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I totally agree with what you say and the solution you propose, however, the truth is that we won't get any kind of foreign support in the next war. It has been noted that we are linked to the global market (and foreign support) through Saint Lawrence Seaway, a seeway controlled by the Victorians which we maneged to open thanks to our peace treaty with them but it will also get closed the moment the Victorians think that they are ready for war and, even if they don't close it, they won't let war material go through.
Ok, the St. Lawrence Seaway will obviously be inaccessible during the next war. This does not mean we will be reliant on it for international shipping by the start of the next war - What you outlined here is the excact reason we are supposed to push our control of the Mississippi hard. This is the exact reason "To St. Louis and Beyond" is noted as such a high priority. Our procurement strategy depends on foreign export.
I imagine that the river network could help us connect through the Mexican Gulf to the Global Market thus solving that problem but the russians have a navy in Cuba patrolling the Gulf so I am not sure how practical it will be, specially taking into account that we would have to spend resources in stabilising the polities that control the rivers before even considering that moving war material through them is a good idea. Do we even have that kind of reach? Maybe we can do it with the help of the Florida Pirates.
To answer the questions: Do we have the reach to bring the Mississippi statelets into line? Almost certainly. Not only are we the guys who beat the Victorians harder than any state has, we have California and New York supporting us. Revivalism is a pretty popular idea now, and there are a lot of practical reasons for siding with us. Trans-continental trade will make the polities among the river wealthier and we are strong enough to enforce a kind of customs union and anti-piracy treaty.
Now the next question: Can we secure shipping against the Russian Carribean navy? No, but we don't have to. As we now know, Russia is engaged in a standoff against the South American majors, who make for natural allies in the event of war. Supporting us against the Russian puppet in North America is a pretty natural move for them. I could see something like Brazilian ships escorting our convoys, preventing Russia from shooting them down lest they want open war against South America. And remember, Russia is looking pretty weak right now. The loss of the NCR showed their unwillingness or inability to engage in a larger expeditionary war, which will inform the South American strategy. So provided we hammer out a deal for the Mississippi polities, avoid hostilities with South America and make some kind of agreement with them regarding shipping, we can rely on international shipping and consequently foreign weapon shipments. Which means we need to take the PR war into account.
Now the next question: Can we secure shipping against the Russian Carribean navy? No, but we don't have to. As we now know, Russia is engaged in a standoff against the South American majors, who make for natural allies in the event of war. Supporting us against the Russian puppet in North America is a pretty natural move for them. I could see something like Brazilian ships escorting our convoys, preventing Russia from shooting them down lest they want open war against South America. And remember, Russia is looking pretty weak right now. The loss of the NCR showed their unwillingness or inability to engage in a larger expeditionary war, which will inform the South American strategy. So provided we hammer out a deal for the Mississippi polities, avoid hostilities with South America and make some kind of agreement with them regarding shipping, we can rely on international shipping and consequently foreign weapon shipments. Which means we need to take the PR war into account.
Your strategy seems to rely in having a good relation with South American countries, specially Brazil, which is something that we can not take for guaranteed given that the creation of the revivalist council (or however it is called) required us to make the "Southern Strategy" concession which was decribed as giving a confrontational tone to any diplomatic relation we started with them (they want the mouth of the Mississippi but we consider it a fundamental part of our territory).
We might have to accept some kind of concessions if we want our convoys to be escorted which would inevitably anger the southern revivalists and the mexican revivalists which means that we would have to, somehow, appease them too.
Your strategy seems to rely in having a good relation with South American countries, specially Brazil, which is something that we can not take for guaranteed given that the creation of the revivalist council (or however it is called) required us to make the "Southern Strategy" concession which was decribed as giving a confrontational tone to any diplomatic relation we started with them (they want the mouth of the Mississippi but we consider a fundamental part of our territory).
We might have to accept some kind of concessions if we want our convoys to be escorted which would inevitably anger the southern revivalists and the mexican revivalists which means that we would have to, somehow, appease them too.
Well, it's either that or risking that Russia stops arms shipments to us. This isn't a choice, it's an absolute requirement for being able to wage war against Victoria.
But in either case, we might not have angered the South Americans that much by taking the Southern Strategy, it basically requires a majority of southern revivalists to agree that this state is a foreign puppet. I see not much reason for being pessimistic right now, as supporting us in limited ways is in their interest. I'm sure we can accommodate their interests. Hell, they are supporting Florida in the proxy war against Cuba, so it doesn't look like they are opposed to helping revivalists.
One may argue that it is not in the long-term interests of the South American states to allow reunification of the old continental United States into a single government, even a loose and confederated one. We should be watchful for the possibility that they will turn out not to be our friends as we strive to do so. Even if they are willing to back specific North American factions (including revivalist ones), they may become unhappy at the prospect of revivalists actually succeeding.
Well, that indicates a future problem. I'm not opposed to war criminals being killed for their crimes, but I am opposed to this happening outside of a justice system. And this tendency towards retribution killings will cause further problems, if we don't do something about it.
It must be noted that the sheer power of the incentive in the case of Andrew Division is quite extreme, and perhaps unlikely to ever recur.
It's a valid point of concern, though, and there is a more general need to impose discipline on our armed forces. Large groups of bored people with guns in unfamiliar territory, who by training are encouraged to have at best a somewhat blasé attitude towards killing and property damage, are always something of a problem one way or another. Looting, for example, is difficult to prevent on these scales.
While my moral outlook aligns with them in this case, who is to say units will not engage in retribution killings when fighting against far more ordinary opponents. Probably not on the same scale, but there could easily be incidents in which CFC soldiers decide the enemy deserves to die. And this could become a real problem if we are fighting against polities who don't engage in institutional war crimes. Also, this will become an issue during the next war against Victoria. Make no mistake, Russia will engage in a propaganda war to undermine foreign support for us and this type of thing is prime ammunition. The American public likely doesn't care, but the public in foreign democracies will. Consequently, this threatens our armament supply. Well, the best we can do is to professionalize our military further and drill the conventions into them.
I would be careful about exaggerating the scope here, though. The next war will likely be some years from now, involve enemies who are nowhere near as hated as the Vicks in general or Andrew Division in particular, or both.
One may argue that it is not in the long-term interests of the South American states to allow reunification of the old continental United States into a single government, even a loose and confederated one. We should be watchful for the possibility that they will turn out not to be our friends as we strive to do so. Even if they are willing to back specific North American factions (including revivalist ones), they may become unhappy at the prospect of revivalists actually succeeding.
While this way of thinking might have some prominence, it is not the only way to think about it. Let me propose another view here: Any reunified USA would be substantially weaker (economically and militarily), with the power balance far more in the favour of South America. In the current situation, SA majors have two choices: Focus on combating Russian influence, or try to reduce Russian influence and fight against revivalism. There is a good argument to be had that Russia is the bigger threat here. Revivalist governments that were supported by South America would likely strive for amicable relationships, with South America getting a substantial new market and investment opportunities. Whereas trying to hinder the revivalist movement could lead to a new hostile major power in the Americas and a stronger Russia. I can see a rational basis for SA support of us. And while diplomacy is often a game of perception, I could also see the South American view of the USA change as Russia becomes a more prominent bad guy. I think the right time to be wary of South America is after we talked to them, rather than approach talks with them skeptically from the start.
I would be careful about exaggerating the scope here, though. The next war will likely be some years from now, involve enemies who are nowhere near as hated as the Vicks in general or Andrew Division in particular, or both.
Keep in mind that war crimes don't have to be widespread to be used as effective propaganda. Much of war time propaganda relies on the media amplification of specific events, which paint the desired picture of the overall situation in the consumers mind. I don't have a sound way of assessing the likelihood for warcrimes against a different opponent or with a better trained army, but the recent events show that our soldiers are willing to let them happen under certain conditions. If somebody can do it once, they might do it again. I'm not saying this is will absolutely turn into a crisis, but I'm saying we should treat war crimes against Victoria as a potential risk in the future.
Lies and slander! At least this quest updates occasionally. GRRM on the other hand is worse than most fanfic authors, and the ones who still haven't updated for longer than him might actually be dead.
(In a burst of shattering glass, President SARA JOHNSON rappels through the window. Assistant Secretary of War Excuse Me Defense SARA GOLDBLUM kicks down the door and promptly staggers, cursing about her fucking knee. General RONALD BURNS casually walks through in her wake, eating a sandwich.)
JOHNSON: No!
GOLDBLUM: And fuck you god damn it that hurts why is age?
In the narrative portion of this chapter, there is an instance of a character using a racialized slur against people of Japanese descent. This is, and will be presented as, a bad thing. To avoid it, please skip the paragraph starting with, "He flinches, rubbing at the back of his head."
This also contains another section from David Hartman's point of view, which you will find littered with depictions of PTSD. Viewer discretion is advised.
The first section will draw on lore established in this omake, particularly the section on the Greens.
Turn Seven
Spring 2077
-Seattle, Washington, United States-
-Japanese North America-
-Wednesday, April 7, 2077, 12:49-
-Lisa Taylor-
"No, Mum, nothing's wrong," says Lisa, glancing at stall before shaking her head and moving on. She shifts her grip on her phone and breathes deeply, smiling at the touch of salt in the air and the smell of her coffee. "Just distracted."
It has been way too long since I last had any time off, she reflects.
Lisa's never been in the Old Country before. Her mother fled Hawaii in the wake of the Japanese takeover, and Lisa was born in Australia. She's spent her entire life in Brisbane. She has citizenship, she speaks like a native, she is a native by any metric. She works for a bank in the city; she's only left the country before to attend a conference in Singapore.
But she spent her childhood hearing her mother tell stories about the Old Country, she knows that they have family still in Seattle, and when she got the chance to take a good, solid chunk of time off work, she jumped at the chance to visit.
It's been completely worth it.
"Where are you exploring now?" her mother asks, her tone fond. "I called Beth. She said you've hardly spent any time with them!"
