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[X] Plan Needle and Hammer (No OWE)
-[X] Defend with all committable forces. Bring up all of your troops and all of the Detroit Militia. You don't just want to win this one; you want to utterly smash this assault and enjoy numerical superiority for a change. Afterwards, you can wipe them out easily. With this force, you won't even hypotheticallyneed the Big Red One. Estimated two days to total force destruction. The BRO will not in any case be needed.
-[x] Limited assault. Don't try to smash them outright, but you cannot countenance just letting them be. Begin launching probing attacks across a wide area. Force them to spread their forces and strain their logistics. Wear down their supplies and weaken them for the final clash. Does not use a charge of OWE. Certainty of limited casualties. Possibility of moderate casualties. Five days to prepare and begin offensive operations. Slower resolution, likely several weeks.
-[X] Capture the freighters if it appears possible to disable them without a threat to the overall safety of the fleet. Sink them if they put up too much of a fight to allow that, or if there is reason to think they are rigged as suicide bombs.
-[X] Full bombardment. The Navy will commit to intense shore bombardment of Victorian positions, trying to destroy as many troops and materiel as they possibly can to burn through the Victorians supplies and manpower.
The Erie Campaign
Knock Aside Their Arm...
Forlorn Hope: Commonwealth vs. Victoria
Rolled: 8 vs. 6. Success.
Private Roycewicz has shot a lot of people over the past month. It honestly...blurs together, at this point. From the beaches at Leamington, to the final work mopping up the forces there at the Essex Line...to this. Just pointing, and holding down the trigger for a few seconds, interspersed with running.
He checks his gun again for problems.
Xavier glances at him. "You doing all right, NewCap?" she asks.
"Fine," he grunts.
She sighs, looking downrange again. "...you sure?"
Roycewicz closes his eyes. "With all due respect, Corporal, but what do you care?"
Xavier winces, ducking her head. "Okay, yeah, I deserved that. I just..." She glances off into the evening gloom. "Look, I'm sorry, all right? I should've stuck up for you with Cla- Clark, and..." She trails off, doubtlessly remembering what shape Clark was in, last time they saw him.
Roycewicz sighs. "...it's fine. It's....fine. I..." He looks up. "It doesn't really matter, at this point. We've got bigger things to worry about." He gestures out across the river.
"...yeah," says Xavier, sighing. "Yeah, I guess you're right." She peers into the gloom. "...how do you think we're going to deal with tanks?"
He smirks. "Hey, Yates!"
Down the one, one of the other privates turns her head. "What?"
"Still got that rocket launcher?"
She grins and lifts an RPG-7 from where it sits on the edge of the trench, pointing into the sky. "Ready to go!"
Roycewicz turns to Xavier. "See?"
She rolls her eyes. "I'm not too enthusiastic about that thing's odds of hitting anything on the other side of the river."
"It's within effective range!" protests Yates. "...kinda."
"We've got one of these things per platoon, Corporal, and we've mined the shit out of the river banks," says Roycewicz. "I'd like more, but we're gonna be fine."
She turns away, pursing her lips. "I'm a little stuck on the part where I want more, myself."
The two of them look up as they hear shuffling behind them. They see Sergeant Reyes hopping down into it with them. "Yeah, well you've got company. Suck it up. We'll deal. The big guns are ready." She straightens up and glances over their section of the trench. "Listen up! LT says that the Vicks are coming in! They're not stopping for anything, so we're expecting them in just a couple of minutes! Sooner if they push it. Rally up, and get those guns pointing downrange. Yates! Load the RPG and put down your rifle. I want you shooting that thing as soon as you see a T-34!"
The squad's already been sitting on the edge of their seats, but at the Sergeant's shout, they all recheck their weapons one last time before falling silent. Behind them, the rumble of the big guns, so long a constant, unmentioned rhythm underneath the patterns of daily life, takes on a renewed urgency. In the distance, they hear engines roaring. Over the course of a minute, they make their final preparations, tension singing in the air between them.
"You think we'll hold 'em?" asks Yates, slotting a rocket into place.
"We've got a river," says Xavier, aiming her rifle. "Did you hear what we did to them up at the Raisin Line? This time we outnumber them. They're fucked."
Roycewicz sights in across the river, eyes straining through the darkness. "We made it off that fucking beach. Remember how that went?" His finger curls around the trigger. "I'm not worried, this time."
Shapes stir in the darkness. For a moment, the rumble of engines ceases.
"VICTORIAAAAAAAAAAA!"
"FIRE!"
* * *
Ron Burns makes it a habit, to tour the scenes of battles he commands. It gives him some perspective on how things happened. Whenever possible, he wants to see the results of his decisions. He hasn't been able to take the time or security to do so just yet, in the battle for Detroit. In fact, he's swiftly coming to realize that it's simply not practical in this kind of war.
But he sometimes can.
The fight at the Huron Line is over in two days, between the Victorians' first assault and the cleanup afterwards. Burns heads down there once the all-clear is given, to see firsthand what he's wrought.
He is silent for a long moment, looking at the droves of bodies from where desperate soldiers charged machine guns across the river. He gazes upon the sooty hulks of blasted-out T34s without a word. The river hasn't turned red -- this is not the Raisin, so much narrower, and filled with dead over a much shorter period of time. But the bodies remain.
Briefly, he leans against the side of a building and takes a few short, sharp breaths. His fists clench. He feels his pulse flutter against the skin of his neck.
After a moment, he pushes himself back upright and shakes his head. He swallows. While the soldiers serving as his escort don't say a word, it's not hard for them to notice that his skin has gone paler than it normally does.
"We're heading back to Detroit," he says, turning around. He says not another word.
* * *
Captain Young steps over to the side of the rail of one of the two Victorian lakers that tried to charge the Commonwealth Navy, peering at the shapes of the Navy ships in the distance, and holds up her radio. "CWS Audrey Jameson, this is Captain Young. Do you read me?"
"Young, this is the Jameson. We read you. What's the word?"
"Scuttling charges in the hold, just like the other ships" she says. "This crew tried to fight, but the man with the detonator couldn't do it. The ship is secure. We have twenty-two survivors to transfer to custody."
"Copy that, Captain. Load them up; we are prepared to receive them. Anything else?"
"Negative, Jameson," she replies, leaning on the rail. "Easy work over here. Textbook. Nothing we haven't done a dozen times before."
"All right, copy that. Bring back the prisoners, and we'll send over a prize crew. Looks like we've got them all. Nicely done, Captain. Jameson out."
* * *
Hit and Run: Commonwealth vs. Victoria
Rolled: 7 vs. 6. Success.
It comes at night, turning the darkness to light for brief fractions of a second -- one after the other.
It comes during the assault, picking apart the safest places to stand and fight.
It comes during the counter-assault, sending charging soldiers scattering as they strive not to die from forces utterly beyond them.
It comes...always, everywhere. Never in quantities sufficient to echo the almost preternatural accuracy of Old World armies, but enough that, to the Victorians, it seems that they're everywhere.
Artillery.
