3 January 1910: La Prensa NacionalQuoteThe Armada has confirmed the worst regarding the fate of a coastal ferry that disappeared after departing Havana ten days ago.
"An Armada patrol vessel discovered the ferry west of Cabo de San Antonio two days ago", confirmed Capitan de Navio Miguel Nunez, the Armada's senior officer in Cuba. "Unfortunately, all eighty-eight crew and passengers were found to have been murdered." He did not disclose particulars of the murders, only adding after repeated questions, "The murders were not simple executions."
This is the fifth case of confirmed piracy around Cuban waters in the past year; fishing boats, tramp freighters, and even an Armada patrol boat have fallen victim to the murderous pirates skulking about the Caribbean. An unnamed source within the Armada told this reporter, on condition of anonymity, "We're certainly that we're dealing with followers of the Eye, given the circumstances of some of the deaths aboard the vessels we have recovered to date. There was entirely too much...creativity...involved in the murders to have been a mere matter of silencing potential witnesses."
When asked about this, the Mesoamerican consul to Gran Colombia angrily replied, "Always with the Eye! Can the world not see that this is not the Anahuac Empire of old? For close to a decade, we have labored to eradicate all traces of that savage cult from our land, and still as soon as some poor wretches aboard a ship die of foul play, the world looks accusingly at us. Perhaps you would do better to look to the Confederated States of America and its out-of-control socialist problems before leaping to the conclusion that the cult of the Eye is rejuvenated."
"This is getting out of hand", President Alizandro growled, crumpling up the newspaper and flinging it into a corner of the room. "Have you spoken to the Consul yourself?"
"I have", Eduard Torres confirmed. "His message was much the same as that delivered to the press."
"Which is complete crap", Ricardo Alizandro spat. "I've seen photographs from PB-22, and I've heard a summary of what they found aboard the ferry. There's no question we're dealing with seagoing Anahuac here; none whatsoever."
"We all saw the photos", Rey said soberly, "And I agree with you - that or somebody is going to extreme lengths to accurate replicate Anahuac sacrificial practices. The question is - can we stop the bastards without resorting to an invasion of eastern Mesoamerica?"
"I'm moving some of our patrol assets into Cuba from elsewhere in the Sea", Ricardo sighed. "Also two of our new cruisers. But there's a fair bit of sea to cover, and the bastards are obviously in disguise; we're not. We may get them, but it's going to take time and luck."
"What've you got for assets in Mesoamerica?", the president demanded of Benicio Delgado.
The Minister for Miscellaneous Affairs replied, flatly, "A modest network, and it has not managed to generate any leads. If they are indeed Anahuac, they are both careful and, likely, being protected by at least some individuals within the Mesoamerican government."
Rey sighed. "International reactions?"
"The Mark and the Confederates have expressed concern over previous incidents, and we know for a fact that the Confederates have destroyed at least one pirate vessel a short while ago", Torres replied. "I assume they will express similar concerns over this incident and continue their own operations."
"I want continued updates on this matter", Rey snarled. "I will not have our sovereignty violated in such a way. Find them, and kill them."
19 January 1910: Amazonas del SurFor months, he had regretted taking Padre Batista's advice and emigrating to Gran Colombia.
The voyage across the Pacific had been hellish; over three thousand people packed into a liner designed for half that number, rationing food and water, taking turns on deck and in bunks or hammocks. Influenza had swept through the ship shortly after it left Hainan, claiming at least fifteen children and elders. Tempers had flared, and people had been beaten; two men had disappeared, and were thought to have been murdered and thrown overboard in the night. His family had spent nine days of the trip under a tarpaulin on the main deck, having been driven out of their small cabin by a group of selfish and unruly youths. The crew of the ship had made little effort to keep law and order aboard, but he had to admit that they'd done a decent job of identifying the troublemakers - several had been removed from the ship at the Pago Pago port by large, expressionless men in strange pastel suits, and were not seen again. The second leg of the voyage had been somewhat more lawful as a result.
Arrival in Esmeraldas had gotten them off the ship, but added new challenges. For five months, they'd lived in a tent camp outside the city, not only in quarantine after the influenza outbreak but also while the local government attempted to figure out where to put them on a more permanent basis. They couldn't all stay in Esmeraldas; there weren't enough jobs or places in which to live. Just communicating was a challenge; he himself spoke some Norman as a result of his military service, but the rest of the family spoke only the mother tongue. Finally, the government found an apartment for them, and explained that he would be given Spanish lessons and found a job as a basic laborer, probably in construction. He knew a lot of the others in the camp would welcome such a break, but for a former farmer and part-time animal healer like himself, this sounded daunting and unpleasant. He'd consoled himself with the knowledge that it would be better than whatever misery his friends and family back on Hainan might be confronted with. At least he'd
have a home.
And then, some unexpected news had reached him. "Not all of us are moving to these cities", another man mentioned to him while in the food line, two days before he was due to move out of the camp. "There is a place far inland, where the Colombians
want people to go. They gained it after destroying some local warlords, and are now seeking to populate it."
"I have nothing", he had said, "So how would I travel all that distance? How would I buy land?"
"That's the amazing thing", the other man had said. "They
give you land - and money to buy equipment, and the tickets to get you there on a train."
"This sounds tempting", he had replied. "Have others done this?"
"Some people that arrived on the first ship learned of this place after their relocation to the city. A group of friends and family pooled resources for one man to travel there and investigate; he returned two months ago and confirmed that the stories were true. As I understand it, almost four thousand of our kin have followed him there."
Now he, his wife, and his two surviving children watched as the train passed by a increasing number of tents, shacks, and cabins. Distant shrieking of metal on metal reached them as the train began to brake, and they stood, the entirety of their possessions contained in the bags they held with clenched hands. The train man babbled in Spanish, then added, in barely comprehensible Cantonese, "This stop is Second Chance. Second Chance."
The train came to a stop in a clearing surrounded by several rudimentary buildings. He, his family, and several families climbed down the steps to the damp red earth. Insects buzzed around him, the train belched steam, and his eyes were drawn to a group of ox-carts, in front of which stood two Colombians and several Taiwanese.
One of the latter called out, "Please, gather around!", and after they'd done so, he continued, "Welcome to your new home. As the first of us found our arrival to be rather confusing, the elders amongst us recommended that we set up a welcoming committee of sorts to help you out as you arrive. I'm Lo, and I will be helping you put down your roots. In a few minutes, we'll have a look at the contents of a cart - each is essentially identical, and each family will get one. After that, we will head out along a trail to your parcels of land..."
19 January 1910: The Steppes of BoratistanPadre Batista paused in his mass as the seemingly random phrase of "thank you" - in Cantonese - popped into his mind. "You're welcome", he murmured.
15 February 1910: West of Cuba
"Damn it...", Capitan de Corbeta Jeronimo Palmiero snarled, as the torpedo-boat Cumana drew up alongside the ruined fishing trawler. "How many crew should there be?"
"Sixteen, Sir", the XO replied.
"Sixteen more", Palmiero grumbled. "Prepare your boarding party, Senor Ascusubi. I don't think either of us is under any illusion about what you're going to find, but it has to be done."
"Aye, Sir", the XO replied grimly. No doubt the lad would've preferred to switch places with him on this one, but it was the captain's duty to remain on his command, leaving the XO or another junior officer to conduct boarding operations.
