The White Helms

[Thaumantica]

Nuovo Porto, 8th Quartiere, Casino Monte-Carlo

Fleming squinted at this M and made a short bow at this lord who was cheating lairds of their pocket.

"Aye, this Nori has my notes, my smartblock, and don't you already know everything about me?" Ian asked, "I am here because this White Helmet folly will bleed deserters, disillusioned, and broken boys who cannot cohesively return on home."

"Your young friend?" Ian begged about Vespucci, "she told us her mother absconded, not in those words mind ye, but if you were to give me back my smartblock I would simply be reporting back an entry to see if it matches with an open case."

That the child of an absconding dead one could go on to make problems for the country they escaped to never registered for Nàbaidhean. The original absconder was the target, the most dangerous and rooted issue, and it seemed that their children born elsewhere more or less disabled them from returning in a dangerous way.

"I pray that Shannon's traitor mother is dead, buried, and that Miss Vespucci forgets where her mother came from." Fleming continued.

Itching at his collar for a time, Lieutenant Fleming removed the Padraig's cross pin and palmed it. "Like an Engell you think that if I wear your pressed trousers and jacks I'll start thinking or acting like one of ye." Fleming said.

"But why should I care about Shannon Vespucci?" Ian asked, "She is a perfect stranger to me, a child of the dead, and she will never step foot back in her mother's home without dread."

Fleming scoffed and squeezed the needle of his pin to his palm just hard enough to not pierce for blood.

"Unless that's what you do want to happen then, that the Nàbaidhean treat this stranger like an absconder?" Fleming asked.

 

[Thaumantica]

At banquet's end a white helm of a soldier who had absconded was filled with trinkets and Nievish pounds sterling for Giulia.

"Vespucci, tell her this and make her know: should we return to this hall in years to come and see her so we will spite her. She must take our coin for schooling and learn to be chef here or become better. We will not tip her again evem for Wee Ian's sake, mark us as so." First Sergeant McAtur said, handing the coin filled helm to the girl with the same grimace he had given the beret an hour earlier.

With the girl walking off Captain Hely took the center of the Nievish quarter of the room and let off a wince before slamming his foot off for attention but not offering a salute. "I need a few sober Nieves outside, who's up to the task?" Hely asked.

Officers, commissioned officers, and some middling soldiers joined him outside while the regulars continued to wine and dine. Hely crossed his arms outside and shook his head, "some of you that just followed me out have friends or family who just died while we were having a good time in there, and I don't want to ruin it for one or all."

None had smartblocks among them, nor could they understand the Radilan news floating about around them, so they were fully Hely's captive. Hely was vexed, unhappy, and reticent to the bearer of the news happening back in Nieveland.

"There was a fire at St. Brigg's back home," Hely began, "over a hundred are dead and more are hurt. You terriers are from Caitekurke, and I know you're going to know a bunch who just got caught up in that."

Saint Brigaid's Cathedral was the seat of Nievish Catholicism and for the 1/11th Terriers, based out of Caitekurke where St. Brigg's towered over, it was a brag that some brother, aunt, or cousin had a place where those same had just burned.

"So do any of you want to get smart?" Hely asked with truthfulness.

"Get smart, sir?" McAtur asked.

"We are here, and we need to move on with our orders as White Helmets long past this hiccup in a Radilan haunt. This is a duty, this is a papal duty and a call, an order from the Almskeeper. But when this revelation gets out our boys are going to want to get smart and chase the conflict back home where they can wring a neck tomorrow. What will you say?" Hely asked.

"Ours was an inferno that has already been felt across Europe," Sergeant Maguire responded, "we are led by this Holy Church to fight its core."

Many aye'd or nodded, but Hely pushed in and asked: "is that so?"

"It will have to be, sir" Maguire responded, "should we not be purposed to tear at the necks of protestant Europe I fear I will look for these Radilan necks, the Pope's neck, and we will not be quenched until we do justice for Brigg's."

Hely uneasily agreed, returning inside to talk to the Radilan hosts who he would beg for honored leave to hotel and barracks for the men who would be erupting with rage as the news of the cathedral inferno spread.

 

[Thaumantica]

SMARTBLOCK TXT MESSAGE INTERPLAY

*BZZ* *BZZ*

Garda Command: "Attn. CPT Hely: do report on the disposition of LT. Fleming. If this chaplain has failed the Nievish Spiritual Vision he must be replaced immediately!"

Captain Hely: "That chaplain you sent me without a collar? Yeah, he's getting familiar with the local culture."

Garda Command: "Garda has control of the mission now. Do send the Neighbor back before he becomes too familiar."

