by Tyler Danann
“Very well, they’ll be vengeance for this,” Seymour said coldly. “But no warfare or civilian reprisals! First of all we safeguard things! To that end we fully seal our borders. Anyone not of European blood and Albionic allegiance are persona non grata. Those already inside our borders that fall outside ethnicity of our folk are to be issued visas or be expelled as necessary. They treat us like second-class people for slaughter and gulaging? We’ll do the same with them, without being excessive. The British Ambassador is to be under house arrest until Roger is released.”
“This could turn into a border war,” Colonel Adrian Lysander said speculatively.
“That’s a risk worth taking, we have the stomach for such a fight, they don’t. If it means a no-man’s land between our border and theirs so be it. Better to keep the peace here than bloodshed in its place.”
They all took a vote and the measure passed almost unanimously. Colonel Bladen had argued unsuccessfully for taking things an extra step via a punitive strike instead, hence he made up the solitary opposition vote. Bladen understood the necessity though and all the officers left the chambers in a cohesive mood for what was ahead.
Outside the hundred and forty men of each Colonel’s detachment listened as their colonels spoke of the agreed-upon response. The measure was well-received, Albion would go into lock-down and expulsion of suspected enemy-persons would take place until further notice. Within an hour the borders were sealed at the roadways and the ambassador was detained. While he complained and protested at first, the gravity soon dawned on him of the Yeomanry’s own ambassador being in much worse conditions. Where the British official was left under guard at his residence, Major Matthews was confined to a prison cell.
Colonel Seymour retired to his private chambers where he poured himself a large measure of whiskey from the decanter. Times had changed during his fifty-eight years of life. He’d been a young officer back during the coup that rocked the country to the core. The treasonous government and their enablers were dealt with but it took the continuation war to finally break the deadlock. That war finally gave them an independent nation they could rule within England. Even back in those heady days when the Parliament had begrudgingly given royal ascent to their realm he had known it was tentative. After ten short years the threat of crippling sanctions from Europe and beyond reduced their anchor-status in parliament.
A deadlock was now a certainty and Albion needed breathing space. He’d seen the news-censored footage of the Pegasus Massacre and knew it was biased against his Yeomanry. Without a truthful media the new generation of youth seemed set to be virulently anti-nationalist and prefer welfare dependence than service to a nation.
The old colonel knew it would take one last stroke to win their true independence once and for all. Yet he dreaded the risk and bloodshed such a thing ultimately required. What some liked to call his ‘Free Radicals’ were the wild cards that could sway things. For a military man like him they were an unpredictable, asymmetrical element, yet something he would often prefer compared to a known entity. The strange man from abroad named Kallan Gearson and the shadowy Deep Eye Units had great potential. Yet it was Yeoman Weyland and the information he was safeguarding that could be the greatest of all.
Chapter 12
The Cabal
The Inner Way celebrated their victory against the Yeomen with a child sacrifice in the usual fashion. Commissioner Roberts, Grandmaster of the cabal, led the activities. The Prime Speaker took a proving turn, marking his full admission into the Inner Way. After they’d all taken their own proof cutting, prayers and solemn words were led by Roberts until their rites were completed. After a time it was over and they all retired up two flights of stairs to a changing room. The masks and robed garbs were removed and more normal attire of their everyday lives donned. Only then could they discern who was who with any clarity.
The two dozen men made up some of the most powerful men on the island. Police chiefs, a military official, banking financiers, education and media controllers made up most of the group. The remainder were politicians from all major factions and civil commissioners.
As one they filed into the palatial conference room to dine on fine food and wine. It was a lavish contrast to the demonic evils committed on innocents in the basement. To the Inner Way such moral ways were selectively appropriate.
The royalty who formerly inhabited the lavish buildings were long gone. Most were tucked away overseas or in remote areas, their wealth had been squandered and frittered away over the previous decades. Since the privatization of the castles, palaces and vast tracts of land to overseas companies the public could not even access close to the former tourist sites. With the exception of Stonehenge nearly all stately places now belonged to their agents now. As far as the Inner Way was concerned, they were the new Royalty who ruled the Island of Britain.
After a time the three-course meals were consumed and the Grandmaster stood up to give his speech.
“Our victory is almost complete brothers,” Commissioner Roberts said richly, “with the message we sent out at Belgravia, the Yeomanry now know our feelings about any compromise.”
To this there were cheers and whoops as their leader continued.
“In less than three weeks the New Europeans will swarm this island and bring about the chaos needed to usher in our golden age. Before it was a few waves from the colonies, now the great flood beckons! It will be a glorious time seeing the victory here and soon elsewhere in the world as well!”
A resounding cheer and supportive encouragement roared out from the two dozen men.
“This is not just my victory, but yours too brothers. Now, the Inner Way would like to hear your words, wisdom and concerns.”
The Grandmaster gestured at Timothy Collard, a man responsible for education in the country. He looked plain and but with brown hair and matching eyes he was a good yarn-teller and could ramble for hours about a matter.
