All hail Liberia, hail!

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Ricent1
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Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by Ricent1 »

February 1953:
We now have 4 complete ranger battalions, 2 artillery battalions, and 4 infantry light battalions that were split to reduce troop totals. We are bringing in 5 recruits a day as our population is still under a million. We have 35,000 reserves. In order to activate all our battalions for the assault, we will have to close our land and naval fabrication plants. The 12,000 we gain should be enough to launch the invasion. We wait until the production of a patrol ship and troop ship are complete. I expect to here from Tnarg soon with a detailed assault plan.

I have been invited back to São Paulo by President Vargas. It came as a surprise as we haven't talked but once or twice. Yousef is planning on escorting me, so I tell him we should bring our families and make it a vacation. His daughter, Salome, just had her first birthday and has begun walking on her own. He hates to be away from her, so he will be more focused if they all make the trip.
We arrive in São Paulo on a Thursday night. There won't be time to visit Rio de Janeiro before the weekend. Carnivale is coming up and Yousef feels it will be a security nightmare. I really don't think anyone here has the slightest idea who the leader of Liberia is, much less what I look like. I'll readdress it after we meet with the President. Maybe Vargas has creative ideas that will allow us to take in the sights.

Friday morning we eat breakfast in the hotel restaurant and say goodbye to our families as we await Vargas's limo. 3 years ago, a camera with a built in dark room , called a Land Camera came on the scene. Rolled out by a company named Polaroid, it is taking the world by storm. Yousef has one and takes shots of Salome constantly. He is no photographer. All of the shots are closeup, slightly out of focus pictures of his daughter. So close that you cannot see where the picture was taken or who is with her. He keeps a letter-sized envelope packed with his latest makings of memories. As Yousef reaches for the envelope, the limo arrives. I offer a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the Maker's timing. We pass the same miles of shanties we saw 3 years ago, except this time it is broad daylight and it all is worse when fully revealed. A nation in this condition is always ripe for revolution. Since the days of Marie Antoinette, it is the fear of every ruler.

We arrive at the presidential palace and I remember the route to the executive office.

In the spacious lobby, is a 20 foot portrait of Getulio Vargas. It is breathtaking and captures the power the man yields. The small desk outside his office is manned by a young secretary. She is tall, slender, with long brown hair. She stands to shake my hand. "Buenos Dias President Barclay. I am Maria, President Vargas's personal assistant. He is running a little late and asked me to show you in to his office." I tell her thank you and notice something unusual, just slightly, about her tone and smile. Perhaps I am imagining it, but it's like she knows me and is pretending to be meeting me for the first time. I am certain I have never met her before.

His office is opulent. Everything is either gold, or rich cherrywood. Yousef brushes his slacks before he sits down just in case there is a speck of dust on him anywhere.

We sit quietly, taking in all the paintings, exotic mementos from other lands, and his collection of early colonial flintlock rifles laid in glass display tables throughout the room.

Yousef utilizes the time to pull out the envelope and draws out 40 or so pictures. These Polaroids are on a square and stiff card stock. The general shuffles through them to find a favorite I am sure he wants me to see. He stops at one, plucks it from the group and passes it to me. "Here is Salome at the beach. Just look at her smile. Beautiful, yes?" I gaze down at it and notice a small, light blue triangle between the tip of her ear and the side of her head.

"Yousef, what is the bluish spot here?" With a look of disbelief, Yousef chuckles and says, "It is the ocean, of course! I told you we were at the beach!"

As he searches for another, the door opens and in walks Vargas. Relief washes over me as Yousef quickly jams the envelope back into inner coat pocket and extends a hand to the Brazilian leader.

"You must be Yousef, Edwin tells me so much about you." (Please don't bring up Salome, please!) And my dear friend, President Barclay. So good to see you."

We trade pleasantries for a while as I am trying to figure out why we are here. I know Brazil is wanting to modernize their military and jeeps need rubber tires. Does he want exclusive access to our rubber exports? We continue to discuss things like the weather and futbol. Yousef gets that look and reaches into his breast pocket. Quickly I ask, "Mr. President, why have you asked me here. What can I do for you?"

Vargas opens his mouth to speak when the telephone on his desk rings. He picks it up. It's the secretary. He begins to act nervously and even has a difficult time hanging the phone up correctly. Yousef looks at me. He knows something isn't right.

Getulio fakes a smile as sweat begins to form on his upper lip. "My friends, I am in a difficult situation right now. Argentine fascists are infiltrating our country and talks of Revolution are in the air. I have reached out to those who have promised to help crush this threat... However, their employ does not come cheap."

