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Post by callmedelta on Feb 28, 2023 1:21:34 GMT -5
Partie Un / A Chest Full of Dangers
Gendarmerie Director Virgil Legault knelt down next to the large trunk in his office. He ran his hand over the surface of the lid, finding the hidden buttons therein from muscle memory. Unclasping a key from around his neck, Virgil unlocked the trunk, but not before forgetting to press the final button on the side of the trunk, lifting it open. All of these precautions were necessary for disabling the acid trap he had installed on this trunk -- a single wrong action anywhere in the process, and two chemicals in the top of the trunk would mix and form a highly corrosive acid, ruining all of the papers inside. Sometimes, Virgil wondered if he was overly paranoid. Sometimes he wondered if he wasn’t paranoid enough, given the contents of the trunk.
Franerre had been stabbed in the back. Betrayed by those she thought she could trust. The Lusatians, the Gaelians, the democrats. Their so called ‘allies,’ leaving Franerre out to dry and organizing a treaty that saw her forced to concede her rightful land to those eight legged freaks. Franerre played nice with the Gaelians, and even gave them a perfect opportunity to avenge Hawaii, but they were too cowardly to take it. But worst of all were the democrats. They capitulated to it all, despite Franerre having the will, the weapons, and the blood to continue the fight. All of them, worthless.
Virgil pulled a stack of manilla folders out of the trunk. The plans for a coup had been drafted just after Mordred’s Revolution brought democracy to the country fifty years ago. Plenty of the faces from the King’s old Privy Council just rebranded themselves as the PPD, but just in case they were to ever lose their stranglehold on power, they wanted insurance that they could remain in control one way or another. Even though the Gendarmerie were much smaller in those days, they were still one of the few organizations in Franerre who could ever hope to pull off such a thing. Such fears never materialized, but as the years went on and Directors came and left, the plans were never quite thrown out.
Virgil couldn’t speak for his predecessors, but part of him liked the thought experiment of it. Another part of him never had much love for the ivory tower of the PPD or the rabble rousers in the SNF. Franerre was a nation first, democracy second after all.
He flipped open the first folder. If a coup were to take place, there needed to be a reason for it. Not an internal reason that the men who were doing what was necessary knew, but one that they could sell to the public. In his mind, the most optimal way to do this would be a strike on key government officials. Not only would that lend the government credibility in solving such a tragedy, but they could handily remove some key figures who opposed the new regime.
Virgil’s predecessors knew this, of course, but they had been blinded by their biases. They thought it would be a coup backed by the PPD against whatever party stood against them, and thus necessitated an assassination of whatever leftist party came to power. That would have never worked. The SNF was too good at mobilizing, too good at the sort of mass action that could bring down a government, too dispersed for one key assassination to decapitate the movement. No, ironically enough it was the PPD who would be most fit. Dufour kept the party in line with an iron fist. Kill him and his inner circle, and the movement could be fractured. Anyone with a dissenting opinion would be more likely to raise it in private, behind closed doors. Still dangerous, but not regime toppling in and of itself.
No, the SNF would need to be subverted. Divided. Kept off-balance. Placate them with a few trivialities, treat them better than the PPD did, and they would spend the entire regime debating on whether they should strike or not. Legault closed his current file and opened a new one. He needed a pied piper for the SNF, someone who was already well known among them and be that dividing force. Virgil thought he had just the man in mind. Chamberman Yves Fortier
Yves was ambitious, and spent nearly as much time criticizing Verenes as he did Dufour. That, naturally, came from his position as someone on the far left of even the SNF. That may cause some issues, but ‘some issues,’ would likely be the best Legault would get. But, above all, the man was a Franerri nationalist first and foremost. If anyone in the SNF could be convinced, it would be him.
He wasn’t the first person that needed convincing, however. The military would need to be convinced first, or else Virgil was simply condemning himself to a counter-coup or civil war. Zelgius, Ranulf, and Tauroneo, three of the most senior, important and, pre-invasion, most popular men in the armed forces. Virgil took a pen, adding a new name to the list. Cailleaux, the Lion of Elenerre. He would almost certainly be an ardent supporter of a coup, and was famous nationwide after his stand in Elenerre.
That left two things, the King and the Lusatians. The latter was the easiest -- they were to be discarded, ideally in a way which paid for their own betrayal in kind. But, that left Franerre in a predicament. Kumo may see fit to finish the job without the ‘protection’ of the Lusatians. That left one other nation for Franerre to try her hand with. Galra. If the Lusatians and Gaelians were more scared of them than the spiders, then surely they could help reclaim Franerre. And Legault was sure they would. Their religion fundamentally viewed Kumo as inferior beings. Every other non-human race as well, but that wasn’t exactly a concern of Legault’s. It was simply the price of doing what needed to be done.
The King, the King, the King. What to do about the King. Virgil would be surprised if he had any love for democracy after the headaches Dufour and Verenes had caused him. But that didn’t mean that he would automatically side with Legault in this instance. He certainly couldn’t be removed. The outcome of that would be much too difficult to predict, and none of his other likely co-conspirators were likely to be in favor of that plan. No, the King would have to be sidelined from any major policy decisions. It felt wrong to leave such a major piece simply in play and relatively free like this, but nothing could be done. It felt wrong to leave such a major piece in play and free. Perhaps something could be done about him in the future.
Virgil closed the manilla folder. He hated leaving ‘perhaps’ in his plans, but it was already late. He placed the stack back in the trunk, locking it. Tomorrow, he had a Marshal to see.
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Post by callmedelta on Mar 3, 2023 16:49:59 GMT -5
Partie Deaux / A Reunion, Queen to D1
The plane came down just before the sun began to truly begin setting, the last strong vestiges of sunlight illuminating the airstrip. The King was happy to see his family again, but that happiness was no more than an ember in a long, cold night. It was hard to feel anything other than sadness and rage. It was a monarch’s duty to protect his people. And King Dante Emil Soleil Della Rosa II, Sovereign of Franerre, Shield of Her People, Defender of the Foa Restoration and Mordred’s Revolution, Lamentor of Elenerre, had failed. That made him angry, bitter, and spiteful, but even the poison warmth of those emotions was drowned out by his sorrow.
What could he have done better? Could he have done better? Could anyone have done better? Was this fate simply inevitable, in the cruel calculus of the world? Could anything be done to reverse Franerre’s fortunes now? If something could be done to change the situation, would he be able to do it? Would it be worth the cost?
Dante was shaken from his own head by the noise of the plane touching down. At the very least, his family was back together again. Jadwega was the first out of the plane, seeming oddly hurried, followed by Caden carrying little baby Caterina. Jadwega didn’t slow down at all as she almost ran towards Dante, launching herself into a hug that he was not prepared for in the slightest. Dante fell backward, collapsing on the ground with a grunt. Jadwega held on tight to his suit jacket, burying her face in his chest. Despite himself, a small smile crept onto Dante’s face. “W-what’s gotten into you?” Dante asked, returning the hug. Jadwega was acting like they were some teenage lovers, not a pair of thirty-somethings who had been married for nearly a decade.
“It’s been nearly three months, Dante,” Jadwega answered, “I’ve missed you. And so has Caden, even if he may not show it.” Dante looked over Jadwiga’s shoulder to where his son stood, carrying his infant daughter. Jadwega, somewhat reluctantly, let go of him, and Dante made his way over to his son. He bent down, Caden looking up from baby Caterina. Dante scooped the pair into a hug, feeling a bit of warmth creep back into his cold soul.
Article I -- Principle Diplomats
This treaty, written and signed in Kazimierzgrad under the witness…
Dante placed his pen on his desk, staring at the copy of the peace treaty. He kept it framed above his desk, easy access for him to look up at and see at any time. His eyes bored into it, not even reading the words, almost as if Dante was trying to burn a hole in the paper. It was late, Dante trying to write one last bit of paperwork before calling it in for the evening. Of course, it had to be a letter to Lusatia. $40 billion Zloty, all for Franerre. The National Chamber had accepted immediately, and was surely to be filled with nothing but squabbles about how to spend the money. Dante thought it best to write a letter of thanks to the Lusatian government for the aid…but it didn’t take Dante long to find whatever words he seemed to write always rang hollow.
