"Today, we extend our deepest gratitude to the Irish students fighting under our command. It was through their efforts that we have been able to gain victory in this tournament. We cannot thank them enough...-"

"Oh, shut up."

A girl possessing a mix of orange and brown hair angrily shut off the television. It had been broadcasting a documentary of St. Gloriana, a nation that, while still possessing great strength, was now a shadow of its former self. Just a few decades before, it had been one of the dominating forces of Sensha-do. It won many a tournament, and was even considered a school nobody but the best of the best could beat. Now, it couldn't even win a single Finals, and getting past the Semifinals alone was a Sisyphean task to accomplish. But, that wasn't what got this particular girl angry.

"'Extend our deepest gratitude to the Irish'... don't make me laugh. Been years since you last said something like that... little tea-drinking snob."

A decade before, St. Gloriana's Commander, another term for leader, Darjeeling, pursued a policy of "Glorianification", promoting it as "a program to unify all the separate cultural identities, each unique in its individual taste, into one strong, unified, powerful St. Gloriana." It was a nice program... if it was what it said it was.

In reality, ever since that program first began, Irish tankers had been gradually sidelined, being regarded as mere pawns of a domineering entity that had its fate squarely in its palm. Their rights and liberties being stripped away with each passing legislation that Irish members didn't have a say in. At first, they had been part of the Tea Garden, the highest-ranked officials of St. Gloriana that ran its government. But, after Sheanne, one of the Irish tankers part of the Tea Garden, spoke out against Glorianification, she was slandered, and kicked out. That was just three years before. Now, anti-Gloriana sentiment was beginning to rise up among the ranks of Irish tankers, furious at how their identity was being stripped away before their very eyes.

And this orange-brown-haired girl was among those who were the angriest, in fact, she was THE angriest. First an admirer of Darjeeling and her elegant tactics that she had used to win Sensha-do matches for the nation, once Glorianification began, that admiration went down the drain faster than rainwater. Now, she had nothing but disdain, hatred, loathing, and other synonyms of those words for Darjeeling. As much as she wanted to not just remove, but burn those pictures and posters splattered all over her small home and her room, she couldn't.

Ever since the Sheanne incident, Assam, another member of the Tea Garden, and her GI6 members were keeping a rather close eye on the Irish tankers, closely monitoring them and ensuring their loyalty. Some tankers had been arrested since Glorianification began, one dared to burn posters of St. Gloriana and pictures of Darjeeling in public in Dublin. Not only was she arrested, she was beaten, tossed into a waiting army truck, and nobody had heard from her since.

Tyranny. Oppression. Enslavement. Those were the only things in the girl's mind when the thought of Darjeeling and the Tea Garden crossed her mind. Irish identity was disappearing before their very eyes, being replaced with the culture and identity of the English, against their will. They didn't want this, and they didn't ask for it. Yet, here they were, being relegated from their own people to just being irrelevant English tankers to use as fodder for the next Sensha-do tournament as the Tea Garden looked on, allowed the others to work for them, then take all the credit afterwards. That had happened before, and it only made the Irish angrier each battle.

Some day, they'd show those Tea Garden slops what was what. They would give them a taste of their own medicine. They would utterly humiliate them, force them to their knees in shame, make them grovel all over the dirt and gravel as they would make them dig a mountain, and laugh as they could only bear themselves to dig mere molehills. They would make a knave of St. Gloriana, of Darjeeling, of all the Tea Garden. They would make them pay for every injustice they had done to the Irish. They would-

"Hm?"

The girl slowly got up from her armchair, and walked towards the door. Opening it, her anger quickly dissipated, happy to see a good friend coming over to visit.

"Pat! Boy, am I glad to see ya!"

"Likewise, Coleen! Shall I come in?"

"Oh, pray, do! Got some good Guinness to have a light talk over."

"Oh, I mighty appreciate the beer, but I must warn ya. What I'm about to tell you ain't gonna be light."

"Well, regardless, let me hear it."

"Just one more thing. You saw that little documentary earlier?"

"Yeah, shut that garbage off when that little tea-sipper started yapping about us being valuable. Those were the days..."

"Mhm. Shame she's doing this to us now. Fair lady she used to be, aye?"

"I don't even want to mention her name anymore."