With perfect timing, the office doors crash open. Maria yells, "You can't just go in there...", when a large man in a light brown military suit with red trim and over-sized officer's hat pushes her roughly to the ground. A group of 8 of them enter the office. Soviets. The large one walks straight to Yousef who is now on his feet, and stops literally nose-to-nose with my general. They are the same size, with the Russian being a little thicker. Yousef stares straight back, his arms clenching for action. I am glad he was in the first graduating class of Rangers.

A short officer, colonel by his insignia, presses past the others and stands directly in front of me. Taking off his spectacles, and reaching for a hankerchief to clean the lenses, he speaks calmly and with heavy arrogance. "Mr. Barclay..." Yousef interrupts, "That's Mr. PRESIDENT to you...", still staring at the giant Russian inches from his face. "Forgive me... Mr. Pres-i-dent." Each syllable dramatically elongated. "We seem to have a mutual acquaintance we need to discuss..."

Tnarg. I breathe a sigh of relief and begin to grin. "You know, I am REALLY getting tired of all this dramatic 'spy' nonsense. Where is the Major?" I search from face to face to see if Tnarg is there in their midst. I suddenly realize I have never seen him in Russian uniform.

The short colonel responds, "I was hoping YOU could tell US... Very well, you will bring him to us one way or another." As he glances to my left, he quickly nods. I turn in time to see the butt of a Russian rifle crash into my forehead.

Darkness.
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Ricent1
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Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by Ricent1 »

February 28th, 1953:

Darkness.

But I am waking. Groggy, and with a splitting headache, I try to get my bearings.

I seem to be sitting. Something is over my head, keeping me in the dark. It's a cloth bag, or a pillowcase, or something. There is an overwhelming smell of blood. I feel the urge to retch but hold back due to the sack covering my face. I should check the knot on my head and see if that is the source of the blood. I attempt to reach up when I realize my arm is tied down to what feels like the arm of a chair. My other arm is tied as well. I try my feet and find they are strapped or bound to the legs of the same chair.

As I step further into consciousness, the throbbing pain in my forehead heightens. I groan in agony. Mostly because of the pain, but also the frustration of my inability to do anything about it. My sudden outburst has alerted someone in the room. I hear the legs of a metal chair scrape against a concrete floor with a short screeching sound, followed by hurried footsteps leading away from me. I hear a door abruptly open and a voice calling down an echoing hallway, "Tell him that Barclay's awake."

Moments pass. I move my head around, trying to catch some glimmer of light to give me an idea of where I am. The movement makes me dizzy and the pain from the rifle butt intensifies. I nearly lose consciousness. The nausea returns and I have to breathe slowly and shallow so as to keep the stench of coagulated blood from refilling my nostrils.

I hear several sets of feet enter the room. Chairs are dragged back and forth as unknown figures sit down somewhere to my left. One set of shoes step towards me. They stop within a foot of my left shoulder. I turn to face the probable position of the shoes' owner. "Who are you?", I ask.

"Lights!" the voice calls out and I hear the shoes circle behind me. The darkness of the sack over my head shows a bit of texture and folds in the material and I know there is now light in the room.

Suddenly the bag is ripped off my head by the one who is standing behind me. The glare of the lights, the fogginess of my mind, and the pain in my forehead all cause me to squint as I see a form standing in front of me. Blurred and unable to focus, I close my eyes and squint hard to try to retrieve clear sight. As I reopen them, still blurry but clear enough to make out, I see the large body of a man in a business suit and red beret. Yousef.

I close my eyes and relax. "Thank God. Yousef, how did you find me?" I open my eyes a third time and the blurriness is gone. With pupils now adjusted to the level of light in the room I gaze back up at my general and brother-in-law. Yousef's eyes stare blankly past me. His body is hoisted by a steel cable and is left to dangle in front of me. I look down to see his shoe tips just touching the floor. My eyes slowly make their way back up his frame and stop at his chest. 7 or 8 small round holes pepper his white dress shirt, now stained deep red. The wounds look like rounded, sunken holes. The kind made from spherical rounds. The kind made from antique, Colonial flintlock rifles.

Now the vomit finds its way to my mouth. I puke on the floor and Yousef's shoes. A part of me is angry that I have just desecrated, somehow, my friend's corpse. I scream out at my captors African curses and profanities that I had long forgotten. I lurch again as I feel my stomach cramp and squeeze every last drop of fluid remaining up past my throat and out onto the already-splattered concrete. The pain in my head crashes back hard and I groan through tears now streaming down my cheeks.

Looking to my left, I see a who's who of the Soviet elite. Georgy Malenkov, Nikolai Bulganin and Nikita Khrushchev among them. All sitting in metal, folding chairs at a chipped and stained table. The irony doesn't have time to sink in.

The footsteps behind me begin to come around towards my front. Through the blurriness of tears, I recognize the owner of those shoes. Anyone in the civilized world would know his face. His wiry, swept-back hair, the full mustache, and the smug countenance that have embedded permanent wrinkles at the sides of his eyes. It is the monster... Joseph Stalin.

