The Supremo

[Mercantilist States]

To: General Beaumont
From: Col. James Madison VI

I have sent you the location of our city of Ginto and the islands which the Mercantilist States claim.

However, as I stated before there are Mercantilian citizens on the peninsula, and I must insist that they are given free access to and from Ginto.

[Mercantilist States]

"Trip aces." Clint Rice said as he flipped over his cards.

Rice was part of the Mercantilist West O Corporate Police Force that had been assigned to guard the Mercantilist West O Company's sugar fields on the northwest coast of the peninsula of the former Ginto province. Since they had cleared the natives out of the area, things had been slow and they were able to enjoy the finer things in life - smokes, brews, and cards.

"You guys hear that the Mercantilist Brewing Co. may be expanding their tobacco production to this area?" Rice said as he took a drink of his Island Pale Ale.

"There's no way anything this far out is going to become part of the States, how are they going to do that?" John Smolten, one of his colleagues and commanding officer, asked.

"Farming."

"Very funny."

"Policy change I've heard."

"You and your fucking inside info. Deal the cards."

Frank Waylan, another colleague who was on watch, bust through the door.

"You guys need to see this."

As they climbed to the top of the watchtower, they looked into the distance and saw thousands of troops and tanks heading their way.

"Well that doesn't look too friendly," Rice said.
 
"What should we do?" Waylan asked.

"What can we do? I doubt they're coming for sugar," Smolten said. "Let 'em be. Hell, maybe we can sell them some sugar."

They chuckled.

"That's all you my friend," Rice said. "Let's play some cards."

[Varkour]

In Vusun President Gribeauval was sitting at his desk. He knew he had 10,000 troops near the Mercantilist settlements ready to clear out the area, but now he was not sure if he wanted to use them.

The past week had been hell for him. The national press were pounding down on him and his popularity was down to an embarrassing 39% after the disastrous conflict near Ryazania. He was near the end of his last term and could not wait.

There was a knock at the door and General Deville marched into the room. He shook the President's hand and took his hat off.

"When can we kick the bastards out then?" Deville asked.

"We're not going to. I have decided to let them stay there as they do not pose a threat to Varkour." The President replied.