"What Madness Is This?" Volume I: The Union Forever

[Napoleon53]

CHAPTER 48
WE SHALL COME REJOICING

On my honor I will do my duty to my Headmaster-Marshal, Country, President,
and Heavenly Father.
I will obey the Law of the Union and be faithful to the
Everlasting Pledge of the Custer Youth Brigade.
I will help my countrymen at any time and I will keep myself strong
physically, mentally, and spiritually.
May this Everlasting Pledge be witnessed as an eternal bond
between myself and the Brigade.
May this bond of sacred honor stand forever and ever,
until my bones are dust and my soul is risen to Heaven.
Amen and All Hail!

-Everlasting Pledge of the Custer Youth Brigade
​

The culture of America at the turn of the century was one riding high on victory. The 1800s were behind them, and a new era had dawned. The days of the Old Republic and the Great Shatter were behind them. In its place was order, security, and stability. Custer was a rock, immovable and all-powerful. But his benevolent rule to the Betters of Society and the Manifest Destiny Party's ever-growing propaganda campaign against Inferiors and foreigners made the average American unable to even imagine a world where it could be any other way. To accept Inferiors or foreigners as equals was blasphemy, and most did not even have memories of the days before the AFC and its meteoric rise to become America's largest religion. Slowly, one year at a time, the old generations were dying out. The youth had no recollection of the days before President Custer. Thanks to unending waves of propaganda, America was drowning in patriotism and hubris. Those who opposed Custer or the Party were ruthlessly suppressed and "reeducated." With the advent of the radio, or talkiebox as Americans liked to call it, a wireless device for receiving broadcasts from stations equipped with massive signaling towers. The Union had been the foremost innovator in this field, realizing the massive potential for propaganda uses. Caesar was also quite interested, and Europa's research invented the same sort of devices around this same time. Using this new tool, Custer was able to reach right into the living rooms of every American.

Even in the formerly stubbornly traditional Old South, the memory of independence was fading. While millions still longed to throw off Northern oppression, most settled into a quiet complacency. Those who spoke out were arrested and dealt with. Black Southrons were also fiercely devout members of the AFC Church and loathed the supporters of Southron independence movements like the White League. And in the swamplands of Mississippi Delta and the bayous of New Antioch, a new culture was beginning to appear. Blacks who had no memory of slavery or taskmasters, but who still worked menial jobs, barely scraping by. Instead of blaming the government, they blamed the devil, and an extreme version of AFC superstition crossed with voodoo from blacks who fled Europan Hispaniola was rapidly gaining popularity. But among these poor and downtrodden would come the first of the Old Masters, as they would later be called. Following the growing popularity of the phonograph as a replacement for the beeswax cylinder player, prerecorded music was becoming much more widely available, even to the poor. In the "Equal North," many black singers and performers were huge hits, singing hymns, doing comedy shows, and playing instruments. The first recording released in America on a phonographic disc was "The Battle Cry of Freedom," by the Chersonesus Five, a white church group. The second disc, or record, was "When the Saints Come Marching In," by the New Antioch Quartet, an all-black group from the poorest non-Inferior neighborhood of former New Orleans.

By 1901, the "New Antioch Sound" was the driving force in black popular music, and its appeal to white Northerners was not to be ignored. Thousands of young black men formed their own bands and groups, and some performed solo, desperately trying to make it big in the new recording industry. Overnight, it had seemed, the popularity of black music had become a gateway to the North. Most fizzled quickly, never more than a blip in history, but a few became legends, such as the New Antioch Quartet and the soulful harmony of the Reverend Jed Jones. But in the broader sense of things, these recordings were mostly just Southron spirituals pressed into shellac, not revolutionary or world-shaking.

That would change in 1902, when a young black man gave birth to a new sound. History would never be the same. His name was John Tobias Green, known to the world as Johnny Greenback, a reference to the Union relief currency that came to help freed slaves begin a new life after the Emancipation. Greenback was a laborer for Goodyear Air & Rail in New Antioch, and was 20 years of age in 1902. He was well-liked by all his coworkers, even most of the whites, and he had a way of befriending the white men his own age and earning their respect, even if their fathers had owned men like Greenback's father. But aside from helping to build aeroship frames and the like, Greenback was passionate about music from a young age, when he would listen to the static-filled hiss of cylinders of his mother's prized player. He would sing in his AFC Church choir and picked up guitar from a deacon there. But he was eyed as being rather funny by his fellow churchgoers, and his way of singing their spirituals and hymns was a little "over-the-top," as one parishioner said of him. But on June 4, 1902, Johnny Greenback took his guitar to a local recording shop which manufactured shellac records and paid a whole dollar, a fortune in those times, to cut his own. He wore his best Sunday suit and boater hat and sat on a stool in front of a rather cumbersome microphone setup. The recording shop owner was wanting to hurry up and finish his shift when he blown away by Greenback and his incredible style.

I'm gonna move to Iowai,
Gonna move to Iowai.
When I walk out that door
you're gonna cry.
Cry, cry, cry.

I'm gonna move to Iowai.
Gonna move to Iowai.
I'm gonna get on that skyship, mama
and be long gone by dawn
My, my, my.​

This seemingly childish set of lyrics was like many of the work songs at Goodyear Air & Rail, but there was something in the way Greenback sang and played it that was different. The worker pressed a second copy for his boss to hear. Almost immediately, Old Kinderhook Phonograph Recordings signed Greenback to their label to record more songs. When asked in an interview with the New Antioch Tribune what he would call his style of music, Greenback replied, "Well, it ain't New Antioch Sound, that's for sure. I reckon you could call it the blues, because I sing it when I get home from building them skyships for Goodyear, and I feel real low-down from workin' hard in the sun all day. My mama always called feelin' low like that the blues. So I reckon my music is the blues."

Johnny Greenback, Father of the Blues​

This first blues recording was immediately popular with blacks all over the country and with Northern whites. However, what would come next was shocking. Suddenly, in the white neighborhoods of former slave-owners, their children were buying Greenback's records. Before long, Greenback was the biggest celebrity in New Antioch. This did not sit well with the white parents, however, and trouble was brewing. In the late summer months of 1902, a live performance in McClellan Park in New Antioch was interrupted by white men dressed in old Southron uniforms and declaring they were there to "stop that nigger music." Almost instantly, violence broke out. The most interesting thing to come of this situation was that some of the rioters on the blacks side were young white laborers who couldn't stand the old "Plantation Society" and were loyal Union supporters. About ten minutes into the riot, a gun was fired. Greenback fled as more gunshots rang out. Before police could arrive on the scene, three whites and five blacks lay dead on the ground of the public park. By the time the police did arrive, it was already too late. The violence had spread and all over the city whites fought blacks and pro-black whites in the streets. The Great Antioch Race Riot was underway.

Governor Silas Harrison quickly saw the situation was spiraling out of control and quickly ordered in reinforcements from Fort Davis, Mississippi, to the north. Ten thousand RUMP officers descended on New Antioch, reinforcing local constables and the RUMP garrison already overwhelmed with mayhem. For several weeks, violence was widespread and white supremacists violently assaulted blacks. It had started over music, but had now become one of the last great dying breaths of the old Southron aristocracy. General Tiberius Smith was responsible for quelling the uprising, and he had hundreds of men sent to the killing fields of the Mexican desert, never to be seen again. But though this might have been the end of the final "battle" for Southron independence of any sort, the White League would strike back in the face of total defeat. Johnny Greenback was gunned down in front of his home on December 1, 1902. It was known at the time as the "Night the Music Died." But it was anything but. Though it would be a few years before another blues singer would have such fame as Johnny Greenback, his death only secured his place as a martyr and father of the blues.

This sort of race war was the last thing Custer needed. He was anticipating a possible great world war on the horizon, and this was distracting and worrisome. He feared that there would always be Southron radicals passing their old ways down to future generations. But earlier that same year, he began talking to Thomas Edison, Supreme Chief of the Education Department, about coming up with a way to "reeducate" every single Southron child and to make sure they would never be susceptible to revolutionary or anti-government thoughts. That was when Theodore Roosevelt stepped in and pitched an idea to Custer and Edison for a "youth organization" to make being patriotic and pro-government popular with children of all regions. Roosevelt said, "We can wash their minds of impurity at school and at church, but we cannot prevent their parents from peddling falsehoods to their little minds. As roaches beget roaches, so do dissidents beget dissidents. America's children need discipline and to be taught to obey God and President, no matter what season, no matter what their place in life, no matter their age. I originally had envisioned a sort of "summer school" more focused on patriotism than learning skills, but decided this to be too small a vision. I have now arrived upon the idea of great youth movement, mandatory for all able-bodied children. This movement would be draped in the flag and carrying a Cross. This movement would make each child feel wanted and appreciated, and enable them to see they are part of a larger whole. A fascist phalanx of children. A brigade of loyal citizens. Just as it is the parents' responsibility to turn out good children, it is the state's responsibility to turn out good citizens. It is imperative and, quite honestly, our moral duty, for us to keep our youth pure and devoted to the motherland."

Custer was skeptical, and feared parents might turn on him, at least a small number. Finally, though, Roosevelt came up with the name "Custer Youth Brigade," knowing a little flattery made Custer accept anything, and the creation of the organization was approved. At first membership was voluntary and the Brigade was made out to be a sort of social and athletic club for children ages 10 to 18 to exercise, learn useful skills, and develop character. It became a fad for parents to sign their children up for the Brigade and a tax cut was awarded for every child per household that was signed up. Membership boomed. On July 4th, 1902, the Custer Youth Brigade had its first rally. In a huge event in Philadelphia, almost one million members gathered and held the biggest rally in the history of mankind up to that point. It was christened the "Youth Brigade Jamboree." Following the debacle in New Antioch and the ensuing Southron uprising, Custer ordered that the Brigade be mandatory for every able-bodied Better child. What Custer truly desired now was a government brainwashing paramilitary to indoctrinate children so thoroughly, they'd report their own parents for saying anything subversive.

Flag of the Custer Youth Brigade

Brigadiers at the First Annual Custer Youth Brigade Jamboree​

Custer Youth parade past Headmaster-Marshal Roosevelt

Virginian CYB troopers pose for a photo, circa 1905​

Adopting the motto "Ab Ordine Libertas," meaning "From Order, Liberty," the now-mandatory Custer Youth Brigade began to take on a much more militant tone. Parents were given a year to sign their child up or provide an excuse as to why they hadn't, but members began bullying the children who weren't apart of the "the movement" they had begun to take more and more seriously as it grew. As 17 year-old Westsylvania Brigadier George Patton said at a rally in Charleston, "This is no social club. This is no athletic organization. And above all it's not a school. It's a movement. A movement of America's youth toward a brighter future. When I first joined, I struggled to read and write and spent most of my time hanging around miscreants and urchins. I was moving through life stunted and backward. In just the past year since I joined the Brigade, I have been made to feel as if I were a part of something greater than myself. I no longer struggle to read or write well. I am in the top of my class. And I thank the Brigade for this. No matter who you are or where you're from, every Better child has a place in the Custer Youth Brigade. This Brigade is hardly even a movement... because honestly, it's family. All hail the Custer Youth Brigade! All hail the President! And all hail the Republican Union!"

By 1903, the children were receiving training with rifles and handguns as part of a "firearms safety course," and they were being taught that in the event of a catastrophic war against the foreign hordes, they would be the last line of defense for the New Jerusalem. The Brigade had suddenly become a paramilitary reserve force. The CYB issue guns had special emblems emblazoned on the stock and engraved in the metal (this was to prevent their use for illegal purposes). This drastic change was not welcomed by some parents, who saw the Brigade for what it really was. But in just the short time it had been around, the Brigade had so thoroughly brainwashed their children they dared not even to talk about it. Instead, all over America, those not completely loyal to the government had to endure everyday life with a half-pint uniformed fascist soldier living in their house and eating dinner with them. To help reinforce the idea of the Brigade, new crime statistics showed there was a massive drop in youth-related crime and grades were higher than they had ever been at any point in history. The Brigade worked. Too well. Singing "Bringing in the Sheaves" as they marched through the streets, rifles in hand, the CYB had become one of the most useful tools at the government's disposal. The Custer Youth Brigade would raise up the next generation of American patriots. And it would be these children who, as young adults some years later, would be called upon to fight the Great War....

Headmaster-Marshal Roosevelt

Brigadiers on guard duty during an Indian insurrection in Dakota, circa 1904​

​

 

[Napoleon53]

CHAPTER 49
THE RISE OF HENRY FORD AND THE ECONOMIC CLAN SYSTEM

​

Some people believe in a balance of cosmic energy, a sort of "ying-yang" philosophy. These people say that there is a constant flow of karma through the universe, and many of these same people believe in reincarnation of the eternal soul. While Henry Ford was already 37 by the time of Charles Goodyear I's passing, he might as well have been his reincarnation. Truly, the same spirit of innovation and despotic control that kept Goodyear's heart pumping for a century also flowed through the Chief Technical Officer of Colonel Goodyear Enterprises. Henry Ford was virtually an adopted son and apprentice of Goodyear, and this incensed Charles Goodyear II. Some had even said that the elderly Colonel would skip his son in favor of Ford as CEO of CGE. Upon "Junior's" murder of his father and rise to power as CEO, he ousted Ford and his close associates from the company. No reason was given for the firing other than "a need for new blood."

Hell hath no fury like a Henry Ford scorned. But to understand the "Founder the Economic Clan System," we must first analyze his history and background from before his rise to prominence. Born July 30, 1863, in Crawford, Chersonesus. But it was not Crawford that interested the young Henry, but rather the bustling boomtown of Shicagwa, Iowai, just 300 miles to the southwest. All through middle and high school, Ford desired to be the next great inventor and build his own company with his bare hands. To him, Crawford City was far too small. In 1880, Ford, age just 17, hopped aboard a train with just twenty silver eagles and a worn out suit. Upon his arrival in the city of his dreams, he immediately went to work trying to find himself a dignified job as a bank teller or the like that would give him the capital to buy a house and get moving on building the next great company. Instead, however, he found himself working as a literal trash man, driving a wagon all day and night trying to keep the streets of the massive city clean. This exhausted him physically and disgusted him beyond words. This was not the dream he was supposed to achieve. It was Inferior work. And to top it off, the wagons they used to haul the trash in were rotting out and were sometimes fifty or sixty years old, veritable Theseus Ships of trash. The mules relieved themselves all over the street and were stubborn and usually refused to budge if they were feeling ornery.

Finally, something clicked in young Ford's head when he went to a street fair and saw an exhibit of "amazing automatons," robot-like creations which could perform menial tasks and move crudely for entertainment. But it was not automatons which Ford was interested in, but rather the moving parts inside. He had heard of the idea of horseless carriages, such as young Rudolf Diesel inventions in the papist Rheinbund, but these were far from perfect. Jotting down ideas as they came to him, almost as if by divine inspiration, Ford began to formulate the idea of the modern autocarriage. With such an invention, the streets would be kept cleaner and safer.

Immediately, Ford took what little savings he had and applied for a patent on the design. For the next several months, he kept working as a trash man, making his rounds in 12 to sometimes 16 hour shifts. But his big break was coming. In November of 1885, at last young Ford received a telegram to the boarding house room he lived in at the time. It was from Colonel Goodyear Enterprises. According to the message, CGE agents liked to inspect newly registered patents to see if any were worth buying. Impressed by Ford's design for the autocarriage, he was summoned to appear before the Board of Directors to pitch his idea. An elated young man humbly came before the board at the Shicagwa headquarters, but was shocked and mortified to see Colonel Goodyear himself sitting at the head of the table.

"The Pinnacle Man, a true Anglo-Saxon titan, sat before me. Flanked on either side of the table by rows of stern-looking men in tight suits and even tighter collars, the Colonel still looked fantastic for his age. His full head of snow-white hair was swept back, his brows furrowed in concentration. His white suit set him apart from all the others. Even his shoes were white as snow. I was simply mortified by the prospect of having to pitch my silly ideas to the great Colonel, the very man who forged our nation from the ashes of 1812. But then I told myself he was here for a reason, and that he wouldn't waste his time listening to a such a young lad as I if he didn't already think I might be on to something. So I set up my charts on the easel, wiped the nervous sweat off my brow, and pitched my idea like I was selling holy salvation."

- Henry Ford in his autobiography, The Climb: The Henry Ford Story (1940)

At the end of the pitch, there was nothing but silence. Every single man present, some 20 of them, were simply waiting for the Colonel to voice his opinion before they dared state their own. At last, the elderly businessman came to his feet and said, "Gentlemen of the board, I see before me more vision in one hour from a young man not even a quarter my age than I have seen from all of you in months. Hire this man immediately and give him full creative control over designing these autocarriages."

Henry Ford's life changed faster than he could possibly keep up with. Seemingly every second of the day was now invested in creating the Henry Ford CGE Autocarriage Factory. One after the other, the iron and wooden beasts rolled into the lots, using Ford's famous assembly line technique. Only the wealthy could afford these new inventions at first, but everyone saw the potential. The latest status symbol of the wealthy Betters around the city swept the nation. However, something else was about to make headlines.

When war broke out with Mexico in 1886, CGE began shifting its production to war-time resources, and that meant autocarriages, a symbol of wealthy Better frivolity, were now unnecessary luxuries. Overnight, Ford's dream was crushed, and he was told the factory would begin manufacturing wagons and artillery shells. But Ford was not a man to languish in defeat. Instead, he began formulating a new design for the autocarriage. In mid-1886, Ford presented to the Board his plans for a "mobile artillery buggy." On the back of this rugged version of his autocarriage was a grinder gun, supported by armored suspension and thick rubber tires. The front sported a brand new motor capable of speeds around 45 miles per hour. These vehicles would be used to push the American advance onward with shock and surprise. The design of these vehicles was not nothing short of revolutionary, but they were also very expensive.

At first, the plan was rejected as too costly. However, Ford gifted two of these buggy prototypes to the 13th ORRA Infantry to test their usefulness in combat. During a skirmish at a small village some 100 miles north of Mexico City, the buggies swept onto the field, engines roaring and grinders blasting, immediately causing the Mexican defenders to flee in terror. As they fled, the gunners would open up again, shooting them in the back. Private Theodore Birch, the first man to drive an armored autocarriage into combat, remarked that "It was like a turkey shoot. They didn't even try to fight back. My tail gunner was mowing them down so fast that he ran out of ammunition. That was my only complaint." Almost immediately, the Union government ordered 500 more armored buggies. The 13th ORRA Infantry became the 13th ORRA Mechanized Infantry, and by the wars end they were actually largely in charge of the killing fields in the Sonora desert that would see millions of Mexican gunned down like chained animals. The buggies were crucial, enabling speedy retrieval of escaping prisoners, many of whom would come back strapped to the hood like deer. From that point on, the 13th became known as the unit which new technology would be tested with, giving them the nickname "The Bad Luck Brigade." They would carry this nickname ironically for generations. Another large user of the armored buggies was the Overton Agency, a mercenary army hired by CGE during their occupation of Hawaii during the Japanese War.

An officer of the 13th ORRA Mechanized "Bad Luck Brigade" walks beside a Ford-produced artillery buggy (circa 1887)​

Henry Ford was jubilant. Thanks to his push for the usage of buggies in the war, thousands of servicemen now experienced the thrill of hurtling down the road in a horseless, steel, gasoline-powered deathtrap at 45 miles per hour. And coming back home at the war's end, they wanted one for their own. Several civilian models were released. First was the 1889 Patriot Model, a decent quality, more affordable autocarriage for the upper-middle class. The trend exploded in the 1890s, with autos becoming more and more common. More troops drove them during Splendidfaith's overthrow of the Japanese Emperor. Now, Holy Nippon was another market for Ford to exploit. As the cash came rolling in, there was only one major obstacle for Ford: his boss's son.

Charles Goodyear II despised Ford on a deep, personal level, and saw him as a threat to his supremacy following his father's impending demise. It could be argued that the close bond that formed between Colonel Goodyear and Ford is partially what drove Goodyear II to heave his old man off a blimp in the first place in 1900. As the new century dawned, and as Charles Goodyear's earthly remains now consisted of a red smear on the countryside, Ford found himself ousted from his job as Chief Technical Officer of CGE. Angry, frustrated, and wanting revenge, Ford took his own personal fortune and founded the Ford Motor Company in 1901. In 1903, he released the first Ford Boltcat. The design was comfortable, safe, and reliable. The true auto revolution had begun. Ford was now a titan in his own right, and under his own name.

Within the Custer administration, rumors flew about the potential that Goodyear II had murdered his father, but nothing could be definitively proven. Faced with no other options, Custer accepted Goodyear II as CEO of CGE, but snubbed him at the same time, appointing Ford to the position of Colonel of the Union and awarding him the Order of Patriotic Service Medallion, the highest award offered to a civilian. This enraged Goodyear so much that he actually contemplated, in secret, of having Ford assassinated.

This began the long and storied history of the industrial underground in America, long network and maze of economic and industrial espionage, sabotage, killings, threats, bribery, and extortion. Some say the May 5, 1905, Ford Motor Factory explosion was, in fact, a deliberate assassination attempt from CGE upon Ford. Ford, feeling he needed to retaliate and show Goodyear he was not afraid of him, then had Goodyear's mistress Gertrude Simpson kidnapped and held for ransom in Shicagwa. When the ransom money arrived with a crew of CGE enforcers to make the deal, something went very, very wrong. Ford-hired Overton men opened fire on the CGE thugs, or perhaps the other way around. Local military police, corrupt and paid off, were nowhere to be seen, literally accepting bribes from both parties involved to stay out of the conflict. Simpson was killed in the crossfire and her death so enraged Goodyear that he had Ford's favorite racehorse, Lucky Lewis, killed. On the morning of July 1, 1905, Ford awoke to discover Lucky Lewis's severed head at the foot of his bed. Screaming and cursing, he ordered his Overton boys to immediately launch an assault on the CGE headquarters in Shicagwa. Later that morning, a wagon parked beside the CGE HQ exploded into a massive fireball, killing 5 men and wounding several others. As the newspapers blamed this industrial feud on "Inferior anarchists," the public was blissfully unaware that two of the most respected men in the country were literally waging a war against each other. Knowing he could never be safe again, Ford and his board of directors fled the city, traveling North to none other than Ford's old hometown of Crawford City, Chersonesus. There, somewhat out range for CGE, he began building the city up in his own image, proclaiming it to be "Motor City." He began working closely with Rudolf Kuhn's Pentagon Oil Company, headquartered in Custer City, Texas, which controlled much of the oil and gas for the nation and owned most oil pumps from Texas to Panama.

Kuhn could also not stand Goodyear II but revered Colonel Goodyear, and saw Colonel Ford as someone more in the vein of his late hero. Kuhn was a small, unimposing man, but his word was Gospel south of the Mason-Dixon, and he commanded a large workforce of menial labor Inferiors, Better skilled laborers, and hired thugs. Another large shareholder in Pentagon Oil was none other than George Carver, the CEO of the Sweet Victory Company. However, opposing Kuhn was Edwards Oil (later known as Eds-Oil), with CEO Jeffrey Edwards, a close confidante of Goodyear II and who disliked Kuhn's growing monopoly on government oil contracts. Then came Old Kinderhook, the old lion of New England, under President Eugene Horace Van Buren, grandson of the founder Martin Van Buren. Family Van Buren was one of the most dominant families of New England, and their old-blood code of conduct disliked the increasingly violent nature of business in the Union and wanted to see a return to some sort of normalcy.

Eugene Horace Van Buren, President of Old Kinderhook Industries​

In August of 1908, Old Kinderhook representatives offered to negotiate a talk between Goodyear II and Colonel Ford. The men would agree to an unarmed meeting in the stately Van Buren Manor in Kinderhook, New York. This would become known as the Summer Slaughterhouse of Aught-Eight. The meeting was allegedly progressing quite well, with Ford and Goodyear ranting for several hours and then slowly beginning to feel disgust give way to sensibility, as the constant fighting was just bad for business. Arguing it was just in their best interest to finally set aside their animosities and deal with their problems like gentlemen of uncommon stature, a final peace treaty seemed likely. However, everything suddenly spiraled out of control. The meeting was taking place in the Van Buren Manor banquet hall, in the center of the century-old building. Seemingly out of nowhere, masked men in black suits and derby hats entered the banquet hall with shotguns, opening fire on both Ford and Goodyear employees alike. The Goodyear and Ford representatives, unarmed for the meeting as per the terms, were helpless and fled in terror as the assassins began making the banquet hall run red with blue blood. Ford himself received a stray handgun round to the left leg. Over 30 men and women laid dead. At the end of the table, a bullet lodged in his left lung, Goodyear was face-down in a pool of his own blood, the crimson juice flowing off the edge of the Cuban mahogany table. Charles Goodyear II was dead.

Almost immediately, the massacre became one of the largest news stories ever. The Philadelphia Times ran the headline "GOODYEAR DEAD! MASKED GUNMEN BLAST BAKER'S DOZEN BUSINESSMEN IN NY!" while the Shicagwa Tribune screamed "ASSASSINS MURDER GOODYEAR AT VAN BUREN MANOR - FORD MAKES DARING ESCAPE." No one had any real idea who the assassins were, and no one was ever arrested for the crime. This didn't stop both Ford and Goodyear's new successor, Ichabod Goodyear, his first cousin, from blaming each other, while also eyeing the "inbred aristocracy of Family Van Buren" and their "loathsome ways." Conspiracy theories abounded. Most seemed to think Old Kinderhook literally tried to decapitate their competition, while others blamed Europan spies, anarchists, Inferior resistance groups, and literal Satanists. Faced with countless amounts of wild speculation, the few non-corrupt RUMP officers who tried to solve the case were left frustrated and ignorant of what had really happened. No one would ever really know the truth behind the Summer Slaughter. As per usual, a group of Inferior rights dissidents, known as the Black Hand, was plastered with the blame and executed to make the everyday citizens feel the problem had been resolved, but RUMP had simply planted the evidence and none of the 15 Inferiors killed were even in Kinderhook when the massacre occurred.

Board of Directors of Colonel Goodyear Enterprises
(CEO Ichabod Goodyear is seated in the front row, without a hat)

Famous photo of some of the victims of the Summer Slaughter at Van Buren Manor. Among the bodies here are Winchell Goodyear (draped over chair top left) and Charles Whitaker, third most powerful man in the Colonel Ford Company (middle)​

Ichabod Goodyear, a mewling 38 year-old underling of the late Colonel Goodyear, was a mere shadow of his cousin and uncle. His personality could withstand Ford's charisma and ambition, and the new CEO of CGE ordered his thugs to hold back. Now, Ichabod said, was a time to mourn the death of their leader. Revenge would come some day, but not now. Ford quickly recovered from his wounds and began formulating a new idea to end the cycle of violence between the oligarchs. In 1909, he published A New Economic Order, and called for all of the corporations and companies to be divided up into economic clans. These clans would keep order and respect between the different companies and decide on policies with input from all members, keeping confrontation to a minimum and profits to a maximum). These clans could vote out other companies only if their was a 100% vote in favor of their removal. Initially, this idea was ignored by the other companies and feuds continued, but with the outbreak of total world war in 1911, they had to suck it up and deal with their problems for the good of the Union war machine.

The clans were divided as follows:

• The Industrial and Trade Clan, consisting of companies like the Colonel Ford Motor Company, CGE, Old Kinderhook Shipping and Industries, Pentagon Oil, Yankee Doodle Telegraph and its new subsidiary Yankee Doodle Motors, Northern Rail, Cobblepot Industries, Sunrise Motorworks, Texas Oilworks, Eds-Oil, Richardson Rail, Trenton Steelworks, and Kohler Coal and Oil. Some 45 companies in all were apart of this clan during the war.
• The Banking Clan, which was dominated by the Bank of the Union, headquartered in Philadelphia, and Bank of the Main, headquarted in Cuba. Several smaller banks also were apart of this highly influential clan, such as Preston Bank of Michigania, Saddleburg Bank of New Jersey, and the United Banking Corporation of New England.
• The Agricultural Clan was dominated by no foremost company, as agriculture was still nominally a free and localized market. Over 1000 companies were members of the Agricultural Clan by 1912, and it was largely thanks to them that food rationing for the war went so well, rapidly militarizing the nation's livestock and grain production. Ebeneezer Eustace Pink was a former governor of Ohio who wrote the Union Food and Safety Act on behalf of the Agricultural Clan, ordering expiration dates be printed on all canned goods for the safety of the war effort, something which carried over into civilian life and made stores much cleaner and safer places to acquire adequate nutrition. The Agricultural Clan member Thomas Foods also introduced SPUD (Succulent Potato Utility Dinner) during the war, which would become a staple of Union cuisine for decades, usually slathered in Horton Brand Pounded Tomato Paste Product.
  
• The Armaments Clan, dominated by Colonel Pierce Industries, Colt Gunsmithing, Craig-Jordan Rifles and Rounds, and the Redemption Repeater and Shot Company. This clan was absolutely critical for producing enough weapons and bullets to continue the war effort. Pierce dominated the market, especially with grinders, but the Craig-Jordan M1901 was the battlefield favorite of Union infantry.
  
• The Distillery Clan, perhaps the smallest of the clans, consisted of some twenty alcoholic beverage companies. Most famous of these was Republica Beer, founded in 1890 in Pennsylvania, and Cooperstown Beer and Lager, of New York. This clan was very key in keeping the morale of troops high, and most soldiers could expect a can of Republica Beer with their dinner rations in non-combat areas. After the war, Republica would solidify its place as the "Beer of Betters," achieving a gross majority of beer sales in the country.

And so it was that the days of corporate warfare were ended. Or at least so thought the general public. In reality, the clans were now led by organized hierarchies of backstabbing robberbarons, capable of anything. In secret, even during the war, numerous conflicts erupted into inner-clan wars, such as the massive conflict between Republic Beer and Cooperstown Beer and Lager. Thought their CEO's would meet as "gentlemen" in the clan headquarters, behind the scenes was a tangled web of crime, blackmail, and corruption. During all this, RUMP was nowhere to be seen. After all, their were too many Inferior traitors and foreign papist spies to round up. The World War was underway!