Technicals drop mortar teams a few miles from Victorian positions to fire while their units forge ahead to keep the Vicks' attention, and those mortars rain shells constantly, almost entirely safe from the Victorians' excuse for counter-battery fire. Tube artillery, completely safe from any attempt at retaliation, fires from behind the lines and methodically picks apart any Victorian attempts to organize.
From offshore, Des Plaines-class gunships rain artillery shells into Monroe, and what should have been the strongest point of Victorian resistance becomes a blasted hell of shrapnel.
In and around this all, Commonwealth teams hurtle around in technicals, while the Victorians can only stare, their own vehicles broken down after weeks of mud and gunfire. As such, the Commonwealth's soldiers zip up and down the north bank at will, raking the opposite shoreline at will.
The Victorians try to organize reaction forces to fire back, and at first this works, killing several teams. But then the artillery comes and pounds these concentrations into pulp. The Victorians try to cross the river ahead of the Commonwealth attacks in order to cut them off, and find themselves completely unable to keep pace with their motorized foes, all while a constant rain of shells keeps on thinning them out. And finally, the Victorians yield to their doctrine, and simply disperse to yield the artillery fire of its sting.
In response, the Commonwealth keeps pressing, forcing the Victorians to keep responding to ever-more-aggressive scouting. Whenever their dispersed forces bunch up, artillery continues to rain down. The only difference it makes is that the Commonwealth has more time to enjoy local superiority before they are forced to retreat. At long last, the Victorians finally stop responding entirely. And in response to this, their losses begin to drop, and the Commonwealth's continue for less and less gain.
And so, the Commonwealth plays its last card -- the final thing which will force the Victorians to respond, like it or not.
Artillery falls on the southern half of Monroe for a full twelve hours, forcing its defenders further and further back. All the guns in the Commonwealth Army point towards that city and turn as much of it as they can into a crater. The Victorian simply yield, dispersing into the countryside without a fight.
And as this rain comes down, the 1st Division's engineer company works, laying down a temporary bridge across the Raisin.
A brigade of Commonwealth troops sallies forth across this bridge into what remains of South Monroe and begins setting up positions, unhindered by the Victorians. It takes a week for them to respond. At least a part of that is incomprehension at the fact that their glorious last stand has turned into the enemy using artillery, of all things, to bombard them so heavily that they allowed significant forces to cross the river without a fight.
But they do respond.
A division of Victorian troops encircles South Monroe and charges into hell. Artillery continues to rain down. Machine guns fire until they click dry. And, supported by more artillery than the Victorians have ever envisioned, the Commonwealth's soldiers withdraw back across the Raisin before blowing their bridge once again. They leave behind mounds of Victorian soldiers dead and wounded. For hours, the city seems to scream with agony.
Following this, Victoria stops fading away. They accept the casualties and post permanent forces on the riverline, while holding the bulk of their forces a few miles back, out of artillery range. They contest everything the Commonwealth does, even under a rain of explosives. It costs them men and materiel, and as time goes on, the exchange is increasingly clearly in the Commonwealth's favor. And after two weeks of skirmishing, the situation is this: battered, exhausted, and minimal Victorian tripwire forces on the river, with the majority of their strength miles away to avoid artillery. Their greatest defensive position at this point bombarded so heavily that almost nothing can live there. And the Commonwealth -- albeit with some units mauled from the weeks of skirmishing -- in position and ready to go.
And it is at this point that the Commonwealth's marine radar picks up a quartet of fast-moving small boats approaching from Toledo.
* * *
Lieutenant Command Bella Castillo frowns through the binoculars at the approaching speedboats. "...are these Victorians?"
"No spar torpedoes," says Captain Sanchez, smirking.
Bella snorts, lowering the binoculars. "Well, I say order them to heave to and blow them out of the water if they disagree. We've got the autocannons mounted right now." She leans out the window. "Gun crews! Eyes a-starboard! Get a line on those boats!"
"Good idea," mutters Sanchez, nodding to the radio operator. The Ensign nods, starts up a broadcast, and starts speaking. "Unknown vessels, this is the CWS Avalon Park. You are in a combat zone. Heave to and prepare to be boarded. I repeat, this is the Avalon Park..."
As the Ensign continues speaking, Bella sees a series of flashes across the water from the boats. She frowns. "Are...are they shooting?" She raises the binoculars, reacquiring the boats. Then she squints. She sees a man in the lead boat standing up with a mirror raised up high, turning it over and over to catch the light. "Is...is that Morse?" She watches. "That's Morse!" Her fingers tighten on the binoculars in excitement. "Somebody take this down!"
She hears shuffling around her, and after a moment, a tap on her shoulder. "Ready, ma'am."
"Hold on just a moment," she says, waiting a moment as the pattern repeats. "Dot dash dash dot dot dash dot dot dot dot..."
He has been preparing for this for over a decade. Not this fight, specifically, but one like it. His home, under threat. Hostile forces in the area. In preparation for it, he has sacrificed everything. Regional prominence, political freedoms, his home's reputation. All of it, fuel for the fire. Granted, he foresaw a different foe...but he's man enough to admit when he's made a mistake.
Granted, he reflects, this was enough mistakes that I should probably consider retirement.
"You move out in five hours," he says. "The Commonwealth will not have time to respond by then. We must hope that we can complete our tasks before they can. This must not be a failure. The City's future rests on it." He steps up to the woman standing at attention before him, narrowing his eyes at her. "Do you understand, General?"
She doesn't blink or twitch. He approves of that, as he does of her; she has always been reliable. "Perfectly, Warlord," she says.
"Then see to it," he says. "I want them encircled before they ever know that they need to fight."
She nods. "It will be done."
"Dismissed," he says, stepping back.
The General snaps her hand up in a salute and then turns away, leaving the room. The Warlord turns away as well, stepping over to his chair. He is old now, and tired. He has worked for many years for his city's sake, and even though the recent months have shown it all to be a mistake, there is still a chance to salvage things now. His allies have been failing at every turn, and now it falls to him to salvage something from their failures.
He has operated his city on a red line for ten years, pouring everything into the military. If nothing else, he can claim that he has done well there. He will prove it now. The Commonwealth has paid essentially no mind to him and his; they will not expect this.
After this battle, he will retire, his age done. Of perhaps he will be torn down and shot in front of an audience. Either way, this will be his last hurrah.
It will be worth it.
He glares down at the map, and its depiction of Commonwealth positions. "We will not be a footnote," he growls, his fist clenching in his lap.
The City of Toledo, long a simmering pot of tension, boils over all at once.
Isolated runners darting from building to building become large groups of organized people the second the Victorians' last division in the city leaves. Units of the Toledan Army that had been posted on the city outskirts quietly slip parts of their number into the interior of the city.
And in the morning hours, those units move, charging the fence around Toledo Express Airport in silence.
Victorian sentries drop in a staccato crack of gunfire, and Toledan soldiers sprint to the fence and drop explosives before backing off.
The gunshots got the VAF security staff scrambling. The explosions have them waking their commanders.
