There's too Much Confusion (1971-onward)

[Prydania]

15 November 1976

The scrawny figure of Andrew Richmond, Duke of Haddyn almost seemed to be consumed by the golden robes of the coronation ceremony. He sat in St. Tobias' throne, waiting for St. Tobias' Imperial crown, slowly being carried towards him by the Archbishop of Totnes. He starred at the man who was carrying the crown with a certain sense of impatience, his eyes locked on the crown itself in sharp focus. Objectively it looked like his entire being was dedicated to getting that crown and what it represented. An objective observer might even say his near-naked desire for the crown might raise some ugly questions. That was ok though. No one could look at this even objectively. No one who mattered anyway.
George VII was beloved, not just in the United Empire and the Dominions, but in the Confederate States as well. Known there as "Uncle George" he was seen as a kindly, loyal, old ally, a man who personally met with Confederate Presidents in Birmingham on numerous occasions, and who personally pushed for greater Inglo-Scotian commitment to their Confederate allies. Even in a nation as rooted in the concept of American republicanism as the Confederate States the old Emperor was beloved. Which is why his assassination, and that of his eldest son William, hit so many people close to home. His second eldest son, Andrew, was a target too, but escaped with nothing more then a broken collarbone, which was now almost fully healed. As loved as George VII was it was impossible for anyone to look at Andrew as anything but a victim. Someone who had his father snatched away by uncaring radical Marxists, someone who was now doing his solemn duty and taking up the mantle of the Crown. That was the perception in the minds of most, and it would be the perception in the minds of the media. No one who mattered would be able to see past it and see the prince, only 30, hungrily await the crown being placed upon his head. That was the genius part, when you got right down to it.
Finally the Archbishop was right in front of him. Andrew stiffened his body just a bit as the top cleric in the Inglo-Scotian Communion Church dipped a drop of oil onto his head, signifying Andrew being anointed by God. The Archbishop then gave Andrew the Sceptre of the Cross and the Sceptre of the Dove. The Archbishop then took the Imperial Crown and placed it on the Prince's head. This was followed by the officers of the House of Lords and members of the Imperial family taking their own lesser crowns and bonnets and placing them on their heads to show solidarity with the new Emperor.
"God save the Emperor!" the Archbishop called out. "God save Emperor Andrew III!"
Andrew stood, crown on his head, sceptres in hand. He had defied the fate which birth had bestowed upon him. He had changed his destiny. And together with his allies he would change the destiny of his nation and transform the world.

[Prydania]

Five Years Earlier

3 May 1971

The Imperial Army bus pulled out of downtown Sarum, Lt. Stephan Crofts watching it depart. The railway never made it out this way, which is how Sarum managed to stay a small farming community. No mines, no heavy industry. No radicals. Just a peaceful slice of old rural Ingland preserved in time, a community of farmers, outdoor markets, and old shop keepers.
Crofts took a moment to take in the feeling of being home. He looked up at the overcast sky, it always seemed overcast, and took in the faintly damp aurora of the town, as if he was just a day removed from rainfall. He knew the faint smell well, he had grown up with it.
He just stood there, at the bus stop for a few more moments, standing in a uniform of a soldier of the Imperial army. An unkempt uniform to be sure, but one that was adorned with the Alexandrian Cross, the highest military honour of the United Empire. He had earned it in Australis, serving in the Imperial Army of George VII to put down a native insurrection. He had held his position, alone, for three days before CSSD expeditionary forces arrived to drive the enemy off. He had taken a bullet in the shoulder for his efforts, and honourable discharged after being awarded the Alexandrian Cross. Not like it mattered. Just as the Imperial Army was closing in on the rebel forces Prime Minister Rowan Miller negotiated a settlement that granted amnesty to the insurgents if they accepted Imperial authority. Crofts had spent the return home cursing Miller for that. It was a sign of national weakness, Crofts thought, a lack of resolve to see a fight to its conclusion.
So here he was. Honourably discharged, after risking his life to crush terrorists, only for the government to grant those terrorists Imperial citizenship. And what did he get when he returned home? A country in the middle of a radical miners strike. If Rowan Miller couldn't be counted on to crush God forsaken natives then Crofts doubted his ability to crush white citizens, even if these particular whites deserved a crushing.
A light blue sedan pulled up, a car Crofts instantly recognized. It was his father's.