This wasn’t right. It was everyone standing by while a man cut off your hand and expecting you to feel happy that they bought you a new suit. It was being paid to stay silent, to accept the situation and still stay friends with those who stood by and did nothing but watch while they had the capability to stop them. But the King knew, looking at his situation logically, he couldn’t not accept the aid. What, and just let free money that could be used to better the lives of those citizens he still held power over slip away? No. The Lusatians would have their due one day, but that day would not be today. It was late, and Dante needed his rest. He had been getting much better sleep now that Jadwega was back.
Jadwega traced her finger along Dante’s bare chest as the two lay next to each other in bed. Normally she would have enjoyed the act of intimacy but now…the sharp contrast between her pale Lusatian skin and his deep olive Franerri just made her feel unsettled. Disgusted, though maybe that word was a bit much for the situation. But it was a reminder — a stark, ever-present reminder — that she was different. That she was Lusatian. That her people did nothing while Franerre burned. All the pride she once held in that title, now turned to shame and self-loathing.
She looked at Dante’s face. He was peacefully sleeping away, while Jadwega was up late. She didn’t know if she could tell Dante. He already had so much on his plate, this was the only time she ever seemed to see him without his face creased lines of worry. Why did she have to add one more thing to that pile? Dante bore the weight of a nation on his shoulders. This, she would bear alone.
Jadwega lay her head on Dante’s chest, listening to his heartbeat as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
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Post by callmedelta on Mar 3, 2023 16:53:49 GMT -5
Partie Trois / A Delayed Title Drop; or A Stew of Anger and Smoke
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick
TockThe clock in the corner continued to tick tock ever onward, the sound overpowering the shuffling of papers and shifting of men in their seats. It was the only thing that reminded the men in the room of the passage of time, distracting them from their stew of simmering anger and cigarette smoke. The clock was an old thing. Dignified, dating back to the colonial era. Priceless. But more than anything, it was Lusatian. Marshal Zelgius wanted to smash the damned thing. He didn’t quite know if he could pin down why. It wasn’t the sound of the thing, Zelgius had a fondness for the rhythmic regularity of it. Maybe that was the only thing that had kept him from smashing the thing before now. Perhaps Zelgius wanted to smash it because he didn’t want the reminder of time passing, he simply wanted to sit and sink into his anger. Perhaps he was simply angry at the world, and the clock made for a convenient target. Perhaps it was because it was a symbol of Lusatia, and how they betrayed Franerre. Marshal Zelgius was not the only man in the room. To his right sat Director Legault of the Gendarmerie. It was the two of them who had called this meeting, and he who had the plan in the first place. The pair shared a look, debating on how long to let the other four men contemplate the meeting. On his left sat General Ranulf. The Marshal had trusted him before, but he seemed to have the worst reaction to the proposal he and Legault had outlined. Ranulf seemed to continually stare at the page, flipping over onto the blank backside, hoping for something else to be written. To Legault’s right sat General Raphael Cailleaux, the Lion of Elenerre. The index finger on his right hand tapped on the center table in time with the clock. The other three had been blown off by an artillery shell during the fierce fighting in the city. The large scar under his right eye from the same explosion marred what would have been an otherwise handsome face, surrounded by the golden locks that gave him his title. He seemed more approving, which was damned good for the proposal. Cailleaux had been just about the only person in all of the Franerri government or military who came away looking like anything other than incompetent after the whole war. Only living person, anyway, lucky bastards the martyrs were. To the left of Ranulf sat General Tauroneo, the Hero of Tafatu. The architect of Franerre’s victory in the war with the UST. And, perhaps most importantly, one of the few others whose reputation seemed to have been spared from the fallout of the Notch War. An older, distinguished man from the same crop of Lusatian-educated officers that Zelgius and Ranulf were, with long sideburns connecting to a large mustache. A strong, silent, giant of a man, Tauroneo and Cailleaux were probably the two most popular figures in the Franerri military. The General simply sat in his chair, hands clasped in front of his mouth, contemplating the situation. At the left of Tauroneo and right of Cailleaux sat the last of the five men, Air Marshal Yvon C. Leclere, of the Experimental Royal Franerri Army Aviation Corp (CEARAF). To an outsider, his inclusion would have been a strange one. The man commanded onto nine planes to his name, after all. Even to an insider, it would have been seen just as strangely. Marshal Zelgius, however, had big plans for the man, and advocated for his last-minute inclusion to Legault. Leclere nervously lit up another cigarette, its three companions sitting in an ashtray at the man’s side. The navy lay rusting at the bottom of the bay, which left quite a lot of the government’s budget now free and open. Zelgius planned on investing and expanding the CEARAF as part of a much larger military modernization program. But that program was not the proposal that was written on the paper in front of the six men. The message had been handwritten on paper by Legault himself, and were to be burned after this meeting was finished, for that was how dangerous the words therein were. The civilian government of Franerre, has failed to protect the citizens and territory of Franerre. The Gaelian and Lusatian governments have proven unwilling to assist in the defense of Franerre. Since Franerre has proven unable to stand against Kumosenkan on her own, another foreign ally must be found, of which the only suitable candidate for contesting Kumosenkan naval and technological dominance is Galra. The civilian government would never agree to such an alliance, nor perhaps many things necessary for the security of Franerre and the eventual reclamation of Elenerre.
Therefore, a military coup is the only solution.“This is treason,” General Ranulf said, the shock of the situation seeming to have finally worn off. “Against the civilian government, yes,” Marshal Zelgius said, “But our loyalty is not to the civilian government. It is to our King, then to Franerre, and only then to our civilian government.” “A civilian government which,” Director Legault added, “Has proven incapable of keeping safe the first two.” “But do you really think the Galrans will take us?” the Lion asked. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t,” Marshall Zelgius said, “We have valuable military intelligence on the Lusatians, and allying together would reduce a potential two front war against the Gaelians to a definite singular front.” ““…our neighbors aren’t exactly what you could call ‘good people,’ though,” the Air Marshal commented, his voice uncertain in a room of giants compared to him, “From what I know, their religion is horrid, and that’s not to mention that they’re colonizing bastards too.” “The Gaelians and Lusatians are colonizing bastards too,” Legault said, passion and anger seeping into his voice, “And we played nice with them for decades. Look where it got us. I would rather us ally with a bunch of spiteful bigots who will stand with us than a bunch of cowards who stand on the sidelines while we fight and die, thinking that their cash can win our affection.” “Those ‘spiteful bigots’ would like to see the Valderans and Ashinarans wiped out to a man or made slaves for Christ’s sake, and the Tafatu aren’t fans of them either!” Ranulf exclaimed, slamming his paper on the table, “I’m fucking furious at the Lusatians and Gaelians too, but I’m not going to let that anger get the better of my common fucking sense. Those three have stood by Franerre and done nothing to deserve that. If this proposal of yours worked out, not only would we be alienating three of our strongest allies on the Touli, we’d be putting two of them directly in harm's way.” “Then we’ll make it a condition of our alliance that the three of them are kept out of a war unless they willingly join it on either side,” Zelgius said, “As far as Tafatu is concerned, without Franerre they are in a much more precarious position than before and Galra has no reason to be directly hostile to them. If the Gaelians fall fast enough, there wouldn't be a chance for the Ashinarans or Valderans can join the war. Even then I believe that they could be kept neutral, at the very least I think we have enough weight on our side with what we could offer that we could make the demands.” “That seems like a big if to me,” Leclere said, “And even if they say yes, how are we to be sure that they won’t just go back on their word?” “Sic Semper Proditores,” Zelgius replied. “The Lusatians and Gaelians have betrayed us, and so we shall betray them. If the Galrans betray us, we shall betray them. Franerre repays all her