“My father was a teacher, as was I after him,” the man said with strong certainty. “The children of his generation had parents who differed in their goals to ours. They were too biased to Europe and the evils of our colonial past. Our schools soon carefully corrected the teachers and then the precious children learned more of our enlightened ways. My turn came and still there was work to be done. Homosexuality was shunned by the educational establishment but we soon changed that. Racism was ever present and I am proud to be a part of stripping away their racial pride. Now nearly all teachers in this way act as family to the school children. College and university tutors, professors and academics follow suit. Any that get ideas above their station, differ from our agreed story of history are given short thrift. You ask for concern Grandmaster? For me there are none now. Each successive generation of children, from infant up to university adult is well schooled in our ways. Soon the very capstone of mentor-teaching will be reached, already we have some schools experimenting with it. Child-bonding, still partly demonized even now will be brought into line with our guiding light. I know that myself and many of our brothers will be most keen to see the bonding made law sooner rather than later. It will cement the separation of child from family, into our family! I give praise to Cultural Marxism. It is now the dominant force in the education of our young!”
This speech was well received. A parliamentary minister in charge of land and housing was the next down the table.
“Land affordability is out of reach for nearly all but the wealthy. Those in that bracket are known to us. All housing applications for New Europeans will go straight to the front of the queue, giving them only the best facilities.”
“Be careful not to exclude existing colonials minister,” cautioned Roberts, referencing the already established non-European folks in Britain. “I don’t want them to feel we are being too favorable to the new arrivals.”
“It will be so Grandmaster.”
The next man to address them was Cabinet minister Harlow. As a master of immigration trends, he was highly regarde
d and sought after for the lynch-pin in their plans. The minister laid out things in a less eloquent and more statistical fashion though, such was the logic of his ways.
“The current New Europeans on the island number about five percent of ethnic minority people. Including colonial people from past immigration waves, their families and children we have thirty-five percent of the island population who are non-European. With the coming influx of New Europeans, if the vote goes through—”
“It will go through,” Veitch said smugly.
“Then the New European’s will jump to a majority of the current minority percentage. The numbers, trends and historical evidence does not lie.”
“Assuming all goes well,” Roberts asked, “how many years until the white majority of Britain is surpassed by a non-white majority?”
“Fifteen years master, possibly as few as eight.”
“I want it in five years,” Roberts said starkly.
“Grandmaster,” Harlow responded, “the white population numbers over forty million. Breeding them out takes time.”
“Which is one of the reasons why so many new people from needy places must be welcomed. To offset the majority, a new majority must be brought in.”
“I understand Grandmaster, yet the carrying capacity of the island, with imports, would be stretched to the limit in order to feed them. If it could be done gradually, through family visas gradually increasing their numbers—”
“I will deal with logistics and easing the island’s burdens, you just give me the statistics brother. Twenty-five million New Europeans, most of them are men of fighting age, are waiting in mainland Europe. They are to take their place upon this island. They will be rightfully taking females of the white population and fulfilling the breeding of a new population to supplant the old. Random crime and liquidation of natives will sky-rocket of course, but this will be a teething pain more than anything. Now let us hear the time frame brother.”
“Firstly the factors depend on societal unrest, breeding rate of the New Europeans, displacement patterns. I can give best, average and poor—”
“Have you factored in financial incentives?” Roberts interjected.
“I have not Grandmaster,” the man said nervously before mentally crunching the numbers, “Perhaps five to seven years, nine at the most and the goal can be achieved.” Harlow sweated nervously for a time as Roberts gaze fixed on him. The Grandmaster nodded slowly.
“Forgive me, but is that for Albion as well or just within our own borders?” a military official said placidly.
“It includes data from just prior to Albion’s separation.”
“Well there’s no way the Yeoman Colonels will tolerate New Europeans coming over the border. They’ll be shot on sight or beaten back.”
“There won’t be an Albion by this time next year,” Roberts spoke confidently with a chuckle of casual malice. His half-brother Seymour would pay once and for all. “Your army and a UN taskforce will be brought to bear. It will happen, but the details will manifest in future times brother.”
An economist Jerry Mills spoke next.
“As I’ve said already, our corporations calculate massive profits from the new workforce. In detail the New Europeans will work for even less wages than many third-world areas. The conditions of work can be less comfortable than the current pool of working-class are used to. For benefits there’s again less reason to be generous. We can tailor very well for the coming workforce in ways that would have the workers of old marching on Parliament.” Mills spoke the last sentence with a laugh.
The next speaker was one of the media controllers, Samuel Cohen. With reserve and diligence his words drifted about the table.
“Everything broadcast on satellite is under the BBC or our other channels. A majority of news directors and program producers report either to me or my agents. The remainder report to the other gentlemen at this table. Radio broadcasts are of a similar variable. No deviation or slanderment of the New European agenda is tolerated. Public opinion is firmly guided away from notions of nationalism, white on white heterosexuality, femininity and tradition. Media attacks on the Yeoman territory of Albion are relentless and rising. We are winning the media-war.”
