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A White Flag, A Red Star, and the Beaches That Greeted Them
Topic Started: Mar 18 2013, 12:56 PM (284 Views)
Porcu
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

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News reports had hinted at collapse for months. Years, actually, if someone had been reading carefully. Financial growth and economic progress had stalled - had been stalled - for some quite some time. True, the military was in better condition than the State, but while the former had begun to rust without the latter had all but become hollow.

It had been this way for years. Why had nothing changed?

The Empire, that majestic reincarnation of the empire of old, had carried on for generations, and who in their right mind could say that she would not continue carrying on for generations to come? She had endured the World Military Dominion and that total, devastating global war. Her capital, Constantinople, had taken its fair share of suffering and, yet, it did not show the signs of its age. Despite all that had happened she glowed with an aura that captivated all - a better seat of power would be difficult to find.

Now look at her. Broken, though not by defeat, and irreparably so. Ah, but one could scarcely tell in certain places.


For years now the local divisions within the larger Roman territory in Hispania had been suppressed and patched and covered back up when necessary. Spaniards and North Africans, Greeks and Italians, Orthodox Christians and Jews - nothing bound them besides a common allegiance to the Emperor and the Imperial Court at Constantinople. In Gibraltar, a separatist group had grown rapidly as it became understood that the Empire was increasingly stale and calcified. When the riots broke - not the occasional protest that was easily put down by the Provincial Guard, but a real, coordinated campaign - it quickly became apparent that the Roman authorities were not prepared in the least.

A major port and the entranceway to the Mediterranean, Gibraltar was vital to the strategic defense of the Empire. While it was not the capital of the territory, it nonetheless housed a large number of imperial soldiers, officials, and members of the Court. The riots were initially concentrated in the historic centre of the city, near the palace which Roman officials used as a base, and quickly overwhelmed local police. Sent reeling back towards the port and military district, the police called upon their better trained and more heavily armed counterparts to provide the necessary force to quell the uprising.

A pause, however. Orders were required. Word of the riots was forwarded to the Roman governor of Spain, who then sent a message to his superior in Constantinople. No immediate orders were given - valuable time lost.

There were already reports of dead civilians, dead police, and dead officials. Within the first couple of hours, private estates belonging to rich aristocrats were trashed and burned, centers of government were stormed, and a march seemingly containing every citizen of the city moved through the town. Flags of the Empire were burned and banners reading "Get Out!" and "Freedom" were draped from the balconies of apartments. Media outlets, especially foreign, were aghast at the chaos that erupted and speculation ran wild. Most were fearful of a full reprisal by the armed forces and panic began to spread when shots were heard coming from the port. In the end, it did not matter. Those soldiers who wandered into the city were pelted with brick and Molotov cocktail - all but a handful deciding their life was more important than the maintenance of the Imperial Order.

Days passed. Some soldiers began to die of dehydration, for the populace cut them completely from the city and helped them not at all. Many soldiers abandoned their posts and pleaded for shelter from the blazing sun and water to wet their splitting lips and their dry throats. Without formal orders, the captains of the docked ships decided to sail East and leave the cursed promontory behind, carrying all who could fit onto the ships with them.

It was in this curious state that the outline of transport aircraft littered the bright morning sky. Fear again swept the populace - here were their masters coming to revenge their fallen and their rule. The planes floated towards the city from the northeast and then...white. Like the seeds of a dandelion, they descended and dispersed themselves across the landscape. Few landed directly in the city (most just beyond the city in the interior) but they moved with ease and as swiftly as the soft mediterranean breeze.

A cursory understanding of world affairs immediately gave away the identity of these professionally dressed soldiers - for only one nation presented their soldiers in such a manner. A patch of a white flag with a small crest at the top left-hand corner donned the sleeves of the paratroopers. Few among them spoke Spanish, but all knew at least a few proper sentences in modern Greek (for they were taught ancient Greek alongside Latin in school) and many more spoke heavily accented Italian. The soldiers carried their weapons openly but non-threateningly and passed relatively freely through the streets. Surprise and shock greeted each advancing soldier in kind.