"Stephan!" Gregory Crofts exclaimed, jumping out of the car almost as soon as parking it along the side of the road, not waiting for his son to even through his bag in the trunk. "Look at you!" the farmer continued, embracing his son. "Alexandrian Cross in the Emperor's service, you have no idea how proud your mother and I are of you."
"I can imagine" Crofts responded in an understated manner he usually employed to try and bring an emotional discussion down a few levels. "But lets get in the car before you get fined for parking at a bus stop."
"They can bugger off if they want to hassle me over seeing my son for the first time in years" Gregory scoffed. Stephen chuckled and gave his father another hug.
"Was that so hard?" Gregory asked, before opening the trunk of the car.

"So things seem the same" Stephen remarked on the ride out of town, back to the farm.
"Here, maybe" Gregory responded, in a way that suggested that this wasn't the case elsewhere.
"The strikes you mean" Crofts implied. "Read about them in the papers on the way back from the colonies."
"First mines, now the factories" Gregory explained. "I don't begrudge a man trying to get his far shake, but these chaps, they're going about it like a bunch of crazed radicals."
"They are" Stephan replied. "They always have been, that's all Syndicalism, Marxism is, radical barbarianism dressed up as an ideology."
"Well I'm not sure about that," Gregory mused, "never gave it much thought really, those types never got a foothold out here."
"And we're Goddamn lucky for that" Stephan replied, somewhat indignantly.
"Well the unpleasantness, that'll get solved. Always has, always will" Gregory stated assuredly. "Now though, we're home. And hope your hungry. Your mother's been spending the entire day preparing this meal."
"I've had nothing but freeze dried bread and canned beans for the last year and a half" Stephan chuckled. "Of course I'm hungry."

"Stephan!" Dorthy Crofts exclaimed, seeing her son walk through the front door."
"Hello mum" Stephen replied smiling.
"Sit, the both of you" his mother stated. "Dinner will be ready soon."
"So Stephan, what will you do now that you're out of the military?"
"I was thinking politics" Crofts answered.

26 November 1973

"UNITY! Unity in deed, unity in struggle, unity in action!" Stephan Crofts yelled from a temporary wooden podium erected on a patch of grass in the courtyard formed by the Imperial Crescent townhouses in Bath.  He was dressed in a dark grey mackintosh jacket and dark grey slacks. Dark grey had been adopted as the colour of the Social Commonwealth Party, the organization founded by Crofts two years earlier. A row of young ruffians and fellow veterans from colonial campaigns dressed in dark grey faux military uniforms stood in front of the podium, presenting bot a picture of unity and intimidation. White flags adorned with the movement's emblems, a red and blue boar's head and a red V, fluttered in the wind as Crofts continued to address the sizable crowd that had gathered.
"How much longer are we going to allow radicals hold our society hostage? They ask for more, and more, and more until they hold the reigns of industry. Well I say no more! No more shall a vocal minority of radical syndicalists control Inglo-Scotian society through industry. Social Commonwealth offers liberation from revolution, liberation from chaos, and liberation from uncertainty! What it promises is a national cleansing, to wipe away the coercive elements of our society that we've allowed to fester for far to long!
Unity, friends, is what we offer. Strength through unity! Unity through action! My name is Stephan Crofts, and today we continue our march toward victory!"
The crowd cheered as he raised both arms, his hand loosely open as if he were channelling some divine energy. To the audience that was assembled it seemed fitting. Rowan Miller's Whig government had been hesitant to deploy police or the army on the striking mine workers. Some mining communities in northern and western Ingland had even declared "Workers' Councils" outing mine owners and local government officials. Crofts had sent the paramilitary wing of the SoCom Party, the Guardians, in to fight the radical miners unions and the Syndicalists. To the crowd assembled, made up of members from the middle and upper classes, nationalist radical intellectuals, veterans,  and disillusioned young people Stephan Crofts seemed quasi-Messianic. It was Crofts who was fighting the radicals, Crofts who was offering a vision of the future. All while the government remained paralyzed by what seemed like indecision.
"Victory," Crofts concluded, "is possible. We can win this fight, friends. And we will. Our society has been pushed to the edge of oblivion, but we've rallied, and we will see VICTORY!"