debts, in kindness and in wrath.” “But now Lusatia’s legally bound to defend Franerre in the Trea-” “That thing isn’t worth the paper and ink it’s written on!” General Cailleaux exclaimed, interrupting Ranulf. He ground his cigarette down on his ashtray, before flicking it at Ranulf. It didn’t reach across the table, but the message was clear. “Everyone else in Franerre knows that as soon as we get an opportunity we’re going to disregard every single damned thing written in there down to the punctuation, and if you think Kumo will do anything else you’re a fool.” “That’s not to mention the fact that Lusatia was legally bound to defend their military base in Elenerre, which clearly did not materialize,” Legault added, “Lusatian words mean as little as Kumo’s do to me.” “We signed for that military base on the eve of the invasion,” Ranulf said, “Not to mention how they have the Galrans to worry about on their border, and the only connection the Gaelians have to us is that we’re both allies to Lusatia. To expect them to come to our aid for no reason is insanity.” “Maybe they had their reasons,” the Lion said, bitter, “But that doesn’t change the facts at hand. The Lusatians had a legal obligation to defend Franerre, or at least their military base here during the Notch War, and they failed to. So why should we believe they’ll defend us now because it’s on a different scrap of paper? Galra hasn’t stopped being on their border. Why should we care about any strategic concern of the Lusatians or Gaelians when they don’t care about ours?” General Ranulf looked towards the Air Marshal. He seemed convinced, and Tauroneo seemingly hadn’t moved an inch since the debate began, leaving Ranulf the only open objector in the room. “Alright, let’s say you want to go through with this. You, what, storm the National Chamber, declare yourselves the proper government, and shoot everyone who disagrees? What then? It’s easy to say you’ll simply ‘coup the government,’ but what plan, what logistics do you have for it?” “So you’re in favor?” Zelgius asked, hope leaking into his voice. “Hell no,” Ranulf answered, “But I can’t exactly convince any of you to stop this insanity on a moral ground.” “Plans are already being drawn up,” Legault lied. Some form of a plan had already existed since before the Notch War. All it needed was updating, “The good Marshal and I simply wanted to ensure that the wider military would even be amenable to a coup. Seeing as you are all some of the most important men therein, that is why you were chosen. But trust me when I say that there is quite a more extensive plan in the works than simply ‘storming the National Chamber and shooting anyone who disagrees.’ Now, do you have any further questions Ranulf?” But it was not Ranulf who spoke next. “What of His Highness?” General Tauroneo asked, speaking up for the first time since the conversation began. “You said that our loyalty was to His Highness first, Marshal. What if the King wishes that Franerre remain a democracy?” “After this meeting concludes, we would speak to the Galrans with our offer, and then we would bring this matter to His Highness with all of the facts laid out to him,” Zelgius answered in a heartbeat. Legault shot him a glance, his face neutral. “With the King’s permission, we would engage in our coup.” Ranulf crumpled the sheet of paper in his hand, his fist so tight it was nearly white, staring down at it. Tauroneo had seemed satisfied with Zelgius’s answer, Leclere and Cailleaux were on his side too. He was afraid. Afraid that the five men may go through with their plan even regardless of the King’s wishes. Afraid that, if they failed, a disastrous civil war may follow. But more than anything, Ranulf feared that they may be right. That everything wrong they did, every injustice these five men would commit, would make Franerre whole again, and that Ranulf stood in opposition to it. That the only way to defeat one of if not the most powerful, most evil empires in the world, was to stoop to their level. Ranulf felt an arm around his shoulder. “I can see this is weighing on you, Gawain.” Ranulf looked up to find Zelgius’ own face staring back at him. His friend, genuinely concerned for his well being. “You can have some time to think it over, so long as you make sure not to go and tell anyone outside of this room.” Ranulf smacked Zelgius’ arm away. “I won’t tell anyone of what’s gone on in this room, if and only if we bring this to the King first, with just the two of us present. And that no matter what everyone in this room will cease even considering a coup as a possibility if he says no. The only reason I’m even offering this to you is because of our friendship and the respect I ha…have for you, Nori. But I think what you’re planning here is drastic and has far too much potential to go wrong to be worth the risk, and it has burned a lot of the bridges between the two of us.” Zelgius sighed. “Very well. Everyone else is in favor, then?” Every other man in the room nodded their head in turn. “Dieu nous garde tous.”
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Post by callmedelta on Mar 7, 2023 1:17:05 GMT -5
Patrie Quatre / Who is the Angel and Who is the Devil Speaking on my Shoulder?
The palace complex was quiet today, just like it was most. It had been built during a time when all the most important functions for managing the entire city could have fit in this one building, all managed by one man. Such times were long gone, but the building still remained. A place of both work and play, the palace contained such rooms as a gymnasium, art gallery, game room, and a large garden. General Ranulf and Marshal Zelguis were greeted by the King at the front gate of the palace complex. The two were in military dress, while Dante was in an undershirt and a light pair of dress pants, as casual an outfit as he could get away with for his station in the hot Franerri summer. Dante felt more comfortable around these two than most anyone outside of his family or Lehran.
The pair had arrived and were let in at around 10 in the morning, Dante picking up on…something before they even spoke. Zelgius had been elusive as to what this meeting was meant to be about, but Dante hadn’t thought much of it before. The two men standing before him now seemed cagey. Nervous. “How are you both doing?” Dante asked, beckoning them inside.
“As well as we could be, given the circumstances,” Zelgius answered. Dante could understand the pair of them being in a similar state of mind to himself given Franerre’s defeat, but he didn’t think that would make them so nervous. Depressed, sure, but nervous? Something was definitely up.
“I’ve certainly been better,” Ranulf responded a moment later, pointedly not looking at Zelgius. Did they have some sort of fight?
“Well, follow me then,” Dante said, turning around and walking towards the gardens, “I’ve made sure there won’t be any gardeners out this morning, so we should have full privacy, just like you requested.” Dante let the conversation drop, neither Zelgius nor Ranulf seemingly interested in picking it up. Eventually, the trio found themselves at a small gazebo in the middle of the gardens, not another soul in sight. “Now, I believe you had something you wished to discuss, Marshal?”
The Marshal took a deep breath before beginning. “It’s about Franerre’s foreign relations.” The Marshal spoke clearly and confidently, but still in that somewhat awkward way that one had when they were reciting something, rather than simply speaking from the heart. “More specifically, those with the Lusatians and Gaelians. They have proven themselves to be unreliable foreign allies when Franerre has called for aid, and it is ultimately unlikely that they would assist in Franerre reclaiming Elenerre. Thus, it is my belief, and the belief of many other senior members of the military, that a geopolitical realignment is necessary, away from Lusatia and Gaelia. Since Franerre cannot contest Kumo naval dominance, another foreign ally must be gained, and the only nation capable of such is Galra. Since the democratic government would be unwilling to take such drastic, but necessary, action, we believe a military coup is our best option, but we will only do so with your consent.”
The King…he didn’t know what to think. He didn’t have any particular love for democracy, but the will of his subjects was still important to him. Would it be worth violating like this? Was it even a violation, if the entire nation felt the same betrayal he did? “You say ‘we,’ Zelgius,” the King asked, “Who is all in favor of this plan?”
“Myself, Generals Cailleaux and Tauroneo, Air Marshal Leclere, and Director Legault,” Zelgius said, “The only person there who did not agree was General Ranulf. He convinced us to have this meeting, with just your Highness, myself, and Ranulf.”
The King looked to Ranulf, nodding. “Our frustrations as the Lusatians and Gaelians are more than justified,” Ranulf began, “But allying with the Galrans is shortsighted and rash. We would be pushing away Ashinara and Valdera, who have been nothing but friends with Franerre, and we risk doing much the same to Tafatu. In addition, there is no guarantee that the Galrans would not betray us like the Lusatians and Gaelians did. We would have only their word, and I do not put much stock in the word of a bunch of racist religious lunatics who, I should mention, have been much more violent and expansionist with their colonization than the Gaelians or Lusatians ever were.”
