The Red Hand

Sorry for the wait.

It turned out there were some minor problems with piracy, other than the whole issue of the morality of raiding shipping and coastal towns. Obviously, Collins and his crews weren't welcome in his Majesty's shipyards, which meant that any damage they took had to be repaired at sea or wherever they could reasonably moor themselves- no drydocks for them, unfortunately.

This suboptimal state of repair could be fixed if they had a port of call to return to, but at the moment, their closest friendly port, assuming no diplomatic shenanigans, was Gibraltar, and returning there was wildly impractical. So that meant that almost every naval confrontation they participated in was more damaging to them than Britannia- towns could be rebuilt, supplies reacquired, ships repaired, while every cannonball they took during battle was crippling.

Their foes grew more aware of the threat every day, their raids got harder to pull off, and coastal batteries could spell disaster for them- setting a watch and keeping the guns manned did a fair amount to counter their style of raiding. Not to mention that he wasn't exactly working with good sailors- an actual confrontation with a warship would probably do them in. Their area of expertise was on land- and that was just what he planned to exploit.

Fittingly enough, some of them made landfall in an isolated bog in Ireland- the sort of place they might have drilled in, before they became involved in Italy. They beached the ships and took just about everything of value they could off of them before simply abandoning them and melting into the woods, separating into dozens of small units- they had business to handle.

Eventually, someone found the beached ships, whether a fisherman or perhaps an actual peat gatherer, it didn't really matter. The rumors spread rapidly across the country: the raiders who had plagued their coasts for the past few weeks had taken to the land. While small, it was an invasion of a power that prided itself on mastery of the sea, and that was humbling, perhaps even a little terrifying. And things only got worse.

In some places, the Britannian nobility were popular. Ruling over people that were generally like them, ethnically and religiously, tended to help with this, but the personality of the lord could play a major role as well. Some viewed themselves as shepherds to their metaphorical flocks, benevolent protectors who believed that their nobility obliged great generosity. Sometimes they didn't, of course- that could be read as a little pandering, a little weak, a little… Jacobin. Plus, a gentle hand wasn't always the best when holding onto, say, the colonies.

Attempting to reshape a population and reform their beliefs so they were more in line with Britannian goals and objectives was not always popular. In particular, the Peat Gatherers had a bone to pick with Britannia and their policies- the plantations that replaced local Irish farmers with settlers from Great Britain were particularly abhorred. If there was a face to such a process, it was the Duke of Ulster.

He was some far flung relation of the crown- most nobles were, if you tracked things back far enough- and ruled northern Ireland as his own personal fiefdom. So Collins and a few choice men departed for the town of Belfast, as the others spread wide over the countryside…

Life at Gibraltar could definitely get a little boring, especially if you weren't lucky enough to go the occasional naval raid against Britannia. It was hard not to feel a little cooped up- a little jealous, even- when others got sail away and come back with holds full of exotic goods. Sure, you could spend your pay out on the town, but there were also some minor issues of currency- so that meant a lot of unused energy.

Cornelia was familiar with this, and was more than happy to drill the men, pushing them towards martial perfection. In particular, they focused on drilling with their rifles, which were one of their major advantages over the rest of Europe- in particular, the men drilled fiercely around Gibraltar herself, climbing the steep slopes and weaving between the trees. Fewer concentrated blocks of men and less volley fire, working on something a little more fluid, more skirmish-like.

Of course, this was a style of warfare that could not work everywhere- without cover, on open ground, a good cavalry charge could make them into mincemeat, so they did occasionally practice forming squares and line in the field. The square was the classic Napoleonic counter to cavalry, but of course, it meant opening yourself to artillery, or just simply having the square broken under fierce assault.

If any men got particularly uppity, they would get to study the trenches that ringed the fortress, before attempting to replicate them in the ground. It was the king's opinion that trenches, if dug rapidly, were a powerful defensive tool, and it would be best complemented by men who could fire carefully, who could aim, on top of firing en masse.

