Chapter Five: The Instruments of War

With the political situation stable for the time being, the Britannian government began to turn its attention to other matters of state. Discreet inquiries were sent out on the conditions of factories across the realm, and the budget was reorganized; to what end no one seemed to know. Equally discreet were diplomatic visits sent out to countries across the world, particularly former Britannian colonies in the Americas and to the Russian Federation. Something was stirring.

Duchy of Nevada, Britannian Royal Principality, June 4th, 2039 A.T.B.

The harsh desert sun scorched the land. The red sands of Nevada radiated heat, sending up mirages and distorting the air. What plant life could be seen was scattered and scarce, the animal life even more so. An empty blue sky stretched eternally on to all sides, giving the impression of an endless expanse. This was place was desolate and vast, as devoid of people as it was of greenery.

The perfect place to put down a secret military installation.

It was nestled in a valley, surrounded on all sides by towering structures of rock the same red color as the sands. Where nature did not provide a barrier, man made his own. Barbed wire, minefields, and armed patrols all served to interdict any who might come too close to this installation, one of the Britannian government's most closely guarded secrets. Air patrols regularly flew the skies, and the runway attached to the base held a line of sleek fighters ready for takeoff at a moment's notice. Even an innocent Britannian citizen who wondered upon it by accident could expect to be detained and questioned rigorously as to why they were here.

The unmarked jet that began its descent towards said runway had been checked extensively to insure it had clearance to land. Codeword after codeword had been sent, with each reply expected within seconds. Even with these codes verified and the plane's clearance confirmed, it was still escorted by a pair of fighters. They were half escort, half warden. They were equally ready to protect the unarmed jet from attack as they were to fire upon it should it deviate from its course. Regardless of who was supposed to be onboard.

Thankfully for the jet and its passengers, they were able to land without incident. An honor guard of armored soldiers stood with their rifles at attention, steadfastly ignoring the heat. An officer stood at parade rest facing the jet's exit hatch, showing no discomfort in his uniform. Quickly, stairs were attached to the plane, and the hatch opened.

All present clicked their heels as the prime minister exited the plane, stretching his collar at the sudden assault of Nevada's ever blazing sun. He quickly moved down the staircase eager to get the ceremony over with so they could move to blessed air conditioning. His entourage was small, only two aides who had been repeatedly checked by the Shinozaki Clan and Britannian intelligence officials to verify their loyalty.

Mountbatten stopped before the officer, who waited patiently. There was one more technicality that needed to be addressed before the prime minister could properly enter the base.

"I present the royal injunction, granting me access to this installation for the duration of my visit, no more and no less," the old man said, pulling out a sheet of paper contained the official text of the injunction and the royal seal to grant it the full weight of law. Essentially, for the duration of his visit, Mountbatten was the Sovereign's proxy. In a legal sense, this document made him the Sovereign, within reason. This allowed him to access the facility which was normally off limits to any and all civilians, even one as highly placed as Mountbatten. It was a simple way to allow civilian officials to set foot on installations such as this one when necessary.

The officer accepted the paper, giving it a cursory glance to show that the military received and acknowledged the investiture which the Sovereign had granted his civilian prime minister. Legally, Mountbatten was now allowed to enter the base, so long as he was accompanied by the proper personnel. Quickly, the paper was returned to Mountbatten.

"Welcome to Camelot, Your Excellency," the officer said dramatically, shaking Mountbatten's hand firmly.

Mountbatten returned the shake, taking in the base around them. "I must say I'm impressed, Captain," he said. "When I was informed about Camelot's existence, I pictured something smaller. It seems I was wrong."

The captain smiled wryly. "You know how the brass are, Excellency. Even if the civil government needs to know, they fight tooth and nail to hide it anyway."

Mountbatten snorted. "Quite. Will the commandant be joining us?"

