PRELUDE
March 17, 1870
Fredericton, New Brunswick

BOOM!
A thunderous roar resonated in Major Michael Tavington’s ears as he walked cautiously over to his commanding officer.  A Rebel shell had fallen dangerously close to the hilltop where he and the other senior officers commanded the battle, and enemy gunfire made it necessary to move fast and keep a low profile.
“Your Highness, I implore you….. There is no sense in further resistance. Her Majesty’s soldiers are being needlessly killed in this-“
As if to prove him right, a Rebel shell crashed down at the foothill. Screams could be heard coming from the men who had been in the vicinity and not fortunate enough to meet a quick death. Edward, the Prince of Wales and military governor of Northern Brunswicka, looked at the sight below him. He observed the bloodshed silently, as both his mother’s soldiers and rebellious colonial subjects killed each other in flocks. Finally, he spoke.
“Major Tavington, take a look below you. Her Majesty…my mother’s soldiers will continue to fight if not otherwise directed. Our garrisons in both North and Southern Brunswicka are the best soldiers in the world,” the Prince was just 28 and was overlooking a crucial fact concerning the soldiers he had just spoke of. This time, General Gordon took the task of correcting him.
“Your Highness, I believe you are forgetting that a third of those soliders took up arms with the Brunswickan Rebels when they commenced waging warfare against us. Another third has since been killed in the fighting, and the remaining third are almost as demoralized as Lord Cornwallis’ men must have been at Yorktown.”
“I myself am feeling as Cornwallis must have at Yorktown, I can say as much. Gentlemen, I know what you are thinking. You believe I’m just a little boy in a position of power to do as I please. Well in a way it is true. But I do care for those men down there, as I care for all of you. Remember, I am to be your King someday,” the Prince struggled to get the words out. He seemed to be overflowing with anger and sadness. As his adjutant, Tavington felt obliged to cheer him up.
“Sir, I believe I speak for all of us when I say that while we may have doubted your judgement at times, we never lost faith in you. As a result of your persistence, General Gordon reluctantly gave orders that at this time last year had the Vermont region under our guns. It is only because of American intervention that the Rebels have pushed us so far back to have a second Battle of Fredericton.”
“Rebels themselves, the Americans,” Edward replied in a low voice. As if to prove his point, a motley crew of Brunswickan and American soldiers began a charge of the British lines. Although there were many more Brunks then Yanks, they were obviously carrying American supplied rifles. The crack noises that split the air were much different than the familiar British ones. “Allright men. Enough. We could fall back and defend the Gaspé Peninsula part of the colony, but I see no point in protecting a worthless stretch of land inhabited by men who don’t even speak our language. It’s over. Major Tavington, run the white flag up underneath the Union Jack on that pole.”
“Yes….Your Highness,” Tavington replied. Although it was a black day for the Empire, he could not help but admire Edward’s courage. He knew he would have to return home and face his mother’s wrath, but thought nothing of it at the moment. Instead he showed that he cared for her soldiers, who would one day be his soldiers. Tavington reached into a leather sack mounted on his horse Brock, and pulled out the large piece of white cloth that had not been used in the 18 months the war had lasted. He wished it did not have to be used at all. Trotting over to the rusted flagpole, he brushed away a tear as he linked the hooks to the rings on the flag. He brushed away another thinking about what he had just done, and what the repercussions would be. He had been stationed in Northern Brunswicka for 10 years, with just 6 months of the last 120 spent on leave in London. He had grown to love the region with vast forests and endless seas. Southern Brunswicka had its perks too, although most of the short time he’d spent there had been during time of war.
Minutes later, the guns abruptly stopped. An eerie silence reverberated for a few seconds, allowing Tavington and everyone else to hear the chirping of crickets in the morning mist. But eventually the silence was destroyed by the sound of more than ten thousand Brunswickan and American soldiers shouting with glee. Tavington looked over at the Prince of Wales. He was standing solemnly, tearlines running down his rough cheeks that desperately needed a shave. Then, he spoke.
“I’ve lived twenty-eight years. With the good Lord’s graces, I shall live many more. With that same good Lord’s continuing graces, I swear to him and every single man here that at some point in those years, I shall have my vengeance.”
Tavington just nodded and looked away.
 