"How does this happen?", Palmiero muttered to himself. Every seaman in Cuba knew of the piracy problem and the seas were crawling with Armada patrol and warships, yet the bastards had found and exploited a gap in the patrol routes. It was...uncanny.
Or was it?
"Hmm", Palmiero murmured thoughtfully.
22 February 1910: The Steppes of Boratistan
Padre Batista saw them coming from a half mile away between gusts of wind and blowing snow: a quintet of dark specks that could only be horsemen, riding through the knee-deep drifts towards him. They must be Secret Police, he thought. Who else would be out riding in weather such as this?
As expected, the riders were indeed Secret Police, as evidenced by their heavy blue wool coats and unusually tall bearskin hats. Sabres and carbines rested in scabbards on either side of their saddles, and the horses were tall and powerful. The five riders came to a stop in a circle around him, prompting his pony to shuffle eye them nervously.
The officer of the group, recognizeable by the gold braid on his bearskin hat, said, "Demonstrate your identification!"
Batista had his passport and entry visa already in hand. He stepped forward and placed them in the officer's open mitten. The officer took his mittens off and flipped through his entry visa. "Ah! Foreign infidel are you!"
"Not quite", Batista replied.
"So it says, right here", the officer countered, pointing to a checked box on the visa.
"That says I am a Roman Catholic", Batista noted.
"Exact", the officer said with a sniff. "Could be worse. Could be a-"
"I know, I know", Batista sighed. The anti-semitism here was astonishing.
"What purpose you am here?", the officer asked.
"I am spreading the word of God", Batista said. "Bringing salvation to the people of this land."
The officer's eyes narrowed. "Customs declaration includes no citation of salvation. You bring illegal?" Turning to the rider on his right, he snapped, "Investigate pony for illegal salvation!"
The rider clambered down to the ground and past Batista to the pony. He began rifling through Batista's saddlebags, holding up a book of poetry.
"Seizure", the officer said.
"Come now", Batista said.
The searcher held up a small Gran Colombian tricolor flag.
"The burning", the officer announced.
"That would be desecration of my property as a Gran Colombian citizen", Batista responded. The officer shrugged.
The searcher held up a Bible, then a second and a third.
"Seizure", the officer proclaimed.
"Now see here", Batista exclaimed. "I am a man of God, and that is the Word of God!"
"All your Word of God are belong to us", the officer said flatly.
"You are interfering in the duties of a servant of the Lord", Batista said more harshly.
"All your Word of God are belong to us", the officer repeated emphatically.
Cold air blasted from Batista's nostrils like steam from a dragon's snout.
The searcher held up a curved metal flask. "Alcohols", he added unnecessarily.
"Seizure", the officer quickly decided.
The howling north winds died away abruptly, yet the winter air suddenly seemed even colder than it had been. In the sudden icy silence, Batista's pony whinnied and backed as far away from its owner as its lead would allow. Eyes narrowed, Batista growled, "And now...now you're messing with a son of a bitch."
Quote"All your Word of God are belong to us"
On every forum...
everywhere...
it is only a matter of time.
This should be established as a Law of Nature:
"The chance that a post containing an 'All your _____ are belong to us' joke will be posted is proportional to the square of the cube of the number of members."
Quote from: Carthaginian on December 27, 2007, 08:39:01 PM
Quote"All your Word of God are belong to us"
On every forum...
everywhere...
it is only a matter of time.
This should be established as a Law of Nature:
"The chance that a post containing an 'All your _____ are belong to us' joke will be posted is proportional to the square of the cube of the number of members."
However it is usualy followed by the inevitable I see Dead People. Which is what I predict we are about to see
Nah... we won't see any dead people.
I believe Senior Batista will at least bury them.
QuoteOn every forum...
everywhere...
it is only a matter of time.
Well, the mods did decide to call the place "Boratistan"; that kind of made things inevitable.
Let's just hope it never becomes a player-nation.
The Colombian passage crew had arrived on the Santander, packed in with the old cruiser's own complement for a somewhat uncomfortable trip from San Miguelito up the coast to San Fransisco. Having arrived a couple days early, they had the opportunity to fraternize with their more numerous NUS compatriots, and to a less degree with the Swiss sailors who'd come in to pick up their ships. The locals, other than those working the bars and the brothels (what few there were since the Rohirrim had taken over) seemed inclined to avoid all three groups to the extent possible.
The exchange ceremony was brief but solemn; the Rohirrim commanding officer recited the ship's service history: her work in disaster relief after the great earthquake and her participation in the war with the Anahuac foremost amongst these. He advised the Gran Colombian capitan de fregata to uphold her record with honor and dignity; the Colombian, knowing how brief his command would be, was comfortable in saying that he would. Durin and Santander steamed out of San Fransisco on the 17th of December, passing by the impressive new battleships the Rohirrim had dispatched to keep an eye on the Swiss.
Upon reaching San Miguelito, they partook of shore leave for three days, then transited the Darien Canal. The crew was amused at the sight of chain gangs planting trees on a bare slope of the Culebra Cut, prompting the captain to point out that the planting was taking place on a recent area of mass-wasting, and was intended to bind the soil up in roots and prevent further slumps. Still, the crew took some pleasure in knowing that the convicts were undoubtedly being assailed by a mass of mosquitos the entire time.
At Colon, the two ships parted ways, Santander heading down to Cartagena, Durin staying where she was. A technical team came aboard, and spent much of January examining the dwarven battleship in detail. They photographed the ship's Harvey-nickel armored belts, turrets, and conning tower, cutting small samples of each set of armor for metallurgical testing. They drafted blueprints of the ship in her current condition. As an afterthought, a sub-set of the team scoured the ship for any interesting equipment or information the Rohirrim might've left behind, but found only a set of risque pictographs carefully concealed in the enlisted men's berthing.
Finally, in mid-February, the ship's bunkers were refilled and steam raised in the boilers once more. She steamed across the Caribbean, around Trinidad, and southeast towards the naval gunnery range at Punta Waini. Two tugboats joined up with her and, with high tiding approaching, began the nudging the little battleship shoreward. Finally, her stern began to catch on the bottom, and the tugboats eased off. Durin's anchors were dropped, and the crew closed up the bulkheads and hatches and hauled down the naval ensign before disembarking to a coastal ferry chartered for the purpose.
As the tide went out, the ship's stern became firmly grounded, leaving her slightly down by the bow. After consultations, the technical team leader asked the tugboats to move her forward several dozen metres, which was they did the next day. Satisfied with the result, the team took more photographs and sent word back to Cartagena that they were ready.
On 25 February, the battleship Invencible arrived in the company of the Santander and a chartered fireboat. Dropping anchor six thousand yards offshore, off Durin's port bow, the battleship trained her main battery on the stranded Dwarven battleship. The technical team boarded Invencible, note Durin's orientation relative to Invencible, and the team leader advised Invencible's captain that he could proceed.
Invencible's captain called out, "Gunnery Officer, execute firing plan zero one."
"Turret Antonio, load high explosive, ten salvoes on the target. Fire when ready."
On the chartered ferry, Durin's passage crew watched with interest as Invencible began shelling their former ship.
OOC
Firing while anchored?
Risque photos - LOL - how very much lifelike!
Borys
Stopped, then, if not anchored. The idea being to control the angle of impact Invencible's shells have against Durin's belt. Shoot some rounds at 45 degrees away, then 30, then 15, then perpendicular, pausing for photos and inspections after each. Then repeat the process with semi-AP and AP, so long as the hulk's not totally smashed at that point.