It's too late, though. As the bombs go off, the Toledan mortar teams begin firing on pre-sighted positions, wiping out the security teams on duty. Platoons of soldiers trained to the very highest of post-Collapse American standards move swiftly through the airport and secure the runways and the building entryways. Inside of ten minutes, those Victorians who were outside are dead; inside of fifteen, the Toledans bring up loudspeakers.
And in the middle of all of this, as General Thomas Shane of the Victorian Air Force finishes pulling on his clothes, his aide rushes in. "Sir! The Toledans have betrayed us!"
Shane scowls at the younger man with a glare so intense the boy flinches back and blanches. Shane snaps shut the last button on his shirt and storms past the aide. "I'm well aware of that, Lieutenant!" he snaps. "What, did you think I thought the Commonwealth had made it here, somehow?" He jogs through the corridors of TOL to his command center, barging in without a word. "What's going on?!" he demands.
Captain Rogers, head of the ground security company, looks up with a grim expression. "We're blocked in, sir," he says. "The Toledan Army has overrun the air port. We're surrounded." He holds out a slip of paper. "Their commander just asked for our surrender."
The command center goes silent. The CMC Colonel assigned to them sneers. "A woman," he spits. "No wonder the Warlord's nerve breaks now, if this is the caliber of his vaunted armed forces."
Shane quietly takes the paper, reading it as the Colonel speaks.
General,
We have taken control of your base -- retaken control over our property. We now call for you to surrender.
We understand that you may find this difficult to achieve. We have faith in your abilities.
If you are able to successfully surrender, we pledge that you will be treated according to the Geneva Convention guidelines regarding prisoners of war. This offer is void if you make some last-ditch attempt at destroying your air craft.
You have five minutes to decide.
Shane lowers the note, his throat dry. "We will not be accepting, of course," he says, tearing up the slip.
"Exactly," hisses the CMC Colonel. "We are Victorians. We do not surrender. If they want prisoners, they shall have to beat them unconscious. I for one say that we fight to the death!" He scowls around the room before turning to Shane. "What say you, Gener-"
BANG
Shane lowers his pistol, the barrel smoking, as the Colonel collapses with a hole between his eyes. The men behind him flinch, spitting curses, as brains, bone, and blood spray all over them. Shane safes his pistol and holsters it again. "We will be surrendering," he says, swallowing.
Again, the command center is silent. "...sir?" quavers Rogers, staring at the corpse in the room.
"You heard me," whispers Shane. He clears his throat and continues, louder, "They have promised to treat us according to the Geneva Convention. If they are serious, then we will some day be released, and be able to fight another day for Victoria. Our nation cannot be denied the lessons that we have learned here. If they are not..." He glances at the Christian Marine on the floor. "...we die like God's children ought."
"But sir," says Rogers, gathering himself. "They...the CMC..." He looks again at the Colonel. "...they'll kill us, sir. I'm sorry, but they will."
"Perhaps," murmurs Shane. "But if not them, then the Toledans. I would rather die at home, doing good for our people, than here, dying pointlessly." He clears his throat. "Transfer my acceptance of the General's terms, and order our men to stand down. This fight is done."
* * *
"Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, General Burns. The Warlord of Toledo sends his regards."
Ron Burns stares at the man in the interrogation room. He is nondescript, with a face that was surely chosen for its ability to blend into a crowd. The man wears a pleasant smile, unremarkable clothing, and an easy demeanor.
Burns nods back. "Welcome to Detroit. May I have your name?"
"You can call me Jack," says the man.
Burns rolls his eyes. "Fine. What do you need, Jack?"
Jack leans forward, folding his hands on the table between the two men. "Simply put, the Warlord would like to switch sides. He recognizes that he has made a mistake, and would like to make it up to the Commonwealth."
"And Detroit?" asks Burns, raising an eyebrow.
"And even Detroit," replies Jack, nodding. "The Warlord acknowledges that he has made...many mistakes." For the first time, Jack's smile slips. "For years, he has been prepared for a threat from Detroit. Now it is clear that his caution was misdirected. Again, he wishes to make amends."
"People have died because he gave Victoria free use of a base," growls Burns.
Jack grimaces. "Yes."
Burns blinks, not expecting so flat a response.
Jack sighs. "We let in Victoria because they promised us they'd disarm Detroit. But Detroit...well, we've only seen the same old Militia. We had believed them to be building an army, and..." He shrugs. "Clearly, we were wrong. And people have died because we let our paranoia cloud our judgement. We are prepared to acknowledge that and make amends. Starting now."
Burns leans back in his chair. "What did you have in mind?"
Jack straightens. "Well, first of all, if the timetable -- and that clock on the wall, there -- is accurate, three hours ago we stormed Toledo Express Airport." He smiles thinly. "The VAF has been basing there. In four hours' time, the Warlord will be broadcasting to announce our change in affiliations."
Burns raises an eyebrow. "That's quite the achievement."
"We have been preparing for war for a very long time," says Jack. "Our forces, plainly speaking, are better than yours, and we have three divisions of them. Granted, for us this is the absolute greatest we can muster, built only with time and outside assistance, and yours are the result of a state newly-formed and thrown into war before it could prepare." He shrugs with a self-deprecating smile. "It's not much to boast over. Frankly, we will not be able to sustain a military like this, going forward. But it is what we have now. And it is what we can bring to the field."
Burns takes a deep breath. "Assuming that what you're saying is accurate-"
"It is."
"-assuming," says Burns, scowling at Jack, "I want your forces to assist in our final assault on the Victorians' positions."
"Done."
Burns blinks. "'Done?' Just like that?"
Jack shrugs. "The Warlord told me to communicate that we are wiling to commit two divisions to the attack. The Victorians have informed us that the bulk of the forces are on our side of the city, out of your artillery's range. We can snarl up the main body of their troops while you advance over the river to little resistance."
"And what is your timetable on this?" asks Burns, pressing his lips together.
Jack spreads his hands. "That, we can decide once we switch sides openly. At that point, it will be...rather unsurprising...for Commonwealth vessels to put in at Toledo. We can coordinate openly." He looks at Burns intently. "What do you say, General? Are you willing to coordinate with us?"
You have shattered the attack on the Huron Line.
You have managed to spread out and disorganize the Victorian last-standers and burned through or destroyed a lot of their equipment. Granted, this has not been without cost; all units are hurting, if still combat-effective, and there will need to be serious recruitment efforts once the battle is done.
The cargo ships have all been secured from the frightened civilians the Vicks ordered to bait your marines into boarding them before scuttling themselves.
And finally...Toledo has switched sides, announcing this fact with a morning raid on Toledo Express Airport and capturing the majority of the VAF personnel stationed there, along with all of their equipment.
Their representative has explained the situation to you, and in a few hours' time, the switch will be made public. How do you respond?
[ ] Plan [NAME]
-[ ] Toledo collaborated with the Victorians out of paranoia, and that has cost thousands of people their lives even ignoring the Victorians. You are uninterested in working with them, or do not trust them, or do not believe their claims of military might. They could easily be overselling themselves. Their attempt to switch sides is rejected.
-[ ] Toledo is welcome to stop their support of Victorian operations, but you'll thank them not to involve themselves in this battle. It wouldn't do for there to be any...misunderstandings. They can negotiate peace after the battle as a power on the defeated side. Their willingness to bow out will be counted in their favor, probably.