15 September 1976
The Rt. Honourable Stephan Crofts, Prime Minister of Inglo-Scotia watched as Prince Andrew Duke of Haddyn became Emperor Andrew III. He rose as the new Emperor did, bowing slightly before straightening back up. A little less then a year ago the Social Commonwealth Party had won a strong Parliamentary majority, and he had been asked to form a government by Andrew III's father, George VII. Now there was a new Emperor, one very few people expected to have. Crofts, however, was one of those few. And now their work could really begin.

[Prydania]

"Hello, I'm Clifford Fletcher, and this the IBC Evening News, Thursday the 3rd of December, 1976.

A Security an Special Intelligence Report sent shock waves through the House of Commons today. The SSI reports that 35 of the 97 Syndicalist Party Members of Parliament had financial ties to many of 'Workers' Councils' established by radical members of the Democratic Union of Miners during that union's prolonged strike that lasted from 1970 until 1975. These councils were condemned as 'counter-productive' by former Prime Minister Miller, and were retroactively deemed illegal assemblies by the Stephen Crofts-led Social Commonwealth government shortly after taking office.

Though the Syndicalist Party had supported the DUM's cause throughout the strike Party leader Clement Mosley insisted that no formal ties existed between the party and the DUM or the so called 'Workers Councils.' The SSI, which was charged with investigating the scope of the councils after the strike was resolved by the Crofts government, claims that several sitting Syndicalist MPs had financial ties to them. The SSI would not release the names of the 35 MPs. SSI Director Carl May claimed that no names would be released to the public until the 'final odds and ends of the investigation are wrapped up.'

We turn now to the world of sports. Haddyn FC managed to best Totnes United one to nill in a spirited match...."

[Prydania]

6 February 1977

Prime Minister Crofts and Minister of War Gerry Wilder approached the conference room of the Imperial Underground Bunker, an underground residence for the Imperial Family to be used during times of emergency. No such emergency existed at the moment, but it was the safest place to hold a conversation, away from the echoing chambers of St. Tobias' Palace. The Social Commonwealth Guardians, members of the party's paramilitary wing, who had been escorting the Prime Minister and Minister of Foreign Affairs stopped just outside the entrance to the conference room, which was guarded by two scarlet-clad members of the Imperial Guard. Paramilitary organizations and the actual military hardly ever mixed, and there was no way those Imperial Guards were going to let two ruffians inside that room. Giving the Guardians the single to wait, Crofts entered the room followed by Wilder. They noticed Emperor Andrew III sitting at the head of the table as the heavy door closed behind them.
The room was covered, from floor to ceiling, in dark cherry wood, the same wood that made up the conference table. A portrait  of Emperor Tobias I, aka St. Tobias, hung on the wall behind Andrew III, the picture flanked by an Imperial Jack and and Imperial Standard.

"Please, sit" the Emperor invited.

"The state of Parliament?" Andrew III asked.
"The purge has proven to be successful" the Prime Minister stated. "Those 35 Syndicalist Party members are serving prison sentences for aiding a conspiracy to commit treason, and 27 of them were replaced with Social Commonwealth MPs in the by-elections. The remaining seventy Syndicalists seem complacent. I think they got the point. The remaining Whigs and Tories? They were never a problem."
"So it's time then?" Andrew III wondered, looking in the direction of the Minister of War.