Quote from: The Rock Doctor on December 28, 2007, 06:54:35 AM
QuoteOn every forum...
everywhere...
it is only a matter of time.
Well, the mods did decide to call the place "Boratistan"; that kind of made things inevitable.
Let's just hope it never becomes a player-nation.
At last someone noticed ;)
I noticed some time ago; just didn't have much to do with it until now.
28 February 1910: Havana
"There it is", the wireless operator at El Morro muttered, listening to the series of dots and dashes in his headset.
"And one of the sloops has just turned past the outer marker of the harbour roadstead", an officer commented from behind him.
"And you say you hear this every time a ship leaves?", asked the man from Miscellaneous Affairs.
"Well, I've noted when I hear this particular user, and there are a lot of close matches with log entries from our observers outside", the wireless operator replied.
"How do you know it's the same user?"
"Hard to describe it, but I just recognize his cadence", the operator said.
The officer added, "More to the point, we're seeing a match between this guy and our ships' sorties. Always a few minutes after one of our ships passes the outer marker and comes round to its course."
The spook nodded with understanding. "Capitan de Corbeta Palmiero was right, then - this guy's telling somebody when our warships are leaving the harbour and what their headings are."
"Exactly", the officer said. "Which means that the pirates can avoid them."
"That won't do", the spook said. "So he's close by?"
"The sender?", the operator asked. "Yup. Within a mile, I'd say. It's a strong signal."
"Any way we can narrow the location down?", the spook asked.
"Well, we know now when he's going to send, so if I were to listen for him from different parts of the city, I could gauge relative signal strength and make a guess from there", the operator suggested.
"One of the cruisers is due out in three hours", the officer said.
"Then we'd better find somewhere else to listen from", the spook said.
5 March 1910: Cartagena
"Thank you for seeing me", Cardinal Juan Rodriguez said as he sat down opposite President Alizandro.
"You're welcome", Rey said coolly. "As a matter of fact, I needed to see you as well."
"Oh? Why is this?", the Cardinal asked.
"Well, our ambassador in Moscow has received a note from the Boratistani ambassador there. They're filing an official complaint regarding the conduct of one of your people."
"That would be Batista", the Cardinal sighed.
"Yes, it would", Rey agreed. "Apparently, he was involved in an incident with five policemen."
"And...he beat them up?", the Cardinal asked.
"Worse", Rey said. "He beat them up, then converted them."
The Cardinal looked up to the heavens for a few seconds, as if uttering a silent prayer. "Can I send a message to Batista and tell him to leave?"
"No need. They've already booted him out. He's in northern Persia now", Rey said.
The Cardinal frowned. "That doesn't sound like an improvement."
God bless the Heathens... for they will soon have the fear of God put in them.
Do you mean the Anahuac, the Persians, or both?
Why the Godless Mohomadites of course.
Just checkin'
Well he did say "heathens" so that rules out any islamic, jewish, or christian groups at least.
The CSA considers Mohammedans 'heathens' because of their perversion of the Christian faith, and their clearly blasphemous belief that their 'Allah' is the 'one true god.'
Only Christians and Jews worship God, and the Jews could- in the opinion of the average Johnny on the Street- need to apologize to Jesus for that nasty crucifixion gaffe and join the ranks of the Faithful. Of course, then the Confederate Jews begin holding the nation's supply of unleavened bread hostage, and the soldiers then get hungry form lack of hardtack, and Johnny Q. Public relents for a while longer.
Though the Christian majority of the CSA can see in Rohan's 'Old Religion' and some Native religions many similarities to the Christian message, they view the direct conflicts in the messages of Muhammad as the worst blasphemy.
Ah, but that would classify as "infidels" to use the English word. A "heathen" would be one that worships a number of gods rather than a single God (classifed as based on the same Judo-Christian creator of all things). And the Catholics would classify the Protestant Confederates as "heretics".
Rohan has that fine line of being infidel or heathen, depending on how things are explained. They cannot be heretics as they likely have no direct concept of Jesus as the Christians would understand it. However unlike the Muslims or Christians, the Rohirrim have no desire to spread their word over others. They generally believe that their old texted were misread or otherwise retold over the millenia, resulting in the Jews, Christians, and Muslims, having simmilar stories and ideals.
Webster's Dictionary says:
Main Entry: heathen
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural heathens or heathen
Date: before 12th century
1 : an unconverted member of a people or nation that does not acknowledge the God of the Bible
2 : an uncivilized or irreligious person
That's the basis of the Confederate term. ;)
And the Confederacy probably takes a more 'laid back' attitude towards spreading the Gospel than might be becoming of a good Christian nation. Having so much interaction with faiths that are so similar in concept and commandment to Christianity, the Christians of the Confederacy often wonder if God did not present His Word to these peoples prior to the sending of his Son (indeed, some Nations among the Americans have similar legends) in order to prepare them for those bringing the Gospel from the Holy Land.
I thought I was on Navalism.com, not church.com. :P
Quote from: Carthaginian on December 30, 2007, 08:46:35 PM
the Christians of the Confederacy often wonder if God did not present His Word to these peoples prior to the sending of his Son (indeed, some Nations among the Americans have similar legends) in order to prepare them for those bringing the Gospel from the Holy Land.
There must be a name for this brand of Heresy.
Ecumenism or something.
Borys
QuoteI thought I was on Navalism.com, not church.com
Ah, but there's more to alternate history than just blowing shit up...
12 March 1910: Cartagena
"So, how's Auntie?", President Rey Alizandro asked as he and his uncle Ricardo awaited the arrival of Benicio Delgado in the president's office.
"Last I heard, she was fine", Ricardo muttered, slurping indelicately at his coffee. Noting his nephew's puzzled expression, he elaborated, "She's discovered Norman romance novels - Jane Austen and the like. When she's not yelling at the staff, she's in the sitting room reading these new books of hers. I've hardly seen her in the past week."
"Are they good?", Rey asked.
"The books?"
"Yes."
Ricardo grimaced. "God, no. I opened up one of the them the other night to see what she was fussing about. I couldn't read more than a paragraph or two before my eyes just seemed to slide off the page."
"You tried reading a Norman romance?", Rey smirked.
"With all due respect, Mister President, shut up", Ricardo grouched. "I was expecting something raunchy and indecent, you know? But instead, it's all prim and proper upper-class Normans seeking good marriages. It's all she is of a most amiable nature rather than look at the rack on that one. Makes you wonder how the Normans have managed to reproduce themselves."
"Not all Normans are prim and upper class", Rey noted.
"That must be it", Ricardo agreed as Benicio Delgado stepped inside. "Ah, there he is. So, has Senora Delgado discovered the works of Jane Austen?"
"Happily not. Her Norman is marginal, and the translations are hard to come by", Delgado said. "On the other hand, my organization has used it for steganography from time to time."
"For what?", Ricardo asked.
"Steganography...hiding messages in books and such. A series of numerical codes would list pages, lines, and placement of words that get assembled in to a message for the user, such as Blow up the battleship on Friday", Delgado explained. "Though, to be fair, Austen's works lend themselves more to honeypot operations than sabotage."
"Honeypot?", Rey asked, then added, "Never mind. What's going on in Havana?"
