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Why do I have a Feeling of the quest to Remove the Curse from Wrigley Feild, by the baseball cult is the end result of a Massive Modern Day DnD quest that spanned nearly a dozen campaigns and several real-life years of preparation to harness this grand and mysterious power.
Why do I have a Feeling of the quest to Remove the Curse from Wrigley Feild is the end result of a Massive Modern Day DnD quest that spanned nearly a dozen campaigns and several real-life years of preparation to harness this grand and mysterious power.
The Curse on Wrigley Field was broken but not lifted in 2016 when the Cubs went and actually won the pennant. This resulted in the Curse becoming splintered and twisted, slashing fractal tendrils of metaphysical and even pataphysical impossibility through the laws of probability and basic common sense. Reality was disrupted almost beyond repair. Donald Trump won a presidential election mere days later. And things got weirder from there, resulting in the bullshitical plot shielding that enabled the rise of Czar Alexander and of Victoria.
The Curse was lifted on October 7, 2046, a century, a year, and a day after its origin. On that day, the semi-autonomous communal shantytown founded by the families Wrigley Field workers and their families in the aftermath of the Collapse let in a bunch of wandering refugees who'd somehow picked up a herd of goats. Unfortunately this didn't do a lot of good at the time, because the World Series was defunct anyway... but it started the timer on the evaporation of the bad guys' plot shielding.
...
The Incantation of the Reverse Curse was something specifically cooked up by the baseball cultists. It wouldn't be accurate to say "no relation," but the lifting of the Curse and the Reverse Curse were not identical.
The Reverse Curse got us our string of good rolls for the Spring of 2076.
Personally, I always figured that the Nazis' actual penetration into Chicago was a bit limited, if only because they ran into dense urban terrain and urban militias that had nowhere else to go and not a lot of reasons not to shoot back. Trying to take Chicago would have been about as bad an idea for the Wisconsin Nazis as trying to take New York City would have been for the Vicks, and there's a reason the Russians yanked hard on the Vicks' choke chain when they started thinking about taking New York City.
On the other hand, I'm sure they got up to plenty of terrorism and raiding, and targeting centers of worship would be right up their alley.
Well, even if that were true, the Bahá'í House of Worship is in Wilmette, IL not Chicago. Sure the Purple Line of the El Train ends like a 15-minute walk away, but no one's facing urban resistance to take that place. The only resistance I see possibly taking place is a tiny Coast Guard station just across the marina. And let's face it, that place would have been abandoned and looted by this point.
Well, even if that were true, the Bahá'í House of Worship is in Wilmette, IL not Chicago. Sure the Purple Line of the El Train ends like a 15-minute walk away, but no one's facing urban resistance to take that place. The only resistance I see possibly taking place is a tiny Coast Guard station just across the marina. And let's face it, that place would have been abandoned and looted by this point.
You're not wrong; my main thing was just a sort of general observation about the shape of the War on Nazis and how I imagine it having gone down. Basically, the Nazis' actual territorial control sort of sloshed around Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Illinois, and they did considerably better in the countryside than in the biggest cities- although in the medium-sized cities that sometimes just meant that when they did roll in they were unusually insecure, angry, and predisposed to shoot anything that moved.
My basic idea is that one of the main targets of the Nazi's was houses of worship, both because destroying them would demoralize the enemy and because they're fucking nazis and they take pleasure in destroying the temples, churches, mosques, and other religious structures of the people they see as "inferior".
Historically, the Great Lakes have the Black Legion, which is not just Nazi but corporate Nazi... A Klan peripheral group that hires themselves out to megacorps. During the Cold War there's the National Alliance.
Almost certainly gas. I'm doubtful we could have managed electric engines for anything when our navy, the primary focus of Chicago's military budget until quest start, consisted of coal-fired vessels.
Almost certainly gas. I'm doubtful we could have managed electric engines for anything when our navy, the primary focus of Chicago's military budget until quest start, consisted of coal-fired vessels.
Depends on how many 2030-era vehicles survived the last forty years
I do remember that EVs were on general sale in the 2030s in these books, and there would have been more than a few private houses with rooftop solar and internal power walls/power banks to store power
And thats in addition to any cannibalized renewable power stations.
Definiteky a hodge-podge of vehicles.
Probably mostly gas.
But I expect you'll find some EVs in there as well.
Probably none - pretty much every vehicle that could be used would have been used, and electric vehicles are way harder to service/maintain when they break down. Batteries also don't handle either prolonged lack of use or repeated charging/discharging particularly well so even without a catastrophic breakdown after forty years with no replacement batteries the gradual decaying of capacity would have rendered any EV unable to hold enough of a charge to run when not plugged in, at which point it would probably be left lying around as junk or pulled apart for scrap.
I wouldn't say that, really. Cubans have been making 1950s cars work just fine, even if there's been considerable attrition. There's still a lot of older vehicles in circulation in some parts of the globe, just a matter of spare parts and technical know-how. Granted, a lot of the 2020s style American cars with more complex mechanisms, batteries, and electronics would soon become obsolete because the tech level required would be wrecked pretty quickly, but I can see more reliable stuff like old 4X4s and SUVs remain functional, even if they'd have to ration fuel very carefully.
I wouldn't say that, really. Cubans have been making 1950s cars work just fine, even if there's been considerable attrition. There's still a lot of older vehicles in circulation in some parts of the globe, just a matter of spare parts and technical know-how. Granted, a lot of the 2020s style American cars with more complex mechanisms, batteries, and electronics would soon become obsolete because the tech level required would be wrecked pretty quickly, but I can see more reliable stuff like old 4X4s and SUVs remain functional, even if they'd have to ration fuel very carefully.
The point remains that while yes, cars and other motorized vehicles might have been around at quest start, I doubt any of them will be electric at the very least until we complete our green power and industry overhaul. Then we might start to see some of them, but probably still not in our military motorpools.
That's because 1950s cars are designed to run on parts made using 1950s technology, to 1950s machining tolerances, with 1950s materials. If you need to, you can make one-off replacement parts for any given part of the vehicle in a small-scale machine shop, the kind even economic backwaters like Cuba have. You don't need a damn semiconductor foundry to make any of the replacement parts.
Effecitvely no electric cars are, or can be, built this crudely, and thus this reliably, to run almost indefinitely without servicing from a place capable of making spare parts.
If you're using Li+ chemistry, yes. But if you're willing to risk those newish molten metal batteries next to you, those can hold a charge indefinitely as long as you don't breach the casing, and have enough energy to keep it molten. That or a shit load of lead acid batteries
If you're using Li+ chemistry, yes. But if you're willing to risk those newish molten metal batteries next to you, those can hold a charge indefinitely as long as you don't breach the casing, and have enough energy to keep it molten.
I mean, there was the guy that took like 24 Pb acid batteries to power an electric motor in a Miata, and it had a range of like 30 miles. which was enough as a day driver for him. I think Rich Rebuilds had a video on it? i could be wrong don't quote me on that
I mean, there was the guy that took like 24 Pb acid batteries to power an electric motor in a Miata, and it had a range of like 30 miles. which was enough as a day driver for him. I think Rich Rebuilds had a video on it? i could be wrong don't quote me on that
Note that this is supposedly how cars work in Victoria- they run off lead-acid batteries and like '30s technology, so they're insanely short-ranged and no one can travel "too far," thus helping to enforce the kind of small-town lifestyle Vick ideology fetishizes.
A Partially Comprehensive Guide to Religion in the City of Chicago
It was only recently, the previous season in fact, that a comprehensive census of the Commonwealth's population was taken. While the main goal of this census was to get an accurate counting of the population, as well as their distribution across this new country. Yet as a side effect, this census has given a good look at the religious composition of both Chicago and the Commonwealth at large though it is far from a comprehensive counting. This gives a basic overview of religion as it exists within the city of Chicago, as the capital has the largest population of the Commonwealth by far.
As one might expect, Christianity remains dominant in Chicago, as it does with much of the Commonwealth. In Chicago, this takes the form of a fascinating mixture of Protestant, Catholic, and Orthodox traditions, with a small scattering of sects that do not consider themselves part of the big three. The number of different sects number in the hundreds, many old pre-collapse beliefs that managed to survive, others newly born in the post-collapse world. There's a branch of the Catholic Church, one of the few large-scale social institutions to survive the Collapse. A number of Orthodox groups, mainly among the descendants of eastern and southeastern European immigrants. And, of course, what feels like a hundred different groups of Protestants. Yet despite their majority, it is not as big as some might suspect. Unlike Old America, where the second-largest religion, Judaism, numbered at a whopping 2%, Chicago actually has a sizable minority of non-Christians, though there is no exact percentage at the moment, I believe it to be around 30%, maybe more, at this current time, and constantly growing as more individuals arrive with the flood of refugees. This is, I imagine, a direct result of the city being a sort of beacon to safety, drawing in religious minorities like moths to a flame. While I have no doubt that there has been immigration to other parts of the Commonwealth, Chicago being Chicago means that it gets most of the refugee population. But I digress, I am here to talk about religion.
Following Christianity in prominence are its fellow Abrahamic faiths. Most notable are Judaism and Islam, who were the second and third largest faiths in pre-collapse America, both followed by, at the very least, a whole percentage of the population. They still retain such prominence, despite often being targets of hatred, not just by Victorians but other groups with similar views of the world. It is a sad fact that nearly all the Temples and Mosques in the city were either destroyed or heavily defaced during the whole Nazi conflict, and most congregations either practice in those ruins or converted dwellings. Most followers of Judaism are ethnic Jews, with a smaller number of converts. Muslims are found among both various immigrants and their descendants, as well as many African Americans, who make up a good number of Muslims, a result of the cities deep history with African American Muslims, going as far back as the 1920s. In addition to the more common and well-known faiths, there are also small communities of Baháʼí and Rastafari, two faiths often overlooked even before the collapse. Both communities, despite their small size, are surprisingly prevalent, which indicates that both have seen a number of conversions in the past decades. Like their larger, more numerous counterparts, neither have a dedicated religious building (Though the Baháʼí actually did have a full-on House of Worship in Chicago, big one too, before the Nazis got their hands on it), making do with makeshift and converted structures.