A man, of strong physical disposition and with an unkempt beard, stepped forward from the crowd gathered before the palace where a group of Roman officials were hiding for their lives. The advancing soldiers had pushed their way through the crowd, but now found their progress checked.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

The paratrooper in the lead did not blink or hesitate as he responded. "We are paratroopers of the Aeronautical Self-Defense Force of the Republic of Porcu, and we are here as a courtesy to His Imperial Majesty..."

A sparkle in the man's eyes. Terrible anger. He clenched his fists.

"Not to reinstate Roman rule," the Porcuian continued, "but to see an end to the violence and to restore peace and order. Gibraltar is no longer a territory of the Empire of the Romans."

...

"Παπά [1]..."

A father turned to his young boy and picked him up, setting him down on his knee. The television before them belted the news at a terrible pace. It was all very difficult to keep up with.

The Empire gone? Southern Italy in flames and riots across North Africa?

The man moved away from the bright light in front of him, carrying his son to a nearby window that gave a wonderful view of the port and the sea. Malta lay quiet, perfectly at rest, and one would never be able to tell that across the way terrible events had gripped cities, towns, and entire territories. The city of Valletta and her harbor bathed in a soft glow, one that provided comfort from the impenetrable darkness of the sea.

A light touch on his shoulder drew his attention away from the sight below. His eyes locked with those of his wife and he shuttered at the recognition of uncertainty and fear in those pale green circles. Turning back to the young child in his arms, the man called for a servant and gave a kiss on the forehead of his son before handing him over. Bedtime stories were to come later, not now.

"The news just gets worse and worse." she whispered to him once their son was safely out of earshot. Her voice trembled.

"Constantinople, as with much of the Empire, is gripped in riots, protests, and demonstrations. I've received word that Crete is totally outside of Roman control, as is much of Sicily."

"And Greece? Italy?"

"I just don't know." the man gripped the window sill and slumped his head. "Signs of the end were impossible to miss..."

"Surely this isn't the end." she replied in a vain attempt to instill some positivity. "His Imperial Majesty will call for order and..."

"I'm afraid that it is. The Emperor has little power beyond Greece, if that. Porcuian soldiers have occupied Gibraltar."

"They say for peace."

"Yes, that is what they say. And what will the Venetians say? What will those fucking Genesisians in Rome say when they roll across Italy? What will the Spaniards of the Pyrenees say?"

A servant had just entered the room to ask if her masters required anything when a loud gasp suddenly left her. Taken aback, the head of the household and his wife turned, though they quickly followed her gaze back outside the window. Off in the distance, though well within sight, the night sky flashed with the lights of aircraft after aircraft. While some lights stayed on a horizontal path across the sky, others fell towards Earth. With Gibraltar fresh in his mind, the man pushed himself away from the window and towards the entrance to his estate. With the assistance of his servants, the man shed his robe and donned a suit representative of his imperial standing before being escorted into the city by motorcar.

It was just as the man arrived to the government palace that a firefight broke out. Two blocks ahead members of the local police and soldiers of the token force of Provincial Guard situated themselves between the advancing paratroopers and the city centre. Gunshots rang through the night and the man's heartbeat quickened as he gazed out from his window. Unable to tear himself away from the sight a couple of blocks away, the man moved on only when the roar of a transport aircraft became deafening. Then a shout and an explosion.

Moving up the steps that were the entrance to the governmental palace, the man discerned the outline of a tank just beyond the top of the trees that lined both sides of the street. The group of police and guards two blocks ahead had melted away and were replaced by the sleek uniforms of the advancing paratroopers. First Gibraltar and now Malta...What were the Porcuians up to? The man entered the palace and was immediately met with force.

"For fuck's sake...Leave him alone!" the man heard from the far end of the entranceway. "He's a member of the Senate, let him through. Are you alone, Συνορεύει [2]?"

"Quite...Commissioner, what is going on?" the man said, pushing aside the soldier in front of him and moving forward.

After shouting a few orders the Commissioner directed his attention back to the man. "The Porcuians have moved against us, just like at Gibraltar." Without resting, the Commissioner motioned the Senator and Roman noble forward. "Constantinople has been completely silent for three days now and I'll be damned if I can't get a message through to Syracuse!"

