Commander Arlen, the commander of operations at New London's military recruitment site looked at his newest orders sent through official channels on his official comm device provided by the Bretonian Wartime Management Commission. He looked up and insisted the attention of his most eligible leader. "Lieutenant Anglund!" "Yes, Sir!" Anglund barked instinctively. "You have been promoted to Commander of field operations for the Relief Effort." "Thank you sir!" "Don't thank me, it's a horrible business. Now you're in charge of the relief effort. I have other places that I'm needed for now." "Sir, I don't think I'm the best one for this job, do you have any last orders?" "I will give you permissions to all the relief effort protocols. You've been there with me on all of them, you'll know what to do, that's why I'm leaving you in charge. You will be the best one for the job, because you will do it the right way. Good luck, Commander Anglund!"
The only thing that Beren Anglund could think about was the horrible battles with the Gauls and the horrible atrocities left for the Bretonian people to endure after the nuclear strikes on Planet New London at the apex of the war. He remembered the things he was ordered to do during war time, and the things he had to do to stay alive. They gnawed at his mind like an infection that couldn't be cured. He knew that most of the officers in his old unit had seen some really ugly things during the war. He would sometimes just gaze out into the empty streets and wonder about the families of those he had killed. He wondered what life would be like without a war in his past. Then he would come back to reality with a sharp pain; usually, it was his left shoulder where he had been shot more than once. He felt lucky to be alive. Those shots could have been a few inches up and to the right. Even though the memory of the war seemed fresh, his commitment to the relief effort on New London seemed to bring hope to his mind in a dark time.
Half the people in the relief effort were brand new and had never seen the war, just the miserable suffering. Most of the new enforcers saw the Bretonian relief effort on New London as a suppression of thieves and "soakers". Soakers was the term they gave to people who looked for government handouts when they had obvious ways of making credits or getting rations in other ways. At least the thieves in most cases had no other choice, but the new enforcers couldn't see the difference.
With martial law going into effect, the military had the potential to have carte blanche in enforcement. Anglund knew this and was determined to thwart the destruction of otherwise normal Bretonian citizens over a few scraps of food or resources in desperate times. Why should the destitute starve when there were resources for all? This was his mission as he saw it. To save the Bretonian people as best he could. In the mean time, many of his officers saw the reassignment of their superiors as an "exodus" during the most trying times of the generation. Their attitudes suffered with their perceptions and the outlook of the soldiers in his command grew grim. This wasn't going to be an easy command.
Power was the first concern. Although, people were also starving, largely because power failures had sent industry into ruin, therefore leaving millions with little to nothing to eat. Beren knew this was the first major concern, food was secondary, but not without importance. Power would give heat, proper allocation would give places of refuge and recovery. Food can be rationed, power has to be provided.
"Lieutenant Arnold, give orders to the electricians and power system admins to address power to the restaurant districts first. Afterwards, they can enable areas around them to give power to the commons, then the main business districts. We need to make sure New London gets it's industry back." "Commander, these people have been wiped out, the banking systems have failed, how will they support industry?" "We'll find a way, we'll use government support, and we'll find ways to fund the restaurants to feed people who can get there. It's a start, at least." "Government support? Everyone keeps leaving! Where's the support, Commander?" "Martial law is in effect, we are the government for now. We have resources, and we have contractors that are willing to do the work no one else can, we have no choice but to work for a better day. Times will be hard, are you here for the work or the ease Lieutenant?" "I know we're here to work, Commander! Sorry for my dismay, things are terrible here." "They're going to get better. They have to, we have to make things better."
The next few weeks were difficult to say the least, thousands of people died from starvation and exposure to the elements on New London's surface. There was no avoiding it. Despair was beginning to set in with the troops as well. Many had lost their loved ones while serving those they had never met. Relief came slowly, but at least it was coming.
"How are the preparations for the temporary landing sites outside the city?" Beren asked.
Lieutenant Arnold replied, "We have them up and running, there's a change of the watch every 5 hours to keep security there. We have trouble with marauders when the supplies are transported to the city. We've had to double up the security details." "Make sure that they reserve a little to give the starving people that are on the way in, I don't want people thinking that the military has forgotten them. Martial law doesn't have to be an evil thing if we can manage it right, but make sure people aren't given too many rations, the times are going to be tough, and the belts are going to get loose. We're going to have to suffer with them." replied Beren. "Aye, sir. It will be a while before we have a decent meal again."
The next few weeks were tiresome. Beren had come to the end of everything he knew to do. There was still a lot of people suffering in and around New London. Those few who had enough to barter their way onto a off world transport had managed to get to Waterloo Station. Once there, most of them found it unwelcoming. Prices for commodities had surged over the weeks and months after the war was over. Many ended up on transports provided by some of the other corporations that frequent Waterloo Station. They usually were forced into jobs that they didn't want out of the need to survive during an increasingly difficult time.