-[ ] Toledo's aid is welcome. They have made mistakes, but they would not be the first to ally with or abet the Victorians out of fear. After all, had you not acted as swiftly as you did, Detroit would currently be an enemy stronghold. You will accept Toledo's aid. They can find their redemption in the thickest and hardest parts of the battle.
Search and recovery efforts for pilots downed after the air battle have concluded. You have recovered thirty-one pilots, of whom twenty-five are ready for combat. Toledo communicates that they have recovered an additional twelve from VAF custody, albeit in...varying states of health, and none combat-ready. You have also finished moving up air craft from home -- piston-driven or turboprop CAS planes inherited from the Chicago Air Patrol. With the VAF (in hours to come, confirmed to be) out of action, it is now as safe to deploy these planes as it will ever be. Do you organize another sortie in support of your final assault?
-[ ] No. Your pilots have been through enough, and you need every bit of expert knowledge left to rebuild your air force. The Victorians may only have man-portable SAM systems, but you are unwilling to take the risk.
-[ ] Yes. Your pilots have fought in counter-insurgency operations for literal decades. They have a lot of institutional expertise and knowledge, and have dealt with anti-aircraft weapons before. Their aid will be invaluable, and you trust them. A twenty-five plane air wing is better than nothing.
MANUAL MORATORIUM. APPROVAL VOTING.
And here we are. The final push.
I hope that you've enjoyed this update, folks. I'll see you around the thread.
I said that you hadn't really accounted for it -- I didn't say that it was bad.
Translation: REQUESTING PARLEY STOP CANNOT TRANSMIT OVER RADIO FREQUENCIES WITHOUT CMC ATTENTION STOP VESSELS MUST BE DESTROYED TO MAINTAIN COVER STOP CAN SWIM STOP ABANDONING SHIP NOW
We repelled the Victorian suicide charge on the Huron Line, started our hit snd run against the Victorian last stand at Monroe, grinding them down until they've only got tripwire forces left at the riverbank. Then Toledo decided to switch sides and has taken the VAF base in their city.
I say we take the offer, Toledo is offering up their everything to amend. The warlord can live out his life in peace and we gain another strong piece with army.
[ ] Plan Acceptance
-[ ] Toledo's aid is welcome. They have made mistakes, but they would not be the first to ally with or abet the Victorians out of fear. After all, had you not acted as swiftly as you did, Detroit would currently be an enemy stronghold. You will accept Toledo's aid. They can find their redemption in the thickest and hardest parts of the battle.
-[ ] No. Your pilots have been through enough, and you need every bit of expert knowledge left to rebuild your air force. The Victorians may only have man-portable SAM systems, but you are unwilling to take the risk.
[ ] Plan Coalition and Rest
-[ ] Toledo's aid is welcome. They have made mistakes, but they would not be the first to ally with or abet the Victorians out of fear. After all, had you not acted as swiftly as you did, Detroit would currently be an enemy stronghold. You will accept Toledo's aid. They can find their redemption in the thickest and hardest parts of the battle.
-[ ] No. Your pilots have been through enough, and you need every bit of expert knowledge left to rebuild your air force. The Victorians may only have man-portable SAM systems, but you are unwilling to take the risk.
While allowing Toledo's aid would give the warlord of Toledo the greatest amount of political clout to negotiate in the post-battle clean up, it'll reduce our casualties massively to have 3 fresh divisions hit the Vics from the rear.
I don't want to risk our combat veteran pilots. The addition of 3 new divisions should help a lot.
-[ ] Toledo's aid is welcome. They have made mistakes, but they would not be the first to ally with or abet the Victorians out of fear. After all, had you not acted as swiftly as you did, Detroit would currently be an enemy stronghold. You will accept Toledo's aid. They can find their redemption in the thickest and hardest parts of the battle.
I am uninterested in conquering Toledo. I am very interested in forging alliances over the shattered remains of Victorian armies.
While allowing Toledo's aid would give the warlord of Toledo the greatest amount of political clout to negotiate in the post-battle clean up, it'll reduce our casualties massively to have 3 fresh divisions hit the Vics from the rear.
Jack shrugs. "The Warlord told me to communicate that we are wiling to commit two divisions to the attack. The Victorians have informed us that the bulk of the forces are on our side of the city, out of your artillery's range. We can snarl up the main body of their
But it's two Quality 2 Divisions that'll take up most of the Victorian attention while we blaze through their tripwire forces, cross the river, and smash into their rear.
Thank fuck. I thought we were about to be smited or, barring that, one of our allies/friends. Also happy that Toledo's apparent rivalry/stance with Detroit isn't one of those "HATE! HATE! BURN THEM ALIVE BECAUSE THEY'RE FROM DETROIT!" sort of things, but is instead one of just caution and paranoia and, better yet, that they're willing to see past that.
Question, what is the lore behind Toledo and the warlord there, both in canon and in this quest, if you don't mind me asking?
Into a whole new context. I did NOT see this coming! I mean, I could maybe see it happening if we tried to land forces there, but for them to have the cohones to do it on their own... Let's hear it for Toledo Joe!
] Plan [NAME]
-[ ] Toledo collaborated with the Victorians out of paranoia, and that has cost thousands of people their lives even ignoring the Victorians. You are uninterested in working with them, or do not trust them, or do not believe their claims of military might. They could easily be overselling themselves. Their attempt to switch sides is rejected.
-[ ] Toledo is welcome to stop their support of Victorian operations, but you'll thank them not to involve themselves in this battle. It wouldn't do for there to be any...misunderstandings. They can negotiate peace after the battle as a power on the defeated side. Their willingness to bow out will be counted in their favor, probably.
-[ ] Toledo's aid is welcome. They have made mistakes, but they would not be the first to ally with or abet the Victorians out of fear. After all, had you not acted as swiftly as you did, Detroit would currently be an enemy stronghold. You will accept Toledo's aid. They can find their redemption in the thickest and hardest parts of the battle
Nothing is free, especially in this world. What exactly does that man want? Autonomy? Recognition as an independent state? Access to commercial trade and the Commonwealth's granaries by extension?
[ ] Plan "Vae Victoria"
-[ ] Toledo's aid is welcome. They have made mistakes, but they would not be the first to ally with or abet the Victorians out of fear. After all, had you not acted as swiftly as you did, Detroit would currently be an enemy stronghold. You will accept Toledo's aid. They can find their redemption in the thickest and hardest parts of the battle.
-[ ] Yes. Your pilots have fought in counter-insurgency operations for literal decades. They have a lot of institutional expertise and knowledge, and have dealt with anti-aircraft weapons before. Their aid will be invaluable, and you trust them. A twenty-five plane air wing is better than nothing.
[ ] Plan [We band of Brothers]
-[ ] Toledo's aid is welcome. They have made mistakes, but they would not be the first to ally with or abet the Victorians out of fear. After all, had you not acted as swiftly as you did, Detroit would currently be an enemy stronghold. You will accept Toledo's aid. They can find their redemption in the thickest and hardest parts of the battle.