"An Armada wireless operator at Havana picked out a wireless operator elsewhere in the city whose transmissions coincided with warship sorties. Since he recognized the thumb of the operator in question, we moved him to a few different places - ships offshore, public telegraph stations, and so forth - to attempt to pin down the location of the transmitter based on its relative signal strength at each listening station. He gave my people an estimated position, and a foot team walked the area while some researchers went through civic and state records for the buildings in the area", Delgado explained.
"And...?"
"And yesterday we set up surveilance on a three-story building being leased by Sea Breeze Imports, which is a private firm supposedly based in Gondor - we think that's just a front. Significantly, the building has a view of the outer marker of the Havana roadstead from its roof, and we think there's an antenna being concealed as a lightning rod there as well."
"That's a positive development", Ricardo noted.
"It is. The next step is to tail some of the people exiting the building, to figure out who they are and, when the occasion is right, to discreetly search their residences", Delgado said. "At the same time, the Armada is working with some of my other people to see if the content of the messages can be determined, and if another party is responding to them. Given the restricted range of wireless, we're speculating that the pirates have one or more vessels at sea functioning as relays."
"This sounds like a very elaborate organization", Rey remarked.
"It is not a simple piracy operation", Delgado agreed, "But we're a long ways from ascertaining what involvement, if any, the Mesoamerican government has in this. We will need days, if not weeks, to continue our surveilance, and in the meantime, there's every possibility further ships and people will be taken. It's important we not let political or public pressure impair my operations on this."
"The Armada's patrols are highly visible - I can fend off the pressure by pointing at their work", Rey confirmed. "You'll have the time you need - just don't take too much of it."
"Thank you", Delgado said wryly.
21 March 1910: Havana
The messenger from El Morro - thankfully, dressed in civvies - stepped into the Miscellaneous Affairs command post and was directed to the Situation Manager in charge of the operation.
"The suspects sent a wireless message and three of our ships got good fixes on a response from about eighty miles north-northwest of here. Two torpedo-boats and a sloop are within twenty-five miles and are making for the estimated location at best speed. Another sloop and a cruiser are within fifty miles and on their way."
The Situation Manager nodded. If the Armada caught the ship, he had instructions to take down the suspected transmitter down the block. If the Armada didn't accomplish this - which had been the case on the sixteenth and nineteenth - then he'd maintain surveilance.
There was no doubt that some of the guys inside the target building - six of them, at the latest tally - were Mesoamericans. All of their apartments had been quietly searched in the past week, and two Mesoamerican passports had been found, along with two well forged Rohirrim passports. Whether the remaining suspects even had passports had yet to be determined; the Situation Manager expected they did not.
The messenger departed the command post, returning to the fortress, as the Situation Manager glanced at his pocket watch. Sighing, he said, "Put the Tactical Team on alert and get updates from the observation posts."
"Yes, Sir", his senior agent replied.
Twenty minutes later, the senior agent reported, "Posts agree that nobody's come or gone in the past hour. We have three four-man teams in position, and two in reserve."
"Thank you. Snipers?"
"One in position at each observation post."
"Very good. Synchronize pocket watches and distribute to the teams and posts."
The Situation Manager lit a cigar and stood as patiently as he could, examining a map of the neighbourhood that was pinned to one wall of the room. There were a number of civilians in the buildings and on the streets around the suspect's location, and he really wasn't keen to have them in the line of fire, not so much for ethical reasons as practical ones. Live civilians could get in the way of his men; dead civilians could generate mountains of paperwork. But there was really no way to avoid them; any criminal group worth its salt would notice if the streets suddenly became empty.
One of the runners stumbled into the command post, and the SitMan turned to face him. "Subject Green has exited the building and is travelling southbound. A foot team is following him."
"Green's apartment is south of here", the Situation Manager noted. "Let's have one of the reserve tactical teams redeploy to the coin laundry down the block from his place. If we execute the main op, the team leader will execute a separate take-down. If we sit, they sit and watch."
"Yes, Sir." It left him with just one reserve team, unfortunately, but it would work - provided nobody else left the building. In the worst case , some of the command post team could function as a reserve. On that note, he checked his revolver for the fourth or fifth time today; whereas the tactical teams had special Hermanos Estrada twenty-two caliber revolvers - complete with suppressors, for use with that sidearm's unique design* - he and the rest of the unit had more conventional thirty-eights. As expected, his weapon was loaded and apparently free of obstructions. It had been every other time he'd looked, too.
Another runner now entered. This one was Armada - the SitMan recognized him from earlier in the day. "El Morro reports heavy but unintelligible wireless use in the vicinity of the suspected pirate. This is being interpreted as one or more Armada vessels using their own wireless to block effective use of the pirate's set."
"Then they've got him in their sights, and aren't likely to lose him", the SitMan concluded. Turning back to his personnel, he said, "Runners out - confirm Tac Team and Ob Post readiness for execution of operation at-", and he checked his own pocket watch - "fifteen thirty-five hours. Go!"
The runners scattered, using back alleys to reach their respective teams or observation posts and confirm their readiness. Within five minutes, all were back and reporting that every team was prepared. "We are confirmed. Runners, execute operation at fifteen thirty-five hours. Go!" The young agents dispersed again; they'd remain up at their staging areas to provide updates.
"Send word that Subject Green is to be taken down ", he added. One of his other runners - he had a small army of them - bolted out the back door of the building.
Then...it was just a matter of waiting six minutes for the pocket watch to strike 3:35. When it did, he knew the teams were moving - twelve for the building, with three sniper/spotter teams watching from the observation posts. One tactical team and a field medic team was standing by, as were several policemen who'd establish a cordon once the building was secure. He paced over to the front window, leaned forward to look just as Team Two's last man slipped inside the front door of the subject building. A couple of civilians - older women - were standing still, watching the proceedings, but thankfully avoiding making a commotion in the process.
After about sixty seconds, he heard one muted gunshot - somebody inside resisting arrest. Now there was screaming, first from inside the building, and then from bystanders outside. A few more pops - two, then two more - were followed by the crack of a rifle. More screaming, over muted shouting. The Situation Manager's pulse raced and he started tapping his foot unconsciously.
The first runner appeared at 3:41, reporting, "Sniper Team Two has terminated one subject on the second floor, east side. Subject was seen to be armed and apparently barricading a door. No sightings of friendly personnel."
A second runner returned two minutes later. "Tac Team Three has one man down, and one subject down. First floor has been secured."
"Let's get the cordon established!", the Situation Manager barked. "Medics on stand-by - equal priority for friendlies and subjects."
Two more muffled shots, then a third. The shouting continued, but began to sound like a dialogue rather than random outbursts and commands.
At 3:46, a third runner arrived. "Tac Team One reports the building is secure. Three friendlies down, four subjects down and one subject apprehended."
The SitMan snapped, "Medics, go! Reserve Team, report to Tac-Lead for assignment. Any word on Green?"
"Negative", the senior agent replied.
"Take charge here - I'm going over there now", the Situation Manager declared. "I want to see what we've got."
"Yes, Sir", the senior agent confirmed.
*A mechanism that moves the cylinder against the barrel as the trigger is pulled - look up the Nagant M1895 for the idea.
21 March 1910: Tehran
"Thank you for joining me at dinner", said Ali Reza Khan-e Qajar Quyunlu.
"The pleasure is mine", Padre Batista replied, setting aside the fact that a good ten or twelve security personnel had met him at the border and transported him directly here without his consent.