Lelouch had heard stories of Washington's revolt, and the use of those long rifles by the Americans. Cutting off the head of the snake was a brutally efficient tactic- Casimir Pulaski, that Polish horseman, meant his end at the hands of a Britannian sharpshooter. Washington apparently slipped through the marksman's fingers- Britannia got him eventually, of course, but the utility of the long gun still remained. An interesting concept- and a reminder to make officers a little harder to differentiate from the crowd.

Collins and his men slipped into the streets of Belfast with relative ease- they didn't took too different form the average man on the streets, and they certainly spoke the language. In theory, they could possibly find a number of kindred spirits, in Prebysterians and Catholics… but you couldn't just walk up and ask someone to help you strike against the government.

Their main concern, at the moment, was the Royal Irish Constabulary- it was a young organization, born less than a decade ago, but it was the arm of the law in Ireland, on top of whatever forces the nobility saw fit to field on their own initiative. Both of these groups would be more than happy to crack down on Collins and his ilk if they proudly carried their firearms around. If the magnitude of their crimes against the Britannian crown were discovered… well, they had good reason to live anxiously.

Returning to Ireland was still sweet in its own way, of course- home was home, and your heart still ached for it. Belfast was as fair a city as any, even if they much preferred the idea of a different flag flying over her. It was hard not to feel a little bitter, seeing the Britannian proudly flying over the city- at the very least, the Duke didn't dirty the streets with his presence, preferring a manor house on the city's outskirts when not at the court in London.

Unfortunately for the Duke, he happened to be on break from whatever counted as politicking in that great retinue of sycophants and hangers-on, and had taken up residence in his manor, a mere crossing of the river Lagan away from Belfast town. A crossing that could be made any number of ways, even if you had to be very careful with the weapons you were bringing with you.

There were, as expected, guards posted at the manor. Even if it wasn't a castle, security was a major concern for a duke… and the Peat Gatherers knew that if they bungled this, they would be in incredibly hot water. So they watched, and took note of the guards and the patrols, of daily habits.

Eventually, the time came, and they crept, with such tremendous subtlety, into the manor's surroundings, knives and swords clenched in tight hands. Their hope was that they could execute this without a shot being fired. Not out of any sentiment of non-violence, of course. They just didn't want to get interrupted, and firing off a gun would certainly cause a hassle… So they practiced vicious ambushes, with a particular tendency of going towards the throat. There was less screaming that way, after all.

And eventually, a man crept to the Duke's bedroom, opening the door with gloves of the deepest oxblood… well, they hadn't started oxblood, but they were now. Perhaps other men would have gotten in or out with as much haste as they could manage, perhaps even going for a long ranged assassination, but the Peat Gatherers did not exactly have the highest opinion of this particular agent of Britannian oppression. If they were to engage in any… excesses, well, it was only fair. Payback in kind for Ireland's suffering.

Lurid descriptions of the assassination of the Duke of Ulster and his family spread throughout the British Isles, vividly described and sensationalized in the papers, sparking terror and outrage in equal measure. Of course, this was the sort of thing that called for a response…

And so the Company of the Red Hand was established by Royal decree as a way to help solve the problem of unrest in Ireland, obviously caused by Catholic dissidents who were egged on by the Italian's revolt. The Red Hand as a symbol was associated with Ulster- a region of Ireland that was a little more in line with what Britannia wanted, so to speak (that was to say religiously Protestant and culturally closer to Scotland).

So when the Royal Irish Constabulary could no longer handle the dissidents in their midst (if they weren't, God forbid, aiding them) the Company of the Red Hand was formed, as a sort of military adjacent organization. Of course, the crown had the power to raise regiments, but the Company was to take a different stance, fighting the rebels within instead of marching into battle in foreign fields.

Of course, recruitment was discriminatory: Catholics wouldn't be allowed, obviously, and you wanted someone of decent breeding, proven loyal to Britannia… Noble's sons volunteered in droves to help crack down on the uprising- sure, it wasn't quite a military station, but not everyone felt like being stationed in some far flung foreign port.

