The previous instalments are located here.
Chicago City
Fires raged across the city as biplanes darted through the skies like angry wasps. The sound of machine gun fire filled the skies as civilians ran seeking shelter. One of the biplanes covered in the colors of the Confederate States pulled out a drop bomb, primed it, and let it fall towards the semi-helpless buildings of lower Chicago. However, as he pulled the stick of his plane back, his plane erupted into shreds from anti-air shrapnel guns. He didn’t even have time to escape, his body shredded by shrapnel, sending his plane roaring downwards.
However, even as his plane spiraled earthwards, his bomb did as well, and it’s whistling decedent came to an abrupt explosive end. The building it landed on shuddered, glass shattering to cover the screaming people below. People who just a few hours ago had been going about their normal routines in the capital of the Western States. Now carnage fell about them as the city of Chicago was on fire, taking little comfort from the fact that their own biplanes and anti-air were wreaking havoc on the invading forces. All they could understand was their city around them was burning, that ruble was landing on them, and that many of their loved ones and friends were dead.
Quebec Liberation Front
Red Wolf reread the dispatch from Chicago with trepidation. On so many levels he was shocked by the carnage that had rained down on the Capital. It didn’t make any sense for them to make a suicide attack like that, but the Confeds had. It would send ripples through the West, and he was sure the full army might would be charging towards Richmond soon. Perhaps that had been the goal, to pull forces off the front lines with Texas. He knew Texas was feeling the pressure, yes it was a big state, but really only eastern Texas had anything. If the army pushed them into the wilderness, it wouldn’t be pretty. Honestly, Texas was really the only big player in this whole affair.
That’s why the air raid on Chicago was so dumb.
Regardless, he had rebels to teach and arm, and nothing changed that yet. He folded the dispatch and headed back down the path towards the shore. It wasn’t easy sneaking shipments past Toronto, they were on high alert, and they would no doubt be more so now that the Confeds had attacked Chicago. Only a fool took a wounded bear for granted. However, there was now a bit of luck, Newfoundlanders had decided they to were tired of the Canadian government. And a larger civil war north of the border was better for his country. It kept Canada out of the fight, and the United North might be drawn to that conflict and not their western and southern flanks.
Black Sheep Flotilla
Commander Miller rubbed the scar on his face as he read the dispatches in his ready room. Chicago had been hit. Nearly all of it had been burned to the ground or blasted into pieces. The Government of the Western States had moved to Milwaukee. He forced himself to stop rubbing his scar, it was becoming a bad habit, and clasped his hands together.
This wasn’t good. It felt like a gut punch to him, and he had now idea what it would feel like to the rest of the men underneath him. Most of his crew was from Louisiana, but some had come from up north. This could be seen as a symbolic win for the Confederate forces, to hit so deep into Western territory. He got up and moved to his wall of charts, studying the southern coast of North America. The Belmount, New Orleans, Miranda, and Venture had started to patrol the southern coast against the Confederate’s Florida navy. It hadn’t been much action so far. They had been able to destroy one monitor and chase a cruiser eastward. But no signs of larger vessels heading towards Texan’s aid. Even after the successful landings.
He clasped his hands behind him, and made a decision. Striding from the room he headed down the brief hallway and onto the bridge.
“Captain on deck,” a man with lieutenant cuffs announced but he waved his hand.
“At ease,” he muttered heading towards communication, “radio the New Orleans, I want to talk Lieutenant Commander Lincoln.”
“Right away, sir,” the ensign said as he slipped the earmuffs on and started to spin the rotary.
He nodded and tried to project an air of calm he didn’t feel. He was positive that the attack on Chicago was either a distraction or an indicator that something bigger was starting up. Either way, the navy stationed in Florida was going to be showing their face, of that, he was sure. His flotilla needed to be ready.
Norton Industries
Elizabeth’s fist squeezed the paper dispatch into a ball of pulp as she stood up at her desk. She let it fall amongst the litany of order forms and schematics scattered across her desk. Images of her brother’s face haunting her as she moved to the liquor cabinet. She flung the door open and pulled out the decanter of whiskey. It had been her father’s favorite, from the old country he liked to joke, and it had also been her brother’s favorite as well.
She had hated the stuff.
But, as she poured a glass, and drowned the horrible memories stirred anew by the attack on Chicago, she realized it had slowly grown on her. Just as controlling her father’s business empire. No, her empire now, her empire with one goal in mind. She swallowed more of the liquor and stalked back towards her desk.
The main problem with attack the south right now was the heat and swamps. The Appalachia mountains didn’t help much either. But the biplane was leveling that playing field to a degree, which gave some sense to the attack on Chicago. If the engine had enough fuel they could fly from Richmond, or some place closer, and attack Chicago with little warning. They just had to avoid major settlements.
Her company was already producing armored tractors, though she could call them tanks now, it was all the rage in Europe after all. Point of fact she was running her factors to near exhaustion, but it didn’t matter if the tanks couldn’t be utilized effectively because of the ground. She needed something more mobile, both that could utilize the rivers and rocky terrain of the Confederate States. Otherwise, they would just abandon Richmond for Charlotteville. That was the talk her spies had learned during the last war cabinet. One which she had still not been invited to. That didn’t matter though, and she picked up the orders for the new rounds of ammunition her government had just purchased. In time she would be at those meetings, especially if she could figure out a new military weapon for them to use.
She sat back down and took a long sip of her whiskey. She would soon be allowed in, and she would get her revenge on the south. Her brother, and now all the citizens of Chicago demanded it.
Matthew William Lindquist 