"She will," the captain answered, gesturing for Mountbatten to follow to a waiting jeep. They quickly mounted it, the driver taking the group towards one of the gargantuan hangars on base. "Earl Asplund will also be present for the test. He is, quite eager to see your reaction to his work."

Mountbatten sighed, knowing exactly what that would entail. For his part the captain chuckled.

The jeep soon entered the hangar, which at first glance was a massive machine shop. The vehicle carried on, eventually coming to a stop in the middle of the building. To an uninformed observer, this stop was completely random. Said observer would quickly be proven wrong when the section of floor the jeep was on began to descend, revealing it to be a cargo elevator. Once the platform had reached a certain depth a panel slid over the newly created opening, as if nothing was amiss.

Mountbatten raised his eyebrow. He had expected a base shrouded in secrecy, and had surely gotten that. He hadn't expected quite this level of sophistication, like something out of a spy thriller. It seemed the Sovereign Nunnally hadn't been quite so forthcoming with him as he'd thought. Not that he blamed her.

Having been briefed on what was being done here shortly before his arrival, he knew that this installation had to remain secret at all costs.

The elevator quickly left the confines of its shaft to reveal an expansive underground complex. Built in the days of Emperor Charles, this had once served as the testing ground of weapons such as the Lancelot and Gawain. It had fallen quiet for a few years after the end of the Great War, the time of peace making a testing ground for new military technologies seem an accessory at best. Such was not the case now. For the better part of a decade, this base had been reactivated and slowly expanded in absolute secrecy. A good part of the military budget went to this installation alone, to help fuel the fell work done within. That budget was already in the process of being increased.

The elevator finished its descent, and the jeep again moved. The underground complex was vast enough to warrant the inclusion of paved roads and vehicular transport. Multiple buildings were laid out in a grid pattern, harsh fluorescent lights shining down from the stone ceiling far above. He heard one his aides mutter "Holy shit, we have our own Jaburo?"

The jeep finally came to a stop before an austere concrete structure towards the rear of the complex. Behind it, Mountbatten could see what looked like an open space used for weapons' testing. Briskly the party made their way into the building, stopped several times by security and forced to show the appropriate documentation. It would have surprised no one to know that the guards' weapons were ready to snap up at a moment's notice.

The group satisfied the frankly paranoid levels of security for this particular building, and they were escorted towards the rear of the structure. Most of it was a series of bland, white hallways with bland, white lighting. A few wooden doors were all there were to break the monotony. The building was not built to inspire awe. Finally, the group entered a final door, this one manned by no less than four armed guards. The security checks for this one were as paranoid as those at the main entrance.

They were finally allowed to move through the door, and when they did Mountbatten and his aides stopped short for the first time. Their eyes widened in shock and awe.

"Knightmares," the prime minister murmured in an astounded whisper, fully focused on the machines arrayed before him. He had known exactly what awaited him here, but to see them in person was a different matter entirely. There were two of them, each equally as warlike but differing from one another enough that they could be told apart.

One was a combination of sharp angles and curves, a boxy chest sitting atop a massive armored skirt. Atop the chest was a head that reminded the prime minister of a medieval knight's helmet. A thin black visor ran across where eyes would be, and a great winged plume sprang out from the back of the head. What he would have described as a horn sat atop the forehead, likely some kind of communications implement. The shoulders were encased by boxy pauldrons which jutted up sharply at the outer points. The lower arms and hands were sleeker, more curves than angles. The legs were gargantuan. Each thigh was of a fairly standard size, but beginning at the knee they flared out into large and curvy armored sections, the rounded feet surrounded on three sides by an armored shroud. It was painted in a dark green and gray color scheme.

This was the KMF-03 Bedivere, a limited production unit meant for commanders and elite units such as paratroopers and the royal guards.