The next minority of sorts are the Dharmic faiths, born from the Indian Subcontinent and brought over by immigrants and missionaries. They have always been a minority, yet surprisingly prevalent and widespread, found across the country, even in some places without a sizable Indian population. Most numerous is Buddhism, which seems to have actually grown following the collapse. Its practitioners are not just Asian immigrants, but White and even African Americans. This seems to be tied to how Buddhism is, compared to some faiths, relatively easy to syncretize with other belief systems. The most common type of syncretization I have found is a fascinating form of Jewish-Buddhism, a result of the fact that neither faith really contradicts each other (since many forms of Buddhism do not believe the Buddha to be a god). Besides this, in general, Buddhism is an appealing belief system that seems to have drawn in a number of North Americans, not just the descendants of immigrants. After Buddhism is Hinduism, which is mainly found among immigrants from South and Southeast Asia, as well as their descendants. The primary exception to this seems to be, of all things, the Hare Krishnas. While their organization, at least in North America, was shattered by the collapse, I have found that enough practitioners survived that there are current attempts to reform their organization in Chicago, around their old building on Lunt Avenue, though I do not know how successful they will be.
Next is Jainism, the peaceful transtheistic religion which is mainly found among individuals of Indian descent, be they immigrants or their descendants. There's actually a Jain temple, not in Chicago itself but around Arlington Heights. Intact to, it seems like the Nazis overlooked it for some reason or another. Luckier than their Buddhist or Hindu counterparts, whose places of worship received the same treatment at the hands of Nazi as the Jewish temples and Muslim mosques. And finally, there's Sikhism, the youngest of the Dharmic religions, and one of the youngest major world faiths period. Now, most Sikhs live on the west coast these days. Their numbers have always been largest on both coasts, and most on the east fled west following the rise of Victoria. Most good Victorians probably can't even tell a Sikh or Muslim apart, much less know what a Sikh is, and even before the collapse, they suffered discrimination at the hands of idiots that couldn't tell the difference. However, our city has always had a notable population of Sikhs, and I have found that a surprisingly large number have returned to their ancestral home after they heard about the founding of the Commonwealth. Unlike the Jains, the Sikhs had several Gurdwara (That's what the Sikhs call their places of worship) in Chicago, and like most non-Christians, the Nazis made a mess of them, if they left them standing.
There is no unified name for the myriad faiths of East Asia beyond "East Asian Religions". They range from a variety of polytheistic folk religions to complex philosophical beliefs, and they are one of the rarer types of religion in North America. Before the collapse, they were decidedly centered on the west coast, which was where the bulk of East Asian immigrants reside, as well as some of the larger cities on the east coast. While East Asians never suffered a direct attack under Victoria, as far as I know, they were among the types of people that were targets simply because they were different. Unless you were in New York City, most fled west to escape Victoria, and while most only passed us by, some decided to stay. Others, such as those who had spent their entire lives in the city, came back to their homes after the Commonwealth was founded. It might surprise some, but a large number of East Asians, mainly Chinese and especially Koreans, are actually Christian, as were many of their parents. In some cases, it's because their parents, who may or may not have been Christian themselves, raised them as such to better fit in, or maybe they converted of their own choice. The trend of this continued after the collapse, especially here in the Midwest, where there was always the threat of Victoria or one of their clients. Followers of Taoism, Confucianism, or Chinese Folk Religion, are all relative minorities, and never had a heavy presence in or around Chicago, but they still very much exist and are slowly growing as more and more refugees arrive.
The next "group" of religions is Neopaganism, though they are still incredibly decentralized, as they always have been. Neopagan is less a group as it is an umbrella term referring to a wide variety of traditions and in many cases practices unique to specific individuals. Their scattered nature, and habit of being quiet about their beliefs, meant that when Victoria rose, most either abandoned their practices for the sake of survival or quietly slipped away. There are exceptions, such as damned white supremacists who claim such beliefs, but most knew better than to chance it with Victoria. The number of neopagans in Chicago is surprisingly high. Before, the population was scattered across the entire continent, cast away to the wind during the collapse. Yet Chicago gives them a place to gather, and it seems that every damned Neopagan in the midwest, and perhaps beyond, has picked up their bags, if they had any, and moved to the big city. Every type one can think of, Druids, Wiccans, Asatru, Hellenists, witches, occultists, pretty much any form of reconstructionist polytheism one can think of. It is an awkward thing, as few are used to gathering in such numbers. Many rarely saw more than a dozen of their fellows at a time, even before the collapse, and now that they have apparently all gathered in one place, they don't know what to do. At least they seem to be happy.
There are other religions that do not fall under a single category, being their own unique systems of belief. Some are tiny old minorities, others are recent, post-collapse. One such is Zoroastrianism. Many tend to forget that the United States is home to a third of the world's followers of Zoroastrianism. Of course, this was just around six thousand people, but still. Most live in New York City, a result of the two major Fire temples in the country being in New York State. As one can imagine, most fled to the Big Apple when Victoria started to make moves on New York. I hear they have a new Fire Temple there now. Some, however, did not get the chance and decided to risk the journey west, to get as far west as they could. In the process, some settled in Chicago, though most simply moved on further west. Others have arrived after the founding of the Commonwealth. Their population is tiny, but it is there. Now, in contrast to the ancient nature of Zoroastrianism, there is a faith that emerged after the collapse, born in Chicago itself. Yes, I speak of the Baseball Cult. For those who have only recently arrived in Chicago, the Baseball Cult is exactly as it sounds, a small religion based around playing and venerating the sport of Baseball. Being called a cult implies a sort of malevolence, but they are nice people if a bit obsessed with playing their game. I myself don't see the appeal, but they seem to be attracting a following, having grown twice as large since the beginning of this flood of refugees. Understand, it might sound like a great increase in size, but it isn't. Remember, when a group with one person gets another member, they've grown twice as big. The Baseball cult is still very, very small, mostly restricted to dedicated teams of the sport.
Next is a surprisingly large minority, the Cult of Santa Muerte, mainly found among many Latin Americans, especially individuals of Mexican descent that have fled northward for some reason or another. The veneration of Our Lady of the Holy Death was born pre-collapse as a result of the hardship faced by many Mexican people and was considered the single fastest-growing religious movement in the Americas. Her origins go even farther back, to the ancient Aztec goddess Mictēcacihuātl, queen of the underworld and patron of the festivals which would later evolve into the Day of the Dead, and can perhaps be seen as a continuation of such worship. Either way, worship grew as a result of hardship. It is no surprise, then, that worship would grow in an event as catastrophic as the Collapse. From the rumors I have heard, the cult has a sizable following in much of Mexico, even controlling some remnants, which trickled north alongside both refugees and missionaries, and can now be found among many Latin Americans now living in Chicago. One noticeable fact about the cult is that there seems to have been a reversal of doctrine at some point during the collapse. Where once Santa Muerte was mainly venerated as a folk saint, with a minority seeing her as a full-on deity, this seems to have reversed in some cases, with a large number fully worshipping her as a goddess and a sizable minority venerating her as part of folk Catholicism. This minority makes up the majority in Chicago, where many of Mexican descent are strict Catholics, but as more and more refugees come they bring with them their own beliefs.
Last but not least are the Satanists. Yes, actually Satanists, though despite what Victoria might claim they do not actually worship the Devil. The Satanic Temple is Nontheistic, not believing in any supernatural entity, and merely uses satanic imagery in their aesthetic. Before the collapse, they used satire alongside such imagery to bring attention to religious inequality and hypocrisy in the United States. It might surprise you, but members of the Satanic Temple are some of the nicest people one might meet since their doctrines revolve around compassion, justice, free will, and forgiveness. I had long believed that they would have dissolved following the Collapse, yet they have stubbornly resisted such a fate. The current members seem to be made up of the former Illinois, Ohio, and other east coast congregations, as well as members of the formerly rogue Detroit Chapter who fled west. I have been told that members of more distant congregations have been known to pop up from among the river of refugees, but it is still a rare thing. They were never populous, even before the Collapse.
While I am sure that a number of other faiths exist in the City of Chicago, those mentioned above include the most populous, even if they only number in the mid-hundreds. I'm also sure that, as more people move to Chicago, these numbers will change, though I can only guess how. Most likely they will continue to grow unless something happens to cause some massive paradigm shift.
Authors Note. Something that has been occupying my mind for a while. Not as detailed as I was hoping, but it's a good foundation of sorts, at least I believe it to be so. Please give your opinions, in case I accidentally wrote something offensive.
Thanks for the omake! I've labeled this one non-canon, for a few reasons. First, I'm not really sure enough of the religious composition of Chicago myself to pin non-Christian faiths down even as vaguely as, "around 30%, maybe more," and I probably won't, since it's a bit below the level of abstraction. Second, I would not say that the Wisconsin Nazis held tight enough control of the area for long enough to raze or vandalize the vast majority of the synagogues and mosques, and I especially would not say that, given the decades since the Nazis were thrown back, the faithful are still either squatting in ruins or using secondhand spaces. People built cathedrals with the resources of feudal societies; even in the Collapse, the faithful can build purpose-built structures for their worship. Third, this is a narrative space I kind of want to reserve for filling in at a later date, if it needs to be filled at all.
Thanks for the omake! I've labeled this one non-canon, for a few reasons. First, I'm not really sure enough of the religious composition of Chicago myself to pin non-Christian faiths down even as vaguely as, "around 30%, maybe more," and I probably won't, since it's a bit below the level of abstraction. Second, I would not say that the Wisconsin Nazis held tight enough control of the area for long enough to raze or vandalize the vast majority of the synagogues and mosques, and I especially would not say that, given the decades since the Nazis were thrown back, the faithful are still either squatting in ruins or using secondhand spaces. People built cathedrals with the resources of feudal societies; even in the Collapse, the faithful can build purpose-built structures for their worship. Third, this is a narrative space I kind of want to reserve for filling in at a later date, if it needs to be filled at all.
Thanks for the feedback! And yes, there's a reason it's a Partially comprehensive guide, I wanted to lay some groundwork for future stuff. Also, my info on the percentage of non-Christians isn't really coming from the current religious composition of Chicago, it's more a guess formed from what you said a while back about how minority faiths are becoming increasingly prominent due to how the Commonwealth is very tolerant, especially with Victoria as a foil. Also some thoughts about the theoretical migrations of demographics that would happen as a result of Victoria forming.
Edit. Mainly groups that don't fit Victoria's idea of "people", who would probably try to book it and put as much distance as they could between them and Victoria.
[X] Yes. The chance of acquiring this hardware is too great to pass up, and Aubrey requested Burns specifically.
[X] Bemidji. They're legitimate, they've demonstrated the ability to play the game, and frankly, they'd owe you way more. Of course, Minneapolis is supremely unlikely to take this lying down...
Ups And Downs
-Denver, Colorado, United States of America-
-City of Denver-
-Tuesday, June 28, 2076, 7:02 AM-
-Corporal Sandra Park-
Denver is an anomaly, in the world of the Collapse.