"Meester Press-i-daunt. Weelcuhm to Moose-coe."

Moscow? How long have I been unconscious? How long has Yousef been...

Then a deep, cold chill runs up my back. A new horror pushes Yousef, my painful forehead, and everything else out of my mind: Asatu and the children. And Yousef's family. Little Salome.

"WHERE IS MY FAMILY!!!" I am a little taken aback by my own forcefulness. Years of diplomacy and calm discussion employed to diffuse tense situations have been utterly tossed out of my repertoire. I am terrified and furious at the same time. A lethal combination. I made it my professional goal to steer clear of humans in that state-of-mind. Now I have become one of them.

Stalin quickly turns and stares over at the Politburo members seated there with blank expressions. They catch his gaze and keep their poker faces. All except one. Down at the end of the table. Lavrentiy Beria is unable to mask his surprise at my question.

They don't have them! At least not yet. But they don't want me to know they don't have them. Surely they must have known the hotel we were staying at? I have to think, and quickly.

The 74-year-old head of the communist world turns back around and with a look of disgust, through gritted teeth, shouts in Russian while staring at a soldier in the corner. The soldier, in perfect English translates, "If you ever want to see them again, tell us where Tnarg is. We know he is working with you."

I smile and then laugh. "And then you will just let me go, right? You are going to just let me walk right out this door and go back to my family that you obviously DON'T have in your custody. Right? Come on. I have been a politician all of my adult life. I know when to volunteer information, and when to keep secrets. Your lack of knowledge of his whereabouts is the only thing keeping me alive."

The soldier reluctantly translates back to the group, his eyes never leaving the floor. Stalin's huge fist crashes down on the table. Thinly veiled fear on the faces of those seated at the table cause them to momentarily freeze, not knowing how to react to the rage of their superior. After a long deep exhale, Stalin steps toward the door. In broken English, he mutters to Khrushchev, "I want an-sore to quis-chun! But feerst, we hawv drinks. Come." The other members of Soviet hierarchy rise and silently follow Stalin like school children out the door and down the hall.

The soldier who translated walks across the room to me and begins to put the sack back over my head. Lozgachev is the name on his uniform. With my world darkened again, he turns and exits the door as I hear the light switch turned back off. It's just me and poor Yousef, still hanging there in front of me.
Ricent1
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Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by Ricent1 »

A few hours later, sometime in the early morning hours of March 1st, 1953:

I don't know when I fell back asleep, but I am jolted awake by the sound of fist against flesh, and a body crumpling to the floor.

Another thud just in front of me. A few moments later, the bag from my head is removed. In the dim light I see it's Tnarg. He has placed a sheet over Yousef's lifeless body that he has just lowered off the cable.

"We gotta move. Now. This is our one chance."

Emotional voices are shouting down the hallway in Russian. It seems chaotic. I start to ask the major what is happening, but he places his finger to hi lips before I can speak.

Looking up and down the hall, Tnarg helps me make my way down the corridor. Being tied to a chair has rendered my legs sore and stiff. I stop and have to ask, "My family?"

"Back in my bungalow with my family and Yousef's as well. Now be quiet and I will explain when we are clear of this compound."

We climb several flights of stairs that seem to be reserved for the manual labor of this facility. Cold, metal railings and concrete for stairs. When we reach the ground level, and I can see sunlight entering the hallway we are entering, the major alters course and opens a freezer door. I don't read Russian but I can tell it is a morgue. Tnarg looks me in the eye and forcefully tells me, "Your general defended you to his death. Never forget that." I follow his gaze to the floor where 4 bodies draped with white sheets lay still. One of the bodies is the size of Yousef, only a bit thicker.

Like a blur we are out into the open and a plain, unmarked van swings it's side door open in front of us. I am shoved in by my rescuer and we are immediately racing down the streets of Moscow and Red Square.

4 days later every newspaper in the world dedicates its front page to the following headline, "Stalin found dead in his bedroom".

The accounts all say he died from a heart attack due to his heavy drinking and diet. A strange detail in the coroner's report mentions hemorrhaging in the stomach. There is talk that rat poison, if ingested, will cause the same effect. Strokes and heart attacks do not. I ask Tnarg if he killed Stalin, and if so, did he use rat poison. Enigmatically, he responds, "I have only used rat poison to kill rats".

We never speak of Moscow again.
Ricent1
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Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by Ricent1 »

July 1953:

4 months after the funeral a box is waiting in my office. Inside are Yousef's clothes from those days in Moscow. They are washed, but the blood stains are still there. I asked Tnarg to get them for me if he had the ability. Apparently, he does. I readdress the box to "The Presidential Palace", Sao Paulo, Brazil. I want Vargas to see them with his own eyes. I wonder if he gave his antique rifles to those murderers willingly. Did he put up any kind of protest at all?

