Chapter 31 - July 1st 2019

ARMY MARCHES ON THE RING

WESTEROS POISED TO INVADE?

'CLASH OF CULTURES' EXPLAINS ACADEMIC

GREATEST INVASION SCARE SINCE 1942?

PM ASSURES NATION MILITARY HAS SITUATION 'UNDER CONTROL'

Dutton flicked through the headlines on his phone, sighing. In a world gone mad, the press was being its usual hysterical self. In a way it was almost comforting. He glanced up at the live drone feed, cast up onto an eight-foot screen in the parliament house conference room.

'Army' was a very generous term for it. He would have stuck with 'mob' or possibly substituted 'rabble'. There was little coherence to the order of march, and their progress had been slow even by Westerosi standards. It had taken them four days to march the short distance to the Ring. Despite these shortcomings, the ADF had been making their preparations. The rabble was about five thousand strong which, by coincidence, was approximately equal in number to the forces stationed around the Ring. Dutton kept scrolling, only half-listening as General Campbell gave another briefing.

"So as we've seen, they're predominately equipped with melee weapons. Perhaps one in ten has something like a crossbow or longbow. Nothing I would describe as uh…heavy siege equipment. Most have some sort of body armor but again, only a minority have armor that's fairly complete…"

"I think we can all assume they lack anything like the capabilities to challenge us" the PM interrupted after a time. "Despite what the press says. Really, this seems like the embassy job all over again. The queen stirs up a mob into a frenzy, they attack us, we defend themselves, a whole lot of Westerori get killed, tensions remain high. It's all to her benefit I suppose."

"It's the Hamas strategy" Dutton commented.

"Hamas?"

"Yeah, the Gaza strip. Keep throwing rocks at the Israelis until eventually they fire bullets back. Parade the dead around, particularly women and children. The more innocent the bodies the better. Repeat. Maintain the rage. Its how the Islamists stay in power."

The PM was giving a sort of resigned nod. "Then how do we solve the problem?"

"We could remove the queen" suggested the Deputy PM. "Stop this charade. Seize the Red Keep. Put Robert back in charge, or Renly in his stead if he's not recovered. Explain the lies the queen has told. Try and win back the trust of the faith and the people."

"Presumably, that would mean an occupation force in King's Landing?" pointed out the Foreign Minister. "How many troops? Five thousand or so? And that's just one city. If the rest of Westeros turns against us we'd need tens, if not hundreds of thousands. The land is vast, if nothing else."

"They don't necessarily need to be our troops." The Deputy PM again. "Renly, Robb Stark, both have armies of their own. Airlift them in. Minimal risk to our own."

General Campbell frowned. "It's a possibility but consider the sheer scale of it. You're talking about airlifting thousands, if not tens of thousands of men and all their gear. Westeros has no runways, so we're talking general aviation, small planes and helicopters on grass fields, taking a dozen or so men at a time. Its thousands of flights. The logistical issues…honestly, its just about quicker if they walk at this point."

"Which they're already doing" concluded the PM. "So again, we've considered a whole lot of different angles from which to approach this issue, but there don't seem to be any options obviously better than what we're currently doing."

There was a general murmur of agreement.

He turned to the general. "Obviously we want to avoid another massacre, we all do. Things were far too messy at the embassies. You feel prepared?"

The general nodded grimly. "We have a lot more space here. City streets are crowded. Engagement distances are short, that's why we had to resort to rougher methods. Out here…the ADF understands this isn't so much a battle as crowd control. Its not exactly what we're trained for, but if that's our current role, so be it. We've been in discussions with Victoria Police of course. Borrowed a lot of gear off them actually."

"How many casualties do we anticipate?"

"Well, if you're going to ask that question…I wouldn't feel comfortable giving any real sort of estimate. It depends what they do. How determined are they to risk their own lives? I don't want to give some specific figure, but certainly we'll stop them with as few casualties as we can."

######

Major Harvey stood in the command post at Task Force Vigilant Watch, in the same shearing shed it had occupied for the last three months a kilometer from the base of the Ring. Someone had suggested renaming it 'Task Force Gandalf' but as it was a well known fact that generals had their sense of humor surgically removed upon promotion, this was not taken up.