CHAPTER ONE
January 4th, 1905
Halifax, Nova Scotia

 Gabriel Dollemont strolled down Main Street as if he were President Cormier himself. And after last night, he felt that he was.
 “Hey Gabe, congratulations to you and the new Mrs. Dollemont! Heard it was a great ceremony!” his old schoolyard chum Peter Langston called to him from across the street.
 “Thanks, Pete! Wish you coulda been there!” Gabe called back. He and Langston often passed each other in the mornings on their way to work, which for Gabe was at a government owned metalworks. They produced shell-casings and armour and such. Continuing his confident walk, Gabe blocked out all the noise of foghorns from the harbour and chatter from other pedestrians. Just before crossing the last corner to the metalworks however, Gabe heard something, a voice, loud and clear. Looking over to Sandy the Newspaper Boy, Gabe thumbed in his pocket for a nickel.
 “Extra! Extra! Brits massing troops on Gaspé border! Invasion imminent, says source!” the young but familiar voice shouted.
 Flicking the nickel at Sandy, Gabe grabbed a copy of the Herald from the pile beside the boy. Looking at the front page, the headline read: BRITISH MOBILIZING ON GASPÉ-QUEBEC BORDER.
 “Well I’ll be god damned,” Gabe said as he skimmed through the article, which read:
A government attache in Quebec City forwarded information to President Cormier
yesterday that revealed the British Army has mobilized considerable amounts of
troops along the St Lawrence River and the land linking Gaspé to Quebec. It was not
known at press time why this has happened. Jermiah Lovell, the government
attache who broke the story, reported he had been trying to get the message out for over
a month and that the British have been mobilizing since early December. Lovell says he was
prevented from getting the news out sooner because the Canadian authorities had been
begun monitoring his communications with Fredericton, both wireless and telephone. He had to wait until he was sure he could get it out via wirless without the Canadians and British becoming
suspicious. Lovell also mailed postal letters with the news 3 times, but none of them have
arrived in Fredericton. President Cormier is expected to converse with the British government today to find out what is going on. Already fearing the worst, the Assembly issued General Davis authorization to call up reserves and the conscription classes of 1899-1901, the last three before selective service was terminated. Men not among the classes or reserves mentioned above can volunteer for military service at their local military station or town hall. General Davis said some form of bonus would be given to all volunteers. As for the called-up reserves and conscription classes, should nothing come of this incident within 3 months they will be sent home with the 3 months pay earned as well as an additional month for the inconvenience.

Gabe grunted as he finished the article. “If this doesn’t result in a war, I don’t know what will,” he said. A man reading the same article nodded in agreement. He noticed he was still standing on the corner where Sandy the Newspaper Boy was selling a plethora of papers. “Shit!” he exclaimed and hurried across the street to the metalworks.
As he entered, he folded the paper and placed in his coat pocket. He would have to wait until lunch to read the rest of it. Just after he had placed his jacket on a hook, the door opened behind him. Into the metalworks walked Jean-Yves Archambault, who happened to work the station next to Gabe’s.
“Dammit, Frenchie! Didn’t I tell you to knock?” Gabe said chuckling. The New Brunswick native was a few years older than Gabe, and had earned his nickname long before Gabe had become his working neighbour. The nickname really didn’t make sense anymore, with more than 5 Frenchmen employed at Halifax Metals. Nevertheless, Archambault couldn’t escape it. It didn’t bother him much anyway.
“You watch the big mouth there, Dollemont,” Frenchie replied. He had an odd way of speaking English, throwing in French words and screwing up his grammar. However, Gabe could understand him 90% of the time since the mix of the languages known as Shiac was sort of an unofficial second language in Brunswicka. “You saw the papiers, oui? Mon classe du conscription was missed by two years, jus deux ans, mon ami! I do not like this at all, non non non. It is probably that if a war does start, they will call up me and the other 1897 conscripts.”
Gabe gave his friend a look of sympathy as they began to walk to their posts. He had missed selective service by less than two weeks, lucky to have been born on January 11th, 1884 instead of December 31st, 1883. Twelve days, Gabe thought. Had I been born just twelve days early, I’d probably be reporting to BNA HQ right now.
“I tell you what though Frenchie, if the British do invade, I’d feel a lot safer down south in New Hampshire or Massachussetts. Vermont though, their in more trouble than we are if the limeys wanna make something of their mobilization. A lot of their border is right open to Quebec,” Gabe said as he dug in a drawer for tools to commence the day’s work.
“I’m not sure about that, Gabe. I am doubting the Brits will enter Vermont by force, because they would want to avoid accidentally going into the Etats-Unis, non?” the Frenchman pondered. Gabe thought for a couple of seconds as he began sheathing what would become a shell with copper. Gabe suddenly realized that this shell might be fired at hostile forces in the near future.
“Well I believe the British will seize any chance they have to take land from us, don’t you?” he finally said in response to Frenchie’s remark on the safety of Vermont.
“Peut-etre, mon ami….it could be you are right,” the Frenchman replied slowly. The rest of the day was one of the kind Gabe dreaded, the kind when every minute seemed like an hour. When the quitting whistle blew at five sharp, Gabe sighed in relief and made his way home. His new wife, after all, awaited him.
 

