The Paradoxian War ~ A Spaniard's tale



"Some say it is to be the great war to end all wars." ~ Francis Bluehawk

Prologue It was a time of nationalism, political strife, glory, and royal family anguish. The Paradoxian War is what has been thought by many to have been Pearson's "Final solution". In 1739, Czar Benjamin Macmorgan passed on the throne of Russia to Andrew Mallace and traveled to France to seek out work for the French royal family. In doing this, Macmorgan broke his promise to Pearson Wright to return Russia to the Spanish. Decades prior, Benjamin Macmorgan had staged a successful rebellion in Russia, and had overthrown the Spanish instilled government there. Pearson agreed to cede Russia to Macmorgan under one condition; Macmorgan would return Russia to Pearson after he became deceased. Macmorgan knew his days were numbered, and so he passed on the throne to an old friend to ensure that his line maintained control. Furious, Pearson gave Macmorgan an ultimatum: Return Russia to Spain, and stand on trial for political fraud or be destroyed along with his subordinates. Macmorgan trashed his demands, and as a result, Pearson openly declared war on Russia in February of 1739. In response, Great Britain, the Netherlands, France, and Sweden all declared war on Spain, thus beginning the grusome and unforgiving "Paradoxian War".

Chapter I ~ A change of plans
The war had begun. Pearson's massive amassed invasion force of 2.3 million had departed from Madrid, and was on the move towards Moscovy. Unfortunately, only a week underway, Great Britain, France, The Netherlands, Sweden, Tuscany, and the Barbary Republic all declared war on Spain in Russia's defense. Forced to readjust his strategy, Pearson met with the Spanish high command in a meeting at a secret location just outside the town of Toulouse, France.

Overlord Augustine Clemente adressed the high command, "Let me be blunt." He paused as he threw a map of the European mainland on the high council's table. "We've got enemies on all fronts, Brits and Frenchies to the North, radical barbarians to the South, and God knows what else to the East." He paused again. "It's clear to my eyes at this point that an invasion of Russia is out of the question. We've bitten off far more than we can chew. We need to prepare for the defense of the Spanish mainland at once!"

Admiral Spadus Ignacio cleared his throat and smirked. "Overlord, with all due respect, I think you are greatly underestimating the power of the King's armada." The council chuckled in unison. While this was happening, King Phillipe V Clemente sat silently next to Prime Minister, Carlos La Verde Sanita, showing him a map of the French mainland, and pointing out strategic positions throughout the countryside. "Your majesty! What are your thoughts on this?" Augustine interrupted. Carlos La Verde Sanita stood, throwing his own map on the council's table, "The king has made his decision. We march on France at dawn. This meeting is adjourned. Dismissed." Carlos tipped his hat, and exited the tent in a speedy manner as two ranger knights followed closely behind him.

Meanwhile, Clemente sat silent in his chair with a Bible in one hand, and a flask in the other. Augustine approached him, "Highness! What of the mainland? What are your plans for the defense of the mainland!?" Clemente looked over his book in hand at Augustine, "You will take a third of our forces and return to Madrid. Demand the immediate surrender of both Portugal and those fools to the South, what are they called... err, Barbare..?" Augustine interrupted, "Barbary?" "Yes, the lot of them!" Clemente responded. "Yes Excellency." Augustine bowed halfway, and began to exit the tent, before Clemente stopped him, "And general! One last thing." "Yes, excellency?" Clemente pointed towards a shelf at the corner of the tent, "A gift for you there", Clemente smirked. Augustine approached the shelf, and picked up a sword hidden in a dark cloth bag with royal embelished golden threads on the ends. Opening it, Augustine's eyes widened as he pulled the sword out of its case, reading the engraving on the side: "The final solution of Kings".