"What have the Porcuians said?"

"Eh? Oh...difficult to say exactly. They speak Greek, you know, but not our Greek..."

"It's a close approximation of ancient Greek, Commissioner." the Senator replied, hoping for an actual answer to his question.

"Well, isn't that fucking curious!" the Commissioner said with a look of genuine surprise. "Right, well...They say they're here to restore peace and calm on behalf of the Emperor."

"That's what they said when they took Gibraltar. But there haven't been any protests here, have there?"

"Not even a sacrilegious fart in the town centre."

"So...it's war?"

"As far as I'm concerned, Sir, this island is still property of His Imperial Majesty and a sacred territory of the Empire. In this confusion, I take orders from the Emperor himself."

...

In the end, after a week of holding out, the Roman garrison in Valletta gave up. However, as a man of his word, it took a personal call from the Emperor to convince the Police Commissioner to stand down. The Senator had wanted to return to his estate to see his family days before, for in the first couple of days there was a complete lack of reliable information. Officers sent to the Senator's estate first said that parts had been destroyed, while they later said that it had been abandoned beforehand. A final amendment said that the Senator's family was still alive and well and that the destroyed house was that of his neighbor.

Finally, once the Senator could leave the governmental palace (the Commissioner wouldn't allow anyone to leave under penalty of death) he was promptly escorted to a makeshift camp area at the edge of the harbor. The Commissioner was right, while it was impressive, the practicality and sense of knowing ancient Greek was lost upon the Senator. There was some difficulty in communication, but all was sorted out quickly enough. The Senator moved through the mass of people gathered and wandering about with the help of two Porcuian paratroopers until he came to a stall where food was being handed out. The woman just behind the stall smiled and glowed when her eyes found a treasure. She raced forward.

"Oh! I thought the worst; you just left that evening and I didn't hear from you!"

"I'm fine, I'm here."

"We heard gunfire though...Were you..."

"Papa!"

The tears flowed unabated now and covered the young boy's face as he was pressed up against his father's unshaven cheek. Though not having really suffered, the acute shock of the past week finally could be released.

All told, few had been displaced by the Porcuians and most could be said to have been the fault of the local police. Most of those gathered in the harbor were the homeless, their situation having not changed in the least, and the Senator's wife was simply participating in an activity she usually did every Sunday. The presence of the Porcuians, whatever their reasons might be, was a final indication that Constantinople had lost all authority.

Several days later, the noble Senator would learn of another repeated Porcuian operation in Syracuse. The island of Pantelleria was also under Porcuian control. Curiously, though considering the history of the city perhaps not surprisingly, the citizens of Syracuse (Syracusæ as it appeared in Porcuian communiques and news outlets) welcomed those carrying the white flag from Scandinavia. The fasces and red star could now be seen in cities of the Mediterranean for the first time since the loss of the Ligurian coastline to the Venetians.

Time would tell if that flag would have time to absorb the salt from the waves and the force of the wind.

...

Night in another layout. With crimson moons. That
lie low. That lean against the earth.

And a strong smell of herbs. Or like an old – an age
old – olive grove on fire.

Somewhere secret guitars jangle. And the dawn is
always late.

The clothes I was wearing were ripped by an unseen
rosebush.


trans. by
Paschalis Nikolaou and Richard Berengarten


OOC: FYI, the territories mentioned have all been run by RD and NRE (except for Syracuse) - which isn't to say they're approved of course. If there's anything you don't like or want changed, just let me know RD.