Lisa rolls her eyes. "Ugh. Mum, I've had dinner with them every day! I just want to get out and explore the city on my own! I'm at the Pike Place Market, now. Just got a coffee from the original Starbucks and everything!"
Her mother laughed. "And how was that?"
Lisa takes another sip, humming. "Overpriced," she decides.
The laughter escalates to cackles. "Good to see something hasn't changed!"
"It's not that bad!" protests Lisa. "It's just not...that good." She laughs a bit, grinning helplessly. "I was expecting more when I saw the price tag, I'll tell you that." She comes to the end of the row of stalls, ducking as a drone swooped by overhead. "Oh, there's a lovely park. Great view of the bay."
"Is it beautiful?" A tone of wistful longing rings in her mother's voice.
Lisa smiles sadly. "Gorgeous, Mum," she says. She eyes the mass of humanity crowding it. "Packed, though." She reads a sign printed in both Japanese and English. "Naruhito Memorial Park."
A disgusted snort echoes over the line, and Lisa winces as she realizes her mistake. "Fuckers," growls her mother. "Putting their names over everything like that haven't done enough already."
Lisa glances around on habit and starts working her way through the crowds between her and the view. "Mum, stop it," she hisses. "You know they listen."
Her mother sighs. "Yes, I know," she says. "Sorry."
Lisa eyes another drone passing by for a moment before tearing her gaze away. "I have to go now. I'll call you again tonight, all right?"
"Fine, fine," sighs her mother. "Love you, sweetheart."
"Love you too," replies Lisa. Then, she hangs up, finally approaching the railing.
Crowds or not, it's a gorgeous view. The bay is shrouded with heavy fog, the waves choppy and capped with white. A lot of people would call it gloomy, but Lisa has always loved stormy weather. There's something about seeing the sea unsettled that's always thrilled her.
A young man steps up to the rail next to her and flashes her a friendly grin. "Hey, there," he says.
Lisa blinks, torn out of her contemplation. "...hello," she says.
"Oh, you from Britain?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.
"Australia," she replies, frowning slightly.
"Sorry," he says, raising his hands. "I'm not too familiar, I've never been out of the Country."
Lisa shrugs. "Me neither. I'm visiting cousins here. They're expecting me for dinner." Please, please go away.
He appears to ignore her signals, leaning against the rail. "You an expatriate?"
"I was born in Australia. I'm just visiting family." She pushes away from the rail. "Excuse me." She turns and starts walking.
"Hey, I'm sorry!" he calls, following behind her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to piss you off-"
She rounds on him. "Do I know you?"
He blinks, pulling up short. "N- no, I don't think so."
She nods. "Right. Why are you talking to me?"
He flinches, rubbing at the back of his head. "...I'm sorry, I just overheard you on the phone. You sounded...worried. I was just- I..." he sighs. "I just wanted to tell you not to worry. The Japs don't get on tourists like that."
She stiffens, taking a step back. "I don't care for that word."
He sighs, spreading his arms. "Okay? Well, you're gonna hear it a lot here."
"I know. I have," she says. "I'm going to leave now."
He glances behind him, at a crew of workmen wheeling a bit of heavy equipment and a couple of wheelbarrows full of sandbags into the park, covered by a tarp. "...yeah, probably a good idea."
She blinks, stalling out. "Why?"
He sighs. "Nothing, nothing, just...bye, I guess." He turned and walked back into the crowd.
She tracked him with her eyes for a moment, watching as he walked up to a group of other young men at the entrance to the park, who started mocking him. She steps away from them.
Then, ducking into the crowds, she walks into the other side of the park. Asshole's not gonna scare me off, she thinks. Walking back up to the rail, she spends a few more minutes enjoying the view, taking in the fog and the ships moving in the harbor. She nods at a passing police officer, covered in body armor and carrying an assault rifle, as he makes eye contact with her. He snorts, but returns the nod, eyes moving onwards.
Sighing, she turns around, gazing up at the skyline and listening to the workmen as they argue about their equipment. Definitely too long since my last vacation. She peers at the officer out of the corner of her eye again as he speaks respectfully to a middle aged man with his wife and children a step behind him in Japanese. Maybe that asshole had a point. They like tourists, after all.
"What are you doing here?!"
She flinches as somebody grabs her arms, slapping at the hand.
The young man stares at her, wild-eyed, a bag slung over his shoulder.
"Get off of me!" she yells.
"You said you were going!" he snapped.
"Yeah, away from you!" she replies, wrenching her arm free. Spinning on her heel, she starts half-jogging towards the officer.
"Wait, no!"
She ignores him, raising her hand. "Officer!" she calls in Japanese.
The man's head snaps over and his eyes narrow. He grabs hold of his rifle and steps towards her, keeping the gun now. "Towards me, miss," he calls. "Takeshi!" A few paces behind him, another officer taking a picture with an Indian family stiffens and starts approaching, grabbing his weapon as well.
From behind her, she hears the young man curse. The officers' eyes widen. Their rifles start coming up. Now within arm's reach of the nearer officer, Lisa freezes, eyes widening.
A storm of deafening bangs rings out. Her ears ring. The officers drop in sprays of red, and a moment later, drones come crashing out of the sky, landing amidst the crowd.
Screams ring out from all around, and Lisa stares at the corpses in front of her, frozen in terror.
A hand grabs her arm again. The young man growls, tugging her along. "Damn it, damn it! Come on!" He drags her towards the street. Belatedly, she notices that his bag is gone, and he holds a rifle in his other hand, a bulky, heavy thing, almost looking antique relative to the advanced rifles showcased by modern militaries. He shoves people out of the way as the crowds surge around them.
"Carl, what are you doing?!" snaps one of the workmen as the others pull the tarp away. Lisa gapes as it reveals some kind of rocket launcher, large enough for two men to need to carry it. The other workmen, now with guns in hands, start spreading out and laying down sandbags in the road. One fires a burst into the air and starts screaming for the crowds to move out of the way.
The young man -- Carl -- calls back, "Getting her out of the square!"
"Fucking-!" The man throws up his hands. "Can you stay focused for five seconds-?"
"It'll be fine, just keep working!" calls Carl, pulling her towards the street. He looks at her. "Okay, you've gotta get out of here now. This is gonna get ugly." Another burst of fire rings out; another drone falls. He tugs her into the street and points up the a cross street running uphill. "Look, Virginia Street. Just get on that and keep running, you'll get clear-"
Then, Lisa hears shouting in Japanese, and more gunfire starts ringing out. She hears thin cracks just overhead, and Carl immediate bolts, dragging her across the street from the part to the street corner.
"Contact!" shouts another man already there, leaning out and firing off a burst of rounds. "They're already here!" He pulls back. "Fuck, that's an IFV. They must have shifted their patrols!"
A deafening series of bangs rings out, and Lisa shrieks as she sees fleeing civilians get shredded by the incoming fire. The guerrillas all dive for cover and start returning fire.
Then, in the park, the weapon the workmen were setting up fires, and the situation starts going to hell.
The missile vanishes into the distance, and seconds later, a massive bloom of fire appears on the deck of one of the warships in harbor. It's followed by several others, and the ship begins a wild swing to starboard.
Then, another ship further away, close to the opposite side of the bay, without any sign of warning, abruptly explodes.
Seconds later, the shockwave hits like a hammer to Lisa's chest. The blast is deafening. She sees some windows break.
The guerrilla at the corner whoops in joy, pumping his fist in the air. "Cascadia!" he howls, grinning. "Cascadia and the Country-!"
crack
The side of his head explodes, and he collapses.
"Drones!" screams Carl, letting Lisa go and shouldering his rifle. "Drones! Eyes up!"
The other guerrillas raise their rifles as well and start firing into the air. Lisa ducks and runs, hiding behind a car. Peeking out, she sees men dropping all over. The men manning the weapon fall.
She sees drones starting to fall, and the guerrillas reorganize, dragging wounded into cover. Carl moves up to the corner of the building and peeks around.
Then he hurls himself back, rolling across the ground. A series of blasts consume the wall he was hiding behind as whatever gun is down there fires again.
"Scatter!" he yells, scrambling to his feet and running towards the cars she's hiding behind. "Fucking scatter!"
Then, the vehicle rolls into view around the wall, turret turned towards them already. Lisa gasps in horror, eyes wide.
BANG
A blast rings out on the vehicle's other side, and it doesn't fire. It immediately rolls back, and guerrillas start firing after it. Then, the crack of drone fire starts up again, suppressing them, and more gunfire echoes from down the street. The engine starts approaching closer again.
Carl ducks behind the cars. An air horn sounds, and he swears, looking around. His eyes fall on her, pupils dilated. "Why are you still here?" He grabs her by the arm and starts dragging her up the hill. "Come on, we're scattering and they're not going to hold fire for anybody! We have to leave!"
Lisa follows, flinching at every shot and stumbling as Carl immediately outstrips her pace. He pulls her down a cross street an alleyway and lets go of her, leveling his gun at a window.
She screams again as he fires, glass shattering. Then he pushes her towards it. "Come on, get in, get in!" He keeps pushing her until she goes, stepping gingerly through the shattered glass. He swiftly follows and waves his gun at the people hiding inside. "Stay the fuck down!" He grabs her again and starts leading her through the building.
"Where are we going?" she asks, shivering at the muffled sound of gunfire.
"There's a safehouse," says Carl. "We can lay low there. Keep moving if you want to live!" He pauses by a back door and slowly opens it, leading with his gun. He paces warily into a courtyard, aiming upwards to check the sky. "...okay, we're clear." He lowers his gun and beckons her onward. "Come on, they're going to sweep here, we need to move!"
Lisa follows him, gaping as he lifts up a loose paver and stows his rifle there. He gestures at her and points at the cavity. "Drop your phone."
"What?" she asks, cupping a hand over her pocket.
"Drop it, they can track it!" he snaps. "All electronics, drop 'em now!"
She holds up a hand in surrender, pulling out her phone and dropping it in the hole. Then, she dropped in her headphones.
