The artillery shells fell like rain in northern Alabama, with the Confederate-Inglish army was slowly but surely turning back the tide of the DSA advance onto it's newly sovereign territory. On a muggy summer evening in Montgomery, President Anderson was discussing the matter of international involvement with Michael Chamberlain, Secretary of State and currently still the only cabinet member, Frasier Pershing as Commander of The Armed Forces serving as de facto secretary of defense.
The Presidential Residence had been hastily purchased by the fledgling government at the war's onset. An old plantation dating back nearly 250 years. A testament to the elegance of marble, the grey mansion sprawled over an acre and a half all on it's own, with more rooms than the President had even the time to explore, often joking that he couldn't even find his way to the bathroom without a compass.
It was in such a room where he was in conference with Chamberlain, though the word conference lent the matter more pomp than actually present. Anderson not being one for showmanship, sat in a t-shirt and blue jeans, sans foot wear save for socks, which as usual were worn inside out. He often sauntered around the CSSD's halls of power wearing this unassuming yet comfortable attire. Chamberlain, on the other hand, tried to dress as he felt his position mandated, his poor fashion sense proving his bane. Sitting in a dark navy blue business suit, his neck adorned by a tie which had probably been purchased on vacation to some tropical resort, brown Myrorian loafters on his feet seemed to indicate that Chamberlain in fact tried to mis match his clothes. Both men wore the faces of tortured souls who were lacking in sleep.
Anderson sat rubbing his red rimmed eyes. "No matter how good it looks for us now, the fact is that this thing isn't over yet. The DSA got a nice kick in the teeth, but I doubt they'll make the mistake of charging down here again. If all goes well for them, they could call up one hell of a reserve army. Even if they don't, even assuming what's left of Custer's army gets out, and Fremont throws in the towel, we still need friends in this world."
Chamberlain nodded, thoughtfully taking a drag from a cigarette. "Yeah, Jack, but in the middle of a war for our independance can we really afford to be signing treaties?"
Anderson was nonplussed, "Can we affored not to? Look, I know the downsides as well as you do, but the fact remains that yankees be damned, we're going to need allies, not just to help while we amass sufficent defense forces, but for economic reasons as well. We're coming into this thing handicapped enough as it is, Mike."
The secretary of state exhaled. "Beyond the obvious, being that almost one third of our territory is still under foreign occupation, and that several cities are now piles of rubble, what handicaps are you talking about?"
The President started to become agitated at his inability to get his point across, chalking his irritability up to fatigue, he took a breath and went on. "I'm talking about the fact that the International Community has not a clue as to who the hell we are. Culturally, economically, militarily, we are an unknown variable in nearly every equation. This is bad, and I'll tell you why, the only source of information most of them have had about us up to this point is the DSA, which paints us out to be a bunch of sister fucking beer swilling savages."
"I've never slept with my sister, or any other member of the family, but I could use a beer." Mike chuckled. The President was less amused.
"I'm serious here, Mike, we need PR, good PR, and we need to establish a name in the international community."
Chamberlain sat and thought while absently rubbing the middle finger and thumb on his right hand together, a nervous habit he'd had as long as anyone could remember. "Ok, I'll bite, how do you think we should do it? What do you think we should do? Have a barbeque?" This time the President laughed.
"In a manner of speaking, yes. There are a handful of nations out there that seem to have affinity if not for us, then at least what they know of our beliefs and our cause. I think we should invite them here, and attempt to negotiate alliances, a treaty organisation if at all possible."
Chamberlain raised an eyebrow, "Jack, for whatever else anyone may say about you, you sure as hell aren't guilty of thinking small."
The President laughed dryly, "Thanks, I think. I've already talked it over with LP Crofts, and we have his support, and a pledge of Inglo-Scotian attendance. That should add an air of legitimacy, and draw in some others. As much as I'd like to host the conference here, It would probably be a bad idea."
The Secretary of State nodded. "To say the least, for one thing, it would be one hell of a huge carrot to be dangling in front of the yankees, world leaders meeting in a hostile nation well within bomber range. not to mention that Frasier would shit bricks if we told him he had to detach the extra military needed from the front to guarantee safety."
That brought to Jack's mind an image of Pershing's face bright red, screaming obscenities and telling Jack that his mother was a prostitute amputee of foreign birth. He laughed. "Yeah, as I said, a bad idea. But, out west, I think we could pull it off. Say maybe... Texas?"
Chamberlain thought about it for a moment, his mouth moving soundlessly as he spoke silent words of thought to himself. "Yeah....." The solution cemented itself in his mind. "Yeah... that could work." This time spoken most enthusiastically. "Now the only matter is who are we going to invite."
The President handed him a list, Chamberlain frowned when he seen it. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Not that I have any distrust of the nations themselves. or their leaders. But all of these nations are members of LCF, and the Irnotians may not care for it much, to say the least."
"Correction, Mike, the Myrorians pulled out of LCF a bit ago. As for the Irnotians... well, they're big boys, they can deal with it. And Stellaris took one look at the Irnotian's idiotic ranting about the Myrorian withdrawal, and left."
So what of Irnotia then? Fuck 'em?"
"Yeah, pretty much. I don't think they'll cause much trouble, and besides, their own damn common sense should tell them that we have no interest in fighting them. Here's the invitation, get it sent to the right people, and make the arrangements for the conference to be held in Dallas."
The secretary looked it over, nodded approvingly, then rose out of his chair. "I'll get on it."
"Good, oh, and one more thing."
"Yes?"
"If I were you, I wouldn't go out looking like that."
A confused look grew on Chambelain's face. "Huh?"
"Never mind Mike."
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To Heads of State of:
Inglo-Scotia
The Myrorian Theocratic Imperium
Novus Parco
Stellaris
The Confederate States of Sovereign Dixie, in the interests of building sound friendships with like minded nations, in good faith, and in the spirit of co-operation, invites you to attend the Pax Imperium conference to be held in Dallas, Texas. Please respond with your intent to attend or not, you may send delgations at your leisure. We thank you in advance for your time.
In friendship,
Jack P. Anderson
President of The Confederate States of Sovereign Dixie