“Even if there are risks associated with the Galrans,” Zelgius countered, “What Franerre should be concerned with first and foremost is the reclamation of Elenerre. Gaelia and Lusatia will not help with that. They have proven their allegiance during the war by doing nothing during La Catastrophe. Galra may. These facts alone means it is an option we must pursue at the very least. That’s not even mentioning how the Lusatians were only interested in a military base against the Galrans, not Kumosenkan. The only value Lusatia sees in Franerre is as a cudgel against the Galrans now that they can’t exploit our resources directly. As soon as we need something, they leave us out to dry.”
“What did you expect the Lusatians to do halfway across the world and with the Galrans on their border?” Ranulf asked.
“Honor their obligations!” Zelgius said, his voice nearly rising to a shout. “Legally, Lusatian had a military base in Elenerre, and they did nothing to defend it! Kumosenkan’s attack was not only one on Franerre, but on Lusatia! They should have called in their Gaelian allies and sent the Kumo fleet rusting to the bottom of the ocean. But. They. Didn’t. Why would they defend Franerre now? Because their name is on a different piece of paper? Because the only nation with an interest in changing Franerre’s borders is ostensibly the Galrans, so they can use us to justify their own war? Lusatia only cares about Franerre so far as they can get something from us. Lusatia didn’t get anything from Franerre losing Elenerre, and Lusatia won’t get anything from Franerre regaining it.”
“Did you not read the papers, Zelgius?” Ranulf asked, “There were massive protests in Lusatia, ones attended by our very own Queen! The Lusatian people wanted to intervene.”
“And their government did nothing!” Zelgius shouted. “Maybe the people wanted to help, I’ll grant you that, but the Lusatian government did nothing. The Gaelians didn’t even have the protests the Lusatians did!” Zelgius took a deep breath, calming himself. “You want to see the best in people too much, Gawain. It has made you unable to see the full picture in this matter, giving the benefit of the doubt where none should be given.”
“And you are too concerned with your own sense of justice to see that Franerre is already on her best path forward!” Ranulf said, raising his voice for the first time, “The world is a harsh, unfair place, and have you tried to impose your own sense of fairness and justice into it. For that, I have a great respect for you, even if you’ve tried it as of late. But your sense of justice, of taking an eye for an eye, has made you blind to the fact a Galran alliance would only be worse for Franerre than what she currently has.”
“The Lu-“
“One-Hundred and Twenty Six Billion Parian..” Both men turned to the King, silent. These two were beginning to remind Dante of Dufour and Verenes, with their incessant arguing. He liked the military exactly because they weren’t like this. “Eight Billion Jewels. Forty Billion Zloty. You said that the Lusatians only see Franerre as a cudgel, Zelgius. Evidently, they think we’re a cudgel worth an aid package of a fifth of our government’s annual budget, for the next five to ten years. No strings attached, ostensibly.”
Ranulf felt a knot in his stomach he hadn’t felt before dissipating, while Zelgius felt one forming. The latter grit his teeth, his voice much more restrained. “Don’t you see, your Highness? This is exactly everything wrong with Lusatia. They think money can solve all problems. Until Kumosenkan is willing to sell Elenerre back to us, their money won’t cross the River Taln and throw the spiders out.”
“You need to face the facts, Marshal,” the King said. “La Catastrophe is exactly that -- a catastrophe. Franerre will reclaim what is hers, and the betrayers will have their due. But no matter how much we wish it, Franerre won’t be ready to cross the Taln for God knows how long. Don’t try and deny it. Until that happens, Franerre still has a civilian population to take care of, one who I’m sure would be more than willing to be a Forty Billion Zloty cudgel if it meant they could finally have electric lights and have a tractor to help on the farm. I have to think about all of Franerre; that which was lost, and that which we still have. I’m still willing to hear the Galrans out, but they need to have a hell of a deal to beat that.”
“If Lusatia won’t send their blood,” Ranulf offered, looking at Zelgius, “They’ve sent their cash. Let’s get their steel as well. We can use some of this money to modernize Franerre’s entire military from top to bottom.”
Zelgius seemed to deflate, finally realizing that there would be almost no way he was getting fully what he wanted from this meeting. “Alright then.” Zelgius took a deep breath. “We’ll take Lusatian cash and Lusatian steel. But make no mistake -- I want it all. If the Lusatians are going to make it up to Franerre, I want Lusatia’s army, from the smallest bullet to the largest artillery piece. I don’t want their hand me downs, either. I want the cutting edge of what Lusatia’s researching and producing, I want to produce it here in Franerre, and I want it at-cost. That is the scale to which I consider their offense, and how little I value their steel as a repayment. If the Lusatians can give us that, I will throw any thoughts of a coup and of being pro-Galran out of my mind in their entirety. The only thing I ask in return is that you allow us to send an emissary to the Galrans to hear their offer out at the very least, regardless of what the Lusatians do. Is that acceptable, your Highness?”
“I believe it is.”
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Post by callmedelta on Mar 14, 2023 18:11:48 GMT -5
Partie Cinq / Retreat and Regroup
“...and then the discussion was over,” Marshal Zelgius finished. The same group of conspirators met again in the heart of Fort Duval, the meeting with the King relayed to them.
A few ticks passed by on the old Lusatian clock on the corner, before General Tauroneo made his thoughts known. “I think this is a good outcome. A great one, even. If the Lusatians truly support Franerre, then not only would we have our entire force modernized, we could sell these arms to our allies in Tafatu, Ashinara, and Valdera. We could very well gain even more money from this, that could go towards building more bases or fortifications, paying our soldiers more. If the Lusatians don’t, then we shall know where their loyalties lay.” Leclere nodded along with Tauroneo, though he didn’t speak up himself. Ranulf let a small smile slip.
“I can’t claim that this outcome is to my preferences,” Legault said, “But I will acquiesce to our King’s wishes.”
General Cailleaux, the only man remaining at the table who had yet to state his thoughts, sighed. “I disagree with this entire idea of giving the Lusatians a second chance.” He sounded more defeated than anything. “They shouldn’t have failed their first chance. But I recognize that I’m outvoted, and I know it’s probably the best deal we all could have gotten.”
“I’m glad everything seems settled, then,” General Ranulf lied. This was the furthest thing from settled, and he didn’t even know if it would be if His Highness came back with a blank cheque from the Lusatians for anything Franerre could want. But it was what he had for the moment, and that would have to do.
~
The King closed the latches on his suitcase, staring at the top in contemplation. A short few days over to Lusatia, to handle this matter personally. He couldn’t leave it to anyone else. It wouldn’t exactly inspire confidence in his government if anyone knew how close Franerre had come to a coup, and confidence in his government was in short supply these days. Ranulf, Zelgius, or anyone else involved were too wrapped up in everything, too close to the core of it. They would be biased one way or the other, whereas he wouldn’t be.
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Post by callmedelta on Mar 28, 2023 23:06:10 GMT -5
Partie Six / Acceptable, But I Hoped for More
Marshal Zelgius flipped through the stack of papers the King had presented to him. Weapon production licenses and imports, everything from pistols and rifles to domestic airplane production. All of it decades ahead from what Franerre could hope to make on her own. Lusatian advisors and engineers, practically an army of them on their own. Zelgius reached the end of the papers, finding the price tag. Good prices, certainly. Discounts ranging from 75% at the highest, 10% at the lowest for pure imports, 50% and 20% discounts on licenses. But that wasn’t free.
Zelgius looked at his fellow conspirators. Ranulf and Legault looked predictably ecstatic and stone faced. Tauroneo flipped through the pages approvingly, Leclere seemed overall satisfied, while Cailleaux did not. A house divided, for the time being at least. “This is the best deal Lusatia will give us, and I have my doubts as to whether or not the Galrans can beat it enough to make us consider switching sides. Now, is this satisfactory for you all?” the King asked. Ranulf, Tauroneo, and Leclere all nodded their assent and, after giving it a bit of thought, Zelgius did as well. This was a good deal, and he imagined it would be hard for the Galrans to beat it. It was still worth seeing what Galra could do for them, but it would be stupid not to accept this offer for the time being, at least.