-[ ] Yes. Your pilots have fought in counter-insurgency operations for literal decades. They have a lot of institutional expertise and knowledge, and have dealt with anti-aircraft weapons before. Their aid will be invaluable, and you trust them. A twenty-five plane air wing is better than nothing.
Aside from the obvious benefits of having two 2/5 divisions smashing into the Victorians, accepting could also have perks on the diplomatic front.
All our neighbors who are terrified of what our response will be to the embargo after we've crushed Victoria will get a view of us being perfectly happy to work alongside a former Victorian ally after they decided to switch sides.
A dark stranger with a charmingly journalistic air about him walked towards her across the pavement, with a disarming smile and a limp he carried gracefully.
Detroit Metro isn't used at all these days, and little Coleman Young isn't, or rather wasn't, used much. A few small planes here and there, but Victoria didn't much like the idea of anyone else having planes so close to them. So, they made sure we didn't, and when we had to make choices about what roads to keep up, well, the airport wasn't the priority. Now we suddenly got lots of reasons it is. It's been more than half-a-year, and credit to the engineering corps of Chicago, they have done their best. Credit to us as well, rock and dirt-moving equipment isn't much available here, and a lot of the grunt work was done by our own. Despite that, the downpour has washed away large parts of it.
Still, I take the trip, because this technical is coming to the airport to pick up one Sara Goldblum. Her title is Assistant Secretary of Defense for Munitions. But under that somewhat unassuming title lies one of the key players in Chicago's war machine. Back when the Nazis came, she was one of the two leaders of the "Iron Brigade," the other is the current president. I have been personally invited to speak with her, because, apparently I have become the primary war correspondent for Detroit, a decision that makes me think the claims our city council has gone insane were right.
With myself taking the passenger seat, and the driver's position already occupied, Sara slides into the back gunner's seat, looking far more comfortable in it than I am in the passenger seat, especially when she checks the machine gun, swings it around, then promises me she's locked it 'safe.' Can't help but feel an odd reversal there. I do not think of middle-aged women as being so comfortable in a gunner's seat… guess that's another prejudice I need to get over. We all got our pasts, us from the Victorians, them from the Nazis. Granted, it isn't the same, and I recognize her eyes. It's the eyes of young bucks, angry and wanting to fight them, those sorts of eyes don't- didn't, last long in Detroit. You got other eyes, or your eyes got closed.
Honestly, I'd like to say either of these traits were surprising. But I can do basic math to take the current year and subtract her birth year, and the Iron Brigade shoved the Oshkosh concentration camp guards into their own incinerators, so I had expectations about their leaders.
It's a pleasure to meet you, Sara. I understand you are the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Munitions?
"Yes. I'm the Assistant Secretary of War Excuse Me Defense for Munitions. I'm here because we looked around the office and realized not enough of us had gotten close enough to the fighting to hear the kabooms. Since we're not a pack of Victorian generals, that needed changing. I'm not the first visitor, though. I know the army's surgeon general came through a week ago- did you catch Damilola, or did she get past you?"
Unfortunately, I wasn't given an opportunity with her, and she kept to the military bases. I understand you are down here to inspect artillery? It seemed to be doing some fine work when I saw it. What needs changing?
"It's just like anything else; when you get something new out there, you have to check to make sure it works according to plan. The Commonwealth artillery's equipment changes every year; we could do, cando, so much more than we've been able to do before. We use different tools, try new tricks. Some of the changes we're only now rolling out, so I'm here to make sure that nothing about them gets in the way of blowing up Vicks."
I understand you were heavily involved in Chicago's early military. How has that changed since becoming the Commonwealth?
"For the better. Bigger, more integrated. I kind of miss the old way, but not enough to be sad it's gone if we can kill more Nazis this way. Or- did you mean the old militia, or did you mean me?"
A bit of both, honestly. No one else had the military might to challenge Victoria until you came along. What changed? When did you decide that you really could take Victoria? What was that like for you? To see that change?
"A lot of it was that we finally started working together, not apart. Victoria can push around any one city they can reach, one way or another. It's the difference between a city and a country- just size. They're not better, they're not smarter, they don't even get that much help from Daddy anymore- but they're bigger. Even if they can't send an army big enough to sack a city, they can put pressure on its neighbors, cut it off from trade and even food, until it withers on the vine. And they like it that way. The way things were even five years ago, they were stronger than any of us- they'd put a lot of work into breaking and killing, with a lot of help from Daddy, to make that true. But now? Well, it's an old saying, I forget where it's from. They're stronger than any of us, but they're not stronger than all of us."
"That's what changed. Partnership. A year ago we were looking about to have another famine in Chicago. Sure, we had more little plants and co-ops ready to make farming equipment than I can even remember, it just didn't matter with no fields. But then... there's a lot of what you might call 'downstate' that was down to farming just for survival, with nothing left over, because they didn't have the equipment. Match made in Heaven. If you wonder why most Commonwealthers like Ron, that has more to do with it than the blowing stuff up. He was running the provisional government when it fed people. I think you know how powerful that is- but I'm getting off-topic. The point is, ever since the Accords, the Commonwealth has been a country, not just one city or a couple of cities. A country that can be about as big and strong as Victoria. Big enough to stop it. Someday maybe strong enough to bury it."
"Now, we'd been building up trade networks for a long time. We had a lot of connections. A lot of us had plans, hopes. And when Ron rolled in, well, that sped things up. Sometimes when somebody's got you tied to a fence, you just need to cut through the knot. His style helps with that a lot. And that got the Accords rolling, and brought enough of us together that we counted up our troops and our ships and our resources and hey, what do you know, it turns out we have enough pepper to stop a Victorian army!"
Now here Sara flashes a smile, one with too much tooth. On a much younger woman, it is the smile that promises direct violence, to be performed by the smiler. Here, I think it promises as much violence, or more, really, but not performed by her. Most likely not, anyhow.
So, our Victoria friends made quite a fuss about you killing their aid workers and planning to expand everywhere. Thoughts?
As a reporter, I have had a number of people bat their eyes at me. Sometimes it is to look innocent. Sometimes, it is to indicate the interest of the romantic type. And sometimes, sometimes it is to brag, to state that they are aware you know what they did, and they are more than willing to be proud of it and would do it again. I think it should be easy to tell which of these eye bats came to me.
"What aid workers? I don't remember the list I went over with General Burns having any aid work- ohh! Oh, those! Those 'aid workers.' "
The sarcasm on those words is acid.
"Well, all I know is, none of them were a tenth as good at actually aiding anyone as they were at, hm, let's see..." She ticks off her fingers one by one. "sabotage, espionage, and assassinating most of a generation of industrialists, oh and at least two state governors. And that was just what they were getting paid to do from home; what some of them did for 'perks' when they got the chance would have scared my hair straight if I hadn't seen worse in the forties."