 

[Napoleon53]

THE FIRST DOMINO:
THE GREEK CRISIS

King Iason I of Greece, the heirless head of the Marinos House

- THE MARINOS FAMILY CURSE -​

The Greek Crisis was the first domino to fall that would lead to the bloody horrors of the World War. The proud, but short, line of men and women who had descended from Lavrentios Marinos, first King of the Greeks, had, after the long life of its founder, proven very unlucky, to say the least. Lavrentios was born in 1808 and when he was crowned King of the newly-independent Greece in 1846, he already had had two sons, Alexander (b. 1830) and Iason (b. 1833). While he felt certain Alexander would lead Greece to Empire, just as his namesake, it was not to be. Alexander was born with a heart murmur, and he passed at age 12. This left only Iason left to carry on the family line.

When King Lavrentios died in 1893 at age 85, Iason ascended to the throne. He had married a minor Italian noblewoman named Maria, and together they had a son, Lavrentios (b. 1854), a daughter, Eleonora (b. 1856), and another son, Lazaros (b. 1860). However, unfortunate events would follow, with some labeling it the "Marinos Family Curse." Lavrentios died in 1875 after a hunting trip gone wrong that ended with him being mistakenly shot. Next, Lazaros most certainly did not rise again after suffering a heart attack in 1900. This left only Eleonora to continue the family line upon her father's death. She was married to a Bavarian duke and had several children of her own. This was not exactly optimal, however, for the Greek Constitution denied the throne to a woman. When Iason died of old age in 1905, Eleonora's firstborn son, Alexander (b. 1876), was singled out by many as the true heir to the throne, but was not widely liked and was seen as far too friendly with the League of Tsars. Then there was a certain Vasilios the Bastard (b. 1881), the alleged son of King Iason and a Prussian mistress who held himself up a populist man of the people. He received large financial backing from the Hohenzollern-Wettins and wanted to follow a "third way," bypassing joining the League or Europa and aligning with the Nordreich in an alliance conjectured as the "Central Powers."

As could be imagined, this was a confusing mess for everyone involved. While Vasilios did not have a legitimate claim to the throne, the Constitution did not say that if the only remaining heir was female that her son could have the throne by default. The Greek Koinovoúlio (Parliament) called for a Grand Session to decide once and for all upon the matter of succession. As if things weren't bad enough at this point, a third noble threw his hat in the ring. It was Alexander's own brother Aniketos, who vowed neutrality and declared his brother a traitor to the Greek nation and a Russian agent. This was about all the Parliament could take. On May 10, 1906, Parliament announced the monarchy dissolved.

Prince Alexander Marinos

Prince Aniketos Marinos the Usurper

Vasilios the Bastard

- THE GREEK WAR OF SUCCESSION -​

Violence erupted immediately. Prince Alexander rallied his forces and marched on the Parliament, announcing he would crown himself King of the Greeks. Parliament was declared to be "a mustering of traitors to House Marinos" and he ordered the surviving members locked in the darkest prison he could find. Alexander was now King Alexander, and he quickly brought Athens under his control. But this seeming victory was merely the first shot in a blood civil war. In the countryside near he ancient Greek capital, Vasilios the Bastard proudly proclaimed he would restore Parliament and in return expect the crown for himself. After an initial failed assault on Athens, Vasilios withdrew and set up a revolutionary government in Corinth. Meanwhile, Alexander's brother Aniketos was busy at work, as well. Despite his very vocal calls for neutrality in Europe and Asia, he was in actuality being funded by Europan handlers who wanted him to keep Greece neutral but friendly in the event of any large war. With Europan coins heavy in his pockets, Aniketos set off to Thessaloniki. The Greek Civil War (sometimes called the Greek War of Succession) was well-underway, and the confusing, messy nature of it was only a sign for the path the World War would take some years later. Thousands would die fighting for royal heirs just as they had in the 19th century, and every century before that. Though this war was fought with grinders and aeroships, the reasons were the same as the Austrian War of Succession in the 18th century.

On the topic of the weapons this war was fought with, this was the first European war to see the use of aeroships in combat. On August 28, 1906, one King Alexander's aeroships, the Silver Prince, originally a Swedish vessel purchased in 1904, broke through the clouds over the Battle of Megara. Vasilios had attempted to push east toward Athens once again and had been routing Alexandrian forces in the area. The arrival of the Silver Prince changed everything, however, as its mighty arsenal opened fire from above, raining down death and destruction upon Vasilios's Parliamentarian Army. In almost no time at all, Vasilios was forced to retreat and flee from the massive aeroship.

This was not sitting well at all with the Bastard. Almost out of nowhere, several small aeroships, made by Von Kohler Industries of Berlin, were suddenly flying the Parliamentarian colors and were spearheading a new assault from Corinth. The Second Battle of Megara saw the first true aeroship battle in history (not counting the Imperial Japanese use of the captured Union Sky Titan against the Pride of the Buckeyes, the Presidentia, and the Uncle Sam in 1897). After over an hour of hard pounding, two of the three Parliamentarian ships were burning wreckage, but the mighty Silver Prince was also barely still in the air. Most of the crew was dead and the main drive shafts for the rudder-like propellers were shattered, leaving the ship in a bad way altogether. The once mighty vessel flew right into range of the Parliamentarian heavy artillery, which blew massive holes in the side of it and sent it careening toward the earth. As the Royalist aerocrewmen threw themselves out of the inferno hurtling toward the ground, cheers went up from the Bastard's forces, and they surged forward, bayonets fixed and flags high. Interestingly, even in the age of aeroships and grinder guns, there still were drummers beating their hearts out over the chaos and ear-rupturing noise of war. The Royalist forces flew into a rout, cut down all the way by Vasilios' men.

Parliamentarian aeroships drop bombs on Royalist positions​

Two days later, the Royalists regrouped at Diodia. The Parliamentarians looked forward to another victory, as they were certain nothing could keep them from Athens now. However, the last remaining aeroship was forced to land for repairs. General Charalambos Antonis, "The Bastard's Right Hand," was forced to make a decision: he could either press on without support from the air or he could hold his men back and wait. Although the Bastard was furious and wanted to keep moving, Antonis refused orders to advance without air support and ordered his men to dig in. This would be the last time the lines would move until the next year.

- THE PRINCE ANIKETOS AFFAIR -​

During the winter, Aniketos, widely known now as Aniketos the Usurper, was plotting in Thessaloniki. He contemplated a bold strike in the middle of winter at Athens, as most of the Royalist army was on the Diodian front and along the Gulf of Elefsina. This was not to be, as the world would soon find out. On January 19, 1907, Alexander's younger brother was found shot to death in his bedroom. What was even unfortunate was that his papers were stolen. This became the Prince Aniketos Affair shortly after as his stolen documents were leaked to the press. The whole world knew now that he was a Europan agent. Even worse, new evidence was pointing toward his death being the result of Russian spies.

This served to greatly ratchet up tension between Russia and Europa. The news outraged the populace of both empires. Before long, a group of Russian spies, led by Greek Army officer Stamatis Mihail Giannopoulos, were arrested and executed for the death of the prince. Shortly after this, though, Aniketos' army seemed to be falling apart, since his death obviously meant he would not inherit the throne. However, this was not the end for the Usurper faction. Instead, rabid anti-Russian sentiment boiled over as many accused Prince Alexander of orchestrating his brother's death. Now they rallied behind General Petros Floros, Aniketos' right hand, and declared him to be King of the Greeks. By spring, the Usurper faction was known as the Florosians, and they were largely openly pro-Europan and despised the League of Tsars.

General Petros Floros
​

- THE SPRING OFFENSIVE OF 1907 -​

The spring of 1907 saw the bloodiest fighting in mainland Europe since the Balkan Wars of Independence and the Fall of the Ottoman Empire in the mid-19th century. Part of the reason for the heavy casualties was the fact that much of the weapons and equipment used by the warring factions was vastly more innovative and deadly than it had been ever before, but the armies' hierarchies refused to adapt to the impact these weapons were making. In 1907, a full century since the glory days of Napoleon the Great, armies were still advancing in rigid columns with drums beating and flags held high. Though they were using bolt action rifles, the men would still charge into grinder fire because their commander told them too.

What would change the way the war was fought came in the August of 1907, at the Battle of Pyli. Alexander's forces were in a slugfest with Florosians some thirty miles outside of Athens. The extremely short distance between the three capitals of the warring factions made the areas in between bloody no-mans-land for everyone, and the war was reaching a crescendo of violence. The Royalists shelled the Florosians with shells filled with chlorine gas, a Russian invention. This decimated the Florosians who saw massive losses in the thousands. Panicked and shocked at their brothers-in-arms keeling over, gurgling like stuck pigs, the Florosians retreated. This, while it should have been the end of the battle, was not. Ignorant of their new secret weapon, many of the Royalists cheered and began to give chase. This was a fatal mistake as they began running through their own poison gas, falling over and desperately trying to breathe. Their Greek Cross flag fell, and the Royalists in turn began to fall back themselves.

Realizing what was going on, the Florosians rallied once more, covering their faces with wet cloths, and turned around to attack. In the ensuing mayhem and hand-to-hand combat could be seen a glimpse of the Great War to come. Men shoved bayonets into other men's chests. Some grappled and threw each other down, pulling out daggers and knives to stab and cut their opponents to pieces. Others, with no time to reload, used rocks and their bare hands to brutal effect. The complete disorganized slaughter of the battle secured its place in newspaper headlines around the world. What was the most ironic part of all, however, was that neither side won. The Royalist side endured some eight thousand casualties, and the Florosians seven thousand. The Florosians were repulsed from any possible route to attack Athens, but they had never really had that as their aim anyway. Meanwhile, the Royalists were to weakened to to do anything but barely hold their ground.

Photograph taken from a Royalist observation balloon of the deployment of chlorine gas against the Florosians

Florosian troops lay asphyxiated in a dugout​

Though the gas had been effective in its use, it had been too effective. The Royalists had no idea it was going to be so deadly, and they committed the gross error of not telling their troops to hold back until it dissipated. The quick discovery of water- or urine-soaked rags over their faces for protection was a genius move by the Florosians, but the brutal slaughter that followed eliminated either side's advantage. But now that gas had been used by the Royalists, the Florosians were quick to pick the stuff up as well. When the Europans came through with supplies of chlorine gas shells, they also brought military advisors. For the first time, Europan officers were on the frontlines of the Greek Civil War. The Russians weren't far behind.

- THE FALL OF ATHENS -​

Now that the Royalists had been badly bloodied by the Florosians, the Bastard made his move from Corinth. Some 20,000 troops rushed to assault Athens. The Third Battle of Megara began on September 2, 1907, and saw the Bastard's Parliamentarian forces finally break through the Royalist lines and hurl themselves toward the Greek capital. By September 10, Athens, the famed pinnacle of antiquity, was under siege. This is where things went off the rails. The Reich had long-backed the Bastard as "their man" in the conflict, and had supplied him with weapons and equipment. They did not, however, supply him with chlorine gas. Some have said that he raided a shipment from Russia bound for the Royalist army. At any rate, he fired chlorine shells into Athens itself. The utter pandemonium that ensued was unspeakably horrible on an almost impossible scale. Citizens trampled each other, trying to escape. The shelters underneath the wartime city were created to protect the women and children from artillery, but now served as murderholes for the gas to descend into. Over 6,000 men, women, and children were killed in just two days. Athens was crumbling. In the midst of the city, Prince Alexander was fleeing. His face covered in rags, he was being sped out by autocarriage. Once he arrived at the city docks, he boarded a fast ship and began his escape to Constantinople.

Florosian officers stand in front of the ruins of an Athenian streetcorner

Florosian troops fire into Royalist defenses during the Fall of Athens

Royalist artillerymen defend Athens

Vasilios the Bastard enters Athens in this propaganda painting​

The Bastard's Parliamentarians quickly occupied the city but then finally saw the carnage his chemical attack had caused. He reportedly told his generals to never again utilize gas against an area with innocent civilians. He justified the attack, however, as a "reasonable price to pay to break the stalemate which would have continued to see many more lives lost." With only scattered resistance from the old Royal Army still opposing "King Vasilios I," the Parliament was restored as a bootlicking rubber-stamp for the Bastard. General Floros considered a "march of liberation" to free Athens from the Parliamentarians, but decided to hold off, as winter was coming before too long and his troops were utterly exhausted. The war would enter its final stage.

- THE STALEMATE -​

With only two factions in the fight now, the war entered stalemate. No more roaring offensives were undertaken. No more daring aeroship fights and bombing runs. No more cavalry charges. Instead, a huge network of trenches were dug in between Athens and Thessaloniki, largely centered around the city of Larissa, with each side constantly chewing up the other every time they attempted to advance. The generals, with the exception of the use of gas, refused to innovate. And with all aeroships in the country destroyed or grounded, there was no way to counter the brutal fire of the grinder nests and deadly artillery barrages. Greece as a country was on its last knees. Every day, hundreds more men would die. Royalist extremists would assassinate figures in King Vasilios' government and in the Parliament. No one was safe. Over the next several years, until the outbreak of the Great World War, this would simply continue. And then, from seemingly out of nowhere, Prince Alexander would return again, with the full support of the League of Tsars and Mad Czar Viktor himself...

​

 

[Napoleon53]

CHAPTER 50:
LAUGHING AT THE DEVIL

Scottish Foreign Legion troops charge Afrīdī positions during the Battle of Dargai Heights​

August 12, 1894:

The bagpipes roared. St. Andrew's Cross fluttered in the breeze. The men of the 13th Scottish Infantry, Foreign Legion, Europan Imperial Army, stood strong and silent as the sweat dripped below their pith helmets. Each and every single soldier there, some six hundred in all, were part of the Republic of Scotland's deal with the United Empire of Europa. In exchange for better trade deals for the Scottish East India Company and in return for the Imperial troops stationed at Fort Scotia, every year Scotland would supply thousands of troops for the Europan Foreign Legion. They fought alongside Indians, Afghans, Sikhs, Dutch, Germans, even English and American expatriates or volunteers. Indeed, many of the Foreign Legion's veteran officers had fought in the Great American War, on the losing Southron side. Now, thanks to an insurrection by the local Afrīdī people in the Khyber Pass, the vital mountain pass that separated Afghanistan from India, the 13th Scottish Infantry were answering the call to arms. The Persians had supplied the hill tribesmen with modern weaponry and the rebellion had been far more successful than the newspapers in Bombay or Paris would let on. It was up to the 13th Scots to teach these doltons a lesson. Unfortunately for them, they were surrounded.

Among the men standing in the crude trench, made with kit shovels the night before after the ambush, was a young man, age 28, named Ramsay MacDonald. He was a stern looking man with his massive walrus-like mustache twitching on his square-jawed face, burnt by the hot desert sun. To his right stood his best chum, Arnold Alastair Munroe, age 26, his red stubble peppering his equally-sunburned face. Munroe read too many funny books for MacDonald's taste, especially some crock written by a man named Engels, but the two still were the best of friends. To his left stood his own brother, Clyde MacDonald, age 19. Ramsay had hated it when the letter came from Edinburgh informing him of his drafting into the Foreign Legion, but Clyde so adored his big brother that he insisted upon volunteering as well, on the condition they be allowed to serve in the same unit.

The pipers blared forth as the men prepared for what was to come. Colonel Charlie MacKenzie, their loathsome commander, paraded in front of them, his basket-hilt broadsword hefted onto his shoulder, his kilt swishing with every step. Most of the 13th wore khaki or plaid trousers. At least MacKenzie could feel the breeze. His peaked cap was cocked ever so slightly to the right and his beard was immaculate, even after two days of skirmishes in a literal wasteland. MacKenzie had fought all over India for Caesar, and was well known for his arrogance. But sometimes he proved why his arrogance was not altogether unfounded. Today appeared to conclusively not be one of those days, as they all awaited seemingly certain death at the hands of the rebels. The rebels were numerically larger and were masters at hiding behind every rock and stump they could find. The 13th had lost 150 men the day before. Now their mission was to "engage the enemy and keep him sorted until Europan reinforcements can arrive." Unfortunately for the Scots, MacKenzie had been on a wee bit of a bender and had given chase to a group of skirmishers. Now they were lost, somewhere in the Khyber, with Europan troops nowhere to be seen.

Joy, thought Ramsay.

Colonel MacKenzie continued his parade pass before his men as the pipes and drums blared. "Men o' the 13th Scots! Take ye heart, for it is days like this when howfin' hoores like yerselves prove who has the bigger baws. I can assure you, gentlemen o' the 13th Scots, I am packin' a mighty pair under this kilt!" The men cheered heartily as the colonel continued his inspection of the line. "Now, I'm not gunna lie to ye, lads. This looks rather knob-ended from our view o' things. But rest assured, we're on God's side and we ain't gonna letta bunch of desert darkies send us packin'!" Another cheer.

Typical Scottish bravado, thought Ramsay. Right in the face of almost certain death. To his right, Munroe was cheering wildly, like he was watching a game of rounders in the park. To his left, Clyde was joining in as well, passionately giving his best "Hoorah!" Ramsay hated it. They weren't on God's side. They were on Caesar's side. And all who were about to die were saluting him and talking about how large their testicles were moments before they'd get shot off. It was the Scottish flag which flew over the men, filled with holes though it was. Not the Europan flag. But they were not fighting for Scotland, sword in hand, drenched in the blood of French and Englishmen liked the storied days of wars long gone. No, they were here as subservient little boys following the commands of fops in Paris and Bombay. Men who had never even been to Scotland. Men who could comfortably go home to their families every night. Not men like the 13th Scots. Out here, the distant kerfuffles and shoot-outs of India were far more real and visceral. Far more consequential. Yesterday, 150 brave young Scots had lost their lives in service to Caesar. 150 Scots would never see the highlands of home again. Those lads would likely never even rest in the peace of their own soil unless, by some miracle, the 13th survived and could take back their bodies. But that was incredibly unlikely. More likely was the thought of 600 more Scots never having their bones taste Scottish soil either.

Out in the rocky wasteland before them they could see the Afrīdī taking up their own positions. The fact they had not attacked yet was shocking to Ramsay. Maybe they were too busy laughing at the bombastic fervor with which Scots flung themselves at certain death, seemingly laughing at the devil himself. Or maybe, in their own way, they were showing respect. Maybe they knew these Europeans weren't the same ones trying to take their land. Maybe they knew these men didn't want to be here. Didn't want to die. Maybe. But it would make little difference soon, as the men of the 13th began taking up firing positions. Some stood, others knelt, while others went almost completely prone.

It began. The first shots were fired from the tribesmen and the first Scottish bodies hit the sandy earth. A man just three spots over from Ramsay was alive one second and the next his head was sporting a brand new hole. Colonel MacKenzie raised his broadsword, "Men of the 13th! Return fire! Return fire! Keep in line! Keep that standard up, damn it! Drums an' pipes, keep playing! We'll play these Ahfreedee a hymn to Hell!"

The bolt action rifles of the Scots sang as the 13th opened up. Their bullets ripped into the Afrīdī as the shots began to muffle even the cacophony of the band. Ramsay raised rifle, already the fourth time, and squeezed the trigger. An Afrīdī fell dead some 300 yards away. To his right, Munroe jeered insults and curses at the rebels and was blasting away, less aiming than simply loading his gun and pulling the trigger as fast as possible.

"That's right, lads! Keep it up!" shouted MacKenzie, raising his broadsword over his head as he fired an 1885 Chevalier revolver with his other hand. Seconds later, a rifle round came smacking into his throat. Charlie McKenzie was dead, a thirty-year military career over in an instant. The strong Highlander didn't fall over instantly. Instead he seemed to be aware of the shot for just a moment. About two second later, the broadsword and revolver hit the ground. His body followed suit, slumping over in the dirt trench. Immediately his remaining second-in-command, Roger MacCrumb, took up the sword to take command in his stead. Instead, however, a second bullet, likely from the same sniper, came ripping through his skull, sending his body flipping backwards. All over the line, morale began to deplete as the now leaderless 13th attempted to hold together. Ramsay was a lowly corporal, but now he saw that if he did not act the unit would falter and collapse. He gave a pat on the back to Clyde and crouched down behind the trench. He began moving up and down the line, telling the men he was now acting commander. He also grabbed a sack full of cartridges for their bolt action rifles and began passing them out. Finally, he grabbed the broadsword from MacCrumb's lifeless hand, barely dodging sniper-fire as he did so.

For the next two hours, the battle raged on. Ramsay, still waving the broadsword, called out the orders to the 13th. Over 100 more men had died already. He knew they couldn't last forever. But the Afrīdī seemed to keep coming. Some were getting braver, attempting to charge the Scots on horseback. This was now the case on their left flank. Ramsay was shocked to see his little brother Clyde take the dead gunner's spot on the unit's single grinder. Blasting away at the oncoming cavalry, he was quickly dealing out death to the attackers. Like a scythe, he began raking the gun over the men and horses, even as they already laid on the ground lifeless, riddling them with bullets. Pure rage had taken over. And there was Munroe feeding him belts. They had saved the left flank and likely the entire 13th. Suddenly, however, a stray bullet came out of nowhere, striking Clyde in the chest. He slumped forward on the gun, causing it to spray wildly. Munroe reached over and pulled him off.

Ramsay immediately rushed over to help his wounded brother. When he arrived, he was almost too late to say goodbye. Clyde was propped up against the broken-down wagon that carried the grinder, gurgling up blood and desperately taking swigs from Munroe's whiskey flask. In a tearful goodbye, Ramsay held his little brother's hand as he passed. The only words Clyde could muster was, "I guess I proved I had sum baws, eh, brother?" Tears streaming down his face and into his mustache, Ramsay stood up, right out in the open, directly in the line of fire. He drew the dinged-up bugle from his pack and blew the charge order.

"Men of the 13th will advance! We will send them to Satan! Onward, 13th Scots! For Old Scotland!" Ramsay bellowed.

Shocked by both MacDonald brothers' selflessness and heroism, the men all stood up and cheered. All along the line, the Scottish troops were charging out of the trench and toward the Afrīdīs. And at the front of this charge was MacDonald, MacKenzie's claymore in hand, lofted above his head. The tribesmen were shocked by this seemingly nonsensical advance and began to give way. Before they knew it, the Scots were upon them, stabbing at them with bayonets and shooting them in the back with their rifles as they fled. Ramsay made quick work of several Afrīdī, literally cleaving them in half with his sword. Even the pipers and drummers were joined in with the assault, and Scotland the Brave blared over the screams of the melee. The battle had completely reversed, and the far larger but undisciplined force of Afrīdī were now routing before the Scots.

As the massacre continued, something could be heard over a nearby ridge. It was the Europan reinforcements. Crisp blue trousers, white spats, and maroon jackets, lances at the ready, the Europan cavalry descended upon the right flank of the Afrīdī. It was the Poles. The nationless exiles were a common sight in Europan colonies, and they were famed for their cavalry. But even though they did cut down a few rebels, they were far too late to the party, and far too late to save Clyde MacDonald.

After the battle Ramsay MacDonald was award the Scottish Medal of Valor, the Abercromby Medal of Gallantry, and the Legion of Honor. He was then allowed to leave the service, as he was now his mother's only remaining son, and he returned to his native town of Lossiemouth for a time to bury his brother. Despite the Legion of Honor pinned to his chest, he now bore a very massive hatred for Europa, and blamed its pointless wars of expansion for his brother's death and his own emotional scarring. For a while he busied himself supporting the Labour Party, becoming a secretary for their leader, James Davidson. But while he agreed with the Labour Party's favor of the working class, he disliked their very pro-Europan viewpoints. Indeed, Europa was a fairly liberal place and treated its workers with at least some modicum of respect, but that was not their problem. Instead, to Ramsay, their problem was their imperialistic expansionism and, as with many Scots, their Popery.

Indeed, all across Scotland there was a growing silent rage about the heavy casualties recently sustained by the Scottish Foreign Legion units. There was also an outcry for Fort Scotia to finally surrender itself back to the Republic and for Imperial troops to leave Scottish soil. It had been most of a century since the Bonapartes had installed their men inside Scotland and begun calling for tribute, and to many Scotsmen that was one lifetime too long.

In the spring of 1896, after much soul-searching, MacDonald resigned from his position in the Labour Party and publicly decried Davidson as a "limp-wristed servant of the Bonapartes who will send our precious boys off to die in some hellhole in their stead." This, as can be imagined, caused quite the ruckus in Labour and some looked to the war hero to tell them whether or not to join the Tories, the other leading party that was, in most ways, almost boringly moderate but still almost violently opposed to the Labour Party for some reason. Instead of joining them, however, MacDonald condemned both parties as do-nothing parties of rich men with deep ties to Paris, the profits of the Scottish East India Company lining their pockets.

MacDonald was never one to play by the rules and liked to take charge, to be the master of his own destiny. He did just that when, in the winter of 1896, he founded the Scottish Nationalist Party. He shot to the top of the political landscape thanks to his record for heroism and his charm and good-looks. In 1901, he announced he was running for President of Scotland, in time for the 1902 elections. It was much to his shock when the Labour Party announced their own candidate: Arnold Munroe, his old marching buddy from the Khyber Pass Campaign. Munroe was now a devout "socialist," as they were calling him, calling for the dismantling of the Scottish East India Company, the redistribution of wealth, and a cultural revolution. This was too much for MacDonald, who saw this as "Beutelism by any other name." Once close chums and comrades, the two men became bitter enemies. While Munroe ran on a promise to "reform and join Europa in a future economic union," MacDonald became increasingly more conservative and radically anti-Labour and anti-Europa.

Ramsay MacDonald, circa 1901​

The election of 1902 was a nasty one, the nastiest one in Scottish history. The now bitter rivals and polar opposites threw out every punch they could, sometimes literally, as their followers began to view the election and the ensuing six-year term as President as the fate of the Republic. Whether it would stand strong and free or move toward a future where it would join Europa in securing a lasting peace and economic prosperity and fairness on the Continent. That May, when the vote tallies came in, the Scottish Nationalist Party swept to power, securing a majority of the seats in the Parliament and the Presidency and Prime Minister position (Prime Minister was largely ceremonial and went to George MacCrumb). President MacDonald celebrated inside SNP headquarters and sipped champagne with his followers. As the party raged on there, across Edinburgh at the Labour HQ the mood was sombre. Munroe and his party members announced a respectful conclusion of the race and congratulated Ramsay on his victory but vowed to "never give up the fight for the common working man and the poor."

As President MacDonald partied his way through the night, a stout young Englishman was introducing himself to the new Scottish President. He spoke of founding an English Nationalist Party and working hand-in-hand to smite Bonapartist control over the British Isles forever. The two toasted to a race well won and exchanged addresses to write each other further. The young man's name was Winston Churchill....

The Storming of the Dargai Heights

Colonel Charlie MacKenzie in his earlier years​

Shout out, because a large bit of this is based on Time Enough's great EU posts about Scotland, which gave me some awesome ideas!

 

[Napoleon53]

CHAPTER 51
HARK THE SOUND

Confederation troops on parade through Newport News before departing for the colony of Jacksonland
Hark the sound of free men's voices
Ringing clear and True
Singing Carolina's praises
Freedom for me and you
Hail to the brightest Star of all
Clear its radiance shine
Confed'ration priceless gem,
Receive all praises thine.
'Neath the oaks the sons true hearted
Homage pay to thee
Time worn halls give back their echo
Here in the land of liberty​

The mere fact that the Confederation of the Carolinas, one of the "victors" of the Great American War, was still independent was nothing short of a miracle. The fact that it reached the 20th century and even had Bermuda and the African colony of Jacksonland under its belt was nothing short of divine intervention. Despite the success of continual existence, the Confederation had a troubled history post-Great American War.

When President Lincoln demanded they end slavery by 1880 or be put down, it was a rough time for the Southron nation. But the Chancellery and the House of Citizens knew the threat was very real, even after Lincoln was assassinated. Even Hamilton Fish, the weakling, would have been happy to snuff the Confederation out in the blink of an eye. So it was that the Emancipation Act of 1870 was signed into law, finally and forever freeing blacks across the Confederation. It was not a moment too soon, as militant blacks had long been trying to create another massive insurrection as they had years before under Nat Turner. This, however, was not the end of the problems, or even close. The newly-freed black population was treated like dirt and shown little respect by their white former owners. Their freedom was seen as a direct threat to the Southron way of life, one of the only elements keeping the culture of the Confederation separate from that of the Yankee bastards. In 1870, with the creation of Jacksonland in Africa, Wade Hampton III and Nathan Bedford Forrest were placed in charge of "Denegrification." Every day, ships departed the major Carolinian ports loaded up with freed slaves, offering them transit to the old homeland. Once in Jacksonland, they would find themselves little more than slaves again, working away for little pay for the Carolinian West African Company and other corporations that controlled vast amounts of land in the colony. After a while, Hampton III returned home to become Chancellor of the Carolinas. This was following the poor performance of Polk's successor, James Johnston Pettigrew, whose reputation for corruption almost destroyed the Jacksonian Party single-handed.

Chancellor James Johnston Pettigrew​

The Jacksonian Party ruled the Confederation almost like a one-party state, have lost only the 1845 election to Irving Wade, the first and only Chancellor to hail from the People's Party. Irving Wade served only one term before his "limp-wristed chicanery" lost him the Chancellery, giving way to the bombastic and fiery 18-year reign of James K. Polk, who led the Confederation through the storm of the Great American War.