A torrential downpour fell on London as the capital awoke to another busy day. The rain left nothing untouched, and umbrellas were of little use. As he began to climb the steps to Buckingham Palace, General Michael Tavington noted that he would have to get a new one after this storm had ceased. Entering the palace, he saluted the interior door guard and walked toward the conference room. He was due with the King at ten after eight, and His Majesty would not be kept waiting. Just as he arrived at his destination, the King’s assistant Thomas Walker emerged from the room.
“Ahh, General Tavington. His Majesty is expecting you. But sir, if I may have a moment…how did you do this for 11 years? I’ve been on the job almost 3 now…and I still have problems with him,” Walker said. Tavington chuckled and patted Walker on the back before replying.
“You’ll always have those problems, Mr. Walker. You’ll just learn to accept them. I had been his adjutant for 7 years already when we lost the Brunswickan War, and I don’t recall a tougher time to deal with him then the spring of 1870. So just persevere and all will be fine, Mr. Walker. Now if you will excuse me…” Tavington said and stepped into the conference room. Sitting alone at a round table was King Edward VII. “Good morning Your Highn…Majesty. I apologize sir, I am still not used to the new title.”
“Quite all right Michael. It did take long enough for me to gain that title, after all. A pretty fair rain out there, is it not? Now if you will be seated, I would like to know how the mobilization goes in Canada. I am also eager to know how the troop convoys crossing the Atlantic fare,” the King said. He coughed a couple of times after speaking, and reached for a glass of water. Tavington took a seat and opened his leather briefcase.
“The callups of Canadian men have increased the Dominion forces to almost fifteen thousand, sir. Our own troops already there number fifty three thousand, and the number increases everyday as more troopships arrive. Once all of them have, British forces in Quebec should total upwards of ninety thousand. Along with the Canadian forces, that will give us more than the hundred thousand we need to carry out the invasion plans,” Tavington was blunt and to the point. He was not hesitant around the ruler of the greatest Empire the world had ever seen, as most would be. After all, he knew the King better than most.
“That is most satisfying, Michael.You know that I have placed you in command of all British and Canadian armies involved in the Brunswickan Solution because I have the utmost confidence in your military and strategic thinking. Even when you were still my adjutant in Northern Brunswicka, you helped General Gordon craft our early victory at Calais. So I expect you and your staff have suitably plotted your strategy?” the King inquired.
“Yes, Your Majesty, we have. Everything should go off without a hitch. That is, it will go off without a hitch if the diplomatic part of it succeeds,” Tavington replied. He was not an avid follower of politics, but he knew the importance of negotitations with the other side.
“I am to receive Prime Minister Balfour later this afternoon, after he has talked with the Brunswickan President Cormier,” the King said. “If you would like to dine with Alexandra and I tonight, I can update you on the fine points of our discourse.”
“Yes Your Majesty, I would enjoy that. As you know, I am to leave for Quebec City tommorow morning,” Tavington promptly replied. If there is one thing he has benefitted from since becoming King, he thought to himself, it is that he must spend more time with Alexandra and less with his mistresses.
They continued their conversation for over two hours, most of the time concentrating on Brunswicka. At half past ten o’clock, Tavington had to return to his staff to work out some final details of the invasion. The day flew by quickly, and before he he knew it it was seven o’clock. He had not dined with the King in months, but knew he could expect a fine meal. He was at the Palace in no time. Saluting the guard at the gate for the second time today, he again entered Buckingham Palace and returned a few more. Guards were everywhere around the entrance. Entering the enormous dining room, he could smell the delicious feast he was about to consume. Nodding to the King, he stooped to kiss the hand of Queen Alexandra.
“Your Majesty, it has been sometime since I’ve had the pleasure of being in your company. I hope you will forgive me,” he said humbly to the charming but brainless Queen.
“General Tavington, I hope you do not lose sleep over it. Now please sit down and enjoy the meal,” the Danish-born woman replied. Tavington did as told, and breathed in the scents of roast duckling, Pacific Ocean salmon and Mediterranean caviar. It was truly a royal meal.
“Your Majesty, how did Balfour’s discussion with Cormier go today?” Tavington asked the King. With Alexandra around, they had to lose the informality enjoyed when the two of them were speaking alone.
“They went perfectly, General. They could not have gone any better than they did, according to the Prime Minister,” the King paused to wash down a mouthful of salmon with Parisien cognac. “Everything should now go according to plan.”
“Excellent,” Tavington replied. No further discussion about Brunswicka was needed, and none was started. For the rest of the meal the two men listened to the Queen talk about her latest orders to the Royal Gardeners. At half past eight, Tavington again left the palace. In the morning, he quickly wolfed down ham and eggs before boarding a train to Liverpool. By noon, he was aboard the battleship HMS Africa and headed to Quebec.

Upcoming: Chapter Two featuring new characters as well as continuations of the above ones