The phone rings before I can take the parcel to the mail room. I pick up and recognize the voice on the other line. "Is that what you wanted? Just the clothes?" I set the box down on my desk to continue the conversation.

"Yes Major, thank you."

He continues, "Under the clothing is something I thought you might want." With my free hand I lift the clothing out of the way. At the bottom is a letter-sized envelope with spots of blood dried upon it. Inside are the 3 dozen polaroid snapshots Yousef kept trying to show me.

From the other end of the line he senses my silence and hesitation. "Look, I will be sending you battle plans for the invasion of southern West Africa. I know this is phase 1. What do you want me to start drawing up next?"

"I don't know yet, Tnarg. But I can tell you how it will end... with 1st Yousef Armored battalion rolling into Moscow..."

"Understood Mr. President. Edwin, take care of yourself."

"Wait... Major. How did you know where to find me and what had happened. Vargas's office security is air tight?"

"I have someone on the inside who owes me."

Then I remember the secretary's odd behavior. "Maria. You are talking about Vargas's personal assistant, right?"

"I got her dad out of some trouble in Belize. Long story."

"And probably one I would be better off not knowing the details of." I hesitate again.

"Tnarg. I have to ask. Why did you allow Yousef to die and me to be captured?"

"Edwin, I can only be one place at a time. They sent two teams. One to Vargas's office, and one to your hotel. If I hadn't intercepted the team coming for your families, it would have been your wife and children hanging in front of you when you were tied to that chair. I know these men and how they think. Yousef's body was Plan B.

I feel faint as the gravity of his words hit me. "Thank you, my friend. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"No apologies necessary, sir."

"Goodbye Major. And thank you, again." I hang up on my end and step out of my office.

As I reach the lobby, i gaze at the 20 foot portrait that I had painted by a local artist here. Vargas's palace gave me the idea. Not of me, of course. Like I said, I'm not photogenic. It's a huge version of Yousef's picture inspecting the troops. The artist simply left Colonel van Houten and me out of the painting, per my direction. I hoped it would capture the enormity of Yousef's soul and love for life. But to do that, the ceiling here would need to be twice as high.

My limo pulls up and I tell my driver to take me to the bungalow. I plan to go and sit with my widowed sister-in-law and look at some photographs.
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Ricent1
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Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by Ricent1 »

Around 3 am, September 3, 1954:

I am on my knees with my head in a guillotine. A large, masked man is holding the rope that is tied to the blade hovering precariously above me. A crowd of my countrymen are holding torches and farm tools, shouting threats and jeers as my last few seconds on earth come to a close. I invaded East Africa to reclaim our lands, but the whole giant land mass folded like a Brazilian tortilla and I inherited the overwhelmingly poor population.

Our economy crashes, but the world bank refuses to reward our land grab and has cut us off from funds. Embargoes are piling up and our goods rot on our docks or in cargo ships that float motionless in port with nowhere to go. Popularity is in single digits. We are deep in the red and industries are shutting down left and right.

As the blade drops, I hear the gentle scrapes as it slides down in its grooves. A short, "whock" sound resounds in my ears as it slices through my neck and...

I wake up. Sweating, I jolt upright in bed. OK, the West Africa invasion is off. I realize now why Tnarg has been dragging his feet on the invasion plans. I turn to shake Asatu awake so I can tell her about the nightmare. She isn't there. I turn to see a figure at the foot of the bed. A light suddenly comes on and it's Vargas. The Brazilian President is pale, like he's dead. He is holding a small revolver and pointing it at me. Why didn't security intercept him? Why didn't Tnarg? Doesn't he know everything involving me?

He says, "I am sorry about your friend, Yousef. If I would have known that they would shoot him the way they did, I never would have agreed to turn you over to them." Suddenly, a red dot on his chest begins to grow and I see blood pouring from his shirt, like Yousef nearly 2 years ago. Then, with no emotion, he raises an eyebrow and states, "It is time for you to step into history and eternity my friend." The sound of the gun going off is a mixture of natural and unnatural sounds. Though I don't feel its impact, I look down at my pajamas that are now gold, white, and red-striped and see a similar red dot start to form in the center of my chest. It grows until my whole shirt is dark red, like Yousef's was. I turn and see Asatu. She is annoyed and begins shaking me saying, "Edwin...Edwin...Edwin..."

I wake up, again. Asatu is shaking me. "You were swinging your arms around and you hit me and woke me up." I pinched myself, not sure if I was in yet a 3rd, multi-layered vision of the night. No, I am awake this time.