“I…I’m sorry Your Highness, but I don’t think it will be,” Cailleaux said, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “I promised the people of Elenerre I would return. All of this here is a start, but Lusatia owes us more than a start. I don’t know if I can accept this.”
“I stand with Cailleaux on this matter,” Legault said, breaking his silence on the matter. “The Lusatians can do better, and the Galrans will, I’m sure of it.”
“That remains to be seen, Director,” the King said. “Until then, I believe we all have more important things to be doing, like making sure we use this deal to the fullest.”
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Post by callmedelta on Apr 6, 2023 9:38:47 GMT -5
Partie Sept / The Gaelian Report
A Report on the 3/7/1933 Diplomatic Mission to the United Kingdom of Ulster-Gaelia
Director Phillipe K. Mesny, Franerri Foreign Affairs Administration
The Gaelians sought to establish a multinational alliance to counter expansion and hostility from both Kumosenkan and the Imperial State of Galra. To this end, the United Kingdom of Ulster-Gaelia offered rights to shipyards and the sale of weapon licenses, at full price, unlike the Lusatians who generously offered a discount on similar weapon licenses. In addition to Franerre, the nations of the Republic of Valdera, the Kithium League, the Ashinaran Hetmate, Xapeshi, and the Republics of Pomazinikki, Roskana, Maiz and Marrlan. While, in theory, Franerre would be interested in such an organization, I know many in the Franerri political establishment may be concerned as to the United Kingdom of Ulster-Gaelia’s willingness to come to Franerre’s defense. After raising these concerns to Taoiseach O’Donnell, as well as concerns of Gaelian capacity to ensure safe trans-ocean transit during wartime, they were brushed aside. Given that many of the benefits for this alliance that Gaelia offered, Franerre either has no interest in, in case of the naval offering, or Franerre already has access to, in case of the weapon licenses. After presenting the Taoiseach with a counteroffer, as well as signaling my willingness to negotiate on such terms, they were dismissed out of hand, during which the Taoiseach called Franerre ‘an upstart colony with secessionist tendencies.’ I was prepared to leave the conference after the Taoiseach’s comments, but Queen Yuzura of Ashinara requested that I give the Gaelians another chance, and so I did. Taoiseach O’Donnell outlined his plans for the future, stating that he would be willing to sell other members of the alliance licenses for advanced airplanes and a desire for Gaelian military and naval bases in Franerre. I believed that Gaelian airplane licenses would provide an increase in capability for Franerre’s military, but for military bases, other concessions would be necessary. Taoiseach O’Donnell continually refused to compromise and plainly stated that he would not do so and that I could either accept the current Gaelian offer or leave it, and so I left it. While I believe it is in Franerre’s best interest to ally with foreign powers against Kumosenkan, until the Gaelians learn to compromise, I fear that such an alliance would be impossible.
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Post by callmedelta on Apr 10, 2023 0:37:05 GMT -5
Partie Huit / Two Men and a Tombstone
Lehran de Angelis
Born Vaylien 24th, 1858 - Died Stay 1st, 1933.
Franerre’s Truest Servant Phillipe Mesny squatted down in front of the tombstone, placing a bouquet of flowers down. Mesny was careful to set the flowers down respectfully, but to get as little of the water from the grass onto himself as possible. It had been raining this morning, this time in the late afternoon the first spot of clear weather the city had received all day. The tombstone itself was a simple thing, ill befitting of a man that had given so much, yet entirely suiting The Director. ‘The Director,’ Mesny thought to himself, chuckling. Lehran would always be ‘The Director’ to him, no matter how long Phillipe himself had the role. He stood, pulling a cigarette carton from his suit jacket. His lighter sparked a few times before catching, and soon the sweet feeling of a cigarette was taking the edge off of the stress Mesny was feeling. Those God-damned Gaelian bastards. Can they not compromise on a singular point?! Can they offer Franerre nothing of value?! Phillipe puffed out a wispy trail of smoke, some of his anger going with it. He…could have handled the situation better, certainly. But could he have actually gotten an acceptable deal. “Maybe you could have…” Phillipe said, staring down at the tombstone, lost in thought. He didn’t know how long he stood there, letting the cigarette burn down in his fingers, but eventually Mesny heard the sound of footsteps approaching behind him. He didn’t turn to look. “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone else here,” Dante said. Mesny turned to look and, sure enough, it was him. King Dante Emil Soleil Della Rossa II. Etiquette stated Phillipe needed to get on one knee in front of his liege, but something told him a graveyard wasn’t exactly the place nor this the time for stuffy court politics. Mesny settled for a small bow. “Your Highness.” His cigarette carton fell out of his suit jacket, onto the grass. “Cigarette?” Mesny asked, picking up the carton and offering to the King. Dante gave a mirthy chuckle. “You certainly are Mesny’s successor. Thank you, but I don’t smoke.” “Must be the only person in Franerre who doesn’t,” Mesny muttered, stuffing the carton back into his suit. “Lehran didn’t,” Dante said, walking forward to stand beside Mesny in front of the tombstone. “So, did you come here to think too?” “Yeah,” Mesny said, not particularly feeling like elaborating on what. The King didn’t seem to wish to either, at least for the moment. Mesny took another drag of his cigarette, looking around the graveyard. The King’s guards certainly weren’t there before. It was the King who eventually broke the silence. “I wanted a larger funeral, you know,” Dante said. “Lehran was the best man in the entire Franerri government. Kings included, myself and all.” Phillipe recalled the funeral. It was a small affair, consisting of Mesny himself, the Royal Family, The Director’s family, and a few other close friends and government officials. He hadn’t been exactly one to pay attention that day. “Even in death, he’s far too humble for someone so deserving.” Mesny nodded along with the King. It was all true. He fished the cigarette carton out of his suit, lighting up another one, dropping it on the ground. “Here’s one for you, Director.” Normally he’d stamp it out right away, but with the wet grass would make sure a fire didn’t start. “Isn’t it a bit of an insult to offer up a cigarette to a man who never smoked?” Dante asked. Mesny shrugged. “Cigarettes make me happier, or they take the stress off, at the very least. I’m sure the Director would want me to live as stress-free as possible.” Dante mulled it over, before extending a hand to Mesny. “Cigarette?” Phillipe smiled, lighting it up for the King. He took a drag, immediately breaking out into a coughing fit, throwing it on the grass. Phillipe couldn’t help but chuckle. “Take the stress off, huh?” Dante said with a smile. “I think Lehran can have that one.” “It’s weird to hear him called Lehran,” Mesny said. “He was always ‘The Director,’ to me. To us all, I suppose.” “That’s not what his tombstone says,” Dante replied, his voice with a bit of edge to it. “Not what he was to me. He was always ‘Lehran,’ and I was always ‘Dante.’ He was one of maybe three people outside my family who ever called me by my first name, and the other two never did it regularly. I don’t really get to be ‘Dante.’ I’m always King Dante Emil Soleil Della Rosa II, Sovereign of Franerre, Shield of Her People, Defender of the Foa Restoration and Mordred’s Revolution, Mourner of Elenerre. Maybe King Dante if you’re a high enough station. But never ‘Dante.’” The King turned to Phillipe. “So, what are you here to think about? I’m curious.” “The Gaelians,” Mesny answered. “Trying to get a concession out of them was like getting blood out of a stone. What about you, Your Highness?” “The Gaelians too, in a roundabout way,” Dante answered. Not the full truth, but not a lie, either. “I don’t think I can elaborate more than that, for security reasons.” “Oh?” Mesny asked. “Now I’m curious.” Mesny was one of the highest ranking individuals in the Franerri government. He didn’t think any ‘security reasons,’ applied to him. Dante, meanwhile, chided himself internally, his mind going back to that conversation. Ranulf and Legault laying out the Galran offer to him. Everything Franerre could ever want, so long as she agreed to help burn down Touli. “What have the Gaelians given us?” Legault had argued. “When we should be uniting against Kumosenken, they refuse to compromise and insult us. What have the Lusatians given us? 40 billion Zloty as an apology for the worst betrayal this nation has ever seen.” “No amount of territory, prestige, power, or money is worth betraying basic human decency, even to those who may have wronged us,” Ranulf has answered. “You would make Franerre assist in every evil a state can do, all for a single city. I implore you to end this lunacy, Your Highness.” It had been a knock-down, drag-out debate of the ugliest sort. In the end, Dante had asked for a week. One week to collect himself, and to decide what must be done. “Tell me, Mesny,” Dante asked, “Do you think an alliance with Gaelia can still be made?” The question caught Mesny a bit off guard. “Will they offer us one? I’d consider it more likely than not. Will they give us a deal Franerre could actually accept? Probably not, no.” The King turned back around. “You’ve got one week to find some sort of a deal with the Gaelians before that door closes, and you learn what’s on my mind.”