Most cities shrank nearly to or past the point of collapse, when the supply chains keeping them going fell apart. Denver did, too, but it arrested its fall in better fashion than most. In large part, this was due to its position as one of the only safe places from sustained Russian attention. Most places on the continent were within reach of either Victoria or California. Denver, however, was shielded from California by the Rockies, and from Victoria by hundreds of miles of increasingly-desolate plains utterly unsuited to the transportation of an army. Sure, Victoria could in theory arrive at the city, and even deliver a siege to it, but they would be completely unable to keep a fight going for longer than a day or so. It was a logistical barrier so great even Victoria could not imagine it surmountable through sheer willpower.
But while an army might struggle to fight at the end of a route terminating in Denver, they could reach it. Even broken and crumbling roads can support trucks, after all. And if an army, supported by vehicles adequate to carry the equipment of tens of thousands of men, can reach some place, smaller parties can as well. There are few places where trade can pass the Rockies. The Lloyd Clique in Montana, passing along scraps from the table of their Japanese patrons. Trickles coming into the war-torn remains of Texas, making their way over from California's farthest zones of control in Arizona. But these are small things, passed along either begrudgingly or largely through negligence, and traveling through intermediaries uninterested in or incapable of truly abetting them.
Only in Denver does the route terminate in a city-state desperate for goods, occupying a pass adequate to the passage of trade, and safe enough from retaliation to put those facts together.
Denver has always been a vital city for trade and government control in the Rocky Mountains. Its positioning and size make it a natural central point. Even in the Collapse, that remains. As the Great Plains return to pastoralism following the collapse of agriculture in much of the region, the travelling ranchers come to the city to sell meat. As communities in the mountains begin to experience the grim reality of large settlements in the Rockies without the support of the American government, they come to the city to buy any essentials they can get their hands on. And as all of that spikes demand, merchants from abroad make the calculation, and decide that braving the increasingly-hazardous mountain highways is more likely to return a profit than anything that involves passing through Victoria's sphere of influence.
Today, Denver is the center of life in the Rockies. If it wanted to, it could unite the region around it. Everybody relies upon them. It has enough weight to command some actual amount of foreign trade -- even though it is only not a trickle by comparison to other sources of modern American access to modern goods and services. By the standards of post-Collapse America, it is wealthy and powerful.
But Denver also knows of the dangers of direct Russian attention. It does not dare court the deadly peril of Alexander providing logistical support to a Victorian Army expedition to destroy the city. Sure, the city could likely fight a holding action, buying time to evacuate the population behind the first row of mountains. But what then? What would that population do, deprived of the vital trade hub that they rely on to keep themselves fed?
No, Denver stays insular and mercantile, focused on the making of money and the servicing of trade, and restricting the flow of goods to the east just as much as the other endpoints of trade do. A hub for the Rocky Mountains, that is harmless. But a pipeline of modern technology, possibly including weapons, flowing to the populations under Victorian heels? That could not be borne. So the city sits at the gate of the Rockies, content to carve out its economic fiefdom in peace, having found stability and some measure of prosperity in the chaos of the Collapse.
"And then we kicked Victoria's teeth in, and Alexander fucking died," says Sandra, grinning.
The tension breaks instantly, the rest of the company snickering at the remark. Captain Jackson glares at her. "Shut up, Park."
"Yessir, shutting up," she replies, still grinning.
Jackson rolls his eyes, glancing around the assembled soldiers. "But yes, as the Corporal so helpfully points out, Denver has plenty of reason to have complicated feelings about us. So while we're in there, keep your shit together. Don't brag to hot people in bars about Detroit. Don't salute your officers. Don't fucking wear your uniforms. We're just a band of mercs passing through. Boss got us passage. We stay the night, we move on. Clear?"
A round of affirmatives sounds out. Sandra fingers her rifle nervously at that. It isn't her gun. Well, it is, but it isn't her gun. Not the magnificent instrument of battle that she pulls out for the real fights. It's just her standard issue, some modified civilian platform that passes for milspec in the Country these days. For all that she's used it plenty, and in battle at that, she's never loved it the way a Devil loves their weapons. From the grimaces around the group, she can tell the others felt the same. Going into a city with reason to feel bad about them without their guns? Bad luck and worse, and nobody likes it.
"There's only one thing we really want you doing," says Jackson, ignoring the tension. "Jack Aubrey. Don't identify him by rank, but we want to find out more about him. The General says that he's known back home as a bandit, and that's over a thousand miles away. Meanwhile, we've been further East for the past decade. We've heard nothing. Denver's gonna have its finger on the pulse of things a little better, and we want to know what the fuck the Major's been doing to get a rep that big and still stay hidden. Don't start shit with anybody, don't make a fuss, and don't fucking stand out, but we need to know. Pick up rumors and report them up, we'll figure it out as we go."
A round of acknowledgements rounds the circle, and soldiers start standing up. They grab modified AR-pattern rifles, mount up into technicals, load machine guns in the truck beds, and move out. The doubts -- the private, nervous thoughts -- remain, but nobody says a word.
Unease is one thing, but they've a job to do, and that's always been that.
* * *
-Chicago, Illinois, United States of America-
-Commonwealth of Free Cities-
-Tuesday, June 28, 2076, 12:54 PM-
-President Sara Johnson-
Representatives from all over the Country, and even further abroad, have been streaming in for weeks. Many are from fellow states, but more are from non-state groups with fervent aspirations of changing that status.
The reaction to your announcement of a conference discussing the future of the Revivalist movement was explosive. Nikolai immediately lodged formal declarations that Russia would be forced to respond to such a reckless and expansionist course of action. Countries as far as Poland, Indonesia, and China sent word that they were keenly interested in the idea. And your fellow Americans sent declarations that they intended to come by the hundreds, quite literally. There are hundreds of people with seats at the table for this. There are dozens more observing. The eyes of the world are on you again. You're making a name for yourself, that much is certain.
It comes with plentiful headaches.
People are requesting or demanding so many meetings with you that you could fill weeks with them and nothing else. There's enough traffic in Chicago to lock up the roads and utterly swamp your ability to manage things. You've actually frozen a lot of civilian travel to compensate. And there are spies everywhere. You catch dozens of, "foreign diplomats," in the act of doing something unscrupulous or illegal every day.
It's days still to go until the conference proper actually kicks off, and already, you're swamped.
Honestly, the worst of it is just sorting everybody out. With such a chaotic mixture of states and non-state organizations, there's a hefty amount of jurisdictional overlap. Some of this overlap is amicable; some people are there representing states, others interest groups, and the two are more or less okay with that.
Some of it is not.
You watch as delegates from the New California Republic argue with a large group of representatives of various Native American tribes within their territory.
"We are here to represent you," growls Representative Hicks, fingers clenching in a fist on the table. "Your presence is not necessary-"
"You are here to represent the interests of the NCR," corrects Representative Fields of the Colorado River Reservation. "And we are here to represent ours. Those interests have diverged wildly in the past. Including on the topic of whether or not we should be a part of the NCR-"
"We gave all of you full citizenship!" snaps Hicks. "You have representatives in Congress! You are undermining us by interfering in these negotiations! The NCR sent us as its representatives, a decision to which your own representatives were parties."
"Oh, were they?" asks Representative Fisher of the Pyramid Lake Paiute Reservation. "Mine voted against in protest that we weren't allowed to send our own, as I recall."
"All of ours did," asserts Fields. "We do not accept your authority to forbid our presence here when you forced us into your borders at gunpoint on Alexander's orders. Us having representatives who couldn't even outweigh Los Angeles if all put together does not change that."
At this, your patience runs our. "Representatives!" you shout. The various dignitaries turn to you. You smile. It is not a nice smile. "I appreciate that there is clearly a dispute regarding sovereignty ongoing here. That said, as the host of this conference, I am not here to arbitrate your questions of state legitimacy. I've just done that for Minnesota. I will inform you if I plan to do it for you. As far as I am concerned, Representative Hicks is here representing the state known as the NCR, and the rest of you are present as representatives of your communities. If that results in a conflict between your agendas, I trust you all to resolve that." You point to Hicks. "If they're all constituent members of the NCR, then coordinate with them. You aren't in here screaming about how the San Francisco Congregation of the Shepherd's Christians sent a representative. Clearly, you don't mind in principle if some of your citizens send their own representatives." You point to Fields. "I'm not going to mandate your behavior, but again, I am not here to arbitrate your dispute. I understand why you came. I'm hardly going to expel you. That said, I don't know who in my staff you convinced to escalate this to my attention, because this is not my concern right now. I have a lot to deal with over the coming weeks." You set your hands on the table. "You all will have seats at the table. You are not the only people with some overlap in jurisdiction. We'll figure it out. Now, if you please..." You nod to the door.
The Native American representatives trade glances for a moment. Then Fields clears her throat. "Thank you, President Johnson, for guaranteeing our seat at the table. Pleasant day to you." She nods and stands, and her compatriots follow her as she walks out through the door.
Hicks glares at you. "I seem to recall being briefed on an agreement regarding recognition and territorial claims, President Johnson," he said, voice hushed.
You look at him, face blank. "Our agreement stands," you reply. "I would suggest you find a better way to handle the question of your more involuntary citizens than, 'We gave you representatives.' We have our agreement, but I also have voters to listen to, and the Representatives seem to have a keen awareness of how to grab the spotlight."
Hicks takes a deep breath. "...I will relay that to my superiors," he says, voice level. He stands. "If you will excuse me, Madame President."
You watch as he leaves. As the door shuts, Sara snorts. "You ask me, I like the natives more than the Californians," she says.
"Our hands aren't clean, either, Sara...although I would agree," you sigh, suddenly and deeply tired.
"And we don't have that problem," she replies.
"Yet," you say, shaking your head.
* * *
-Grand Junction, Colorado, United States of America-
-East Rockies Confederation-
-Wednesday, June 29, 2076, 4:27 PM-
-Corporal Sandra Park-
Sandra stands in the back of her squad's technical, panning the M2 Browning mounted in the bed around the surroundings nervously as the battalion departs the city of Grand Junction.
The farther west the battalion had moved, the worse the rumors they heard got.
"Oh yeah, I've heard of Aubrey. Past Grand Junction, it's all bandit territory. Best to steer clear, it's a mess. No money in it, either," one grain merchant had told her, back in Denver.