"I do apologize for the reception you received at the border, but your reputation preceded you and I really have no desire to see you corrupting the hearts and minds of the Persian people", the Shananshah's regent noted. "That said, your reputation as the discoverer of El Dorado also preceded you, and I could not resist the temptation to dine with you before I deport you."
"You are not concerned that I will corrupt your heart and mind?", Batista inquired.
"I am no blade of grass in the wind", Quyunlu replied. "Come, have a seat. We will be served momentarily."
"The Shananshah is indisposed?", Batista asked as he took a place at the table.
"The Shananshah is travelling abroad for an extended period. The world is turbulent, and requires the diligent work and travel of kings", Quyunlu commented. Servants entered soon after, and the table was shortly covered in dishes bearing seasoned rice, a stew, goat cheese, and pickled onions, along with a pot of chai. "Please, indulge yourself; I can't imagine you ate very well in Boratistan."
26 March 1910: Central Cuba
The senior agent for Miscellaneous Affairs, suppressed a shudder as Subjects Green, Orange, Blue, and Red were led out of the two motor lorries in shackles. The four Anahuac looked equal parts confused and defiant, perhaps wondering why they'd been transported to a small farm out in the middle of nowhere. Or, perhaps, they wondered why the farm was surrounded by twenty-foot wire fences.
The farm's own senior officer marched out of the gatehouse to meet the senior agent. "I'm Agent Velez, Internal Security", he said.
"Dominguez, Miscellaneous Affairs. I have four transferees you'll need to sign for."
"I was advised they'd be remaining in your custody and supervision", Velez replied.
"Oh", Dominguez said. "Well, fair enough, we can do that."
"This the whole bunch you bagged in Havana?"
"The ones that can travel. One died at the scene. Another's still in hospital with an iffy prognosis."
"Those two look like they might belong there too", Velez noted.
"Single twenty-two caliber gunshots only; they were judged fit to travel."
"What about the others?"
"Subject Yellow was shot three times and is in intensive care. Subject Violet took a sniper round to the back and bled out at the scene."
"Lucky him", Velez said. "Well, let's bring them inside. You been here before?"
"Twice", Dominguez replied.
"Good. So you know what to expect", Velez replied.
The laneway to the house passed a large garden that had recently been tilled and re-planted. Out past the house, near a small barn, a brown goat chewed cud while its two offspring took turns running up and down a pile of manure and straw. The Mesoamericans took in the idyllic scene as they shuffled behind Velez and Dominguez.
The group continued past the house, towards a large out-building of sorts. Velez knocked on the front door. "Come in, Senor Velez", a muffled voice replied.
Dominguez and Velez stepped inside as faint chemical scents reached their nostrils. The front room of the workshop contained several small holding cells, with another door leading to the back half of the building. An older man in a plaid shirt, cotton pants, and a leather apron stood by the door with his hands in the apron's pockets. "So, what have you brought me today?", the man asked.
"Suspected Anahuac spies assisting in the commission of piracy", Dominguez replied.
"Really? Actual Anahuac?", the man replied. "Marvellous. I do love a challenge."
"Mmm", Dominguez muttered. He turned to face the Mesoamericans and spoke to them in their own language. "Before I turn you over to this man, I'm giving you one last chance to cooperate. Once you go into those cells, or through that door, your fate is sealed."
"F**k you, man", Subject Red growled. "I'm not saying a thing to you or Farmer Juan there."
"I guess we'll find out how serious you are about that", Dominguez sighed. "That man there is a sub-contractor for the Ministry of Internal Security. He's a carpenter, rather than a farmer."
Subject Red shrugged. "No matter."
"He's also the worst serial murderer in Gran Colombian history, with a penchant for extensive torture sessions with his victims", Dominguez added.
"Looks like he's not doing so bad here in prison", Red replied.
"After his trial, the State offered to commute his death sentence in return for his cooperation in particularly difficult interrogations", Dominguez explained. "He was only too happy to agree."
Smiling, the Carpenter interjected in Mesoamerican, "Very few jobs pay you to do something you really enjoy. I really couldn't resist." He turned to face Dominguez. "We can save this one for later, but I'll take one of the wounded in my workshop now."
Who says torture isn't an effective interrogation device?
:D
"It's all fun and games until somebody loses an eye. Then it's only fun and games for some."
1 April 1910: West of Cuba
Craig Hitchins, master of the SS Morning Glory, shouted, "More coal!", into the voice pipe, as a shell splashed off the port stern of the tramp freighter.
"We're stoking as fast as we can, Captain", the chief engineer's terse voice echoed back.
Hitchins scowled and looked back at the fishing trawler chasing them. Obviously the Anahuac had expected he'd just obey their ultimatum and stop engines, but given what had happened to those who'd done so, he'd instead rang for all-head full. The Anahuac had exposed themselves too soon, though, and had been laboriously closing the range over the past twenty minutes, their single gun forward sending out ranging shots at consistent intervals.
"Anything from the wireless?", the Jamaican demanded.
"I got the message out, but the bastards are transmitting a constant stream of garbage now - I can't hear anything else", the wireless operator reported.
"Keep at it", Hitchins replied, wishing he had a big, shiny gun on his quarterdeck.
About a minute and half passed before the Anahuac fired again. The shell kicked up a small column of water on the starboard beam. "Shit", Hitchins grunted. "What is it, a two-incher or so?", he asked aloud.
"Sure", a lookout replied.
Hitchins scowled at the younger man. "If you don't know, just say so."
The next Anahuac shot was a near-miss, and things started going downhill after that. The follow-up crashed into the stern, probably making a tremendous mess out of his cabin in particular. "Damage control to the stern!", he barked into the voice pipes.
"On the way", the purser's voice called back. Another shell spashed just wide, and the purser's voice came again. "Heavy damage to the master's cabin, but nothing else. We're pulling back."
Hitchins seethed, but did not countermand him.
"We've got smoke at red fifty-five!", the starboard lookout called out.
A few moments later, the wireless operator added, "I'm hearing bits of a tranmission through the Anahuac noise - might be something close by."
Hitchins growled, "Helm - come round and steer for that smoke. We might get lucky."
Over the next fifteen minutes, the Anahuac hit the Morning Glory nine times, chewing up the stern and starting two small fires. The purser and two other members of the ad-hoc damage control team were cut down by splinters.
"It's a patrol boat coming at us!", the lookout exclaimed.
"Thank God", Hitchins said. Another shell slammed into the freighter, then the Anahuac ship began turning away. "That's right, bastards, run away!"
Hitchins' elation was short-lived, however. The Anahuac maintained their new heading for perhaps two minutes - send a pair of shells from their aft gun at Morning Glory - before coming back around again. "Maybe they think they can take out the patrol boat", the navigator opined.
"I suppose they might be right", Hitchins conceded. The patrol boats did, after all, only mount one 47mm gun. The Anahuac had at least two guns of that size, and was several times larger. "Well, it'll slow them down long enough for us to get away."
The patrol boat drew closer, and as it passed down Morning Glory's port beam, her main gun banged out a shell at the pirate. The Anahuac replied in kind, though their shot hit Morning Glory's aft hold. Hitchins swore; the main cargo there consisted of porcelain from the Middle Kingdom - it was probably powder now.
The patrol boat came around neatly, matching the pirate's heading and speed about four hundred yards away from the trawler. A blinker light on the little Armada vessel flashed, "MAKE BEST SPEED ONE NINE FIVE" as her machine guns began to rattle.