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Post by callmedelta on May 6, 2023 16:43:36 GMT -5
Partie Neuve / The Countdown Has Begun; Which Side Are You On?
Seven Days - Director Virgil Legault
Legault smiled, looking at the explosive packages. They were a work of beauty. Discrete, yet the six of them packed enough of a punch to kill an entire room of people and level the building on top of them. Exactly what they were meant to do. The calculus for the coup didn’t take much. While Legault himself leaned towards the right side of the political spectrum, and would have preferred to ally with his fellows in the PPD, it would not have worked out. Legault required the SNF on his side. They were too decentralized, too highly motivated, too primed to resist a coup attempt in any way they could. Legault wanted to spend his time killing spiders, not his countrymen. If he cut off the head of the hydra, another would replace it and bite back twice as hard. No, what Legault would do would be to make sure the head that grew up was under his command.
Yet, there would still need to be a national crisis to justify the seizure of power. ‘Foreign elements’ would be responsible for the bombing of a gathering of the PPD’s most influential members and donors, including First Chambermen Dufour, as well as being responsible for assassinating Second Chambermen Verenes. Legault would be granted emergency powers, and he would uncover these ‘foreign elements’ to be Gaelians and Lusatians, worried about Franerre’s growing independence from their political bloc. That would leave Franerre no choice but to ally with the Galrans to resist Luso-Gaelian influence.
Legault’s thoughts would be interrupted by a knock at the door. That would be the hydra’s new head. Yves Fortier. He was a rising star in the SNF, from its most radical left-leaning faction. He was popular, even though his popularity had taken a hit for his support of the Tafatu War. Openly, he avoided arrest by avoiding any anti-monarchical stances, despite the remainder of his extreme views, but Legault knew that behind closed doors Fortier wished for a ‘dictatorship of the proletariat,’ whatever that socialist drivel meant. Fortier was intelligent, charismatic, driven, equal parts scheming and blunt, and above all, ambitious. Ambitious enough to be a public face for the country after the coup attempt, so long as the right incentives were given.
Yves seemed…surprisingly happy to be here. Legault’s agents in the SNF knew of all sorts of colorful names that were thrown around at the Gendarmerie and the military at large. Even with the man’s support for the Tafatu War, Legault had assumed he would have the same opinion of the Gendarmerie as many of his compatriots. Legault filed the thought away for later, waving the agent who had escorted Yves in off with a hand. “Please, take a seat Mr. Fortier. I believe we have much to discuss tonight.”
“I must admit,” Yves said, taking the seat, “I was skeptical of your invitation when one of your black-suited thugs dropped it off at my door. But if you wanted to kill me, you wouldn’t have invited me here. If you wanted to ‘send me a message,’ the Gendarmerie must be plenty capable of doing that as well, I’d imagine. No, you must want something from me.”
“Astute, though not entirely correct,” Legault lied. “I simply wanted to ask you a few questions, that’s all.” Yves was not impressed. “Questions like whether or not you would like to do more for Franerre than you are currently. You are one Chambermen among two hundred and fifty, and one that no one seems to listen to. Surely you must wish to do more.”
“I do,” Yves replied, curt. Legault tried to speak again, but was cut off by Fortier. “You don’t need to question me personally to understand that, though. You have something you’re trying to get down to. Spit it out.” Blunt.
‘Straight to it then,’ Legault thought. “I think it’s in Franerre’s best interest that a realignment of government happens. The Gaelians and Lusatians have failed us, they won’t help us get Elenerre back. Dufour can’t be reasoned with — believe me, I tried him first,” Legault lied, “Verenes is just as bad. I can remove both of them from power, but I’m worried what the SNF’s reaction might be. I need someone with a lot of sway in the party. Somebody who could be a member of a new government, and could use their position to push through some reforms to the Franerri economy.”
It didn’t take Yves long to respond, holding up four fingers. “Double the minimum wage. Cap the work week at 40 hours. Nationalize all Gaelian and Lusatian assets in Franerre. And let me invite some of my fellow party members into your new government.”
Legault frowned. He was already planning on nationalizing every Gaelian and Lusatian asset, but the socialist had some big demands. “Minimum wage, work week, or your party members. Pick two.”
“Party members and minimum wage,” Yves answered.
“Then I believe we have a deal.”
Six Days - General Gawain Ranulf
“I don’t believe I’ve ever had the luxury of hosting an officer of the Franerri Army, General Ranulf,” Police Chief SImon Brochard said. “What brings you to my humble office? Do you mean to conscript my police force now?” Brochard chuckled at the joke.
“Depends on your definition of conscript, Brochard,” Ranulf answered. The smile fell from Brochard’s face as Ranulf elaborated. “There’s…going to be a military coup, in about a week’s time.”
Brochard’s eyes widened. “Elaborate.”
“The Gendarmerie is spearheading it all, with a few other military figures involved or in the know,” Ranulf explained, “Legault thinks we need to ally with the Galrans. He’s even smuggled a representative of theirs across the border, they’re in Pareau at his home now. Legault tried to convince the King to support him, but the King’s undecided. General Cailleaux is on his side, Marshal Zelgius is undecided, and Tauroneo will follow whatever the King says. Cailleaux’s more popular with the troops than I am, and Zelgius outranks me. I don’t know if I can rely on anyone in the military, or if anyone I told wouldn’t have been recruited by the others first.”
“But you doubt anyone else came looking for troops here,” Brochard finished the thought.
“Precisely,” Ranulf nodded.
The Police Chief was stunned, which was a perfectly normal reaction given the information, really, but it made for an awkward pause as Ranulf sat there while Simon gathered his thoughts. “...the first priority in this situation should be to prove what you said to me,” Brochard said after some time, “No offense, General.”
“None taken,” Ranulf sighed. “As much as I want to march down to the Gendarmerie offices and arrest Legault, we need to tread carefully. Legault pulling the trigger on this coup of his before we’re ready to stop it could be disastrous.”
“I’ll have my men on high alert while we try to find anything suspicious watching Director Legault’s house,” Brochard said, “Anything else you might know about what plans he has?”
“I think he’ll try to cause a crisis to justify his coup,” Ranulf answered, “If I had to guess, likely an assassination, probably of Verenes.”
Brochard nodded. “I’ll send a few men his way, then.”
Five Days - Marshal Nori Zelgius and Air Marshal Yvon C. Leclere
Marshal Zelgius looked up at the sound of his office door opening, not having expected any appointments this evening, surprised to find Air Marshal Leclere walking in. The man closed the door behind him, taking a seat on the other side of Zelgius’s desk and placing a rather expensive looking bottle of Chardonnay on the table. “It’s a bit rude to walk in unannounced, you know,” Zelgius said, blankly.
“I thought I’d surprise you,” Leclere said innocently, “I wanted to show my appreciation for the budget increase your reform plans outlined, and I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“You could have sent the bottle with an aide, or sent one forward to let me know you were coming, at least. I’m somewhat surprised they even let you in, given how this is Fort Gilliam, not an air base.”
“Well, that would have meant that someone else might have known this conversation was happening,” Yvon said, “Now have you got any wine glasses?”