"Yes, I do believe it is" Wilder answered. "It's time to destroy the Co-operative Commonwealth."
Andrew III grinned, the word "excellent" escaping his lips. "Their destruction will mean the end to the socialist menace that has gripped this world since 1917. A new world order, with the Coalition of Carth as its undisputed master, will emerge."
"Destler," Crofts responded, referring to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, "has indicated that the Myrorians and Eluvatarians are not entirely on board with the notion of a full-on assault against the CCC."
"Eluvatar and Myroria will come around" Andrew III remarked reassuringly.
"Their involvement is entirely inconsequential Your Majesty, compared to that of the Confederate States" Wilder answered.
"And their involvement?" the Emperor asked.

"I've been in contact with their newly sworn in President, Your Majesty" Crofts added. "I met him, while serving in Australis actually. He's a committed anti-socialist, he'll support the endeavour when the time comes."
"So we dispose of the CCC government and install the DSA government in exile we have been harbouring in Tiberia, a government loyal to our interests and one which will bow to our demand that we control the size of its military" Crofts added. "We will finally secure the Americas for ourselves and our Confederate and Nahuan allies."
"We've already begun building up our military presence in Canada" Wilder stated. "Our forces are quickly supplementing those of the Dominion's. The plan is to strike through the Ohio River Valley. The Confederates will push up, and meet us. We'll cut off the bulk of their forces, which surveillance indicates is concentrated on the eastern seaboard, from the breadbasket in the western portion of the country. Canadian, Inglo-Scotian, and Confederate forces will then be able to move east against the Co-operative People's Army following an extensive bombing raid. Once the eastern armies of the CCC are scattered and its eastern industrial centres reduced to rubble we can occupy Boston and install our DSA government. At that point a concentrated push on the western remnants of the CCC from the east, south, and north will finish the enemy off."

"Who would have thought the establishment of the CCC would be a blessing" Andrew III mused. "Had the DSA not fallen we would be locked in a never ending struggle of wars, back and forth, back and forth. Now, because it did fall, the DSA ex-patriots are in our debt. Once we wipe away the miserable red menace the new DSA won't lift a finger without permission from Birmingham or Beaconsfield. What does the time table look like?"
"At our present rate" Crofts answered, "1980. Incidentally that's the year Parliament has to be dissolved, but I'm working on that technicality, Your Majesty."
"Very good gentlemen. I knew it was the right decision to bankroll your party six years ago. Onward to Victory!" Andrew III declared.
"God Save the Emperor!" Crofts and Wilder exclaimed in union.

[Myroria]

A manila folder sat open on the desk of the Empeuress of Myroria. Strewn among its contents, which were partially scrambled when it was thrown down, were two maps: one of southern Canada and one of northern America, and a number of black-and-white aerial photographs. Directly in front of the monarch stood a man wearing a maroon uniform and decorated with as many medals and ribbons as the coat would allow. He pointed at the map of southern Canada.

“As you can see, Your Majesty, our reconnaissance efforts have revealed a massive build-up of forces along the Commonwealth-Canadian border. We noticed the most heavy concentration around Toronto, Hamilton, and Kitchener - but there are smaller amounts as far south as Beaconsfield.” Fredrika took her reading glasses from the desk and perched them on her face, studying the pictures before her. The general continued: “Considering the rabid anti-socialism present in the Inglish court and parliament, I wouldn’t be surprised if this build-up is meant to send a message to the CCC. If I may be so bold, Your Majesty, I’d suggest we support our Inglo-Scotian allies.”