One good way to speed up the formation of a paramilitary unit was fear and terror- and there was certainly a bit of that, considering recent circumstances. While the Britannian government may have had faults and areas where it was lacking, skill with propaganda and stirring up emotions was not one of them. Terrible (and oftentimes fabricated) stories were spread of the traitors in their midst, perfidious and loyal to foreign powers: the Pope, who was obviously just a puppet of the Italian Prince, or the poisonous ideology of revolutionary France.

While an actual invasion of the home islands was extremely disturbing, that disruption was easily transformed into fear and zeal, a certainty that this war needed to be won before things could get any worse. Volunteers were numerous, and patriotic craftsmen provided all the goods of war needed to put down an insurrection: carbines, uniforms, spurs and sabers and shot and saddles…

A few of the Peat Gatherers lived somewhat normal lives while preparing for their next strike: they did odd jobs, hung around town, and generally tried to get their hands on gossip and information. Pamphlets, broadsheets, whatever they could get their hands on… justified as a patriotic interest in the war, of course.

News was sensationalist- lots of fearmongering about the recent landings in Ireland, which were, of course, being used as a justification to keep a closer eye on the population. Bad news about the Italian campaign- the sinking of commercial vessels and attacks on Portugal- were mentioned briefly, as temporary setbacks on the road to victory. Of course, the papers also ranted and raved about the way the other powers of Europe just sat back and let Lelouch's Italy, that revolutionary tumor, grow unchecked.

Lelouch's name was dragged through the mud, of course- he was a traitor to the crown, and a traitor from an extremely high station, even if he had spent most of his life in exile. Of course, the fact that he was an exile, a half-Italian was stressed- he wasn't a true Britannian, not really- whenever possible. Putting a warning like that in printed images made them a little less snappy, unfortunately.

Depictions of Lelouch were crude, based on passing descriptions of him from childhood: the black hair was there, sure, as was the slight build, although that was probably more to depict him as weak and frail against the wrath of the Empire then out of an aim to be accurate. It was hard to tell if the eyes were accurate to that distinctive purple- the prints weren't in color, much less using purple dye- but the eyes were obviously malevolent, full of hatred for proper Britannian civilization.

Depictions of the prince's siblings were rarer, and most of that number were of Cornelia- she was the other identifiable traitor, after all. The typical take on her was as a minion under Lelouch's sway- technically true, as Lelouch was king, if a little dismissive of the martial talents the papers had been praising before- with a heaping dash of other negative character traits thrown on top: promiscuity was a favorite, probably attempting to link infidelity to the country to infidelity in... other areas.

Nunnally and Euphemia barely appeared in these depictions at all: Nunnally because it would probably be hard to evoke sheer, blinding hate at a crippled blind girl, and Euphemia for similar reasons. If they appeared at all, they trended towards being victims of their sibling's scheming to carve out a kingdom in the Mediterranean.

It felt like one could sometimes taste a bit of bitterness among the common people, a disappointment that the rising star of Lelouch vi Britannia- half common, even if half Italian commoner- had gone so far awry, that he had tricked them, even. It also wasn't hard to imagine what sort of sentiments his betrayal caused in the nobility, against both common people and Catholics.

None of the Peat Gatherers were bold enough to attempt sneaking into a Catholic mass at this point in time, if that was the faith they kept: while several of them were rather pious, none were stupid enough to risk getting caught as a recusant during already perilous times. Still, it wasn't hard to wonder what Crypto-Catholics thought of Lelouch: was he a hero to those suffering under the Britannian boot, or was he simply presenting himself as a Catholic, bringing more hate and persecution down upon them while he chased political ends?

The Britannian Empire in the New World was certainly impressive on paper, setting them in the enviable position of holding suzerainty over the majority of two continents, or at least the most worthwhile parts (unlike, say, Russian Alaska). They had clamped down on the major cities and trade centers, but there was much more to America than New York, Quebec, or Savannah.

Beyond these areas of tight control, held by strong armies and viceroys, Britannia's sway was not nearly as strong. Not to mention the fact that many of these areas were held by people who took issue with Britannia, who weren't proper English speaking residents of the previous Thirteen Colonies or Canada.