“Not the internet war though,” another media mogul, Alexander Hearn, stated sternly.
“Grandmaster and brothers,” Cohen said apologetically, “I will need assistance if we are to tackle that issue.”
Roberts nodded and looked to the technological minister, Michael Richardson. He was a slender man with ruddy and pockmarked features, no stranger to deviant ways and cruel pleasures.
“An Internet Driving License would do it,” he said slyly. “The military have a similar system on their fixed terminals, everyone’s visit to any internet site in the world is logged. If every citizen is compelled by law to register their machines, handheld devices and so on to a central super-computer we can do the same. To buy a new or used computer, sell or transfer it the IDL must be shown or used via a registered dealer. Then the IDL which must be hard-coded to their computer allows the super-computer to track them wherever they go. No more internet proxies to shadow their movements as that will show up on the super-computer. We just need an excuse or incident to put paper into law and prototype trials can be rolled out within a year, full-scale production and registration by the next.”
Roberts smiled and nodded. “So brother Cohen, there is your assistance.”
“Such a thing would be greatly appreciated Grandmaster,” the media controller groveled.
The next man to speak was Police Commissioner Nomes, Robert’s favorite. “The last privately-held firearms will be confiscated by winter. With the spree killing at Northampton I doubt the new firearms bill coming through parliament will fail. If it does the incoming martial law will allow us to ban all movement of firearms and move in door-to-door. Gun clubs and so forth are under passive surveillance.”
“What about weaponry being brought in from overseas? It’s no secret there’s sympathy in parts of the USA and Europe for Albion.”
“Albion arms dealers rely on independent shipping, workshops and smugglers for extra firearms, ammunition and parts. Then there’s the existing military grade weaponry most of the Yeomanry already use and the black market.”
“I was more concerned with our borders brother.”
“I see master. Well there’s an international movement ban on privately-registered firearms from and to Britain. Weaponry aside what my biggest concern though are the New Europeans.”
There was an awe-filled pause at this. It was the closest thing to displeasure to even hint at any criticism towards them. They were a pet project of the Inner Way, for one to tread words on them was risky.
“In what way are the solution to our problems a concern brother?” the Grandmaster said icily.
“They’ll stretch and tie up police resources massively. Even with army assistance it will be risking civil war within our borders. It may also allow Yeoman agents to stir up mischief in either case.”
“Ah but you see there’s an answer to that Brother Nomes!” Roberts said with a grin, “Our own paramilitary made up from the New Europeans!”
There were several startled looks and mutterings at this. Roberts held up his arms for silence before speaking on to them.
“We already have the Cadre teams preparing the way. The seeds have been sown, once the main force arrives they’ll be carefully chosen and groomed into fruition. Once they are ready, you will have a powerful asset to help manage things if the populace gets out of hand.”
“Inner Way families are still assured priority protections Master?” asked Nomes neutrally.
“Absolutely. Remember we all will be far from their population centers so your families needn’t worry about any misdeeds though. We of the Inner Way look after our own, remember that well brothers!”
The Grandmaster raised his voice at the last sentence before resuming his dictation to the others.
“So, we w
on’t have too many issues with the New Europeans and it won’t be long now! Steered correctly they’ll be our docile slaves within a few generations of hardship. By that stage the upstart Britons shall be crushed into the trashcan of history!”
The real leader of Britain made a flourish when he said this, the others cheered and roared in giddy excitement.
Chapter 13
Media Noise
‘Yeomanry Shot After Attacking Authorities With Swords!’ read one liberal newspaper. Another even claimed that the Enforcers had foiled a major terror-attack with the headline ‘Enforcers Triumph Against Yeomanry Terrorists!’ Another stated ‘Possible Yeomanry Link to Ferry Terminal Attack?’ Even the anti-liberal Knight News would only dare print ‘Yeomanry Killed During Chaotic Arrest in London.’
Gearson prepared some food in the kitchen of Riley’s apartment while she watched the media-machine go into over-drive. The London International News was on-going with snazzy graphics and goggle-eyed news-readers. They played their part of acting with disgust well, one by one they were almost rabid with their indignation and mock-outrage of the Yeomanry. The fact that nearly a dozen of them were cowardly shot down in cold-blood was barely mentioned. When it was even referred to the response and agreement was that it was ‘thoroughly justified’ given the ‘dangerous circumstances.’
“They had swords and were going to use them against Enforcers. People that carry such offensive weapons deserve no mercy!” bellowed one fat little man when a newsman asked if the Enforcers had over-reacted.
The London Commissioner himself was interviewed outside his fortress-like base near the Tower of London. After making over-inflated boasts of how his brave men had saved the Conference from Yeoman terrorists he issued a demand that any Yeoman that still owned arms after midnight would be required to surrender them to the nearest Enforcer Post.