"Should I come to one-nine-five, Sir?", the helmsman asked.
Hitchins started to reply, but his voice trailed off. He watched the tiny patrol boat and the pirate exchanging fire for almost a half minute. "Sir?", the helmsman added.
"Nah...", Hitchins answered. "I'll take the wheel. Move aside."
"What are you-"
"Just move", Hitchins growled. He stepped over and swung the wheel to port, bringing the freighter across the paths of the oncoming duellists. The Anahuac continued to pound away on the patrol boat, which for its part did not question the freighter's course change. The Jamaican counted under his breath, then swung the wheel hard to starboard.
"Um, Captain...", the look out started.
"I know, I know", Hitchins said, "But the fuckers trashed my ship. Brace for collision."
The Anahuac did notice the oncoming tramp freighter, but not really in time to do anything about it. Focused on the destruction of the Colombian patrol boat, they only started to turn into the Morning Glory when the freighter was three hundred yards distant. A couple of the Anahuac crew were quick to jump overboard, but the remainder were either too distracted or too startled to do anything. Hitchins winced as the trawler's deck disappeared under the freighter's bow, and a second later, Morning Glory's bow crashed into the trawler's port side with a jarring shriek of metal on metal.
The guns on the Anahuac trawler stopped firing as the collision sent most of the men sprawling. The trawler's displacement was perhaps three hundred tonnes, Morning Glory's almost ten times as much. The collision didn't immediately cut the Anahuac in two, but the damage was massive and fatal; water began flooding into the trawler as she drifted away from the freighter. The patrol boat's main gun and remaining machine gun maintained a careful barrage of the sinking trawler's stern section. Her blinker light flashed, "THAT WAS NOT ONE NINE FIVE DEGREES", prompting nervous laughter on the Morning Glory's bridge. A follow up message - "WATCH FOR BOARDERS" - killed the laughter.
"Right", Hitchins said. "Watch for boarders. And let's see how badly damaged we are."
now thats a good Capitan ^.^ smash my cargo i smash your boat
I like him, some one should offer him a commision in the Columbian Navy.. ;D
6 April 1910: NW of Havana
"Good, come over to investigate. We're in dire straits, you know", the master of the coastal freighter muttered under his breath. The other ship, another tramp by the looks of her, had been drawn this way by the oil black smoke roiling up into the blue sky. The other ship, presumably being honest mariners, would soon be offering assistance in fighting the fire.
"Are we sending to them?", he asked aloud.
"Twice now, with no response", the younger man at the signal light replied.
"Being cautious", the master grunted. In a low sing-song, he murmured, "Don't make me chase you. You won't like that."
The other tramp was drawing closer, on an oblique closing course, but it seemed to be in no hurry to draw too close. "Colombian", a lookout called out. "Don't see any weapons on her."
"Finally", the lamp operator sighed as his counterpart on the Colombian ship began flashing a message his way. "He's asking our name, flag, and if we need assistance."
"You know what to tell him", the master replied. "Let's have a few sparks from the fire!", he called back. The order was passed into the aft hold, and the hands there tossed a mix of grass and cardboard onto the carefully tended blaze. Embers drifted up with the smoke soon enough. The master nodded approvingly.
"Looks like they're going to pass us to starboard and then come up our port side", the lookout noted.
"Checking out our nameplate", the mate said.
"That's fine", the master replied. It was possible that the Colombians had managed to shut down the observer team in Havana - the lack of wireless information suggested it - but even in the worst case, there was no way they'd be able to tell their merchant marine which ships were involved in this particular campaign. Not secretly, anyway.
The tramp passed them at two thousand yards. "Stern chaser", the lookout replied. "Probably one of their sixty-fives. Looks functional."
"Put your telescope away", the master said. "We should be too busy fighting the fire for you to be glassing them." He glanced aft, from his own concealed position. The bucket brigade was tireless passing buckets - mostly empty - to the hold, where the senior hand carefully poured it into the hold away from the fire. "Good work", he called out. The mate nodded; he was in the open, playing the part of the master in this charade.
The Colombian freighter circled round their stern at seven knots. The master could sense the anticipation of his crew, felt it himself. It had been far too long since the last set of sacrifices, and he felt the weight of the Eye upon him. Please or perish, he thought. "Perhaps we can look forward to some passengers", he murmured. The helmsman grunted his approval.
"Signal them to hurry up - we're going to lose the ship if we can't get the fire under control. Mess up a couple of characters - you're panicky."
The lamp operator clacked out the signal. The Colombian was quick to respond. "He says they're coming as quickly as they can. He noted that they have to be careful about pirates."
The master chuckled.
"I'll mention the irony of that to him if we take him alive", the lamp operator added.
The Colombian began to come up alongside, about two hundred yards off. Their gun wasn't manned, but a few men were on deck with axes and a fire hose. The other ship's speed was dropping as it matched his own - a talented man at the helm, the master reflected. "Stand by", he growled, and the order was quietly passed along to the concealed quick-firing guns and machine guns, and to the boarding party waiting inside the superstructure.
The Colombian was edging in now, and the bucket crew started receiving full buckets to maintain the charade. The tramp could still sheer off if they didn't like what they saw. One man out of place, one crate not quite in the right place, and the easy kill would become a chase. At one hundred yards, he'd give the order and the bulkheads would drop and the crates slid out of the way. From the Colombians' perspective, it'd probably look like a series of corner-of-the-eye movements. Yes, pretty much like that, the master thought, as on the Colombian freighter a boat slid aft and a net full of crates suddenly jerked upward. Although...
7 April 1910: Cartagena
Capitan Augustin Friere walked up to the gatehouse of the embassy of the Confederate States of America and returned the salute of the Marine corporal in charge. "I'm with the Armada's Naval Intelligence Division", he said. "I would like to meet with Captain Morris, please."
The marine asked, "Do you have an appointment with the Captain, Sir?"
"I do not", Friere replied, "But it is important that I see him, nonetheless."
"I will see if he's available, Sir", the marine replied. "Please have a seat over there." He turned to another marine and said, "Private, see if the Naval Attache is available, and whether he is able to meet with Captain Friere of Colombian Naval Intel."
"Yes, Corporal", the private replied.
Friere watched the young man march down the laneway to the red brick building and disappear around its side. "Shouldn't take too long, Sir", the marine corporal assured him.
The private returned eight minutes later and reported to the corporal in a quiet tone. The corporal said to Friere, "Captain Morris is available, Sir. He'll be out momentarily to see you."
"Thank you, Corporal", Friere acknowledged.
Morris came marching down the laneway soon after. A tall, handsome fellow, he was considered a bit of a prize in the capital's social circle, and a few Cartagenan families had embarked on elaborate but ultimately futile attempts to match him up with eligible young women. His file back at Friere's office indicated this was probably to avoid the risk of being honeytrapped, since some of those young senoritas were considered quite the catch.
"Afternoon, Captain", Morris said in a soft drawl. "What can I do for you?"
"Good afternoon, Captain", Friere replied. "On behalf of the Government of Gran Colombia, I am instructed to hand over to you this package." He held up a thin briefcase.
Morris looked at the briefcase, then back to Friere. "Alright then - we do have some protocol on that kind of thang, so I'm going to have to call for the Deputy Ambassador. Sorry - it'll just be a sec."