On my bedstand is the day's paper I was reading before going to bed. The headlines are still about Vargas' suicide, a single shot to the heart. In his room, in his red, gold, and white-striped pajamas, he took his own life. The pajamas and handgun are now on display. Brazil is still in shock. His political enemies are scorned or hunted, many wanting to believe in a conspiracy and assassination. I know better. After sending Yousef's blood-stained dress shirt and coat to Getulio, he had tried to call my and apologize. I refused to answer his calls. He even tried to fly into Monrovia airport, but I had our ground crew refuse him landing privileges. His guilt and remorse must have been too much. I am not sure how to feel. He sold me out and it cost the life of my friend. Now his wife will know what Euphemia went through. What we all went through. I guess I regret that. Vargas' wife had nothing to do with any of it.

As I go to pick the paper back up again, a photo drops from the pages. Another aerial photo. Tnarg. I don't know how he does it. It was not in there before I went to bed. Note to self: be sure to never sell Tnarg out to anyone... ever.

It is a photo of what use to be Tunisia, now owned by Italy. Somehow, Mussolini has held on. Hitler is gone, but Benito remains somewhat viable as a military force. It is as if the allies have stopped fighting him. Britain opposes him in Africa, but only Switzerland is battling him along the Alps.

Italy, in a surprise move, invaded Switzerland, but was mostly repulsed. Switzerland became our ally a year ago and has been gifting us with money to help us develop. That explains the caption at the bottom of the photo. It reads, "League of Nations will approve- Tnarg". He also pointed out oil deposit regions. What really catches my attention though is the phrase in the top left corner, "All Italian forces neutralized". The handwriting is horrible. I can only guess the major was choking the life out of someone with the other hand while he wrote this.

I am loading Marines into the eight, out-dated, troop ships we have. I have a single patrol ship to escort them. I will wait until I am just off territorial waters before I declare war on Italy. Finally, after years of preparation, my army will taste its first battle. Excitement rushes over me. Then trepidation.

Since I am Switzerland's ally, I am hoping Tnarg is right and world opinion won't suffer. I call for a submarine to be built. I expect naval forces are going to become increasingly valuable over the next few months. All indications are Mussolini has his forces concentrated elsewhere. I don't normally gamble, but we need gasoline. West Africa has its share, yes. But "liberating" Tunisian oil fields should keep me out of the company of men with black hoods and sharp toys...
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GreenGoblin
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Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by GreenGoblin »

Very good read!
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D.B. Cooper
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Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by D.B. Cooper »

Love it!!
Ricent1
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Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by Ricent1 »

October, 1954:

Our marines have landed and have captured the port city of Annaba, formerly of Tunisia. It is a port city and our marines have sea-bees have repairing the port so we can land rangers if they are needed. General Sekou Nbote volunteered to lead this invasion.

He is a quiet man, not the fun-loving, overly expressive-type like Yousef was. But he is a strategist and a quick learner. He reads constantly and stays current on everything he can. He is cautious and calculating. I asked him what he does for fun and his answer is reading a good book. He loves fantasy. This month, the 2nd book of a trilogy just came out that was written by a Brit who was in London during the night bombings of the Luftwaffe. His last name is Tolkien and the book is called, "The Two Towers". It is about a mythical world with elves and little people, as well as wizards and dark forces. Hey, to each his own.

Sekou personally oversaw the beach landing. He read about General MacArthur's landing in the Philippines and insisted on being the first boots to touch Italian-occupied land. He sent me a great picture of him watching a landing craft empty our boys onto the beach.

But this landing came at a great price. After declaring war against Italy, we entered Italian waters as we began our assault. An Italian cruiser just happened to be docked in Annaba along with 2 merchant marine ships. It sunk our PT patrol ship and 2 or our amphibious troop movers. The bodies Nbote was able to recover are on their way back with our 6 remaining troop ships. The ships took enough time to take on supplies at the port and then sped off, unprotected, back to Monrovia. We pray they make it back.

Nbote will lead the marines south and then west toward the oil fields Tnarg informed me about. The allies are making their way down the "boot" of Italy and have already taken Rome. The capital was moved to Napoli. They will not hold on for long. We must risk facing opposition on the way to the oil-rich land to the west. If Italy capitulates before General Sekou can reach the oil, we could lose out on capturing the land. The deaths of those brave marines and seamen will have been in vain.

I have set up a cot in the radio room and wait, staring at the radio controller and his device. Asatu visits and rubs my back, pleading for me to come to bed with her. I tell her I just cannot enjoy those kinds of pleasure while young men I have sent into battle are risking their lives 1000's of miles from their homes and loved ones. She smiles and nods. She understands. She is nervous and pensive as well. I watch as she leaves the room. As the door closes behind her, I turn my gaze again at the grey box full of knobs and dials and strain to pick up a voice from the static that emanates from it.

Nothing yet.
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Ricent1
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Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by Ricent1 »

November, 1954:

Success! General Nbote informs me that he successfully captured the oil fields as well as grabbing land to the southeast of our landing point. We have taken much of the coastline east of Annaba and down toward the Libyan border. The supply is weak to the oil lands, so we will build a supply depot 100km east of them to allow for greater production.