Mountbatten's eyes turned to the other unit, which was somewhat smaller and less angular than the first model. For one, the head lacked the 'horn' and 'plume' of the first unit, and there appeared to be armored tubing wrapping around the entirety of the head. This ended at an extension which contained a large vent, the unit's 'mouth' as it were. The head also contained a visor like the first unit, more rectangular than the first. The chest was rounded, nowhere near as many sharp angles as the Bedivere. The arms were similar, with the pauldrons being semi-spherical and each mounting three large spikes. Mountbatten was informed that these were in fact heavily armored and could be used as a weapon in dire need. The lower body was similarly rounded; the armored skirt was much less pronounced on this unit and the legs, while still growing massively beginning at the knee, were not as large as the Bedivere's. This one was painted in varying shades of lighter and dark green.

This was the KMF-04 Palamedes, meant to be the workhorse of the Britannian military if it was put into service.

Mountbatten had forgotten all sense of decorum, so struck was he by the sight of these massive war machines. Both were around eight meters tall, dwarfing previous and even some contemporary models such as the venerable Akatsuki. Even machines such as the Lancelot Albion failed to hold the same presence as these. They were meant for war; they were Britannia made manifest.

"It seems even you can forget yourself, Mountbatten," a woman's voice sounded to the side, drawing the prime minister's attention away from the towering knightmares. He quickly gave a courtly bow, as did those immediately around them. He was standing before royalty, after all.

"They are quite something, Princess Cornelia," he said, rising from his bow to meet the Witch of Britannia's gaze. The years had been kind to her, even now she still retained a sense of vigor and presence. She was clad in the burgundy and gold uniform that had helped to make her iconic, and a pistol was strapped at her hip. Her mane of violet hair was done up in a severe bun and braid, and her eyes were as sharp as always. At her side was her equally famous knight Gilbert Guilford, also the same as he had always been in spite of the passage of time, aside from the polarized glasses to hide his sightless eyes. He moved with the assistance of a walking stick, but Mountbatten had no doubt that the man could easily force him to the ground if need be. His mouth was set in its customary neutral line that looked ready to turn into a severe scowl at the slightest provocation.

"Thank Earl Asplund for that, the work is all his. I'm merely his minder, to make sure he doesn't try out some half-crazed mechanical fancy of his," she replied, a wry smile on her lips. The earl's reputation for flights of fancy was well known, even decades later.

"Speaking of the earl, I was expecting to see him bouncing about," the prime minister said, his unsaid inquiry obvious. To that, the princess simply sighed and pointed. His gaze following, Mountbatten was greeted with the sight of the Earl Asplund's legs kicking in the air, everything above his waist buried in the guts of some sort of knightmare rifle. His voice was shrill. Around him, several technicians were staring with a long-suffering look.

"No, no, no, no! Your calibration is off by point five degrees! This wouldn't hit the broad side of a barn! Forget friendly fire, it would be a miracle if this hit anything period! Cecile!"

A woman with cerulean hair dressed in a lab coat gave a deep sigh before stepping forward. "Yes, Lloyd?"

"I need some chocolate pudding at once, and-"

"I am a scientist and the assistant director of this project, I am not fetching your pudding!" the woman shouted, her eyes flashing with indignation. Mountbatten raised an eyebrow, looking to Cornelia. She was holding her head in her hand. Earl Asplund began pulling himself out from the advanced rifle, his clothes covered in oil stains.

"I was going to say that I also need you to run a diagnostic to verify my findings, but - Ah, it appears we have guests. Hellooooooo Eddie!"

Earl Asplund waved enthusiastically, while Cecile gave a startled yelp and turned to see Britannia's Prime Minister standing there with a bemused look on his face. She quickly curtsied. "Your Excellency, Your Highness, please forgive the lack of preparation. I must have lost the missive announcing your visit, my sincerest apologies!"

"Don't worry Cecile, it was thrown in the trash. It was taking up valuable space on my desk."

"You threw an official missive from the Crown in the trash?!"