Carl drops the paver once she finishes and jogs to a set of stairs leading out of the courtyard to the street and carefully peers out. "...nothing yet. Come on, almost there." He tugs her out onto the street and immediately goes into the first building, a shop with a schedule dangling on the door.
The owner, hiding behind the counter, peers out. "Closed!" he yells. "Get out, get out!"
"Eighteen eighty-nine, green," snaps Carl.
The owner blinks. "...oh. Oh, fuck. Okay, quick! This way!" He stands up and darts into the back. They follow, and Lisa stares as she sees him opening up an apparently blank wall to reveal a passage to the next building over. "Quick, inside!" he snaps.
Carl leads her through a dizzying series of shortcuts, alleyways, and side streets. Twice more, he ducks into buildings and snaps codes at the people inside, who lead them through secret passages.
It takes an hour before, finally, he brings them to a small apartment inland and locks the door behind them. "We can lay low here," he says. "After a few hours-" He turns to her.
crack
She slaps him clear across the face. "Let me out!" she screams.
He stumbles back against the door. "What the fuck-?"
"Let me out of here, you terrorist fuck!" she says, slapping him again.
He catches her hands and shoves her back. "Hey, I just saved your life!"
She pants, eyes alight with fury. "After you and your friends nearly got me killed! Let me out of here! I'm going back to my cousins and leaving this fucking cesspit of a country!"
He stands up, glaring at her. "Are you joking? You can't leave."
She laughs. "Oh yeah? Watch me."
"Carl?"
Lisa spins, and sees a middle-aged man peering around the corner at her.
"Frank," mutter Carl, sounding embarrassed.
"Who's this?" asks Frank, gesturing at Lisa.
Lisa takes a deep breath. "...I'm sorry for intruding, sir. I'm nobody, and I'll just be leaving now." She glances over her shoulder and glares at Carl.
He doesn't look at her, staring at Frank. "...she got caught up in the op. I pulled her out."
Frank sighs, adjusting his glasses. "Oh." He steps out from around a counter, revealing a pistol held in one hand. He switches on the safety and sets it down. "Well, young lady, I'm afraid you will not be leaving now. Please come in, I'll explain."
Lisa swallows, a chill settling in her belly. "...no thank you. I'd really rather leave."
Carl sighs. "Look, it's not safe. Just...just come in, okay? We're not going to hurt you."
Lisa glances back at him again, takes a breath, and steps into the apartment.
Beyond the entry hallway, there's a small sitting room with the curtains drawn. Frank settles into an armchair and gestures at the loveseat opposite it. "Please, have a seat," he says. Slowly, she does. Carl moves to sit next to her, only to quail as she deliberately drops her purse on the seat and scowls at him. He glances up at Frank, who chuckles and shrugs. Glaring, Carl stomps off to the corner and leans against the wall, crossing his arms.
"Sorry you got mixed up in all this," says Frank, leaning back.
"Who are you people?" she asks.
"We're patriots," says Carl.
"Young idiots and old fools, more like," says Frank. "We're members of the Cascadian Green Party."
"The Executioners?" she says, and instantly regrets it, cringing. "I- I didn't-"
Frank waves it off with a sigh of disgust. "Yes, they call us that. Gaia's Executioners, very scary. No, we're not eco-terrorists. We're rebels."
She swallows. "...I really would like to leave, now."
"You can't just walk away at this point," says Frank.
"Drones," says Carl. "They're everywhere, and they were at the fight. They'll have your face on footage, and they'll know I helped you get away. They'll want you."
"And after this, they're not going to be as kind to tourists as they usually are," says Frank. "Carl, I heard a blast, did we-?"
"We got her," says Carl, grinning.
"Yes, they're going to be very angry," says Frank.
Lisa remembers a warship exploding like a firecracker and shivers. "You son of a bitch," she hisses, glaring at Carl.
"I didn't want to get you killed," he says, raising his hands.
"And in the process you might have guaranteed it," snaps Frank. "Now she'll be a fugitive! If you'd just left her alone, they'd have asked her questions, but now they'll think she's connected to you! I swear, if you put half the effort into your work as you did into flirting with-!"
Lisa bolts up to her feet. "You bastard!" she yelled. "I was- I was on vacation, I-" She shivers. "...what am I going to do?"
Frank grimaces. "Well, you can't exactly leave the way you came," he says. "They'll have your face shortly, and when travel opens back up, they'll give it out to every security guard at every airport and dock."
Lisa feels like the walls were closing in. She gasps for breath, legs shaking.
Frank eyes her and stands. "Hey. Sit down." He approaches and gently lowers her back into the couch. Tears and great, heaving sobs start bursting from her. Frank sighs, stepping away. "Hang on." He steps away, and she hears water running. Then he returns with a tall glass full of it. "Drink this. Try to catch your breath."
She gulps at the water, gasping. "Wh- what am I going to do?"
Frank steps back, pursing his lips. He sits back down, sighing. "...well, you can't exactly catch a flight out, but you can't really stay, either." He drums his fingers on his thigh, staring at her. His fingers still. He looks over at Carl.
Carl stares at her for a long moment before doing a double-take, noticing the older man's look. "What?" he asks.
Frank smiles. "You've made quite the mess for this young lady."
Carl's eyes wide. "...Frank..."
"And the city's going to be pretty busy in the near future. You've just been quite active," continues Frank, a malicious gleam in his eyes.
"Frank, no," says Carl. "It's- I'm fine, I had the stuff on." He takes out a plastic package, tears it open, and wipes at his face. A layer of makeup Lisa hadn't even noticed comes away, and she stares as it dramatically reshapes his face.
That's masterful work. Did he do that himself? Did they all do that?
Carl puts the wipes back in his pocket. "Drones aren't going to know my face."
Frank nods. "Sure, sure. But you did make this problem. It's only right for you to fix it. And maybe getting the hell out of the city for a bit will cool your head and convince you to exercise a little common fucking sense!" His voice rises to a snarl at the end.
"What are you two talking about?" asks Lisa.
Frank looks back at her. "...we have friends in resistance groups operating away from the coast," he says. "We can't get you flown or shipped out of the city, not now, but we can get you over the mountains into Montana. From there, you can make your way overland to the Commonwealth of Free States, and there, you can catch a ship back home."
She gapes. "Wh- that's- hundreds of miles, at least, over mountains, through whatever the hell the Country looks like now! I'd never make it!"
"Not alone, no," says Frank. "Which is why Carl's going with you."
She flinches, snorting in disgust. "Him? I'm not going anywhere alone with him!"
"Gee, thanks," he grumbles.
"Fuck you!" she snaps.
"I understand your feelings," says Frank. "But you don't have another way out. The occupiers are going to be hunting for you, now, and they won't be kind to you. Even once they figure out that you weren't involved, they'll still want you because Carl saved you. They'll want whatever you know, and they won't be gentle. The longer it takes, the angrier they'll be...and if you go now, you might just be shot on sight."
"So take me to the embassy!" she snaps. "I'm an Australian citizen, I have the right to shelter there!"
"Won't work," says Carl. "The drones scan everyone, and they watch the embassies almost as much as the docks."
"For exactly this reason," adds Frank. "We used to extract burned assets that way. It doesn't work anymore."
"Give me that makeup, then," she says. "I can do that, I know my way around cosmetics."
Frank sighs. "No."
She rears back. "No?"
"I'm not going to send somebody to run the gauntlet to deliver you to an embassy with the city like it is right now," he says. "I'm not going to take the risk. The makeup isn't foolproof, and they'll be on high alert. And frankly, I know why you're angry, but I don't trust that you wouldn't sell us out if we just let you go. We can't afford them getting their hands on you." He leans forward in his chair. "You can make the trek to Chicago, or you can lay low for the heat to wear off." He clasps his hands in his lap. "But this isn't the last operation we have planned. The heat isn't going to wear off, not for a while. Your best chance of getting home is going overland."
Lisa stares at him for a moment, jaw working. She glances at Carl.
He grimaces. "Guess you're coming with me," he says, tone flat.
"You keep your fucking distance from me, and your hands to yourself," she snaps.
"Oh, trust me, I don't want anything to do with you," he says.
"Prick," she hisses.
Frank chuckles and starts lecturing Carl on the steps he'll need to take, swiftly lapsing into coded language she can't follow. As they do, Lisa fumes.
And, with her hands, she toys with the necklace she's wearing, fiddling with the pendant. It's a simple thing, just an electrum tear drip with a ruby-red piece of faceted glass. Something her mother pressed on her before the trip.
She presses down on the glass gem, and the GPS transponder within the pendant activates.
And I thought you were being paranoid, she thinks. Thank you, Mum. I love you. I'm coming home, I promise.
* * *
-Goblin Valley State Park, Utah, United States of America-
-Unincorporated Territory-
-Friday, April 30, 2077, 16:15-
-Private First Class David Hartman, 5th, "Luke," Division, Victorian Army (MIA; DEFUNCT)-
David peers around the barren complex, rifle shouldered. "What the hell is this place, Father?" he hisses.
"Goblin Valley State Park," says Father Smith, ambling up towards the cluster of buildings ahead. "A bandit warlord made his home here, for a while. He cleared out recently, though."
David glances back at the truck and pushes the door shut, following his companion. They'd picked up the truck in Denver, courtesy of a favor owed Smith by an old friend. They purchased supplies in Grand Junction to help them in the arid Utah countryside.
David pulls his brimmed hat up to keep the sun out of his eyes. "Why are we here?" he asks.
"Well, a friend of mine asked me to glance in this way while I was on my way past," says Smith, smiling at him. "I figured that it wouldn't be too much trouble, me in the neighborhood already."
David groans. "In the neighborhood? We traveled across the continent to get here!"
"I do that," says Smith, grinning. "That's my thing."
"Crazy old man," grumbles David. They approach one of the buildings -- a barracks, obviously enough now that he was closer. "What are we supposed to be looking for here, anyway? Not gonna be much left. Does your friend want stories about what a sinner the warlord was-?" He stops dead and racks the charging handle on his M14, bringing it up. Smith walks a step further, and David catches him by the shoulder. "Stop," he whispers. "Contact, in the barracks."