Clemente smirked again. "You like it, I assume." Augustine turned, gulping, "Ye.. yes excellency." Clemente stood, walking around the table, halfway reading his Bible. "A remarkable tool indeed... fit for only the most distinguished commanders." Clemente walked up towards Augustine, grasping his hand, "This sword belonged to my father, and his father before him. With it, no army has ever been defeated." Augustine interrupted, "Then how did you.." "How did I defeat my father then, you must wonder. Well, let's just say I made certain that the last thing he saw on God's green earth was the thrust of his own sword being gashed through his chest." Clemente smirked, patting Augustine on the back.

"Upon the morrow, you will take the Southern Flank, and venture back for the capital. I know you will not fail me." Clemente reiterated, "I know, you will not fail me", looking Augustine straight in the eyes.

Chapter II ~ Toulouse
The following morning, Clemente's army mobilized and split three separate ways, The Northern Flank, under King Phillipe V Clemente himself, consisting of roughly 1,000,000; the Southern Flank, under Overlord Augustine Clemente, consisting of 900,000, and the Eastern flank consisting of 400,000 under Prince Ben Squidskull. The first shots of The Paradoxian War were about to be fired, just outside the French town of Toulouse, just North of the Spanish border.

Meanwhile, in Toulouse, Lord Samuel Redbeard, a member of the British high command, prepared for the defense of the city with a combined British and French army of 200,000, outnumbered five to one.

As Clemente's army was rapidly advancing on the city, Redbeard and his subordinate commanders scraped together every usable battle tool they could find in a desperate attempt to forestall Clemente's advance northwards. In a tent much like the one Clemente's high command had just gathered in, Redbeard met with his subordinates and the French high command in a wooded area about a mile outside Toulouse.

"Gentlemen..." Redbeard sighed, "The nightmare to the South that we thought we'd stored away for good is back on his feet, with a million men at his back, and only two days away." The council gasped, and looked around in disbelief and horror. "Gentlemen!", Redbeard exclaimed. "We have a chance to hold out here. We don't have to defeat the Spanish. We only have to prevent the Spanish from defeating us." A French garrison commander interrupted, "Are you mad!? If that crazed king of theirs gets through the outer walls, we'll all be lynched, and dragged through the streets behind a mule! The last time Clemente set foot in France, it ended in disaster! How can we possib.." Then, suddenly, BOOM! Redbeard drew his pistol and shot the Frenchie right through the head. "Now... gentlemen", Redbeard reiterated." "We have a chance. Will Toulouse fall to Clemente? Yes. Will this army be consumed? Yes. However! By the stars, I will make sure we leave a lasting impression so grusome that once this city is conquered, those Spanish devils won't dare move another inch northwards! You have my word, gentlemen!"

The council looked at Redbeard with blank faces in utter silence, and systematically everyone slowly cleared the room in despair, returning to their respective regiments, and quarters.

In London, a daily news article was rushed through Beckingham palace to King John Breasly's private quarters. "Your majesty!, your majesty!" a royal servant rushed into the King's bathing room. "WHAT!?!?!?!" Breasly yelled as he rolled over in his bathing tub. "Clemente!" the servant exclaimed as he gasped for air. Upon hearing that name, Breasly's face turned grotesquely pale, as his eyes widened and rolled back in his head. "Clemente has invaded France! He is advancing northwards with haste!". Breasly dropped his book in his tub and fainted then and there, right on the spot.

Andrew Mallace, Lord treasurer of Britain burst into the room, followed by a squadron of royal guards. He stopped abruptly in front of the King's tub, "My King!" Mallace exclaimed. Breasly suddenly awoke from his faintless daze, "WHAT!?!?!?". "King, sir; Lord Redbeard has requested reinforcements." "Can that bafoon not fend off that wicked old man on his own!?!?" Breasly responded in frustration as he tumbled out of his tub. "Sir..." Mallace replied, "He... he requests our entire Southern flank be dispatched to Toulouse immediately!" Breasly nearly choked on a bonbon he was eating, before shouting "WHAT!?!?!?!?" "SIR!" Mallace responded loudly, "Clemente advanced with an army of one million strong! We must send reinforcements" "To Hell with Clemente and those bastard seedlings he dares to call "soldiers"!" Breasly stated.

~ To be continued  ~