09-11-2019, 07:02 AM
Presidential Manor, Litudinem
July 30th, 1991 - Late Evening
An exasperated Jean Paterson was sitting silently on a leather chair in her bedroom. She sighed deeply as she began to read the memo. She wasn't reading too closely as she already knew the basic outcomes of all the exchanges that had transpired on this accursed day. Her eyes skimmed over page after page, picking up key words like "at least 300 KIA", "SAM systems set up in Jonestown", and "extreme loss of life on all sides".
All in all, this had been a simply putrid day. She woke up to find out that something had gone horribly wrong with the assassination plot. Paterson's assassin was captured and Smith was still alive and kicking. That was the first failure of the day. Only 4 hours or so later the Zamastanians were met with far more resistance than they had expected in Old Saybrook. The death toll for the insurgents was far higher than Paterson had wanted. That was the second massive failure of the day. Two hours later, low and behold, the Maximusian landing party was met with incredible opposition. That marked another failure. After all, a pyrrhic victory was frankly no victory at all in Paterson's books. To top the whole wretched day off, Paterson was informed that the Bjeorgites had gotten surface to air missile systems from... somewhere. Paratroopers were hardly an option now.
In anger and disgust with the whole ordeal and everyone involved, Paterson tossed the memo into the wastebasket next to her chair and kicked it over. A million thoughts were racing through her head as she began pacing the room in a deep contemplative state. It seemed unlikely that Bjeorg would ever capitulate from a show of strength. The people were too patriotic and their supporters too strong. Paterson needed a new tactic, one that ideally minimized the number of brave men who would be buried. She was going to have to completely rethink her tactics.
The way Jean saw it, there were essentially three ways to handle a smaller independence movement within a nation. One could simply allow the events to transpire. No blood would be shed this way. The motherland's international respect may even grow. On the other hand, it was a very foolish decision in the long term. Allowing provinces or even groups of people to break away from the motherland would make your nation look weak to all but the most democratically inclined nations. Furthermore, the success of the splinter-state's independence would encourage others to break away. On top of that, there was no guarantee that the fledgling state would create a nation that served its people as well as the motherland did. The nationstate would have few allies and all sorts of infrastructure and tax issues. Money had to be minted, roadwork had to be done, a constitution or charter would likely have to be drafted, people had to payed in what was most likely fiat currency. All in all, this strategy for handling a revolt would only lead to more pain and suffering in the long run than if a war. had been waged.
The second option in Jean's mind was to do what she had been doing so far: Unequivocally object to the independence pleas, shoot down (metaphorically) any pleas, and rule any referendum illegal. The motherland looked like the bad guy this way but at least the revolutionaries would probably back down. The thing was, if they were able to amass an army large enough, the splinter-state might actually be able to fight their way to freedom. As was the case in Paterson's situation. Then the motherland is left with no alternatives but to either submit and allow the state to secede or face war.
Neither option would work to LOM's advantage if implemented. That left only the final option. If all else failed, a motherland could theoretically offer to establish the splinter-state as some form of a protectorate. It would have to be an effectively autonomous nation for the revolutionaries to consent but at least the fledgling nation would be well within the sphere of influence of the motherland. Elections could be influenced in this way, as could most faculties of the protectorate government.
As far as Jean Paterson was concerned, all three options were terrible. However, she was pretty sure she knew what her fallback plan would be if the Bjeorgite revolutionaries did not give in shortly. It wasn't any idea she had wanted to entertain until it looked likely that the movement and declaration of independence would lead to a full blown war. Frankly, Paterson should have seen this day coming back when a bomb went off on the tarmac of a little airport in Sur Les Rochers.
Paterson's mind was racing now. She had reached a crossroads. She was going down a path of war and if she continued much further she may never be able to go back. Her choice, and her's alone, would decide the fate of thousands. Blood would be on her hands regardless. She was simply in no state to make that call.
In a state of mental torment, Jean Paterson took a seat on her bed and stared out into the warm, humid night. "Why me?" She asked to the starts above her. Why should she have to make a call like this? Who was she, Jean Paterson, to make such a monumental call?
The summer air called to her and she made no effort to resist. Paterson crossed the room, threw open a set off French doors, and stepped out into the calm night. She immediately had a sense of peace wash over her. The summer air, stagnate and stuffy as it could sometimes be, always had had a way of putting things in perspective. Human concerns were trivial as far as the July sky was concerned. The crickets could care less if Bjeorg was a province, an autonomous state, or a hamburger for that matter. The fireflies would never know that 500 km away men were putting blankets over the faces of their dead or cleaning their wounds. It was all a matter of perspective in the end.
Paterson would have to make the call soon. It would be a tough call but she knew now that she could make it. In a year's time she suspected she would be back on this porch, the decision would have been made long ago, the ramifications of her actions would already have been felt. Regardless of what she chose to do she would still be standing there, looking longingly into the stars. All would be quiet on the western front. Paterson suddenly knew what she had to do.