Smith edges backwards. "What do you mean?"
David keeps his eyes locked on the window where he saw a scrap of movement. "I saw something. There's somebody inside." His eyes flicker around the compound. "They could be all around us..."
Smith gulps, taking another few steps back. "Perhaps we should leave, then. We don't know who they are, no need to start a fight. We just turn around and- heh. Bravely run away. Brave, brave, Sir Robin," he sang quietly, his voice thready and tense.
David freezes. He remembers Detroit. He remembers fighting, his friends dying. He remembers the real dying starting as they shattered and ran, and the very countryside rose up to devour them.
His face goes blank. "Start the truck. I'll check it out." He begins pacing towards the barracks.
"David!" hisses Smith, the affectation of north shattering. "David! It's not worth your life, get back!"
David didn't respond, drawing nearer to the barracks.
Door, left side, he thinks. Open it quick, sweep right, there's only wall to the left. He presses himself against the wall next to the door, ducking low to avoid the windows. The door is handing open, just a bit, the latch undone from whoever last went in. He reaches out the handle. His fingers shake, and he hates them for it. He stands there a moment, frozen.
Then, in a burst of motion, he throws the door open and sweeps in, rifle coming up and smoothly panning around the corner to aim down the length of the barracks.
Nothing.
Slowly, he steps up the small set of stairs leading up into the barracks, and begins pacing down the center of it, frantically checking each set of bunks. His heart thunders in his ears. He can hear himself panting. Sweat rolls down his face, forcing him to blink it away as it stings and tickles. He passes one bunk. Two. He keeps his eyes locked on the one by the window where he saw-
Movement-!
Wait-!
His rifle is already snapping over, his finger already slipping into the trigger guard, when he registers the sight in front of him and tears it up and off-target with a sensation that makes it feel like his arms are breaking. He stumbles as his balance fails him, and thuds down to his knees, wincing at old pains.
A dog, its head poking up over the bunk in question, peers at him warily, cringing.
David slumps back against a bunk, gasping. He desperately sucks in air once, twice, three times, again, more, more, his chest heaving and spots dancing in his vision as tension floods out of him. The M14 clatters to the floorboards, and he grabs onto his knees, knuckles white. He wheezes, curling in on himself.
Dimly, he registers that he's crying. He pulls off his sunglasses and wipes at his eyes, bawling.
He hears nails on the floorboards and the jingling of a set of tags as the dog slowly approaches. David doesn't respond, sobbing -- like a fucking baby, are you a man or not? -- on the floor and silently hating himself for it. The dog noses at him, sniffing at his hand and dancing back as a particularly violent sob rocks him. After a moment, it approaches again, smelling his sleeve. It flinches as he sobs again, but stays put. It presses closer, snuffling at his chest.
"Get," he mumbles, shaking his head. "Go on, get-!" His voice breaks.
The dog ignores him, now snuffling at his shirt pockets, where he has a few strips of jerky. He swallows, pushing it away.
"What?" he manages. "Y- you hungry?" He eyes the dog through bleary vision, and then eyes it again, letting out a watery scowl. The dog's ribs are showing through its fur. "F- fuck, yeah you are." He reaches into his pocket with numb, tingling fingers, pulls out a strip of jerky, and shreds off a piece. "Here," he says, holding it out.
Despite hunger positively searing in its eyes, the dog is gentle as it takes the meat. It immediately snaps it down and then sits next to him, tail wagging tentatively and begging for more.
David's not the best with dog breeds, and he has no idea what this one would be. It has long, light tan fur, and it's big, standing about thigh high at the shoulder. Its ears stand perked up stiffly, and it looks vaguely like a German Shepherd.
Off, though, in ways he doesn't really know how to articulate.
The dog's jaws drop open, panting. Drool drips down onto the floor. It whines.
For some reason, that makes David start crying again. He rips off a larger piece of jerky with fumbling fingers and holds it out. The dog bolts up to its feet and scarfs it down again, and this time, he catches its tags. He peers at it, trying to blink away tears so he can read. "Who are you?" he says. The dog sits, craning its head. He blinks, surprised. "Somebody trained you good," he mumbles. He leans in. "...Stella," he reads. "Good girl, Stella." He scratches at her throat and is rewarded by a thumping leg. After a moment, through, she pulls away and noses at the hand holding the jerky again. "Okay, okay, good girl." He tears off another strip for her to devour.
"David!" Smith calls from outside. "David, are you all right?"
David swallows. "I'm f-" His voice breaks, and he whines, choking another sob. He slaps himself in the face a few times and shakes his head violently. "I'm fine!" he calls, voice cracking only a little. "False alarm!" He pets Stella. "Just a dog." Swallowing, he makes himself stand up and puts his sunglasses back on. "C'mon, girl," he says, patting his thigh. He gives her the last of the strip of jerky and starts walking out as she scarfs it down. She follows, licking her chops.
Smith sags as David exits, crossing himself and muttering a prayer. Then he perks himself up and approaches, putting a grin on his face. "And who's this sweetheart?" he asks.
"Tags say Stella," says David. Stella slowly approaches Smith with her head held down, sniffing hopefully. "She's trained."
"An attack dog?" asks Smith, eyeing her with sudden wariness.
David shakes his head. "A pet." He reaches out and scratches behind her ears. She accepts it for a moment before writhing around to nose at his fingers again. "All right, all right, I'll give you more." He pulls out another strip of jerky, tears it in half, and gives her won. He starts chewing on the other as she begins savaging hers. "She's hungry," he grunts.
"So I see," says Smith, grinning. "Well, if a pet's out here starving, I think it's safe to call the place abandoned."
"Yeah," sighs David. "I guess so." He looks around. "…you wanna take a look around? I'm going to get her some water."
Stella bolts to attention, pressing herself against his legs and whining. He grimaced at a tight feeling in his chest, scowling.
Smith snickers. "Yeah, sure. I'll look around these barracks a bit." He ambles off, and David stalks over to the truck.
Opening the trunk, he pulls out a water bottle and shuffles around in the bags for a bowl. Ignoring Stella's whimpering as she repeatedly headbutts his legs, he pulls one out and set it on the ground. Stella immediately darts over and sticks her nose into it. He snorts and just pours the water in around her in small doses to avoid overwhelming her stomach. She immediately starts drinking snuffling noisily for more whenever she runs out.
"You are one lucky girl," he says. "They must have left a lot of food behind when they left. Probably more than they could carry. Lucky you we showed up when you did. I'm guessing you ran out."
She ignores him, focusing on the water.
He gives her half the bottle before stopping. "That's enough for now," he says, ruffling the hair at the scruff of her neck. He takes the bowl and puts it and the water back in the trunk. At last, he lets his mind and gaze wander, walking aimlessly around the truck. He idly starts fiddling with his rifle. Safety on, magazine out, round out of the chamber, get it back in the mag, mag back in, check safety, gun is good. He lets it dangle by its sling as he walks, Stella following in his wake. He stares at the ground, peering at it in the hopes of deciphering the mysteries of this place.
Dust and rock, as it turns out. Dust, rocks, dust, a few pebbles, some gravel, tread marks, dust-
What?
David freezes and backs up a step, staring intently at the ground. Faintly, almost gone, pressed into a patch of firmer ground, he sees the indentations of a tracked vehicle. He sweeps a layer of dust off it and leans in. Not just firm ground, this is rock. Shallow markings pressed into rock. Soft rock, but rock. That's heavy equipment. He peers closer. All but gone. This would have been a while ago. When the bandits left? Earthmoving equipment?
"Find something?" calls Smith, stepping out of a barracks.
David leans back. "Tracks! Old ones! Almost gone, I hardly saw them!"
Smith approaches, peering at the ground. He whistles. "You saw that?"
"I did a stint in recon," replies David, scowling at the rush of memories. "It was luck, though. I wasn't even looking for it. Still, this is old, and there's no other tire tracks left fresh. This place is dead." He stands up.
Smith shrugs. "Well, I saw something from there barracks I wanted to check out. Let's have a look."
What is it?" asks David, brushing at his pants.
"Doors in the cliffs," says Smith. "Big ones."
"Sure," sighs David. "Let's go poke in the scary caves in the abandoned bandit camp. Sounds fun." He hefts his rifle.
"Don't be a sourpuss," chides Smith, walking deeper into the compound.
"I am not!" snaps David, following. Stella pass along behind him.
"You'd pucker up at an ice cream sundae, son."
They bicker all the way up to the doors. They look, wide and tall, large enough for any heavy equipment capable of making the tracks outside.
David scowls at them. "…what were they keeping in there?"
"One way to find out," says Smith, shrugging.
David side-eyes him and then shrugs, sighing. They approach the doors and each grab a handle. Grunting, they pull them open.
It reveals a hallway just as tall and wide as the door. David takes one look down it and dives to the side, cursing and snatching up his rifle. "C- cover!" he calls, flicking off the safety and fumbling with the charging bolt. "Get back!" He raises the rifle and points it at the doorway.
Smith presses himself against the wall. "What is it, son?"
"Gun nests," says David, trembling again. "At least two, each side, might be more. I don't- wait, no!"
Stella lets out a yip and trots forward, uncaring, into the hall. David lunges forward, but he's too slow. She enters the corridor, and his heart leaps up into his throat as he awaits the sounds of gunfire.
…of gunfire.
Shouting?
Anything?
Smith slowly peeks around the corner. "I don't think there's anybody in those nests, son," he says.
David swallows, slowly edging forward so that he can peek around at just one of them. He stares at the tiny slit, eyes wide.
Empty.
He pulls the rifle down, gasping. "Clear," he manages, chest heaving. He leans against the doors, panting for breath.
Smith approaches and pats him on the shoulder. "I'll have a look," he says. "Come in when you're ready."