"Tell me, Mr. Williams. You're three times closer to Victoria than we are. Did you see big boatloads of Victorian aid supplies come for free in the fall of '63, when just about every harvest from the Mississippi to the Appalachians was going to hell? I didn't think so. Well, they weren't passing you up to feed us, I'll tell you that. The only 'aid' we ever got was barter only, for industrial equipment and vehicles we've never yet been able to replace. You ever hear the old one about teaching a man to fish? Well, the Victorians do the opposite. They'll give you a fish and take your fishing rod and tell you to be grateful for it. So I think they can spare both of us their talk about "aid workers." I doubt you've missed your set of strutting, swaggering spies-in-sheeps'-clothing any more than we did. The only difference is that you were forgiving enough to let them leave alive after what they've done, I guess. Gracious of you."
Gracious. A nice way of putting it as she smiles wolfishly. Not sure grace had anything to do with us leaving them alive. But there it is, the polite dance that Detroit's actions were choices. She continues, an enthusiasm I've heard so many times before, usually, on those I don't expect to see the next winter, dead of entirely natural causes.
"Me, I don't believe Retroculturalists deserve a lot of grace."
I nod, and honestly, I'm tempted to leave off there. But I've apparently got readers, and listeners out west now, and I love all those who follow my words. So, I press on, might as well get an answer from the horses' mouth. Or the horses' second in commands' mouth.
Very... interesting. And the expansion plans you carefully didn't mention?
"Well, as far as the Chicago Accords are concerned, applications are still open! Sign up if you like free and fair elections, excessive numbers of political parties, cheap combine harvesters, and grinding Victorian army regiments into sausage! I know I do, though I still haven't figured out what to do with my combine harvester. I don't know a furrow from a ferret, honestly."
"But if nobody signs up, we don't have expansion plans. Trade plans, sure; the Soo Locks could use a hand with some work, and you'd have to see the state of some of the waterworks along the Mississippi to believe them. But not expansion. Nothing's proper Commonwealth soil except for an embassy. Not if the people there don't sign the Accords- or an amended copy of same."
Any thoughts on why so many communities seem so concerned about it?
"Well, the Vicks have been screaming their heads off about it for the past two years. A lot of Americans have gotten into the trap of feeling like we have to believe what they say, to pretend Victoria doesn't lie about just about every damn thing. Even when in our hearts, we know better than to trust them about anything important. But they do lie."
She stops for a moment. And it makes me think, not too long, but now that I'm writing this up, afterward, this line gets me. We all got our sins, and truth be told readers, I've parroted their lies before. I could always justify it to myself. I'm not saying they are true, just stating what they said it. "The Victorian ambassador said", "According to Victorian diplomats", or just writing a transcript of their speech. But at the same time, I knew much of it for what it was, and didn't much speak against em, least not in ways that they would recognize, as I've also said, I never had much respect for Victorian intelligence. I've had a lot of people say I'm suspicious, or defeatist with Chicago, and maybe I am. But I think I'm just as much delighting in being able to be. Thing to think about, at least.
Sara continues on, as if she read my mind.
"I don't suppose that's everything, though. The way things have been in this part of the country for the past thirty years is terrible, but it's something we could get used to, eventually. Each town or city did what it could to survive, looked out for itself, and put up with whatever government it had to if it couldn't get the one it wanted. People got used to keeping their heads down, even if it meant slipping down the ladder rung by rung. And anything that tried to change that, one way or another, was likely to be a threat. Either the Victorians would burn it, or the Russians would bomb it, or it would all turn out to be a trick somehow. Or even all three at once."
"I think a lot of people who didn't join up with the Accords are thinking that way. They're waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering when we'll shout "AHA!" and hoist the evil flag, or when the Victorians will burn us out. Except that we haven't done the first one, and we have no intention of letting the second one happen."
"Whatever people say, or whatever they fear, those are the facts. We're not stealing the bread out of our neighbors' mouths. We're not slaughtering our own innocent people, or other people's people. We're not taking tribute at gunpoint. We're not sending "aid workers" to break anything that looks like an attempt to rebuild. And we're not letting Victorian boots anywhere near any part of America we can protect. Because they do all of those other things. We all know they do."
Moving on from hypothetical expansion to the very real war. I've gotten to see your troops in action thanks to your generosity. Reversing that, what have you seen of the Detroit Militia?
"Personally, less than I'd like. I've read a lot of reports, but you can't learn everything you'd like about troops just from reading an essay."
And you-all, the Commonwealth?
"Hm. Well, a lot of us have seen a lot to write those reports in the first place. I'm guessing you want to hear about that. I can only bounce it back secondhand, but they were good reports."
And what did you think of them?
"Hm, physically or metaphysically?"
Good question, if you believe the Victorians, not much difference between the two. Granted, I am inclined to a slightly more materialistic explanation, but I'd be wrong if I thought that it was nothing. It's doesn't matter if you have guns if you are too scared to fire them.
"Physically, well, if you'd asked me a few years ago, I'd have said you needed more Sten guns. And better bomb-makers. You can never go wrong with good bomb-makers. Oh, and shovels. Now, Ron disagrees with me about Sten guns, but you're pretty well set up for guns now. I should probably talk to someone about IEDs anyway. I'm sure your team has enough shovels now, you would not believe how many- ah, people- I've talked to in the last six months..."
Sara sighs, her face taking on the expression of so many members of the city council when talking about many a project.
"Anyway, you definitely need more big guns. Can't go wrong with a big load of howitzers. We're still kind of hard up ourselves, but you've earned a share, and I think I can shake some more loose for you if some of the new stuff works out. Also, technicals. Tell anyone in the militia you know. Technicals."
Sara risks letting her hands free on the bumpy ride of punctuating every syllable with a stab of the finger to her hand. I didn't ask if Sara believes in God, but I am sure she believes in Technicals.
"They help. A lot."
"But yeah, I know the Viks kept you pretty short on equipment and it was hard to hide things from them. You're definitely getting there, and we'll ship in what we can. Nobody west of Buffalo benefits from a weak Detroit, and yes I'm including Toledo. The world's a better place if we're all strong enough to stand up for ourselves. It keeps the jackboots in the closet where they belong."
"Now, metaphysically? I'll to have to tell a bit of a story to explain. See, the Vicks cast a long shadow. I've felt it too. But the difference between your militia and the way ours used to be is mostly about something else."
She shrugs.
"See, Detroit's militia remind me of some of the old crew from the War on Nazis, just as we were getting started- more like the line units pushing up out of Chicago, not the guerillas I rode with. Except for us having more leftovers from the Good Old Days back then, there's... a lot in common."
"The difference now, though, is that out where we are, we saw the Vicks- Rumford even visited once- but our trouble was mostly the neo-Nazis. They didn't have a sugar daddy to cry to when things started to go sour, though they started looking hard for one, at the end."
She grins, I will give this, when trying to be scary, Sara isn't the worst. On the other hand, I've interviewed Victorians when they wanted to be in the press. I know the grin, the grin of someone who lies to your face and dares you not to print exactly what they said with no questions but what they wish. Who may kill you, perhaps because you did something they disliked, perhaps because you were there and some reporters must be purged occasionally to remind the others. Sara's grin is different, it promises pain for other people, for things they did to deserve it. Revenge rides on this woman's shoulder, I don't think she's had to, or tried to, hide it in a long time.