From the Creole people, who lived in the recently acquired Louisiana region, to the natives of America, who were far too diverse to be placed into any one category, to Spaniards and their ilk, all were uncomfortable with Britannian rule. Colonial exploitation crossbred with old fashioned Britannian feudalism was unfortunate, especially if crossed with religious intolerance, whether it was that age old animosity between Christian sects, or outright disdain for native traditions.

Of course, in this day and age men were driven by more than just religious sentiment, and news of revolt in some other corner of the Empire was a weakness to be exploited for anyone who would prefer to be under any the rule of anyone other than the Emperor of Britannia. Some places were cowed, or at least too weakened to feasibly resist during this time of strife: the miserable island of Hispaniola, red with the blood of slaves, or the American colonies which had been chastened thoroughly after their revolt, just couldn't even if they wanted to.

In some places, revolt was already simmering, patrols facing difficulties while out in the rural country, shipments being… mysteriously delayed, if they arrived at all, and some parts of the hinterlands being downright ungovernable. It was rather hard to get resources like furs from the natives or trappers that gathered them if they hated you, or if they negotiated with people who hated the government.

This was complemented by very close Viceregal oversight- being ruled by someone who lived nearby and had a good understanding of your wants and needs was desirable, but it did mean that the ruler had to care, and that could be a big ask in some places. There were benevolent Viceroys who spent their considerable proceeds on public works and planned for a brighter future… but some didn't. It was hard not to grow a little resentful, seeing the fruits of your labor shipped away, sold for a fortune you'd never get to see- unless the Viceroy felt like gilding their residence. These Viceroys also tended to displace any locally elected assemblies that might have held power before, provoking further unrest.

The Viceroys had their own private armies for situations just like this, and could theoretically band together if any threat grew too big to handle (read: too much of an embarrassment for every ruler in the vicinity); however, some rivalries ran deep. If two siblings had bad blood with each other, perhaps inherited from their mother's side of the family, that could bleed into very real (and violent) skirmishes.

So the end result was a system of feuding potentates who were far from the one authority they truly feared and respected, many of whom were inclined to win honor and praise for themselves. Decentralized and somewhat divided, the Americas were not quite the seamless whole that they appeared to be- and some Viceroys noticed this, sending desperate letters to the homeland. Surely, the consequences of calling upon Britannia couldn't be as bad as whatever punishment father would mete out if they truly failed...

One notable feature of the isle of Sicily was a foundry, patronized by Lelouch in order to supply his armies- whether Sicilian or eventually Italian- with their artillery. It was a delicate art, especially when they were producing complex rifled guns. Cannon were temperamental weapons, to put it quite simply, and demanded nothing less than perfection.

As such, the order that the foreman received from on high- with the King's very seal, which he was familiar with- seemed like lunacy. He went as far as going to look at what other documents he had received from the prince, to prove that yes, the seals did in fact match. Perhaps it was part of some brilliant scheme? Surely, the king would know that cannons made like this would be worse than useless…

Still, orders were orders, so on top of the typical rifled fare that they produced, a select group of their workers worked on this new model, all of which were destined for the frontier at the Piave, and would of course be shipped by boat. The foreman had heard some interesting things about small scale rail lines, but there was nothing approaching a line from Calabria to Venice quite yet.

Even if he was falling his orders to the letter, he couldn't help but feel a little… antsy. He certainly wasn't some frothing at the mouth Italian patriot, but the king (or at least the king's business) had been good for him. Sending the army defective weaponry left a bitter taste in his mouth, even if it might turn out to be part of some brilliant scheme to overcome the country's enemies.

The cannon, as flawed as they were- and oh yes, the men with a decent understanding of how the cannon worked pointed out the flaws to him- were finished and sent with their shot up to Venice. Sicily may have had her fair share of sulfur, but they didn't really produce lots of gunpowder. That was best left to other parts of Italy.