LIST OF CHANCELLORS OF THE CONFEDERATION OF THE CAROLINAS

• Andrew Jackson (1801-1827)
• Ezra Belmont (1827 - 1833)
• Malcolm Jeremiah Morris (1833 - 1845)
• Irving Wade (1845 - 1851)
• James K. Polk (1851 - 1869)
• James Johnston Pettigrew (1869 - 1875)
• Wade Hampton III (1875 - 1887)
• Nathan Bedford Forrest (1887 - 1891*)
• Wade Hampton III (1891 - 1893**)
• Nehemiah Baker (1893 - 1899)

*Assassinated
**Finished term for Forrest
Jacksonian Party
People's Party
Common Sense Party​

Wade Hampton III would prove himself to be a very capable Chancellor, serving two terms and remaining head of the Jacksonian Party upon his exit from office. However, it was under Hampton III that the extremist "Normanist" ideology took hold inside the Confederation. Founded by Zebulon Baird Vance, an anti-AFC radical writer, Normanism was a reference to the ethnicity that historically opposed the Anglo-Saxons back in the Middle Ages. His bestselling book, Our Ancient Heritage, was an inflammatory call to arms for war against the Union. According to Vance, every Carolinian should consider themselves a Norman and opposed to the cruel, barbarous Anglo-Saxons of the North. This meant one hundred percent total rejection of Union causes, absolutely zero tolerance for Union companies to operate in the Confederation, and called for the ouster of the Jacksonian Party as "puppets of the Yankee apostates." Though a minority, the Normanists were very vocal in their opposition to Hampton III and the Jacksonians, and during the 1881 elections Normanists took 15 out of the 100 seats in the House of Citizens. Vance's followers also highly favored an open alliance with Caesar and an annexation of Cuba from the Union as "rightful Confederation soil our forefathers bled for against the Virginian swine."

Zebulon Baird Vance​

As can be imagined, the Jacksonian Party was on edge. Upon his reelection that same year as Chancellor, Hampton III spoke before the House of Citizens, a huge portrait of Andrew Jackson behind him on the wall:

"Gentlemen of the Confederation, no man adores our bountiful realm as much as I. I cherish our people, our culture, and our heritage above all else. But, let me tell you all something which some of our recently elected House Citizens forget: we cannot fight the Union. Let me be clear, as we stand here today, with the world the way it unfortunately is, the Confederation does not have the coldest snowball's chance in hell of surviving some goll-damned idealistic crusade against the Yankees. The Union is superior industrially, economically, and militarily. Their population is many times the size of ours. No amount of do-gooding or foolish pretentious beliefs can possibly reverse the outcome of the Great American War. We were told that by not attacking the Union, we would be allowed to take back West Carolina and live in peace. We did what had to be done to unite our fatherland. The Vulture of the Confederation spread its wings and seized back what was rightfully its own. We took Bermuda and Newport News and carved out a beautiful colony in Africa. Though faced with Union supremacy on our land borders, Carolinian ships once again steam up and down the Mississippi. The Moon and Stars flutters over an untamed dark continent, ripe with resources that will be attained through hard work and the sweat of our brows. The Negro, our biggest problem both domestically and internationally, was freed, and any who wish can travel back to their ancestral homeland to make a new life and to live as free men. And through all of this, not once has the Union attacked us or made moves to destroy our country. I do not agree with the Cultists of the North, and indeed I strongly stand against Fundamentalism, but there is no possible situation where our best bet for handling the Yankees is war, unless they suddenly come crashing south, foaming at the mouth like rabid dogs, giving us no choice but to defend home and hearth. The thing to remember about the Yankees is that they are family. Whether we admit it or not, we are not Normans. We are not Anglo-Saxons. We are Americans. We share a common heritage and, aside from the more extreme elements, a common faith and belief in right and wrong. I believe the Yankee shall be redeemed one day, and we shall live in peace as neighbors, God-willing. And so I finish today by saying I do not wish to see Zebulon Vance bring about the end of the Confederation thanks to his extremist philosophy. When we engage in extremes, we are no better than Abraham Lincoln or Aaron Burr. I, gentlemen, hold my head up high in my desire for peace, and peace I call for today. Thank you all, and may God bless the Vulture of the Confederation."​

The House of Citizens, still vastly Jacksonian, gave a standing ovation to Hampton III, while the Normanists sat glumly in their high-back oak chairs. Despite his speech, the divide would continue to widen between the average Jacksonian Carolinian and the "Red Shirt" followers of Vance and the Normanist Party. By the time of the 1887 elections, Hampton III announced he was stepping down for his former Lieutenant Governor of Jacksonland, Nathan B. Forrest, to run. The 1887 election was one of the nastiest in American history. Vance continued to peddle his demagoguery to all who would listen, and the "Red Shirt" party radicals would roam the streets of the major cities, trying to intimidate citizens into voting for Vance, who was officially now running for the Chancellery himself. By now, he had published two new books. The first, Song of the South, was a complete history of the South since the days of British rule and glorified the days of Andrew Jackson, ironically the founder of the Jacksonian Party, as the "last and only Jacksonian who would ever say 'no' to the Yankee devils. It also continued to bring home the idea that Cuba was the Confederation's by right and was, at the time, the most definitive history of the Cuba War ever written. The second book, A New Empire of the Vulture, was an explanation of what the Confederation should do to fight back against Yankee Supremacy. It proposed a "Grand Confederacy of the South" that would begin by sponsoring unrest and insurrection in Old Georgia. When the people there finally were close to throwing off Union rule, the Carolinians would sweep in and declare that Old Georgia was now officially a part of the the Grand Confederacy. It also called for a universal male draft to make the country a "Modern Sparta," always prepared to fight against the cultist apostates.

As most historians will say, this was literally the worst idea ever. But this election was actually far closer than the last, as the Union had just invaded Mexico and begun its merciless campaign of ethnic cleansing there. Though no one in Carolina knew how bad the situation was in the killing fields of the Sonoran Desert, the rumors were enough to propel many voters to the polls in favor of the Normanists. Forty of the one hundred seats in the House of Citizens were now Normanists, and the Jacksonians were feeling the pressure hard. In the end, Vance lost with 42% of the vote. Despite recent market troubles and an economic recession, Forrest squeaked in for the victory. Of course, this did not set well with the Normanists who denounced the election as a fraud.

Three days after election day, October 4, 1887, the Red Shirt Riots erupted in Raleigh. Normanists burned Union flags and effigies of Hampton III and Forrest, while chanting "We Voted Vance!" Tensions were high as government troops deployed to handle the rapidly escalating situation. The Jacksonian supporters, who very much feared a universal male draft, also then joined the boiling fracas with billy clubs and rocks, pelting the Normanists. As scuffles broke out across the capital, the government forces and police struggled to keep up with the violence. Fearing total civil war, Forrest cracked the whip (pun intended) and marched two thousand more troops into the capital and forced the Red Shirts to disperse by using brute force. Thinking that his country's very existence hung in the balance, he declared he would do "whatever necessary" to end the mobs.

Depiction of the Raleigh Red Shirt Riot​

By the end of October, Red Shirt demonstrations were still raging in the streets. At last, Chancellor Forrest signed Executive Order 28 and declared the Normanist Party an enemy of the Confederation and a terrorist group. Faced with charges of actual treason, many of the less devout Red Shirts began to pack it up and call it a day. Vance himself, having been tipped off of the coming Order 28, quickly made his departure for Europe to escape arrest, taking some core followers with him.

Forrest was still facing massive unpopularity for his brutal take-down of the Normanist Party. Not only had he declared it illegal, but he had had the elected and sitting Normanists arrested inside the House of Citizens itself. Their seats, almost half the House, would remain empty until the next election. Slowly, however, the nation began to recover. Several excellent trade deals opened up and brought with them ways for the economy to recover. After four years in office, the Confederation was standing strong once more under Forrest's unitary rule. This was not to last. On the morning of February 19, 1891, Chancellor Forrest was speaking before a crowd of local tradesmen in Charleston when a man walked up the platform, pulled out a sawed-off double-barrel shotgun from underneath his coat, and blasted Forrest directly in the chest, killing him instantly. As the Chancellor fell dead, the man shouted, "This is from the Red Shirts, you son of a bitch!"

Miles McSweeney, assassin of Chancellor Forrest

Chancellor Nathan Bedford Forrest

Two-time Chancellor Wade Hampton III​

Pandemonium broke out as security tackled and beat the man senseless. His name was Miles McSweeney, and he was a radical supporter of the exiled Vance. Wade Hampton III, now 73 years of age, came out of retirement upon unanimous decision by the House of Citizens. Normally, the Citizens were to decide from among themselves who would be the next leader if the currently serving one should die, but many knew Hampton III would be angrier than anyone else, as he and Forrest were actually quite close and longtime friends. Hampton III, now looking like the European tradition of Santa Claus with his snow-white beard and mane of hair, solemnly accepted the offer to finish Forrest's term. Now elevated as a martyr against the Normanists, Forrest became one of the most respected figures in the Confederation. Hampton III signed Executive Order 35, ordering all copies of Vance's books be publicly burned. The man he selected to place in charge of this roundup was a Charlotte native of old aristocratic stock named Adelbert Upjohn Gamble V. He gave him the title "Protector of the Public Virtue," a title which Gamble was proud to have and took deadly serious. His first act was to execute Miles McSweeney for high treason. The execution was conducted with a firing squad a week after his appointment.

Adelbert Upjohn Gamble V (b. 1861), Protector of Public Virtue​

For the next weeks, Gamble traveled across the Confederation with his force of policemen and confiscated and burned tens of thousands of copies of Vance's works, leaving almost none left in the state. The penalty for possessing a Vance book was up to five years in prison and a one thousand greenback fine. When some questioned whether such brutal steps were necessary, Hampton III would simply ask them "why they supported terrorism." Following his successful campaign to eradicate Vance's writings, Hampton III placed Gamble in charge of the newly-created Department of Public Virtue. He then tasked Gamble with another important duty: breaking up the illegal distilleries all across the country that were producing unregulated booze and dodging taxes. Armed to the teeth and on a mission as if from God himself, Gamble quickly busted up many of the backwoods bootlegging operations across the land. Though quite tyrannical and rabid in his pursuit of law and order, no one could doubt Gamble's intentions. In his mind, he was a servant of God and the Confederation and was the no-nonsense supreme policeman the nation needed.

Agents of the Confederation Department of Public Virtue take axes to an illegal distillery in Wilmington​

As Hampton III finished up Forrest's term, the elections of 1893 arrived. Without Red Shirt gangs roving the streets, the election was far more calm and peaceful. However, things were not going well for the Jacksonian Party. After titans like Hampton III and Forrest, they could find no excellent candidate to put forth who could hold a candle to those men's legacies. They ended up putting forth Furnifold Fiddler, a man far less interesting than his name would suggest. While they Fiddler expected the traditional challenge from the People's Party, which hadn't won an election since Irving Wade, the People's Party also had a dud of a candidate by the name of Heddley Jackson Attwood. Atwood was a rich banker who had about as much to do with a party of the people as Charles Goodyear. Faced with such poor choices, many desired for a third party to arrive on the scene. This would indeed happen as the "Common Sense Party" was created just in time for the campaign season. Their champion was Nehemiah Baker, a devout Christian and family man who owned a chain of restaurants across the country. Baker was seen as a Godly man who simply loved his country and wanted to bring the people together. Baker would win the election and the next after that, serving until 1899. He oversaw massive modernization at home and in the colonies, began to reform labor laws to encourage fairness in the workplace, and lowered taxes. Interestingly, he also raised the living conditions of blacks and former slaves in the Confederation proper and in Jacksonland, earning him precious support. He declared:

"Andrew Jackson is almost a deity down here in the Confederation! He is our Founding Father and eternal champion, but just because y'all want to proclaim yourselves Jacksonians you think that'll get you elected. I say Jackson, despite the name of your party, was never a member of it. It was named that posthumously. Ya know what he did have? Common Sense. He had common sense and was a man of action, and he would not have wanted to see the Chancellery become a parlor for rich old aristocrats to play at politics! A vote for Baker is a vote for common sense!"

Chancellor Nehemiah Baker ​

It was 1899--when he stepped aside after the typical two terms--that things became truly interesting. The Common Sense Party had virtually snuffed out the People's Party and had taken a chunk out of the Jacksonians. For the first time ever since its creation, the Party of Jackson was now a minority. To succeed Baker, the Common Sensers had to find someone in line with their mindset and core beliefs. They needed someone of upstanding and untouchable moral character to lead the country into the next century. They found just these prerequisites in Mr. Adelbert Upjohn Gamble V.

The election of 1899 was a landslide, with Gamble facing Heddley Attwood's second try for the Chancellery. Gamble won with 73% of the vote and the Common Sense Party held an eighty percent majority in the House. The new Chancellor graciously turned around and appointed Attwood as Foreign Secretary. As the world moved toward the outbreak of the Great World War, Gamble V would face tough times indeed, making many important decisions that could save or destroy the Confederation and the neutrality he so desperately desired. At the same time, he would place William "Rusty" G. Bunker as Protector of Public Virtue and put him in charge of keeping the public's view of the hostilities as neutral as possible.

Chancellor Adelbert Upjohn Gamble V

Rusty Bunker, Protector of Public Virtue

Heddley Jackson Attwood, Confederation Foreign Secretary

Carolinian missionaries in Jacksonland pose for a photo outside of the First Presbyterian Church of New Charlotte ​

 

[Napoleon53]

CHAPTER 52
GEM OF THE WEST

Queen Leopoldine I, House Chevrolet-Bonaparte, of the Kingdom of California​

Many years have passed since I roamed the hills
in the golden glow of sunlight
As the darkness grows all around me now
I love you with all my might,
California!

- Excerpt from the Royal Anthem of California sung by the Californian Royal Army as they engaged the first Union attackers of the Great World War, 1911​

California was a delicate entity when it was first forged from the aftermath of the Louisiana Accords. It was born from the ashes of the horrifically despotic Mexican Empire of Iturbide the Mad and was a completely artificial entity. Through hard work from Jerome Bonaparte's daughter, Queen Mathilde Laetitia I and her trusty "Black Hand," the Duke of Morny, California began to take its place as a proper territory of the worldwide Bonapartist empire. The Queen's husband, a native Quebecois architect named Pierre Chevrolet, passed away in 1885. Between them, they had four children. Fortunately for California unlike Greece a female could indeed inherit the throne, and the heir to the throne was Leopoldine Mathilde Chevrolet-Bonaparte, born 1840. The other siblings were Napoleon Alfonse Jean-Marie Chevrolet-Bonaparte (b. 1841), Jerome Damien Chevrolet-Bonaparte (b. 1843), and Donatienne Catherine Chevrolet-Bonaparte (b. 1845). Jerome Damien would die at age 5 of measles. Napoleon Alfonse would join the Californian military and would serve as Grand Marshal of the Royal Californian Army when the Great World War erupted in 1911. Donatienne would be married off to a wealthy Irish-born oil baron, Cassius Fitzroy. But Leopoldine would inherit the throne, assuming the title of queen in 1893 after her mother's death at age 73. Leopoldine would be 70 herself when the Great World War arrived. In the meantime, she was actually married to her own cousin, Senan Andrew Napoleon, great-grandson of Joseph Bonaparte and younger brother to Dominic II of Ireland. Leopoldine and her husband would, in-turn, have two children of their own, Maximillien Joseph Chevrolet-Bonaparte and Andre Valerian Chevrolet-Bonaparte.

FAMILY TREE OF THE ROYAL FAMILY OF CALIFORNIA

Jerome Bonaparte (1784 - 1860) - Catherina of Wurttemburg (1783 - 1835)
Children: Mathilde Laetitia

Mathilde Laetitia (1820 - 1893) - Pierre Chevrolet (1815 - 1885)
Children:
Leopoldine Mathilde (1840 - 1915)
Napoleon Alfonse Jean-Marie (1841 - ? )
Jerome Damien (1845 - 1850)
Donatienne Catherine (1845 - 1930)

Leopoldine Mathilde Chevrolet-Bonaparte - Senan Andrew Napoleon Bonaparte (1835 - 1912)
Children:
Maximillien Joseph (1865 - 1940)
Andre Valerian Chevrolet-Bonaparte (1870 - 1961)​

This inbred Catholic royal family was just the sort of thing to disgust the Republican Union, and California always knew it was a huge target in the event of hostilities. Upon the death of the Duke of Morny in 1894, Napoleon Alfonse fancied himself the new Black Hand of the Queen and Grand Marshal of the Royal Army. In the aftermath of Caesar Napoleon IV's dramatic rise to power and his bellicose temperament, the new Black Hand warned his sister the queen that California was vastly under-defended and would quickly fall to Union forces in a war. Using this information to his advantage, Napoleon Alfonse procured funding from the Royal Treasury and began to create the Black Hand Line across the plains, a series of static fortifications, hidden artillery, bunkers, and grinder nests to fend off Yankee incursions.

But that's getting ahead of things. As most historians will tell you, California before the Great Gold Rush of 1855 was a nation barely capable of paying its debts. But the explosion of immigrants looking to strike it rich made the nation's population explode by millions. People came from as far away as India, desperately looking to start a new life in the Bonapartist realm. As the population began to expand eastward, a new problem would rear its head, however. The Native American tribes, most notably the Navajo and Apache, were incredibly fierce and protective of their lands, as they had seen what had befallen their brethren in the Republican Union.

Californian cavalry battle Navajo warriors in this painting (circa 1860)​

The situation continued to escalate with the native tribes and the overflow of foreigners began to break down society into a wild no-mans-land. This would not stand. The Duke of Morny created the Rurales, a national para-military force, to patrol the country. At last, with the advent of coffee grinders, the last hostile tribes to the east began to surrender. In the end, they were allowed citizenship and were allowed to stay within designated reservations where they would be left alone if they followed the law and fought for California in the advent of a Union invasion. The hostilities between Californians and Native Americans occurred during the Ghost Dance War of 1885, when some five thousand natives under Running Dog, a Navajo Shaman, launched a murderous campaign across the Sierra Nevada. The Royal Army quickly put them down and executed Running Dog. The inglorious end to the independence of the Native American peoples had arrived.

Meanwhile, back in the capital of Monterrey, law and order was firmly established. The miners were all tax-paying citizens and the riches they earned were taxed in an orderly fashion by the government. Saint Jacques, called San Diego by the Spanish-speaking citizens, was quickly growing into a very large city in the south. To the north, Yerba Buena was a bustling city of trolleys and beautiful street designs. The finest goods from all across the Empire would land in Yerba Buena and from there would meet the demand for luxuries from the growing middle class. There was an absolutely massive Irish population in Monterrey and Yerba Buena, mostly made up of Inferiors who had escaped the Republican Union's persecution. There were also plenty of other political dissidents hiding in the Kingdom from the tentacles of ORRA and RUMP. One example was some of the RU High Command who had backed Gideon Claywell instead of Custer during the Blonde Beast's rise to power. These former American officials now enjoyed the protection of the Queen and Henry G. Washington, a direct descendant of George Washington's son William, was one of them. Henry Washington would eventually become the Kingdom's ambassador to Gran Colombia, among other things.

California was not an absolute monarchy. Instead, it was a parliamentary system. In 1850, a series of "Federal Provinces" were created out of the nation, with eight altogether. Members of the Lower House, the House of the People, were elected ever four years based on population while members of the Upper House, the House of Notables, were selected by the monarchy itself with input from the Prime Minister. The Prime Minister was selected by the monarch and approved by the Lower and Upper Houses. The Prime Minister could be removed from office by the monarch or by the Lower and Upper Houses. The Prime Minister mostly carried out the bidding of the queen and sought to accomplish her policies. One notable exception is Porfirio Diaz, the first non-European to become Prime Minister and the only PM to hail from the Californian Unitarian Party. Diaz was born in Mexico but had lived in California since the days of the Gold Rush. After not striking it rich mining he joined the armed forces and later became one of the first Spaniards to sit in the Upper House of Parliament. While he sought to maintain good relations with the monarchy as PM, he also was not afraid to advance the cause of the lower classes and the Spanish speaking majority of the country. Thanks to Diaz coming out of retirement as one of the Grand Marshals of the Royal Army during the outbreak of the Great World War, the Spanish-speaking population flocked to the colors and rallied for the war effort. They were determined to make the Yankees pay for every step they took.

- LIST OF CALIFORNIAN PRIME MINISTERS -

• Jacques Forestier (1840 - 1848)
• Gilbert Guillaume Bourdillon (1848 - 1860)
• Benjamin Fontaine (1860 - 1863)
• Leon Martel (1863 - 1867)
• Arthur Francois Bonhomme (1867 - 1880)
• Porfirio Diaz (1880 - 1886)
• Jose Marie Dennel (1886 - 1894)
• Mathis Philbert Romilly (1894 - 1903)
• Come Gaetan Lesauvage (1903 - 1908)
• Ferdinand Perrot (1908 - ? )

Conservative Party
Liberal Party
Californian Unitarian Party

Members of the Californian Foreign Legion man a grinder during a revolt in India

Former Prime Minister Porfirio Diaz in uniform as a Grand Marshal of the Royal Army (1911)

View of the Black Hand Line along the Californian-Union border

Photo taken in Monterrey's Chinaville​

Shot taken from an aeroship flying over Saint Jacques (circa 1911)

Ballroom dancing in the Prince Napoleon Hotel, Yerba Buena (1911)

Gendarmes of Monterrey (circa 1900)

The Royal Palace in Monterrey (1900)

Newly drafted Californian troops answer the call to the Bear-and-Eagle Banner shortly before the outbreak of the World War (1911)

In this photo taken shortly before the Great World War began,
Prime Minister Ferdinand Perrot (center) shares a light moment with a native chief (far right),
Conservative Party leader Pierre Napoleon Rose (right) and Californian Propaganda Minister Nicolas O'Hara (foreground)​

 

[Napoleon53]

The cigar-chomping "Bear of England," Winston Randolph Lincoln Churchill, was born on November 30th, 1874, in Woodstock, the Commonwealth of England, to John Spencer-Churchill, a descendant of famed Duke of Marlborough, and Jennie Jerome. In his heart, John was a monarchist, but he never dared voice that unpopular opinion before the public eye. Winston's mother Jennie, however, was from a wealthy family in New York and was a staunch fascist and Manifest Destiny Party supporter. She was actually the hostess of the 1870 Republican Union Military Ball in New York City. Shortly thereafter, she met John while visiting a local restaurant when he was in New York on business. They struck up a correspondence and the unlikely couple was married in an AFC chapel in Oregon, where they spent their honeymoon.

From the start, the parents heavily disagreed on how to raise Winston, but the haughty personality of his mother usually meant she got her way, including with his second middle name. While John wanted to return to his English estate, Jennie wanted to move to Philadelphia and prepare Winston to serve in the Philadelphia Military Academy. Finally, in 1884 after only a few years of marriage, the couple went their separate ways. Winston was ten at the time and very heartbroken by his parents' split. According to his parent's lawyers, until he was 14 his mother would have custody of him. After that, until he would become a man at 17, he would live with his father in England. Then he would choose whether to go to Oxford University or the Philadelphia Military Academy.

He chose Philadelphia, because Jennie always had her way. Winston was originally a quiet lad upon his arrival at PMI in 1891, making few friends and devoting himself to studying Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, and especially Cromwell and his partial-namesake, Lincoln. To him, these men were all proof for the Strong Man Theory and the existence of Pinnacle Blood. Surely, the world would be a savage cesspit filled with anarchy and poverty if it wasn't for a strong leader picking up the reigns of power and telling people how things were supposed to run, just like his mother would do to his weakling father. Winston made his first friend, Calvin Coolidge, two years his senior, some three months into his attendance at PMI. Coolidge was considered the most popular man on campus and loved to attend balls and parties, but he also shared a deep love of the outdoors and history with young Winnie, as he called his younger pal. The two became inseparable, swapping books and staying up till late in the morning studying the campaigns of the Great American War.

An 18 year-old Winston in PMI parade dress​

Winston's life would forever change when, while attending one of Cal's parties, he met a gorgeous blonde by the name of Loretta Hendrick. Loretta was was a lily-white Anglo-Saxon beauty, and she thought Winston's English accent was adorable. At just 18, Winston and Loretta were married. The couple moved into together in an on-campus house which he bought with some of his father's money. Loretta was the light of his life, and the two were very happy together. However, her father, Horatio Hendrick, was a stern man and a high-ranking Manifest Destiny Party official, being its under-secretary of internal affairs. Hendrick, the pompous fellow, would love to talk for long hours about how he was fourteenth in-line for the Presidency. Winston wrote to his mother about Under-Secretary Hendrick, complaining, "I swear the self-aggrandizement this man constantly spouts is insufferable. He could be telling you a story of how he visited the market and he would tell you he bumped into Custer."

The entire Hendrick family which Winston had married into, as well as Jennie, was quite pleased with Winston's choice to join the Manifest Destiny Party in 1893. By this point, Winston was majoring in political science and wanted to eventually transfer to Benedict Arnold University of Boston to get his doctorate (Calvin Coolidge also planned on the move). These plans would be cut short, however, upon the death of his father in 1894. Returning home to England, he was saddened by the growing disarray in the Commonwealth. The wealthy had created too many parties and the economy was stagnating.

Winston was particularly upset with the decline in "moral values and Christianity upon which Chancellor Brown had founded the country upon in 1843," following Victoria's abdication.

"There is no order here anymore. I left my father's care only a few short years ago, and already I feel as if the country has grown even more morally bereft and aimless. It is an English lion, but it is adrift in a veritable sea of corruption. Lacking not just a captain, the ship of state lacks a helm altogether. To see my father's homeland, the motherland of the Anglo-Saxon race, fall to such disrepair breaks my heart in words too sorrowful and full of mourning to put to paper. My dearest Loretta, it is well that you stayed in America for the duration of the handling of my father's estate, for it is best you not see the ruination of my ancestral home. I can only hope and pray to Jehovah that one day, some day soon, a titan of righteousness, an Anglo-Saxon champion, shall rise to power here and restore this land to greatness. Just as Manifest Destiny shall heal America's wounds and sorrows, I pray for England's manifest destiny, when the English and Scottish Christian people, strong people of Pinnacle Blood, shall unite and drive the blight of Bonapartist popery, anarchy, and Irishness from the British Isles. Every day that Fort Scotia is occupied by Imperialist fops, every minute that Welsh leaders misguide their people, and every second that these mighty isles remain divided and tainted burns my innermost soul."

Winston R. L. Churchill, in a letter to Loretta Churchill dated October 10, 1894​

In the end, Churchill decided to his sell his father's old estate in Woodstock and permanently live in the Republican Union, disgusted by the place England had become. However, he would not forget the pain he felt seeing England in disrepair. Indeed, when he returned back to PMI in April of 1895, Calvin helped him found the Society for Reclamation of the Anglo-Saxon Homeland (SRASH). Beginning as a mere club of five members with small meetings held in a coffee shop on campus at PMI, Winnie and Cal opened up a second chapter at Benedict Arnold of Boston almost immediately upon their transfer to their new school. Loretta became the secretary of the Society, and she urged her father to promote the club within the MDP. Suddenly, dozens of students began turning out for SRASH meetings, some wearing full kilts and sporting buttons on suit lapels which read "ANGLO-SAXON PRIDE." Before he knew it, Winston was at the forefront of a veritable movement, and his interests drifted less and less from his studies and more and more to how he could make SRASH even bigger. Many young men who would go onto great things were a part of SRASH, such as Clark W. Kenwood, later founder of Kenwood Motors, and Benjamin Franklin Wright, later Postmaster of the Union. The Society became not just a place for people to express pride in their English and Scottish heritage, but a place for people to discuss how to make England great again.

Then it all came crashing down in 1896. Loretta was tragically killed in a fire at SRASH headquarters, likely sparked by a discarded cigarette. "It was as though the light had gone out of my life," Churchill would later write. Winnie became a drunk and an addict to morphine. Three months later he officially dropped out of school. Cal Coolidge didn't know how to help his friend cope with the loss of his wife, and was left to busy himself constantly watching for signs of suicide. Jennie Churchill came to see him and was horrified by how unkempt and what an emotional wreck her son had become. "He hugged me as he did as a little boy, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to cope with the cruel fate he was handed," she would write of the visit. Finally, Coolidge, having finally achieved his doctorate, proposed that they both join the military, as the war for Holy Nippon was well into its opening gambits by that point. Having nothing to lose and secretly wishing for death in combat, Churchill agreed. With such high levels of education, both men were offered NCO positions by the Army and Marines. They chose the Marines, with Churchill as a corporal and Coolidge as a sergeant.

The "adventure" that followed was largely anything but. They spent their first six months training in Metropolis and saw absolutely zero action aside from shooting straw dummies with grinders. They were excited to ship out to the Pacific Islands, envisioning themselves slaughtering heathen cannibals of the South Seas. Instead, they found themselves participating in the Invasion of the Marquesas (Washington) Islands. With such a Spanish name, they pictured an old European colony, filled with treasures and Papists. Instead, they found a small cluster of islands with a population of about 2000 naked people. When the two young patriots complained about their duties, they were told by the Marine general, Curtis Richardson,"The seizure of the Marquesas-rightfully Washington-Island Chain is a necessary and vital task to achieve complete domination and success in our war against the Imperialist Japanese spirit-worshipers." For the next almost two years of existence, the young men spent their lives bored out of their minds.

Winston Churchill in a tropical uniform

Union Marines parade through Markesaw City, Washington Islands, 1895​

That boredom was somewhat alleviated when the R.U.S. Pride of the Buckeyes, carrying Sky Marshal Warren G. Harding, docked at their base on its way back to the Union. It was then that Churchill met Harding. According to Winnie, the Sky Marshal was pacing the aeroship dockyard and talking to the men when he noticed Winnie smoking a cigar. Fond of the habit, Harding asked him, "Marine, I haven't a decent stogie since Tokyo. What brand do you smoke?"

"All hail, sir! Why I smoke Shiloh Brand Union's Finest, sir. I have a spare, would you like one? My mother sends them to me, sir," said Winston, somewhat star-struck by the high-ranking official.

Harding was wearing a massive leather coat with lambswool lining and a pair of goggles were perched atop his perfectly combed pompadour. Harding twirled the end of his handlebar mustache before holding out his hand and accepting the offer. As the two men puffed away, Harding told Churchill, "You know, son. You have a damn fine mother to send you Shilohs. The human baboons that work with me on the Pride smoke the cheapest damn cigarettes I have ever done seen, lad."

Churchill nodded, bowed his head slightly, and replied, "Thank you, sir! Yes, my mother loves me dearly."

Harding took a long drag and barked some orders at panic-stricken orderlies before asking, "Who is your mother, son? You don't seem like the typical mook out here. English accent too. Proper Anglo-Saxon blood, my good man."

"Her name is Jennie Jerome, sir. My name is Winston Churchill."