“General Arvroth. You are well aware Myroria’s policy since the end of the Great War has been one of non-intervention.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, but Ingland is a member of the Coalition of Carth, as are we. We cannot simply sit on the fence. It is either they or the socialists!” The Empeuress’ face became more stern.

“There is always middle ground, general. The Coalition of Carth was founded as a defensive pact, not an aggression pact.”

“If Myroria allows the CCC to continue to think its existence does not threaten this alliance of the free, then it might get ideas that it could spread its revolution to Eluvatar, Inglo-Scotia, or even our own nation!”

“And if we choose to enter into a cold war with this nation, then we violate the principles the Coalition of Carth was founded upon!”

“The Coalition was founded as an alliance of free nations against tyranny!”

“Do not tell me what the Coalition was founded as, General. You are a military man, and international relations is too serious a matter to trust to military men. And suppose we did commit forces to Canada! Vrotrith holds the largest minority on the Council. Their numbers seem to increase by the day. Do you really think that we should devote manpower to a buildup in the Americas when people are in the streets clamoring for a republic? After the affair with my husband, war is not something I am willing to risk. And certainly not war with socialists.

“Your Majesty, we must choose a side. We must stop the spread of socialism!” Fredrika short fuse, already burning from the general’s insistence, finally reached its end.

“Must? WE MUST? May I remind you, general, that this is a monarchy! The military is mine, not yours! I have seen what happens when we allow outlanders to govern our affairs! My subjects will not die to expand the empire of fascists! To enlargen the domain run by the grandsons of slaveholders!” Arvroth stood in silence. “I heard of Destler’s words to the Minister of Foreign Affairs. He seems to be just as ardent about this whole business as you are. So tell me, general. What is he offering you? Money? How much? I really would love to know what your price is.”

“Your Majesty - I would never think of accepting bribes from anyone, and most certainly not an outlander.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. But general, just remember... I would sooner have this nation leave the Coalition of Carth than wage a war of aggression for it.”

[Zimmerwald]

Drayton might only have been a suburb of Beaconsfield, but it was right where Gene Thornton wanted to be.  Hillington Airport lay to the north, and the rail line and several major roads connected this place both to the center of Beaconsfield, and to the south and east of Ingland.  People arrived, departed, and stayed to shop most hours of every day, and in the hours of heaviest traffic, the misty mornings and itchy twilights, even the Guardians might have trouble glimpsing, or failing that, recognizing him.  Far better too, his apartment near the switching yard than in the conspicuous embassy in Beaconsfield.  He had notified the Crofts government of his credentials, and had instructed the embassy staff to relay their response to him, but had yet to hear back.  So he lay low.

This morning, Gene had taken a table at a coffee shop in Drayton railway station.  The commercial concourse was built on top of a concrete ledge a full storey above the platforms, and every so often a train would rattle by under his seat.  The discomfort did not seem to deter customers, most of whom grabbed a drink and a bun before hurrying off to catch their trains, but enough of whom took a seat to mask Gene’s persistent presence.  And it made the shop an even better place to wait: when the conversation lulled, one could count on a train to fill the silence.

Gene stirred the coffee he had ordered with his thumb, a custom of the lumberjacks in Inglish Cuallenore, in western Canada.  To the casual observer he looked the part, with a bulky upper body and fairly short legs, but in fact he had come from Telluride, from the gold mines that had been nicknamed “the Petes” for their increasing miserliness.  That, plus his youth and physical strength, had been his ticket into this job.  No need for a doctorate or theoretical mastery here: Beaconsfield was not Annuminas or Saint Oz City, and an Envoy was not expected to deal in good faith with the ruling class.  Rather, he was here mostly as an Envoy to the embers of the workers’ movement here.  Well-stirred, he drank a sip of his coffee.

As he laid his cup down, a man with stooped shoulders, dressed in a shabby suit and carrying some kind of grim, hard pastry from the counter sat down at Gene’s table.  The man peeled away some of the wax paper wrapped around his meal and bit into it, introducing himself as he chewed.  “Lee Gormley,” he said brusquely, at least, that was what Gene heard.