"The line between insanity and genius really is thin," Mountbatten muttered, before coughing to get the bickering pair's attention. "Worry not Ms. Cecile, I was taking the time to admire the two machines over there. They look fantastic. Her Highness was just explaining them to me."

Cecile gave a curtsy and a flustered thanks, while the Earl grew a smug grin on his face. The silver haired man sauntered over the Mountbatten, looking as if he was about to put his arm around his shoulders. The arm which, like the rest of the scientist's clothes, was covered in oil stains. Edward stepped back just in time, and the Earl of Pudding blinked in puzzlement for a moment before shrugging. "Aren't they just marvelous, Your Excellency? The KMF-03 Bedivere and the KMF-04 Palamedes, my latest works. I regret to announce that I could not implement all of my ideas. Cecile and Cornelia were insistent that I keep them within the realms of 'reason' and 'mass production'."

These were said with air quotes, and the Earl looked as if he'd never been more insulted than to be forced to make two machines capable of standard use by a modern military. Perhaps there wasn't a line between genius and insanity. Here they seemed to be holding hands.

"That is more than alright, Earl Asplund," Mountbatten said. "I can assure you that His Majesty will be pleased with their compatibility with production lines. Assuming their final tests come back with good results, of course."

At this Asplund looked even more offended. The idea that his machines could possibly fail to meet expectations seemed utterly foreign to him as a concept. "These two knightmares will blow the competition out of the water. The Akatsuki will be a wet paper bag in comparison, and whatever toy the Europeans have traipsing around won't hold a candle to them. They won't produce good results, they will excel."

Mountbatten held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. Years of dealing with the court and nobility had made him more than immune to whatever shock might have come from Asplund's larger than life personality. The earl was frank, if nothing else. "I have no doubt, Earl Asplund. I was under the impression the final test was scheduled to match with my visit?"

"It is," Cornelia said, stepping forward. "We have an observation room ready on the floor above, Mountbatten. I'll take you there. As for you, Asplund, whatever the problem with the rifle is, leave it so you can oversee the test, which is scheduled to happen in only a few minutes. Let's not keep the Prime Minister waiting."

That set the hangar off as if it had been an actual order. There was a sudden rush of activity, as technicians began to move all over and thither, each carrying out a pre-assigned task. It seemed that even if Asplund and Ms. Croomy weren't the best organizers, Princess Cornelia was more than capable of picking up the slack. As this happened, Mountbatten's party was led by Cornelia and Guilford towards the aforementioned observation room. As soon as they had left the hangar she sighed.

"Please, please tell me that Robert has a new assignment for me once this is finished. I might seriously murder him if I'm forced to deal with this insanity for another year."

Mountbatten chuckled from his place next to the Princess. "At the moment, no, Your Highness, but I'll take it up with His Majesty when the opportunity arises. Now that things are beginning to move apace, your experience as a field commander will likely be needed before too long."

Cornelia turned to Edward with surprise etched across her face, easily grasping the implication of the Prime Minister's statement. "So soon?"

Mountbatten nodded. "His Majesty announced at the last cabinet meeting that he intends to renounce any obligation to repay the reparations, whether they are financial or in kind. The proclamation will be made in a few months."

This would represent a major shift in the world's geopolitical situation. One of the lynchpins of the U.F.N.'s financial system were the reparations owed by Britannia, paid out annually. These had helped drive reconstruction in the U.F.N. and European Union, as these reparations were used to finance loans and subsidies to companies and foreign nations across the globe. Britannia, in essence, acted as the world's unwilling vault for a sizeable portion of its finances. The sudden cessation of these payments would not cause the system to collapse, it was more robust than that, but it would put a severe strain on it, as the removal of one of the worldwide financial system's cornerstones would severely diminish confidence in said system.

"We aren't ready for war," Cornelia said frankly. "The military is in no shape for anything more than a few battles, and we don't have the infrastructure needed to maintain campaigns even on our own soil. I hope the government realizes that."