"True Irish nationalism, right there."

"Amen to that, Pat. Now, why did that rhyme..."

Patricia, the girl waiting out the door, was an accomplished tanker. Not only was she skilled in handling her tank, she was also very well-learned, writing some poetry, even a novel which many seemed to like. Coleen was also bright, but she possessed a quick temper that somewhat estranged her from others. But, a fervent Irish patriot like Patricia, and possessing quite the talent when it came to combat, she was also loved by those close to her. Sitting down at a table, Patricia handed Coleen a letter, and looked on as her recipient read it out.

To Coleen,

We've had enough. It's all too much.
We're sick of it all. No change will
happen any time soon. It's about
time we took action. Our identity is
being taken away. We want our
persons back, we want our culture
back, we want liberty from this
tyranny.

Please, help us, we're going to
stop the Tea Garden from
stamping out the light of this
place we love to call Ireland.

We again request your help. We
have
sent Patricia to you to hopeful-
-ly recruit you to our cause. I
know you hate the English as
much as we do, so we pray you
will answer the call.

Signed:
Lillie, Kathleen, Gifford, Seánne
and others

"Rebellion?"

"Mhm. Been planning it out for the last few weeks. But, we're missing a gal who knows her way with military affairs. I'm experienced myself, but nobody leads a group better than ya."

"I suppose that's true..."

"So, whadd'ya think?"

"As much as I would love to do this, Pat, I'm sure we won't be able to hold out. Them Glorianas have many times tanks our number. You sure this'll work out?"

"That's the beauty of the political game, Coleen. Even if all of us are mush under the tracks of Rosehip or Rukuriri, our act of defiance will surely be enough to get some popular support for independence bubbling. Another guy steps in our shoes, and may as well get the job done."

"Huh, didn't think about that."

"You in?"

Patricia took out another paper from her bag, a much bigger one, placing it on the table. Before Coleen sat a document, with its heading, in bold letters, screaming:

FÓGRA UM CHEARTA AGUS FHIANAIS NA HÉIREANN

PROCLAMATION OF IRISH RIGHTS AND SOVEREIGNTY

TO THE GOOD, OPPRESSED PEOPLE OF IRELAND

AND TO THE TYRANTS OF THE TEA GARDEN

AND TO ALL THOSE OPPRESSED UNDER GLORIANISM

BY THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT FOR A FREE IRELAND

The document detailed every wrongdoing and miscarriage of justice that St. Gloriana had done to the Irish tankers under them. From beating innocent civilians treated as suspects, without a trial no less, to instituting a ban on the sale of potatoes, the food that was part of every Irish tanker's meal from breakfast to supper, and now the ban on "Irish-originated" beer like Guinness, as well as omitting the tankers from more and more matches involving St. Gloriana, it made the feelings of its writers, and the people it originated from, clear to all its readers. To close off the whole thing, came a stirring line, from the closing words of a very stirring speech Patricia had given a few months before.

They have left us our Fenian dead, and while Ireland holds these graves, Ireland unfree shall never be at peace!

At the bottom, there were already several signatures. Patricia's signature was the first on there. Coleen took several deep breaths. If she agreed, this could very well mean her death. If she refused, she would likely live, but be forced to continue living under Gloriana oppression, watching as her rights continued to be whittled away by Glorianification, and be forced to do nothing but watch under penalty of enduring Assam and her GI6 angels of death. But, if her death was going to mean that her blood would water the furrows and soil that contained seeds of Irish independence from Darjeeling's rule, then so be it. If she wasn't going to live to see it, at least she would ensure future generations would be free to live as they deserved to live: free, liberated, and unshackled from the chains of tyranny.

Grabbing the quill to her right, Coleen dipped it in ink, allowed it to drip so as not to ruin the paper with a large stain, and with firm resolve, solemnly wrote her name right next to Caitlín's name, the seventh name on the paper. After exchanging solemn looks, Pat smiled, and the two embraced. They had written their names into a possible death sentence, but if there was any greater sacrifice they could give to get Irish independence, then they were happy to give themselves up to ensure that those who came after them would never live in fear of a GI6 baton, the firing squad's pole, the damp, filthy prisons, or a hangman's noose.