[1] = Papa
[2] = Dominus
Edited by Porcu, Mar 18 2013, 12:59 PM.
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Rhadamanthus
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Legitimist

OOC:

Nice post. A couple things:
1) I like the image of the empire you've drawn of the empire after the Dominion War. A phrase that I think represents well the idea of the empire after the war is "A World Restored," which was the title of a work by Henry Kissinger, describing the world the Concert powers tried to create after the Napoleonic Wars. But in both cases, the idea was too optimistic.
2) One minor correction. There was no Roman governor in Spain. Roman Spain was a client "Kingdom of Spain" that purported to be the same state as the Kingdom of Hispania before the Spanish Civil War. The reigning king was John Marius Vlachos-Pueyo, the son of the King and Queen of Hispania before the civil war. However the young king was married to the emperor's youngest daughter, and was constantly in the company of Roman "advisors."
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Porcu
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

OOC: I had to work off my best assumptions, so I thank you for the corrections. I'll be sure to make the proper edits.
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Union
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Pyrenees Republic
Office of Foreign Affairs of the Union of Free Spain
Javier Periera-Morales, presiding Secretary

CONFIDENTIAL - Eyes of [Porcu Ambassador to Union] Only

The Secretariat requests your immediate presence to discuss the deployment of Porcuian troops into Gibraltar. This act is considered by the Union to be a violation of the Roman Law of the Spains, and the Union's own Iberian Doctrine, which declares imperial acquisition of territory by foreign powers in Iberia to be a declaration of war on the Union.

Without Roman permission, the Union cannot help but consider this act to be a flagrant violation of the law that governs the peninsula, and thus the peace - but not one that cannot be discussed, as anarchy in the former Roman region is undesirable, and along the Straits, even more so.

Again, your immediate presence at the Secretariat is necessary to avoid a grave military confrontation.
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Porcu
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

Ambassador Quintus Cornelius Agelastus will be made immediately available to meet with the Secretariat of the Union.
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NRE
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Map Tsar and Southern Gentleman

OOC: If this was too forward Porcu just tell me and I'll edit.

IC:
When it became apparent to the Russians that the Roman Empire was in decay, they knew that in truth they could do very little. With war elsewhere, they had not the manpower or the resources to help the Romans hold their territories together. Russia's fealty was to the Emperor but as far as they knew the Emperor was dead. For some, this was enough reason not to act and for them, the crumbling of the Roman Empire was a sign that finally the time for Russia to stand outside the shadow of the Roman Emperor had come. However, to their honor the Russians could not simply stand back and watch the Empire burn. So, more as a token show of force and influence through Europe, the Russian sent out spy planes and Iberia was no exception.

Streaking across the sky, in a loose formation to cover as much ground as was possible, came several MiG-25 reconnaissance aircraft. They were lightly armed as the Russians didn't feel there was any needed to worry. Their mission was simply to keep the Russians updated on the situation in the Roman territory. After all, the Russians didn't need some dictator or otherwise aggressive state forming in the absence of the Roman government. They flew across the countryside taking in as much as their cameras could before leaving the territory and returning back to the naval base in Barcelona.

The pictures were soon downloaded from the cameras and soon sent back to Moscow for analysis. Most of what was captured was as the Russians expect, the local communities going about as they always did. However, as they continued to go through the material they came to the pictures from Rome's Spanish Gibraltar area. These pictures were different, movement....a lot of movement, and from what the analysis believed, it was very much military in nature. Were the Spanish on the move again? No, they gave their word to repress their expansions and surely the Russians would have foreseen it. No, the experts looked over the photographs carefully, magnifying and using the best software a government can employ. In the end, the Russians could come to no other conclusion....the Porcu! This was something Russia did not expect, something they had no foreseen. Bold had the Republicans become, a problem they could still prove unless Russia took a stand. A greater storm that the crusade seemed to be brewing in Europe...
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Alberto
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Resident Italian
Marsavan Diplomat

The Grand Duchy of Marslava is extremely concerned by the activities which have been going on in Iberia on the behest of the government of Porcu. We have the impression that, by intervening in the region, Porcu is violating the commitments it had previously made toward the Roman Empire.
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Porcu
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"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

OOC: You're good NRE.

IC:

Direct Communiqué to Marslavan Diplomat in Stockholm; Forwarded to Prague

The Parliament and People of Porcu are unsettled by the concern expressed by our allies and wish to make it absolutely clear that our actions throughout the Mediterranean are operations to uphold peace and order on behalf of a crumbled Empire. That our assistance was solicited can be proven and that our commitment to the liberty and prosperity of all peoples is unwavering and, we hope, is not in doubt.

The concerns of Marslava are taken seriously by the Republic and we will do what we can to allay any fears.


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