That last sentence was punctuated with a pointed look in his direction. He nodded.

"You and I share similar concerns, Highness," he said with equal frankness. "The benefits of ceasing reparations won't be felt immediately, they will take time to appear. And the U.F.N. won't be kind enough to give us that time. His Majesty is gambling that a single, shocking victory will overturn their willingness to enforce the status quo. He hopes he can engineer the circumstances of our own Tsushima. I… am doubtful on whether that can work."

The main concern before the government was that it was uncertain whether a single battle, much less a single victory, would make the U.F.N. take pause. It would certainly shock them, but it might also galvanize them into bringing their full weight to bear on an unprepared Britannia to crush it. The Sovereign was playing a very dangerous, very high stakes game. More conservatively minded members of his government, including Mountbatten, thought it was perhaps too dangerous.

"Tsushima worked for the Japanese because they neutralized the local Russian fleet in the opening stages of the war and had been wearing down the Russians in a campaign of attrition in Manchuria before the Second Pacific Squadron even arrived. And even though the war is remembered as a Japanese victory, it also almost bankrupted them. And they hadn't been paying reparations for the past twenty years."

Mountbatten sighed, nodding his agreement. The Sovereign did understand all this, he was a student of history. And yet…

"His Majesty made it clear that Britannia must draw a line in the sand that the U.F.N. cannot cross," the Prime Minister answered. "From a military standpoint I understand your concerns, but as a member of the civilian government I must also consider the legitimacy of the Crown. And in that sense, I do agree with the Sovereign; there is no future for the Britannian state as it is if we do not revise the status quo in some fashion."

If the Crown's raison d'etat was to defend Britannia and her interests, then the reparations owed to the U.F.N. represented the grossest violation of that. It placed the government in a paradoxical position. Virtually no one seriously believed Britannia was ready for a full-scale war at this time, and yet the state must risk that very thing if it wanted to keep legitimacy with the population and survive in its current form. More than a few would call that selfishness in the extreme. It would not be hard to accuse the Britannian government of placing its own survival above the well-being of its people. Others would argue that the well-being of the Britannian people was already compromised, and that this was the only course left to the government.

Of course, Cornelia had said it herself. Britannia was not ready for a war. One or two pitched battles, that would shock her enemies into coming to the negotiating table? That was something within the realm of possibility for the military to accomplish, especially if all possible resources were devoted to strengthening the former imperial forces for a short conflict.

This all assumed, of course, that things played out that way. There was so much left to chance.

Hopefully these new implements of war would tilt the scales even slightly in Britannia's favor.

With that thought in mind the party arrived at the observation room. The far side was dominated by a floor to ceiling window made of extremely resilient bulletproof glass, and through this they could see the large open field which Mountbatten had spotted earlier. On one side of the field, he spotted the two machines he had seen in the hangar. The Bedivere wielded a towering lance in its right hand and had what appeared to be a reproduced version of the old VARIS rifle in its left. The Palamedes wielded an anti-armor assault rifle, and as the Prime Minister read some of the specifications that were laid out on several screens he could see that it was equipped with an MVS sword for close combat. A stark difference between the two models were their methods of shielding: the Palamedes held a large, vaguely rectangular shield that was almost as long as it was tall. The Bedivere, by contrast, was equipped with a Blaze Luminous system which, if the information provided to Mountbatten was correct, provided cover to the entire body. Hence, the lack of a physical shield.

Across the field a squadron of six older remote-controlled Sutherlands stood ready, each with a standard loadout of an anti-armor assault rifle. Mountbatten was surprised; he'd thought that there weren't any such knightmares left in the Britannian stockpile. He had apparently been greatly mistaken.

"Such odds seem hardly conducive to an effective test," he remarked, glancing between the two formations. "Even for Earl Asplund, this is monumental arrogance."

To his surprise, Cornelia only smirked. "Wait and see, Prime Minister."