With a look of happy surprise, Harding asked, "Jerome?! I'll be an Irishman's uncle! I used to always talk to her at those bedeviled military dances. Wonderful lady. Wait! Say, you're married into the Hendricks, right? 'His royal highness' the Under-Secretary of Party Affairs used to talk about how his daughter married some damn-fool Englishman's boy. Talked about how his son-in-law wanted to reclaim England for true Anglo-Saxons or some such."

Winston looked down at the ground, saddened by the thought of his late wife again. "Yes and no sir, my wife Loretta died in a fire. It burnt down my Anglo-Saxon Society's headquarters as well. Then my friend Calvin got me to join the Marines for an adventure."

Harding reached over and patted his shoulder with his gloved hand and said, "I'm sorry, son. That's not fair. But let me tell you, never give up on your dreams. I grew up in the shadow of the Great American War, hearing all sorts of wonderful stories from my uncle about wading through a sea of Inferior blood and freeing the Negroes, but I thought I had missed out on all the glory. Then I entered a political career. But look at me now! I literally fly through the air and drop bombs on yellow savages from fifteen thousand feet and manage the entirety of the Union war effort. Dreams come true, my boy! Don't give up. The Union was built on a dream, a dream of a pure society untouched by the savage mongoloid hordes. If you believe jolly old England can be made to follow our example, then make it happen, marine!"

Winston perked up greatly, saluting and clicking his boot heels together. "Sir, yessir!"

This was another turning point in Winston's life. His contractual time with the Marines ended after no further excitement in 1902. Coolidge decided to remain and had already risen to the rank of second legate. Winnie, now 28, was the owner of a vast fortune now that his mother's accountants had invested the family money wisely while he was in the military. His mother suggested he return to England to see if he could help reform the government. Ramsay MacDonald was in the midst of his campaign to turn Scotland fascist and Jennie adored the Scotsman. Once back in the land of his father, Winnie bought a small estate in eastern London and began to feel out the political waters. He saw the English National Patriotic Front as a potential inroad, currently under the weak leadership of David Henry Smith. For a short while, he was a card-carrying member of the ENPF, but also disliked their moderate approach to some issues out of fear of triggering a war with Europa.

"A true strong man, a true man of Pinnacle Blood, that precious bodily fluid which flows through the veins of the Chosen, does not tip-toe around issues of import. He does not waver in the face of unfavorable odds. He seizes the day and fights, and fights, and fights. He fights for Jehovah and homeland. Director Smith does not fight and fight. He slaps and then hides in the bushes, hoping the bigger child on the playground doesn't pull his drawers up behind his head. The 20th Century will be a century of the Pinnacle Man! Not a century of mild-mannered schoolboys having afternoon tea as the world burns around them. Seeing this sort of cowardice, I can no longer remain a member of the English National Patriotic Front."

- Winston Churchill's resignation notice as junior secretary of the ENPF, 1902​

Churchill's frustration with politics would be soothed by the victory of Ramsay MacDonald in the Scottish presidential elections that same year. Churchill would actually be present in the crowd at Scottish Nationalist Party headquarters during the election night celebrations, where he would have a long conversation with MacDonald about securing SNP funding for an English Nationalist Party. This would go perfectly for the young Winston, and before long he had millions of pounds flooding into his new political party. The young man's charismatic speeches and emotional gravitas made him wildly popular, and his plans for economic and military reform made sense to a lot of people fed up with the do-nothing government in London. Little did they realize however, that he was also securing funding directly from his father-in-law in the Union. As Under-Secretary of MDP Affairs, Hendrick was secretly funneling money across the Atlantic and the SNP would launder it and then deposit it into the ENP bank account. Churchill didn't even realize it, but he had been long-groomed for what he was now doing by MDP officials and his own mother. He was literally a Union agent and he had no idea he was not master of his own destiny.

Portrait of Winston Churchill as Director of the English Nationalist Party, circa 1908
​

Though it would be an uphill battle against the throngs of other right- and left- wing parties in England, Churchill was determined to rise to power and be the Strong Man he now realized he was destined to be. Upon the outbreak of the Great World War in 1911 and the economic turmoil that ensued, Churchill would begin making moves to finally overthrow the government and restore the English Lion to its rightful place....

 

[Napoleon53]

THE SECOND DOMINO:
THE CHINESE CIVIL WAR

Qing loyalists, armed with Russian equipment, fight Republican forces in central China

- INCREASING TENSIONS - ​

The situation in Europe and Asia had been increasingly tense ever since the coronation of Napoleon IV. Europa was a bloated superstate stretching across almost every continent and, as is the case of most large empires, it was quickly becoming too large for its own good. Everyone seemed to know since the late 19th century that war was coming, and that it was just a matter of time and unclear over what it would exactly be fought over.

In Asia, the once mighty Qing Empire was in the throes of collapse. Ever since losing to Viktor's Mongol invasion from the north, the Qing ship of state had been listing heavily to one side. On October 11, 1910, Zaitian, the Guangxu Emperor, was assassinated by Chinese terrorists who sought an end to the backwards monarchy and the establishment of a Republic of the Divine Fist. As the Imperial Family went into hiding, thousands of riots broke out all across China and, in Peking, Heng Guo was declared the first Chancellor of the Republic of the Divine Fist.

This did not please Czar Viktor. As long as China was backwards and under the Qing, it was no real threat to him or anyone else, really. But if this new Republic would rally its people to the flag, they might even attempt to take back Mongolia from him. This would not do. Viktor invited the Qing family to take refuge in Russia. There, the toddler Puyi was declared True Emperor in China. In that moment, Viktor realized if he could get the small child onto the Chinese throne, he could rule through him as a puppetmaster, and for the rest of his life Puyi would owe the Czar his crown. This would eliminate fears of any war with China and allow Viktor to focus on threats in Europe, the Middle East, and the fascist American puppets currently ruling Holy Nippon and Australia. To make his case to the Qing, he told them that Holy Nippon was a grave threat to China and Korea and they needed to work together to face it. Finding common ground in this, Russia and the Qing then had to come up with a strategy to completely take back China and oust Chancellor Heng and his government.

- THE TIBETAN VELVET REVOLUTION -​

As the Chinese Empire fell, the rule of the Republic was not all-inclusive. Being such a vast and rugged nation, it was not possible for a new government to keep everything in its proper place. On Novemeber 15, 1910, Thubten Gyatso, the 13th Dalai Lama, declared the independence of Tibet. Worrying over rumors of a possible Russian invasion of Asia and wanting to also prevent the Chinese Republic from ever gaining strength, Europa swept in with ambassadors and supplies to fund the Tibetan Revolution. In early 1911, Caesar Napoleon IV announced that Tibet was under Europan protection and any violation of its sovereignty would be an act of war against Paris itself. This successfully secured the independence of the nation.

Europan ambassador Rodolf Reynaud poses for a photograph with the 13th Dalai Lama and an unamed Tibetan official

Flag of Sovereign Tibet

- THE FALL OF PEKING -
​

In early Spring, 1911, Russian forces gathered in Mongolia with an army loyal to the infant Qing Emperor and stormed across northern China, slaughtering the meager defenses the Republic could afford to put up in that desolate stretch of nothingness. By the beginning of summer, Republican forces had fallen back almost halfway through the country, until Chancellor Heng rallied his men against the massive onslaught of Imperialists heading their way. Following a bloody siege, the Qing government reestablished itself in Peking with huge amounts of Russian support. The Mad Czar himself, still convinced he was the reincarnation of Genghis Khan, rode the fastest train to Mongolia and from there rode with his household cavalry to Peking. There, wearing full green Russian Imperial uniform with a ushanka on his head and a saber swinging from his hip, Viktor entered the Forbidden City. It was here that he declared himself the Steward of the Chinese Empire with the full and "gracious" backing of the Qing officials. It was literally this or death, and the underlings knew it. Jubilantly, they held the toddler Puyi aloft before cheering crowds of citizens (most of whom had grinders aimed directly at them) and hailed him as the glorious rightful Qing Emperor.

Russian Imperial troops arrive in Peking

Mongolian soldiers pose for a photo in occupied Peking

A man denying the sovereignty of Viktor and Puyi is publicly executed in northern China, 1911​

- KHAN OF KHANS -​

The Republic, faced with such a bold and blatant power grab by Russia, saw an increase in fighting spirit as they knew Viktor would stop at nothing until he controlled all of China. The fighting drew to a stalemate, much as in Greece, along a line of fortifications and trenchworks known as the Nanking Line. Heng Guo, following the Imperialist recapturing of Peking, had moved his capital to Macau. Tens of thousands of troops were fighting on both sides, with a slaughter so great that it dwarfed the still-ongoing Greek War of Succession in every way conceivable. Imperial Russian aeroships flew over the Republican stronghold of Xi'an in mid-August, dropping firebombs and explosives on the city, killing and maiming thousands. This bold attack on a civilian target showed that Viktor and his Qing underlings would stop at nothing to achieve total victory. Very reluctantly, the Chinese Republican government offered a cease fire to open negotiations. What would follow would be one of the most infamous events in Chinese history.

The Republic hierarchy agreed to meet with the Russian and Qing leadership in Lanzhou to discuss a possible peace agreement. The Republican economy was in shambles and they were suffering from a lack of funding or supplies from anyone in their fight against their gigantic northern foe. Literally no one would fund the glorious revolution against the imperialists. So Heng Guo had thought he had no other choice but to offer a ceasefire. He sent his right-hand, Yahui Cheng, and 15 other officers and diplomats to Lanzhou under the protection of a white flag. Once there, they offered terms which would draw a border directly along the Nanjing Line, with Peking being capital of North China, under the Qing, and Shanghai being the capital of South China. To their dismay, this offer was utterly ignored. Instead, Viktor himself, speaking perfect Mandarin, entered the room of the governor's palace the meeting was being held in and told them loud and clear that he was there to accept the Chinese Republic's surrender and nothing else.

"I have traveled far for this meeting, unworthy ones. Think on your unworthiness. You stand before Viktor Romanov, Czar of all the Russias, Khan of Khans, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, and Master of Asia. I am the Great Khan reborn! I am Viktor! I bombed Xi'an. I burned it to ash with the wrath of a scorned god whose fury manifests as a fiery hand reaching down from the heavens and smiting all who reject his holy words. Women and children, too, have I killed, as none are safe from the righteous indignation of a Khan who suffers indignities at the hands of barbarous fiends. Lay down your arms and join me! I come to liberate, not to conquer. I come to abolish serfdom and end feudalism on this planet. I come to restore a rightful Qing monarch and modernize all of China! Lay down your arms! Tell your men to bow to Peking and St. Petersburg and all of you shall be spared!"​

Shocked and furious at such treatment, the Republican ambassadors refused. In response, Russian officers appeared in the room wielding swords, a direct violation of the terms of the meeting. Two weeks later in Macau, Heng Guo opened up a large, beautifully gilded chest, inlaid with jewels and the image of a two headed eagle strangling a Chinese dragon on the lid. Inside the box was the head of Yahui Cheng and in his mouth a single piece of silk which read, in Chinese characters, "The South shall tremble, for the Wrath of the Khan has come. Death shall come swiftly and terribly, and your entrails will be carrion for the animals of the forest. Then I shall burn down the forests and the animals which feasted upon you, and the memory of your existence will be snuffed out for all time, burnt up in the belly of a wild beast." The talks were over. From that point on, it would be total war. Czar Viktor himself led the next assault on the Nanking Line, almost breaking through once again. Wearing a golden cuirass and and a massive helmet, he rode his horse into the thickest of fighting. He would lose three horses from underneath himself but he was seemingly impossible to hit or kill. According to (probably exaggerated propaganda) reports, Viktor, wielding a revolver in his left hand a saber in his right, at one point "drove his sword through two men at once before shooting another while he attempted to wrench the blade free from the first two unlucky sods."

Czar Viktor I's helmet worn during the Nanking Offensives​

Czar Viktor I rides before his men holding up an icon of the Virgin Mary before launching an assault on the Nanking Line

Russian artillery manned by Qing loyalists shell Republican positions​

Recognizing an opportunity to expand its sphere of influence, the Kingdom of Holland, operating its massive colonies in southeast Asia and Indonesia, saw an opportunity to interfere with matters. In September, 1911, Holland secretly agreed to smuggle arms and supplies through Dai-Nam into Republican China to stave off Russian aggression. Now with a steady supply of weapons and ammunition, the Republicans could keep the stalemate rolling. When Viktor found out the Chinese were fighting him using Europan-made weapons, the next crisis would begin. A crisis which would directly lead to the Great World War....

 

[Napoleon53]

BECOMING A MAN PART I:
THE WAGES OF SIN

RUMP officers stand inside an Inferior abode​

I remember the old days well. It was 1910. I was only a young lad, not yet a teen, but I was already five foot nine. My face was long and I was teased mercilessly for my nose. "Old Vulture" the other children would call me and flap their wings. But despite all of the teasing, I had a wonderful childhood growing up in Sandusky, Ohio, in the breadbasket of the Union. Everywhere I turned as a child was a pure slice of Americana. I would play rounders with the other kids in the neighborhood on Saturday afternoons. I would wander hill and dale entirely unsupervised, my parents just demanding I be home in time for dinner. I would go to the public school every week day from 9 to 4, beginning every class with the Pledge of Allegiance. On Friday nights at the park just down the street from my childhood abode a local band take up position in a gazebo and would play old classics and ballads. Everyone would picnic in front of the gazebo and listen, sing and eat sandwiches and share pitchers of the best lemonade I ever had. I was also an ardent member of the Custer Youth Brigade, learning all sorts of amazing things about nature and camaraderie and how to be a man. By golly, I was taller than my Brigade Master at that point! But above all else, my family was the most faithful, down-to-earth, and God-fearing one in all of Ohio.

Life didn't always make sense to me at that age. Many things seemed strange or peculiar, and my infantile mind couldn't always grasp the true meaning behind them. I loved being in the Custer Youth and thought it a great way to go on adventures and see the world around me--or at least as much as the woods around Sandusky, Ohio, would allow. But I didn't understand the core purpose of the Brigade until later. That is, the fact that it is the greatest way ever devised to raise up young patriots to take over from the last generation. The Brigade ingrained in me not just how to use a twenty-two caliber and how to pitch a tent, but also the virtues of creative thinking, problem-solving, people-skills, and love of country and devotion to duty.

I also didn't understand why my grandpa, my real best friend, was always so busy. "Grandpa! I miss Grandpa!" I would cry to my mother, Elizabeth, wishing that hulking man would come stomping in through the front door in those big boots of his and bring me a bauble from one of his adventures. Indeed, as a child I didn't quite understand what Grandpa did, but I knew the man was extremely busy and often gone for long periods of time. He was so exciting! One of my favorite times he came to visit he brought me a real, genuine pocket knife made in the Nordreich, where he had gone on business for the government. I didn't really understand what the Nordreich was, but I thought they made very pretty pocket knives. Another time he brought me a compass made by the finest craftsmen in Japan. Little did I know what my grandfather meant when he said he was fourteenth in line to the presidency! He would remind everyone of that fact quite often and he was very proud of his job as Under-Secretary of the Manifest Destiny Party's Internal Affairs, but I wasn't even sure what an internal affair was. I just knew the MDP was President Custer's party, and the MDP loved America and every American citizen.

He would always try to talk my father, Bruno, into joining the armed forces, but he never did, deciding to make his living working for Yankee Doodle Telegraph. My father wasn't a line-stringer or lumberjack, however. He was Vice-President of Yankee Doodle, and I thought that made me just about the proudest boy in Sandusky. He was always talking about how "those damn inbred Van Burens" were trying to "cut in on his business." Other than that, he was just a normal father. Some days, after dinner, we'd play catch with a rounderball or maybe he'd teach me a new boxing technique that I'd never use--I might have been tall, but I was far too thin to be an effective boxer. At least at that point in my young life.

But out of all the things that shaped me from a boy into a man, it was mostly two things which had the greatest impacts. The first was my visit to the Inferior ghetto just a few miles outside the city. I was about nine years of age. The second thing was the day when I was ten and I gave my soul Jesus Christ and the Prophet Burr, embracing the Way, Truth, and Light and becoming born again in the cleansing waters of redemption as attained by all God's Chosen Betters.

The visit to the ghetto was one of the most interesting and memorable days I ever had. It showed me the truth about the Inferior, and I began to see why this cretinous leech was, indeed, an Inferior before the eyes of God and Man. The Sandusky Ghetto was a wretched hive of scum and villainy, a place where Irish Papists and Slavic Orthodoxers mingled and miscegenated their bloodlines. A place where the air reeked of absinthe and cheap liquor, mixed with the scents of soot and sewage. Around every corner there was a rapist, copulating like a wild boar atop a pitiable red-haired female. My grandfather had decided to take me there to show me that "the wages of sin is death." We drove through the area in his armored Colonel Ford, the emblem of the Manifest Destiny Party painted on the doors. Two little flags decorated the hood, and the ornament was a custom-made party eagle, its talons clutching a trout as a symbol of Social Darwinism. I believe that was how my grandfather saw himself driving through that ghetto, as a mighty eagle skimming the foul waters above a school of the devil's trout. Behind us were three more armored cars, full of soldiers ready to defend us in the blink of an eye from anarchists or highwaymen. "Grandpa Horatio?" I began, nervously. Some ten feet ahead I saw an Irishman holding an empty bottle of liquor gazing straight into my eyes. "Why do we let these people live here?"

My grandfather was always a man to moralize, and he quickly taught me why America was the way it was. He was sitting there, calm as could be, wearing his Yankee blue overcoat with the collar up and his mustache perfectly waxed at the tips. He looked over at me and asked me a question in turn. "Well," he began, "Why does God let Satan exist?"

I was stumped about this for a while, as it had never really occurred to me. "I don't know," I said mildly, ashamed of my own ignorance. I went to Sunday School every single week, but I never really had considered this question before.

My grandpa took a sip of the Scotch he had sitting in the center console of the dash and said, "Son, you see, in this earth there are two forces that control destiny. There is Good, on the one hand, allied with our generous Lord Jehovah and Jesus Christ. Good is eternal, and has existed as long as God, which is, to say, forever. A thousand millions years in the past and Good still existed. For a thousand million more it shall also exist. But the earth has only existed for about ten thousand years. Evil has actually existed for less than that. Evil was born when Satan rebelled against the Lord and was cast out of Heaven and into the fiery bowels of the earth. Eventually, evil shall be extinguished forever upon the Second Coming. But in the meantime, this fallen earth exists as a means for which to prove one's devotion and loyalty to Jehovah, His Son, and the Prophet Burr. In your science classes, I'm sure you've read about Charles Darwin's survival of the fittest. Well, God uses the earth to wean the strong from the weak. As the Chosen, we are the strong. We fight for all that is good and right, standing up for faith and homeland. But there is also evil. Evil manifests itself in murder and debauchery, from Rome to this ghetto. The Inferior, pitiable though he is, is in his natural habitat here. Here he proves his own worthlessness to anyone but Satan. Here this ghetto stands as a monument to evil. It exists to show us what we will become unless we remain pure. Do you understand that, son?"

I was stunned by how it all made sense now. I finally saw why the Inferior was allowed to exist and procreate. "So," I said, "The Inferior is allowed to exist to show us that evil is real?"

My grandfather smiled and patted me on the back and told me, "Yes, you have the gist of it. Here in this human zoo, full of subhuman monkeymen, we allow these creatures to exist. They are fallen and lost, but they stand as a testament to the existence of godless hedonism and heathendom. Just as God uses evil to single out the Chosen from the Lost, the ghettos exist as a warning for what evil is capable of and America singles out the Betters from the Inferiors. These people were evil at birth, born and raised in evil, and will die evil. They were not created, as was Adam, from the salt of the earth, filled with the precious bodily fluids of the Pinnacle Man. They were formed from the pits of sulfur and the mud and muck of the swamplands, beasts of the field, by the serpent Satan, a twisted mirror image of God's creation. They appear human, so close, in fact, to real humans that they are almost indistinguishable. But in their blood, which lacks any of the proud Precious Fluid of the First Born that flows through our veins, there is blackness. Soullessness. These subhumans are incapable of love, devotion, or duty to anyone except their false gods and their popes and emperors. They are a portrait of sin itself, writhing in the agony of sin. For the wages of sin is death. We need not kill them, son. We should harness them and use them for tasks for which we deem them fit. For in the sweat of labor there exists Good. In the dirt on a man's hands, fresh from the factory. In the smut on his face, back from the mines. In the lines on his face, this too is divine. By forcing the Inferior to work, and work hard, we are elevating them. By taking the twisted and subhuman creations of Satan and forcing them to work, we give them a taste of the divine. Through laboring for the Chosen, descendants of the Adam the First Born, the Pinnacle Man of Genesis, these wretched fools are made purer. Irredeemable though they are, the Council teaches that the Inferior who dies with a pick in his hand and sweat on his brow is allowed to enter the embrace of the Void, rather than his unsoul, his inner character, being twisted into a vile demon or bugaboo, to be tormented forever. I know these are heady topics, son, but you need to understand them. Do you understand these things, Ryan? Do you believe them?"

"I do, Grandpa. We must work these unpeople, to bring them closer to the Light of the Word of God. Is that right, sir?"

I had never seen my grandpa more proud. "Yes! Yes, Ryan, that is correct. Now, see that paper store up ahead? O'Hara's Paper Supply?"

I squinted and looked down the street through the heavy pane of glass that was the windshield and spotted the structure. It was a disgusting one-story shack that had a crudely made sign over the entrance. "Yes, Grandpa. I do."

He took another shot from the whiskey in his cupholder. "That, my boy, is a nest of vipers. They are printing Beautelist manifestos and subversive papers to undermine God and Homeland. That is the real reason we are here today. They think that they can print their Satanic propaganda and get away with it. That the Manifest Destiny Party will just turn the other cheek to their wickedness. They are wrong. Son, open the glovebox. You should find a pistol in there."

I did as instructed, becoming more frightened by the second. Sure enough, I pulled a Colonel Pierce 1860 revolver out of the compartment. The barrel was blued and the handle was made of some sort of bone, inlaid with silver letters that spelt out the word "RYAN." "Granpda, is this for me?" I asked, marveling at the gun but still terrified at what might be about to happen.

Grandpa Horatio nodded solemnly as the paper store grew closer. "It is indeed, Ryan. It was my first gun. Your great grandfather Horatio Washington Hendrick carried it into the Great American War. I had the handle made for you. It is yours now. Now, we're about to go into this Paper Store and I need you to stay behind me. Do exactly as I say, do you understand?"

I looked up at him with wide eyed horror and slowly said, "Yes, sir." I was only nine years of age at the time, and this was quickly going from a trip to the people zoo with my grandfather into an active combat situation. Our convoy stopped in front of the paper store. The three vehicles in the rear now buzzed around us, parking first and surrounding our Colonel Ford with clockwork precision. Out of the rear hatches of the large vans came men, about 12 in all, all dressed in blue shirts, khaki pants and gaiters, and blue pith helmets. They all carried bolt action rifles and shotguns and they all sported MDP armbands and on the front of their helmets was the insignia of the Republican Union Military Police. My grandfather motioned for me to get out, and together we exited the vehicle. He drew his black revolver from his well-worn brown leather holster under his overcoat and, again like clockwork, the armed RUMP men surrounded us.

Our "squad" walked up the rickety wooden boards that served as steps for the paper store. All around us, Inferior standers-by ran for the hills, terrified of the sight of armed Anglo-Saxon men in their neighborhood on a policing action. They knew what was likely about to happen. Instead of knocking, my grandfather simply ordered one of the RUMP men to blast the door of the shop off its hinges. This the trooper did like a machine, without hesitation or question. As the door came blasting in off the hinges, my grandpa walked straight in, not even flinching from the gunshot which made my ears ring something fierce. "REPUBLICAN UNION MILITARY POLICE!" Grandpa Horatio bellowed, raising his pistol in the air and firing a warning shot. "Under the authority of the President of the Union, Governor Brewer, and by the law and ordinances of the great State of Ohio, we declare that everyone in this building is an enemy of the state for operating an illegal printing press and distribution of Beutelist and subversive content. You have thirty seconds to comply and lay on the floor with your hands behind your backs or lethal force will be authorized!"

Overhead in the small front office of the shop, a lightbulb flickered in its socket. A man behind the desk was curled up in a fetal position, crying and moaning in some sort of Slavic tongue I couldn't identify. Another man, an Irishman seated at a table where he had been reading, suddenly screamed "Long live the Revolution!" pulled a pistol out of his jacket and aimed it at my grandfather--only to be blasted from three different RUMP officers with both rifle and shotgun rounds.

"Clear!" one of the officers bellowed and we advanced into the next room. One of the policemen stayed behind kicking and beating the Slavic desk clerk with a baton until his ribs were broken. Then he cuffed his hands and threw the now unconscious man out into the street and loaded him up in one of the vans.

The next room seemed to be empty but was full of crates of paper and books piled to the ceiling. As we cautiously entered, a hidden door opened from behind a bookshelf and out came three Inferiors. Two of them held sawed-off shotguns and the third held a revolver. The first one to run out of the hidden door was shot directly through the brain by a RUMP man, but the other two managed to dive for cover behind the crates. I was just a boy and was so scared I almost pissed myself. I had never seen anyone die before, and now here in the last five minutes I had seen a man's head explode and another man so riddled with holes he was unrecognizable. A hail of lead went back and forth, and one of our boys hit the ground clutching his shoulder and screaming in agony. But we pushed on. I was standing right behind my grandpa, terrified for my life. After about twenty seconds of nonstop gunfire another shout of "CLEAR!" rang out, and we pressed on, stepping over the bodies of the other two men who now laid in pools of blood on the pinewood floor. It was rather foolish of them to try to resist like they had, as they now had revealed their secret bookshelf entrance. The RUMP officers forced it back open easily and we pressed on into the unlit darkness of the hidden chamber. Two of our men pulled helmets off their belts equipped with miner's lights, enabling us to see. It was the printing press. After several moments of searching, we found a light switch and the lights turned on. All around us were subversive materials--mostly the writings of that vile leech Meinrad Beutel, but also strange books I did not recognize embossed with a strange sigil of flame. One the walls there were posters depicting an Irishman begging on his knees, his hands clasped in prayer, and the caption below read, "AM I TOO NOT A MAN?" Below it read "THE FRATERNAL ORDER OF THE NEW ILLUMINATI SUPPORTS THE FREEDOM OF ALL PEOPLE."

My grandfather's disgust was easy to see in just his face. He quickly ordered the gasoline to be poured around the room and for the printing press to be smashed to bit. He kept staring at the posters talking about Illuminati before ripping one down and handing it to one of his officers as evidence. He did the same with one of the embossed books. "What is Illuminati?" I asked slowly.

He looked at me and said, "For the first time, son, I don't know. Especially what they're doing in Sandusky, Ohio. But we're going to find out, that's for damn sure!"

I followed my grandfather out of the building. After searching pockets, the policemen left the corpses of the dead criminals inside where they were. Now my grandfather pulled a book of matches out of his vest pocket and lit one up. Without any second-thought, he flicked it inside the doorway of the paper shop. Quickly, the flames spread through the building, feeding off the trail of gasoline. As the fire raged behind us, we turned back to the convoy of vehicles we had arrived in.

Grandpa Horatio stopped at one of the vans and climbed in the back. The desk clerk had woken up now and my grandpa was smashing him in the face and choking him like an animal, demanding to know what the New Illuminati were. I noticed something odd though. The way he handles the clerk and beat him was not with actual rage or hatred, but almost no emotion whatsoever, like skinning a deer or pulling the wings off a fly (one of my favorite childhood activities). "Now tell me, you mewling little shit, what is the New Illuminati?" he demanded for the third time, smacking the man across the face.

The Slavic desk clerk's face was now completely blue and his left eye was almost completely swollen shut. Through all the beatings he had endured he kept repeating the cry "No English! No English!" Now, with blood gurgling out of his lips, he looked my grandpa straight in the eyes and, through his heavy accent, rasped the word, "Fuck... Y-y-ou... Yankee c-c-cyka."

My grandfather released the man's shirt collar from his gloved hands and turned to me. He pointed to the man and told me, "This man has just refused to cooperate and blasphemed your grandfather! He has cursed at the fourteenth highest-ranking Union official in all the land in his mongrel tongue. Ryan! What are the wages of sin?"

With an eerie sense of calm, I drew my pistol from my belt, knowing what he wanted me to do. The man whimpered as I leveled my great-grandfather's pistol at the man's head, probably begging for mercy in whatever language he spoke. "The wage of sin," I said, "is death."

BLAM.

It was this day that I became a man. I killed that mongrel clerk. And he deserved it. For the first time I knew my purpose in life. I saw the light. I gave myself fully, aged just nine, to Jehovah and the Prophet. I saw why my grandfather served. I saw the reason these pathetic subhumans were Inferior. They wanted to destroy America. And that was not going to happen, not on Ryan Hendrick's watch.

The following has been an excerpt from BECOMING A MAN: THE RYAN HARVEY HENDRICK STORY (First Edition, Douglas Publishing, 1955) by Ryan H. Hendrick, Supreme Chief of the Space Force​

 

[Napoleon53]

BECOMING A MAN PART II:
WASHED IN THE BLOOD

The Reverend-Colonel Billy Sunday speaks before his congregation in Philadelphia, 1910​

The next step of my transition from a child into a young man came, as I said previously, when I was ten years old. It had been only a few months since the day I shot the Inferior blasphemer in the back of the police van. You see, I was very immature and playful as a young boy and toddler, and cared little for reading the Good Book or the Books of Manifest Destiny. I believed in right and wrong and loved my country, but that was about the extent of my religious nature. But around the time I raided the paper store with my grandfather I began to become more and more politically, religiously, and culturally aware of exactly what was occurring around me. Manhood was somewhat forced upon me, but it was what was needed to help a silly young boy grow up.

