trespassers, spies, and assassins. The entire estate was encircled by a massive brick wall topped with iron spikes, which didn't help to make the Lincoln-era five story mansion any less foreboding perched on the hill some 100 yards beyond the entrance to the property, where the Rollarite idled as his driver waited for the doors to stop moving. The antique gaslights that hung on the hands of angelic gargoyles to either side of the monstrous gate were also a tad bit eerie in the midnight rain, and the soldier operating the door controls looked rather miserable and wet. It was quite chilly out, and guard duty in November rain wasn't the Cuban Front, but it wasn't the most fun to be had. Another guard in an olive drab raincoat stood guard stood on the opposite side of the gate, clutching a rifle as his eyes, shining in the moonlight and gaslights, peaked out from under his pot helmet. The gates finally swung open. The guard with the rifle motioned for the Rollarite to proceed.
The Supreme Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic watched the statues and gardens pass by out his window as the autocarriage sped to the mansion. He glanced over at his wife of thirty years. Susie was bundled up in a stole made from the finest furs from Keybeck. The flame of true romance had died long ago, but he still cared for her. They had been through a lot together, not the least of which was a world war. But the disasters unfolding in the current war had been putting an even bigger strain on their relationship.
"Susie," Jansen said in quiet tone, "Are you okay?"
His wife looked back at him, smiling slightly. "Yes, the dinner was excellent. President Steele delivered a charming speech. Your toast was well-delivered as well, dear."
Jansen smiled back. He been the second to offer a toast to President Steele and the War Effort, directly following that mystical cripple Patton. Patton had been smug. The ongoing boondoggles made any chance of Steele picking Jansen as a successor in the eventuality of Patton's demise or dismissal nonexistent, unless the war suddenly completely turned around and victory was quickly achieved. Since Steele had so abruptly ordered a takeover of South America in 1931, Jansen had been the one to water and grow the flower of conquest. It had been Jansen who had assured Steele that all was well before the surprise attack. It had been his trusted adjutant, General Stanley Dale, who had turned traitor, defiling his Pinnacle Blood, sold out the war plans to the League and enabled their preemptive strike on Cuba. Dale had disappeared while on a "fishing trip" near Panama a few days before the attack on Port Pierce, no doubt having been whisked away by his Colombian handlers. Jansen's smile faded quickly as the depressing gravity of the situation sank in once more. "Are you tired, dear?" he asked Susie.
She nodded, her thick gray hair bobbing slightly as she did. "Quite. I am getting a bit old for these large events and flights zipping me to and from all in one day. It really takes it out of you. We're not getting any younger, Ambrose."
The car pulled up and stopped in front of the house. A butler gingerly opened the front door while another stood ready to take their coats. They got out of the Rollarite and proceeded up the gray stone portico to the doorway, thanking their servants. A rush of warm air filled their lungs. The furnaces were on. It did their old bones good.
"You know, dear, I have been meaning to talk to you about that matter," said Jansen.
Susie looked over at him as she removed the strapped high heels from her stocking feet and sighed. She raised an eyebrow. "About us not getting any younger?"
He nodded and his face took on a look of surrender. "Yes... I have been strongly considering handing the President my retirement notice. I think... I think it's time. I'm not what I once was, and I feel that I am bringing more shame than honor upon my name by further continuing to lead our misadventure in South America."
She looked very concerned. He was occasionally grim but never this depressed or defeated. He was a strong Southron Pinnacle Man, always headstrong and confident, but she could see how badly the last few weeks had leveled him. "You don't believe in our inevitable conquest, darling? Jehovah has always brought us victory, even during the darkest days of the last war."
He looked down at the black and white tiled floor and shook his head glumly. "I don't believe I will be the one to lead us to that victory. While I'm sure Jehovah provides for us, sometimes it is through the narrow path, not the wide, that the Righteous Man must trod. It isn't an easy decision, but I think I've made up my mind. I'll go see the President tomorrow and hand him my resignation. We can retire away from the public eye and one day, when this damned war is over and won, I can write my memoirs and heap praise upon my younger self and beg for forgiveness for my strategic mind in my old age."
They hadn't been intimate in years, or even very affectionate beyond "dear" and "darling," but Susie stepped over to him and wrapped her arm around the back of his head, running her fingers through his stern-looking military haircut. "Ambrose, it will be all right. You have served your country with more honor and with more courage than any man alive, save maybe the President himself. Just because one of your generals betrayed his country and sold off your war plans doesn't mean you failed. You are trying to make the best of a bad situation that would be an Atlas-like burden for any man of pure fluidation. But if you think it is right, then I will support you. You've lived life your way, and I know you always will, darling."
He smiled softly and kissed her forehead. "All these years, and occasionally I still see that girl I met in Elyton so long ago."