David shakes his head, pushing the touch away. "I'm fine, I'm ready now," he says. Do not fucking start crying again or so help me God…
"Then wait five minutes," says Smith. "But hold here." Then he turns and walks into the corridor.
David slumps back and shakes, silent, feeling the seconds drag by. After a few minutes, he gathers himself and enters.
He rejoins Smith at the back of the corridor, Stella leaning into the priest's legs as he stands before a massive cargo elevator. "They were keeping some serious stuff," says Smith.
"This feels wrong," says David, growling. "Bandits shouldn't have equipment that demands this."
"Indeed not," says Smith, scratching Stella's ears. "I'm going to see what's at the bottom."
"You're not trusting that lift," says David, eyes narrowed.
"No," says Smith, stepping aside and jerking a thumb back over his shoulder at a door with a stairway symbol. "The stairs."
David sighed in exasperation at having missed it. "Gotta get my act together," he mutters. "Let's go."
Stella refuses to go down the stairs, shying back and yelping when they try to carry her. They tie a length of rope to the door hand and her collar to make sure she doesn't wander off, and then head down.
It's a long staircase, but not long enough to wind them after going on two years of travel. The big problem is the light. There are lights visible, but whatever power source ran them is dead now. They take off their sunglasses at the top, but they need flashlights the second the door closes. And, as they descend, it gets chilly, slicing right through their thin clothing, so well-suited to the warmer outdoors.
They emerge into another titanic corridor. "Whoever owned this was a paranoid bastard," grumbles David, rubbing at his arms. "What even is this?" He pans his light around the cavern.
"Storage," mutters Smith, a series of doorways coming into view.
"For something big," says David. He approaches one. "How many doors is this? The light doesn't go far enough to tell!" Taking the handle, he begins sliding the door open.
The room beyond is empty.
"Waste of time," he says. "It's all gone. We knew it would be." He shivers.
"Does this place remind you of anything?" asks Smith, slowly eyeing the empty space.
"Storage?" says David. "Some place for the sinners to keep their loot. Maybe heavier equipment. Heck, you could keep a helicopter in here. There's…space…" His eyes widen. He looks again at the doors. Then he strides quickly down the hall, breaking out into a jog. He examines each door until he hits the end and then comes running back, eyes wide.
"David?" asks Smith.
"It's a hangar," says David. He shivers and glanced around. "Cold, and-" He sucks in several quick, shallow breaths, running the air over the back of his throat. "Dry. Hang on." He swiftly paces the width of the corridor. "…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, that's sixty feet, height-" He shines his light on the floor a third of the way across the corridor and then pans it up at the ceiling. "…at least twenty feet. Fuck."
"Son, what is it?" asks Smith.
David runs a hand over his mouth. "When I was in the Army, there were a few things we were always to report to the Inquisitors with us, immediately. Even before telling our commanders. Pre-Collapse military hardware. Hellfire and his troops. Foreign soldiers." He gestures around the corridor. "Spaces like this were on the list. Hangars, kept cool and dry with certain size requirements."
Realization flashes in Smith's eyes. "Everything you need to keep a stealth aircraft in good order."
David swallowed down reflexive assertions about the worthlessness of stealth planes. "…at this size, everything you need to keep a Raptor in good working order."
Smith's eyes glint in the low light. "Well, then," he says, voice soft. "That is something." He turns in a slow circle, taking in the corridor. "…let's head back up. This place has been emptied out."
They return to the surface, collecting Stella and wandering around. They silently note the long, flat strip of pavement that, less a layer of dust, is a full runway in length. They note the helipads. They're run across some warehouses with food, some sealed and full, one open and raided thoroughly by Stella. They even find, here and there, some discarded bullets.
"Five-five-six by forty-five," says David at Smith's sideways glance, as he kneels on the ground and weighs the bullet in his hand. "NATO."
They poke around, finding bits of gear left behind when the bandits left. It was sloppy work, beyond the hangars. There's tons of miscellany left behind. David finds, and promptly claims, a helmet. ("Bundeswehr," he grunts, flipping it onto his head and adjusting the straps. "Germans make a good helmet. This is new.") Smith lays claim to a set of books left beneath a loose floorboard. ("These ones went to print right as the Collapse kicked off," he says. "I've been missing a chunk out of the middle of the series for ages.") Decks of cards, cigarettes, snacks still safe in their packaging, maps, water bottles — the list goes on. It's a good thing they have the truck.
(In one barracks, Smith opens a footlocker left behind and whistles, pulling out a full plate carrier from the NCR. "Some Sergeant had a coronary over this," he says.
"Take it, David," he says. "As long as we keep getting into trouble, you may as well stay safe. Knights wore armor, you know."
David remembers men falling without a sound as bullets ripped through their chests. He takes the carrier and puts it on.)
Eventually, the shadows grow long, and they return to the truck, staring out through the windshield without speaking. Stella hops into the back seat and promptly sticks her head up between their shoulders. Neither of them comment on it. David scratches her, feeding her another bit of jerky. On a whim, he checks her tags again. "Wonder if she has an owner out there," he says.
"None I'd care to let claim her, leaving her out here," says Smith.
"Well, yeah," says David. "Just to know." He flips to the second tag behind her name. "Vaccinated against rabies, distemper, bordetella-" He shakes his head. "There's more. Don't even know half of these." He flips to the third and final tag. "Certified mutt, born June 2074."
Smith bursts out laughing, and David chuckles as well.
"Oh, here it is," he says, shifting his thumb. "If found, return to-"
The words still on his tongue. His eyes widen. He goes rigid.
Jack, "Wrinkles," Aubrey, it says. The words glitter there, taunting him.
Smith shakes his head, wiping at his eye. "At least they have a sense of humor," he says. He glanced over and his smile dies. "-David?"
"…this is Jack Aubrey's dog," says David.
Silence falls.
"…this is Jack Aubrey's camp," says David. He opens the door of the truck and steps out, stalking back over to the tracks he found. He peers at the ground, fumbling in his pouch for the rounds they found. "5.56mm NATO, all over the place. Sloppy fuck! A runway, helipads, garages, barracks, a fucking climate controlled hangar. Raptors. The fucker kept his Raptors. They told us to kill him if we ever got the chance but not to bother hunting, because all he had was scrap. But he had the space to keep them working."
Smith slowly approaches, closing the truck door behind him.
David starts pacing, muttering to himself. "And it's all gone. He's been out west for decades, and it's gone. Track marks. Months faded, probably a year. Everything cleared out. But they left food. Tracked vehicles heavy enough to put marks in rock, and they left food. He took the planes. Where? Where the fuck are the planes?" He stops in his tracks. "Months. Maybe a year."
Smith shifts. "Not too long after the Erie War ended."
David shudders. He swallows. He looks down at the tracks again. He stoops and draws his knife, digging gingerly at the stone to test its softness. He looks again at the marks. He glances at the runway, and the buildup of dust.
He sits down. "…the Communists have Aubrey and his F-22s." He feels another panic attack coming on, a demon clenching its fist around his heart. He forces himself to breathe evenly.
Victoria says plenty to outsiders about stealth craft, but the military remembers the losses of the Pacific War. It remembers the bloody heart that Aubrey's pilots in particular tore from the Northern Confederation Air Force.
They believe the F-16 is more cost-effective, but Victorians in the military know to fear the Raptor when it takes the field.
Smith takes a deep breath as David grapples with his conditioning. "…right, then," says the priest. "I think that's more than enough of a story for my friend."
David shudders, hands woven into his hair.
"Let's go," says Smith, nudging David with his foot. "If we go now, we can make Salt Lake City just a little while after nightfall." He turns and starts walking towards the car.
"I feel like I should tell them," says David, despairing.
Smith halts. He turns. "…they would kill you, David. They would make you die screaming."
"Good soldiers are supposed to welcome death in their country's defense," he mutters, wiping at his eyes.
"And do you?" asks Smith.
crackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrack
"Eleven o'clock, on the ridge! Doyle, suppress the gun! Grimes, take your squad and-"
BOOM
"Aaaaaaaaaaaagh! Aaaaaah AAAAAAAAAGH!"
"Shit! Uh, uh, Stevens- no- Hartman! Take your squad and get ready to charge! Doyle, start firing, damn you! We need to get out of the shelling zone! Everybody up! Guns up! God and country!"
"VICTORIA-!"
crackcrackcrack-
splrtch
crackcrack-
thunk
crackcrackcrack-
"-aaaaaaaaaa!"
"Keep moving! Keep moving! Victoria! KEEP MOVI-!"
"David!"
David wrenches himself free of the vision, tears streaming down his cheeks. He gasp for air with ragged breaths, throat raw. He shudders, whimpering. He can't stop. He can't even try. Weak, so pathetic, not even any kind of man at all-!
"David, stop!"
David groans, burying his face in his hands. Right, the question, there was a question, martyrs, death, service of the country, Inquisitors, questions, poking, prodding, General Carter's gun at his own temple trigger squeezing crack-
-arms around his shoulders. A voice in his ear. Feels like his father's arms, before he grew sick. Before he died. Before David went to the Army.
David breaks, and Father Smith holds him as he cries. "You aren't there," he whispers. "You made it, son. And you'll never have to go back again."
"I need to tell them," he wails. "They're my brothers, I need- I need-"
"What did they show you, when you were breaking?" asks Smith. "What did they give you then?"
David knows the answer to that, but it isn't one he is willing to give.
"Where were they when your commanders made you drill against each other with live ammo?" asks Smith.
David cringes, remembering the exercises. He'd never done well in them. Always hesitating, never firing as fast as he should, forever weak, never more than a private.
"You don't owe them your life, son," says Smith. "They threw it away. They threw hundreds of thousands away, and more are dying every month. You are brave, David, and you are strong, and they do not deserve your bravery in walking yourself into their knives."
"We were brothers," gasps David. "There are so few of us left, I can't let them die."
"And do you think it will save them if you give Victoria the means to fight again?" asks Smith.
David goes perfectly still. His fingers slowly tighten in his hair. He shakes.