The day that I would undoubtedly call the most important of my life was the day I gave my life to Jesus Christ and the Prophet Burr and felt the sweet waters of Manifest Destiny wash my sins away. Though I had thought about asking to be baptized since I was about eight years-old, I never felt confident enough. I was surrounded by so many great Christian gentlemen, from my father, grandfather, and teachers, that I felt about two inches tall compared to them. Surely God had no need for me, a lowly child. But I began to see and feel how I could make a difference. How, eventually, I would be head of the Hendrick family and hold considerable clout through name alone. I began to see I could be used by the Lord Jehovah to help fulfill the prophecy of Manifest Destiny in at least some small but meaningful way. I felt self-worth for the first time, and I knew I was ready to be baptized. I just wanted to pick the best moment.

My father Bruno had asked me if I wanted to go see the new Reverend-Colonel. Reverend-Colonel Dwight Moody had just recently passed away and the Council of Jehovah and elected a new man to head the Fundamentalist Church. It was a gentleman by the name of Wilhelm Sonntag, or "Billy Sunday" as he had taken to calling himself. That son of Nordreicher immigrants was a much, much younger man than any of his predecessors. Only 48 years old, he was a striking figure in a well-made suit and slicked hair. He had been a soldier during the Holy Nippon War, and had lost a testicle. This partial loss of manhood drove to prove himself a Strong Man still, and this he did. Even as a toddler I had heard of Billy Sonntag and his Circuit Riders. Everyone knew him. He was a celebrity and one of the first American superstars and showmen. His revivals had been held from Vermont to Metropolis and his Circuit Riders drove Colonel Fords all around the country, preaching the Gospel.

I told my father I would love to go see the new AFC leader speak. He was to appear at the AFC Tabernacle of Sandusky on July 4, 1910. I was almost giddy on the auto ride to the church. I had heard he was one of the most energetic and vigorous preachers since the Prophet, and so had pretty much everyone else. Wearing their Sunday best, thousands converged at the Tabernacle for the Independence Day sermon. I wore my Custer Youth Brigade uniform and all my merit badges, with my pinch-crown hat respectfully stowed under my arm. As we filed into the church, the organist was warming up, plinking out the notes to "Victory in Jesus" as people took their seats. Much of it was standing room only, though metal folding chairs and been brought in to make up for the lack of enough pews. A crude microphone system made sure the hundreds still outside could hear the great man speak. The microphone itself stood on a pulpit draped in the national flag. That was where Sunday would appear.

The service began about an hour later. At the beginning, the organ's triumphant rendition of "Old Time Religion" filled the air and a 100-member choir, dressed in snow-white robes, sang out the words, backed up by violinists. Four actual members of the Council of Jehovah then appeared in the rear of the church, coming out of the consultation chamber behind the baptismal pool. This was extremely rare, as Councilmen rarely appeared at revivals, usually sticking to the Tabernacle of the New Jerusalem in Philadelphia where they cloistered and mad policy. The song stopped. Each white-clad man carried an emblem of the AFC. The first man had, like the others, his face covered by his pointy white hood and he carried a simple wooden cross. The second man carried scythe, representing death. Another carried a cage containing an olive branch, symbolizing peace and life. The fourth Councilman carried an ancient musket of the War for Independence, symbolizing the Christian soldiers that gave their lives for Manifest Destiny. In their other hands they carried candles, freshly lit. As they proceeded to the altar in front of the pulpit, the first man planted the cross upon it, fitting it into a silver holder. The other men left the scythe, olive branch, and musket upon the altar as well. Finally, the one who had carried the cross began chanting, "THE OLD TESTAMENT. AND THE NEW. CHRIST AND PROPHET. MANIFESTUM. FATI. PATRIOTS. PURITY. THESE BOOKS SHALL LEAD US TO MANIFEST DESTINY."

The crowd completed the prayerful phrase, "MANIFEST DESTINY SHALL HEAL OUR WOUNDS AND SORROWS. FOR GOD OUR LORD HAS LIFTED US ABOVE ALL OTHER NATIONS." I, too, joined in, raising my right arm to the heavens with everyone else. Then the four Councilmen touched their torches to the cross, setting it ablaze.

The first man again spoke, saying, "Let this Cremation of Sin commence. Come all ye who are weary and heavy-burdened and cast your lot in with Jehovah and the Prophet, and let the words of the Reverend-Colonel of the American Fundamentalist Church wash away your sins. All hail!"

"ALL HAIL!" we chanted dutifully, again raising our right hands. I was already shaking. I was so excited for the big man himself to appear. I could barely sit still. That was well, for the next part of the elaborate ceremony involved standing again, as the different branches of the services trooped their colors. A Custer Youth Brigade Eagle Scout (the highest CYB designation entailing the collection of every merit badge) led the soldier, sailor, marine, and aerotrooper, carrying a national flag. How I envied him! If it were me carrying that flag my heart would have likely to burst out of my chest. It still practically did as the national anthem filled the air. Following the troopers came two small girls dressed all in white carrying a large portrait of the Prophet Burr. This they placed in front of the altar with extreme reverence before turning and saluting the audience.

Then a deafening hush fell over everyone. No one spoke. All just waited. I looked around excitedly, trying to tell where he would come from to take the stage. Suddenly, the lights in the church turned low and several spotlights were turned onto the stage. Again, total silence was our master as we sat transfixed waiting for the Reverend-Colonel to appear. Then, much to our shock, the spotlight suddenly swooped to the atrium over the stage! Unbelievably there was the Reverend-Colonel, flanked by more musicians in all-white. "I'll Fly Away," a hymn which would have great meaning to me personally later in life, was struck up by these musicians and their guitars, fiddles, and banjos. The chorus below joined in as well, filling the church with the song like as to shatter the stained glass windows. Using a winch system, the platform the Reverend-Colonel and his musicians were on repelled from the ceiling as if they were angels descending from heaven. I was spell-bound, and I'm pretty sure everyone else was as well. The man himself stood perfectly still, his arms outstretched, a Bible in his left hands and the a single-volume edition of the Books of Manifest Destiny in the other. His eyes, even from this great distance, were piercing, like a mighty lion of Christ. The platform hit the stage with a thud as the music reached a crescendo.

Sunday took a sip from a glass of water next to the microphone, sat his Bible and Sacred Books upon the altar, took a step back, and let it rip, as they say. His voice trembled with the wrath of Jehovah, his holy words pouring fourth like the sweet honey of the land of Beulah.

"Greetings, my brothers and sisters in Christ and Prophet, All hail!" he clicked his heels and shoved his right hand in the air, which was quickly met by everyone else with lightning response. "This revival, this Cremation of Sin, is a meeting I have been looking forward to, and I wish to thank the church elders and the wives of the Sandusky Fundamentalist Tabernacle here for their hospitality. It is a pleasure to be here, and an honor as your recently-chosen Reverend-Colonel to speak from this pulpit as the captain our Body of Christ. The topic of today's sermon will be the atonement we, the Chosen Betters, shall find through the Blood of Christ and the Words of the Prophet. Many of today's America raise their hand and are eager to proclaim, 'Why of course I love Jesus and the Prophet Burr!' But how many of you guys and gals really truly honest-to-God believe it? Because, shucks y'all, I was a sinner once, but there's a hell of a lot of sinners out there still. It isn't possible all these people can be telling the truth or there wouldn't be anymore sin. Conversion is a complete surrender to Jesus and the Prophet. To accept that Jesus Christ is one with the Holy Ghost and Jehovah the Father and that Aaron Burr, all hail his Name, is their Prophet. Believe in your heart and confess with your mouths. I think you need to go down on yours knees in the straw, pray all hours of the night, and all nights of the week, speak in tongues, and beg the Prophet and Christ for deliverance from the fiery pit of damnation, because that's where you'll all wind up, spitroasting, unless you acknowledge Christ as Lord and Burr as Prophet!"

The crowd sat silent. A sense of fear rose up.

"Matthew stood in the presence of Christ and he realized what it would be to be without Christ, to be without hope, and it brought him to a quick decision. 'And he arose and followed him,' that's what the Bible says, it does. Yessir, I say that in your very midst right now are champions of America, outward showboats of the Holy Books and line-towers of party policy, who put on a false face every single time they open their damn porch door and parade around like Chosen when they are in fact living in the cesspit of sin itself. These False Chosen can be any one of us, at any time. And if we are to fulfill the prophecy of Manifest Destiny and turn the enemies of the New Jerusalem 'like unto glass,' then we need to convert some fools fast and loud because, brother, there's a storm coming, and we ain't ready. I feel it in my bones. I feel it. I sense it. I have foreseen it in my nightmares. The End of Days approaches like a thief in the night and America isn't ready! You have heard of the rumblings in Asia and Europe! You have heard of the heinous atrocities committed by the Satanic Luciferian emperor of Russia. You have seen how Europa just keeps getting closer and closer to getting that mad man to snap. Now, in rounders, teams draft players and coaches to best compliment their team as a whole. If I was Satan, I'd be looking mighty hard at Viktor Romanov as my star hitter. Hell, Viktor could be Satan right now, the Antichrist in the flesh, uniting all the hordes of mongoloid bandit-rapists and slant-eyed half-breed devils full of miscegenated black blood, the Devil's 'creation.' That scion of Satan Viktor pushes further and further into China every day. Every day, as they have for years, men die in Greece, fighting a dumb war over which sockpuppet is gonna sit on their throne. All over the world, one domino after another is a-fallin', and I'm a-tellin' you to get your affairs in order because Judgement Day is coming, and it ain't gonna be pretty for any of you."

Everyone's eyes widened and some of the women began to look forlorn, imagining their sons and husbands dying in an apocalyptic cataclysm. I sat perfectly still, soaking up his warning. I knew he was right. Every day at the corner store, the old men sat around a debated global politics around the cracker barrel, where I'd help myself to a snack and listen to them go at it. For months, they had been talking about a war coming, and now here was the Reverend-Colonel in the flesh warning me in person. The great man grew more intense as he ripped off his suit jacket and began to rush about the stage, giving elaborate sound effects to his "guns," his fingers, and mimicking a soldier being shot in the gut.

"Get your affairs together and give your soul to Jehovah and Prophet because you might give it to a Canadian grinder before you know it! But I am not here to exclusively preach damnation to you! I come to share Light with you, the Light of the Good Books! The road to heaven is a blood-stained path. It is the Blood of Christ, who died for our sins so we could become the Chosen, the Betters of the New Jerusalem. Though the apocalypse is a sobering thought, it is still a glorious event! For it is a path stained with the blood of Martyrs and our enemies and it shall lead God's Chosen to go forth and conquer in his name and build the New Jerusalem upon this his Rock, this, the Fundamentalist Church. It is the dawning of the Final Judgement, when Christ shall ride down from Heaven on a white horse, flanked by all the martyrs and patriot-saints from all of history. As First Kings tells us, 'Be strong, and show thyself a man!' Do not be afraid if your trust is in Jehovah and Christ, for thine shall be the Kingdom of God. Because sooner then you might realize the guns might be a-poppin' and the hellhounds might be a-trottin'. Now, before I go and continue my sermon, which might take a while, I'm gonna cut straight to the chase! Are there any among us who wish to be brought to baptismal pool? Are there any here who wish to have their sins swept away in the Blood of the Lamb and the Words of the Prophet? Who here feels the call of Jehovah and the Angel of Destiny? Stand up! Come forth, my children!"

I knew, deep in my heart, that it was time. I stood up proudly and shook my father's hand before filing into line to accept my redemption. Before the throngs of people Billy Sunday took me and asked me if I believed in Christ as my Savior and then if I believed Aaron Burr was his Prophet. I said yes, and he grabbed me and dunked me once under the water. Then he asked me if I believed the Testaments, Old and New, and the Books of Manifest Destiny, were divine. I said yes, and he dunked me again. I was about twentieth in the line of several hundred, and the congregation was already in a frenzy, speaking in tongues and handling snakes. The chorus and band blared forth "I'll Fly Away" as if their lives depended on it. The Reverend-Colonel saluted me, much to my surprise and honor, and exclaimed, "We got another one for Jesus, y'all! PRAISE!"

"PRAISE THE LORD AND ALL HAIL!" chanted the crowd as I stepped out of the baptismal pool in my soaking wet Custer Youth uniform. I was finally a man. I raised my arms to the sky and thanked the Lord and Prophet.

After the baptisms, which took hours, the Reverend-Colonel was still going strong. He preached, he expounded, and he cast out bugaboos. One woman was brought before him writhing and screaming, shaking in convulsions. As she twisted and contorted on the floor he grabbed the olive branch from the altar with the lit cross and began smiting her in the spirit, sending her flying across the stage. "BE GONE FOUL DEMON! IN THE NAME OF JEHOVAH, GOD OUR LORD, AND THE HOLY SPIRIT, CHRIST THE KING, AND THE PROPHET BURR, I COMMAND THEE TO LEAVE THIS WRETCHED WOMAN! BE GONE IN THE NAME OF CHRIST!" he screamed as loud as he could, splashing her with anointing oil. At first, the demon seemed to be holding out against him. Then he whipped the national flag off the pulpit and began whipping her with it, "THIS FOURTH OF JULY, IN THE NAME OF FATHER WASHINGTON, FATHER FRANKLIN, AND THE CONTINENTAL CONGRESS, I COMMAND THEE BACK TO HELL, VILE CREATURE! BE GONE!" I had never seen a real exorcism before! Truly, I thought Sunday was a man wise with the powers of the Other Side, as much as had been seen since the days of the blind Christian gentleman Mr. Tobias. At last, the demon departed, leaving the woman weeping at Sunday's feet, her body going limp. As assistants carried her away, Sunday began flicking the flag at the crowd, demanding the devil leave the building. "SATAN! THIS IS GOD'S TABERNACLE AND YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE! BE GONE! LEAVE MY PEOPLE BE!" As he led the crowd in the most hair-raising rendition of "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" I have ever heard or heard since, Sunday straddled the pulpit before leaping atop it, dancing with the joy of the Holy Spirit and speaking in tongues, still clutching that beautiful flag.

It was the happiest day of my life. And over the next few years as I was deployed as a drummer and signal boy in the Great World War, I would often recall it, even dreaming of it, as I slept in the muck and filth of the trenches, wise beyond my years, enduring horrors that surely seemed as apocalyptic as any since Crucifixion. Through all the slaughter and chaos, I would cherish my Bible and Holy Books, pocket editions, and they led me through the Great World War and still lead me to this day. The Bible I carried that day at Reverend-Colonel Sunday's revival became the first object ever sent to the outer atmosphere by the Space Force. The hymn that was played during my baptism in the waters of Manifest Destiny, "I'll Fly Away," I would make not only my family's personal song, but indeed the anthem of the Republican Union Space Force.

The following has been an excerpt from BECOMING A MAN: THE RYAN HARVEY HENDRICK STORY (First Edition, Douglas Publishing, 1955) by Ryan H. Hendrick, Supreme Chief of the Space Force

 

[Napoleon53]

THE THIRD DOMINO:
RISE OF THE CENTRAL POWERS

Kaiser Eitel Wilhelm I speaks to Berlin, announcing the creation of the Central Powers (1911)​

- THE LUTHER PLAN -​

Since its foundation in 1850, the Nordreich and its House of Hohenzollern-Wettin had been the Bonapartes' main rival in mainland Europe. It was the only Protestant great power left besides the Republican Union, and it was the only country that really had the means to win if a war against Europa broke out. Still, while there was fierce competition in places like Africa and Madagascar, Prussia and France had mutual respect and neither tried to antagonize the other. Wilhelm I went down as a brilliant leader who squeaked by doing all sorts of things that made his country stronger without triggering a war.

By the turn of the century things were different, however. On March 9, 1888, Kaiser Wilhelm I died at the age of 90. Every leader in the civilized world attended the funeral and showed their respect, even if they personally had disliked him. They stayed long enough to watch the coronation of his son, Friedrich. Friedrich's mother was the daughter of the late Czar Paul of Russia, which strengthened Nordic-Russian relations a bit by resulting in Kaiser Friedrich being one-quarter Russian, or at least deterring the Mad Czar Viktor from invading like Attila the Hun from the East. The Republican Union, who maintained friendly relations with Prussia, liked to skip over his partial Romanov blood and held Friedrich up as a "Protestant hero." For a "Protestant hero," though, Friedrich did very little. His reign was largely uneventful save for the Great Game in Africa. He died in 1900 at age 69 from stomach cancer.

Kaiser Friedrich I​

On November 1st, 1900, Friedrich's oldest son, the 41 year-old Sigismund, was crowned Kaiser Sigismund I. Sigismund, however, was not a popular figure. He was known to have had numerous bastards and supposedly kept a "harem" in a secret part of his palace in Berlin. He was also very fond of lavish parties and wiped out huge portions of the Imperial treasury on them. He also went on numerous trips to Africa to go on safaris to decorate his mountain lodges in Finland. His bad habits proved to be the end of him, literally, when in 1908, a hungover Sigismund was killed in Dutch Africa when his hunting wagon overturned in the midst of a wildebeest stampede. He died a painful, gruesome death, impaled through the chest on the horn of a bull. He lived for an agonizing 12 hours until he bled out. The news shocked the world. Even though he was not well-liked, people were respectful and mourned his passing "like proper gentlemen," said Custer, who attended the funeral in Berlin.

The Nordic people hoped for a fresh start with Sigismund's oldest child, the 24 year-old Eitel Wilhelm, who was known as a dashing and handsome young man with great pride in his people. On June 22nd, 1908, he was crowned Kaiser Eitel Wilhelm I. He immediately sacked all of his father's ministers and replaced them with common-sense conservatives and economic specialists. They managed to save the Prussian economy and triggered a golden age of the Reich's stock market. Business was booming, the outdated armed forces received upgrades, and the nation's merchant fleets quadrupled in size. A zealous Protestant, Eitel Wilhelm was furious when he found out about his father's debauchery, and immediately wiped all traces out of Sigismund's "high-end private brothel" and sold his father's vast liquor collection. This gained him huge respect in the Union, which strengthened ties with the Reich once more.

Kaiser Sigismund I

Kaiser Eitel Wilhelm I
​

Eitel Wilhelm was, as mentioned, a staunch Protestant Calvinist and an extreme traditionalist. He also was a long-time friend of Sweden's King Gustaf V. This was the origin of the Central Powers. Secretly and cautiously, Nordic and Swedish ambassadors busied themselves formulating a plan for a "third way" to resist the ever-growing power of Russia and Europa. In early 1911, he married a twenty-year-old Swedish noblewoman who became Kaiserin Erika. In 1913, their first child, Helmut Wilhelm, was born.​

Kaiserin Erika, circa 1912​

This new secret alliance of the two greatest Protestant powers in Europe was definitely game-changing. Before they would ever announce their new partnership, though, they needed to get more nations to join. If they revealed their hand too quickly, there was a chance that Europa would steamroll them unprepared for being too great a threat to Caesar's power. The main doctrine for the Central Powers' war plans was the "Luther Plan," concocted by Chief of the Army Max von Luther. Von Luther ambitiously worked behind the scenes with none other than the aging Louis Napoleon II of Holland to finally convince the Dutch King to break away from Europa after years of animosity and growing power in his own right. Dutch holdings in Asia were vast and its European army was state of the art and carried the newest equipment. What was most influential, however, was the fact that Louise Napoleona, the heir to the Dutch throne, was courting a member of the Dutch Reformed Church. If they could get a marriage agreed to, a Protestant would sit the Dutch throne for the first time in generations. This would completely change the odds of a potential war. However, the Kaiser was adamant that, at almost any cost he desired to simply allow Russia and Europa to duke it out in a slugging match for the ages rather than spill his nation's blood. But, he also informed von Luther that if a situation would arrive where Europa would attempt to block Holland from going its own way, then "like centuries ago, Protestant landsknecht will rally to the beat of the Teutonic Germanic war drums and assure that Europe is free of Catholic tyranny now and forever."

Louise Napoleona, Crown Princess of Holland​

In the spring of 1911, Louise Napoleona wedded Rutger Roeland, son of a Dutch Reformed general in the Royal Army. This enraged Caesar Napoleon IV, who screamed to his advisers that "My whore of a cousin has bedded the enemy! Dutch treachery will stab us in the back! Every day the clock ticks one hour closer to doomsday, total war with the Russians, and if Holland does not support us then we have a major chink in our armor! I know the King has detested his own dynasty for some time and has dreams of colonial grandeur, but I will be damned to hell if I allow a puny nation like Holland stand up to me and tell me no. I am Caesar! I am master of the earth! If I ask a king to kneel then he better kneel like he is before the Pope!" Interestingly enough, the pope was also his cousin, as Pope Sixtus VI was still Holy Father and now in his eighties, having outlived both Caesar Napoleon II and the III.

Things basically just escalated from that point on, unraveling before the entire world's eyes. Louis Napoleon himself also converted to Dutch Reformed shortly after his daughter, further alienating the storied line of Louis Bonaparte from the line of Napoleon Bonaparte. Pope Sixtus VI, in turn, excommunicated the Dutch king and denied him the right to ever reconvert or to have the Last Rites on his deathbed. In Holland, nationalism soared as the Royal Family quickly became the most popular Dutch monarchs since the Great Wars of the Empire. A huge parade was held after the excommunication which featured crowds of riotous demonstrators burning Europan and Papal banners. Thousands cried "Independence now and forever! Down with Papal tyranny!" as they marched up and down in front of the Royal Palace.

- GATHERING SUPPORT -​

In Sweden, meanwhile, King Oscar I, Napoleon I's godson and husband of Josephine, Napoleon I's step-granddaughter, had gone down as a French-panderer when he had died in 1889 at the age of 90. His son Charles had died in 1876, and was married into the Old Dutch Royal Family and the current Nordic Imperial Family by his wife Louise. Louise's mother was the eighth child of Friedrich Wilhelm III of Hohenzollern-Wettin and her father was Prince Frederick of Orange-Nassau, the grandson of William V, Prince of Orange, who was the last Stadtholder of the Dutch Republic (now Kingdom of Holland). Thus Oscar I, as his son had died before he himself went to the grave, was succeeded by his grandson Oscar II, who, thanks to his family connections, began shifting Sweden away from Paris's influence and toward Berlin's, leading to the creation of the Central Powers.

Next, to further cement "The Grand Alliance of the North," Sweden began consulting with the Republic of Norway, a fascist democracy who largely owed its existence to England and the Republican Union. Though hopes were not high originally, as the Republic was founded on anti-Monarchic beliefs, the Norwegian President, Knute Ralf Danielsen, surprised by agreeing to join the Central Powers. Danielsen said to the Swedish count he negotiated with, "We do not have the same form of government. We do not have the same philosophy or politics. But, we have the same religion. And hundreds of years ago, our glorious Norse forefathers sailed the fjords together and raided the cities of Charlemagne's sons, decimating the coastal cities of the Franks, destroying the very concept of a united Europe. God willing, the men of the North will fight together again and die if need be to free Europe. All hail the Men of the North!"

King Oscar II of Sweden

Gustaf V of Sweden​

- DEALING WITH DENMARK -
​

Denmark's beloved king, Frederick VII, who had abolished absolute monarchy and ended the decline of Denmark following the dissolution of the Kingdom of Denmark-Norway, died in 1863. Almost universally respected, he was sorely missed by his subjects who were not as impressed by his successor, Christian IX. Christian was, simply put, a boring, uninteresting fellow who seemed to be more at home hunting in the woods with his faithful hounds than actually governing. He let the Parliament basically run itself with little to no input on anything of import. When he died in 1906, he was succeeded by... another man who cared for governing and simply enjoyed being king. With the decline in royal power for two generations, the Parliament became more and more powerful, slowly turning the monarch into a mere figurehead. This was the Frederick VIII died in 1911, the year the Great World War began. Now his son, Christian X, detested his predecessor's lazy disregard for their ancient throne and wanted to return power to the crown and put the Parliament in its place. This, of course, was a road to disaster. Shortly after his coronation, he began stripping power from the government and began ruling more as an autocrat, fully in direct violation of the Danish Constitution of 1846.

This triggered a huge crisis. Fears were growing of a second Greece, with the a potential civil war brewing between Royalists and Parliamentarians. These fears were gunned down, quite literally, on August 15, 1911, when King Christian X was assassinated by a radical Parliamentarian while riding in his official autocarriage in Copenhagen. As Christian X had not yet had children of his own, Parliamentarian troops marched on the Royal Palace, proclaiming an end to the monarchy and ousting the royal family before a new monarch could be crowned. The proclamation of a Danish Republic sent shockwaves through Europe, with fears growing of further anti-Monarchist sentiment sweeping the continent. In a way, the great powers almost needed a war to keep their hold on their thrones. Sweden, now surrounded by republics on all but one side, now made it its war-goal to take Denmark and restore the Kalmar Union.

King Christian IX (b. 1818) 1863 - 1906

King Frederick VIII (b. 1843) 1906 - 1911

King Christian X (b. 1870), 1911 - 1911

Assassination of King Christian X
​

As Europe braced for war, Swedish Prince Axel, brother of the King and Field Marshal of the Swedish Army, made it his main objective to conquer Denmark as quickly as possible upon the outbreak of war. With help from Norway, they could storm the weak Danish defenses and take Copenhagen within a month. The Swedish Navy was of unexpectedly good quality, and while not the largest by any means in the world was second only to the Reich in the Baltic. The Danish Navy's admiralty, meanwhile, was supposedly full of old Royalists, and there were secret plans made for a mutiny and betrayal of the Parliament by letting the Swedes sail right in and storm the beaches.

If Sweden and Norway could take Denmark and hold it, this could give the Reich an opportunity to storm the northern Rheinbund, uniting Protestant Germany, taking the industrial center of Europe, and allow the reinforcement of Holland following the likely move to break away. This meant they could give a united front against Europa, who would likely also be fighting the League of Tsars. As the world waited for the first shot, the Central Powers revealed its own existence on September 15, 1911. Just half a month later, total war would begin, and the fate of Europe would hang in the balance....

​

 

[Napoleon53]

CHAPTER 53
TOTAL WAR

Dutch Royal troops scramble to defend the border from the Europan Imperial Army​

It had been a very long time since the event of total war in Europe. Not since Napoleon I had Western Europe seen violence on a massive scale. The war that was coming would dwarf the Great Wars for the Empire in every way. It would see true world war and slaughter so great it would set back civilization for a generation. To this day, it is not perfectly clear why this war happened in the first place. It could have been easily avoided through proper diplomatic actions, but all reason seemed to vanish in 1911. It was as if the major powers decided that war was inevitable and they might as well get it over with.

When Viktor, representing the League of Tsars plus his own bloated Eurasian holdings, declared war on Europa on October 1, it was the irrational actions of a madman, but a madman who was convinced he could win. He was the reincarnation of Genghis Khan, Khan of Khans. The Dalai Lama had proclaimed him the phsyical embodiment of the God of War. He was convinced that Europa was smuggling weapons to the Chinese Republic for a very long time, having no idea this was the action of the Dutch in Indonesia shipping in rifles and artillery in crates painted with Europan symbols and markings. King Louis Napoleon was such a genius that he found a way to guarantee his own independence with the Central Powers while also deliberately provoking a war between Europa and Russia to cover his exit. It was perfect, and even his own daughter, the crown princess, had no idea he was gaming the system. He would finally prove Caesar was not untouchable. He would be the one to bring his cousin down a notch, or at least be the one largely responsible.

Viktor addressed the crowds in front of the Imperial Palace in St. Petersburg thusly:

"Citizens and subjects of the mighty Russian Empire! Allies in Romania, Bulgaria, and our Holy City of Constantinople! It is my grave responsibility to inform the world that we are now in a state of total war. For too long have we tolerated the swine in Paris. For too long have they supplied our enemies that kill Russian sons in China and our allies in Greece. For too long have they lied about it, disgracing themselves even further as they attempt to cover their own treachery! Russia is a mighty nation, and a just nation, but it shall not turn the other cheek as Europan spies swarm through our domain. It shall not sit idly by as Europa tries to dominate the planet with their decadent culture. The League of Tsars will not take this abuse of our goodwill any further! We will not tolerate being treated like some backwater principality when we are the mightiest nation on earth. Our warriors are unmatched. Cossacks, Germans, Poles, Mongols, Chinese, Koreans, Uzbeks, Turkmen, and many, many more wait in the wings at this second, proudly holding up the striped banner of Peter the Great! Millions of Russian sons are ready to conquer or die, and they will not stop until Bonaparte has been crushed and Paris has been reduced to rubble upon ash! I will not stop until Russia is secure! I will not stop until Russia is protected! I will not stop until Mother Russia is the master of Eurasia, the height of civilization! Russia is second to none, and we will prove it with our blood and our bayonets. It will require great sacrifice. It will require devotion and selflessness. But under my rule as your Czar, I know you, my people, and our allies in the League will force the Bonaparte menace into the sea and sweep it from the continent! Urah!"​

Once news reached the other League of Tsars member-nations that Viktor had declared war, which they had expected for some time now, the Bulgarian Army immediately began an assault into Greece, joined by the forces of the exiled Greek King Alexander. Tiny Albania and the Kingdom of Serbia and Montenegro immediately declared themselves neutral powers and wanted no part in the violence currently exploding on their border with Greece and the League. This actually greatly helped the League during the opening gambits of the war, as Serbia and Albania being neutral nations meant that Europa could not bring reinforcements in by land to Greece, instead having to launch them across the sea from Italy. Elsewhere, Viktor actually ordered a fresh storming of the Nanking Line, trying to force a surrender as quickly as possible from the Republic so he could focus on defeating Caesar.

Hundreds of thousands of Russian soldiers were mobilizing and marching and riding trains west. However, they had a critical flaw: their equipment. Though wealthy and rapidly modernizing, Russia's weapons were still about a generation behind the Europans, and this showed. In the first few weeks of war, the Russians dominated the battlefields but at a high price. By the end of October, Vasilios the Bastard, the Reich puppet who was king in Athens, was on the run to Corinth once again as Russian, Bulgarian, and Alexandrian forces began to break through to Athens. The faction in Thessaloniki that backed Europan policies was also forced to withdraw back to their main strongholds. Meanwhile, Europa's Hungarian Army was the first to see action in the war, clashing with Romanian forces on October 15 on their border. The fighting was intense and the Russians initially made large progress, pushing the Hungarians back. But within the week the Hungarians elected to use gas shells, sending the Romanians packing back to the border, where they dug in and awaited orders for how to deal with this new weapon.