About ten minutes passed before the Deputy arrived. Friere noticed that the marine corporal kept the briefcase in his sight at all times, as if ensuring that nothing untoward was taking place.
"Good afternoon, Sir", Friere reiterated to the Deputy Ambassador. "On behalf of the Government of Gran Colombia, I am instructed to hand over to you this package."
"Thank you - what is it?"
"This is a summary of information obtained during anti-piracy operations over the past month. It includes a partial list and description of vessels believed to be in the employ of a piracy operation being controlled out of Mesoamerica, as well as a summary of reports on incidents that we can document. There is also some information on the manner in which their operations were controlled and coordinated. They may be of use to your navy in suppressing the pirates harassing your traffic."
The Deputy Ambassador's eyebrows poked up and he glanced at his own naval attache before asking, "Where did you get this information?"
"The information was gathered by a joint military/civilian operation that included the capture and interrogation of several Anahuac pirates", Friere replied.
"The Anahuac have a reputation for being...uncooperative", Captain Morris observed.
"They were persuaded to be cooperative", Friere replied. "My civilian counterparts are satisfied that the facts in this briefcase are indeed truthful." The Confederate diplomat frowned at this, but the naval attache merely nodded.
"Thank you, Capitan", the diplomat replied. "Do I need to sign for it?"
"Please", Friere said.
"Fair enough. We've got paperwork of our own to be filling in now, too."
"Of course", Friere agreed.
Note: Similar packages are delivered to other land-holders in the western Caribbean, specifically Rohan and France. Each package contains exactly what Friere said it did, but considerable care has been taken to remove any mention of the various unsavory means employed by Gran Colombia to actually acquire the intelligence...
18 April 1910: Belem, Brazil
While the Colombians were well dressed and clean shaven, the Brazilians ranged from "well kempt" to "fresh out of the jungle" in appearance. Neither group seemed bothered by the disparity, as they had dealt with similar people in the past.
"So - welcome to Belem", Lourenco de Fonseca said loudly, cutting off a couple of side-conversations and prompting the Brazilian closest to the door to get up and close it. "Welcome to Belem", he repeated.
"Thank you", one of the Colombians replied. "Perhaps we should begin with a round of introductions? I am Alfonso Sagasta, from Bogota." The other five Colombians, from different parts of the Republic, then introduced themselves.
Fonseca introduced himself at that point, and was followed in turn by the other eight Brazilians, all of who were from the state of Para.
"Thank you", Sagasta said. "And our thanks also to agreeing to this meeting. As you are probably aware each of us is here on behalf of a mining company or grubstaking syndicate back home. Like most mining companies, our employers have remained focussed on their home jurisdiction as a result of familiarity with the legal regime and the generally harsh excise and tax laws that apply to foreign mining operations in most countries.
"Of course, the situation has changed rather significantly in Brazil in the past eighteen months, as your government has passed its Mineral Exploration and Mining Act and just recently its Foreign Investment Act. Our employers have concluded that Brazil's mineral sector is now open for business, and we're looking for investment opportunities that can impact on our bottom lines. At the same time, we recognize the value of local partners and expertise, so wish to establish friendly and productive collaborations."
Fonseca smiled. "And it is good that this is the case", he replied. "No question the entire extent of Brazil - and Para in particular - is rich in mineral wealth, but drawing in the capital needed to exploit our resources has been a challenge. Much of the domestic-raised capital flows to the Philippines, unfortunately."
"That is the consequence of electing a left-leaning local government", Sagasta noted. "The Philippines did not make the same mistake."
The Brazilian did not contest the point. "Still, there is a strong capitalist tradition, as can be seen in the growing strength of the Partido Progressista."
"This is true", Sagasta agreed.
"So, the question at this point becomes - which metals interest you and your colleagues?", Fonseca inquired.
"We've heard of the significant iron and bauxite deposits in the region, which I gather are mainly unexploited due to lack of local refining opportunities and, until recently, the limited demand for these elsewhere in Brazil. With trade into the Republic now an option, we think this will change", Sagasta said. "Tin is of interest because much of the world's supply is currently located in the East Indies. Since the owners of that part of the world are not on the best terms with your government", and a couple of the Brazileans snickered, "We suggest local production to be in Iberia's strategic interest."
"Plus there's gold, of course", one of the other Colombians added.
"And we're always interested in that", Sagasta confirmed.
"So essentially you are interested in everything to be found in Para", Fonseca observed.
"Essentially, yes", the Colombian agreed.
"Excellent", the Brazilean replied. "That allows the widest opportunity for deals. Shall we give you a summary of the geology of the state, then?"
6 May 1910: Cartagena
"Before we meet with the Admiral to discuss his long terms plans, what's the latest on the piracy situation?", President Alizandro asked his uncle.
"There have been no reported incidents since the eleventh of April", Ricardo Alizandro answered.
"That was the incident northeast of Matanzas?"
"Yup", Ricardo affirmed. "It wasn't entirely harmless, since several passengers on the ship did get killed, but most were saved before she sunk. It's been good so far as media's concerned, though, especially in Jamaica. There's nothing worse for a piratic tramp freighter than a spanky new cruiser full of angry Jamaicans."
"So that's three pirates sunk?", Rey asked.
"Er, five, probably", Ricardo corrected him. "I say 'probably' as I haven't received the official report from NUS on the one incident."
"What have they got to do with this?", Rey queried. "There're no Anahuac down that end of the continent.
"They offered to send up a few ships to work out of Colon during the big sweep, and I agreed to it. Apparently, they managed to pick off a pirate early last month." Seeing Rey's puzzled expression, Ricardo added, "I sent you a briefing note on their deployment."
"I didn't see it", Rey replied.
"Well, I sent it. Check with your correspondence person", Ricardo said. "Anywho, they got one, there's Matanzas, there's the one we grabbed during the big op on the twenty-first of March - that was the wireless relay ship. There's also the one from the eleventh, like I said, and there's a catch we didn't make public from the sixth of April. One of the Armada's new 'miscellaneous service' vessels nabbed that one and took a few prisoners. They've been handed over to your friend, the Carpenter, for some working-over."
Rey nodded. "That's fine, it produced results last time. What's your sense - are we winning this?"
"Yes, so long as we keep up the pressure", Ricardo agreed. "Bear in mind we've moved ships out of Cartagena and Cromwell to help out in this work - they won't be there indefinitely. The question is whether we can catch enough of the bastards to make them give up before we resume our usual deployments."
"And what're we hearing from abroad?"
"Not so much. The Confederates, Rohirrim, and French received their packages but I've seen no official response. They have picked up the pace of their ops, too, however."
"And the larger international community?"
"Some interest - the Baltic and Hapsburgers have been talking, and the former does have some cruisers in the region, but there hasn't been much pirate activity - that I know of - in the eastern Caribbean. Frankly, it's almost entirely concentrated in the Gulf and in a broad circle around the Yucutan - which doesn't help the Mesoamerican's case at all."
"How heavily is this affecting international trade?"
"According to Sebastien, traffic's down about five percent at the canal. That's really not such a big drop - fact is, a lot of shippers aren't willing to send their ships around the continent, so they're just re-routing ships to either skirt along our coast between the Antilles and the canals, or between the canals and the gap between Cuba and Haiti. They're further from Mesoamerican waters, and we and the other regional powers have a good handle on that part of the sea."
Rey nodded. "Alright then. Let's go talk about ships with the Admiral."