“Mitch Humphrey,” Gene replied with a nod.  No doubt ‘Lee Gormley’ was an alias too.  Gene had read Comrade Eliot’s war memoirs, and giving a false name was almost common courtesy in this kind of meeting.

“Good to meetcha,” said Lee, swallowing.  “Friend of mine said to see you if I wanted something off my chest.”  Gene knew what that meant.  This man had information, information that was probably known to Crofts and his goons, and that Calumet needed.

“Couldn’t find a Vicar?” he asked.  ‘Lee’ had to know that this could put him in a compromising position, especially without his credentials having come through yet.  Whatever it was must be important, and impossible to trust to a courier.

“What’s the vic know?” said Lee.  “Mine beats his kids, probably his wife too.  Don’t want advice from him.”  Yes, too important to trust to a courier.

“Fair,” said Gene, and pulled a plane ticket out of his jacket.  He lowered his voice.  “This’ll get you to St. Louis.  Find a job at the brewery on Lynch Street.  You’ll meet Charlie Zimmerman.  He can get you over the border.”

[Prydania]

Erik Destler scowled as he came to realize that he was out of cigarettes. He grunted as he crushed the gold Bowser & Fern box, tossing in into the waste bin. He pondered going out, but the fact that it was twilight combined with the fact that his current craving wasn't that bad made him think better of it. Clad in cotton pants, slippers, and a cotton robe he settled into his chesterfield to watch a cowboys and natives movie from the Confederate States. These low budget 50s flicks from the Confederacy were his guilty pleasure.
At 67 he was the eldest member of the Social Commonwealth Party, serving the Crofts government in the role of Minister of Foreign Affairs. He was also the party's leading intellectual. The party was dominated by veterans and dissatisfied youth who had forsaken the Syndicalists and socialists a movement for change in favour of the more dynamic Social Commonwealth Party. Basically the party was dominated by ruffians, thugs, and veterans who could still lay a beating on someone if they had to.
Destler, however, represented an intellectual strain in the party, and incidentally it was this small but present intellectual strain that formed the ideas for a SoCom party to exist for these thugs to join. As a political science professor at Cambridge Erik Destler had written a paper in which he stated that if nationalism and patriotism were going to survive in the age of popular politics then there had to a nationalist party that could channel the energy of the masses in the same way the Syndicalists did with their socialist ideology. If a party could take this model and work in a nationalist platform, Destler wrote, a new kind of nationalism would be born. A more dynamic, all encompassing nationalism that would have the tools needed to deal with the socialist threat to the nation. He wrote that in the late 50s, wrote two more articles in defence of his position for the academic journals, and then moved on with his career.
When Stephan Crofts wanted to talk to him about forming such a party in 1971 he was taken back. Destler didn't think less of soldiers, he just didn't take them as the lot interested in theoretical political science. He was amazed that someone like Crofts, who had made his way in the world shooting at people, would have known where to find Destler's articles and then would have had the mind keen enough to fully understand them.
So he joined Crofts in his endeavour, and brought intellectual legitimacy to a group that was, at that point, a collection of veterans and a few angry nationalists looking for an excuse to bash in the heads of striking miners.

He had his office in Parliament, of course, but Destler preferred to work out of his modest apartment in Beaconsfiled. He was used to having his own space at Cambridge, his own enclosed space to work. His office at Parliament had interns, staff, and a secretary. As the black and white image of cowboys and natives flickered across the screen he glanced at papers strewn about his coffee table. Myroria wasn't coming along as swiftly as he wished. He knew the Myrorian military was on the same page, but the Empeuress wasn't cooperating. Maybe he could get Stephan to persuade Andrew III to appeal to Fredrika, monarch to monarch.
"Good, a commercial" Destler thought. He had one more thing to do before he forgot about work for the night. He picked up his phone and called the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, giving passwords, dialing the right codes, until he reached the embassy of the United Empire in Chicago.
"It's Destler. The PM and Emperor have set the planning stages of Operation Joker into effect. Level 5 security is to be placed into effect."
With that he hung up. The embassy would be a fortress within the half hour.
"Stephan's speech should be interesting" he thought to himself as the movie returned from commercial.