The Romanians had heard stories of gas from the Greek War of Succession, but had never seen it first hand. Initially, fearing Viktor's wrath for delays in his strategy, the Romanian high command ordered a general advance, beginning on November 1. Over twenty thousand Romanians charged into the face of grinder fire and poison gas, with only rags covering their faces. This proved disastrous, as they took over nine thousand casualties in 24 hours fighting over a patch of woods in the middle of nowhere directly on the border. This pointless slaughter finally convinced the Romanians to pull back to their trenchlines and wait for reinforcements from Russia to bring up their rear. Viktor's generals approved of this plan, worrying that if the Romanians tried another assault they might shatter and allow a Hungarian breakthrough that could go all the way to Greece.

Romanian troops on the move during the opening days of the Great World War​

In response to the Russian declaration of war, Caesar Napoleon IV appeared before the people in Paris at the Arch of Caesar on October 4 and said:

"It is a dark day in history. Common sense has failed and understanding had been slaughtered. Falsely accusing us of funding and equipping its enemies, the Empire of Russia and its insane monarch have declared war upon Europa. To face this monstrous evil which threatens all of humanity, I call upon the might of the Empire and the soul of our people. We are a proud nation, unseen in size and power since the days of Rome itself. We dominate the world on land and sea, in technology and industry, and in science and education. Most of all, we boast the strongest military force this world has ever known, the Grand Armee, and all of the regional national and member-state armies that also seek to see an end to the Russian menace. Paris stands strong with Madrid, Vienna, Rome, Budapest, Venice, Rio de Janeiro, Bombay, and Quebec. From Canada to California to West Australia, the blue banner of the Empire waves in the breeze, proud and strong. From Bengal to Sikkim, from Quebec to Fort Scotia, there is a patriotism unseen for generations. This generation will decide our fate. Whether we remain a prosperous and free Empire, united in the common goal of enlightenment, liberty, equality, and fraternity, or whether we shall crumble, crushed under the heel of a genocidal madman who will rape your daughters and murder your sons. I say we will weather this storm, and be stronger because of it. I say, in the end, Viktor Romanov will be deposed and sanity will return to Eastern Europe. To our former friends and fellow Europeans in the Balkans, I say to you that you do not need to mindlessly allow the Russian Czar to force you to bend the knee. Stand up and be counted among the free peoples of the world and end the insufferable league you have been forced into joining. Rise, free peoples of Europe! Join the Eagle of House Bonaparte and bring an end to Russian debauchery once and for all! Vive Europa!"​

For all the talk of freedom and unity, the buildup to the war and the growing divide between the Protestant citizens of Europa and the Catholics had triggered massive upheaval in Europe. The Pope's excommunication and condemnation to Hell of the Dutch Royal Family had incensed Protestants in the Rheinbund. To them, this showed that the Bonapartes were now stepping over a line too far. If the Dutch Royals were condemned for being Protestant, did the Catholic Church and Europa itself also think the hard-working Protestant Germans within their border were also a pack of heathen? On October 10, the call went out in the Rheinbund for soldiers to go fight against the League. To the horror of the Imperial recruiters, riots quickly broke out and citizens began burning effigies of Caesar in the streets, a very serious crime in the Empire. Instead of acquiring more soldiers for the war effort, the Rheinish Bundeswehr was ordered by the elderly High King Franz Josef I, Napoleon II's adopted son, to put down the rioters and reinstate order.

This was a huge mistake. Instead of trying to arrest the riot leaders and disperse the rest, the army, mostly made up of Catholics from Bavaria the southern regions, began to brutally beat people in the street. The first day of deployment for the Bundeswehr saw them shoot and kill ten Protestant Germans in Hannover and maim a score of others. Meanwhile, further violence was breaking out in Holstein, along the Danish border. In Westphalia, where the citizens were about half Catholic and half Protestant, the citizens began to turn on themselves. On October 15, twelve Protestants protesting the war were killed in a street battle with Catholic Imperial loyalists. This was a step too far, and the nation was on the cusp of total civil war.

In retaliation for the murder of their brethren, many of the Protestants who were still loyal to the Bund and the Empire began to change their minds. Enlistment stations came under assault by masked thugs who threw flaming whiskey bottles and rocks through the windows. Now the Bundeswehr was engaged in a full martial law scenario instead of deploying to the front against the League, where the Romanians and Hungarians were locking horns at this same moment. This was a horrible setback for the Empire, and now Caesar feared unrest in other parts of the Empire if this rebellion was not quelled quickly. Imperial troops direct from France were being diverted away from the actual war and being sent to back up the Bundeswehr.

Meanwhile, in Berlin, Kaiser Eitel Wilhelm I was furious about the "wholesale slaughter" being conducted in the northern Bund. He called High King Franz Josef I a "leacherous old man dripping with the blood of proud Christian Germans." Reich newspapers sold like hotcakes as they spouted propaganda about the "ethnic cleansing of the Teutonic Christian people of the Bund by their Bonapartist overlords." In the Republican Union, the stories became even worse, with reports that Catholic troops were going "door-to-door, like barbarians, raping and looting from Protestant innocents."

Yankee newspaper comic depicting Franz Josef I as a "Papal Bully" sizing up Rheinish Christians ​

The situation was untenable, chaotic and destined to implode even further. On November 1, Protestant Germans in Hamburg, Duchy of Holstein, stormed a military barracks there and seized weapons. The soldiers stationed there were majority Protestant as it was so far north and they actually refused to stop the attack, disobeying direct orders from Cologne and the High King. Within hours, the soldiers had actually joined with the rebels and proclaimed the "Free City of Hamburg" to be liberated from the Bund and the Empire. This was the beginning of something much larger.

Hamburger rebels pose for a photo ​

Elsewhere in Europe, the other members of the Bonapartist Continental Alliance were dutifully declaring war on the League (even though the Czar had already declared war upon them by proxy of declaring it on the Empire as a whole), promising thousands of troops and unimaginable amounts of supplies and equipment. But even with this tribute being brought before the feet of Caesar, he still knew things were not as they should be. The unrest in the Bund was taking up so many troops and so much manpower that it was becoming a chink in his armor. Holland, though already at war with Russia by proxy of Viktor's decree, had not yet announced its contribution to the war effort and Napoleon IV suspected them of striking a deal of neutrality with the Czar. Caesar was very confused when word reached him of a total mobilization of the Dutch Royal Army and Navy. Perhaps, even after all their fights and bitter rivalry, King Louis Napoleon had decided it was still in his best interest to help bring down the Czar. It was with this in mind that the Imperial government sent a letter of appreciation to the Dutch government, thanking them for "mobilizing your impressive armed forces in spite of our cultural and religious differences. For though we may not always get along, we are still one family, descended from our glorious grandfathers, and we are proud to see the Kingdom of Holland still stand for a united Europe." In reality, the Dutch King was, of course, preparing to announce his total separation from the Continental Alliance and was prepared to defend his kingdom from the brute force an enraged Caesar would likely bring to bear upon it for betraying their century-old alliance during a time of war.

On November 20, the Dutch king received a final telegram from the Reich's ambassador, Gerd Schwarz, that stated that "The Nordreich will stand behind your decision to leave the Continental Alliance. If the United Empire of Europa attempts to remove you from power or invades Holland, the Kaiser assures you that the Central Powers will dutifully support you with whatever means at their disposal, including the use of troops to secure your independence."

On December 1, the Dutch Army was given orders by Paris to march to Hungary and reinforce the Hungarians, Bohemians, and Austrians currently battling the Romanians and Russians there. Instead, however, King Louis Napoleon spoke before his troops in Amsterdam, with his general staff behind him, and ripped the paper up in front of the entire world. The King then said:

"An hour appointed by destiny has struck in the heavens of our fatherland! Recent historical events can be summarized in the following phrases: promises, threats, blackmail, and finally to crown the edifice, the decadent, bloated tick in Paris shoving their orders down our throats while at the same time condemning the entire Royal Family and myself to Hell for daring to follow our own consciences. Our consciences, and those of this nation blessed so richly by God, are absolutely tranquil as we enter a new era of Dutch might! The Dutch stand up today as one people united in a singular purpose: to join with our fellow Christian brothers in Norway, Sweden, and the Nordreich to combat the arrogance and impertinence of Paris and to guarantee Dutch independence now and forever! Soldiers and Sailors of the Dutch Royal Armed Forces! Raise up your voices and cheer, for the hour of destiny has arrived! It is now that we, as patriotic citizens of this great and ancient realm, stand for what is right against the stagnation and moral decline of the United Empire of Europa and the Continental Alliance. We do not declare war upon our cousins to the south. Indeed, if at all possible we shall attempt to secure a peaceful transition from the Continental Alliance to the Central Powers. But if the Catholic usurpers attempt to rip our liberty to pieces and put us to the sword, as they have so many innocents in the Bund, we will meet them bullet for bullet! Bayonet for bayonet! David will confront Goliath and win the victory. The Kingdom of Holland will stand for eons in liberty when, not if, we succeed. My people, fellow Dutchmen, rally to the flag! Enlist now and let us show the world that no one controls the proud nation of Holland. Liberty now and forever! Proclaim sovereignty throughout all the land!"
​

As news traveled of Holland's bold decision, it set off a chain reaction all across the world of major events many years in the making. In the British Isles, Winston Churchill was preparing to declare it his mission to reunite Britain as one nation. Imperial troops stationed in Fort Scotia were on high alert. The Welsh Army was mobilized, fearing a possible invasion from England. Ireland stood by in horror as neo-Cromwellites all across Britain sharpened their knives and licked their lips. The Republican Union, too, was preparing for something huge. The Great War was about to go truly world-wide....

A Dutch officer reads King Louis Napoleon's Proclamation of Sovereignty to the public in Rotterdam

Citizens in Utrecht gather in the streets to celebrate the Proclamation of Sovereignty

Hungarian and Austrian troops are assaulted by Russian cossacks (late 1911)

Imperial poster urging Frenchmen to enlist

Map of the World in 1911

​

​

 

[Napoleon53]

UNION HOLIDAYS AND RANKS OF THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT, MANIFEST DESTINY PARTY, AND THE AMERICAN FUNDAMENTALIST CHURCH

Great World War period photograph of the RU Capitol Building in Philadelphia​

To understand the evolution of the American chain of command in the latter years of the Custer Administration and the era of the Great World War, it is important to understand the layout of the systems used. Upon seizing power initially, Custer was extremely anti-bureaucratic and hated politicians, whom he viewed as largely to blame for the years of stagnation following the Great American War and the martyrdom of A. A. Lincoln. But as the world rolled into the cesspit of violence and destruction of the twentieth century, more and more political positions and offices popped up. This is not even to mention the growth of the MDP and the Reverend-Colonel Sunday's establishment of numerous new offices and titles within the Church. It was during the wartime period that the Union government would change for essentially the last time, with very few offices created thereafter.

- RANKS OF THE UNION GOVERNMENT -

- NATIONAL LEVEL -

THE OFFICE OF THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF:

The President


THE CABINET
(CURSUS HONORUM):

Number denotes line of succession to the Presidency

THE OFFICE OF RACIAL AND RELIGIOUS AFFAIRS
The Supreme Chief (1)
The Under-Chief (10)
The Minister
The Deputy Minister
The Headmaster-Marshal of the Custer Youth Brigade

THE OFFICE OF THE MILITARY POLICE
The Supreme Chief (2)
The Under-Chief (11)
The Deputy Chief
The Watch

THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC
The Supreme Marshal (3)
The Under-Marshal
The Coucil of Legate Generals


THE UNION NAVY
The Supreme Admiral (4)
The Grand Admiral
The Chiefs of Naval Operations
The Supreme Commander of the Marines
The Supreme Commander of the Coast Guard
The Chiefs of Marine Warfare Operations


THE UNION AEROFORCE
The Sky Marshal(5)
The Sky Chief
The Chiefs of Aerial Operations

OFFICE OF VETERAN AFFAIRS
Supreme Chief of Veteran Affairs
Surgeon-General of Veteran Hospitals


THE OFFICE OF THE TREASURY
The Supreme Chief of the Treasury (6)
The Quartermaster General
The Postmaster General
The Chief Minister of the Treasury
The Deputy Minister of the Treasury
The Chief Spokesman for the Economic Clans
The Chief Minister of the Union Mint


THE OFFICE OF JUSTICE
The Supreme Justiciar of Law and Order (7)
The Under-Justiciar of Law and Order
The Chief Minister of Inferior Law
The Chief Minister of Better Law
The Council of Law and Order


THE OFFICE OF EDUCATION
The Supreme Chief of Education (8)
The Under-Chief of Education
The Inspector General of Academia
The Council of Academia


THE OFFICE OF PUBLIC WORKS
The Supreme Chief of Public Works (9)
The Under-Chief of Public Works
The Chief Minister of Labor
The Deputy Minister of Labor
The Chief Minister of Agriculture
The Deputy Minister of Agriculture
The Inspector General of Highways and Infrastructure
The Inspector General of Railways
The Inspector General of Port Authorities
The Inspector General of Public Parks and Reserves


THE OFFICE OF PRESIDENTIAL POLICY*
The Supreme Policy Advisor to the President
The Deputy Policy Advisor to the President


* The Office of Presidential Policy was forbidden from the line of succession
to keep Advisors (essentially Chiefs of Staff) focused on accomplishing the current President's goals
and helping to carry on a "smooth" transition to the next President should
something happen to the one currently in office


- THE STATE LEVEL -

THE OFFICE OF THE GOVERNOR
The State Governor
The Deputy Governor

THE STATE CABINET
The Chief Comptroller of the State
The State Minister of Law and Order
The State Minister of Internal Affairs
The State Minister of Veteran Affairs
The State Minister of Societal Harmony
The State Council of Elders


- THE LOCAL LEVEL -

THE OFFICE OF MAYOR
The City Mayor
The Deputy City Mayor

THE CITY LEADERSHIP
The City Chief of Military Police
The Chief Comptroller of the City
The City Council of Elders
The Chief Minister of Local Ordinance and Zoning
The Chief Lawyer


- RANKS OF THE MANIFEST DESTINY PARTY -

Headquarters of the Manifest Destiny Party in Philadelphia circa 1925

- NATIONAL LEVEL -

The Atheling* of the Party (always the President)
The Thane** of the Party
The Deputy Thane
The Secretary of the Party
The Under-Secretary of the Party
The National MDP Women's Chapter Secretary
The National Treasurer of the Party
The National Labor Ambassador
The National Council of Party Bannermen
The National Secretary of the Veterans of Patriotic Wars Association

* Title of ancient Anglo-Saxon princes eligible for kingship, but in this case meaning "below the King," Christ himself
**Thane is the ancient Anglo-Saxon title meaning "one who serves," in this case meaning "one who serves Atheling, party, policy, and God


- REGIONAL LEVEL -

The Bannerman*
The Deputy Regional Bannerman
The Regional Chapter Secretary
The Regional Chapter Under-Secretary
The Regional Chapter Treasurer
The Commander of Regional Morale and Public Affairs
The Regional Labor Ambassador
The Regional Secretary of the Veterans of Patriotic Wars Association


* Bannerman was a reference to Medieval Britain, where warlords pledging fealty to a prince were referred to as Bannermen


- LOCAL LEVEL -

The Cell Leader
The Women's Cell Leader
The Local Secretary of Party Affairs
The Local Secretary of the Veterans of Patriotic Wars Association
Party Member



- POSITIONS AND TITLES OF THE AMERICAN FUNDAMENTALIST CHRISTIAN CHURCH -

Painting of the Chapel of the New Jerusalem in Shicagwa


- NATIONAL LEVEL -

- THE CHIEF CROSS-BEARERS OF THE AFC CHURCH -

The Reverend-Colonel
The Defender of the Faith (always the Supreme Atheling of the Party/President of the Union)
The Council of Jehovah
The Church Secretary of Coin and Tithe
The Church Secretary of Public Outreach and Charity
The Church Chief Demonologist*
The Church Chief of Christian Magicks*
The Church Council on Studies of the Other Side*
The National Council of American Fundamentalist Christian Pastors

* The office of the Chief Demonologist, of Christian Magicks, and the Council on Studies of the Other Side were all parts of the Mr. Tobias Institute, a modern castle in the Poconos Mountains about two hours from Philadelphia/ The Institute was often ridiculed by Europe as "The Citadel of Merlin." It was rarely documented or ever photographed on the inside, but stories about "occult rituals" and "ceremonies to summon the phantasmagoric powers of the Other Side" would float about for years. One young pastor in training there, a gaunt oddball named Howard Lovecraft, even claimed to have stepped into the "Void" itself.

- THE REGIONAL LEVEL -

The Regional Deacon
The Regional Secretary of Public Outreach and Charity
The Regional Demonologist


- THE LOCAL LEVEL -

The Pastor of the Church
The Deacon of the Church
The Church Secretary of Internal Affairs and Community Outreach
The Sunday School Headmaster
The Church Demonologist
Church Member


- HONORARY OR SPECIAL TITLES AND POSITIONS -

Founding Father

Patriot-Saint

Martyr

Colonel

Servant of Christ (Ser.)

Hero of the Church

Zealot


- OFFICIAL HOLIDAYS OF THE REPUBLICAN UNION-


January 1st: New Year’s Day
January 20th: AFC Day [1]
January 22nd: Constitution Day
February 6th: Aaron Burr II’s Birthday
February 12th: Abraham Aaron Lincoln's Birthday
February 14th: Valentine's Day
February 20th: Martyrdom Day [2]
February 22nd: George Washington's Birthday
March 1st: Welsh-American Pride Day [3]
March 12th: Day of the Great Peace [4]
April 1st: March on Philadelphia Day
May 1st: Isrealite-American Pride Day [5]
June 1st: African-American Pride Day
July 4th: Liberty Day/Restoration Day [6]
July 26th: Dutch-American Pride Day [7]
August 14th: Willard Crawford’s Birthday [8]
August 24th: Manifest Destiny Day [9]
August 30th: Consolidation Day [10]
September 3rd: English-American Pride Day [11]
September 15th: German-American Pride Day
October 1st: Green Mountain Day [12]
October 12th: Lief Erickson Day/Scandinavian-American Pride Day [13]
October 31st: Thanksgiving
November 22nd: Veteran's Day [14]
November 30th: Scottish-American Pride Day [15]
December 5th: George Armstrong Custer’s Birthday
December 18th: Joseph Steele’s Birthday
December 25th: Patriot Saint's Day Eve/Remembrance Day
December 24th: Patriot Saint's Day
December 29th: Charles Goodyear I’s Birthday
December 31st: New Year’s Eve

[1] Commemorating the official establishment of the AFC in 1820.

[2] Commemoration of the day Benedict Arnold ascended to martyrdom by taking a bullet for the Prophet Burr at Valley Forge.

[3] The same day as St. David's Day.

[4] Commemorating the surrender of the last Virginian armies to the Union in 1861 and the end of the Great American War.

[5] Invented by the Republican Union government under President Custer in 1901 due to increased Jewish immigration to the Republican Union and in an attempt to "foster better relations between the Anglo-Saxon-Tuetonic-Nordic Pinnacle Man and his Israelite Cousins and For-bearers." This statement reflected the belief of the AFC and MDP that Ashkenazi Jews were directly related to and the same race as the Germanic peoples of Europe, and that the Ancient Jews of the Bible were the ancestors of the Anglo-Saxon-Tuetonic-Nordic peoples.

[6] Commemorating the Execution of John Adams and Alexander Hamilton and the other Federalists and the restoration of the Union in 1861.

[7] Intentionally on the same day as the 1581 Act of Abjuration.

[8] Ironically the same birthday of Caesar Napoleon III, born on the same day in 1839.

[9] Commemorating the start of the Great American War and the beginning of Union expansionism and Manifest Destiny in earnest.

[10] Commemorating the formation of the RU's government in 1801.

[11] The same day the Treaty of Paris was signed and the American Revolutionary War ended.

[12] Commemorating the beginning of the Green Mountain War in 1832.

[13] Invented by the Republican Union government under President Custer in 1884 as a replacement for Columbus Day, a holiday which was seen as too Catholic for the government's liking. While many Union historians claimed that Columbus was really a Scotsman named Christopher McCullough, or an Englishman or Welshman who served the Spanish crown while still a spy in the service of King Henry VII of England, most in the Union still viewed Columbus Day as a "Papist Holiday." Scandinavian-American American Pride was juxtaposed as Lief Erickson was Scandinavian.

[13] The same day that the Republican Union declared war on Europa and Quebec in 1911.

[14] The same day as St. Andrew's Day.

​

 

[Napoleon53]

I couldn't help it. I HAD to write about the Mr. Tobias Institute. I think this is one of the best chapters ever. And it literally gave me the creeps writing it. lol Again, there is no "supernatural" ITTL, so no ASBs, but there is just an underlying creepy tendency of weirdos to say the right thing which could be taken as prophetic. I like to think that people ITTL have just as many weird history channel documentaries as we do. lol Also, I think this entire chapter is made doubly-interesting when you realize it's basically Rasputin in OTL WWI, but instead it's Mr. Tobias.

CHAPTER 54
A TRIP TO THE POCONOS

George Armstrong Custer sat in the back of his 1910 Colonel Ford as the black autocarriage made its way up the winding roads of the Poconos Mountains. He was going to visit one of the most respected men in American history to see if the time was right for his next great endeavor as President. George was 71 now, his famed long blonde locks having since become a white undercut. He still sported his mustache, though it drooped a little more than it used to. The old man, wearing a plain black suit and tie instead of his typical garish military garb, sat on the leather backseat of the auto and puffed on a cigarette. It was his twelfth that day. The stress of managing the entire country had gotten to him. The stress of remaining the strongest Strong Man had gotten to him. But he still held power, as determined as ever to see his vision of America fulfilled. He was bound and determined to take all of North America before the Reaper came. He knew he might not have much time left, and he knew he was now at an impasse. He paused his train of thought to hack and cough, rolling down the window and spitting some mucus out on the crudely-paved road. He threw out the cigarette, a Morton's Finest. In a few minutes, he would pull out another Morton's and light up. He knew something about smoking was killing him, he just didn't know what or how much time he had left.

That was why he had ordered his driver to take him up Pennsylvania's Poconos Mountains to see his old friend, thought the man was more "old" than "friend" and more "ancient" than "old." The fact that the Blind Christian Gentleman Mr. Tobias, Charles Marx's famed "assistant" was still alive was nothing short of a miracle. In all his life, George had never met a man more bizarre or mind-boggling peculiar. He was also as mean and vicious as a viper, his tongue seeming to make up for the fact that his eyes had been blinded in the Great American War. The old Englishman had volunteered to fight for the Union against the South, and then artillery bursts met eyeballs, Fundamentalism met Mr. Tobias, and sanity left the building. Tobias had been running a meditation lodge when he had met Charlie Marx, and together they had founded Spiritual Marxism. Marx had crossed over to the Other Side in 1885, leaving Mr. Tobias without his only constant companion. Since Marx's death, the Blind Christian Gentleman had busied himself being George's adopted son Michael's rather testy personal tutor. Michael had hated the old man with a burning passion, but at least he taught him how to be a man.

George poured himself a shot of whiskey. He always had a small box mounted behind the driver's seat with his favorite drink. You never knew when you might want to get drunk when you were President of the Republican Union. George just knew it was "often." He tried to only take a sip, though, still wanting his senses for this important meeting. Normally the President would travel in a huge caravan, flanked left and right by his protective detail, sirens blaring until he would tell them to shut off their "damn noisemakers." He didn't want to have a cadre of buffoons following him, though, and so he was able to drink and think in peace on the way there.

How he hated the constant sea of ticks that followed him everywhere, always hailing him, always snapping to attention, always syrupy-sweet and polite, all the while trying to get him to sign onto their policies or help them undermine this or that political enemy. When he was a younger man, George would have had them all crying on the floor or shot the moment they annoyed him, but he was tired now. He was tired of politics. He just wanted to finish his goal of uniting North America and then pass the torch onto the next generation. But everywhere he looked was some national under-chief of this or that, or some party adjutant to the secretary's bookkeeper waiting to ambush him with a barrage of complaints or pleas for help. He lit up another Morton's, taking a drag in between sips from the glass of whiskey. He sighed aloud as he thought about all the political parasites trying to suck him dry. If he had the energy tomorrow, maybe he would have them all taken to the center atrium of the Capitol Building and shot. He'd probably be downing pills and barely being able to piss worth a damn, though.

As Custer gazed out the window of the Ford, in the distance he could see the silhouette of the Institute come into view, breaking through the rain and fog. It was an impressive construct, a veritable castle, with a massive complex that cut into the mountains itself and spider-webbed out into an endless amount of tunnels and secret passages. It was the Tobias Institute, the Church-built fortress of the Blind Christian Gentleman himself. Reverend-Colonel Moody had begun construction of the castle, but progress had been slow. Since Reverend-Colonel Sunday had taken over as head of the Church, however, the castle was almost complete. Not only was it the abode of Mr. Tobias and his cloister of antisocial acolytes, it was also the new home of the Church Chief Demonologist, the Church Chief of Christian Magicks, and the Church Council on Studies of the Other Side, all of which were headed by Mr. Tobias until his time would come to leave the physical realm and the Reverend-Colonel would appoint successors for each position as separate jobs. But, while he remained alive, there was none greater in the Church aside from the Reverend-Colonel, none more well-versed in the dark arts, than the Blind Christian Gentleman.

The gray steeples and spires of the Institute cut through the sky like stone teeth. Even though the structure was barely 20 years old at his oldest cornerstone, the building seemed to have stood forever. George could imagine Royalists crashing up against the main entrance, its Cromwellite defenders holding out to the last man. He could almost see Martin Luther dining on beer and cheese in the shadows of its walls. But, though a holy site, the building had a rather off-putting look to it. It gave George anxiety just looking at the monstrosity. There was something almost malevolent about it. A peculiar whiff of darkness that could not be shaken. George tried to tell himself it was designed that way to ward off any potential nosy mountaineers and to put the fear of Jehovah into Inferiors. He took another drag off the Morton's and downed the rest of the whiskey. Maybe he did want to be drunk right now.

A few minutes later, after continuing toward the Institute, the Colonel Ford came to a stop in front of a massive barricade. On each side of the road ran a huge stone wall, topped with barbed wire. Straddling the road were two stone turrets, equipped with coffee grinders at the top. A yellow pole was placed across the road with word "STOP" painted on it in bold red letters. The pole was the only color on the Institute's palette besides brown, dark green, and gray it seemed. There were three men in dark red uniforms standing at attention on the base-level, next to the pole. They wore gray pinch-crown hats and their crimson uniforms were decorated only with a badge bearing a cross above the right breast pockets and a white stripe running down the side of their riding pants. Lace-up jackboots finished their look. Each man sported a revolver, a carbine, and a dead-eyed look on their face. They were Church Zealots, the Church's personal security troops.

The Zealots acted almost uninterested by the fact that the Colonel Ford in front of them bore the pennants of the President above the front wheel-wells. The one who seemed to be in charge walked over to the driver's window and saluted. "All hail!" he said with unexpected vigor as he clicked his heels and extended his right hand. "What is your purpose here?" The man was good, thought George. He went from vigor to dead-eyed once again in an instant.

The driver, a tubby fellow in a tuxedo vest and black kepi raised his hand back as much as he could inside the auto and flipped out a paper with official stamps. "I am transporting President Custer. He wishes to have an audience with the Blind Christian Gentleman Mr. Tobias."

The guard took the paper in his white-gloved hand, quickly reading it before handing it back. "Very well. The Blind Christian Gentleman is in the southern keep meditating. Proceed on through the barricade to the eastern entrance just up ahead, then turn left. I should warn you gentlemen that the Church Council on Studies of the Other Side is cloistered today, and it might be best to leave them in peace. All hail!"

Custer sighed again as the emotionless goon saluted and quick-stepped back to the big yellow pole and lifted it using a crank. Custer hated how some of the Church felt that the Presidency was "beneath" them. He was the damn President of the Republican Union and if he so desired to disturb the pious madmen inside the castle he should be able to! But here was this snot-nosed stooge, acting like he didn't even exist. "Dammit, Carl," George said to the driver as they continued on their drive. "I'm the Defender of the Faith and they act like I'm not even worth a rat's ass."

Carl looked unbothered, as he was used to hearing Custer complain about things. "Maybe you should have them shot, sir. Or perhaps chained to a pole and fed to your bears."

Custer waved him off, "Nah, nah, it's fine, Carl. They are just so damn focused on holiness and piety that it almost makes me feel that the Church is in control. And the scuttlebutt has always been that I'm a pawn of the Council of Jehovah, and this sort of thing doesn't help."

The Colonel Ford slowed to a stop at the eastern entrance to the complex. More red-uniformed goons stood at attention. A few seconds after the vehicle stopped a loud clanking noise could be heard coming from the wall above. Slowly, the giant wooden doors swung open. The Colonel Ford rolled on. Finally, in front of a massive tower, the auto stopped for the last time. Carl got out and opened the back door for George to get out.

George stretched and blinked and brushed himself off as he exited the vehicle, donning his bowler hat to cover his thinning hair. He threw his cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out under his black and white ostrich- and gator-hide spectator shoe. Carl saluted and said, "I shall remain here with the vehicle, sir. I trust you shall send word for me if you have any need. I suspected you might wish to speak in privacy with the Blind Christian Gentleman, sir."

Custer patted the middle-aged man on the back and said, "You're a good man, Carl. One of the only I trust. But I don't want you burdened with the matters I must discuss here. Feel free to stroll, but remain nearby."

Custer walked up the marble steps to the doorway and was promptly let in by a Zealot. Inside, the Institute was even stranger than on the outside. Much stranger. The floor was black and white marble, and the walls were done in crimson paisley wallpaper with mahogany wainscoting, the ceiling some twenty feet high with huge chandeliers hanging from the support beam running through the center. Huge portraits hung on the walls in massive gilded frames. The first painting was of Christ, in a simple pose, his hands outstretched. His short brown hair and beard framed his pale skin, his green eyes seeming to follow your movement. Strange symbols were carved into the frame about the Christ, particularly an odd-looking cross in a circle. As Custer walked on, his heels clicking on the floor and echoing through the castle, he looked up at another portrait on the other side of the room. This one was the Prophet Aaron Burr kneeling in the snow of Valley Forge. In his arms was the body of Arnold the Martyr, his eyes rolled up and his blood turning the snow red. The Prophet wept, the tears gushing from his icey blue eyes. It moved Custer to see the actual anguish the artist was able to convey in the Prophet's face.