He remembers a charge. Another charge. Another one. He remembers standing in a group of eleven strangers, each the only survivor of their platoon, and being told to charge, staggering back alone his only thought a numb I guess that means I win.
"They can't do it," he whispers.
It is more than treason. It is heresy. Victory is in their name, ordained by God Almighty. His prophets Rumford and Kraft brought the principles of holy war to earth and left it in mortal hands, and with it they dominated all they surveyed.
And…and…
"They can't do it," he repeats, staring into infinity and feeling damnation envelop his soul like a shroud thrown over a corpse.
"They know they can't do it," says Smith, tightening his hold around David's shoulders. "Why do you think they try, David?"
David scrunches his eyes shut. He can't answer that. He won't. Not more. "What do I do?" he begs.
Smith squeezes him tightly again. "We get to Salt Lake City. We spend some time there. I'll do some work. Always some people want a non-denominational service, even in the capital of Mormon country. We take some time and rest. Get to know that dog in the van. And then, we move on north."
"What's north?" mumbles David.
"Eventually, a way back to the Lakes, so I can get in touch with my friend and tell him what we've learned here today," says Smith. "But first, all the thousand deeds that my wandering ministry entails, all over these Rocky Mountains and north into Canada. And maybe we'll find the chance to do some more good deeds along the way. Like in Tulsa."
David raises his head slightly. "Tulsa…Tulsa was good."
"We did a good thing there," says Smith. "And I'll tell you there've been more times during my ministry that I've found times I had to turn aside for want of means to help than I've had to move on for want of problems to help with. A strong young man like yourself could do a lot of good out there."
David stares out at the horizon and sighs, utterly drained. "I think I would like that," he whispers.
The two men separate and slowly return to the car. Smith starts the engine and drives them off, David slumped in the passenger's seat. Stella promptly lays her head on his shoulder. He smiles and pets her.
Then, she starts sniffing at his pocket again, and he laughs, pulling out some more jerky.
* * *
-Chicago, Illinois, United States of America-
-Commonwealth of Free Cities-
-President Sara Johnson-
The seasons turn and spring dawns with even more on your plate than you had a few months ago. The Plan marches on, despite its snags, and it falls to you to find a way to work around the pitfalls in your path.
Challenges abound on every side. You're beginning to feel like your job is a game of desperately kicking each desperate urgency into the air for long enough to gain just a second to deal with another.
At least Sara's thriving.
"-TIGHT-FISTED, SCUM-SUCKING, FASCIST-ENABLING SCHMUCKS! IF THEY'RE SO WORRIED ABOUT BREAKING A NAIL IF THEY COME TO SHOOT REACTIONARIES THEMSELVES, THE LEAST THEY COULD DO IS HAND ME SOME GUNS SO I CAN DO IT FOR THEM! ARROGANT, PRIVILEGED PRI-"
She hasn't had this much fun in years.
Form a plan from the following options. You have nine free AP, at least three of which much be invested into Seven-Year Plan actions. Options that are a part of the Seven-Year Plan will have, "[SYP]," appended to them.
Secretary: John Bragg, CSP.
"Our difficulties with procuring foreign arms are unsurprising, but deeply problematic. We must have those weapons in time for the next war. With Russia landing troops to directly crush the Crusaders, we cannot hope for Victoria to go unsupported. Unfortunately, we lack anything like the contacts we would need to get an in with various suppliers. Our plan was to rely on the Erie War to give us the cachet to break into the arms trade as a buyer, but other concerns have overridden us. We need to make ourselves noticed. I know that all of this is State's job, but it must be our first priority. We need to either find contacts or make ourselves attractive.
"As far as projects under my purview, my recommendation is to focus on officer training and the establishment of our standing army. I'd like to be putting our road map together, but we lack our sources of foreign arms, and those will be crucial in what we choose to do."
This category has one AP.
[ ] Forging the Sword [SYP]: The Erie Campaign was a crucible for the Commonwealth military, but one does not simply tip over a crucible and announce that the resulting puddle of metal is a sword. It's time to put in the work to ensure that your military is prepared to learn the lessons of this campaign. DC: 15. Successes Required: 2. AP Limit: None. Effect: Get your roadmap set and ready to go for the next war with Victoria, in accordance with the plan approved by Congress.
[ ] Officer Academies [SYP]: You have made a commitment to grant the representatives of the Revivalist Council's member states access to your officer schools. At present, capacity is sharply limited, and you'll be spending most of the Seven-Year Plan clearing it. There is absolutely no question any longer of even approaching anything that could be called adequacy in your officer corps with only domestic officer training capacity, but nevertheless, an expansion is called for, both to get the most out of this agreement you've struck and to give your military some institutional staying power. The Devils' addition to your training roster makes it easier to get this done. DC: 20. Successes Required: 2. AP Limit: 3. Effect: Expand and centralize your officer training schools, solidifying your ability to domestically support an officer corps in addition to increasing how much influence your foreign training program nets you.
[ ] Standing Core [SYP]: The Seven-Year Plan calls for a massive expansion of your military, and you know full well that you cannot sustain that expansion in the form of a standing, professionalized army. That said, having a standing army is, increasingly clearly, a requirement for the exercise and maintenance of your interests. Pick out the best of your current forces to form this force, as an instrument of power projection and the professional core of your eventual end-goal military. DC: 30. Successes Required: 1. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Acquire a standing Army force which does not require mobilization to use and may be used for the purposes of power projection. Given the lack of capacity most of the continent has had to muster such forces throughout the Collapse, simply having this force would be grounds for significant prestige. -1 free AP in costs, in perpetuity.
Secretary Georgie Harris, PCPP.
"Sara, that was a fucking disaster. I know we haven't exactly covered ourselves in glory, but I have to recommend taking another swing at expanding the Department. Otherwise…God, we have so many urgent priorities. The arms market being such a mess has really screwed us, here. I wanted that done. And it needs to be. I can't recommend anything other than an urgent effort to get the guns. Reaching out to the Diaspora might help with that. And God, we really need to start opening doors down the Miss. There's just too much."
This category has one AP.
[ ] Expand the Department: You have several demands on your government going into the future, and among them is affairs of state. Your position requires massive diplomatic effort to maintain, a state of affairs which you seem only to heighten with every act you undertake, and you must maintain it in order to avoid a catastrophic weakening of your position. Yet, you cannot continue to dump resources into State when Defense and Development are so much more pressing. Invest in an expansion of the Department so that it can manage its duties without needing help from the rest of the government so often. DC: 30. Successes Required: 2 (1 of 2 complete). AP Limit: 2. Effect: Gain 1 additional Department of State AP per turn.
[ ] Source Foreign Arms [SYP]: Any expansion of your military must reckon with a powerful need for foreign military hardware. With international arms producers in chaos, your work on this has been delayed. You need to get this done immediately. DC: Dependent on sub-votes. Successes Required: 2. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Determine who is willing to sell you weapons and what they're intending to charge for them.
[ ] Expatriate Outreach [SYP]: The American stereotype in recent years is the paranoid survivalist, where it isn't a cold-blooded NCR hitman or a crazed Victorian with a gun. Not precisely what one thinks of when one imagines experts capable of conducting a crash development and militarization program. But that expertise is still out there; it's just bound up in other places. American refugees fled far and wide from the Collapse, although mostly to the FCNY and Europe, and a lot of capital fled with them. By now they are established in dozens of countries, a very loose network of expatriates culturally and financially rooted in the FCNY. These Americans are disproportionately wealthy residents of First World, highly developed nations, and often work in expert fields. Experts are expensive. If you want to get them for cheaper, nationalism might be a way to do it, if you can overpower the pull FCNY already has. DC: 15. Successes Required: 1. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Exploit your populace's restored ties to the American Diaspora and establish contacts who can put you in touch with people at the intersection of talent and patriotism. To an extent, will require either competing or cooperating with FCNY given how tightly the Diaspora roots in them. Likely will escalate to the attention of the Revivalist Council, but needs to be done.
[ ] Establish Council Representation: Every member of the Revivalist Council has a representative to sit on it, but to truly engage with the body requires a larger team. Sort through the department and find people who can enable your chosen representative in politicking on the continental scale. A longer-term project, to be sure...but you've staked a lot on your ability to steer this thing. DC: 35. Successes Needed: 1. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Have a proper team of diplomatic and espionage specialists on hand at the Council who can enable you to act with some measure of capability in the continental diplomatic scene.
[ ] To St. Louis, And Beyond [SYP]: The next war with Victoria lives and dies on your access to the Mississippi. If you cannot secure access to it, your military line of supply dies upon the declaration of war. It is time to begin your outreach to the south, and see who can be convinced to permit passage and allow you access to begin work on clearing the more physical obstructions...and who will need to be dealt with by other means. The Mississippi will open, or you will die. At least the Dixons' patronage and assistance will open doors that would otherwise be closed to you, in addition to your plentiful cachet from those polities who attended the Revivalist Conference. DC: 15. Successes Needed: 3. AP Limits: 4. Effect: Make use of everything you have to get as many people on board with your access to and restoration of the Mighty Miss as possible.
Secretary Christina Wilson, PCPP.
"The warning signs I saw last year about limited state power are coming due. We have more demands on our time than ever, each of which leads to a potentially spiraling issue.
"In terms of our priorities, I would dearly like to focus on taxation. The government can get a lot more done if it brings in more money. The issue is actually achieving that; we lack experts. Have you tried talking to Secretary Harris about an approach to the Diaspora? We could really use some qualified personnel. Otherwise, the situation with Detroit and Gary is a time bomb. We need to hash out a deal."
This category has one AP.
[ ] Refugee Management: The refugees' situation continues to spiral; with your economy developing extremely rapidly, it is becoming more and more obvious that they are being left behind. Practically, and to avoid severe unrest, you need to help them out. As your economic situation begins to weigh heavily on the refugees, the situation is gaining increasing potential for disaster, and the Little Victoria sprouting up in Detroit isn't helping matters either. DC: 25. Successes Needed: 1. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Establish a government office responsible for managing and directing the flow of refugees in order to minimize friction with existing populations and ensure refugees' smooth resettlement. Allows you to engage competently with what promises to be an ongoing social issue for your administration.