She giggled quietly and kissed his cheek. "I can still remember you thinking you were the cock of the walk, straddling that obnoxious big-wheeled bicycle."
"Hey, those were all the rage, I can assure you, Miss Walters." Ambrose laughed his first genuine laugh in weeks. She hugged him tightly and rested her head against the five pounds of brass that was pinned to his jacket.
A knock came at the front door a moment later. Ambrose had heard the sound of an engine out front but had figured it for a servant leaving for the day. Perhaps it was a visitor. Most likely an urgent update about the war. He sighed. The pounding grew louder and he forced himself to push his wife away, like he always found himself doing. She looked disheartened but not surprised. "I'm sorry, dear. It's probably something important. Damned war."
The knocking grew louder and a butler briskly walked to the door. He swung it open just as lightning lit up the midnight sky. On the threshold, he expected to see a messenger boy with a telegram in hand or an officer holding a file with pressing information within. Instead he saw the odd silhouette of a wheelchair in the lightning's flash, flanked on either side by imposing young men.
"Oh... George. Pleasure, but what on earth are you doing out this time of night in my neck of the woods, man? Do come in and warm up!" he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. In reality, he would have rather Satan himself stomped through his manor than the odd, bizarre cripple before him.
Patton smiled, his teeth clenched around a cigar. "Thank you, Ambrose! It's a right bit damn nippy out there, yessiree!" the ORRA Supreme Chief's voice boomed as the two men pushed his wheelchair over the threshold with great speed. Ambrose knew they would have done the same regardless of his invitation or not. If the Supreme Chief of ORRA showed up at your porch in the middle of the night, it was probably not a great sign of fun things to follow. Patton was probably there to discuss war strategy. He was a notable insomniac and high energy individual as well as a practiced back-seat driver for tactics that the Supreme Marshal was supposed to be in charge of.
"What can I do for you, George?" Jansen asked with a weak false smile plastered on his face. What made him uncomfortable was that Patton's smile seemed extremely sincere. When George Patton was happy someone else was probably not going to be happy ever again.
Patton puffed away on his cigar as his ORRA adjutants brushed the raindrops off his chair and trenchcoat. Jansen's butler awkwardly assisted as well. "Mind if we step into your den, Ambrose? I'd like to warm up a bit in front of your fireplace and tell you some news." Susie coughed awkwardly, bringing herself to his attention. Patton's head turned like an owl to her direction, where she stood by the spiral stairway banister. "Miss Jansen! Do give us the honor of your company as well! The news will be of interest to you, too."
The group proceeded through the hallway toward the main den area and the roaring fireplace therein. All along the blue-and-white papered walls hung various portraits of historical figures and family members of the distant past, including Ambrose's father Wilkerson Jansen II, Virginian commander during the Great War. Further down was a mighty boar head, hunted down in Texas in 1909. The swine had taken a gouge out of Jansen's left leg, giving him his permanent limp. After that were dozens of photographs taken during the Great World War of Jansen leading the Dixie Legions of Army Group V, prior to his installation as Supreme Marshal.
"Quite a life you've lived, old boy," Patton said as he took passing glances at the hallway museum's artifacts as he rolled along the dark red rug that ran the length of the oak floor, drops of rain still pattering the floor.
Jansen sighed and replied, "Yes, indeed. Haven't we all. Every day has been quite the adventure. A Pinnacle Man's life is never dull."
"Blessing and a curse!" Patton said in his gravelly voice. "Yessiree, you're a regular character out of the pulps. You done good, Ambrose. Lovely wife, lovely life, and a lovely home. That's the life to live. Wouldn't mind living here myself, by gum."
"Thank you, George," said Ambrose as they strolled into the den. A butler stoked the flames and then placed the iron poker back in its place. A buffalo head hung high on the brickwork over the mantle. On the mantle was an array of objects from across Jansen's life. At the dead center, next to a framed letter from President Custer, was his original kepi he had first worn upon enlisting in the military so many years before. Next to that was his father's wide-brimmed gray hat with a majestic red plume of the Virginian cavalry. Patton pulled up to the fireplace and began to warm his hands. The two officers stood at either side of the fireplace, arms behind their backs, faces dull and expressionless. "So what's the matter you came to discuss, good man?"
Patton laughed. "Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to share with you some intelligence I have about the situation in Cuba."
Jansen nodded, unsurprised. He plopped down in the overstuffed leather chair across from Patton and said, "Do tell, old boy."
Patton's smile immediately vanished, leaving only the squint-eyed, pale scowl Ambrose was all too used to. "Or I should say... my lack thereof."
Ambrose poured a glass of scotch into a tiny glass on the endtable next to him and took a sip before simply replying, "Pardon, George?" Susie looked uncomfortable and sat on the next nearest chair to Ambrose's right.