"Oh yeah," said a fisherman in Breckenridge, "I've heard of Aubrey. Big old bandit king, out in Utah. Heard he's a collector. Old Air Force man, likes to relive the glory days. Fancies himself a toy now and then. He's a bastard, of course. They all are."
And finally, from an oil worker in Grand Junction, just hours ago, with bitterness sparking in his eyes, "Oh, yeah. I've heard of Aubrey. One of my cousins lives in one of his towns. You want my advice? Turn around, drive away. Aubrey has enough thugs. He doesn't need a mercenary band like yours. If your boss has a conscience, girl, tell him to sell his services somewhere else."
Never enough details, and the officers are keeping a lid on gossip. Some details have made their way around, though, and the more Sandra hears, the more nervous she is. She knows the Devils don't have their hands clean. She's helped impress upon recalcitrant villages the importance of helping out the nice soldiers with the scary toys every now and then. They've done their best to hit the worst Vick collaborators, but if the column was out of something, it was out of something. Their families moved with the column. It wasn't just her on the line if the trucks stopped running. But the talk she's hearing about Aubrey makes her stomach flip.
At least she can say she's never gone bandit for the Vicks. At least even her victims could claim the fear of Victorian displeasure if they twitched wrong. But some guy out in the middle of Utah? What can Aubrey possibly have had to fear, that has people all over Colorado shutting down and turning away from her when she asks after him? That has people in Chicago vaguely knowing of him as a bandit lord?
Again, the doubts tear through her mind. Again, she pushes them away and keeps her focus on scanning the surroundings. She's with the weapons squad, and with the Toys all locked up back in Chicago, she's it for proper anti-materiel unless the sergeant feels like using up some of their limited supply of rockets. If there's anything with armor out there that feels like nipping at a mercenary band's heels, she's it for mobile firepower; the Bravos in the rest of the platoon's trucks wouldn't be the best bet.
Until she has more information, it's better to focus on that than on the rumors.
But she wants that information.
An hour outside of Grand Junction, the General calls a halt. The Distribution folks start driving up and down the column, parceling out gear.
The Captain stands up in the bed of his truck and calls out to the company. "We're about to cross into Utah, and it's summertime!" he shouts. "It's gonna get real hot, real fast! We're swapping into hot-weather gear now! Take five, get changed! You know the drill!"
Sandra sighs as one of the Distribution trucks stops by her platoon and starts unloading boxes of gear. "We up last again, Sarge?" she calls forward to the cab of the truck.
"You even need to ask, Park?" asks the man. "C'mon, keep overwatch while the others get changed."
She nods and goes back to scanning the surroundings.
Lopez, sitting down in the bed, chuckles. "Oh yeah, time for the show," he says. Despite his words, he doesn't look up, even as the rest of the platoon starts stripping down and changing around them.
Sandra rolls her eyes anyway, lightly kicking him without looking away from her gun. "Shut it, Lopez," she says. "You want me to tell Maria you're perving on the company again?"
"She'd just ask if I took pictures," he chuckles, giving her leg a shove with no real force behind it.
"And I'll come back there and ring your bell for you if you don't let Park focus, Lopez," says the Sergeant.
Lopez sighs. "Yes, sergeant. Sorry, sergeant."
"Better."
The process doesn't take long; this procedure is old hat for the Devils. Inside of three minutes, the other gunners are back up and scanning, and the weapons squad hops down to change as well. Inside of five, everybody's into their hot-weather gear and back in the trucks, and the column roars onwards along the old I-70, moving ever closer to Aubrey, and the answers Sandra is eager for.
* * *
-Chicago, Illinois, United States of America-
-Commonwealth of Free Cities-
-Tuesday, June 28, 2076, 7:09 AM-
-President Sara Johnson-
Another complication inherent to the Conference is the presence of people who are not only arguably the same people represented in different groups, but the presence of people who quite plainly are only Americans in a very technical and unpopular sense, yet want to join not as observers, but as participants.
"Ladies and gentlemen," you say to a collection of representatives from every place in the Americas from Nunavut to Chiapas, "I would like to reinforce that the goal is for this Conference to not be drone-striked by the Tsar."
Frank Hartman, the representative of the Calgary Herdsmen Association, leans forward. "All due respect, Madame President, but you kinda made Canada your business when you annexed the Canadian side of the Detroit River. I kinda want to know where you intend to go next."
You take a long, patient breath. "We annexed less than six hundred square miles."
Mayor Fisk of the Torontan Directorate narrows his eyes at you. By his side, Mayor Carson of the City of Hamilton slaps his hand on the table, scowling. "And you strong-armed me into letting troops through my city for your invasion of New York! I don't care how much you annexed, you're still our problem now!"
Fisk quells Carson with a hand on his arm before turning to you and saying, more calmly, "Whatever this conference determines, Madame President, the lands that were Canada have a right to be a part of it. The Collapse was not just the United States."
You purse your lips, but nod. "...fair enough. We were aware that this was a question we were going to have to resolve at some point." You then glance over to the other side of the room. "That does not explain your presence, though."
Ambassador Felipe Reyes of the Mexican Mutual Assistance League -- the Mexican Revivalists, as they're known this far north, a league of cities and regional governments who are not officially a unified government whenever the Russians ask, but who do control a remarkably contiguous stretch of territory, mostly in central Mexico -- gives you a polite smile. "On the contrary, Madame President. The reason for our presence is the same as theirs." His accent is noticeable, but his words are perfectly clear. He spreads his hands. "Mexico's fate has always been tied to America's. And with Mexicans living both north and south of what was the border, we have a perfectly valid interest in the outcome of this Conference. Ah, out of the spirit of brotherly assistance, of course. We are not, naturally, a unified government. Obviously." He smirks and settles back in his chair. "Much like the Canadians, we are not necessarily here seeking eager membership in some America we hardly remember. Mexico hardly profited by its association, after all. But we will have a seat at the table. My government -- and our partners in other Mexican cities -- sent me here to convey this: we will have a role to play in any political movement springing from the American Revivalists. That can be at the table or otherwise. We came to the table first."
You narrow your eyes at the deeply unsubtle threat. You want to snap back and tell him to get back south of the Rio Grande before you make him.
…but you do not. Like it or not, the Mexicans have come off more intact in the Collapse than you, and could make immense amounts of trouble if they cared to. In fact, you almost certainly could not force them back south of the Rio Grande, if you tried; in unison, far less touched by the Collapse than the Country was, and not weighted down with treaties designed to hobble them and their power, Mexico's Revivalists pose a peer threat to California, much less you.
They are, after all, a significant part of the reason why California never pushed into Baja. Only Mexico has the heft and power to make California's influence stop not due to natural barriers, but due to a plausible ability to repel them in military conflict.
Better to have them at the table. Their interests will be in the equation, no matter what. Far better for you if they perceive themselves as having buy-in.
You slowly exhale and force yourself to relax. You smile. "...and we will be pleased to welcome you to that table," you say, eyes blank even as you continue to smile. Your eyes flicker around the room. "I can't help but notice some other delegates, though."
Reyes's smile curdles slightly as a woman sitting as far away from him as possible at the table snorts. "Too right," she says, her accent far lighter to your ears than Reyes's. "The Leaguers might remember America with caution, but we have a different perspective."
You raise an eyebrow. "Is that so, Miss...?"
"Sánchez," she replies. "Lucía Sánchez. I represent Ciudad Juárez."
You nod slowly, calling to mind everything you can about Juárez. It's one of a dozen urban areas carved in half by the US-Mexico border and united once that border came down. Juárez in particular absorbed El Paso, its American opposite number, after the collapse of Texas in the aftermath of the nuking of Atlanta. That happened several times in Texas. Lots of cities along the border joined together out of mutual self-interest, but Texas in particular saw American cities annexed.
Curiously bloodlessly, mind, and the result was that the roving bands of ex-NAC soldiers turned bandit considered those cities defeated and conquered, and thus in little need of their brand of vengeance.
The result is that Ciudad Juárez is largely intact, even this long after the Collapse. The city government has spread out along the river, taking more and more areas under cultivation with the support of the steadily decaying industrial areas of the urban center. You get little news of them, this far north, but from what you hear, it's a constant race to down-tech. They've never been a power player.
A better fate than most, in the Collapse, but nothing for Russia to worry about with an American interior to brutalize.
You stare at Sánchez. "...and what is Ciudad Juárez's interest in these talks?" you ask.
She snorts. "A third of our city is American, Madame President, and we are not the only city along the border like that. Even beyond those cities, we aren't the only people who have gone to one side or the other without regard for what was supposed to be a national border. And that was the case even before the Collapse. I'm here representing Ciudad Juárez, but there are many of us here who don't fit into the old lines on a map. The reality no longer fits. It never did. So if there are plans being made, we deserve to sit here."
You look around the room for a long moment, considering. At length, you say, "...the question of the border cities is relevant to this conference, and that means that Mexico is relevant. And with the annexation of Detroit, I suppose it would be foolish to deny Canadian territories their say. You all can have a seat." You rise to your feet. "I'll see you all when discussions commence. Until them, please enjoy the accommodations. If you'll excuse me."
You turn to leave, glad to be done for the moment. This only gets more complicated with every passing day.
* * *
-Cisco, Utah, United States of America-
-Unorganized Territories-
-Thursday, June 30, 2076, 8:24 AM-
-Corporal Sandra Park-
Sandra stares out between the boards of the shack she and the squad are sheltering in, watching as the scout grins up at the bandits surrounding him. The man sits easily, seemingly uncaring of the gun barrels pointing at his face. Lopez stands by the door, ready to wrench it open at any moment. The sound of helicopter rotors tears through the air as the aircraft hovers overhead. Sandra swallows, tightening her grip on the M2.
It's a familiar tension, and she has been expecting it, but that doesn't make it a welcome one.
The platoon had been assigned to support the battalion's scout platoon with some heavy firepower.
"We scouted out Cisco yesterday evening," said the scout's lieutenant. "Tiny little nowhere town, fewer than a hundred people. Friendly enough, though. They tell us that we're on the edge of Aubrey's range. Most they see of him is the odd prop plane flying overhead. Aubrey uses them to keep an eye on the edges of his territory. No word on how he keeps them running. They only see actual boots on the ground if Aubrey's planes see anything significant happening in Cisco. Then, they get a team in a helicopter swinging by to, ah, strongly suggest that they let Aubrey know what's going on. Usually about twelve hours after the sighting." He paused. "A plane circled the town once as we were preparing to leave. Took off after that. The General wants us back in there to meet Aubrey's men on favorable terms. The locals are on board with it."