He supposed that was one of the benefits of Lelouch's rule- they were part of a sort of greater Italian economy now, and he was capable of buying Venetian glass or Milanese fabrics or maybe even something from Barbary, but considering current circumstances… Well, their options were a lot more limited with most trade outside of the Mediterranean blocked off, and chicory wasn't quite enough for his taste in coffee. That Lord Ashford… maybe he could buy coffee from Ethiopia? Wasn't that where it came from?

When the cannons arrived at the Danubian frontier, they were very carefully marked, before they were wheeled into their proper positions.

On the other side of the Piave, the forces of the Empire of the Danube observed carefully as the Italians expanded their defenses even further, adding more and more to the trenchwork, spars that stretched closer and closer to the river.

There were some fairly obvious design choices that they could see: the trenches were steep on the side closer to the river, and the further side was much shallower- all the better for the defenders. Keeping the trenchwork exposed from the back made recapturing the trench after it was stormed much easier. The Italians were clearly planning to bleed the Danubians dry, falling back again and again to drain their advantage in numbers away.

Their fake cannon scheme gave them something critical: time. Every day the Danubians didn't wade their way over the Piave, guns held high over their heads, was another day that saw munitions shipped or carted in and fake guns complimented by very real ones. There were some eventual plans to cross over the river themselves, but the clear plan was to weather a Danubian assault before going on the offensive.

Both sides compiled maps and estimates of the enemy's strength, preparing for the moment that they would come to blows- and that was a sentiment that was pretty widespread, even if both sides were at peace for now. The Italians saw the land over that border as theirs, at least in the sense of belonging to a greater Italian identity, and the Danubians knew it.

The Danubians kept a very careful eye on commerce when it occurred- while they couldn't technically object to the enemy building up their forces on their side of the river, that didn't mean they would take Italian infringement on rightfully Habsburg territory lying down. There were also rumors that Italian subversives were still trying to help their countrymen across the Piave by leaking information- and that was totally unacceptable.

Compared to other portions of the borders, like France or even certain parts of the Danubian Tyrol, the Piave was thick with tension. The presence of a river made bumbling their way into a skirmish significantly harder, but both sides were on edge, neither willing to let the other take them by surprise.

As the year came to a close, snow falling gently onto the Alps in Italy's north, the mood was mixed. They were at war, of course, but with their victories against Britannia at Malta and Gibraltar, it seemed as if the main theater of war had moved west- this move was not decisive, and there certainly was a chance that they might be pushed back… but it was as hopeful a start for a war as you could hope for.

Hesitantly, the Senate discussed slowing exports of food- it might upset some of their trade partners, but they were worried about the harvests. To let Italians starve because they shipped their own food over the border… that would be shameful, even if it meant the government had to buy up the grain for them. The Princess Euphemia had pushed for such policies, greatly worried about how a famine could strike the nation during such dire times.

In their sibling's absence, Euphemia and Nunnally took up all the responsibilities they might have handled, and then some. Lelouch could give a bombastic speech, but Euphemia had a certain charm to her, thanks to fair looks and a fair attitude, a more gentle complement to the young general Lelouch. She accepted that she probably wouldn't have the capacity to lead on the field like Lelouch or Cornelia… but armies didn't march for long without logistics, and that was something she had the stomach for.

On the subject of martial affairs, there was Kallen Stadtfeld, who had become something of a pet project for Euphemia. The symbolism of a Britannian scion leaving her country behind was just too powerful not to harness, leading to Euphemia taking her in, although it wasn't like Euphemia would have just left her high and dry in the middle of Rome in times such as these.

Getting the word out about her wasn't incredibly difficult- they did have a fair number of printing presses, after all- and people were apparently quite interested in the female Britannian deserter. If the curiosity got people to enlist, got people interested, showed people that Britannia wasn't the ironclad juggernaut of sycophants all the way down… well, Euphemia hoped that it would help. Also, for some mysterious reason, men tended to prickle and get upset they realized they were worse shots than Kallen- and of course, afterwards it was suggested that they perhaps join a nearby milita in hopes of getting some practice, or at the very least take up the rifle on their own… If the machismo was there, why not use it, right?