As Custer marched on down the seemingly endless corridor, more and more paintings hung on the walls. There was one of Father Lincoln, depicting him riding a massive white horse, and another of Father Franklin, lighting crackling all about him, his hair blowing in the wind of the maelstrom. There landscapes as well, such as one depicting the ash heap of Boston in the aftermath of the War of 1812. Another showcased the glories of the West, a herd of buffalo crossing a stream. The one that Custer couldn't make head or tails out of was one that was simply a all white with a central billowing cloud of gray mushrooming outward. It was some sort of surreal artwork that he didn't appreciate, surely, George thought, and carried on.

Finally, he rounded a corner and saw some thirty men in white blazers gathered around long mahogany tables, papers strewn all about. The look of the room was unchanged from the hallway aside from the greater width, obviously, and the massive stone fireplace above which sported a portrait of the Blind Christian Gentleman. Most of the men in white suits were calm, discussing matters of the afterlife and of Christian magick. It was the Church Council on Studies of the Other Side, mustered to deliberate on whatever bizarre topic they had chosen.

As Custer pressed on, trying not to get in the Council's way, a young man, thin as a stick and with a very long face, stepped in front of him. "All hail, your excellency!" the man said with a twitch. His eyes seemed dilated and the happiness in the greeting was not matched by the tight-lipped frown he sported. "THE WHORE IS NEAR UNTO READY, OH LORD!"

Custer took a step back, thinking the fellow was completely insane. "Uh, say what now? What whore?"

The main rubbed his hands together excitedly, jumping up and down and staring at nothing, making George feel he was looking through him. "The whore! The whore!" he said again, bouncing with each repetition of the word. "BABYLON. Yes, the Whore of Babylon. Babylon. Yes, Ishtar gathers her forces, how she anoints her chosen ANTICHRIST! Haha! Yes! The Great Dragon of the East appears, my sir, with his harpees and bugaboos! It is clear to me, it is clear to you, it is clear my mother and brother too, it is, yes sir. The time is nigh for the final battle against Ishtar and Bael, for thine is the kingdom of God! And Babylon did behold its fate, and as surely as Jehovah didst cast down the traitor Satan, so dost the Hand of God crush the serpent once more in the final days. For winter comes for Babylon, and death follows it."

The delusional young man kept hopping up and down, practically dancing, now sporting a huge, unnerving grin. Custer tried to push past, saying, "That's all fine and well but I need to talk to the Blind Christian Gentleman."

Instead of budging, the young man looked him straight in the eyes and stopped dancing. "The Blind Christian Gentleman needs to see you. To decide the world's fate. To tell you to fulfill prophecy!"

Custer was growing more and more upset, "Now listen here, I don't know exactly what in the hell you're talking about right now or how you knew the nature of my visit, but you better back off or I'll have you fed to the bears, you nutter!"

The Councilman threw himself on the floor, grabbing at Custer's feet and laying prostrate. "I'm so sorry, my sir! Our divine Atheling, servant of Christ, of course has little time for discussing the fate of man with a nobody. Forgive this acolyte's excitement! I merely wish to see the Old Ones banished to the pits of hell, my sir. Babylon! Ishtar! Bael and Moloch too! All burning and roasting, their minions burned like unto glass, blowing away like salt in the wind, sir. Like salt in the wind! I know it will be! I have been told!"

Custer stopped trying to push past at that last bit and asked, "You're telling me you are a prophet? That is the highest blasphemy, young man!"

The man rose to his knees and, still with the blank dilated eyes reflecting the chandelier lights, responded, "Oh no, oh no no! I am not a prophet, for that title belongs to the Prophet Burr alone, all hail is name! No, I do not understand what I am yet, my sir. My sir may ask what is the difference, but I just know I am not a prophet. I am not shown, I do not predict, I only hear. I hear the whispering in the darkest corners. In my sleep do I hear them telling me about the coming battle. When I rise they tell me too. When I eat at the dinner table the voices tell me too. Constantly whispering. How all shall be swept away before the righteous tide! How the Old Ones shall finally be destroyed and the Seed of the Pinnacle Man shall covereth the earth! I hear, my sir, so many things. But I do not see the future, or the past. I merely see the Void."

The hairs on the back of Custer's neck stood up. The man was genuinely terrifying, a stark raving lunatic as wild as any in the Philadelphia Sanitarium. "What did you just say?"

The gaunt man responded, not even flinching, "The Void. I have gazed into the abyss of nothingness. It is nothingness. It is eternal darkness. It is eternal peace, but in such darkness and nothingness what is peace from terror? What is terror from peace? What is abyss and darkness when the only thing about you is abyss and darkness? What is nothing? It is the Void, and I have seen it! I have seen it!" The main began laughing hysterically, slapping his knees and clapping his hands. This entire time, the other Councilmen seemed to pay him no attention. It was as if he didn't exist. Without so much as a goodbye, the crazed lunatic went scampering on, twirling in mid-air as he ran, his white blazer flapping behind him and reminding George of the straitjackets suicidals and homosexuals wore at the nuthouses.

George pointed at the man as he ran off and bellowed, "In the name of Father Abraham, get that man some damned electro-shock! What a complete wretch! Who was that idiot, anyway, and why does he speak in riddles?"

One of the other Councilmen turned and faced him and answered, "That is Brother Lovecraft. We do not know what has happened to the poor man. He was a perfectly charming young man before, the youngest man on the Council. Then one day he was just... gone. We are sorry if he made you uncomfortable, your excellency."

Custer was thrilled to talk to someone normal. He nodded and said, "Thank God someone who can speak American. Keep Brother Strangelove or whatever you called him off the streets, will you? In fact, keep him out of my sight!"

The Councilman bowed. "As you wish, sir."

After a few more minutes of walking, Custer finally came up to the inner sanctum, the home of Mr. Tobias himself. He knocked once on the door, saying, "I am here to the seek the wisdom of the Blind Christian Gentleman!"

A raspy English accent answered back. "Come in, Mr. President. I had foreseen your visit. I know why you have come."

As George let himself into the dimly lit room, he saw an old bald man in a dumpy-looking worn-out suit sitting alone on a chair. Though the man was blind, it was if Mr. Tobias could see Custer. George walked up to him, clicked his heels, and saluted. "All hail! To Jehovah be the Glory! It is good to see you, my old friend."

Mr. Tobias' eyes, almost white with cataracts, nodded and slowly raised his arm in salute as well. All in all, George thought, for a blind crippled 81 year-old he didn't do a terrible job of it. "I have come to seek the advice of the Blind Christian Gentleman!" Custer said, pulling up another chair to face the old man. "I feel the time has come for war. It is already raging in Europe. Europa and Russia are finally strangling each other. The Central Powers is ready to enforce Dutch neutrality. I feel that Quebec, Canada, and California are ours for the taking, but I would not dare take this country to war without consulting with the rock of the Church, the Blind Christian Gentleman."

Mr. Tobias seemed to look about the room, thought he was blind, and was lost in thought for a moment before springing back to action, saying, "I, too, feel this way. It is your destiny, George. You will unite North America under your flag, though you may not live to see the end of this holiest of wars. But American boots shall trod on Quebec and California. The Carolinas should be puppeted and slowly absorbed, but the Europan colonies are rightfully ours. Take up arm, George, for Jehovah will deliver these lands unto thee. I feel it. I know it. It is time."

Custer said a silent prayer to himself. "Very well, it is as I thought. I shall order the invasion. I thank you for your most valued advice. May I meditate with you, sir?" he asked the frail little Englishman.

"Yes," Mr. Tobias answered. "Meditate with me. For the Whore of Babylon is ready for the last battles."

The hair stood up on the back of George's neck again. He couldn't wait to get out of the Institute. It just gave him the creeps. But he found out what he had wanted to know. War it would be. A divine war of Manifest Destiny....

 

[Napoleon53]

CHAPTER 55
THE YANKS ARE COMIN'

"The Call of Liberty" by Humphrey Stephenson (1911)​

The foresight Custer had gained from visiting the Blind Christian Gentleman was simply a clincher. In his mind, Custer already knew war was coming, but he was hesitant to launch America into what would almost certainly be the deadliest conflict in world history. For years, there had been a build-up of ships and men, preparing the coming storm. Custer, coughing and hacking, knew he didn't have long left in the physical realm and so wished to see America stretch from sea to shining sea before he would finally pass away. He had visited the Tobias Institute just several days after the Dutch King Louis Napoleon II had joined the Central Powers. Now, Custer was back in the Presidential Mansion with a telegram from the Kaiser.

Caesar had just threatened to invade Holland if it didn't renounce the Central Powers within 48 hours. In the Bund, thousands of Protestant Germans clashed with Imperial troops and huge mutinies were breaking out all over High King Franz Josef's realm. England, under Winston Churchill, was in discussions with Scotland to form the Britannic Union. If that happened the outnumbered Central Powers could suddenly spin the entire situation around, attacking Ireland and possibly mainland France with Anglo-Saxon and Scottish troops. This could result in something extraordinary.

Another thing on Custer's mind was the independent nations of Greenland and Iceland. If they could be taken by the Central Powers, then Europa would have definite problems shipping goods and supplies to Quebec and Canada, allowing for swift and decisive Union attacks to crush them once and for all. Also, it had been decades since Union troops first pulled out of Greenland during the fall of the Denmark-Norway Empire. Now, over half a century later, Union troops could rightfully march on Greenland.

As he sat in the Lincoln Office, pondering the fate of the world, the clock was ticking closer and closer to doomsday. Europan troops were gathering on the Dutch border, ready to overthrow the rebellious Bonaparte cousin. At last, he signed the order. It would be war.

It was November 22, 1911. Custer, pale and gaunt but still fiery and strong, appeared before a crowd of tens of thousands in the Philadelphia Yankees' Rounders Park. The stadium seats were overflowing with eager citizens and the field was full of ORRA troops. He took to a microphone on a platform set up on the pitcher's mound. Behind him, standing and waving to the crowds, were Quartermaster General Wilson, CYB Headmaster-marshal Roosevelt, and ORRA Supreme Chief George Dewey, and RUMP Supreme Chief Thomas Custer. Tens of thousands waved flags, sang songs, and chanted before Custer finally spoke.

"My fellow Americans! All hail! This morning, at around 11 o'clock, I responded to a telegram from the Nordic Kaiser. He asked for American assistance, American backbone, to stand up the Papist Caesar. Europa is preparing to invade the Kingdom of Holland because its monarch has dared to convert to the Protestant faith and had dared declare that his countrymen will not die for Caesar. America is not a monarchy. However, America champions the cause of liberty and freedom for all Chosen people the world over. I think most of you will agree when I say that the United Empire of Europa, the decadent porcine behemoth that it is, has overextended itself! It has waged wars of Imperialism all over the globe. It is sending its sons to die against the Mad Czar of Russia. It is trying to coerce and press-gang our Christian brothers in the Confederation of the Rhine into their war, as well, desecrating Protestant homes and shooting those who refuse to bow to the puppet High King and Caesar. To every direction but our Atlantic coast, America sits surrounded by Europan client states. All around us lie the vermin of the Vatican, their sniveling and satanic leaders stooping and bowing to man rather than God. It is time! It is time to end Europa's dominance and bring about a new era of freedom and American supremacy. No longer will we sit back and accept the status quo. No more will we accept the illegitimacy of the current world order. Never again will we be looked down upon by the guttersnipes of Paris, Vienna, and Madrid. Ladies and gentlemen, at 11 o'clock this morning I responded to a telegram from the Nordic Kaiser. I told him, quite simply, what I believe every single red-blooded Christian Yankee boy would tell him at this fateful turning point in history. I told him that 'America stands ready. America will fight.' And so, my countrymen, rally around the flag and let loose the battle-cry of freedom! As of today, America is at war with Europa! May our victory come swiftly and to Jehovah be the glory! All hail!"​

The nation immediately was jubilant, with millions people pouring into the streets to celebrate the declaration of war. Men flocked to the recruiting stations, gladly ready to fight for the Stars-and-Stripes.

ORRA troops parade through New York City​

Jubilant crowds celebrate in Philadelphia

Volunteers gather to enlist in Oshkosh, Michigania

Cartoon depicting Uncle Sam punishing Europa for its Popery
​

Despite that being the official declaration of war on the Bonaparte Empire, the Union military was already on the move. Unbelievably, the 85 year-old former President and Immolator of Mexico was still on active duty as the longest-serving soldier in American history, at 69 years of service (including his time as Vice President during which he remained very active in military affairs). He had joined Milo Miles' Fundamentalist Volunteer Brigades in 1842, fighting in the English Revolution alongside the likes of his legendary future president, martyr, and holiday icon, A. A. Lincoln. Though many had been calling on McClellan to finally retire and let the new generation finally take over, McClellan proudly kept the mantle of Supreme Marshal of the Grand Army of the Republic.

Supreme Marshal George McClellan circa 1900​

The octogenarian commander had foreseen America's entry into the war years prior, saying, "I know not when the powder-keg shall blow. But it will be over some damn-fool thing in the Balkans or the dark heart of the Orient." Faced with the fresh faces of the Union High Command who all wanted his job, such as Lucius Africanus Goodyear (the 45 year-old great-great-nephew of Charles Goodyear), the religious zealot Legate General Pinnacleus D. Hill, and Wilford Acme Ashton, McClellan knew he had to prove that he still had his wits about him. He was the destroyer of the Mexican race, and it had been he who had first utilized mechanized warfare against America's enemies. Quite frankly, as far as he was concerned, he had invented modern warfare. He saw the folly of massed infantry and tried to convey to the stiff-and-starched High Command that 19th century tactics were a thing of the past. Much of the High Command had experienced the Mexican and Japanese campaigns, but they had not experienced the gassings and heavy-bombings such as those in the Greek War of Succession that he had read reports about for years.

Legate General Wilford Acme Ashton inspects the troops in Shicagwa

Legate General Lucius Africanus Goodyear​

McClellan had dispatched Legate General Ashton to the Quebec border. Under Ashton were the legendary six legions of Lincoln's Hammer. They were mustered in Toronto, State of Ontario, and had a direct path before them to Ottawa, Montreal and Quebec City. However, he also knew that if Baie du Tonnerre (Thunder Bay), the capital of Imperial Canada, could be taken in the west then that would take Canada out of the war and leave its vast western holdings up for the taking. That would leave only Quebec to fight on. If the Central Powers could seize control of Greenland, Iceland, and the North Atlantic, they could cut Quebec off from Europa and enable the Union to starve it to death without the need for a full-scale assault on the city. He also knew he could count on the infamous ORRA 13th Mechanized Unit and several other ORRA units to spearhead the invasion. Their reputation preceding them, perhaps the presence of the 13th would break the morale of the Quebecois.

Canada was still mostly Anglophone almost a century after Britain lost it to France. Most of the French-speakers remained in the Kingdom of Quebec. With this in mind, McClellan stuck his chief rival and hanger-on, Lucius Africanus Goodyear, out west as head of Army Group IV, in Michigania and Dakota, and gave him orders to march on Thunder Bay as soon as hostilities commenced. To the west, and the Kingdom of California, McClellan knew the Californians were in a very bad spot. If Australia joined the war, which they almost certainly would before long as part of the Fascist Sphere, then California could easily be cut off from trade routes and supplies from Imperial holdings in Asia.

The McClellan Doctrine, as these plans were called, was a strategy to wage a three pronged assault upon Imperial client states in North America. This was much to the distaste of Legate General Ambrose Jansen--the son of a former Virginian commander in the Great American War--who now was Legate General of Army Group V, nicknamed the "Dixie Legions." He wanted to join up with Army Group VI, under Legate General Abraham Edelstein, the Russian-born Jewish former mayor of Metropolis, and strike out at South America through Gran Colombia and into the United Empire of Brazil and Rio de la Plata. Custer himself personally overrode this idea, ordering Jansen to station himself in Appalachia and Ohio in case of disaster in Canada and Quebec. The President then ordered Edelstein to lead an invasion of California from the south, hopefully taking the Kingdom by surprise by not traversing the vast emptiness of the Black Hand Line and directly assaulting Saint Jacques, sometimes called San Diego by the Spanish-speaking population. However, Legion XX, a sixth of Army Group VI, would man defenses along the Panama Canal and ensure security of the canal in case Brazil-Rio decided to violate Gran Colombia's neutrality. Jansen was a very rebellious officer who constantly wanted to invent his own strategies and ignore orders. While this was typically a bad trait, Custer wanted some of the military high command to not be mindless lackeys and to think for themselves. It was Jansen's immense popularity with the South that also likely helped keep him safe from demotion.

Ambrose Jansen, Southron-born Legate General of Army Group V, the "Dixie Legions"

Abraham Edelstein, Russian-born Jewish immigrant and Legate General of Army Group VI, out of Metropolis​

These war plans would be put to the test very soon. It was Novemeber 22, 1911. The Union raised his battle flags and moved into position. The world now waited for the attack to begin....

 

[Napoleon53]

CHAPTER 56
A GAMBLING MAN

Johnny Gamble​

The slow yet steady outbreak of the Great World War came as no surprise to the Confederation of the Carolinas. The "Cokie" government, still under Chancellor Adelbert Upjohn Gamble V of the Common Sense Party, was fierce in its desire to stay neutral. This was much to the displeasure of Adelbert Upjohn "Johnny" Gamble VI, the Chancellor's son. Johnny was known as the "playboy prince," and the dashingly handsome young man greatly desired to expand Carolina's influence and save it from stagnation and backwardness. To do this, he decided, it would require a deal with the devil itself, the Republican Union.

Despite publicly denouncing "Yankee nonsense" as much as any other loyal Cokie, Johnny had visited his nation's northern neighbor numerous times in his 22 years. In 1905, he had visited Metropolis for the first time, remarking on the effectiveness of its design, its cleanliness, and beauty. Little did he realize he was quickly being groomed by Union infiltrators within the Carolinian government. The Chancellor was increasingly ill, having suffered a stroke in 1909 that almost killed him. The Union agents wanted to push him toward an alliance with the Union. Chief among these infiltrators was Rusty Bunker, the unassuming Protector of the Public Virtue. The 75 year-old man seemed as neutral as any man in the nation, and indeed it was his job to maintain the public opinion toward peace and neutrality. But in reality he had been working for ORRA for quite some time. Bunker was the chief agent within an ORRA operation known as "Operation: Frumentarii." These infiltrators of Carolinian society were all apart of the secretive Braddock Gentleman Club in Raleigh, a respected country club where most of the upper crust of Cokie society partied until dawn. Underneath the club was a secret room where the "Frumentarii," named for the ancient Roman secret police and spies, would plot the takeover of Cokie affairs. The Union's reasoning for this operation was that it was more convenient to simply puppet the Confederation rather than conquer it outright.

Ballroom dancing at the Braddock Gentleman Club​

Johnny Gamble had no idea he was being used, and the Frumentarii used his own self-confidence against him. Johnny joined the Braddock Club in 1909, shortly after his father's stroke, and was convinced it was simply a fashionable hotspot for playboys like himself. He was rather surprised that Rusty Bunker, the pinnacle of old-fashioned values and mildness, would be the grandmaster of the Club. However, Bunker quickly stepped aside, nominating Johnny as his successor. Flattering his ego, the Yankee agents quickly had Johnny right where they wanted him. As grandmaster of the Braddock Club, Johnny hosted parties that raged on through the night. Surprisingly, the Club held the contract for a group of black jazz players, something almost never accepted in Cokie society. Even these black musicians were Union agents. Johnny Gamble was the role model for every Carolinian man, and many looked to him as a lovable scamp. It shocked many, then, that the Club both Johnny and Bunker frequented was playing host to wild "hoedowns," clearly moving away from the waltzes and champagne dinners of the prior century and further into saxophone-blaring, banjo-strumming, piano-rolling modernity. The similarities to the Union's culture was noted by many of the older generation, but the youth simply admired "Grandmaster Gamble" too much to not follow his example. Besides, surely, they thought, Rusty Bunker would call in the Virtue Men if anything was truly a detriment to their society.

One of Johnny Gamble's jazz parties in the Braddock Club​

As the months rolled by, Johnny became increasingly easier for the Frumentarii to control. By this point, after constant ear-whispering and subtle brainwashing, Johnny decided that it was in the Confederation's best interest to move itself into the Union sphere. He even was going beyond what the Yankee agents had engineered, birthing the subculture known as "Cakewalkers." He created the popular dance move known as "The Cakewalk," which soon became a wildly popular fad, even making its way into the Union. Accompanying the Cakewalk were increasingly lively musical numbers and wild parties. All over the Confederation, black entertainers suddenly became all the rage, truly modernizing Southron culture for the final time. To make matters even more interesting, Johnny began courting Frankie Kuhn, the fur-draped, trend-setting daughter of shipping magnate Alfred Kuhn. It just so happened that Alfred Kuhn, CEO of Kuhn Shipping Co., had close ties with Family Van Buren and Old Kinderhook Industries in the Union. In early 1911, Johnny married Frankie in a lavish ceremony at the Gamble family plantation. Their romance was a huge matter of public gossip and excitement, leading to "Frankie and Johnny" portraits, buttons, and other celebratory items becoming all the rage to collect. Skip Little, an influential new white country-jazz performer, released "Frankie and Johnny Were Sweethearts" on phonograph disc shortly after the wedding, becoming the first big hit for a white performer of the music genre and heralding a new era in music altogether. For decades after, Skip Little was known both in the Union and the Confederation as the founder of "hillbilly jive."

A typical "Cakewalker" of Nashville, West Carolina

Frankie Kuhn

Skip Little

Frankie and Johnny were sweethearts, oh Lordy how they did love
Swore to be true to each other, true as the stars above
He was her man, he wouldn't do her wrong

Frankie went down to the corner, just for a bucket of beer
She says Mr Bartender has my loving Johnny been here
He's my man, and I think he's doin' me wrong

He said I don't want cause you no trouble, I ain't gonna tell you no lie
I saw your lover an hour ago with a gal named Nellie Bligh
He is your man, and he's doing you wrong

Bartender said I was mindin' my business, when to my soo-prise,
There on the cab sat Johnny, makin' love to Nellie Bligh
He is your man, and he's doing you wrong

Frankie reached under her fur, and she took out a little .44
Rooty-toot-toot, three times she shot right through that hardwood floor
She was gonna shoot her man, because he was doin' her wrong.

She says bring out the rubber tied buggy, bring out the rubber tied hack
I'm taking my man to the graveyard, but I ain't gonna bring him back
Lord he was my man and he's done me wrong

But then through the door stepped Johnny, a bundle of flowers in his hand
How foolish felt little Frankie, for suh-spec-tin' her man
Johnny was her man, he wouldn't do her wrong

- Lyrics to "Frankie and Johnny were Sweethearts" by Skip Little, 1911​

With Johnny Gamble eating out of their hand and with Chancellor Gamble increasingly ill, the final stage of Operation: Frumentarii was put in motion. Chancellor Gamble died in his sleep on June 3, 1911, with another year left in his second term. Rusty Bunker, as Protector of the Public Virtue, was officially next in line to become Chancellor. However, he quickly announced he was too old to handle the job. In a stunning move, agitators at the House of Citizens began chanting "We want Johnny! We want Johnny!" After a quick vote, Johnny Gamble was now the youngest leader the continent had ever seen.

Almost immediately, the Union sent in Ambrose General, a Southron-born legate general, who guaranteed Gamble that, if they should seek to further their friendship, the Carolinas were free to seize Hispaniola in the Caribbean from Europa, which Gamble then jokingly referred to as "East Carolina." Also, in return for assistance in any potential war, the Union would protect Carolinian shipping and sea routes to Jacksonland. Even better, the Union would help supply the Confederation with weapons and state-of-the-art equipment and would finally limit the number of AFC missionaries inside the Confederation. Unlike the Great American War, there was no result that would be unfavorable to the Carolinas. Assured by Rusty Bunker that this was the proper choice to make, Johnny Gamble agreed to the 1911 Metropolis Pact. In Metropolis, New Canaan, at the Palace of the Patriots in the middle of downtown, the Confederation of the Carolinas finally became an ally of the Republican Union.

It was a fateful moment when, on November 22 of that same year, that Johnny was sitting in the Chancellor's Office and his butler told he was receiving a call directly from Philadelphia. Gamble composed himself, checked himself in the mirror, and took a deep breath.

"Yes, this is Chancellor Gamble," the young leader said, knowing something terrible was finally at hand.

It was Custer on the other end of the line. Gamble could hear him puffing away on a cigarette. In between coughs, the American President asked, "Chancellor Gamble, my friend, it is good to speak with you. I trust you have seen the papers and heard scuttlebutt on the talkiebox?"

Gamble's palm grew sweatier as he clutched the receiver. "Uh, why, yes. Yes I have. I heard that Caesar has given Holland an ultimatum. Very unsporting of the fellow."

Custer chuckled flatly and replied, "Yes, unfortunately I don't believe the papal pig is going to back down. He's in too deep now. He must commit or look flaccid before the whole world. I know we signed the Metropolis Pact, but I am just calling to check up on your willingness to keep your word in the current situation.

Gamble frowned so hard it hurt. He began to finally wonder what he had got himself into. "Uhm, yes, yes, Mr. Custer. The Confederation stands ready to act in accordance with our alliance."

Custer sounded pleased. "Good, good to hear. I am afraid I just received a telegram from the Kaiser asking me for support in guaranteeing the independence of the Dutch and German Protestant peoples. We shall start in our home theater, liberating the long-oppressed and sadly miscegenated peoples of Quebec, Canada, and California. The Union will guarantee your capture of Hispaniola and my admiralty assures me we have enough support vessels in the Caribbean to keep your routes from Jacksonland safe, sound, and ship-shape."

The Cokie leader nodded. "It sounds like a good strategy, uh, Mr. Custer. Hark the sound. The free men of the Confederation will stand with the boys in blue and confront this menace together."

Custer coughed again, finally swishing down some water or whatever he was drinking, before ending the call with, "Very well, sir. I knew I could depend on you. I always was a gambling man."

The next day, Chancellor Johnny Gamble would stand before the House of Citizens and declare war on the Bonapartist empire.

"Citizens of the Confederation! I come before you today to express to you my personal outrage over the Bonapartist assault on liberty in Europe and, indeed, across the globe. The Europan Caesar has decided to treat the free-thinking and liberty-loving peoples of the Bund and Holland as mutinous lackeys, no more worthy of freedom than animals, no more worthy of consideration than a bug squashed under their boot. This appalling overstep will not be tolerated by the Confederation and its people, and damn sure not by its President. At this moment, Imperial troops gather on the Dutch border to force their will upon the Dutch people, and to rape their women and loot their homes. At this second, Imperial troops beat freedom-fighters in Hamburg and lynch Protestant innocents in Bavaria. This world is a very confusing and sometimes mad place. Men fight and die every day over things that, honestly, don't seem to matter much, or for reason that seem downright evil. Many wars have been fought for imperialism and simply for the sake of conquering. I tell you now, however, that the Confederation has never lifted its hand against another nation for any reasons other than righteous Southron honor, and it shall not violate this guiding concept of Southron chivalry during my administration! The battles we are about to fight are for a higher purpose. In company with our brave allies and brothers-in-arms in the Central Powers, we will bring about the destruction of the Imperial war machine, the elimination of Bonapartist tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a better world, a world where people will bow to no one but God. Your task will not be an easy one, my Confederation. Your enemy is will trained, well equipped and battle-hardened. He will fight savagely. But I have full confidence in every Cokie's courage, devotion to duty, and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory! Let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking. Hark the sound of the Confederation! Hear it roar!"

- Chancellor Adelbert Upjohn Gamble VI, November 22, 1911

Field Marshal Horace Jones inspects the Carolinian Army in Newport News (a visiting general from Iraq can be seen in the rear)

Carolinian light infantry musters in Raleigh

Carolinian soldiers march through downtown Charlotte

Cokie officers greet crowds of citizens shortly after Chancellor Gamble declared war​

 

[Napoleon53]

MAP OF NORTH AMERICA: 1911

 

[Napoleon53]

CHAPTER 57
ASHTON'S ASH HEAPS

Quebecois cavalry parade by one last time in Quebec City before heading to the front

On the Plains of Abraham the trilliums blow
Between the crosses, row on row
And in the grass and dirt and soil
lay the bodies of Yank and Royal
Through shrapnel, steel, and fire they flew
Just ordinary boys like me and you
What madness, that they should die
And be forgot as time rolls by
On the Plains of Abraham the trilliums blow
Between the crosses, row on row.
Montcalm and Wolfe and then redux
Just ordinary boys like me and you

- Unknown

The men of the 1st Cohort, 2nd Legion, advance to meet the enemy
​

December 1, 1911, was a bad day for Quebec. It's Queen, Marie I, sister of the Europan Caesar, waved goodbye to the Quebec Royal Army as it marched south to defend the nation from the vile grasp of the Yankee invaders. Crowds cheered and drums beat as the Royal Army, clad in bright white caps and light blue uniforms marched on. Thousands of troops were riding horses, prepared to go to battle with a lance and a pistol. Officers and generals, most of whom had never seen action in their lives, were leading the way. It was off to the front. Though many joked "Custer will be licked by Christmas," most knew what was happening, including the Bonaparte queen. The 52 year-old was the great-granddaughter of Napoleon the Great, a man who proclaimed luck to be eternally on his side. But now, in this new century, this era of grinders and machines and gas, Marie felt as if the Bonaparte luck was running out. As her soldiers saluted and rode off to war, she feared she might never see them again. With thoughts of such grim futures, it was no surprise to her Royal Council when she began laying out plans for the defense of the city.

