Prologue

1 December 2012

World War Three

Politicians used to be diplomatic, even if they were nothing else. Nowadays, on the other hand, if you thought a piece of legislation was actually a piece of steaming horse shit, you said so. It saved a lot of time, but sometimes it backfired very, very badly. President Barak Obama massaged his temples with his fingertips, and tried to ignore his migraine.

He was aboard the USNS Yukon, anchored in Lake Michigan. The cramped, dark, and dingy lecture hall he was in held over 205 jabbering senators and 717 yapping representatives, or whatever it was they called those guys from the House of Commons. At least twenty cabinet members were sitting at the front of the hall with him. Interns and pages were spilling coffee and papers. Speechwriters and caterers were standing awkwardly along the walls, unsure why they were there. The gigantic, floor-space eating speakers at the back of the room didn't make the crowd any thinner. They had been Prime Minister Stephen Harper's idea, bless him. He knew they would need them. The hall looked more like a frat party than a congressional meeting. Papers flew, and empty coffee cups were trampled underfoot. Everyone was talking, most people were shouting, some people were trying to grab Harper's microphone off the table. This session should have started fifteen minutes ago; even by today's standards this was a nightmare, this was unacceptable, this – It was motherfucking World War Three. They needed to do something, now.

Suddenly he jumped to his feet, knocking over his rusty metal folding chair, yanked his microphone out of it's table stand, took a deep breath, and screamed,

"Shut up!"

Everyone shut up. Most people did, at least. Representative Steve Austria, from Ohio's 8th district, kept shrieking at this one intern who had spilled coffee over some important document.

Times like this made Obama wish he had more hair, so he could run his hands through it in frustration.

"As we all know, Mexico and Venezuela have recently been seized by the Axis. The Axis powers now possess" he took a deep breath, "over a hundred countries and more than half of the world's landmass. Based on the region's current military strength and the Axis's ruthless speed, experts have estimated they'll have all of Latin America by Christmas."

Shocked silence. Everyone knew the Axis moved fast, because they added the considerable military might of all the annexed countries to their own. But Christmas was less than a month away! How could a continent and a half be conquered in twenty-five days?

"Obviously, they present a pressing threat to us as well."

A thousand pairs of expectant eyes were fixed upon him.

"Now, we're all familiar with the Axis strategy of annexing all countries that share a border with nuclear state. To enable an invasion from all sides, see? The United States of America, a declared nuclear state, has two neighbors. Mexico, Neighbor Number One," here he held up one finger for the slow ones, "has already been captured. Canada, Neighbor Number Two," two fingers, "Is probably next. Our dear Canadian friends-" Half the hall erupted into chaos. Obama took another deep breath.

"A hostile takeover of Canada would be, to say the least, disadvantageous to both nations. Canada would be looking at the complete destruction of its five biggest cities, and probably at least one more nuclear missile detonated in each province. As for the United States-The U.S. border with Mexico was already patrolled to begin with. The long and undefended border with Canada, however, is open to attack-" The other half of the hall leapt to their feet and started rabble-rousing. "Yeah, you're right," snapped Obama, "We're all fucked."

Obama yanked his chair upright and flopped back down on it. He pointed his chin at Stephen Harped and mouthed, your problem now. Harper flipped him off.

"So we decided a special alliance would be, uh, highly profitable at this time. America has a lot of nuclear weapons, and although Canada has, regrettably, reversed its position on weapons of mass destruction, we still lack the facilities to create them. What Canada does have is a lot of fluoride and uranium mines, and given the current state of world affairs, that's extremely useful to the United States. Our two cabinets thought it was a good idea to combine our military operations."

The congressmen and women seemed to approve. It made sense, especially because Canada and the United States were already closely allied in the war.

"But then-" Harper swallowed, wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, and said, "we realized that would mean Canada couldn't make a military decision without the full backing of the United States, and vice versa. Because it would be too easy for, say, the United States to deny nuclear weapons to Canada for a campaign they didn't support, and then Canada would have to deny America raw materials, and everything would just spiral downhill from there. If we disagree, like we definitely will, we would all die. Slowly and painfully, by nuclear fallout," He paused to clear his throat, then continued: "And it would also mean that if the Axis infiltrated one of our countries, the other one's military operations would be crippled, and we'd be, as the President put it, fucked anyway. So, not such a good idea after all. But our two countries still need one another's protection, and a normal alliance won't help." He pulled the microphone out of its stand, stood up, and started pacing around the stage."The Allies' best efforts didn't stop the Axis from taking over… Most of the Old World, I believe. Despite more than a million Canadian and American lives lost, to say nothing of the almost thirty million soldiers from other Allied countries, it looks like eight out of the thirteen states capable of manufacturing nuclear weapons will be in Axis hands in no more than a fortnight." Harper stopped talking and looked around the room.

