From the private diary of Lady Charlotte, Duchess of Carlisle.
1st of January, 2011.
Dear Diary,
I do so often wonder at the folly of men… What madness would bring those Frenchmen so far across the sky just to fall to my blade, and what ever would posses that silly Sir George to flirt so terribly with me at the diner table.
He is not so bad a man, The Queen says he is ever so brave, but he is not so good as he ought to be. Everyone knows that he is engaged to That French Lady (if she still lives). Gosh, but I was embarrassed...
Must put that behind me. Shall be seeing Sir George tomorrow when we are back to our duty. Must be on the parade ground for eight of the clock sharp for further training. Think something of importance may be looming.
‘Tis odd how much time Sir George spends with we humble ‘volunteers’ of the Northern Defence Force. They say that we are a ‘Special Forces’ regiment, but everyone knows that we are made up of those unfit to serve on the front and those of us who are fortunate enough to avoid conscription into the Royal Imperial Regiments. The man must have better things to do?
Well, the New Year has come, I hope it shall be better than the last.
From the War Diary of Countess Fiona, Princess Royal of The French Empire.
(Please note that the lady uses the New French Metric Calendar, where the year 0 is the coronation of Napoleon Bonaparte as Emperor in 1804, and with its 35.5 days per month, ten months per year, and ten day weeks.)
1st of the First, 207 P.N.
And so it is New Years Day!
But what shall be new?
Another year of war against the filthy English! Another year of death, and food shortages and homeless and plague for the masses!
They say there is progress. The double barrelled cannon, the Colossus Airship (which can fly around the world in 79 days!), the ivory corset, a cure for syphilis, the hydraulic trebuchet … But still we fight for the world like poodles over a bone- year after year after year.
My father insisted that our shinny new Paratroopers would win the war for us. ‘Catch them on their own door step before they have finished they roast beef brunch’ he said. Nonsense! The thing with our ‘parashoots’ is that they don’t work very well. Every time we use them, be it an experiment in Asia or an invasion of England, three quarters of our boys die or are lost.
Until The Good Lord intends men to survive falling hundreds of metres onto solid ground, I shall have no faith in this ‘innovation’.
Never the less, I do pray that this war be over, and won, then I might see my George again, and make him pay for leaving me here like this!
From the Diary of Sir George Jackson, MBE, Commander of Her Britannic Majesty the Queen’s Forces in The North, in The Year of Our Lord 2011.
01/01/11
1900 HOURS
Have been thinking recently…
What are we- this cruel creature called Man?
A great philosopher once said that we are half way betwixt Animal and God. The Bible tells us we are made in God’s image, and Christ (who was Son of God and Son of man, told us that god is our Father. Yet they say we have fallen from the Grace of The Garden, for we have knowledge of Good and Evil.
Since we were made by God, we must ask what He made us for. If we could knew, we must strive for it…
I have heard Man called ‘The Tool Using Animal’. I disagree. Man is ‘The Weapon Using Animal’. We alone have the prehensile thumb with which to make tools, and with which to wield them. First did we make the knife, the axe and the spear, then we turned our hand to fire and the wheel. Now we alone can make and wield the revolving flintlock pistols and the double barrelled cannon and the chain sword. No other animal slaughters as we do, on such a scale and without necessity.
Therefore, we are made by God to fight. God’s Will is perfect, so we ought to fight.
But who? And why?
The French, of course.
Yet God made the French, just as he made us. Why would God want his children to fight?
It perplexed me briefly. Then I realised. God is training us, testing us, for some greater conflict.
Over the centuries, man fights man, and gains greater tools of slaughter, and the strongest survive, so that one day we may be fit to fight for God Himself.
God intends that one day we shall fight beside Him in some great and terrible battle.
That is the destiny of man.
This thought gives great strength to my heart as I plan for The Retaliation against France.
03/01/11
2200 HOURS
My plans for a retaliation attack on France have been rejected!
All I ask is a small airship to carry a handpicked force of my Northern Defence Volunteers and I to Paris, where we would free Countess Fiona from the imprisonment of her tyrannical family- therefore causing a terribly blow to French moral.
The Field Marshal failed to see my logic. He claimed that my motives were selfish and that my Volunteers were unfit for the task. (How dare he insult those brave men and women!) When the argument became heated personal insults were exchanged, and the Field Marshal- drunk no doubt- insulted the memory of mt dear parents.
So I challenged him to a dual.
He disregarded rank, and accepted. We shall fight- he choose pistols- at dawn tomorrow.
After dealing with that, I shall appeal directly to Her Majesty the Queen for authorisation for my plan.
04/01/11
0245 HOURS
Cannot sleep.
Cannot take laudanum- need to be sharp tomorrow.
Do not wish to die yet, too busy.
Wish we could fight with sabres, then I would be sure of victory. Pistols are such a wild card.
Cannot die as my father died, and leave dearest Fiona as my mother was left.
0900 HOURS.
Still live.
The Field Marshal cannot shoot for toffee. (Drunk, no doubt). He fired first. His post would be hard to fill, and we have mutual friends, so I let him live. He does not need to walk much to do his job.
No time to celebrate, must write to Her Majesty at once.
06/01/11
2200 HOURS
The tension is intolerable. Despise waiting.
07/01/11
1000 HOURS.
Her Glorious Majesty approves of my plan. (The Queen and Fiona were such jolly friends once).
No time to write, much to do…
TO BE CONTINUED...
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