[Prydania]

Stephen Crofts sat in front of a dull greyish blue background, a red V and a red and blue boars head on one side of him, a streamlined version of the Imperial coat of arms on the other. He was preparing to address the United Empire as its Prime Minister.

"My countrymen, citizens of the Empire, today is a historical day for our United Empire. The repeal of the Parliamentary Act of 1754 will allow our current Parliament to sit indefinitely, so as to better oversee the re-organization of our nation without the costly ordeals that are Parliamentary elections every five years. We have stability now, we should strive to maintain that stability for the foreseeable future.
The SoCom majority has also championed the Economic Initiative Act, which allows for a massive public works program to improve infrastructure and further unite our nation by bringing remote communities in central and western Ingland and northern Scotia into the more integrated fold of communities in our nation. A massive conscription of able-bodied men on unemployment over the age of 18 will begin in three months time to provide the workforce for this project. I promised the nation work, my friends, I promised you jobs and stable employment free from the corruption of Syndicalist politics and unions. With the support of His Imperial Majesty Andrew III my government has made that a reality.
Military and industrial production will be better coordinated by the creation of the newly established Imperial Council of State Economics, which will bring the private and public sectors of industry together for the common good of the nation, the employer, and the employee. Syndicalism only offers class warfare. Social Commonwealthism offers class cooperation.

I would like to address the military buildup in our Dominion of Canada. I have spoken with the Canadian Prime Minister R.D. Meign, and we have come to the mutual agreement that the CCC presents a clear and present military and ideological danger not just to Canada, but to our entire Empire. In conjunction with our Confederate allies myself and His Imperial Majesty have overseen the deployment of Imperial Military personnel and equipment along the Canadian/Co-Operative Commonwealth border to serve in a defensive function. I wish to use this opportunity to implore our allies in the Coalition of Carth, so long a force for good in this world, to join us in this struggle to protect the free peoples of the world from the vile spread of socialism.

Onward to Victory and God save the Emperor!"

[Prydania]

"See anything in red Yank land?" Captain Mark Henderson of the 127th Armoured Division asked as Sargent Daniel St. Tobin peered at Detroit through binoculars via Amherstbough, the southernmost town in Canada. The 127th was a Canadian unit stationed across from Detroit as part of the Empire's military buildup along the CCC/Canadian border. St. Tobin, however, was Inglo-Scotian, assigned to the Canadian division as part of the supplementary process.

"Seems peaceful enough, if a bit smoggy. I don't even think Beaconsfield gets this bad" St. Tobin remarked, referencing the Imperial capital's infamous smog problem that had returned with a vengeance since the coal miner's strike had been crushed.
"Things seem peaceful though, aside from their own forces having been moved in to balance our own."

"They don't know the meaning of the word peaceful, Sargent" Henderson replied. "Their state ideology stresses a constant state of war and aggression. All our presence here has done is force their invasion forces into the open."

"Yes sir, it's just that aside from their tanks and soldiers, it seems pretty ordinary over there. Factories, stores, apartments."
"What were you expecting?"
"Not sure. Maybe non-stop military parades and rabid crowds waving red flags 12 hours a day?"
Henderson signed. "You guys from the mother country, you don't live next to the commies 24 hours a day, seven days a week like we do here in the Dominion. The threat from the CCC isn't readily recognizable, it's not the monolithic red menace you can just point at and recognize. It's an ideological, threat, as well as a military threat. When you look across into Michigan, or any other red Yank state, just remember that as normal as things may seem, their entire society is driven by an ideology that demands world domination. I'm just thankful that the mother country finally has some one in the Prime Minister's office who recognizes this."
"Yes sir" St. Tobin replied, as he continued to watch Detroit from afar.