Sandra watched as the leader of Aubrey's men stepped forward, pointing a pistol at the scout's face. "You wanna tell us why you're here?" the man asked, shouting to be heard over the helicopter.
"Just passing through!" said the scout, still cheerful. "Not trying to make trouble for anybody!"
"That's not a good answer," says the leader. He turns and gestures for his men to start fanning out. "Get the locals out here! I want to know everything that happened here yesterday!" He then turns back to the scout. "I'd like to know why a group of mercenaries came through Cisco yesterday. Communities further down the I-70 didn't see anything, but talk's come down from Colorado Springs that a whole battalion of mercs came by just yesterday. Only thing on the other side of Cisco is a road leading down to Moab. I think it's a bit odd that hundreds of armed men are trying to skirt past the primary point of entry into Major Aubrey's territory and skip down to a point where they can set up shop at a chokepoint that cuts him off from a lot of his range. I think it's odder that they'd leave somebody here. Why don't you start talking?"
The scout shakes his head, chuckling. "It's not what you think, man."
Sandra checks the gimbals on her gun mount for the dozenth time as her sergeant eyes the approaching bandits.
Cisco was a ghost town.
The place was nothing more than a collection of shacks with a bare handful of residents, clinging to life in the scrub and sand of eastern Utah. At one point, the town had collapsed to virtually nothing; amazingly enough, the Collapse had been good for it, as city dwellers fleeing their homes latched onto even a ruined town, as long as it was only a couple of miles from Colorado River access. These days, the town had some shops to service travelers on the I-70, but little more -- Grand Junction wasn't even an hour away. No, the town's lifeblood now was water from the Colorado and pastoralists who needed it. The odd bit of commerce was just a bonus.
Even so, the place was hardly a metropolis. With better sources of nearly all the things Cisco could offer close by, there was little money in the town, and the place was in poor shape.
Sandra thought the locals were as friendly as they were half out of bitterness at Aubrey's occasional visits and half out of hunger for the news they could bring of far-off developments. Some wizened old woman let Sandra's squad into her tool shed to shelter from the sun as the scout chosen to play bait had to sit and wait in the sun outside. They spent a while regaling her with whitewashed, "secondhand," stories of the Erie War before they heard the sound of helicopter blades in the air outside.
"Contact," said the sergeant, squinting out through the cracks. "Squad ready. Ma'am, get clear!"
Sandra was turning and leaping up into the bed of the truck the second she heard the first word, and the sound of weapons being loaded and readied filled the shack. As the old lady ducked out of the building, Sandra moved to her gun. Hands moving through a rhythm worn in deep over years of experience, she flipped up the tray and fed in the ammo belt, huge rounds clinking quietly. She brought the tray down and then racked the charging handle -- once, twice -- and then panned the gun about, making sure that the mount was working fine, before bringing it over to the left. Then, she waited.
The rumble of engines splits the air.
Outside, the bandits whirl, guns coming up as technicals come roaring out of some of the buildings further down the road. Sandra immediately racks the charging handle on the M2 yet again. The sergeant waves at Lopez, and Lopez pulls the doors open as the driver fires up the truck.
The tires grind in the dust, spitting up a plume of the stuff, and the truck lurches forward. Sandra squints even behind her shades as the truck bears her into the piercing sunlight, but instantly, she glances about, searching for the helicopter.
There. Seeing her target, she tracks the gun up and over to line up with the helicopter up above, still wheeling towards the scout platoon. Her own truck jerks to a halt. She lines up with the helicopter, centering the sights on it. She snaps the fire selector from safe to fire, and her hands return to the handles. And then...she holds fire.
As her squad sets up their own weapons behind a innocuous stretch of mounded debris solid enough to take a shot, set up specifically for this moment, she hears her fellow devils starting to shout.
"Weapons down, weapons down!"
"Drop your weapon or we shoot!"
On loudspeaker, she hears the LT saying, "You are surrounded and outnumbered. Throw down your weapons and you will not be harmed. If you fire on us, we will fire on you."
Sandra pays attention to nothing but the helicopter. She's the dedicated AA, unless they break out precious and limited missile stockpiles. She's just glad the truck is stopped. She wouldn't care to track an airborne target while the truck was trying to throw her out.
The helicopter isn't even moving. The door gunner is on the other side of the bird, focusing on the scouts still. The pilots and copilot are only now starting to look around as they notice the extent of the ambush. They aren't even looking at Sandra yet.
Sandra stares the machine down, keeping her gun aimed. I can kill you whenever I want, big guy, she thinks. Don't move too fast or I'm gonna have to.
The standoff starts breaking down as the men on the ground eye up the odds and decide not to take them. One by one, bandits throw down their weapons and raise their arms. The leader holds out longest, but when he looks around and sees that his men aren't willing to die, he, too, curses and drops his pistol. The scout in front of the leader rises to his feet, grinning as he kicks away the pistol. "Call down the bird, man," he says, pulling his own sidearm.
The leader spits off to the side, but reaches for his radio. "Land," he spits. "They have us bracketed, and you've got guns pointing at you."
As Sandra continues to watch, the copilot of the helicopter finally locks eyes with her and blanches. He slaps at the pilot's arm to get his attention, and the two men hold a swift, whispered conference. After a moment, the copilot looks back to Sandra and raises his hands overhead for a moment before turning back to the controls. Then, the helicopter starts descending.
The scout grins and steps aside as his LT steps up. The man approaches the bandit's leader. "Lieutenant Hutchins, Commonwealth of Free Cities Army," he says. "Your boss reached out to mine, a while back." He scowls as soldiers disarm the bandits and usher them into the open. Villagers start filtering out of the buildings, watching the proceedings with wary eyes. Hutchins ignores them. "Well, we're here to talk about it. Take us to your boss. General Burns has a lot he'd like to discuss."
Sandra recalls a dozen tales of grievances and suffering, filtering through the unit. She recalls the sudden terror in the old woman's eyes as the helicopter sounded overhead.
She takes a deep breath and clamps down on the urge to hold down the trigger paddle until the gun goes click. With a substantial effort of will, she finally swings the barrel out of alignment with the helicopter. Better hope the General likes what you have to say, she thinks, flicking the fire selector back to safe. I'm kind of hoping you piss him off. She glances west. There aren't enough people left in this state to save you if you do.
* * *
-Goblin Valley State Park, Utah, United States of America-
-388th Fighter Wing-
-Thursday, June 30, 2076, 4:57 PM-
-Corporal Sandra Park-
A few hours after the ambush, the bandits -- loaded up into various technicals -- accompany the two platoons back to the old I-70 to rendezvous with the battalion, and the formation begins moving out again. The bandits give passphrases to Aubrey's watchers at the small town of Thompson Springs to avoid a large response, and likewise at various towns along the route. Only about thirty miles west along the old interstate, and then south along a smaller state road in significantly worse repair. Sandra can practically hear the maintenance teams groaning about the strain on the vehicles' suspensions.
The pilots, meanwhile, fly their helicopter back to base to let Aubrey know directly that the Devils were on their way.
And now, Sandra stands up in the bed of her truck, her gun's feed tray freshly cleaned, loaded, and charged, ready for anything as the convoy finally rolls into the heart of Aubrey's territory; the old Goblin Valley State Park.
Aubrey, of course, has sentries, and they've been informed of the column's impending arrival. Small buggies and trucks wait along the route and fall in to escort the column along the highway to the park. Sandra sees additional sentries watching from the cliffs to either side. Tension settles into her shoulders. She keeps swiveling the gun back and forth, and can see technical gunners all along the column doing the same. None of them trust Aubrey at this point, despite command's attempts to keep the rumors from spreading. They trust their ability to shoot their way clear, but little else.
It makes for a tense silence as the column finally rolls to a stop at the end of the road.
A compact but bustling compound stands before them. Small barracks buildings cluster at the end of the road, in and amidst several helipads and an improbably long runway. Small helicopters and prop planes are present in abundance, and a side road winds off to the side and out of sight. The largest building in plain view is a longhouse with a large crowd in front of it, and there is where the column's escorts direct them.
Sandra keeps scanning off to the left of her truck; while Aubrey's had plenty and better chances to ambush the column on the way in, she's still not happy about being right in the heart of his power.
Especially not with what comes next.
The technical lurches to a halt, and Sandra keeps her gun steady with practiced ease through the jolt. She keeps the barrel pointed politely higher than the welcoming crowd's heads, but she keeps it in their general direction as soldiers begin dismounting along the column. Only once they've all come to their feet do the doors on a Jeep further down the line pop open.
General Burns steps out into the blazing hot Utah summer heat, seemingly unbothered by tension or temperature. He looks around at the waiting crowd, expression blank behind his shades, his uniform perfect, his back straight. He scans for a long moment, looking for something. His head tracks past something, then snaps back. He steps forward, his security detail falling into step around him. "Jack? That you?"
An old, withered man at the head of the crowd limps forward towards the General, leaning on an aide. He's nearly skeleton thin, and he wears oxygen tubing underneath his nose. He gives the General a scarecrow grin. "Recognize me, Ron?" he rasps.
"Barely," says the General, closing the distance. "What the hell happened?"
"Too much and too little self-indulgence," cackles Major Jack Aubrey, coming to a halt. "Less food than a man could want and more cigarettes than a body needs. You know how it is."
The General grunts, not replying with words.
Aubrey's grin vanishes. "Now, why are you introducing yourself by scaring the daylights out of my boys, Ron?" he asks, his tone almost grandfatherly in its disapproval. "I sent you an offer of help."
The General gives Aubrey a thin smile. "Can't be too careful, Jack. You know how it goes. Your boys are fine." He waves a hand, and a group of Devils bring forward the captured bandits. "You're not the only man named Aubrey. We had to be sure they recognized the codes."
Aubrey croaks, and Sandra takes a solid moment to recognize it as laughter. "I guess the odd scare keeps them on their toes." He glances at the team leader. "Inside, Lieutenant. I'll want a word later." He then looks back to Ron. "It's been a long time. You're sure of these folks?"
The General nods as the bandits shuffles past him and into the longhouse. "Damn sure. We destroyed the Victorian Army, Jack. We beat them. And we're only going farther from there."
Aubrey peers at the General for a moment, considering. Then, he pushes away from his aide, shuffles forward a few, painful steps, and pulls the General into a one-armed embrace. "Then you're welcome here." He pulls back, leaning on his aide again, and turns. "Let me show you around."
* * *
-Chicago, Illinois, United States of America-
-Commonwealth of Free Cities-
-Saturday, July 1, 2076, 11:04 AM-
-President Sara Johnson-
Your eyebrows shoot up as you stare at Representative Hicks. "You intend to what?"