Patton turned slightly in his chair, his jackboots sliding off the footrests. His scowl turned into a look of rage as he explained the source of his aggravation. "I lost valuable intelligence. Thanks to you. You killed my boys, Ambrose."
Shocked and distraught, the Supreme Marshal almost dropped his glass of scotch. "Pardon me, George? What the devil are you talking about?"
Patton pointed a meaty finger at Jansen and continued. "My boys brought us intel. They survived the attack on Cuba, where their unit fought under circumstances that made victory impossible. And you had them executed like dogs, Ambrose, like a bunch of cotton-pickin' dogs, man."
Ambrose suddenly recalled ordering their executions. He had expected every ORRA unit to fight to the death. That was the example they were supposed to set as "America's Finest." "I understand what you are talking about now, George, but I assure you I did not do anything you would not do yourself! You've always expressed belief that every ORRA man should fight to the death and go down with his unit rather than surrender or run."
Patton raised an outstretched hand not in salute but to hush the Supreme Marshal of the Grand Army of the Republic up like a misbehaving child. "Plot twist, Ambrose, but those were designated survivors, you Southron piece of trash."
"I'm sorry, what do you mean?" Ambrose's and Susie's faces turned white as sheets. This was not going as expected.
Patton explained. "Every ORRA unit draws lots every week. The 'lucky' winners are to escape enemy capture or death at all cost to deliver valuable intelligence. Those men you had shot were 'lucky winners,' man. They were supposed to run, you fool."
Ambrose stood up from his chair, fists clenched. "None of this information was brought to me. I had no idea of your units practicing this tactic, and I will not be held responsible for executing cowards."
"Those were my boys, you Virginian, slaving bastard!" Patton bellowed, his eyes bulging out of their sockets and the veins popping along his forehead. Susie sank even further into her chair, quivering in fear.
"Don't you insult the memory of my family, George! Not in my house! We fought with honor for Old Virginia and we gladly fought for the Union! My father did more in his life than you do in a thousand years in that chair, you ignorant cripple. And if it would please you, you may be the first to know that I was already planning to submit my resignation to the President tomorrow! Then you shall never have to step foot in this slaving Virginian bastard's house ever again. Correction: I should have said wheel, since your feet don't really step, do they, 'Pinnacle Man?'"
An officer behind them moved with clockwork precision and without any warning, striking Jansen in the spine with the still-hot fireplace poker. Jansen let out a howling scream as he hit the floor, barely keeping himself up on the palms of his hands. "What the hell are you doing?!"
Patton laughed as Susie screamed in horror. "Teaching you a lesson, Jansen. President Steele send his regards. We came here to purge you, Ambrose. From the moment I rolled through that door on this damn chair, I came here to kill you. Not only did you kill my boys but you fucked up the whole shebang of this whole damn war, Ambrose. You let the President down for the last damn time, Southron."
"I'll have you shot for this, you piece of shit!" Jansen suddenly rose to his feet and lunged at Patton, his hands closing about the ORRA Supreme Chief's throat. Gurgling and wretching, hands flailing wildly, Patton's already wild-eyed frenzy reached a new zenith. But within two seconds, the ORRA man struck Jansen in the spine once more with the poker. The aging Supreme Marshal hit the floor once again, falling onto his side. He could feel blood soaking the back of his uniform. He watched as the second ORRA man raised a service pistol and blasted Susie in the head, point blank. Blood and brain matter sprayed the floor. Tears filled Ambrose's eyes as his wife of over 30 years sat dripping in her own blood in his father's old smoking chair. In the background of it all, he could hear that front door being kicked in. Rather than his personal guards coming to save him, it was a squad of ORRA troopers, moving room to room to exterminate the staff. Ambrose whimpered as the ORRA officer with the poker kicked him onto his back.
The officer was a large young black man, he now noticed for the first time. "My grandfather sends his regards, comrade-patriot!" the negro shrieked, bringing the poker down upon the Supreme Marshal. Jansen's last thoughts were of his son Ambrose II, and his beautiful grandchildren. Another tear ran down his face as he knew what would happen to them. The negro proceeded to cave Jansen's head in with the tool until the iron almost broke. Shaking with rage, he finally brought the poker down into Jansen's chest. Blood gushed all over the five pounds of brass and ribbons.
Patton smiled and recovered himself from Jansen's attack as he looked at the Supreme Marshal's corpse lying before the flickering flames. "Such a nice house, Jansen. I think I will be quite happy here, once I get the stains scrubbed out."
Supreme Chief George Patton enjoys some time off in the privacy of his spacious new Lincoln era estate in the suburbs of Philadelphia (photo taken Patriot-Saints Day Eve, 1936).