A line on monitors occupied the tables set up along one wall, monitored by over a dozen personnel. Officers prowled the space behind, some holding phones or radios to communicate with their superiors or their own underlings. In one corner, the farmer's wife was laying down a tray of tea and coffee, as she'd taken to doing several times daily ever since their farm had come under military occupation. Not even the Major General in charge would challenge her when she entered.

A few kilometers and a wormhole away, the first of the Westerosi 'Faith Militant' were hiking up the dirt track from the Rosby Road, which the Australians had so graciously built for them.

Although units had been rotated in and out, the forces arraigned around the Ring were little changed from the initial mobilization. Several companies of infantry, close to half of them Americans now, occupied wooden ramparts set half a kilometer or so back from the Ring. They had considered digging trenches, but decided constructing a few low, above-ground embankments would be just as effective.

They had their usual rifles and machine guns of course, but also had to hand more humane alternatives - tear gas cannisters, as well as some bright searchlights and sonic weapons to disorientate anyone who came within range. Ahead of them two lines of 15ft high chain-link fences had been quickly erected just back from the Ring, with only a narrow passage down the middle with gates for vehicles, currently chained shut with a sturdy padlock. Further back were the artillery, mortars and a few score armored vehicles, not that it was thought likely they would be needed. At the very rear, some kilometers away, Vic police had their roadblocks set up, beyond which the media and onlookers in their thousands had gathered. Numerically, a much greater rabble.

The command post was more crowded than usual today. The small crowd of foreign dignitaries had swollen with time. A good twenty officials and their aides, from the five UN Security Council states, as well as Japan, India and the UN, were seated in chairs, observing the proceedings. The US, at Australia's urging, had vetoed the motion to delineate a corridor from the coast nearest to the Ring and declare it an international zone, but had conceded that foreign governments should 'in principle' have access. The UN Secretary-General's words, that the Ring was 'evidently a gift, or curse, to the whole word' had carried some weight.

As the hour of contact approached, the general in charge turned to the assembled officers and bid them disperse back to their units. Harvey and the others complied. He headed out of the shed and back to his company, manning their ramparts to the south side of the Ring. The prepared positions hardly looked formidable. They were really just piles of thick logs behind which a section of infantry could crouch. They'd have had no place on a modern battlefield of course, but the thick wood was well capable of stopping bullets, let alone arrows. Harvey kneeled down beside one position, exchanging a few words with his 2IC while they waited. The lighting of the scene was odd. It was about midday on the Westerosi side. Here it was just before dawn. Light shone from both west and east in equal amounts.

It took another hour or so before the first Westerosi reached the top of the track on the other side of the Ring. Even from this distance, he could hear them. They were singing. Harvey commandeered a pair of binoculars for a closer look. At the head of the column were a small phalanx of men dressed in white. They had colorful belts around their waists and wore what looked like jeweled necklaces. Many held what at first he might have taken for spears, but instead they were banners, embroidered seven pointed stars on tall wooden poles. The singing grew louder as the column approached.

Behind them were more men. Now these ones held weapons. Sharp metal spears, swords and axes, maces and bows. Behind them were a longer rabble, even more poorly armed. Many seemed to carry only picks and shovels. They slowly snaked their way up the path, onto the broader clearing just in front of the Ring.

Waiting just behind the chain-link fences was a small line of vehicles. On top of one stood Ambassador Fifield, clutching a megaphone. As the faith continued to form up, Harvey heard Fifield's voice crackle across the field.

"Hello there, can we help you?"

######

The 25th day of November, 298 years after Aegon's Conquest

Even now, though he stood right before it and it's immensity seemed to enclose half the world, Lord Bonifer Hasty averted his eyes from the Stranger's Ring.

He flinched when the unearthly voice echoed through its extent. He knew immediately it was unnatural. Twisted, sinister, something much fiercer than the voice of a mere mortal man. Many of the Faith Militant had come with blindfolds. He had not thought to bring devices for the plugging of ears. He would have to consider it.

Despite himself, Lord Bonifer had glanced into the Ring's extent. What he saw there was a sight so queer he could only cling closer to his faith. Immediately inside the Ring was a field of grass, not so different from Westeros. Beyond this deceptive familiarity though there were great walls of what might have been glass and steel, intricately woven and glinting in the sunlight. The construction puzzled as much as it unnerved him. Who could weave steel together like it was string? Could the Smith have made common cause with the Stranger? He pushed this unsettling thought from his mind. Beyond the woven steel barriers he saw more of the green men, shrunken to mice at this distance, standing on top of their grim carriages.