"When we started beating them, they kept getting weaker. And weaker. We got to finish them off. All the way off."
"The thing that's missing here is, your team didn't get to do something like that. My team got a chance to push a bunch of Nazi role-players all the way back into their own..." she trails off, her eyes distant and hell-lit... "goddamn ovens. It changed us, to know we could do that, that we didn't have to let them take away every last scrap of our country and turn it all into Hell forever. Because we don't. We can stop them. We will."
And the smile on her face flows from wolf to woman, in the space of three heartbeats.
"You'd have been doing it right along with us, if you'd been there. As it is, you're getting your chance late. But you're doing it, and you can do it again as many times as you have to, until they never take anything from you again."
I'm going to be honest here, I try not to be an emotional man. At least not when interviewing. Everyone got a fantasy, and everyone communicates it. The way they say the world works, or the way the world should work. It's easy to get yourself caught up in them, for or against. Sometimes that can be dangerous, for some inexplicable reason those who question Victoria's fantasies tended to end up with a case of dead, sometimes with the body found.
But even when it isn't dangerous, I try to avoid it. To many people can sell you on something against your interest. Make you not think. But that said, if I'm to be honest, I wanted to believe. I want that fantasy to be true, to be standing in the sun unafraid. There was a gleam in her eyes that makes me think she means it, but maybe I just so badly want her to.
I find myself distracted, and embarrassingly, come back only after I realize that I missed something she said. Not my finest moment as a Journalist, but we are all friends here, and I'm sure no one here would tell anyone about my embarrassing little slip.
I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that.
"I said. I expect the Detroit Militia's starting to learn how that feels by now. You'll be able to tell the difference. I think you'll like it."
I nod, and consult my notes, reminding myself of other questions I had jotted down.
If you don't mind I'd like to go back from the metaphysical to the materialistic. I know we are helping you disassemble that laker. I heard from people back home that a lot of stuff flowing from that, any plans?
"I've seen one really stupid plan cross my desk where we keep all the goods, and about four good ones where we don't. We still don't have a full manifest for that ship, and the Secretary of Commerce is still trying to get his people to figure out if she can be floated off the mudbank or if she's scrap iron. I don't know what we'll do with the ship or the steel; either way that's a question for next year and the year after. I do know that if you've got a hankering for some mortars, they're going to be on clearance for a while. Vicks have a great big love for mortars. Disturbing love. There's probably more mortars on that ship than all of us put together know what to do with. That and bazooka rockets. Stingers. That kind of thing. They were planning to top off thirty or forty thousand men for weeks of hard fighting, so I imagine there'll be plenty to go around."
What about training exercises for the equipment we'll be getting? Any chance of our militia seeing that?
"It'd be a good idea. They've been training hard all winter; I don't see why that should change after the Victorians get a kicking. And mortars are tricky. So are bazookas."
So, tell me, are the rumors true? Does Burns use Victorian intestines as condoms?
She shrugs and gets a grin of mischief that only a woman far too old for anyone to tell her to act her age can get.
"Heh. Well. You know how he rolled in around here?"
She waves her arms, indicating, well, all of Detroit.
"I read the reports, and believe me, he was juuust like that three or four years ago too. Same style, different day. You know how he is about wargames. And my rule is, I like my men tricky enough to spot about a third of my ambushes. Maybe two fifths. If he can see more than half of them in a war game, he's way too sneaky for me to date."
Sara gives a grin, perhaps the only one that even begins to approach something like embarrassment, and she is for a moment far away, remember what I can only assume to be an experience every bit as humiliating. Then she shakes her head and chuckles and turns back to me.
"So, to answer your question, I wouldn't know. Ask someone who took him to bed. Though I will say it sounds unsanitary. Do you know how many untreated intestinal parasites they have in Victoria? Me neither. Bleh!"
Fair enough. What about defending a village from Nazis by his lonesome while taking out a tank on foot? One of my younger nephews was talking about it, said it was in a book and everything.
Sara is once again far away. This time not with embarrassment, but with, perhaps, a ting of nostalgia. Thinking, and I must admit I am perhaps speculating far too much on another's state of mind, or an earlier time. Before the collapse, before the Nazis. I'm tempted to interrupt to ask on that, but this interview has far too many topics already, and the collapse is one of the few things we don't lack for writings of.
"When I was a girl, we had what we called 'comic books.' Good to know they're back. Now, do you want me to break that down piece by piece? It sounds about..."
She begins counting on her fingers.
"Hm, just about exactly half true."
Gotta admit, half true was more than I was expecting, and I find myself pressing on a topic I didn't plan to spend much time on.
Which part is the most true, and the least true?
"Most true? He's defended villages. I've seen a few. Least true? Well. I don't know that he ever blew up a tank himself. It's not impossible, but it's tough. But what's really impossible? If you've met some of the people who've been with the Devil Brigade the whole way here... they'd never have let him fight anything alone. He'd have had to sneak away from his troops, and some of them are pretty good at following 'sneaky.' I should know. Even if he turned fifteen feet tall and green and strong enough to swat an army all by himself, it wouldn't change anything. He wouldn't have been fighting alone."
Got to see some of that down south. Now, I'm sure that Alex will be happy to tell me if anything I say trends on military intelligence. But given you already let me broadcast it, I assume that the fact that the Victorian's traded a CMC division for a river is well known. And thoughts on that or the shape of the battle to come you care to share?
"We're looking forward to the next time they throw down with us. So are the buzzards."
I will confess to wanting more, but I knew this topic wasn't likely to get much. Plenty of words have been spilled from me on the subject of civilians and military plans. I know it's rational. I know it makes sense. Still, wish I knew.
Anything else you can say? The next lines at the outskirts of Detroit, and I think it would bring comfort to a lot of people to have some idea what's going on. I've been hearing from the Militia that they are scrambling and can't talk to me. Plans for another assault?
"Hm. Well, I won't tell you what he's doing. But I'll tell you what I would do if, say, what was left of the whole Victorian army came roaring up in one big wave, trying to rush us like they rushed us back from Leamington to Essex. You may remember how that turned out for them..."
"My reputation is as a sneaky commander, but sometimes, you have a hammer and your problem really is a nail. If I had the forces we have here, I'd get everything ready and meet them with a wall of guns at the first good line on the road north. If Detroit Militia units were being called up, it'd be to be a part of that wall."
"But then, Ron might do something a little more complicated than that, and he may not expect all the Victorians to have the stomach for another march north. Hard to blame them if they didn't, after all."
Planning to get more use out of those steel shells?
She smiles.
"You noticed. Well, we've brought them here, and they're ready to go- lacquered and lubricated for the Victorians' entertainment, even. I can't imagine Ron isn't planning to hit them with a shell or two... thousand.
So, assuming we win, where do you see Detroit and Chicago standing?
"Chicago's going to be in the same place it always was, right between Lake Michigan and the Illinois River. We're going to keep tooling up and rebuilding, because we aren't planning to stand around and let Victoria bully us, or anyone we can help, ever again. Not even if the Vicks go crying home to daddy for better weapons, da? We'll wipe the walls with them as many times as we have to until they get the idea. Americans aren't for pushing around, or for whipping, or for shoving in the kitchen.