They were hesitant to make any grand expansions of the army without Lelouch's express permission, but the militias swelled with members- Euphemia had hoped to pass some sort of law urging firearm practice, in a similar fashion to the old longbow laws in England, but she wasn't sure how that might effect their powder supply if they just practiced for weeks on end…

Kallen found the entire process exceedingly grating- especially posing for the occasional lithograph or print- but she bore it, in part because Euphemia insisted and the Princess was the main force keeping her off the streets, and partially because she could recognize some of the value of what she did. She also thoroughly enjoyed just showing off a little with her marksmanship skills- if it made a few people mad or made them more likely to take up the rifle… good! As far as she was concerned, everyone on the peninsula could take one. Of course, Kallen was only really a recruitment tool inside Italy- no one outside of the peninsula would really care about her and join the Foreign Legions because of it.

On the subject of legionnaires, Euphemia quietly made sure that their French Foreign Legionnaires were among the guards upon French the border- ostensibly, because they would have the best idea of their foes' tactics and potential routes of approach. To aid this, they were lavished with some of the best equipment that they could be reasonably supplied to them, and of course, they were kept up to date with what news they could get about Lelouch and Napoleon, for morale, of course.

Before the next ship left to resupply Gibraltar, Euphemia arranged for a letter of hers to be sent; of course, the message was in code, and for good reason. Other than general updates on the state of the Kingdom, there was a cordial invitation: if Bonaparte pleased, he could return to Italy to help train some of the French volunteers, boost their morale and prepare them in case any fighting were to occur in France, given his experience in the country. Perhaps, if read a certain way, the letter might imply a certain urgency about the situation… and in a way, there was.

Euphemia didn't like this year's harvests at all, didn't like the chill he felt as the year began to close… The last time the French people had starved, everyone in Europe suffered for it, and any unrest would only be compounded on by the Bourbon monarchy, who weren't popular already. Euphemia earnestly hoped that the next year's harvest would yield bumper crops and that things would remain calm, but it was hard not to recognize the possibility. If things in France went badly, it would be best if someone could step in and keep things from spiraling out of control…

Really, it was just for the sake of saving lives. Euphemia had heard all about the Reign of Terror, about lawlessness and bloodshed- a few simple steps, and all of that mess could be avoided or minimized, if it ever came to that. An ally to their north certainly wouldn't hurt the Italians, either, but for the French… well, it was for their own good.

Unfortunately, once the letters Schneizel had written were sent out, there was little he could do- it would take quite a while for some of the letters to reach their destination (Vienna in particular would be a trip- up the Rhine, overland, and then down the Danube, possibly?) and the diplomats would take time to mull things over. Of course, Schneizel would not be spending his time in indolence… unlike some of his siblings.

So, while European diplomacy slowly took its course, Schneizel decided that it was high time to put his own house in order- or rather, his father's. While very few of his siblings had crossed the line of actual treason against the crown, their profligate tendencies ate into their finances during a time of war. Well, technically, the Crown was almost always persecuting a war or conflict somewhere, but one was a lot closer to home- and a bit of frugality among the Imperial family would set a good example.

The follow weeks saw Schneizel burning a few bridges with his siblings, which was not too much of a loss considering that those siblings were the ones who decided not to spend their time not building up political capital or winning allies among the nobility. In essence, he informed them that they could either take steps to cut their spending now- or Schneizel would go straight for the purse strings.

For what it was worth, several of his siblings did get their act together once he had given them a stern lecture about how they were failing the nation and father during a time of crisis, etc. etc. However, Schneizel quickly found himself taking control of the budget and redirecting it towards more important things than certain people's fascination with sherry. He took those liberated funds and put them towards the war effort- if he got to indulge his own personal interest in those rifled weapons which had served Lelouch so well…. Well, it was going towards the war effort, wasn't it?

Once he had gotten them to stop wasting money, his next task involved getting them to actually put their royal status to good use; after all, they certainly weren't completely lacking in skill, charm, and education. The siblings he could trust not to bungle military appointments were given those- including several in the Company of the Red Hand- while the others were sent to do any number of tasks: sweet talking the nobility into lending them greater support, managing the royal demense, even a bit of public works.