Finally, after weeks of work, the New London Landing Platform had been fully repaired. The teams had worked day and night, and someone had managed to get a case of Bretonian Gin from one of the ships that had been damaged while on platform. While they were removing the rubble, they found the case at the bottom of a pallet of random goods, miraculously unscathed. It was the first time in a long time the workers had a real break from the reality all around them.
Steady supplies began to come in a little quicker, prices were controlled by the still in place martial law. Beren had placed several people in positions as Inquisitors. Their job was to make sure there was no price gouging or unethical bartering. Communications were finally working correctly again too, so teams were able to talk with each other in real time rather than just sending messages on time delay.
Beren had been in touch with many different people during the relief effort, now that things were getting better with the communications, he could have actual conversations with his superior officers. He had sent a request to Commodore Arlen who had been sent to Battleship Somerset to be the liaison between Admiralty of the Bretonian Armed Forces and the relief effort on Planet New London. Beren hadn't had a chance to really meet with him live for some time due to the communications loss. Once again, while waiting for the Commodore to open a channel, he had down time. That meant those creeping thoughts of the war would come back, he tried to distract himself, but to no avail. The images came back again and again; ships cracked open and bodies floating or spinning in space sometimes practically orbiting the ships they had once been in, sometimes hurling toward planets or asteroids. Munitions and guns flying around in debris fields. Station hulls torn open and people silently being pushed into the void of the vacuum. Frozen faces; their expressions of horror and desperation . . . He snapped back to reality there as an incoming live communication. The Commodore.
"Commander Beren. Is it your lighting or are you feeling ill. You're white as a ghost!" Not the typical greeting of the Commodore.
Beren saluted. "Sorry, sir. I was thinking about war times again." replied Beren. "Well, anyway I was hoping to find out what my next command would be. Do you think the relief effort can be sustained without Martial Law, now that things have improved?" "The worst is over, supplies and commerce have improved greatly. The Admiralty are really proud of what you have done, as am I." replied Arlen. "They are about to lift the Martial Law and Her Majesty is going to be making a visit soon. You have been invited to present to her." "Me? Why would . . . I mean absolutely, Sir!" "Commander, I know you regret what happened in the field during the war. I know the images you saw haunted you. Perhaps, a visit with Her Majesty will help you put into perspective what you have done to help Bretonia." "Yes Sir. I hope for that sir." replied Beren, looking down and away from the comm screen. "At ease, Commander. Now try to relax and get your mind off things for a while. Commodore Arlen signing off."
The meeting with The Queen was terrifying to him. He had no idea why he felt this way. Before long there was the long line made where those requested to present themselves to the Queen stood waiting for their chance to walk up and bow, then have a short conversation of the finer things reserved for such dramatic and haughty occasions. Beren had no idea what to say, or what he would be asked . . . if anything at all. It was nearly 30 minutes of taking one or two steps at a time, fully dressed in his best pressed. Once he was there, he was simply waited for them to motion him forward, the advisor whispered in the ear of Her Majesty, at once he produced a box, in it was a medal. The Queen pinned it on his lapel and gave mention of his Brave Conduct during the Relief Effort. Beren bowed, thanked her, gracefull shook the hands of those with Her Majesty and walked toward the exit line.
When he finally got outside, he immediately went back to his quarters in order to change back into his normal uniform. Without delay, he took the medal and delicately put it back in it's box for safe keeping. He took it to the local Secure Deposit house and made sure it was in a safe place. When he returned to his duties, he found several of his officers waiting for him. One of them had a bottle of a very rare Provencial Wine. They all had a toast to the Her Majesty and the People of Bretonia.
Beren thought to himself, "I enjoyed this day, I'd like to have more days like this one. Maybe if I get enough of them, I can forget all those bad ones."
His officers saw him smiling, they gave him a salute, then went back to work.
Things were looking up, people were beginning to show signs that they had hope again. The economy seemed to be bouncing back. Interstate Commerce was investing heavily in New London to get the economy back up and running again. The loss of profitable and much needed raw materials had made restorations in the region even harder. Her Majesty was finally able to bring messages of hope to the people. Parliament was starting to bring aid to people who had suffered incredible loss. There was finally New Hope for New London.
THE IMBALANCE OF POWERis a construct ofTHE MINDsystemic to the reactions between the subjects of the system.POWERis given by those who acknowledge such power.REFUSALto acknowledge power removes that power forTHE REBEL; however, it produces anomalies in interactions throughout the system. TheseANOMOLIEScause theUNPREDICTABLEnature of the system that all usersCRAVE.