The Princess then activated an intercom. "The final test will now begin. I expect nothing less than stellar piloting today. Good luck, pilots."

A countdown began to sound out across the field and in the observation room. Everyone tensed in anticipation as it drew ever closer to zero. The high-pitched whine of jet engines could be heard, and with a start Mountbatten realized it was coming from the two new knightmares.

"Three…"

The Sutherlands aimed their weapons, operators hoping to get a first shot in when the match began.

"Two…"

The engines on the Palamedes and Bedivere continued to emit their whine. In a flash of red, a monoeye activated on each machine, levelling a blood red gaze on their enemies.

"One…"

"Engage!"

The two sides leapt into action. The Sutherlands attempted to split into two groups, to isolate the opposing machines and finish them off separately. The new knightmares naturally weren't about to let that just happen. Bedivere raced forward, a massive wall of dust kicked up by the jet engines in its lower legs which propelled it forward at frightening speed. It began firing the VARIS rapidly. Railgun accelerated rounds raced forward at the two groups, forcing the Sutherlands to momentarily break their formation. One round struck true, and the upper half of the unfortunate blue machine was obliterated. The lower half tumbled down, a plume of dust marking its final resting place. Meanwhile Bedivere charged forward without a shred of fear, massive lance leveled threateningly at its enemies.

Palamedes was not idle. While its compatriot charged the enemy formation head-on, the dark green machine kicked up a similar wall of dust from its own jet engines, circling around to the left and aiming its rifle. While not as powerful as the Bedivere's VARIS, it still unleashed a deadly barrage of armor piercing rounds. One Sutherland went down as some shells hit several critical systems, and another two of them sported damage from several hits. Their attention was diverted to Palamedes where before they had been aiming their guns at Bedivere.

Speaking of Bedivere, two Sutherlands attempted to meet its charge. One held back and aimed its rifle while another extended its stun tonfas and counter-charged. The marksman fired its rifle, the rounds running into the Blaze Luminous which encircled the Bedivere in a shining green crystalline shield. Paying no heed to the rifle fire for the moment, Bedivere's pilot deftly used their lance to push through the guard of the Sutherland's stun tonfas, skewering the empty cockpit and filling the air with the unearthly screech of twisted, broken metal. The VARIS snapped up, catching the Sutherland which had been supporting its comrade squarely in the chest. It was consumed in a fireball as the reactor was hit, a resounding boom echoing throughout the testing area.

The last two Sutherlands, seeing that their numerical advantage had been neutralized, quickly stood back-to-back and fired their rifles at the opposing machines. Bedivere and Palamedes began to circle like sharks, using their superior maneuverability to easily dodge the enemy fire. What rounds they couldn't dodge were taken on either the Blaze Luminous or the massive shield of the Palamedes. It was clear that they were using this to demonstrate the superb speed and maneuverability of the two machines than out of any hesitation to finish off the last two Sutherlands, but all the same Mountbatten was impressed.

After what seemed like an eternity of their predatory circling, Bedivere and Palamedes decided to end the fight. Palamedes fired several potshots from its rifle, hitting one of the Sutherlands in the knee and forcing it to kneel. It and its partner returned fire, distracted momentarily from Bedivere. Said knightmare used its inbuilt float system to leap into the air, appearing for all intents and purposes to have jumped like an Olympic athlete. Contrary to the name, the float system did not enable a knightmare to actually 'float'. They were simply far too heavy and ungainly for prolonged flight, and this would have made them easy targets for more nimble aircraft anyway. What it did achieve, however, was giving Bedivere a new angle of approach on the last two Sutherlands.

The Sutherland that hadn't been crippled suddenly remembered that there was more than one enemy in this engagement, but by the time it tried to refocus on Bedivere it was too late. The last thing its operator saw before their screen went black was Bedivere's lance descending upon them. The screech of broken metal filled the air once more. Before the last Sutherland could even attempt to defend itself from its kneeling position, Bedivere simply aimed the VARIS at its back and fired a single round, executing it. The blue machine fell forward to the ground, and Bedivere hurried away to watch the two machines explode from a safe distance.