[ ] Renovate the Bureau of Taxation: Nobody likes the tax man...except you! You love the tax man! Not romantically or anything, but still! Taxes are the ultimate, "I win," button in the competition between societies, allowing a central body to accumulate truly vast resources with staggeringly little effort. Corporations must invest immense amounts of money to get people to willingly divest of a quarter of their income. You can just ask for it...in theory. In practice, people like their income, and resist losing access to it without a direct and personal payoff. And this is where the tax man comes in...in theory. Unfortunately for you, this is fairly underdeveloped, as with many elements of your civil service. As you attempt to fund the demands of the Seven-Year Plan, enforcing Congress's taxation plans will be a key duty of your office. It would be best if your ability to do so were more...extant. DC: 40. Successes Needed: 2. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Take the hodgepodge of state tax offices, currently welded weakly together at the edges with a central oversight office, and transform them into a proper central body capable of extracting revenue! You will, however, be suffering harshly from a dire lack of civil servants practiced at collecting and marshalling tax revenue on this scale, and with the level of sophistication and standardization you require.
[ ] Coalition Talks: With the demands of the Seven-Year Plan now cast into stark relief, there has been immediate friction in your ruling coalition in Congress. The Christian Socialist Party has been extremely patient about the promises of healthcare for all made to them as a condition of their membership, what with the demands of the war, but now some members of your own Commonwealth Progressive Party are talking about slashing those provisions entirely in order to defray the costs of the Plan. While such disagreements are theoretically part of a healthy democracy, so too are people resolving those disputes with acceptable compromises, and you don't want to see the coalition break down just as the Plan is kicking off. Talks have stabilized somewhat, with PCPP delegates working to negotiate compromise between your party and the CSP. The process is ongoing, but you don't think you are in danger of a coalition breakdown at the moment. DC: 35. Successes Needed: 1. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Pitch to Congress a compromise plan which satisfies the CSP's desire to see healthcare for all rolled out, while appeasing your own party's -- to be fair, justified -- concerns about paying for it under the demands of ever-escalating mobilization.
[ ] The Works [SYP]: The States of Gary and Detroit are at one another's throats about the status of the steel works relocated from Gary to Detroit. With Detroit set to become the nexus of your rail manufacturing, you actually were hoping to bring the Works back to their original home, but apparently Gary made the connection before you could move on it, and made their own approach. Detroit is now bristling and defensive; those works were their lifeblood during their period of Victorian alignment. You were hoping to leave this for later; you're not ready for this project yet. But you need to defuse the situation before it hampers the rest of the Seven-Year Plan. DC: 30. Successes Needed: 2. AP Limit: 3. Effect: Bring Gary and Detroit to the negotiating table, get their various salvoes in Congress stalled, and pitch something. Yields a sub-vote on the manner of your compromise.
Secretary Roberto Aguilar, CPP.
"More plans laid down. We have more work to do. Madame President, I echo my colleagues' calls for outreach to the Diaspora. I'm sure we're making mistakes, and the thought of handling the Gary-Detroit Works without them sends chills down my spine. And...there's a lot. We're starting to run up against early plan targets that we cannot fail without guaranteeing that we'll fall short of our objectives."
This category has three AP.
[ ] Industrial Assessments [SYP]: The Seven-Year Plan by no means demands a fully-domestic military line of supply. That would be impossible. It does, however, aim to at least have a lot of local production for ammunition along with some common spare parts. You need to put your people to work on working out where that will best be placed. Seems you're doing a lot of, "Make a plan to make a plan," stuff lately, but you really don't have much choice, here... DC: 10. Successes Required: 2 (1 of 2 complete). AP Limit: 3. Effect: Assess your current suppliers of industrial materiel and military hardware to figure out who can be reliably expanded and who needs to be supplemented by new concerns.
[ ] United Post Office Contributions: The CFC supported the establishment of a unified postal service at the Revivalist Conference. This is a big project for the Revivalist Council's early years, and you're certain that any contributions beyond simply cooperating with efforts to establish common standards and practices will be looked upon favorably. It benefits you as well...but you must admit, this is rather aside from the goals of the Plan. DC: No roll. Successes Required: 1. AP Limit: 1. Effect: Commit direct funding to the United Post Office project in excess of your obligations to cooperate with Council requirements.
[ ] Purchase Rolling Stock [SYP]: You need to expand industrial facilities in Detroit to produce more of your own locomotives, but in the meantime, you're going to need engines and cars for it. That restricts you to countries using standard gauge railroads, which...Europe, PACS, California, China, and...Egypt, apparently. You have a lot on your plate, but you can grasp that those are the suppliers who are workable for selling to you on this scale. Fortunately, the market here seems to be in less chaos than the arms market. DC: 20. Successes Required: 1. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Contract with a railroad manufacturer in one of the above countries to provide you with rolling stock during the early stages of your infrastructural development.
[ ] Build Rail [SYP]: In what promises to be an effectively endless endeavor for the remainder of your administration, you need more railroads. Roberto assures you that you will never be, "finished," with this task, only varying levels of behind. DC: 25. SYP Successes Target: 1. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Start hitting SYP targets for rail expansion, beginning with work within the State of Detroit, and a line from Detroit to Toledo, to give your builders there a shot in the arm to get up to speed. This objective is critical enough to the plan that, on a failure, you may choose to succeed anyway at the cost of cutting safety regulations and curtailing workers' rights, forcing through a success at the cost of casualties and political support.
[ ] Expand Civilian Shipbuilding [SYP]: Improving docks facilities is something you plan to integrate into your rail effort given how closely you intend to marry those two efforts; what you need are more boats. All of your vital strategic objectives over the next few years demand a robust civilian shipbuilding industry. Fortunately, civilian shipbuilding is already an industry you possess; it will be considerably easier to fulfill this target. Private shipbuilders are already expanding operations, and much of your work will be in stimulating their growth. Of course, long lead times are a constant, in shipbuilding. DC: 20. Successes Required: 3. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Directly expand civilian shipbuilding facilities and invest seed funding in private manufacturers to let them carry on the work once other demands pull your focus elsewhere.
Secretary Harold Ralson, CPP.
"Our infant network in Nova Scotia will have to fend for itself for the moment. We lack the ability to assist and have other problems. For now, we have other issues to consider. I've been hearing concerning things out of the Shawnee Kingdom; they've been harassing our traders of late. I also have reports of troop movements within the State of Minnesota at Minneapolis. I want to look into that more closely. They've never accepted our recognition of the Bemidji government, and I suspect they may be planning to force the issue now that winter has passed."
This category has one AP.
[ ] Long Tail: You have at least the makings of foreign intelligence and domestic intelligence services, and they function, but they could always use more support. Analysts, Audrey once told you, are what really makes or breaks an intelligence agency. She was always wanting more. DC: 30. Successes Required: 1. AP Limit: 3. Effect: Improve your intelligences services' efficiency by vetting and hiring additional analysts and support staff to enable your field agents to better do their jobs.
[ ] Messy Business: Information is all well and good, but it would be nice if your intelligence services were capable of acting on things they learned. DC: 35. Successes Required: 2. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Develop your intelligence service's more active capabilities in covert affairs, diversifying beyond simple asset management.
[ ] Shawnee Harassment: King Young has had his customs inspectors harassing your traders. It's complicating your efforts at trade, and also threatening the new network of informants you have throughout the Mississippi watershed. You can't afford complications on your push down the Mississippi; get more information on what's coming. DC: 15. Successes Required: 1. AP Limit: 3. Effect: Deepen your penetration of the Shawnee Kingdom and figure out what King Young is doing after his humiliation at the Local Conference.
[ ] Trouble in Minnesota: Indications are that Minneapolis has no intention of taking your ruling lying down. You've caught troop movements. Them controlling the state wouldn't be a catastrophe for you, but you've made an rival of them, and they're close enough to be trouble if they care to during your second confrontation with Victoria. Furthermore, with so much of your plans resting on diplomatic successes, you can't really afford to have one of your efforts so publicly disregarded without damaging your work elsewhere. Whatever you want to do about the situation, you need information. DC: 25. Successes Required: 1. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Get your informants along the Upper Mississippi to gather information on Minneapolis's troop movements so you can figure out a response.
Secretary Doris Stratford, CSP.
"While it won't be my job, President Johnson, creating the Department of Education is one of my prouder achievements. Still, though, work remains. We have work in boosting our capabilities now. I add my voice to the chorus calling for outreach to the Diaspora. We need educational experts. We need to get some of our workers beyond DoE's remit trained to fulfill Plan goals. Frankly, despite the challenges, we need to start now or we'll start hitting personnel crunches."
This category has one AP.
[ ] Old Relics [SYP]: The United States built a lot of heavy industrial presses back in the Cold War. None are in your territory, but their locations aren't exactly secret. Send out expeditions with the goal of studying these machines and gathering notes; perhaps, sometime in the future, you may be able to build your own. With the Victorian Army now defeated, the biggest possible obstacle to this journey has suddenly disappeared, and the chances of success are much higher. While this action benefits from SYP bonuses, it has been firmly classified as a stretch goal rather than a core element. DC: 30. Successes Needed: 3. AP Limit: 1. Effect: Gain a group of experts capable of building heavy industrial presses for you; also confirm the status of the old presses.
[ ] Retraining Campaigns [SYP]: You need workers who can contribute to critical war industries if you're to have any hope at all in the coming war. With reading materials now widely available, that means you now need to get people reading the right things and learning the right lessons. Using the branch libraries as cornerstones for this work, roll out training programs focusing on vital sectors of your economy for the war, trying to get your adults in a better position to contribute. You have too many people, right now, whose primary skills consist almost entirely of subsistence farming. Of course, a training effort on this scale...you have few people who could be called specialists in such things, let alone experts. DC: 40. Successes Needed: 2. AP Limit: 3. Effect: Establish a body of workers who can be employed in your vital job industries. Best to time it properly so you have neither a glut of spare workers, nor businesses standing empty...but with few local experts to oversee the training efforts, that timing will be a challenge.