Zelgius sighed, walking over to a cabinet and retrieving two glasses from inside. He was surprised the man was so jovial, especially compared to how quiet he was at the conspiracy’s previous meetings. “What was it about the coup you wished to discuss, then?”
Yvon popped the cork off the bottle, pouring the drink into the glasses. “Whose side you’re on, of course.”
“You first,” Zelgius said. “You wanted to make this a topic of conversation, after all.”
Yvon shrugged. “I’m on no side at all, really, unless someone decides they want my planes to bomb Pareau.” Yvon took a sip of the wine. “I can’t pull rank on any of your soldiers, and it’s not like 10 pilots wielding pistols will exactly change the outcome of this coup at all, really. I’ll throw in with whoever wins when the dust settles.”
“Do you really not believe in either side here?” Zelgius asked, legitimately curious.
“Oh no,” Yvon said, “I’m most definitely in favor of Ranulf and democracy. But I can’t affect the outcome, and I want to do my best to serve Franerre. I can’t do that if I’ve been hung as a traitor because I threw in with the wrong side. But you can affect the outcome, my friend.” Leclere gave Zelgius a sidelong glance.
Zelgius sighed, taking an undignified swig of the wine. He preferred a red, but a Chardonnay would do. “I’m on Franerre’s side.”
“And whose side is that?” Yvon asked, “I’m sure Legault and Ranulf would both say they’re on Franerre’s side, but they are diametrically opposed to each other to the point of violence. They can’t both be right.”
“I…don’t know,” Nori admitted. “If I could be sure Galra could be trusted, I would side with them in a heartbeat. But I can’t, and if they do betray Franerre we’ll have signed the whole country enslaved over to them, more likely than not. But Gaelia and Lusatia want to avoid a war. They want the status quo. They aren’t blind — they can see a war’s coming, be it with Kumo or Galra, so they’re preparing for it. But they can’t ever be the ones to pull the trigger. They won’t ever help us get Elenerre back. I can’t, in good conscience, side with either. And what’s worse is that my friendship with Gawain’s been irrevocably damaged over this, I fear.”
Leclere stared into his wine glass, his jovial attitude faded. “I imagine you’ve given it a lot of thought, then.”
“Of course,” Zelgius said. “It’s been all I can think about now that Tauroneo and I have finished our reform plan, and the plan probably would have come out two weeks ago if I’d never had this on my mind. The only thing I’ve been able to do is busywork I’ve been letting pile up, and to make sure that all my commanders know that their troops here in Pareau are to remain at their posts, no matter what. I’ll keep them out of this mess.”
Yvon raised his glass, the last sip of wine in a small puddle in the bottom. “To Franerre’s side, then, whoever’s that may be.”
Zelgius raised his own near-empty glass. “To Franerre’s side.”
Four Days - General Michael Cailleaux
“So tell me, what did you think of the Galran?”
Cailleaux stepped inside the bar. It was a hole-in-the-wall place called Montreaux’s, not too far from Fort Gilliam. A place for off-duty soldiers to get their throats wet. It didn’t take long for the room to notice his presence, the dull conversation of the crowd of soldiers transforming into raucous cheers in seconds. It had been the same with every similar bar Cailleaux had been to over the past few days. Part of him was almost getting a little bit bored with how routine it was, but the adoration of the crowd smothered any of those feelings.
“Ranulf convinced me he’s a snake. A slimy rat who doesn’t respect Franerre in the slightest.”
Raphael placed a handful of Parian on the bar’s counter. “For the Lion?” The bartender seemed almost insulted. “Top shelf of whatever you want, on the house. It’s the least I could do for Franerre’s finest.”
“Then give everyone else in the bar a round on me,” Cailleaux said, not missing a beat. “I’m not doing much else with a General’s pay. I’m sure you men could use it more.”
“A round on the Lion then!”
“But the same could be said of the Gaelians and Lusatians too. To a lesser degree, but snakes and rats all the same.”
“We could’ve won it,” Cailleaux declared, standing on top of a table that had been cleared. Everyone in the bar had a few more of the lighter drinks on him. They were all tipsy, not drunk. They would remember tonight, remember his words. Remember the truth he told. “We could have won Elenerre. A few more men, a few better bullets.”
Cailleaux looked at the crowd. There were two kinds of soldiers in the crowd. The first, and more populous, were those who hadn’t fought in the Notch responded with more cheering and applause. The second, maybe making up a fifth of the bar, didn’t. They looked into their drinks, remembering the horrors Kumo wrought upon them. Raphael stepped down from the table, walking over to the closest soldier of that second group he could see. He signaled for the crowd to quiet for the upcoming conversation. Cailleaux took a seat next to the man, his voice earnest as he asked, “So, where’d you serve?”
The soldier took a few seconds to respond, seeming as if he almost couldn’t comprehend what Cailleaux was asking him. “...the northern part of the front. Retreated in good order to Saint Issadeaux. Good as we could’ve, anyway. I thought we were getting butchered before, but after Issadeaux fell…” the man trailed off, eyes still on the glass in his hand.
“Look at me, soldier,” Cailleaux said, calm and quiet. The man didn’t look up. “Look at me.” Raphael was more insistent that time, prying the soldier away from his glass through his voice. “We knew we were under equipped compared to Kumo.” A truth. “We knew you needed better, and we petitioned the government to give us more money for the modernization.” A lie. “We could have won that fight.” And one Cailleaux didn’t know the answer to.
“The Galran, at least, will help us get Elenerre. Of that, I’m certain, if for no other reason than to kill Kumos and Elenrians along the way.”
Cailleaux went like that through the bar, getting stories. Soldiers nearly ran down by Kumo steel beasts. Soldiers who can remember the smell of the burning flesh of their friends roasted alive by Elenrians. Of an artillery bombardment that never stopped, long after the war had ended. Tragedies, every one of them. The bar hung on his every word as Cailleaux prepared to leave for the night.
“I think there will come a time soon, when the National Chamber knows that we need better, even if we have to march over there and show them ourselves.”
“And I made a promise that I would return one day, to liberate Elenerre. To make the sacrifice of those who died protect it worth something. I won’t be made a liar.”
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Post by callmedelta on May 20, 2023 12:14:15 GMT -5
Partie Dix / And the Clock Strikes Midnight
Three Days - Director Virgil Legault
“How do the numbers look, Cailleaux?” Legault asked, standing over a map of Pareau.
“Pretty good, I’d say,” Cailleaux answered from the other side of the table. “Of the city’s 20,000 man garrison, I’d say that I could get 6,000 to follow me, give or take a few hundred soldiers. I could have swayed nearly the whole garrison, if I wasn’t working under such a time limit.” The bitter tone in his voice wasn’t lost on Legault, but he ignored it for the time being.
“With roughly 2,000 men in each group, you should be able to secure the area around the National Chamber and Palace, the harbor, as well as the main rail and telegraph stations. Nothing we don’t want will get into or out of Pareau while we solidify our hold on the city. With any luck, the King and Zelgius will see the error of their ways, and we can imprison General Ranulf. I want you leading the soldiers at the Palace personally, Raphael. I believe that my Gendarmerie agents can overwhelm the Palace Guard, if need be, but it would require nearly my entire organization’s worth of useful manpower. After that, you’ll be needing to explain the situation to everyone in a light that best suits us.” Legault explained.
“And I hope you have something for me to say?” Cailleaux asked.
“You’re a smart man, General,” Legault said. “Speak from the heart, and use a dash of truth in your lies. Perhaps the civilian government was selling out Franerre to the Lusatians and Gaelians. Perhaps there was a plot by their intelligence services to try and coup us, so we had to coup them in response. You can think of something. Just keep in mind that both Verenes and Dufour will be dead but we should have-”
Knock knock knock
“Come in,” Legault said.
An agent, one of the two who had been present at the meeting with the Galran ambassador, opened the door, saluting. “Director Legault, sir, there’s an…issue, regarding Stowe.” Legault nodded for him to continue. “We’ve been staying inside so as to not attract attention to ourselves, as you requested, but Stowe needed me to run an errand. When I came back, I noticed someone inspecting your house. They saw me a little after I noticed them, and they took off before I could catch them, sir.”