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This has to be one of the biggest 'oh, shit' moments ever. Poor Ambrose, though. I hope at least his son will be fine.
Best case: his remaining family end up in a camp. Quite a fall from glory. Interesting to think about, since his family probably goes back to Pilgrim days.
That chapter, penned in the middle of the night, had some of the best dialogue I've ever written, I think. It was interesting because he is actually a loyal American patriot, even though he's still a mass-murderer. Unlike other higherups he doesn't seem to question the system till the very end. He's just doing his job as best as he can and totally thinks he's a good guy and he wants to reconnect with his wife and has struggles. Another interesting aspect is that Jansen was quite vocal about calling for McClellan's dismissal when he grew too old and incompetent, so wanting to resign shows he has a sense of honor and stands by his beliefs. And then good old George shows up and beats him to death in the name of the President who Jansen got the entire Grand Army of the Republic to support during the Rise of Steele. Jansen believed in the Pinnacle Man Theory his whole life, and based his decisions on natural selection, only to be killed by a cripple in the middle of the night in his own house.
Yeah, this is going to horribly backfire.
Good military comanders are either going to be purged by Steele for insane reasons or be too afraid of Steele's wrath to properly lead the war effort.
I also wonder if Patton's actions could cause a split between the regular army and the ORRA: after all i doubt that the RU's generals particpularly enjoys Patton's constant meddling in their affairs (also it is pretty clear that nobody likes him, including Uncle Joe)and regular troops may resent ORRA's men for their priviliges (like the fact some of them can escape from the battlefield without being shot afterwards).
Maybe this split will allow Oswald to start his rise to power, considering he was a war hero in the original version.
Almost feel sorry for the Jansens. Almost. Ambrose strikes as the “honourable man living in a dishonourable world” tragedy kind of character. Then again, this is Madness and no one gets a happy ending.
Wonder what how Army/ORRA relations will fare when they find out their leader has been purged. Might see a rise in fraggings on ORRA officers. And Patton and his wheelchair really need to follow in the Goodyear’s footsteps and have a nice long trip off something very high
Wonder what how Army/ORRA relations will fare when they find out their leader has been purged. Might see a rise in fraggings on ORRA officers. And Patton and his wheelchair really need to follow in the Goodyear’s footsteps and have a nice long trip off something very high
HOW DO YOU KEEP MANAGING TO MAKE ME FEEL SYMPATHY FOR PEOPLE WHO WOULD WANT TO MURDER ME.
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"Now the news from Uncle Sam's Talkiebox station. FLASH! The nation mourns the loss of Ambrose Jansen, one the nation's highest military leaders and veteran of numerous conflicts. The General was found dead this morning in his mansion, he was found beaten to death by his guards after he murdered his wife and several staff members. ORRA announces they will investigate the situation. The Office of the President issued a statement calling the crime "A Shocking Loss to the nation."..."
It's possible that I missed some development, but that doesn't seem right, given that:
If anything, I expect Patton to continue to be supported by Steele well past the time that he becomes massively detrimental to the RU.
One of the previous updates revealed that Patton wants to find the Fountain Of Youth to overthrow Steele and be the immortal dictatpr of the RU. It is also revealed that Steele already knows this.
A direct quote:
"Patton thought that if he could bathe himself in the Fountain's waters and regain the vigor of his youth, he could topple Steele and take his place as the Eternal President of America, using the magickal power of the Fountain to keep himself forever young. Steele actually knew this, and he found the idea immensely entertaining. The President was so dismissive of any such Fountain of Youth, and of Kirkism in general, that he "let Patton have his fun." As long as the Supreme Chief kept purging anti-Steele elements and kept Project Percival running smoothly, Steele cared not for his silly quests to find mythical civilizations that never existed in the first place."
I somehow completely missed the Project Fountain chapter. You're right and I apologize.
Either this or the RU's government will simply cancel every proof of his existence from all photos, documents and medias in the country.
And one of the few honorable men in the RU brass dies. A real damn shame, even if he did work for a horrid regime. Seems like the kinda guy who'd buy a young trooper a beer and tell him awesome war stories. Ambrose Jansen, we hardly knew ye. I wonder who will be taking over the war?
Use his death as an excuse to purge “Neutrality subversives and collaborators” first then scrub him from history when no one is looking
Ooh, wow. You know, "Stalinist purges" often bring to mind a show trial, character assassinations in the press, very formal procedures... This was some cartel shit. And you know they're not even scared of public opinion anymore-- no matter what story is pushed out to explain Jansen's death and why no one gets to see his corpse, even the people of Ol' Virginny itself are gonna know it's punishment for fucking up. They'll take it in stride as something that just kinda happens to Men who aren't Pinnacle enough.