14 May 1910: Cartagena
A week ago, it had seemed that the pirate problem in the Caribbean was going away; several ships had been caught, and their crews either killed or captured (and then killed). However, reports from western Cuba had shaken this assumption, and had prompted President Alizandro to call in the Mesoamerican consul for a discussion. Xicotencatl Tezozomoc now sat at the far end of the table, facing not only the President but all of his Ministers, seated along the table with their chairs angled to face him. This arrangement - combined with the shorter chair provided to Tezozomoc and the position of the morning sun behind Rey's shoulder - made for a somewhat uncomfortable occasion for the Mesoamerican diplomat.
"Thank you for seeing me on short notice", Rey began the conversation.
"You are welcome, Mister President", Tezozomoc replied, completing the formalities. "How may I assist you today?"
"I wanted to inform your government on the current status of our anti-piracy operations", Rey replied. Tezozomoc nodded, as if expecting to hear this. "Over the past six weeks, the Armada and a NUS contingent have combined to sink or destroy a total of six pirate vessels in the vicinity of Cuba. Some of these episodes have been near-run things, while others have not; the action three days ago, in particular, was little more than a live-fire exercise for the armored cruiser in question."
"I was only aware of four such victories for you, so I offer my congratulations to you on these additional triumphs", the Mesoamerican responded.
"We are managing communications on this file very carefully", Rey noted, "To the point that we are providing falsehoods to the press in order to suit our purposes."
"I'm surprised to hear this", Tezozomoc said, somehow managing to sound sincere.
Rey sipped at his coffee, then continued. "Now, it turns out that in five of the six incidents, the Armada took prisoners, who were subsequently questioned by police."
"...by which you mean tortured, Mister President?"
Rey smiled. "We gained a considerable amount of information from the prisoners, not the least of which were such mundane details as places of birth - all of which, interestingly, happened to be within your borders. We also learned the names of other vessels, which were turned over to other governments even as the Armada began actively hunting these ships. Many of the prisoners happened to bear tattoos similar to those borne by Anahuac warriors at El Dorado some years back.
"On a separate tangent, our investigations determined that all of the vessels captured or sunk to date were of Mesoamerican registry. Three could be traced to collectives in which the Mesoamerican government is a legal partner, and a fourth is owned outright by a Mesoamerican Crown Corporation. One vessel had received an overhaul in a Mesoamerican port seven months earlier. Three bore blank cargo manifests which were nonetheless stamped and certified by Mesoamerican harbour authorities. In short, we have amassed sufficient evidence to say with certainty that your government is, at the very least, proving grossly negligent in combatting this problem, if in fact you are not actually rendering it active assistance", Rey summarized.
"So you may claim. Given that you are lying to your own media, I see no reason to think you'd do otherwise with my government", was Tezozomoc's acidic retort.
"Fair enough, but whether or not your government believes what my government asserts, the underlying problem for you remains the same: a large and powerful neighbour of Mesoamerica is asserting Mesoamerican culpability in the rash of pirate attacks. These have cost me hundreds of civilian and military lives, a number of civilian vessels and a military patrol boat, and have caused some difficulty to the economy of this nation. The attacks have also cost me internationally; apart from drawing the competence of the Armada into question, it's also prompted a significant and entirely unwelcome European naval presence", Rey continued. "Under the circumstances, I think you'd agree that Gran Colombia's response to the pirate problem has been measured, proportionate to the threat, and respectful of international law and borders."
"I suppose", Tezozomoc concurred.
"Good", Rey said. "Now, you may not be aware of this - as the media has not been informed of this - but in the past week, there have been two instances in which remote fishing villages in western Cuba have been razed and their inhabitants slaughtered. A total of one hundred sixty-eight people have been butchered, ranging from infants to elders. Under the circumstances, and in the absence of evidence, my government would automatically assume the pirates - and therefore Mesoamerica - are to blame. Happily, the raiders left more than enough evidence behind to confirm that this is the case: the bodies of their dead, dropped weapons and equipment, shell casings, graffiti, specific desecrations of the dead, and over thirty witnesses who managed to outwit or outfight their assailants."
Rey paused to let Tezozomoc process this latest information. "This will not be tolerated, Senor Tezozomoc; I have had enough. I am holding your government responsible for these atrocities, and will consider any further attack on Colombian soil, shipping, persons or property to be causus belli on the part of Mesoamerica. At that time, Gran Colombia's reaction will not be measured, it will be dis-proportionate to the threat, and it will certainly not be respectful of your border."
After several long seconds of silence, Xicotencatl Tezozomoc quietly replied, "I will convey your message to my government."
"You do that", Rey said.
Note from Habsburg Embassy
In light of evidence of Satanist involvement in Carribean piracy, is there any manner in which the KuKK government or military can be of assistance?
"The Republic of Gran Colombia thanks its Hapsburger friends for their offer of assistance.
"The Armada is confident that it has inflicted a serious defeat upon the pirates in recent weeks, so we do not feel military assistance is necessary.
"Your assistance would be appreciated in convincing the Mesoamerican government that its interests are best served by actively combating those elements of the pirate organization operating out of Mesoamerican territory. The alternative is for Gran Colombia to do this on their behalf, and El Dorado can be considered a useful precedent in demonstrating how Gran Colombia might go about this. We believe that the Mesoamerican government will, understanding this, opt to do the right thing and take up the struggle against the pirates."
Note from the Baltic Confederation:
The Confederation offers any military and diplomatic assictance in curbing the pirate menace in the Carribian area
"The Baltic Confederation is thanked for its generous offer. We do not believe military assistance is necessary at this time, but as your own Caribbean territories could conceivably be affected by the pirate problem, it may be advisable to exchange naval liaison teams.
"Some information gathered through prisoner interrogations is provided in the accompanying package, and may be useful for BC shipping engaged in the protection of its trade and territory (OOC Note: this is the same package sent to CSA, France, and Rohan earlier in this thread)
"Finally, we think it would be helpful if the Baltic Confederation were to use its political and economic influence to convince the Mesoamerican government to take a more active role in combatting those pirates based in Mesoamerican territory."
The Imperial Navy has already agreed to conduct Joint antipiracy patrols with the CSA, we would offer the Same to GC. (aka I have 2 of my 28 knot 8" cruisers and 2 of my 10" cruisers in the gulf, More ships could be sent if Necissary)
To GC President, via Confederate Embassy:
WISH TO DISCUSS ESTABLISHMENT OF ANTI-PIRACY PATROL ZONES STOP MEETING WOULD COMPRISE ROHAN, CSA, GC STOP ITALIA VOLUNTEERED SERVICES AS WELL INTEND TO ACCEPT STOP REQUEST GC FORCES REMAIN SOUTH AND EAST OF ROHIRRIM POSSESSIONS UNTIL ZONES CLEARLY DEFINED STOP INITIAL RECOMMENDATION FOR PATROL ZONE NEAR CUBA AND LESSER ANTILLES DUE TO LARGE COLOMBIAN POSSESSIONS STOP WILL INDICATE CONFEDERATE FORCES PATROL NEAR EAST DRM COAST AND ROHIRRIM FORCES IN NB AREA STOP ACTIVITY CONFINED TO GULF ONLY ACCORDING TO OUR SOURCES IN DRM STOP TR SENDS STOP GOD BLESS
I see I have a fair bit of correspondence to be thinking about on the long commute home...