“Did you see who he was? Who he might have been with?” Legault snapped.
“No sir,” the agent answered. “I didn’t get a good look at him, and I think he was plainclothed. Agent Augustin is sweeping the area, but I thought it was prudent to inform you sooner, sir.”
Legault thought for a moment. “Take him to our training site outside of Pareau. Say we’re worried for his safety, just in case any violence of the coup spills into the area. He won’t like the downgrade in amenities, but I’m sure he would prefer staying alive. But make sure Stowe doesn’t know anything’s wrong. If his support wavers for a moment, this entire coup is shot.”
“”Sir yes sir.”
Two Days - General Gawain Renulf
“Damnit,” Ranulf muttered, grinding a cigarette beneath his boot. Police officers were standing about Legault’s home, inspecting the scene for any hint of what might have happened here, but it was useless. There were signs that the house’s guest room had been occupied recently, and that someone had left in a hurry. But no Galran. Not even one of Legault’s agents to interrogate, for what use it may have been.
“I’ve never been angrier at the rule of law until now,” Brochard said, standing beside Ranulf. “If he didn’t need to wait for the warrant I know we could have had them!” He slammed his fist into the table they were standing by. “We got nothing! And we lost the element of surprise.”
“There’s no use dwelling on it, Simon,” Ranulf sighed. “Pick this place clean, just in case we find something. Now we’ll need to predict exactly what targets Legault will strike.”
“I have a total of 10,000 officers under my direct command, give or take,” Simon said. Ranulf raised an eyebrow. That seemed rather small for a city of Pareau's size. “Many of the outlying areas of Pareau have their own separate Departments. I technically have jurisdiction over them, but in practical terms they’re independent operations. We could try and reach out to some more Police Chiefs, but…”
“I’ll make that decision later, let’s just work with the 15,000 assumption for now,” Ranulf said.
“There still are issues, however,” Simon continued. “I have access to a large stock of handguns, but almost no rifles, and our ammunition stocks aren’t that deep, either.”
“I’ll see what I can source on that front,” Ranulf responded, “but I doubt it would be anything much. In addition, while I hope no one would be insane enough to bring artillery to fire in the city, hand grenades are another matter entirely. That’s not to mention that police officers aren’t exactly a match for soldiers, even if we’re lucky and they’re only conscripts. At the very least, we’re defenders here. Now we just need to know where they are striking.”
“We’re pretty confident he’s going after Verenes,” Simon offered, “But beside that he’d probably try and strike the Palace, since that’s where the King is. I could definitely get some men on those two locati-“
Ranulf held up a hand. “Send the bulk of the force to the National Chamber, not the Palace. It’s risky, admittedly, but I’m worried the King might get spooked if you increase presence at the Palace so much. We’re trying to save him from a coup, not make the King think we’re starting one ourselves. We also risk tipping off Legault even more than we already have today. If you’re at the National Chamber, you can respond quickly to anything Legault might try.”
“Noted, then,” Brochard replied, “I could still try and split my officers off to other places, try and cover more ground.”
“I wouldn’t,” Ranulf said, “We don’t know how many forces Legault will have at his disposal. The King must be our top priority, and, to be honest, I don’t have the faintest clue where Legault would strike, there are too many secondary targets. He could try and strike an armory to get more weapons, he could try and try and seize the ports or rail stations, or even try and seize your offices.”
“I’ll start drawing up deployment plans then,” Brochard said.
“Now, I have a few visits to make.”
One Day - King Dante Emil Soleil Della Rossa II
Nothing. Dante had given Mesny a week to try and get something from Gaelia, to prove Legault wrong, and he had gotten nothing. Dante had been praying, meditating, contemplating, and just about every other synonym for thinking about what his response should be. Little progress had been made. The King had been hoping that he would hear back from Mesny for any sort of news, good or bad. But his life couldn’t be that easy, no. A week full of sleepless nights, and he had nothing to show for it. Tonight looked to be much the same.
The King sighed. He withdrew a pen and parchment from his desk, placing the tip to begin writing and…nothing. Dante looked up from the paper.
Article I -- Principle Diplomats
This treaty, written and signed in Kazimierzgrad under the witness…
Every time Dante saw the copy of that damnable treaty, it reignited that fire in him. That hatred at Lusatia, at Gaelia, at Kumosenkan, at the world, at himself, and that was the point. All of them had failed Franerre, and Franerre deserved better, damnit! That copy of the treaty was supposed to inspire him to be better, to do better, to do whatever Franerre needed him to, but what Franerre needed wasn’t clear. Why must being King be so damn difficult? It seemed to have been nothing but a series of stumbles from one catastrophe to another lately.
What had he done to deserve this? Dante had sacrificed so much of his life for his Kingdom. His own personal goals and ambitions in life only existed as an hour each day Dante gave himself to stay sane. He had sacrificed his time for family on the altar of Franerre. Couldn’t he ask at the very least for his job to be easy for all the suffering it gave him? What gave Dante the right to be fretting for a week over the fate of a hundred million souls? Over the fate of every soul on Touli, perhaps? ‘Monarchies are a cruel thing,’ Dante thought, giving words to feelings he had for some time.
Dante took a deep breath, centering himself. He could rage all he wanted in his head, but it did nothing to help him at this moment. He had to think, to decide on something. Lusatia had been good to Franerre. Lusatia had failed Franerre, true, but their relationship couldn’t be defined by a single failure, no matter how great. Galra was new, untested, but what they promised was everything Franerre wanted. Dante knew this all already. He had drawn up every imaginable pro and con of each course of action at the beginning of the week. Trying to think about it anymore would be retreading well-trod ground. All that was left was a choice.
A damnable thing, choices were.
Just what was Elenerre worth to him? What was 8 million people worth? How many innocent souls, suffering under Kumo occupation? How many people on Touli were in danger if Franerre sided with Galra? What was that phantom chance of some other people being in danger worth to him?
Dante ripped his copy of the peace treaty off the wall, the pent up feelings of confusion, anger, and helplessness at the situation bursting out. He nearly threw it onto the floor, holding the framed treaty above his head before he came to his senses. Every bone in Dante’s body wanted him to side with the Galrans and do what was best for Franerre -- but his soul, his moral character, couldn’t allow him to. The civil war that had been simmering in his own body over the past week had finally demanded action. In the end, what man could fight against his very soul? There would be no Galran alliance, not so long as Dante drew breath.
Dante set the treaty face down on his desk, checking the time on his watch. It was 10:22 in the evening. There still might be time…he hurriedly wrote -- scrawled, really -- a note to each of the conspirators, vague as to Dante’s choice, asking them to meet at the palace at midnight. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. Perhaps the things set in motion were unavoidable, but if there was a chance to stop it, Dante had to try.
Zero Hour - General Tauroneo
Tauroneo stood inside the palace, looking out a window over the entrance. The evening was hot and humid, and Tauroneo could almost see the sweat on the palace guards out front from here. The meeting room was sparsely populated, featuring only himself, His Highness, and the Kings-General, Lucien de Mahieu. This was not a meeting of the conspirators. You could hardly call it a meeting at all.
“I expected someone else to come, at the very least,” Tauroneo muttered to himself. “Even if it was only Leclere, I expected one more.” He knew that everyone had been woken up and received the King’s summons — Dante had confirmed it to him personally. “This does not bode well.”
Dante sighed, swirling around a glass of wine. “We may as well call it a night, Lucien.” He took a sip of the wine. “There’s not going to be a meeting tonight, and we’re not at the point to drag them all here kicking and screaming. We’ll have to go to them all in the morning tomorrow.”
Six more Royal Guardsmen left the palace to relieve their fellows at the front of the gate. They had been put on high alert, but it was clear to see the temperature of the night had gotten to them. It was Tauroneo’s position at the window that allowed him to see what happened next. A small bit of movement outside the gate, an object — a hand grenade sailing into the crowd of the twelve guardsmen. And then, an explosion.
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