My cabinet advised me to colonize the region. After thinking long and hard, I agreed. The colony is called Liberian Italy. We have quintupled our population and are just under 5 million citizens and colonialists. Our total lands have quadrupled. Inflation is up to 13% as we repair many of our newly acquired factories and installations.

The world opinion has not only kept from falling, but has actually increased! The remaining axis powers still ruling autonomously, have all declared war on us. Tnarg has told me he will recon the regions and advise me as to what our next move should be. We as of yet, have no coal or uranium deposits on Liberian soil. Coal is cheap and readily available, so no need to hurry into conflict over its acquisition. Uranium is something we will eventually need as our science catches up and we are able to use it. So we will continue to build our economy and navy.

Friends say they see me smiling now, and that they had forgotten what that looked like. Asatu agrees with them. We went on a date last night and saw an American western movie. It was about an American woman who carried a gun and was as tough as her male counterpart. It was called, "Cattle Queen of Montana". Asatu loved it and wants me to push for women to be more empowered in Liberia. She believes a woman could one day be President in Liberia. I laughed. I told her the American actor in the movie, Ronald Reagan, had as much of a chance of becoming president as a woman in Liberia did! She didn't think that was funny, so I slept on the cot in the radio room last night.

Despite all the happiness, they are far too many families still grieving fathers, husbands, and sons that died in the Mediterranean a month ago. I know it won't be the last time Liberians will die in battle. I must prepare emotionally for future conflicts. The Italian poet, Dante, writes of a ring in hell reserved for kings that must stare at the faces of the soldiers they sent to their deaths. When I see those families on a street, or in a line trying to get donated food, or working low-paying jobs to keep themselves fed... it is like my torment has already begun. God forgive me.
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Ater
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Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by Ater »

Really nice! Keep going!
I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones. -Albert Einstein
Ricent1
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Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by Ricent1 »

January, 1955:

With former Tunisia well in hand, thanks to an OOB from Tnarg (view below), we are fully self-sufficient in all areas except coal and uranium as I explained earlier. We have built 6 oil fields and refineries and enjoy a tremendous profit as petroleum is currently in short supply globally. Oil sales make rubber profits look like peanuts, in comparison.

All axis powers, including Japan, have been defeated, except Romania, and the Soviets are closing in on Bucharest. I am not sure what will happen once they fall. I want to continue to expand my empire, but it seems there are no enemies anymore. Tnarg said he is willing to pull some strings and put certain things in motion to cause political tensions to rise worldwide. He said I must be sure that it what I want, as other nations will begin to inexplicably declare war on one another, and that I will most likely be attacked by a neighboring nation. I have asked him to wait until colonies become autonomous as I am in no position to take on the British war machine and their host of African colonies. I will store up military supplies and petroleum and await the fateful day. My treasury sits at 3 billion US dollars. I plan to use it... techs.

I am realizing the importance of finding uranium. The Americans have announced this month that they are creating long-range ballistic missiles called "ICBMs". I am going to trade techs to try to get this technology. I have personally asked Tnarg not to steal them. I do not want an Atlas missile with my name on it heading straight for the bungalow.
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Ricent1
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Posts: 110
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Location: Sebastian, Florida

Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by Ricent1 »

May 18, 1955:

Einstein died last month. The world is still in shock. A great man has been lost. The race to nuclear superiority has just become more tense. We have been trading techs and now have nuclear fission as a known tech. We rank 11th in the world for science and we don't even have a research center. Major Tnarg has been "negotiating" with science-rich nations on Liberia's behalf. Often, the nations we deal with are open to giving us technology for the right price. But our number of trading partners has been greatly reduced. Two words: Warsaw Pact.

Its creation has caused a ripple effect across the globe. Trust is more rare than enriched uranium. Nations are becoming tense with their neighbors, and provocation levels are rising everywhere. Nations that were once on the verge of becoming our allies, have become, for lack of a better term, "suspicious" of us.

With good reason. Tnarg smuggled out designs for the T-35 tank from Moscow. They are the best tanks in the world right now. We are beginning production.

Our experienced Marines in Tunisia have redeployed and took the Dodecanese islands. We have colonized them. The "12 islands" offer us little except for the sea port that allows our ships to refuel and take on supplies during long, expeditionary maneuvers.

Eritrea was about to fall to Ethiopia and Somalia when we took their final remaining port city. We annexed this so as to rebuild the port. It too will help refuel our troop ships and escorts. I need a port friendly to us in the southeast of Africa to make our fueling options complete. We will be able to launch an attack anywhere in Africa, southern Europe, the Middle East and the Slavic nations once that last key port is leveraged.