Several of his siblings resisted, including a few of the ones with actual political power behind them, with alliances that Schneizel never had the chance to build while in the court of the Russian Tsar. While Schneizel may have cut spending, ordering his siblings around was a step above that, and you certainly couldn't impress your allies in court by bending over backwards to follow your sibling's orders. The precedent it set...

Still, Schneizel could cow a significant portion of his siblings, and that would hopefully provide some of the pressure needed to get the others with the program, so to speak. He certainly wasn't running anything approaching a united front- he knew he would need to keep a very careful eye on his siblings in the military, to prevent another Lelouch or Cornelia or more general power grabs- but most of them were working in roughly the same direction now, even if a few put on a show of token resistance or insisted that the 'suggestions' he gave them were really theirs...

He had to basically drag several of his siblings to a more public Christmas mass kicking and screaming, but thankfully they were wise enough to present a united front to the public. It was something bright to close the year with in a otherwise stressful time, a reminder to the average man of those great obligations to God and country. Perhaps there was unrest in the colonies and an active revolt in Italy, but the Empire could survive it, as long as the people stayed united.

With both hesitance and hope, they crossed over into the year 1830.

The very early days of 1830 saw a strengthening of Italo-Corsican relations. If one wished to hammer it in, you could possibly call it a new beginning of sorts. Quietly, they agreed on strengthening their impromptu alliance- figuring that they best chance they had was increasing economic cooperation on top of their military cooperation.

Admittedly, Lelouch had a feeling that it might inspire some discomfort in the other princes of Europe if it grew too similar to the Continental System of Napoleon's father… In time, Lelouch hoped to integrate the Papacy and San Marino into any such bloc, but at the moment they could provide almost zero practical military support unless Lelouch managed to get the Pope to agitate Catholics throughout Britannia- which had potential to backfire. The greatest thing the Pope could do for Lelouch was giving him the appearance of a somewhat traditional Catholic monarch, but he supposed he'd have to save that for the coronation...

On the subject of upsetting the other European powers, there was the matter of the other European powers, and a certain letter from home…

He read it during a relatively quiet breakfast- with just himself, Cornelia, and Bonaparte in attendance- and Lelouch nearly dropped the cipher in his other hand when he first read it. "I didn't think Euphemia had it in her…" Lelouch muttered.

"What?" Cornelia's head snapped up. Of course, she was interested in her sister, but Bonaparte was interested too- if this was something important enough for Lelouch to remark upon, then it was clearly big enough for him to worry about.

Lelouch looked up at Bonaparte. "She's setting things up for you to potentially march into France."

"Give me that." Cornelia quickly snatched at the mostly decrypted letter, while Bonaparte's eyes widened.

This would certainly complicate things… Lelouch didn't like the idea of leaving the men of the blockade to themselves, but if things got dicey in Europe, that might prove to the be the best option.

The Company of the Red Hand is fictional, but kind of a paramilitary, based loosely on Code Geass's own Britannian anti-terrorist organizations along with the IRL Black & Tans, and a heaping handful of that good old fashioned English colonialism. And you know, what is Code Geass without a little terrorism, as a treat? In a similar vein to the Company, there was no Duke of Ulster- he takes inspiration from the Marquess of Donegall though, who had a manor house on the outskirts of Belfast.

Pulaski did not in fact, die at the hands of a British sniper IRL- he died at Savannah- but either he or Washington were (possibly) almost killed by a British sharpshooter. Honestly, Washington getting shot would be an incredibly neat and historically accurate way of tying up the Revolution in Geass-verse, but I already wrote up my timeline…

Sorry for the wait, guys. I'm embarrassed to say how much of that wait came from one particular section, and even then it's not ideal as I had hoped. But I figured I needed to put this out the door eventually, to get to the fun stuff. I have too many fun chapter titles like "The Apostolic Crown", "Currant Affairs", and "The State of San Marco". I'll leave y'all to imagine what those might mean, and I hope I'll get the answers to you a little faster than this time.

Thank you all so much for reading.