As he was scanning the industrial centre he caught himself looking at a green-clad CCC solider, peering back through his own set of binoculars.
"I wonder what he's thinking" St. Tobin thought to himself.

[Prydania]

1 March 1977: Toronto, Canada

"We stand here, dedicated to the defence of our loyal Dominion of Canada against the aggression of the coercive elements of degradation that lie to our immediate south under the banner of the CCC" Stephen Crofts declared from a platform constructed in front of the Canadian Parliamentary buildings in the Dominion's capital of Toronto.
"To our Canadian subjects, I know the fear you feel each day with the red menace waiting for the right opportunity to pounce. I know your dream of a secure future. Which is why I am here in Kingston today. A Social Commonwealth government will never abandon you. We will never sacrifice your security in the same of compromise. Under us the Empire will remain strong, and that strong will be committed to the defence of all our subjects, in every corner of the globe. Let the CCC be on watch, we will not back down, we will not allow it to threaten Canada or our Confederate allies with their venomous ideology without the appropriate response.
The future is littered with prizes, friends. We just have to have the courage of our convictions to claim them. God save the Emperor and may we march onward to Victory!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1 March 1977: Beaconsfield, Inglo-Scotia

Reggie Kellow rushed upstairs. Despite the grey-shirted SoCom Guardians kicking down the front door he was not inclined to yell up to his fifteen year old son or his wife. He didn't want to advertise their presence to the state-sanctioned thugs downstairs. He wanted to get them into hiding. Under a bed, into a closet, something. If he did that, and offered himself up without resistance maybe they would be content and not bother searching the rest of the house.
As the top of the staircase quickly got closer he thought his plan had a reasonable chance at success. His home was an older one, with a thick door, the kind that doesn't open easily if you don't have a key. From the sounds of the pounding the Guardians were still working on it. Just as he got to the top of the stairs, however, a sharp pain shoot through his body from the back of right leg, his knee collapsing instantly. In his pain Reggie managed to throw his head back, and noticed a determined looking Guardian sporting a five o'clock shadow, holding a pistol, in front of the shattered remains of his window.
"The single minded thugs had learned to operate at a two dimensional level," Kellow thought.

"Good shot Turner" Francis Kenning, the head of this squad of Guardians remarked as Dorian Turner lowered his pistol.
Turner just nodded and proceeded to clear away the remains of the window class with his night stick along with two other Guardians.
The Guardians flooded into the house, Kenning reaching the top of the staircase.
"Reginald Kellow, under the Unity Act you are apprehended for association with the Syndicalist Party and the Workers' Council of Somerset."
Kellow managed a "fuck you" before the leader of the Guardian squad had smashed his head in with his night stick and covered his head with a black bag. After quickly securing his arms with plastic cord he threw the man to two guardians to load into an unmarked grey van outfront of the house.
Reggie's wife received a similar treatment from Turner. Their son got much the same, only he was spirited away in a separate car. It might be to late for the parents, but the boy might still show some promise after a year or two in a youth re-education facility.

Kenning and Turner made their way through the house after the occupants had been cleared out.
"Most of this seems salvageable sir" Turner remarked.
"Indeed" Kenning replied. "Most of the goods, and the house, can go to auction. The political material on the other hand...."
The two entered the study, Kenning picking up a dusty copy of Imperialism and Final Stages of Capitalism by Louis Boudin, an American socialist leader prior to the revolution that brought the CCC into being. Kenning tossed the book into the corner.
"All of this will have to burn though" Kenning stated, pointing to a shelf of similar books. "Turner, go get the rest of the squad, have them collect this material, and have it burned, as per protocol."
"Yes sir" Turner replied. "Would be my pleasure."