Beyond was a haunting landscape. Beyond the grass were lines of scraggly trees, bent and misshapen, as if the very forests here were diseased. He saw piles of what might have been trunks or logs, torn up and thrown about haphazardly as if by some crazed giant. Above it all the sky was overcast. A rising sun shone in his face, even as another hung high in the blue sky above him. A slight breeze blew towards him, but he soon felt uncomfortably hot, caught in the rays of both suns. The Stranger's Gaze? The Stranger's Breath? Lord Bonifer was soon sweating in his armor, but he dare not let this show in front of his men. The voice spoke again, echoing more strange words through the Ring, but Bonifer paid them no heed. He turned to his deputies.

Sers Dywen Rollingford and Jacelyn Bywater, the latter whom they had met with his contingent at the bottom of the path, commanded the Gold Cloak volunteers. Bonifer ordered them to the southern end of the ring. Ser Balman Byrch commanded his own levy of men-at-arms and archers. These he sent to the north. His Holy Hundred, swollen with volunteers to ten times that number, would be at the center. Behind these thin lines of armed men, the bulk of the Faith were forming up to perform their own task. At the rear, though he did not approve of his drunkenness, he had placed Ser Dontos Hollard in charge of the baggage train and setting up their camp back by the Rosby road. He was too short on highborn commanders to be choosy.

Lord Bonifer called out more orders. At the very head of the column, the group of septons, a good fifty of them, spread out across the extent of the ring with almost military precision. They were careful not to set foot over its extent. On the other side, the voice continued. Lord Bonifer felt a touch of relief. So far, its influence did not seem overly strong.

"…we have no intention…hurting anyone…permission to enter but…sit down and talk…"

Armored in his faith, Lord Bonifer paid no heed to its deceptions. He thought back to the queen's words.

"I can only urge you, my lord. Do not listen to them, to not look at them! Every moment they hold your attention is a moment they can use to put a spell on you. I have, perhaps, experienced it myself, many others have. It takes a strong will to resist their influence! Looking at them in the eye, that is when they poison your with their false words. But I know you for a man of faith, my lord. Merely see to your task. It is our only hope that they cannot distract you!"

Lord Bonifer steeled himself to his duties. The line of septons had spread out now, across the thousand-odd yards that was the extent of the Ring. He called out more orders. They were quickly passed down the line. In one smooth motion, the septons pulled objects out from under their garments. With one arm they held the faith's banners high. With the other they opened their copies of The Seven-Pointed Star. Together, they began to chant, starting with the first chapter of the Book of the Father. The voice on the other side of the Ring fell silent. Quietly, Bonifer felt a brief surge of triumph. Truly, they had armored themselves in the words of the Faith!

Lord Bonifer turned back to the crowd of begging brothers and other faithful assembling behind the lines of septons, Gold Cloaks and other armed men. He gave another command. Deputies carried it up and down the line. As one, several thousands picks and shovels were raised and began digging into the rocky earth. Other parties began collecting large stones and piling them up nearby. A few woodsmen took to nearby trees with axes.

Lord Bonifer oversaw the construction. He walked up and down the line, determined not to look east, into the Stranger's domain. The septons continued their collective sermon, almost drowning out the voice on the other side even when it started up again. The lines of armed men stood fast, in case of any intrusion that could elude the words of the faithful. No such intruders came however. Behind them, three thousand implements plunged deeper and deeper into the earth, throwing up dirt and stone and tossing them into a steadily growing pile.

######

Beside him, Harvey's deputy quickly made his confusion known.

"The hell they doing? They digging trenches?"

Looking through the binoculars again, Harvey frowned, examining the actions of the Westerosi closely. Fifield had given up with his megaphone. The trucks slowly pulled away, retreating back behind the infantry positions. After a while, a sudden smile came to Harvey's lips. He had to suppress a laugh.

"What?" the captain asked. "Are they hoping to bury the Ring?"

Harvey stood up, shaking his head. He turned to walk back to the command post.

"Sorta" he replied.

"What?"

"They're making Westeros Great Again mate. They're building a wall."