The NCR's representative squares his shoulders, looking you in the eye. "The New California Republic will be beginning operations against Russian assets within our borders on the Fourth, Madame President, at 3:00 AM, Pacific Time," he says again. "I am here to remind you of the CFC's treaty obligations regarding that scenario."
Your lips thin. You've often regretted that the NCR decided to send Hicks to the Conference. You realize that Californian engagement with the American interior has generally not been of a very diplomatic bent, since the Collapse, and in retrospect, they got great results once by sending an openly aggressive delegate to the CFC. That said, the man has been abrasive and argumentative as a matter of course. Your voice cracks as you respond, "Do not lecture me about my commitments, Hicks."
He blinks, shrinking back in his seat a bit. "I...apologize, Madame President."
You glare at him, folding your hands. "The CFC made its commitment, Hicks, and we will honor it. If that's all you had to say, you can go now."
The man stares at you for a long moment. His face shifts through an array of expressions -- his eyes narrow, his mouth opens, and you can practically see him about to push harder. Then, though, he pauses a moment and clear his expression, clearly realizing he's already angered you quite enough. He stands. "Nothing further, Madame President," he says, giving you a stiff nod. "I'll take my leave now." Sara's newest aide, a young man from the Department of Defense's clerical staff brought up the ladder to help her coordinate things in her official role as Assistant Secretary for Defense, holds the door politely, and Hicks steps out.
Sara speaks first, just after the door closes. "So, California wants this conference to be about them."
"And that would be bad," you growl.
Sara rounds the desk and flops down in the seat Hicks just vacated. "We did expect it."
"Still, we need to respond," you reply. "Ideally in a way that doesn't pull the carpet too obviously out from under California."
Sara nods. "It won't be too hard. Symbolism or not, California simply lacks the access we do, and vice-versa. Neither of us will be interfering with one another in any practical way, not with the Rockies blocking the ways through."
You hum. "Perhaps not, but control of the Rockies themselves is still a possible flashpoint. Denver commands a lot of influence; Cali would be filled with fools if they didn't try to snatch for it."
"So we snatch first, then," says Sara.
As the two of you talk, Sara's aide slowly steps back to his seat at the side of the room, looking increasingly confused. As you mention snatching for the Rockies, his mouth opens for a moment before he closes it.
Sara glances off to the side. "Yes, Daniel?"
He flinches. "N- nothing, Assistant Secretary," he says. "Sorry."
Sara flicks her eyes back to you, raising an eyebrow slightly. You frown at her. She lifts her other eyebrow, turning back to you more fully. Her head tilts towards Daniel. You snort under your breath and roll your eyes. Then you flap your hand at her once.
Sara smirks, turning back to Daniel again. "You were briefed on the terms of our agreement with California, working for me. That said, it's fairly inevitable that we and they are going to clash in the near future given the fact that we have intersecting interests."
Daniel slowly glances between you. "...I'm not sure I understand. With a Revivalist faction about to purge Russian interests, wouldn't that make them our allies?"
Sara turns to you, smiling brightly. You let out a long sigh before turning to Daniel. "Mister..."
"Albright, Madame President!" he replies, his spine snapping straight.
"Mister Albright," you say. "While California may be Revivalist, and so are we, that only means we share a goal. That does not guarantee cooperation. In fact, the fact that we both want the same thing poses the risk -- considerable risk -- that we find ourselves in competition for who gets to achieve it. After all...it is rare, that states form out of willing unions of lesser states. It happens, yes, and frankly I expect that any reunification will be decided primarily through those means, but still, rarely. The lessons history has to teach on this subject are overwhelmingly bloody ones, and even when there are willing unions, there are winners and losers. For decades, Victoria -- and California -- have, at Russia's directives and with their assistance, ensured that nobody could push to make a reunification happen. But now Victoria's army is dead, their country consumed by civil war. California is days from revolt. Russia is settling into a new sovereign. However these things turn out, Russia has no reach on the continent for at least a few years. Now, we have shown that their favorite proxies can bleed. The rush is on. Now every Revivalist in the Country is going to be rushing to secure their position for when the scales tip over and somebody gains the clout to make the final push and bring the Country back together."
"If that even happens," opines Sara. You nod at her, gesturing for her to continue. She says, "The downside of all of this is that it breaks shit, and people hold grudges about that sort of thing. And we've already got plenty of grudges. If people push too hard, then by the time everybody's feeling nice and secure, the next country over might not be a place they're feeling too happy about anymore."
"The rush could destroy the prize," you say, nodding. "Which, of course, is why we're here."
Albright frowns. "Aren't we here to discuss reunification?"
Sara shakes her head. "Nah. I mean, publicly, sure, but everybody has a goal. Some people are here for that, sure, and they're gonna leave incredibly disappointed. Others are here to talk about why they should have the best deal in the whole mess. Others want to talk about why their neighbors shouldn't get in at all. And for some folks it'll just be a forum to make a play for their goals without any consideration to the Revival. Put all that together, reunification isn't happening here. Too many divisions built too high by too many Russian servants. It'll take time to get over it. And then there's us."
You nod. "Congress and I agreed to host this conference because we believe in the Revival, but also because we stand to benefit from it. The Commonwealth, with the Erie War, is one of the great powers of the Country, now. We dominate the interior just by existing. Any Revival will have to deal with us on terms we find favorable. So, frankly, we want it to happen. All of us do, from the ACRP to the CFLP. Every party sees the shape of that very differently, but we're all in agreement that things should proceed towards a Revival. Thus, us hosting this Conference -- and accepting the immense influence that comes with that -- is so that we can attempt to negotiate a framework to the process of Revival."
Albright's eyes widen slightly. "So, making rules to follow that won't leave everything broken?"
You nod. "Just so."
His brow furrows again. "So how does this lead to us trying to undercut California?"
You snort. "Because I'd like the Country to successfully reunite. California can't do that. Maybe they could have once, but not anymore."
Sara shakes her head, cutting in. "I agree that we're better placed, Sara, but come on, we are not the only people who can reunite America. Cali's huge. New York's rich. There are other Revivalists."
You put your hands down on the desk. "And if I wanted the Country reunited through brute force, I would trust California to see it done."
Silence falls. Albright unconsciously leans back in his seat as you and Sara lock eyes. This is not the first time you two have discussed the topic. Your choices are already made. There are no real revelations for you two; just for this young man whom Sara feels is promising enough to deserve indulgence.
It is the first time you have laid out your opinion of your ally so bluntly, even to Sara.
She speaks, voice low and tone intense. "That is unfair."
"It's the truth," you spit despite yourself, bitterness spilling out. "Ever since the Pacific War, they have enforced Russia's will west of the Rockies just as much as Victoria has east of them!"
"And that is untrue!" she snaps, rising to her feet and planting her hands on the desk. "You know full well that they have tried to act with a lighter hand."
"I-!" You stop, physically snapping your head away to break line of sight and make yourself settle. "...I know," you seethe. "And I know that I can't judge them, but...Sara, their neighbors hate them. We've had meeting after meeting with groups living within their borders making the point that they see the Californians as conquerors! We can't take the risk of leaving the Country to them! Sure, maybe they could make it happen, but this is the wrong way for it and even if it were the right way for the country California has become, they still probably have to fight the Russians and the Japanese before they get the chance!" You rise to your feet during this, matching your friend's stance.
Sara stares back at you, taking visibly deep breaths to keep calm. "...but they are not the Victorians, Sara," she said. "You're saying you can't judge them, but I know that doesn't mean you won't. California faced the same choices we did. They were just strong enough to get recruited instead of crushed."
You take a long second to just breathe, hands clenching. "...yes," you hiss, trying to breathe out the tension in your shoulders. "I remember. But the fact remains: California is a state whose primary tool of foreign outreach for the past few decades has been an invading army or the threat of one. If they were going to be the state that brought the Country back together...well, frankly, we needed to die to Victoria. California needed a chance to be the hero. There's too much bad blood for people to ignore, otherwise. But we killed Victoria. Whether anybody likes it or not, now everybody's eyes are on us. Nobody's going to look to California now to save them. You agreed with me, Sara; we still have to outplay them."
Sara closes her eyes for a long moment. "...I agreed, and I still do agree," she says. "But Sara, you need to get your shit together on this. California might not be able to be the one who brings the Country together, but they can't be ignored. And if we start telling people we have to be angry with them for what they've done, we're going to have some real awkward questions about our own collaboration. This is the Collapse. Everybody-"
"Collaborates," you sigh, slumping back into your chair. "I...I just wasn't expecting to have to grapple with that so soon."
She sits as well, shoulders slumping. "Well, it's here now," she says. "We're going to have to figure out what to do about it. Because we can't hold everybody to account, but..." She gestures at you. "Clearly, it's not going to be as simple as just telling people that."
You shake your head. "No, it's not. But, for now...Cali. We can't let them take the lead on this. It'll be a nightmare, and right now I just don't know how we're going to do it, but...the Country has to come back together. We owe it to ourselves, to everybody, to give it the best chance we can."
Sara smiles slightly. "I mean, that's the heart of it, right? And it's why California needs to lose, this time. I don't hate them for it."
"Well, maybe you're a better woman than I am," you mutter, looking away. "But yes, they need to lose. Just this once." You let out a long sigh. Then you look back up to Albright, forgotten in his seat. He flinches slightly as your gaze falls on him, and you smirk. "That is why, Mister Albright."
He glances between the two of you and then nods once, shakily. "Yes, Madame President."
Sara snickers. "We get a little intense, Daniel. Don't worry. You'll get used to us."
Albright glances at her, face still pale. Sara cackles.
You sigh. "In any event...we still have work to do." You pull out a pad of paper and a pen, glancing at a clock. "California begins their revolt in sixty-one-and-a-bit hours. We have until then to further discredit them and undercut their ability to use this Conference as a platform. We'll need to reach out to Representative Fields..."
* * *
-Goblin Valley State Park, Utah, United States of America-
-388th Fighter Wing-
-Saturday, July 1, 2076, 3:48 PM-
-General Ron Burns-
General Ron Burns walks alongside Major Jack Aubrey, touring the base. "Finally planning on showing me the real stuff, Jack?" he asks, hands in his pockets.
Aubrey glances up, grinning at Burns from his powered wheelchair. "Oh, c'mon now, Ron, don't get all huffy," he says. "I'm giving you the scenic tour! This place used to be a state park, you know."
"I'm aware," replies Burns. "It is gorgeous. It's also not why I'm here."