To the southwest, the worst fears of Quebec's monarch were coming true. The heavily fortified border was antiquated. The defenses had been built up around 1890, when Marie was sent by her father Napoleon III to rule Quebec, shortly before his death. She and her brother Napoleon IV, her elder by one year, had never been on the best of terms. Their constant bickering back in France was one of the reasons their father had shipped her off to rule Quebec. When her brother became Caesar, she begged him for more help in fortifying the border with America. She told him of the horror stories coming from Mexico. She had seen first-hand the rise of the Republican Union from regional powerhouse to a killing machine. Now it was too late. With the situation spiraling into a three-way war on the Continent and the likely prospect of a Britannic Union between England and Scotland, it was unlikely that any further aid would be incoming. She would have to make do with what she had. And it wasn't much.

Just seven hours away, the Union Army Group I, the legendary "Lincoln's Hammer" was assaulting the border near the old town of Peterborough with a full force of 10 cohorts of 2000 men each (the American army had finally phased out "regiments" in favor of "cohorts" except for a few very old regiments that kept their original title). The mostly wood and brick fortifications the Quebecois had along the border did little in the face of American artillery barrages and aeroship assaults. The attack had commenced at 6 o'clock that morning. Now, as 120,000 men, the heart of the Grand Army of the Republic, pressed on, the Quebecois were reeling. They had never seen anything like this. The Quebec Army had mustered up a total of 250,000 men, but most were barely trained. Of that total, only about 100,000 were professional soldiers. Most had never seen combat. Wave after wave of Americans advanced, screaming "For the Prophet!" and "God Bless America!"

As the 3rd Maniple, 1st Cohort, 2nd Legion, made a break-through through the heart of Peterborough, the Quebec infantry were panicking. The onslaught was driven by pure hatred. No matter how thick the hail of grinder and rifle rounds flying through the cold air was, the Yanks would simply press on. Though they were taking heavy losses, Lincoln's Hammer, was still whipping the defenders solidly. The small Quebec Royal Aeroforce was taking to the skies, even utilizing new machines named "aeroplanes" in combat for the first time. While this proved to be an ordeal for the Union aeroships, losing the USS Mad Anthony and the USS Zephyr very quickly on, the fragile planes were quickly destroyed by ground guns and the advance pressed on in a frenzy of blood and lead. The brave troops of the 3rd Maniple were the spearhead of this Union attack, their 120 men quickly being cut down to 50. But they still managed to take out key bunkers and grinder nests.

Quebec Royal troops on the march in Peterborough
​

The population of Peterborough was quite small, around 40,000, and most had fled north after the declaration of war. However, some 5,000 remained, stubborn and determined to not lose everything they had. Many formed the Peterborough Royal Auxiliaries, consisting of some 2,000 concerned citizens. Many of these volunteers were of Irish or even exiled Mexican blood, and they knew what their fate would be should Quebec fall. At around noon, the 3rd Maniple pressed the attack through downtown, and the Auxiliaries opened fire. The 3rd Maniple returned fire and took cover behind wagons and bodies laying in the street as they tried to deal with the civilian defenders. For a half hour, the militia actually held back the Union's finest. This advantage was quickly decimated, however, when Union artillery finally came into range. With deafening blasts, huge swathes of untrained volunteers were blown to pieces. The 3rd Maniple was now supported by the 1st and 2nd Maniples and with these reinforcements pressed the attack through downtown. The volunteers tried to keep fighting but most were finally breaking and running as the USS Grand Panama flew overhead, its below-deck grinders blasting away. As the men ran, the Yankees realized most were Irish and other sorts of Inferior and began indiscriminately mowing them down and bayoneting them in the back.

Legate General Acme Ashton smiled as he watched the militia break finally. Ashton was watching the assault from the observation deck of his flagship, the USS Hellfire. It was from this state of the art vessel that he surveyed the carnage and directed his forces via a new invention known as "walkie talkies." Colonels were in charge of cohorts, and he walkied Colonel Buford Sims, the man directing the 1st and 2nd Cohorts of the 2nd Legion, Group I, and ordered him to show no mercy to those who resisted or who could be deemed a threat. "This is a war, not a charity operation. We have a enough damned Infees back home that barely their God-given station in life to start bringing in more that just took up arms against us.' Colonel Sims took this to mean any able-bodied man over the age of 15. As the Royal Army shattered and began to run north, Peterborough fell to the Union invaders. Troops went house to house, looting at will if they were Catholic, Inferior, had resisted, or were a mix of all three, but an unusual order came down to not trouble any Protestant Churches or known Protestant citizens. But as for the rest, which was the vast majority, their fate was swift and brutal. Squads roamed the streets, hanging Inferiors as they went. All through the night there was resistance. No matter where you were, you could here the pepper of Quebec grinders opening fire on Yankee invaders in the distance, or perhaps right next door. But the battle was tactically over. Despite initial bravery, the Quebecois were outgunned and solidly defeated. No amount of courage could save them from the guns and knives of American troops who thought the Return of Christ was at hand.

Acme Ashton landed that night and set himself up a headquarters at the local jail. After an hour or two, a telegraph line was setup so he could wire McClellan in Philadelphia.

"Cracking success STOP Papist dogs run like scared sheep STOP Will continue advance at first light STOP Will alert if sitrep changes STOP Naming town after Prophet STOP ALL HAIL STOP"

Telegraph dated 11 pm, Friday, December 1, 1911, from Legate General Ashton to Supreme Marshal McClellan ​

McClellan was very happy. Army Group I's assault was progressing wonderfully. However, it was a pain to lose the Mad Anthony and the Zephyr, but such losses were to be expected when assaulting a defended border. Despite heavy losses, American troops had not taken a single step back through the entire Battle of Peterborough. Immediately, Ashton had the town renamed "Prophetsborough" in celebration and to send a message. The Words of the Prophet were coming true. Manifest Destiny was surely at hand.

This was hardly the only fighting raging that first day of December. On the contrary, the Battle of Kawartha Lakes was raging twenty miles northwest, with the 4th Legion handing the Royal forces there a vicious beating. The next day, Ashton regrouped his forces early in the morning and pushed on toward the crucial St. Lawrence River. The Battle of Belleville saw much of the Royal Army that had retreated the previous day finally receive reinforcements. However, many of these reinforcements were cavalry. They were very quickly about to learn a lesson in modernity. The Battle of Belleville was also a complete disaster. The cavalry were mowed down by Yankee grinders as fast as the gunners could pull the trigger. Horse and man were ripped to shreds and the screams of the dying were barely audible over the banging of the guns. Belleville was a Catholic town, and what had happened in Peterborough was nothing compared to the fate Belleville was destined for. Yankee troops once again killed all the men over 15, rounding them up and executing them en masse. Once again, Colonel Sims was largely responsible for carrying out the atrocities.

The "Fightin' Fourth" Legion advances to meet the enemy at the Battle of Kawartha Lakes​

Acme Ashton walkied his subordinate from atop the Hellfire and told him, "Colonel Sims, I'll be damned if you aren't one hell of a soldier. I have received estimates that over half this den of iniquity has been wiped from the face of the planet. Is this correct? Over."

Sims was responding with a crank unit mounted in the back of his personal wagon and said, "Yessir, those estimates are correct. I know we need to press the attack, but my boys want to tear this papist shithole down. Even the very name of this backwater smacks of Becky frogs. Heard the redskins used to call it Asukhknosk. Sodom in one hand, Gomorrah in the other, I say. Over."

Ashton reviewed the timetables on the desk in front of him. About a dozen officers were scuttling around the maps and charts, positioning markers and writing down information as it came in. "Well, the advance is going ahead of schedule. We didn't think the Beckies would give up so easy. If I was them, I would have built a big beautiful wall on my border. But if they want to make it easy and only throw a few grinder nests at us, then I say we have time for some demolition. Colonel Sims, strip everything of value from that town. Every crucifix and coin. I will send up the quartermasters to collect whatever your men round up. Then burn it. Burn it all. I don't want a single cell alive in that town, do you understand me? Tell everyone to get the hell out, or get the hell beat out of them. Shoot immediately if they resist. Over."

Sims laughed heartily and replied, "That's the Legate Ashton I love to fight for! I will see to these orders immediately, sir! I don't think my men will complain much. All hail! Over."

By the end of the second day of the war, Belleville was ablaze. An entire town over a century old was completely wiped out. As news began to hit Quebec City of the total annihilation the Yankees were bringing to innocent civilians, anger overpowered their fear. Men, women, and children rallied and picked up arms, determined to take the fight to the murdering invaders. The war wasn't over yet. And the people of Quebec weren't going to go down without a fight, and an unseasonably warm winter was about to finally turn frigid. But even in winter, the 13th ORRA Mechanized would have cold coffee and hot lead as they came in from the east....

Legate General Wilford Acme Ashton, Army Group I

Colonel Buford Sims, Commander of the 1st and 2nd Cohorts, 2nd Legion, Group I
"The Butcher of Belleville"

Yankee firing squad executes a Quebecois civilian for resistance

A Negro cohort on the move during the St. Lawrence River Campaign (American units being segregated was one of the only leftovers of slavery by 1911, and was really only in place to pacify Southron hardliners)​

Exhausted Quebecois troops take cover behind weak defenses amid the bodies of their own dead​

 

[Napoleon53]

CHAPTER 58
THE HOLLAND HELLHOLE

Dutch resistance fighters keep an eye out for Imperial troops, 1911​

At the same time as the Union invasion of Quebec and Canada, all hell was breaking lose in Europe. The Eastern Front had bogged down to a standstill, with the beginnings of a large trench network being forged. This was largely due to the fact that Europa was now diverting all sorts of resources away from the East because of the catastrophe currently unfolding in Holland and in the Bund. After the time ran out on Caesar's ultimatum to Holland, Imperial troops entered Holland guns-blazing. The commander of the Imperial invasion was 42 year-old Field Marshal Fabian Perrault, a man of lesser stature than Field Marshal Favreau and Dupond currently out tangling with the League of Tsars. He had wanted to go fight in the East against the "bloodthirsty Russians" as a noble knight, defending Western Civilization from the clutches of a madman. But he had instead been stuck orchestrating the occupation of a formerly friendly nation. Caesar told Perrault he expected a swift victory and then a turn to crush the Nords trying to take the Bund.

Field Marshal Fabian Perrault ​

Caesar's very... simplistic... strategy was called the Clockwise plan. He wanted to simply hold off the League while he first dealt with the Central Powers going in a clockwise motion; first through Holland, then the Bund, then knock Sweden out of the war before marching on Berlin. This was all rather naive. Napoleon IV viewed himself as a chess master playing for keeps against the world in a grand game of the ages. He saw himself as one step ahead at all times, always ready to tangle with whoever would try to interrupt his "bonne chance." He had been the first world leader to recognize the military value of Traian Vuia's aeroplane, imagining them as the death knell of the aeroship era in which America and the Reich dominated. In Napoleon IV's mind, he was a man of equal glory to his grandfather and great-grandfather. It was he who would dominate the new era of the 20th century. He was only in his 50s, and had plenty of time left to conquer, he thought. In reality, the situation was grim, in spite of their technological advantage. The Imperial Diet, the rubber-stamp legislative branch of Europa, was even talking about how Caesar was leading the country right into disaster.

That same Imperial Diet had been formed upon the birth of Europa as a friendly face to make citizens feel their opinions mattered, no matter how disparate or isolated their region might be. Each nation-state within the United Empire was allotted ten people to serve in the House of Representatives, and two to serve in the House of Lords. The House of Lords was mostly still loyal to Napoleon IV, but there were whispers in the House of Representatives that not all was well. In 1909, Napoleon IV had fired Prime Minister Raymond Courtemanche, one of the most popular men in all the Empire and a man who had loyally served the family since the days of Napoleon II. The Prime Minister had told Caesar that his aggressive nature and desire for military glory would lead France into disaster. As Courtemanche retired to his Normandy estate, he told the Dublin Times that "The lights are going out all over Europe. I know not when we shall see them lit again." Immediately, he was replaced by Othmar Derichs, an Austrian and complete blowhard who fervently believed in Napoleon IV's near divinity.

Prime Minister Raymond Courtemanche

Prime Minister Othmar Derichs​

Most of the general staff idolized Courtemanche. He was a noble man who anyone, regardless of ethnicity, could respect and believe in. Perrault himself considered the Prime Minister his personal role model. When Courtemanche was fired in 1909, the then-general Perrault was crestfallen. Derichs was a sloppy do-nothing in comparison. 1909 was also the year that Perrault's wife divorced him, just months after his promotion to field marshal. Turning to the bottle for solace, the field marshal became a drunken shell of his former self. His wife had left a field marshal of the Grand Armee for a cologne-soaked, greasy-haired, suit-wearing ball of sleaze. It was the ultimate indignity. Perrault expected the war to end badly for everyone involved, and had little desire to live to see its end. Instead, he wished to serve on the Eastern Front and die like a man, buried with full honors. He wished for glory and nobility. When the orders came down from Caesar through Derichs that he was to be placed in charge of the invasion of Holland, his spirit was crushed. He knew what these sort of invasions entailed; brutal occupation, rounding up of civilians, and executions for those who resisted. Napoleon IV was reportedly even considering order the Dutch King, his own cousin, executed "for treason against and sullying the name of the House of Bonaparte." This was simply disgusting to Perrault.

But, though he might have been a man of many convictions, he still could not bring himself to turn down the authority of Caesar. He accepted the position and prepared himself for a miserable existence. When Imperial troops crossed the Dutch border on November 24, 1911, it was a complete slaughter. The Dutch troops were well-trained and well-equipped and had no thought of retreat. The huge losses devastated Perrault, who saw the entire thing as a senseless slaughter. Meanwhile, just a few hundred miles away in the Bund, civil war was breaking out all over. The Catholics, mostly Bavarians and the like, were coming up from the South to end the rebellions in the Free City of Hamburg and all the other self-proclaimed Protestant local governments. High King Franz Josef was cracking the whip now with brutal reprisals and mass arrests. Dissidents were tortured and shot. At the same time, the Nordic Army was about to come barrelling through.

If this all sounds like a confusing mess, it was. It was the cataclysmic event that every Bonaparte had feared since 1800. Europe was tearing itself apart, and unlucky men such as Perrault got to have the honors of fingering the wounds. The Dutch people and the Protestant Bunders wanted nothing to do with Paris anymore. For too long had the Imperial Eagle been over-extended. Simply trying to keep up with demand for troops to get from one part of the empire to another was becoming a nightmare, and the Reich had barely seen combat yet.

All across the empire, Holland was giving other regions ideas. In Brazil-and-Rio, one of the most awkward and fragile institutions in the world, citizens began toying with the idea of revolting. Just like Holland, none of them wanted to go die for Paris. The Republican Union was just one Gran Colombia away from their border. But when the order came for Brazil-Rio to enter a state of total war, they begrudgingly accepted. In Egypt, the Muslims there began to protest in the street against the "Infidel Empire" currently occupying most of the Middle East. In Iraq, former allies now began to smell weakness. Persia too looked on at the struggle of Imperial power to keep the colonies under control and began to look at the possibility of entering the war on their own side to unify the Middle East into a new Caliphate, new golden age for the Persian people and monarchy. In India, where the situation had never been entirely peaceful to begin with, local politicians and princes began to ponder the idea of telling Caesar "no." But, one by one, they all quietly gritted their teeth and entered the war.

This initial near-revolt was quelled by fears of Russia literally butchering the world if it wasn't stopped, but no one was happy. But in Paris, Napoleon was happy. Everything was coming together. He knew all his peoples would come together to defeat the foes of the Empire. But what he failed to realize, quite interestingly, was that it was likely Russia he had to thank for not immediately seeing the empire shatter. The fear of Viktor the Butcher was one of the only things keeping his people from revolting. As the early months of 1912 played out before the world, Napoleon claimed, despite the disaster currently unfolding in Quebec, that the Empire was winning the war. Amsterdam was under siege, the Dutch King had fled to England to rule from exile, the League was still held at bay, and the Reich--for whatever reason--still had not properly attacked. Caesar told his officer staff, "The Empire has never known defeat, and I dare say I am getting a whiff of victory in the air." These words would prove to be very, very false.

By March 1, Amsterdam was under Imperial occupation. Thousands were arrested and herded into camps where many starved to death or were kept in unsanitary and inhumane conditions. French, Spaniards, and Italians patrolled the streets day and night, shooting dozens of civilians daily. Standing there with blood on his hands, Perrault felt like a monster. Here he was, a devout Christian and patriot slaughtering devout Christians and patriots. Each day that passed was more and more intolerable. Every time he tried to provide civilians or prisoners with comforts, he was reprimanded by Derichs for "fraternizing with the enemy." In spite of his own feelings about the situation, however, he continued to do his job, and do it well. By late March the Dutch Army was fleeing the country and running north to Holstein. There, the Danish Republic's army had just entered the war on the Imperial side and agreed to wipe out the Dutch once and for all. At Gluckstadt, the Dutch Royal Army, some 100,000 men still, were joined by around 6,000 Bund rebels, all prepared to make a final stand. Perrault was coming up from the South and expected to finally exterminate the resistance between him and the Danes. However, just as the Danes prepared to descend from the north, the Swedish invasion of Copenhagen began. The disloyal Danish Navy, full of old monarchists who favored even Swedish rule rather than a republic, refused to engage the Swedes. Tens of thousands of Swedes came in, toppling the capital and ruthlessly rounding up the Republican government and imprisoning them. At the same time, Norway was striking from the north all along the coastline.

Things were still grim for the Dutch Royal Army, however, as well as with their rebellious Bund allies. Perrault was still coming with a huge force to utterly destroy them. What would happen next would become known as the Gluckstadt Miracle. Thousands of Nordic, Norwegian, Swedish, English, and Scottish vessels appeared on the Holstein coast. Over the course of a week, the entire Dutch Royal Army was rescued and escaped to England, reunited with their exiled King Louis Napoleon II. This infuriated Caesar beyond words, and he began to blame Perrault for the escape. According to Napoleon, Perrault's "lack of initiative and latent pacifism" were to blame for the getaway, and he demanded the field marshal's resignation. On April 2, Perrault returned to Paris to personally lay his baton at Caesar's feet. At that same time, just across the English Channel, Winston Churchill was finally forging the Britannic Union he had so long dreamed of....

 

[Napoleon53]

CHAPTER 59
THE BATTLE OF CORNWALL ISLAND AND THE MONTREAL CAMPAIGN

Commander George Patton, a strapping young officer of 26 years of age, muffled a cough, trying to remain as silent as possible. He surveyed the icy ramparts of the Isle of Cornwall, one of the most defended areas of the entire northern border. Just north of the island, on the other side of the St. Lawrence River, was the city of Cornwall, the gateway to Montreal. It was the early morning of December 24, 1911, Patriot-Saints Day. No one in Quebec expected the Union to fight on their sacred national holiday, and their Christmas Eve as well. Surely, the Quebecois thought, there would be a ceasefire for just a day or so. Even the Legions advancing under Ashton in the southwest had stopped their attack, breaking out into festive songs about Father Abe around the campfires. But it was all part of the plan. One of the most daring battles of the whole war was about to begin.

The landing boats, not a one with any lights on of any sort, drifted toward Cornwall Island. The boats were rickety jobs to be sure, done up hastily and most barely capable of supporting the amount of men currently praying and whispering in them, packed like sardines. Patton kept an eye on the coast of the island with his binoculars. There were guards on the island in droves, but most were sound asleep. There were a few watchtowers equipped with spotlights among the evergreens, but most guards were simply frozen troopers standing on a rock, half-asleep. The winter had finally arrived, and the temperature had almost frozen the river. Patton had considered waiting for a true freeze so his men could merely walk across, but he knew the weight of the 13th could never be supported on fresh winter ice. No, the boats were the only way. It had to work. If Cornwall fell, the remaining Quebecois resistance in the southwest could be put down like dogs in a kennel, trapped between the 13th ORRA and Lincoln's Hammer. If Cornwall fell, the road to Montreal would be wide open. If Montreal fell, then that would cut off Quebec City once and for all. Quebec would be knocked out of the war. It had to work. Patton muttered a silent prayer to himself as the boats swayed and creaked under the soft moonlight, cutting through the water like shoeboxes rather than actual boats. Three had already sprung leaks and had to be left behind.

As Patton looked ahead, he could make out the lantern-toting Quebecois guards on the shoreline. Behind them were the pits of barbed wire and and razor-ropes. Behind even that were the artillery batteries and grinder nests. But all over the fort came the sound of freezing men snoring away, content that the Union would not violate its most sacred holiday. How wrong they were. The Americans were only about 50 yards from the shoreline now. Patton glanced down at the drummer boy next to him. The young lad wore the uniform of the Custer Youth Brigade and carried a black drum emblazoned with the 13th's insignia of an ace of spades.

"You holding up, kid?" Patton asked the blonde drummer, who seemed uneasy as he stared ahead at possible death.

The young boy looked up to him. The boy's bright blue eyes shone in the moonlight. His face was thin and gaunt, his mouth locked in a frown. He answered Patton, saying, "Yes, sir! I will not flinch or be afraid. I am a Custer Youth."

Patton patted him on the shoulder and said, "That's a good lad. Stay strong, we're almost in it now."

The landing barges crept closer. George was shocked the Quebecois hadn't spotted them yet. About twenty yards on, he began to hear the singing. He couldn't believe it, but the Quebecois defenders were drunk! This was Washington's Delaware redux and Patton felt chills run down his neck. He knew the 13th was about to make history. He knew the Quebecois were making a huge mistake. Smiling ever so slightly, he pulled his Colt 1911 out of his holster and turned to face the 100 or so other soldiers on his personal boat. He readied his whistle, placing it between his freezing lips. Next to the drummer, an officer readied his bagpipes, preparing to lead this band of protestant brothers onto the beach with a jaunty battle-tune. Just then, Patton saw the searchlight nearby begin to sweep in their direction. It was time. Some 50 yards remained when the light hit the first boat. Instantly, the siren began to blare on the island-fort. The guns began to fire. Shells lit up the night. Quebec officers shouted and screamed in French and English for their men to wake up and man their positions. It was pandemonium.

Patton put down the whistle for a moment and began to shout at his men, trying to buoy their courage as they headed into a hail of lead. "Men of the 13th ORRA! Men of Metropolis and Salvation City! Men of New York and Iowai! We're about to lose some good boys! We're about to have our mettle tested. But the 13th Mechanized was forged in fire! I expect every men here to do his duty, and if I see a second of hesitation from any damn one of you, regardless of rank, I will shoot you myself! Now let's kill some frogs! All hail the 13th! All hail the Pinnacle Man! Up the Pope's holy ass and may Old Boney burn in Hell!" He blew his whistle, ordering all the hunched over and cowering troopers to their feet. A grinder from the shoreline strafed their boat with a withering blast, sending about twelve soldiers to their deaths, their blood painting the bottom of the barge red.

"Up the Pope's ass!" roared the 13th, despite the stream of bullets heading their way. The drummer began beating the attack pattern and the piper began to play the "March of the Custer Company" as the boat slammed onto the rocky shoreline of Cornwall Island. Cheering and firing away in a frenzy, Patton and his men stormed the beach, advancing in the face of almost certain death. A huge ORRA battle flag rose up, it's white spade a symbol for all on the beach to rally and push forward. All over the shore, dozens of boats were all playing the same song, all charging into the mouth of hell. The frenzied berserkers pressed on, losing hundreds of men in mere minutes. Despite the losses, the 13th fought on.

The Quebecois defenders were now completely terrified. Most were too drunk to precisely aim at intended targets and were only hitting the Yankees simply because the landing parties were so tightly packed together. Patton should have been dead instantly, but instead he was standing tall on the beach, blasting away with his Colt and directing his forces. The 13th was made of the hardest of the hard men, radical devotees to church and state. These were America's finest and most bloodthirsty. If anyone could break the frogs holed up inside Fort Cornwall, it was the fighting bastards of the Bad Luck Brigade. Now, from the Yankee shoreline not so far away, the artillery began to open up. Fort Cornwall began to crumble. Huge blasts took down the central command center of the Royal Army, killing most of the officers.

Yankee Sappers were being pushed to the fore, flanked by sharpshooters to defend them as they placed dynamite charges at several points on the fortifications. A few minutes later, the south-eastern part of the main wall fell, the ramparts shattering and crumbling into the sea. Patton let out a cheer with his men as they advanced into the chasm, raked by grinder fire. Over one thousand men had already died, but the attack was relentless. The 13th had never retreated or broken. The 13th had never tasted defeat.

Captain John Randall, Patton's right hand, did not seem convinced of their certain victory, however. As he ducked for cover behind a boulder, he yelled out, "Commander Patton! It's a no-go! Our boys are gettin' slaughtered! We've blasted them sons of bitches, but they're still holed up like demons in a Stygian pool, sir!"

Patton grinned as he knew the time had come to reveal the Union's newest addition to the national arsenal. "Captain Randall!" he hollered for his subordinate. "Get me those damn stormtroopers!"

Upon this order, about twenty men made their way to Patton's position by the "hole in the wall." The Quebecois had begun to secure the area again, using the hole to force the Yanks into a killbox. But Patton was having none of that. Instead, the twenty lumbering men, equipped with massive tanks on their backs and odd-looking suits more suited to an airship fire crew than infantry, came up to the breach. After adjusting their equipment a final time, the first batch of them charged into the breach. From their bizarre-looking backpacks ran hoses, attached to a nozzle. From the nozzle poured sticky flames, engulfing the Quebecois grinder nests in a blazing inferno. This was definitely the breaking point of the battle, and perhaps the war for Quebec. The "Battle of the Hole in the Wall," as it came to be called, was a moment so shocking that it would make headlines the world over. Other nations had developed "flamethrowers," but none had dared use them for fear of their enemies using them as well. In the face of all of this, Patton and the 13th ORRA had openly and brazenly used them to take Cornwall Island. With the island secured by morning, Patton and his troops now had a free hand to sack Cornwall proper on the mainland. General William Henry Smythe, the commanding general of the 13th, threw his praise upon Patton and his men for their "devastating victory upon the enemies of freedom and Godliness."

Photo of a Union stormtrooper circa 1912​

Despite stiff resistance, they did sack Cornwall the next day, on Christmas Day. The 13th went house to house, pillaging and dispatching any who dared fight back. In the southwest, the news of the victory at Cornwall Island rallied Lincoln's Hammer, who had been bogged down by militias and guerrilla fighters. On January 7, 1912, Patton shook hands with Acme Ashton in Cornwall, and together they plotted their next move. By mid-January, the St. Lawrence was firmly in American hands up to Montreal, and Montreal's days were now numbered.

Legate General Ashton took charge of the entire front. Cornwall, now his headquarters, was only about fifteen miles away from Montreal. Faced with Union forces so close, the Royal Commander, General Henri Blanc, had to decide whether to attempt an offensive operation against Lincoln's Hammer and the Bad Luck Brigade or fortify the city to survive a siege. The first blizzard of the winter had begun, and their was a chance that it could bog down the attackers and choke them all into Vaudreuil and keep them at bay as reinforcements arrived from Quebec City. Maybe, just maybe, if Montreal could hold the line and survive the winter, the situation in Europe could change enough for Caesar to begin sending over reinforcements.

For the first few weeks of 1912, it seemed just this very thing was to happen. Ashton made repeated attempts to cross over the Lake of Two Mountains and storm the city, but each attempt was pushed back and halted by the bitter cold and mounting snow. The famed armored "grinder wagons" of the 13th were bogged down and refused to start. It began to look as if all the advances had stopped. Perhaps Blanc would hold Montreal after all.

That was when the news came that Greenland had been seized by the Union Navy. The chief passage for Europan ships to supply their North American cousins was cut off. Now, despite his initial successes in staving off the Yankee hordes, General Blanc was faced with desperation. Cut off from supplies and living on the knifepoint of mutiny, his lines began to crumble. Men began to desert, reuniting with their families and fleeing into the northern wilderness, desperate to try to survive the coming apocalypse. Finally, on March 5, the Quebecois broke following a five hour artillery barrage which saw Ashton lob thousands of shells into their lines.

"At long last, this nightmare is drawing to a close. Montreal will burn. The injustices visited upon the New Jerusalem shall be visited upon the grandchildren of the Canadian perpetrators. None shall be spared from the wrath of a righteous God. These Inferiors will be sinners in the hands of an angry God." ​

- Legate General Acme Ashton, March 6, 1912​

When Montreal fell on March 10, Ashton, his officers, General Smythe, and Commander Patton all rode horses into the city. The sound of total silence was all that could be heard, aside from the coughing and screaming of the wounded and dying. One man Patton saw writhing in agony was one of his own stormtroopers. The backpack mechanism for the "Greek Fire" had frozen in a small part and exploded on his back, cooking him alive. But as the Union warlords thought of the cost of life and manpower that went into taking Montreal, they couldn't help but feel justified. For just up ahead, several block north, General Blanc had been found hanging in his personal quarters above a bookstore. In the main square, hundreds of Royal soldiers were throwing down their weapons and being herded into the local prison. ''

A woman inspects the wreckage of the Montreal City Hall

American troops march north to join the siege of Montreal ​

"Legate General, I think this city could be a beautiful Anglo-Saxon home one day," said Patton optimistically, disgusted with the city's inhabitants but also impressed with its natural beauty. "After we purge it of course."

Ashton shot him a smile as they rode on through the surrendered city. "That is very true, Commander Patton. I say, the sooner the purging commences the better. We won't be moving out for a while, after all. Commander Patton, take your stormtroopers and burn down every Catholic institution in this town. If anyone interferes with your mission, execute them on the spot. You are now military governor of Montreal, young man. Don't disappoint me."

Patton shook with pride and snapped a salute. "Yessir! I will begin immediately." The new military governor broke off from the leadership and rode off to begin his cleansing operation. As his horse took him over a pile of wreckage, he felt a little cough. It had been a while since he had had a drink and the smoke of battle was still thick. Again he coughed, but thought nothing of it. He found his remaining stormtroopers and gave them their orders. As they marched to the nearest Catholic church to begin thei purge, Patton let out another cough. A drop of blood fell to the icy white ground. Patton frowned. Then, just like that, he fell over in the snow, tumbling from his horse.