The now sober crowd was quiet, holding private moments of silence for brothers, sisters, and children lost to the nuclear holocaust. A few lucky ones were remembering the ones killed in combat, the ones who had known the risk and gone down heroes. A few more were mourning helpless, pitiable, civilian victims. Most were thinking of both.

"Evasive action needed, yeah?" said Harper carefully. "What we need is more than an alliance, or simply the integration of our armed forces. Integration of our armed forces requires integration of our politics, or the politics will only slow us down. That would be fatal. We have no choice." He swallowed. "Circumstances have forced us to… to combine into a single state."

And all hell broke loose.

"Does anyone have a better way to avoid total annihilation?" shouted Harper over the din, "No? Okay, speak up if you issues with this constitution. Here we go: The temporary state of Anglo-America-," The Blok Québécois burst into even angrier squawks, but everyone ignored them. Harper continued, "Being formed in the dire situation of our current times, shall compose of the combined territories of the United States of America and Canada…"

"Rahm, my good buddy, my best friend," gibbered America, "What the hell is going on?"

"I'm handcuffing you to Canada," answered Rahm Emanuel, White House Chief of Staff. America found his tranquility extremely inappropriate.

"Yes, obviously. But where are we? Why is he not moving? What's going on at Washington? And why the fuck is this happening?"

"You are in a high-security home straddling the border of Saskatchewan and Montana, guarded by Homeland Security. They're stationed in the cowsheds and such, in case you need them. You were both sedated and tied down, but it seems your drugs have worn off early. And nothing is happening at Washington," replied Emanuel calmly.

"Why?" demanded America.

"Because the Supreme Court is out of session, and the Executive and Legislative branches are on a boat in Lake Michigan, putting the finishing touches on a new state."

"What the fu-"

"A state comprising the combined territories of America and Canada."

America just gaped at Emanuel, who was standing above him, patting his pockets for the key to lock the handcuffs with. America was tied to a hard wooden chair, back to back with Canada, who was pretending to be sedated. And the house. Oh God, it looked like some magical force had ripped his house and Canada's out of their foundations, crunched them together, and shoved whatever was left into, of all things, a quaint little farmstead. Shamefully pink posters of Miley Cyrus lay in plain sight, next to Canada's secret Celine Dion collection. Yankees and Blue Jays caps (he didn't know they even made those) shared the same hat rack near a door that wouldn't have looked out of place in a Swiss bank vault. Outside a window framed by blackout curtains, America could see fields of corn stretching for miles and miles around, with hardly a gardening shed. One of the Secret Service Agents scattered liberally around the snug living room snapped the blackout curtains shut and glared at him. America ignored the Agent. And almost everyone ignored the sound of a chair falling over.

Calgary Flames-themed blackout curtains. Did he seriously have to live here?

"Rahm, why?" croaked America.

"I'll tell you when Canada wakes up."

"Please? C'mon man, I want to know. Besides, how do I know you're not a spy or an imposter? You could be trying to kill us," America wiggled his eyebrows.

"Since you insist," said Emanuel. He took a deep breath. "The Axis strategy of sur-"

The front door of the farmhouse slammed shut. All the Secret Service Agents leapt out the door and chased after Canada.

"That goddamn fox," said America glumly, twisting in his ropes to look at the chair on the floor, an Agents's knife, and the severed knots lying on the floor. "He must have picked that guy's weapons belt with his teeth."

"And no one noticed him?" Emanuel. So refeshingly naïve.

"He's Canada. What do you expect? Handcuff him faster next time."

"But I- oh." One cuff was locked on to America's wrist, the other one locked to America's chair leg.

"Don't think too much about it," consoled America, "Like I said, he's Canada."

"But our boys will get him back."

"If they can find him."

"…Shit."

The USNS Yukon is an actual ship, belonging to the US Navy. But it's kind of small, so all those politicians probably wouldn't fit on it. I just thought it had an AWESOMELY appropriate name.

This monstrosity was born after I read The Elements of Style. I was like OMG I HAZ TO WRITE SOMETHING

And I did.

Sucks for you haha

It was intended to be part of an epically long fic, but then I was like… wait… what if it sucks. So I'm getting my ideas onto paper (word processor, whatever), posting it, looking at feedback, and THEN I'll write the complete story (maybe). If I continue it the next parts will be about the stuff that happens before this stuff. America and Canada won't come up again for a while, but they'll have a pretty big part in the end.

So what do you think? Wanna see more? Is it believable? You have to tell me. If it sucks, you gotta tell me or I won't improve. It'll be an act of charity, redeemable for public service hours on your tax forms or college applications.