The Devils had spent the rest of the day of their arrival settling in and setting up a camp a bit away from Aubrey's stronghold. The day after had been devoted to a tour of the aboveground portions; not too much, honestly. Just some barracks, the facilities for the converted or obsolete aircraft Aubrey used as his big stick in the region, and defensive positions against the possibility of an attack from rivals.
"Or angry locals," Aubrey said, waving his hand dismissively. "Just once or twice, of course, before we impressed the new way of doing business around here on them. Harsh business, but it keeps things stable."
"You didn't think to move along once you'd resupplied?" asked Burns in a mild tone of voice, his knuckles white.
"Not everybody can hump a brigade across the length and width of the country while dodging airstrikes, Ron," said Aubrey, his tone souring. "Some of us are mortal."
Burns's hands tightened again for a moment before he forced himself to relax.
Aubrey rolled onward, unaware or unconcerned. "I'd hardly call what I showed you the main attraction, but c'mon, showing off the facilities and experts to maintain Collapse-standard airpower is hardly nothing, Ron," he said. "Gotta sell myself, y'know?"
Burns nods. "Of course."
Aubrey picks up the pace, wheeling ahead. "That said, it is time for the main attraction today." He rolls up to the bluff overlooking the barracks, approaching a pair of doors set into the side. Guards stationed there pull them open, and the two men enter the base, flanked by their escorts. The hallway is long and broad -- massively so, fifty or maybe sixty feet wide, and over twenty feet tall. As the doors close, Aubrey continues speaking. "When I punched out of Cali, I knew maintaining the jets was gonna be a cast-iron bitch. Can't have the sorts of facilities you need to keep Raptors alive just sitting out in the open. Too obvious. Russians would suss it out in a week and that'd be that. So I knew that we had to dig."
The path sloped downwards, and Burns notes murder holes cut into the sides of the corridor. "Machine guns?" he guesses.
"Six nests," grunts Aubrey. "No good against armor, but if somebody got a tank down here...well, more power to 'em, I guess. It's all fucked at that point anyway." Passing the last of the nests, he approached an elevator door, taking up the whole of the end of the corridor.
"But infantry assaults getting this far, you worried about?" asked Burns, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"There's been a risk of infiltration," replied Aubrey, tapping in a code. The door slid open, and the group entered. Aubrey hit the only button inside, and the doors slid before a familiar sense of weightlessness kicked in.
Burns looks around, frowning. "How did you build all of this?" he asked after the elevator had gone down a ways.
"Hard work and a reputation as a crazy bandit king who buys all sorts of random shit," replies Aubrey. "Take it far enough and nobody questions why the guy wants an elevator. Everybody knows I'm crazy and built a secret lair." He grins. "Texas might be a shithole, but you can still buy a whole bunch of stuff from overseas in the right ports if you spend enough. That's not even to mention all the stuff you can siphon off the old I-70 with Californian traders dying for a quick buck. And all of it...ultimately, for this."
The elevator slides to a halt and the doors open on a long corridor, just as colossal as the first, and stretching off into the distance. The air is cool and dry, this far down. Doors line the hallway on either side. Big ones. Just as tall and broad as the hallway itself.
Burns steps forward slowly. "...this is it," he says, counting doors. Seventeen of them. One for each of the Raptors he knew Aubrey had escaped the Pacific Republic with.
"So it is," says Aubrey, wheeling up next to Burns. "It's been hell, Ron. Had to retire a lot of these planes over the years, save the rest. But Ace Wing is still ready to fly. And they still have Raptors ready to carry them."
Burns takes a deep breath. "...how many?" he asks.
"Four," says Aubrey. "Even with this complex, I knew the jets wouldn't last forever. First order of business once we had them in here was tearing down nine of them for spare parts. Those have gone to the four we've been focusing on. Haven't had to touch the other four, not yet, so in an emergency we could get them in the air, in theory, but...haven't been touched in ages, aside from keeping them clear of rust."
"In the air?" hisses Burns, turning to Aubrey. "You can't possibly still have the pilots."
Aubrey glares up at Burns. "I have 'em. I still have some of the boys from the War. I said Ace Wing is still ready to fly, and I meant it. You want eight Raptors in the air with aces at the controls, I'll give 'em to you!" He takes a deep breath. "...I'll admit that the boys are getting older. Been doing their best to stay in shape, but the youngest one is over sixty. We have new pilots, these days."
"They can't have had any real training hours on these planes," says Burns. "Not if you've stayed hidden."
"I've had boys bitch about the Major making them do maintenance on rust hulks whose engines won't even start," rasps Aubrey. He coughs to clear his throat. He smirks. "But...yeah, no, they don't fly anymore. Russians think I don't know about the radar sets they've planted in my land. Hah." He shakes his head. "We have a simulator. It's better than nothing, and the boys train for flight under the old aces and on our trainers. We have a couple of jets. Couple of old Talons that I can keep in the air with spit, glue, and spare parts from the black market. Plus, they all fly the props, whenever we need it. It's...no, it's not exactly what I would choose to put on a Raptor, but it's better than nothing. And hey, a proper state can do a lot better, right?"
"We have enough," says Aubrey. "You know me, Ron. I grabbed everything I could before punching out of Cali. And I, uh...always kept a stockpile, between you and me."
Burns shakes his head. "Always thinking ahead, Wrinkles?"
Aubrey snorts, then coughs harshly. "Maybe," he gasps.
Burns tilts his head. "...that sounds pretty bad."
Aubrey nods, coughing again. "It is," he gasps. "Honestly don't think I have more than a couple of years left at this point. Kind of just want a nice place to retire, now. Take what time I have, hand things over to somebody I can trust."
Burns turns back to the corridor, glancing at all the doors holding precious planes, housing irreplaceable technicians and trainers. "...yeah," he says. "I get that." He takes a deep breath. "How'd you say you built this?"
Aubrey sighs heavily. "You're not gonna let that go?"
Burns crosses his arms. "How'd you build it, Jack?"
Aubrey...looks away. "I don't want you to think I'm proud of it," he says warningly. "It was harsh times. I needed a place to store the planes and didn't have a lot of time."
"Just tell me," says Burns.
Aubrey grumbles. "I'm sure you guessed already."
Burns closes his eyes. "...how many?"
Aubrey shifts. "Depends on how you count. Just for the digging? Four hundred and thirty-two. That was the rough bit, anyway."
Burns's eyes narrow. "Conscripts, or casualties?"
Aubrey glares. "Jesus, Ron, conscripts! Who do you think I am?"
"I think your boys turned up to a town they thought was empty of hostile forces with a full squad and what basically counts as an attack helicopter in the world of today. I think I've had to have gossip locked down for a week from what my soldiers have been hearing as we've traveled. I think that as far as Chicago, my President knows your name as the name of a bandit king. I don't know what to think!"
Aubrey's face turns red as Burns talks. "You sanctimonious-" He breaks off, coughing hard. His aide steps forward, stabilizing him as he leans forward in his seat and holding up a handkerchief. After a moment, Aubrey leans back again, gasping for air. "...fuck off, Hellfire. I've heard horror stories about you, too."
"Not this," growls Burns. "Never this. You enslaved hundreds of people to carve out your own little hideaway and then went bandit to cover it up! How many died?"
"I don't know!" rasps Aubrey.
The corridor goes silent. The two old men stare at one another. Burns's fists unclench.
"...I don't know," says Aubrey. "And how about you, Ron? How many towns have you murdered?"
"We took supplies when we had to," says Burns. "I won't deny that we did bad things. People died. But we never gutted areas for the sake of our budget. We went to specific places that had what we needed, and we took or traded exactly what we needed. If we had to fight, we fought for that and then left. You've terrorized this area for decades."
"I did what I had to do," whispers Aubrey.
"I disagree," says Burns.
Aubrey takes a few hard, angry breaths. "Fine," he hisses. "Then that's you. How about that President of yours, Ron? I knew what my leverage was going to be, and I held onto it. Does your President want an Air Force for practically free, or does she want Hellfire to sleep a little better at night?"
Burns stares down at Aubrey for a long moment. His nostrils flare, several times. Then he turns away. "Show me the planes," he says. "Then we'll see what she has to say."
* * *
-Chicago, Illinois, United States of America-
-Commonwealth of Free Cities-
-Monday, July 3, 2076, 9:27 PM-
-President Sara Johnson-
You sit in your bedroom, staring at the clock on your wall. Seven and a half hours until California commits to rebellion, and Tsar Nikolai has to answer a direct challenge to his rule. A few beyond that before Ron goes to carry out your orders regarding Aubrey. It's a big day ahead. You'll face it without sleep, as you always have, on the most important days of your life. The start of the uprising against the Nazis. That afternoon in a diner when you convinced Sara that you were here to listen to Rumford rather than shoot him. Your wedding day. The beginning of hostilities in Detroit. The signing of the Accords.
All of them, done on no sleep at all the night before. Lots of those, lately. The later you go in life, the faster it proceeds.
"Interesting times," you sigh, taking a long drink of water before looking back at the clock. 9:28.
"Gonna be a long-ass night," you mutter, looking down at the paperwork spread across your desk and getting back to it.
* * *
-Goblin Valley State Park, Utah, United States of America-
-388th Fighter Wing-
-Tuesday, July 4, 2076, 7:15 AM-
-Corporal Sandra Park-
Sandra checks her gun for what feels like the thousandth time as the General steps away from the convoy to approach the bandits' corpse of a leader, himself approaching from a crowd of his followers arrayed in front of their barracks. Her fingers itch with the desire to spray them down with .50 BMG rounds. The sight of some of them in dust-worn Air Force BDUs makes her blood boil. Sandra isn't one of the old vets. She's no officer, and the enlisted vets who remember the Old Country are all back in Chicago now. But when she came into the Devils, she knew she was joining up for a legacy of service. She knew that she was a soldier in service to a country murdered years earlier, and that she'd be fighting to honor that country -- and, God willing, bring it back some day. There was an obligation in that. For as dirty as they've gotten at times, there were lines never to be crossed.
To be a soldier is to serve, she remembers, something passed down to her throughout her training, throughout her service. The bandits in uniform across from her were a disgrace.
But to be a soldier is to serve, and she has orders. She keeps her fingers off the trigger paddles.
The General walks up to Aubrey. Aubrey steps up as well, his chair left behind him so he can instead lean on his aide, determined to at least fake strength for this. "Well, Ron?" he asks, shaking slightly on his feet even as a cocky smile crosses his face. "What's your President's offer? You have news?"