With the last enemy dispatched, the two remaining knightmares turned to the observation room, their blood red monoeyes sending a chill down Mountbatten's spine. Their pilots made a show of having the machines place their firsts over their chests and kneeling like a supplicant knight before their liege.

The prime minister's jaw was agape. Six Sutherlands, which two decades ago had been the premiere weapon within the Holy Britannian Empire's arsenal, had been obliterated within two minutes by two machines. In a match with 2:1 odds stacked against them, Bedivere and Palamedes had dominated the opposition with contemptuous ease. His mind quickly processed the implications. The Akatsuki was roughly contemporary with the Sutherland, and while it had been improved and updated over the years, the performance was largely the same as it had always been.

Six Sutherlands had been unable to beat two of these machines, which he was told could be mass-produced. He was aware that there was a host of other factors involved, but that one fact stuck out like a sore thumb.

He turned to Cornelia.

"How many of these machines could we produce within six months, if no thoughts were given to the cost and the strain it would put on the military budget?"

Cornelia smirked.

"If we could train enough pilots to use them? A division's worth."

An entire division of these machines…

"I will advise His Majesty immediately that the government's budget will be made to accommodate all costs associated with making that a reality. Contracts will be issued to companies we believe can be trusted with secrecy. You will have your division, Your Highness."

Thus, with those words Britannia's rearmament began in earnest. Earl Asplund and the research division known as Camelot received the personal congratulations of the Sovereign when he was presented the results of the test, and several production lines were begun to assemble Britannia's new machines of war. Princess Cornelia and her adjutant Gilbert Guilford were relieved from their posts in Camelot, transferred to what official documents merely described as a "miscellaneous assignment." Veteran knightmare pilots were contacted by the government, being offered positions as instructors to train the next generation of knights, and tacticians began studying these machines to incorporate them into current battlefield doctrine. Even if the Bedivere and Palamedes were considered exemplary machines, they were but one weapon of war in the Britannian arsenal. They would not replace tanks and fighter jets and infantry, but would work with them to achieve battlefield dominance.

This rearmament, even kept under the strictest secrecy, would still leave traces for outside observers to ponder and worry over. The world became tense, like a steel cable pulled taut and stretched close to breaking point.

That breaking point seemed to be looming quite large, when three months after the test the Tokyo Stock Market suddenly crashed.

Author's Note:

Long time no see.

Grad school kicked my ass. I got through, but by whatever gods exist did it drain me completely. Next semester, I'm definitely easing my workload.

As you can see, we're starting to move into dangerous territory for Britannia and the UFN. Britannia has decided it will no longer pay reparations, and the UFN will soon desperately need those reparations as its economy quickly enters free fall. I don't think I need to elucidate where this is going.

I hope I've conveyed just how much of a gamble Robert is taking in this chapter. His plan rests on a single defeat shocking the UFN, or more accurately the UFN's public, into thinking that it just isn't worth it to force the reparations on Britannia any longer. It's possible, but things could easily go wrong.

One more thing that isn't really stated but I feel I should explain. The Britannians only thinking of this in terms of winning a victory with conventional military means is by design. For them, the idea of resisting the UFN through guerilla war, "People's War," is something not worth contemplating. They're authoritarian monarchists; while Robert and his administration do genuinely want to help the Britannian people, they also don't want to risk losing the state monopoly on violence (and thus its grip on power) by relying on the people themselves to wage war. Sure the state has the rhetoric of needing the people's help, but in practice they want that help to manifest in the people supporting and joining state-sanctioned enterprises. A regular soldier trained and taught by the state is politically more reliable than a partisan who's fighting because they already have nothing left to lose.

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Sonderweg's update is next up. Until then, Happy Reading!