"With you now on our boat, we'll be holding the next meeting here. We'll discuss our plan of approach and you'll help us get an idea of how our defenses will work."

"I'll be happy to help as best I can. Where will we situate our defense?"

"Right now, we plan on holding out at the Four Courts. Has a lot of easily defendable areas, I'm sure we can make a good stand against the Glorianas, especially with you joining our ranks."

"As long as we send a message."

"Anyways, I'd better get goin'. The others are waiting, Barmbrack's gonna be cold if I get back at this rate. I'm sure they'll be glad for your involvement."

"Oh, I'm ready for anything, Pat. We'll always be."

"That's our Coleen! Don't forget, meeting's here next week! Make sure this place looks nice, of course."

"Don't worry, I've got plenty of unused decorations."

"Wonderful! See you then."

"Alrighty, safe travels, Pat!"

Wishing Patricia well as she rode away on her bicycle, carrying the document inside her bag, Coleen's mind began to grind its gears of thought and contemplation. It was done. Her signature was on the declaration, and it couldn't be erased. She also knew she would probably be one of the foremost combatants of this rebellion, and that meant she was likely to be executed if the uprising would fail. But, if that meant that she would become a martyr for the cause of independence, it was going to be worth being strapped to the pole with the white patch over your heart. The sun was starting to set as Patricia disappeared into the distance, and Coleen was tired. Turning on the television again, the documentary was over, and in its place was a broadcast of the 64th Sensha-do Tournament's first rounds.

Ooarai, an upstart nation that had defied all sense of logic and reason through the use of unconventional tactics and the fact that their commander, Miho Nishizumi, was an effective master of Sensha-do, was fighting a rather weak nation in this first match. Unsurprisingly, they breezed through with zero losses to their meager ten tanks against an enemy of around thirty, a testament to Miho's ability as a commander. Coleen had taken inspiration from Miho, how she was able to use espionage, knowledge of her enemy's weaknesses, and stratagem to win the most unwinnable of battles. Coleen had taken many notes, and in practice matches against other Irish tankers, she had tested and tried those same tactics, to great effect. With this in mind, Coleen knew that this rebellion would need her expertise in order to stand a chance.

As the match between Ooarai and Blue Division ended, Coleen turned off the television just as a match involving St. Gloriana was about to be shown. She didn't want anything to do with them anymore. Soon, the things they had done to Ireland would come back to bite them in the rear, and it would be a great pleasure seeing them pay for their heinous acts.

Brushing her teeth, and changing into her pajamas, Coleen said her prayers and went to sleep, having just gone through probably the most fateful day of her entire life. Soon, the fight for Ireland would begin. Tanks and tankers that previously fought side-by-side each other, now fought against each other in support or opposition to St. Gloriana. If Darjeeling really wanted to play this game, then they would be happy to do so. They were going to play hard, and play rough. Wasn't that what the Tea Garden had been doing to them? It was about time they received payback for all the injustices they received.

No matter the cost, no matter how many would take a bullet, be mangled by a shell, by beaten by Assam's torturers, Ireland would be free. Ireland would be a nation once again. Ireland would be as a light springing from death. Ireland would be at peace, for it was now to be free.


"This is a place of peace, sacred to the dead, where men should speak with all charity and with all restraint; but I hold it a Christian thing, as O'Donovan Rossa held it, to hate evil, to hate untruth, to hate oppression, and, hating them, to strive to overthrow them.

Our foes are strong and wise and wary; but, strong and wise and wary as they are, they cannot undo the miracles of God who ripens in the hearts of young men the seeds sown by the young men of a former generation. And the seeds sown by the young men of '65 and '67 are coming to their miraculous ripening today. Rulers and Defenders of the Realm had need to be wary if they would guard against such processes. Life springs from death; and from the graves of patriot men and women spring living nations.

The Defenders of this Realm have worked well in secret and in the open.

They think that they have pacified Ireland.

They think that they have purchased half of us and intimidated the other half.

They think that they have foreseen everything, think that they have provided against everything;

but, the fools, the fools, the fools!

They have left us our Fenian dead, and while Ireland holds these graves,

Ireland unfree shall never be at peace!"
-

- Pádraig Anraí Mac Piarais, Graveside oration at the funeral of Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, 1 August 1915