Tnarg sent Maria Espinoza, Vargas's office assistant, to work for me. I told him my staff is full and that I don't need additional manpower in the offices. The major said office work was only a cover. Apparently, she is as dangerous as Tnarg, if he does say so himself. Perhaps more dangerous. She is a woman, and a stunningly beautiful one at that. The first characteristic would catch 8 out of 10 spies by surprise. The second would distract the other 2.

I am to meet with her this afternoon. I am afraid for my life. Not because of Maria, but because of Asatu. I asked Tnarg to tell Maria that my wife will join us. The last thing I need is talk around the water coolers about my private meetings with Maria. Asatu needs to know there is no hanky-panky going on. But she also demanded, after her sister became a widow, that I stay away from the espionage game and stick to politics. Like they say, there are 2 ways to fall off a horse. Continued private meetings with Miss Espinoza will either point to infidelity, or international intrigue. Either way, I lose. This new relationship may be my biggest challenge as President. I close my eyes and foresee myself developing a lifelong relationship with that miserable olive drab cot in the radio room. Rough canvass and metal poles will replace my wife's soft curves and chocolate skin for the remainder of my days.

My mother was right. I should have been an accountant.
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Ricent1
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Posts: 110
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Location: Sebastian, Florida

Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by Ricent1 »

May 18th, 1955. 3:00 pm


"So, tell me again who we are going to meet with?"

Jefferson Williams looks in the rear view mirror at the expression on my face. Jefferson is my security chief now. He was the best of the first 5 graduates of the Ranger program. I don't know if it was the hotel incident that motivated him to excel at his training or not, but he is the most qualified bodyguard I could trust. General Nbote will stick to the military as careful planning is his strong suit and therefore a perfect fit to be a military Field Marshall. Williams is quick, physically and mentally. He is a risk taker, adventurous. Perhaps a bit impetuous and will race headlong into a fight, but that's what a bodyguard needs to be. There is Zulu blood in his ancestry. He is tall and lean, but muscular enough to take care of himself. He doubles as my chauffeur. He hears and sees just about everything I am involved in. This includes Tnarg, which includes Maria.

"Asatu, I told you, the palace manager recommended this woman to redesign the decor and bring us into the 50s. All the palace staff says we are due for an upgrade that makes us look modern, but not at the expense of our history and culture. This Maria comes highly recommended." This is not a complete lie. The staff did mention the need to spruce things up, and it would make a great cover for Maria to meet with me down long corridors and in deserted conference rooms to discuss covert actions while looking at blueprints, styles of drapes, and carpet swaths.

Jefferson stares straight ahead at the road. My wife continues beating around the bush, "Well, how much is she going to change? Do I get to share my input? What is she like?"

"I don't know. I am sure she will want your advice, but remember, she is the professional."

As we walk into the restaurant and back out onto the veranda, Maria stands and extends a hand to Asatu. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice my wife doing what women do, sizing up the woman who will be spending time with their husband. "You must be Maria. Edwin didn't tell me how beautiful you were."

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Barclay. Edwin and I have only met once. Most of our conversations have been over the phone. Right, Mr. President?" Before I can respond, Asatu turns and cuts me off at the pass...

"Why Edwin... you never told me you had met with her. When and where did you meet Ms. Espinoza?"

My heart begins to race. Maria steps in. "Asatu, it was in Brazil. I was at President Vargas's capital building the day your husband and Yousef..." She trails off perfectly, with real emotion and visible sadness. Oh, she's good!

Asatu stammers briefly. "Oh...oh... I see. Edwin, I understand why you wouldn't want to mention it. Let's not go down that road right now. The pain is still too close." Maria nods. I exhale.

Maria looks at the 3 of us. "Won't you sit down and have a drink?" She has ordered white wine and finger sandwiches.

"Where are my manners?" I turn to Jefferson to introduce him to Maria. He is staring at Maria, completely unaware of the surroundings. "Maria, this is Colonel Jefferson Williams, my security chief." Maria flashes a smile and extends her hand. Jefferson pulls it to his lips and gives the top of her hand a suave and debonair kiss. She plays coy and says, "Oh, what a regal and polite soldier! I'll bet you tango with your wife."

Hurrying with his answer, Williams blurts out, "I'm not married. Not even a girlfriend. I'm completely alone..." He realizes how desperate he sounds. "I mean, protecting the president takes a lot of my time and energy." Maria responds, "Well, I hope you have some free time soon. I am new to Liberia and don't know my way around." She starts to sit and Jefferson rushes to pull out her chair. As he turns to sit down next to her, I lean towards him and whisper, "Don't worry about the 3 men with dark sunglasses and trenchcoats behind you. I am sure they just haven't gotten use to how cold it gets in Africa... in late May." He swings around and quickly looks at all the tables. Seeing no one seated behind us at all, he slowly turns to me and shoots his eyes down to his shoes. "Sorry sir. I will be focused from here on out. Sorry, sir."