July 30th, 1991 - Late Evening
An exasperated Jean Paterson was sitting silently on a leather chair in her bedroom. She sighed deeply as she began to read the memo. She wasn't reading too closely as she already knew the basic outcomes of all the exchanges that had transpired on this accursed day. Her eyes skimmed over page after page, picking up key words like "at least 300 KIA", "SAM systems set up in Jonestown", and "extreme loss of life on all sides".
All in all, this had been a simply putrid day. She woke up to find out that something had gone horribly wrong with the assassination plot. Paterson's assassin was captured and Smith was still alive and kicking. That was the first failure of the day. Only 4 hours or so later the Zamastanians were met with far more resistance than they had expected in Old Saybrook. The death toll for the insurgents was far higher than Paterson had wanted. That was the second massive failure of the day. Two hours later, low and behold, the Maximusian landing party was met with incredible opposition. That marked another failure. After all, a pyrrhic victory was frankly no victory at all in Paterson's books. To top the whole wretched day off, Paterson was informed that the Bjeorgites had gotten surface to air missile systems from... somewhere. Paratroopers were hardly an option now.
In anger and disgust with the whole ordeal and everyone involved, Paterson tossed the memo into the wastebasket next to her chair and kicked it over. A million thoughts were racing through her head as she began pacing the room in a deep contemplative state. It seemed unlikely that Bjeorg would ever capitulate from a show of strength. The people were too patriotic and their supporters too strong. Paterson needed a new tactic, one that ideally minimized the number of brave men who would be buried. She was going to have to completely rethink her tactics.
The way Jean saw it, there were essentially three ways to handle a smaller independence movement within a nation. One could simply allow the events to transpire. No blood would be shed this way. The motherland's international respect may even grow. On the other hand, it was a very foolish decision in the long term. Allowing provinces or even groups of people to break away from the motherland would make your nation look weak to all but the most democratically inclined nations. Furthermore, the success of the splinter-state's independence would encourage others to break away. On top of that, there was no guarantee that the fledgling state would create a nation that served its people as well as the motherland did. The nationstate would have few allies and all sorts of infrastructure and tax issues. Money had to be minted, roadwork had to be done, a constitution or charter would likely have to be drafted, people had to payed in what was most likely fiat currency. All in all, this strategy for handling a revolt would only lead to more pain and suffering in the long run than if a war. had been waged.
The second option in Jean's mind was to do what she had been doing so far: Unequivocally object to the independence pleas, shoot down (metaphorically) any pleas, and rule any referendum illegal. The motherland looked like the bad guy this way but at least the revolutionaries would probably back down. The thing was, if they were able to amass an army large enough, the splinter-state might actually be able to fight their way to freedom. As was the case in Paterson's situation. Then the motherland is left with no alternatives but to either submit and allow the state to secede or face war.
Neither option would work to LOM's advantage if implemented. That left only the final option. If all else failed, a motherland could theoretically offer to establish the splinter-state as some form of a protectorate. It would have to be an effectively autonomous nation for the revolutionaries to consent but at least the fledgling nation would be well within the sphere of influence of the motherland. Elections could be influenced in this way, as could most faculties of the protectorate government.
As far as Jean Paterson was concerned, all three options were terrible. However, she was pretty sure she knew what her fallback plan would be if the Bjeorgite revolutionaries did not give in shortly. It wasn't any idea she had wanted to entertain until it looked likely that the movement and declaration of independence would lead to a full blown war. Frankly, Paterson should have seen this day coming back when a bomb went off on the tarmac of a little airport in Sur Les Rochers.
Paterson's mind was racing now. She had reached a crossroads. She was going down a path of war and if she continued much further she may never be able to go back. Her choice, and her's alone, would decide the fate of thousands. Blood would be on her hands regardless. She was simply in no state to make that call.
In a state of mental torment, Jean Paterson took a seat on her bed and stared out into the warm, humid night. "Why me?" She asked to the starts above her. Why should she have to make a call like this? Who was she, Jean Paterson, to make such a monumental call?
The summer air called to her and she made no effort to resist. Paterson crossed the room, threw open a set off French doors, and stepped out into the calm night. She immediately had a sense of peace wash over her. The summer air, stagnate and stuffy as it could sometimes be, always had had a way of putting things in perspective. Human concerns were trivial as far as the July sky was concerned. The crickets could care less if Bjeorg was a province, an autonomous state, or a hamburger for that matter. The fireflies would never know that 500 km away men were putting blankets over the faces of their dead or cleaning their wounds. It was all a matter of perspective in the end.
Paterson would have to make the call soon. It would be a tough call but she knew now that she could make it. In a year's time she suspected she would be back on this porch, the decision would have been made long ago, the ramifications of her actions would already have been felt. Regardless of what she chose to do she would still be standing there, looking longingly into the stars. All would be quiet on the western front. Paterson suddenly knew what she had to do.