United Mancester Front

[Captain Enema]

[b]Manchester[/b]

Johnathan Cromwell is in even a fouler mood than he was before. What Briton would be in a pleasant cheerful mood with the combination of bad English food, poor weather, and foreign occupation? Possibly a true died in the wool sadist, but for the rest of the population the state of affairs is already enough to sour their beer even further. Cromwell mutters, grunts, scratches a few short notes, and then he finally looks up at the numerous members of parliament gathered in his large corporate meeting chambers at Cromwell Enterprises.

"Gentlemen, I assure you the monarchy will be not be thrown out into the street. They'll retain the income from their personal estates. While they will not be living off the sweat of the working Englishmen and women they will not be starving either. If I recall the personal income from the King's estate is quite generous indeed, enough to keep an entire family of four on holiday for the next several hundred years," Cromwell counters.

"And our titles?" asks the stuffy little Lord.

"Secured, polished, and tied up with a pretty bow," Cromwell replies with an exasperated tone of voice.

"And our historical position in the House of Lords?" another septic weedy looking Lord asks.

"Fairly toothless as it is my good man, do enjoy it. Don't expect the holder of the purse to be funding your boy's club though, you want to indulge in your executive gentleman's club, you'll be paying for it yourself. The young and the military are restless, they'd probably lynch the lot of us if they found out we were funding your pleasures," Cromwell retorts.

"I think we find ourselves in accord with the remainder of the government. We will stand behind you while you organize a new government for a period of six months Mr. Cromwell," the oldest of the men clarifies.

"I do thank you," Cromwell says back.


[b]Manchester City Center[/b]

Thousands of young Britons march on the city center. They are guided and ushered by young men and women wearing reflective vests and hard hats. They are encouraged to stay off the sidewalks and for everyone to be polite. Watering stations are set up by Cromwell Enterprise mobile vending vans. Traffic is redirected by the Manchester City Police who were notified of this rally well in advance.

Once at the city center the crowd of nearly 90,000 men, women, and children peaceably assemble in front of a large raised podium. On that podium waiting for them all to get comfortable is Cromwell and his now well dressed young assistant Samuel. He looks at Samuel and says, "You are looking rather smart today, I see you availed yourself upon the services of my tailor."

"Yes sir," Samuel replies wondering if this is going to lead up to him having to do something unpleasant.

"Lovely, you see my good man, there is an Americanism which I fully endorse. It states you dress for the job you want, not the job you have. Remember that young Samuel, if you want to move ahead in this world you have to look sharp. Throw out those old track suits and garish necklaces. Dress like a proper gentleman and you'll soon be moving in those circles."

"Uhh yes sir," Samuel replies.

"A gentleman never says uhhhhhhhhh, it makes us sound doltish. Be confident, walk with your chin up, you are the future of Britain, act like it. You'll learn, by god, you will learn. Now get off the stage, I have a speech to make and if their are any snipers out there it doesn't make sense for my brains to get on your smart looking new suit," Cromwell says as he removes his trademark bowler hat.

"Of course sir, best of luck, you'll hardly need it," Samuel says as he strides off the stage.

'I bet he'd make a great midfielder for one of the Manchester United farm teams,' Cromwell thinks to himself as he looks over the crowd. He smiles at a few young ladies in the front row, he gives an old friend a polite nod of the head, and he frowns at a few roguish young me off to the left. His frown and stare is noticed by his corporate security teams who take note of the young chavs but they make no move to eject them as per Cromwell's orders. Cromwell coughs politely and begins his speech.

"Young men," Cromwell says as he stares at the chavs.

They all point to each other and look back and collectively more or less ask, "Wot? him or me guvnor?"

"The lot of you. Do you lads have jobs?"

"No guvnor.. we are on the dole," the largest of them replies.

"Tragic, strong looking young lads like yourself could be of use in my firm. Report to my hiring manager on Monday morning. He's looking for new staff, very entry level, but it's a leg up and we have an excellent vindaloo curry in our staff canteen.

And as for the rest of Britain watching and here let me thank you for lending me a bit of your time today. It's been a difficult time for all of Britain. But we assemble here to celebrate our glorious history and our common bonds. It is on this day that Manchester and all of Britain stands proud. We've taken to our streets, we've distributed water, given out food, and begun the process of repairing our nation.

In a small village a handful of kilometers away the village pub was the only thing damaged. The pub is the cultural beating heart of the village. Let's use this as a metaphor for all of England. Our pub, England, just took a beasting from the Jerries. It's a rotten turn of luck, but rather than cry in their beer the men and women of that village went down to their pub and set it to right. How do I know?

I spent last night at the bar enjoying a pint with those men and women. Just like today I'm standing here enjoying the refreshingly clear skies and lovely warm weather. It won't last though, winter is not long off. We have much to do in terms of sorting ourselves out, but we will do it. We will rationalize our recovery efforts. We will see to it that our lands are secured, our shores defended, and our veterans cherished.

At this very moment we are an occupied nation. I urge you all to work with the Jerries and their lot. Don't work against them. Things are pretty decent, we don't have a heavy hand of occupation. They aren't hindering our recovery work. Our local municipal governments are hard at working restoring services to our communities. In several cases the Jerries and their lot are helping out a bit.

We simply must not give them too much credit though, but they are ruling over us with a gentle hand for now, let's not provoke them, let's encourage them to be on their way so we might go on about our business.

In Scotland I've heard the rumbles of discontent coming out of the areas held by the Islands. While I do feel the Islands are acting out of nothing more than sheer opportunism I do encourage those young men and women to remain peaceful. We will reunite all of Scotland, we will not give one centimeter of our soil to those little buggers who scrabble about for crumbs on their dirty little Islands."

This sends the crowd into screams of frantic euphoria. Cromwell spends the rest of the afternoon walking about and shaking hands and giving out advice. He drops by the chavs and gives them a card for his hiring manager and encourages them to interview for work. He tells them, "It might not be the best job at first, but look sharp, show up on time, take advantage of our company training programmes, and you'll be moving up the ladder in no time."

With this sorted, Cromwell wanders into a radio station where he goes on the air in a live call in show.

[b]"LIVE FROM MANCHESSSSSSTER with our very own Johnathan Cromwell! Call in your questions now my listeners!"[/b]

[Captain Enema]

[b]USI Controlled Territory, Scotland[/b]

Former Colour Sargent Terry Rourke of the Coldstream Guards is violently angry. It's one thing that his nation is being swarmed under by the Germans, but the little rats from the Islands are quite another. He walks out into the street and walks over to a neighbor's house. He looks at his neighbor and nods. Neither of them say anything, they are both wearing long jackets, and they really have no need to say much of anything.

With the formality of the nod resolved they fall into step with each other and they approach the nearest USI controlled checkpoint. With no further nods they remove their shotguns from under their jackets and open fire on the USI Soldiers with double aught buckshot rounds. Neither of them really expect to survive, but should they manage to escape in the confusion there are a few little tricks for potential USI pursuit.

Across the way is a sniper. He's an elderly gent, he's armed with a .303 rifle, and he's quite an excellent shot. On Terry's side of the street there is a rather innocent looking bicycle with a basket on the rear tire that is chained to a light post. Inside the basket is a low explosives device formed to drive a thick copper plate in a specific direction. It's the basic recipe needed for a shaped charge to take out a lightly armored vehicle or foot patrol. Farther down the street inside a bread shop are two more men with pistols waiting to get the drop on USI soldiers as they run past.