During the lunch, Maria is astounding. She reels in Asatu with discussions about decorating, listening intently to all my wife's suggestions and ideas. She talks like a professional, sharing the latest trends and even knows the current Paris, New York, and London designers by name. This she does all the while flirting with Jefferson. She shoots him glances and smiles. Jefferson would be unaware of a barrel of TNT set on the table with the fuse lit. She is in control of the whole situation. This raises a question in my mind.

Asatu announces she must powder her nose. Jefferson stands and says he will escort her. Here's my chance. As they leave, I turn to Maria. "Brazil. You must have been armed. Why didn't you stop the Soviets before they barged into Vargas's office?"

In what seemed slightly too easy, as if rehearsed, she replies, "I was on a mission and that would have been outside the parameters of my orders."

"What was your mission? What were your orders?"

"Mr. President, I can't divulge that information."

So, she wasn't there to help me? Why would Tnarg have her there? He said he couldn't stop both teams, but if Maria is as tough as he says, why didn't she take them out? Something isn't adding up. Am I using Major Tnarg to further my goals, or is he using me to furhter his? But if I'm a pawn on his chessboard, why would he risk his life pulling me out of the bowels of the Kremlin?

"Why did Tnarg send you to Monrovia?"

"I am to be a liaison between you and him. I am also an asset on site. You are not out of danger, Edwin. Khrushchev knows who you are and where you are. He is solidifying his power in Moscow. He will be the next general secretary and has the entire KGB at his disposal. This time, if Soviets break into YOUR office, I will eliminate the threat."

Testing her reaction, I add, "Just so you know, I sold Eisenhower the plans to the T-35. I don't want to be the only non-communist country that has them. Tnarg stealing them put me into a very awkward position. Now I can say I bought the plans from the Yanks." She nods understandingly. No reaction that reveals anything. Complete poker face.

Is she telling the truth or is she playing me? Are her orders to watch out for me, or just to watch me? Then it hits me. Jefferson is the ace up my sleeve.

Asatu and Jefferson return. We wrap up our late lunch and meeting and say our goodbyes. Maria gives Williams her phone number at the place she is staying. It's what I was hoping for. She tells Asatu she will be at the palace this week and arranges a time to meet with the two of us. She plans on the remodel taking 8-10 months. This gives me time to get to the bottom of this whole arrangement.

My mind is racing all the way back to the capital. After Asatu goes in the house, I stay in the limo and tell Williams to roll up the windows.

"Jefferson..."

"Yes sir?"

"I am going to need you to do me a favor."
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Ater
Colonel
Posts: 273
Joined: Nov 03 2014
Human: Yes
Location: Nevada, USA

Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by Ater »

Loving it! Keep going!
I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones. -Albert Einstein
Ricent1
Captain
Posts: 110
Joined: Jan 15 2014
Human: Yes
Location: Sebastian, Florida

Re: All hail Liberia, hail!

Post by Ricent1 »

Hello all,

It was Gottfried Leibniz who proposed in his work, Theodicy, that of all the possible universes, this one we live in is the best possible one that God chose for His creation. Since the 17th century, alternate universes have been a subject of discussion and fantasy. How many of you remember evil Spock with a goatee in episode 39, "Mirror, Mirror"?

As Liberia in the 1936 sandbox, the world has run out of evil nations. I set my diplomatic setting to very hard, but no one will declare war on me. Nations peg at 50% provocation.

I have decided to reload as President Barclay of Liberia in SRU Cold War. The NATO and Warsaw Pact sides seem relatively even in strength which should allow for plenty of distraction in the world as lowly Liberia builds to a military machine in the obscurity of the African continent.

I have changed volatility to very high. I must rebuild everything as even my rubber plantations are gone. I will work this into my story.

I am in the process of running 5 or 6 years in Cold War to get to the same date as my AAR. I will no longer have territories in Tunisia and elsewhere, so please forgive the incongruity. With Christmas being this week, I should have some late nights to catch up and continue my story.

Just pretend Marty McFly took his DeLorean back to 1949 instead of 1955 and caused a butterfly effect that changed the course of Liberia's future somehow.

Battlegoat, thanks for the newest update. Hats off to all of you as this has been the most captivating game I have ever played. Just playing it causes me to daydream the "what-ifs" of being a nation's leader in an unsure and dangerous world. This AAR has been a result of staring at my monitor and watching time tick by as I struggle to balance my economy, military, the happiness of the citizenry, and diplomacy abroad. As I await a barracks to be built, or offer a trade with a foreign leader, I find myself thinking, "What if something behind the scenes happened while a president was trying to complete this objective?."

Thanks to those who have made comments encouraging me to continue. I hope to give you some more to read soon...
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