She snorts.
"Even if it weren't for that, we could use all the rebuilding we can get. there isn't a single place in North America that's all of what it ought to be. I-" She stutters a bit. "I'm just old enough to remember things more or less the way they were supposed to be, before it started falling apart, even if I was a little girl then. You know how it is for my generation. We were too young to stop what happened. Maybe before we all die, we can be old and sneaky enough to get most of it back..."
Goldblum trails off. I recognize that, got it when my mother talked to me about America or my grandmother about my namesake. That wistful nostalgia for a better time. America don't mean much to me, sadly, and I don't know better times. But the way so many talk with wistfulness for it, makes it seem like some mythical Camelot. Saw a role like that once, the good president Obama, whose kingdom fell to ruin thanks to the Russian knight Trump, he was stabbed with a poison syringe, and not rest beneath lake Erie, ready to rise again when the time is right.
"And as for Detroit, you'll have less Vics, and more howitzers if I have anything to say about it. I don't know, how much do you like combine harvesters and about forty-seven political parties? If you want to join the team, we'd be idiots to say 'no.' "
Actually, that brings up a number of questions. A lot of people, even myself, tend to use the term Chicago and Commonwealth interchangeably. Or at least use them to denote pre-accords and post-accords. But I understand that there are parts besides that, what's that like? How are they governed?
"A bit like things used to be, though not exactly. The Commonwealth has states, the states have cities and counties. Some of the borders aren't where they used to be, but Chicago is just one state, with a big city in it, out of many. Maybe out of more, if people want to sign up. Maybe not. Either way, that's how it usually works. A big area forms a county government with a county seat; a city may, or may not. As they like. Cities and counties are part of a state. We drew up the state lines for the places that signed the Accords already, and we'd redraw and add if new members come in. The state governments answer to the Commonwealth's- Chicago's as much as any of the others."
What about power centers? Would Chicago hold all primary government offices?
"Whatever happens, we're going to have to put them somewhere. Where, exactly, and how centralized those offices are, depends on how Congress votes. Right now, Congress is elected from a patch of land that's mostly within one to two hundred land miles of the city of Chicago in all directions. That makes Chicago the city a convenient place to put everything. If the shape of the Commonwealth changes, the convenience starts to change."
"When I was a little girl I was an American. I've spent most of my adult life as a cross between a Wisconsinite and a Chicagoan. And I love that- but I'm not married to it, if it means I get to feel like an American again."
There's that thoughtfulness that wistfulness again. Always a bit of an awkward divide here. Between those who remember, and who those of us who it's just a set of stories about when we were strong and powerful. Doubly awkward for those in Detroit. Windsor and Detroit, used to be two different cities, two different countries. People right across the river, yet they were an entirely different country, even as those all the way in Texas were American. Not sure there is any way to talk about it, to cross the barrier between those for whom it's a memory, and those for whom it's a mythology. I let her have her recollection for a bit, as she let me have my peace earlier, before returning to more mundane questions.
I heard that there is a five-year process for joining?
She is quiet for a second and takes a moment to scan the horizon before answering, or perhaps merely not facing me, when she turns back, her expression is neutral.
"As of right now, that is true. I'd be stepping on the toes of about three too many Cabinet secretaries if I said much about the strange mysteries called negotiations and bargaining and fast-tracking, so I can't make promises."
She pauses again, shorter, this time.
"I can't. But I can hope. This city's sure as hell earned it."
What if we want to join an alliance, but aren't ready to incorporate? Could you see that?
"I could see that."
What about Toledo? You see movement on the warlord after this?
Sara gives a grunt as she thinks about it.
"After a Victorian army's been through, and everything else that's already happened, I don't think things will be the same for Toledo as they were before. That much I can say for sure. So things are going to move. If I honestly thought I knew which way, I'd tell you. But I don't."
And if we lose?
"I'd be worrying about that more if the Vics still had two armies closing in on the city. I doubt I'm giving much away by saying Ron's planning to cut off Victoria's right one along with their left one, too. But maybe I'd have come back and joined the guerillas. I bet I can still give pointers on how to put the L in an L-shaped ambush."
That wolfish grin, the one that promises joyful wrath, comes out again.
"Seriously. I know Sara, and I know, well, a lot of Congress. We're not going to stop this war while there's a Victorian stomping-boot west of, oh, the eighty-second meridian's a pretty popular dividing line back in Congress. Eighty-one. Eighty. Something like that. Me, I disagree, I say we should keep fighting until we've pushed them about three or four hundred miles out into the Atlantic, but I'm Crazy Cousin Sara for a reason. When the smoke clears at the end of this war, Detroit won't be on Victoria's side of any line the Commonwealth's willing to stop at."
"So if they suddenly pull a long string of miracles out of their butts and start winning for a change, we'll keep on coming back. And back. And back. Until they either give up or run out of warm bodies, if we have to. Because if you keep at it, you really can get ALL the Nazi goon squads. It's hell while they're around, hell, but you can get every last one, until none are left, if you don't back down. And the Commonwealth is done backing down."
Anything else you'd want to say?
She gets quiet for a minute, considering but continues quickly.
"Once, about a hundred years before your time or mine, this city used to be called the Arsenal of Democracy- for a good reason. It'd make an old lady happy in her declining years to see it happen over again. Detroit's making the world's news right now because of its position. Maybe we can make Detroit famous for its heavy metal again."
I'm left wondering about this. Had it come from all the nostalgia about America in our interview? Thinking back to what could be? Always did love that bit of our history, showing we are more than the Victorians think of us. I love the fantasy, our Camelot, and Sara sells it well. Granted, my more cynical side points out I talked about this before in my articles so maybe she's just read up on them.
Final question, I hear rumors there was a Victorian Assassin up in Chicago. As a person who apparently has, and I can't imagine why, annoyed the Victoria's with their writing, Any advice?
"Hmm. Well, again, I'm the crazy one, but my advice is to set traps, like for any other kind of rat."
Her eyes narrow, and again, it is a good stare, harsh and full of promises, but it lacks a certain cold wrath. A certain believe that you are inherently a stain, to be done with as others please. Her stare still thinks I'm human.
"Has someone been telling tales?"
Just what the papers published on the trial. Are there tales I should have heard?
"I tell you what, if you're still writing newspaper columns in ten or fifteen years, and I'm still kicking around, I'll tell you. For now, I think I'd better keep it my secret." She winks.
It is with that that the technical stops, and we go our separate ways. She to her artillery, and me to other interviews. In the end, we both have things to get through, and with the Victorians hanging over our heads, far too little time to do it.
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All Credit to @Simon_Jester for the Crossover idea, writing Sara's portions, and a good deal of editing on mine.
I can safely agree what the victs said...and I don't like myself for it...but holy hell.
Anyway we can make a united colalition force with the city and fortify it as well as get SHIT DONE! as quick as possible...we NEED to be ready for the next war with Victoria and to reunify the states into a confederation of America...meaning both Canada and Mexico (or what remains of them) into one super-nation. Finally able to fight Russia on its own terms...one day...