[ ] Old World Equipment: The Big Red One operates some of the last large-scale formations of troops with pre-Collapse American hardware anywhere, even with the Devils' breakup. Thanks to them, you have access to a fully equipped maneuver brigade, in times of war, assuming you get them trained up and established. However, their equipment is extremely limited, and you put it under some intensive use in the Battle of Detroit. You need more...and there's a whole continent out there. It's not your plan for the next war, but you might troops in between now and then. DC: 30. Successes Needed: 2. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Send out teams to comb the Country looking for surviving examples of pre-Collapse hardware suitable to reequip the Devil Brigade, once it is reestablished. Refill your Old World Equipment's uses to 5/5. Ensure you can still deploy quality hardware in times of need.
Secretary Thelma Hartman, CPP.
"President Johnson, I'm honored to have been chosen for this position. I've worked in education for the State of Illinois for many years, and I'm excited to continue work for the Commonwealth. And there's a lot to do.
"First of all, every single one of my colleagues has visited, asking me to ask you to support State's efforts at outreach to the Diaspora, and I fully agree. We need experts in every field, and education is a skill of its own. We need teachers, qualified teachers who speak English and Spanish. There's work to be done even in their absence, but we're going to be sharply hampered until we can get them. It will take decades to reestablish domestic training of teachers. We need people coming in from overseas.
All that said, grand plans can wait. The first thing we absolutely must do is examine the state of education across the Commonwealth. I know how things are set up in Illinois. Some of our states have records over a decade out of date. I can offer no other realistic course of action but this. We cannot achieve anything of actual use until we understand what we're working with."
This category has two AP, both of them already spoken for. You need not vote for this category.
[X] School Survey: The state of public education in the CFC is parlous and ill-understood by your government. Secretary Hartman has made clear that no real progress can be made until your situation is better understood, and you agree. There can be nothing realistically done until the Department actually knows what it's working with, and you will devote all resources to that effort. DC: 35. Successes Needed: 3. AP Limit: 2. Effect: Put together a survey of CFC schooling to determine coverage, distribution, and quality, so that you can get to work on actually doing things with them.
MANUAL MORATORIUM. APPROVAL VOTING. TAG ME WITH WRITE-IN SUGGESTIONS.
Maybe I should retitle this quest, "AP Hell In the American Collapse."
Lots happening this turn, folks, but I do like to make up for the long waits with more content. Enjoy! And thanks for being so patient with me.
So, tentative plan draft- and oh hey, the Department of Education actually IS a cabinet-level department with its own AP budget!
[] Plan I Got 77 Problems
-[] Department of Defense
--[] Officer Academies
-[] Department of State
--[] Expand the Department
--[] Source Foreign Arms x2
--[] Expatriate Outreach x2
--[] Establish Council Representation
-[] Department of Domestic Affairs
--[] Refugee Management x2
--[] The Works x2
-[] Department of Development
--[] Industrial Assessments
--[] Build Rail x2
-[] Department of Security
--[] Long Tail
--[] Trouble in Minnesota
-[] Department of Technological Recovery
--[] Retraining Campaigns
-[] Department of Education
--[] School Survey x2 (locked)
State Department is obviously critical here; we've got several government departments begging us for Expatriate Outreach. I'm hoping that Establish Council Representation further eases future efforts towards To St. Louis, And Beyond.
Domestic Affairs has three building crises but we don't have the free dice to handle them all, and at least for now the PCPP is mediating coalition talks. Which is nicer of them than I expected. Hopefully we can get the refugee crisis vaguely sorted-ish and begin to get a handle on the Gary-Detroit dispute and then come back to the wobbly coalition issues next turn.
Security's AP hell may well be partly a lack of analysts, so we need to work on that. The Minnesota issue is the one where we have the biggest problems of force projection and need to resolve the crisis the fastest, at least in my opinion. Someone could reasonably disagree and prioritize the Shawnee.
Jeez MANPAD ship killers seems the fire blazing in California has spread north. Also that Victoriatown growing in Detroit is going to cause a Brown scare at some point.
1, with all the drones in Japanese controlled territory, I'm very much reminded of the short film Slaughterbots, and how once you can make enough drones to kill anyone who goes against what those who control them wants.
Found at FreeOpenSourceInfo.org A History and Overview of the Resistance Groups of the Pacific Northwest: The formative event of the current underground resistance ecosystem of Cascadia was The Rainbow Uprising of 2062. Officially lasting from June 7th to October 21st 2062, between June and...
So, tentative plan draft- and oh hey, the Department of Education actually IS a cabinet-level department with its own AP budget!
[] Plan I Got 77 Problems
-[] Department of Defense
--[] Officer Academies
-[] Department of State
--[] Expand the Department
--[] Source Foreign Arms x2
--[] Expatriate Outreach x2
--[] Establish Council Representation
-[] Department of Domestic Affairs
--[] Refugee Management x2
--[] The Works x2
-[] Department of Development
--[] Industrial Assessments
--[] Build Rail x2
-[] Department of Security
--[] Long Tail
--[] Trouble in Minnesota
-[] Department of Technological Recovery
--[] Retraining Campaigns
-[] Department of Education
--[] School Survey x2 (locked)
State Department is obviously critical here; we've got several government departments begging us for Expatriate Outreach. I'm hoping that Establish Council Representation further eases future efforts towards To St. Louis, And Beyond.
Domestic Affairs has three building crises but we don't have the free dice to handle them all, and at least for now the PCPP is mediating coalition talks. Which is nicer of them than I expected. Hopefully we can get the refugee crisis vaguely sorted-ish and begin to get a handle on the Gary-Detroit dispute and then come back to the wobbly coalition issues next turn.
Security's AP hell may well be partly a lack of analysts, so we need to work on that. The Minnesota issue is the one where we have the biggest problems of force projection and need to resolve the crisis the fastest, at least in my opinion. Someone could reasonably disagree and prioritize the Shawnee.
While it's not good for AP costs, finishing Standing Army lets us send troops around to stare at Minneapolis or Shawnee without mobilizing - which itself costs upfront AP and ongoing AP unless something has changed, and risks not being there in time. So I think it's worth prioritizing.
One major issue I have with this plan: The lack of work on the Taxation Bureau. With us losing our head start in the race, we should put our AP on actions which helps us to regain our footing. As our AP is a direct representation of funding, this action will be guaranteed to bring us AP. I'm also not sure about putting the double AP on both Expatriate Outreach, and building Rail. Expatriate Outreach has one of the highest base success chance there is, while Rail has a built-in failsafe for the cost of political support. We are sitting on a lot of political support, what good is it if you don't spend it.
Additional sequencing advice: Retraining Campaigns become easier after we finish Expatriate Outreach, since the lack of experts is hampering training.
While it's not good for AP costs, finishing Standing Army lets us send troops around to stare at Minneapolis or Shawnee without mobilizing - which itself costs upfront AP and ongoing AP unless something has changed, and risks not being there in time. So I think it's worth prioritizing.
I am vehemently opposed to forming a standing army before we have taxation figured out. With our diplomatic efforts behind, the last thing we need is to spend one free AP to reduce our available APs further. Get some intel first, then we can see if the situation warrants forming a standing army.
My own draft plan:
Plan Taxes for our Charm Offensive
- []DoD (1/1)
-- [] Officer Academies 1 AP, 1/2 80%
-[] DepState (5/1)
-- [] Expand the Department 1 AP, 70%
-- [] Source Foreign Arms 2 AP, ?%
-- [] Expatriate Outreach 1 AP, 85%
-- [] To St. Louis and Beyond 1 AP, 1/3 85%
- [] DepDomestic (5/1)
-- [] Refugee Management 1 AP 75%
-- [] The Works 2 AP, 1/2 81%, 2/2 49%
-- [] Rennovate the Berau of Taxation 2 AP, 1/2 60%, 2/2 16%
- [] DepDev (3/3)
-- [] Build Rail 1 AP 75%
-- [] Industrial Assesment 1 AP, 75%
-- [] Purchase Rolling Stock 1 AP, 80%
- [] DepSec (2/1)
-- [] Long Tail 1 AP, 70%
-- [] Trouble in Minnesota 1 AP, 75%
- [] DepTech (1/1)
-- [] Old World Equipment, 1 AP, 1/2 70%
- [] DepEducation (2/2) -- [] School Survey 2 AP, 1/2 65%, 2/2 42.3%
AP accounting: 4 State + 4 Domestic + 1 Security = 9/9 AP
5 (State) = 5/3 required SYP AP
Explanation: Basically, I'm trying to make up for our lackluster performance last turn by investing into the State Department and hopefully making up for the bad rolls last turn. With our current military expansion limited until we can get foreign arms, I see no reason to put any more AP into it right now. The other major area of investment, the Department of Domestic, gets 4 AP to get ahead on the Gary situation and get us additional money. The last AP is invested into the Security Department, where it will have the biggest impact going forward. One of biggest hindrances is the lack of information, without diplomatic or military pressure becomes far less effective.
You're eliding that the failsafe also has a cost in human casualties. It's not just us spending politicsbucks, it's making people like us less because we decided we were willing to let some train workers get mangled after we failed to invest enough resources to get things done safely.
You're eliding that the failsafe also has a cost in human casualties. It's not just us spending politicsbucks, it's making people like us less because we decided we were willing to let some train workers get mangled after we failed to invest enough resources to get things done safely.
That is a trade I'm willing to make. Our highest priority has to be war readiness and internal development, I'm really hesitant to put two AP on one action with a decent chance of success.
Smith gulps, taking another few steps back. "Perhaps we should leave, then. We don't know who they are, no need to start a fight. We just turn around and- heh. Bravely run away. Brave, brave, Sir Robin," he sang quietly, his voice threads and tense.
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