Oh, she wants to shoot him. She wants to fire every round of ammo in her gun into his twitching corpse of a body.
She keeps her gun up and away from the crowd, a neutral expression on her face.
The General stares up over Aubrey's head for a long moment. From this angle, Sandra can't see what's on his face. He plants his hands on his hips. He takes a deep breath. Looking at his shoulders, Sandra sees not a trace of tension in them. "I do, Jack," he says. "Orders came down yesterday, and I am here to execute them. I have your offer."
Aubrey nods cautiously. "And the details?"
The General's head comes down.
General Burns has received his orders from President Johnson.
Whatever those orders are does not impinge on what is about to happen. General Burns has seen, heard too much, and become far too furious and outraged to cede this decision to another. He is making this decision on his conscience, and will back it with his troops.
What is General Burns about to do?
[ ][BURNS] Retirement and a cushy paycheck for your men. The Devils will escort Aubrey's men and equipment back to Chicago safely and as honored guests and employees. The CFC will receive four fully functional F-22s, four more that have had almost no maintenance done in nearly thirty years, and a collection of dwindling spare parts from nine others, cannibalized over the years. They will receive Aubrey's full staff of pilot aces and maintenance technicians, along with his younger crop of replacements. They will also receive his full equipment stockpile. The 388th Fighter Wing will up stakes and depart Utah forever, without a backward glance. I have made too many compromises already to stand on ideals now.
[ ][BURNS] Fuck the details. Aubrey dies, and the Devils storm the compound and hangar. With their equipment and training, they can overcome the defenses without serious losses. They will take what prisoners they can and secure the equipment they're able to, but there will certainly be losses. Any survivors will be returned to the CFC as uncooperative prisoners. Members of the 388th further afield will be hunted down as the Devils return to the CFC, as practical, but some will undoubtedly slip the net. I have crossed many lines in my life, but this is one I will not condone.
President Johnson has been maneuvering since the attendees to the Conference began arriving, and especially since she learned California's purge was imminent, to undercut California's messaging to ensure that a martial power with little diplomatic experience, significant grudges, and about to fight potentially multiple wars with great powers, does not wind up taking center stage on the question of how to diplomatically reunify the County...and also to ensure they do not crowd out your voice, and to minimize your impending conflicts of interest such that you do not wind up clashing in a manner destructive to an eventual Revival. She has handled this process competently enough with in-character decisions -- more on why those were not subject to a vote below -- but there is one decision consequential enough to be in doubt.
[ ][JOHNSON] Reveal the Declaration. Rebelling against Russia will do much to improve California's popular standing as a Revivalist leader -- at least, east of the Rockies, where tales of their conquests are distant. Revealing the Declaration at the same time could undercut a lot of that.
[ ][JOHNSON] Do not reveal the Declaration. You want to hold it for a later date.
Finally, there is the question of the CFC's objectives in this Conference. This will determine what Johnson's available rhetoric and actions will be over the coming days. Form a plan from the following options. This is not determining what you will ultimately shoot for or receive, just what is on the table for you for the purpose of voting in the next update.
[ ][STRATEGY] Plan [NAME]
-[ ] Movement Structure. One of your basic objectives here is to promote a framework for gradually greater levels of reunification in a manner that should prevent the race for advantage in the reunification process from ruining the Country. It is worth noting that, given your regional prominence, you will assuredly have significant influence over any Revivalist agenda regardless of structure. Notes on how much influence you will have are entirely relative.
--[ ] Revivalist Leadership. You believe that the CFC is best positioned, of all powers, to serve as the sole foundation for a renewed American state. You will push, and hard, for the movement to look to you for leadership and support, lending influence and opportunity...but also costs, and greedy eyes. Mutually exclusive with, "Federal Coordination," "Local Leadership," and, "Regional Blocs."
--[ ] Federal Coordination. You will call for the establishment of a regulatory body to head the Revivalist movement, with representatives from all the powers here and the mandate to organize the movement and formally begin to designate responsible authorities for the task of reunifying. First in terms of recognizing who is the legitimate government of contested areas, and then how to manage the job of organizing larger and larger unifications of territory. While this will theoretically invest everybody in the movement, prevent abuses if the body's enforcement power is maintained, and lead to a tradition of strong and motivated participation in the central government, it will mean ceding much control of the process and risk the whole thing breaking down if disputes grow too energetic and cannot be resolved. This is not a government. It is basically an always-in-session conference to arbitrate disputes between Revivalist chapters. This is not a government. Mutually exclusive with, "Revivalist Leadership," Local Leadership," and, "Regional Blocs."
--[ ] Local Leadership. The job of Revival is too vast for any one country to undertake, and you will not pretend that the CFC is the perfect state. You will push for several powerful or notable actors in various regions to take up the job of regional leadership of the Revivalist movement, with the understanding that coordinating the movement at the national level will be done through those actors. This will instantly receive the support of those notable actors in the process and simplify things tremendously, but it will mean that when the time comes to come together at last, you will be negotiating with very powerful and entrenched interests. Mutually exclusive with, "Revivalist Leadership," "Federal Coordination," and, "Regional Blocs."
--[ ] Regional Blocs. A general coordinating council risks a disagreement in one region annihilating the movement's progress across the Country. You will call to establish regional regulatory bodies to coordinate the administration of the Revivalist Movement on a regional basis. These bodies will then negotiate with each other concerning broader reunifications once their own tasks are complete. This will improve coordination on a local level and hedge against catastrophic failure, but will mean local failures have vastly less ability to gain support from the wider movement and will massively complicate any final Revival. Mutually Exclusive with, "Revivalist Leadership," "Federal Coordination," and, "Local Leadership."
-[ ] Membership Limits. You have attracted attendees from far and wide, not restricted to the borders of the old United States.
--[ ] Old Country, New Country. You believe that Revivalism is for the restoration of the United States of America. While powers from outside the Country have arrived to show an interest, and the exact shape of borders may not match, you will seek to oppose the inclusion of, "foreign," groups in the grand Revivalist strategy. You will attempt to include only factions holding American territory in the Revivalist agenda. Mutually exclusive with, "New States," and, "Towards A Larger Union."
--[ ] New States. You admitted foreign interests to the Conference, and you are not opposed to their inclusion in the Revivalist movement. America, to you, is not a set of political borders or a nationality, but a civic ideal, and you are minded to allow those interested in being included a voice. You will push to include those parties with an interest in joining the Revivalist movement's ultimate agenda, be they from regions belonging to the United States or not. Mutually exclusive with, "Old Country, New Country," and, "Towards a Larger Union."
--[ ] Towards A Larger Union. Perhaps your dreams are extravagant; perhaps you simply long wistfully for a day when your nation is truly unassailable by all but the mightiest and most undistracted force. Either way, you are absolutely thrilled by the attendance of actors from beyond traditionally American borders. You will push to incorporate every attendee to the Conference into the Revivalist agenda. Mutually exclusive with, "Old Country, New Country," and, "New States."
-[ ] Write-in. As ever, go ahead and tag me with write-ins you want considered, and I will rule on them up until the vote opens.
Welcome back, folks! God, I've missed this. Well, 11,000 words of update and another 1,000 of afterword and options later, it's back! I've moved two states and picked up a new job, and things have been busy, but I've finally gotten this out! I'm thrilled to see it return.
Let's talk about the Conference. First of all: I know there are folks here who don't want an American Revival. I'm sorry, folks. I know this update most likely irritates you, and no wonder. That said, this was the explicitly Revivalist start. Eventually, it was gonna come to this, and so it has. There is a broad political consensus in the CFC for Revival, including in both wings of the opposition. Now that the Conference has come -- and especially since y'all took the chance to host it (this is why the language of whether or not to host was premised on how risky it was to attend and host, not whether or not you wanted to) -- we are at the point where if this is something you don't want to see, it's probably time to head out. There will remain plentiful chances to determine the nature and character of the countries that result of this path, but that the Revivalists are steaming ahead towards something that recognizes the United States as a foundational element of its history is going to be fairly front and center, going forward.
On the note of in-character things: Sara going about undercutting California is a thing because she and her coalition recognize the conflicts of interest you all, as a Revivalist nation, have with California, and none of them are inclined to let California butt in at this stage. Don't worry, it's not going to harm California's interests in their region; this is entirely about making sure the CFC is not upstaged at its own event, and that California does not get the chance to make a play for control of the broader movement. This is one thing where it simply isn't in character for Sara not to oppose California's interests at this juncture.
I hope you've enjoyed the update, folks! I'll see you around the thread! Remember: moratorium. I'll let you know when voting is open.
[ ][BURNS] Retirement and a cushy paycheck for your men. The Devils will escort Aubrey's men and equipment back to Chicago safely and as honored guests and employees. The CFC will receive four fully functional F-22s, four more that have had almost no maintenance done in nearly thirty years, and a collection of dwindling spare parts from nine others, cannibalized over the years. They will receive Aubrey's full staff of pilot aces and maintenance technicians, along with his younger crop of replacements. They will also receive his full equipment stockpile. The 388th Fighter Wing will up stakes and depart Utah forever, without a backward glance. I have made too many compromises already to stand on ideals now.
I think we should go with this for Burns and Aubrey. Yeah, what Aubrey did was awful. But, as has been said and shown time and time again, everyone made horrific moral compromises in post-Collapse America. That's how they survived living on the same continent as Victoria. Chicago's no exception to that.
For Membership, I'm also thinking either New States or Towards a Larger Union, probably the latter. I don't think we want to be stuck in the mindset of Old Country, New Country.
Fucking hell. Poptart did not pull any punches. This goddamned vote, man.
[ ][BURNS] Retirement and a cushy paycheck for your men. The Devils will escort Aubrey's men and equipment back to Chicago safely and as honored guests and employees. The CFC will receive four fully functional F-22s, four more that have had almost no maintenance done in nearly thirty years, and a collection of dwindling spare parts from nine others, cannibalized over the years. They will receive Aubrey's full staff of pilot aces and maintenance technicians, along with his younger crop of replacements. They will also receive his full equipment stockpile. The 388th Fighter Wing will up stakes and depart Utah forever, without a backward glance. I have made too many compromises already to stand on ideals now.
I'm voting this. Bandit kings or not, genocide or not, the reality is clear. We really need those aircraft expertise ASAP and we can't have them if we kill Aubrey and his men. Too long to train the new ones.
Definitely a black mark, but I'm not seeing any better options to get the jet deployed fast enough for Russia. And then there's the possibility that Aubrey might just blow up the place out of spite if it ever came under assault. At the very least, we have to make those sacrifices worth something.