Captain Hely: "Noted. Fleming was assigned to report with the terriers to the Pope, and I'll see that through with him. I have orders from the Alms, as does Fleming. Won't I make all of these boys enemies of the Nàbaidhean by scuttling Fleming?"

Garda Command: "We are at war with the Nàbaidhean."

Captain Hely: "Sure as that is, that's not how lieutenant Fleming and I left Nieveland as. He knows a passage or two and I intend to give him a chance to do his job instead of neighboring."


Garda Command: "This is your almsordered prerogative, and we have your replacement as well as an appropriate chaplain at hand should you err."

 

[Radilo]

Nuovo Porto, 8th Quartiere, Casino Monte-Carlo

M smiled. "A fanatic. But a practical one. Good to know. Nori."

The Nethian-Radilan woman slid a small manilla dossier across the table.

"Allow us to save you some trouble, my friend," M resumed, "you will find that the information lines up with your own records."

The Lieutenant opened it and saw a picture of someone who could have a younger Ensign Vespucci, but she did look different.... "Fiona St. James" it read at the top. Vespucci's mother, he realized.

"Fiona St. James Vespucci was born on or about," M chuckled, "on or about... I do love how poor your record keeping actually is for a police state. On or about January 9th 1982, and was raised in the St. James orphanage in... some Gaelic named city... you can read it. She absoconded via a mercy ship or a mermaid ship when she was 13--I take it one of those abortion ships, but she was just fleeing, not seeking an abortion. She was sent to Great Engelland where she sought and was granted asylum protection. It did not say why she was fleeing, but it was sufficent to make the claim at least to the Engellex authorities. The European Refugee Resettlement Commission and the Catholic Refugee Agency resettled her in Nouvo Porto in 1995. She has worked a variaty of positions in the restraunt industry since she arrived. She became a naturalized Radilan citizen in 1996. In 1998 she married Marco Vespucci, a mooring man by trade. In 1999 she gave birth to a daughter, Shannon, who graduated from Ca' Foscari University with honors and the Radilan Naval Acadamy... smart girl. She had a second child who is presently attending university. I imagine she is a very proud woman. She and Marco are still married and live in Nouvo Porto."

There was a pause. A waiter approached the table. "100 grams of the finest Osetra for the table," Nori said with a smirk.

"Oh, and three orders of Jewel of @Tarusa , chilled."

"Right away."

"We're giving you this information so you can leave Nievish-Radilans alone. I fear any pressing will be used against them or their familes back home. The information will match... so you can leave here without any ongoing concers. Ensign Vespucci will not prove a problem for you or anyone else."

He paused for a moment and took his sunglasses off.

"And I want to assure you that any harm done to a Radilan citizen or national will result in vicious retaliation. And you will be the first one to die."

A plate of ice that had been doused with liquid nitrogen was brought to the table, misting away. Resting on it was an open can of caviar. It was placed on the table along with a plate of blinis and accoutrements. Three shotglasses filled with vodka were brought out on a block of ice.

M took one of the mother of pearl spoons and spread some of the fish eggs onto one of the blinis. "Mmm... tastes endangered," he smirked. "Na zdorovye," he said raising a shotglass, "pust' tvoy krestovyy pokhod uvenchayetsya uspekhom."

He quickly downed the drink. As he went to wave for another, one of his aides came up and whispered into his ear. His expression turned grim. "Nori, give the man his phone and papers back. He has to call his station chief."

 

[Thaumantica]

Nuovo Porto, 8th Quartiere, Casino Monte-Carlo

Fleming smirked at the remark about poor record keeping in the Nievish police state. Now, but especially back then in the 1980s, most records were purely handwritten on paper and all documents could be easily lost, forged, or altered through bribery from the office of an Alderman. The more reliable documentary sources for age were church records, from the Tiburan Catholic institutions, that marked events of baptism, confession, and confirmation to a name in a certain place. While the digital age of Nieveland was approaching, Ian Fleming figured as did most the same unreliability from forgery would persist.

Receiving the folder and documents pertaining to one Fiona St. James the Nievish Neighbor shook his head perplexed. "There is more to this, there always is, the Mermaids would not spirit away some lass who simply wanted to get away!" Fleming declared.

"She must have evidenced abuse or bribed her way," Ian said, "the mermaids, wicked sluts and pimps that they are, do not just risk it all for a runaway."

If these documents were true, and the information presented by his Radilan counterpart about Shannon being a half-Nieve, then the most likely vector of this Fiona St. James was that she was a victim of some abuse and that was how she was brought out. Nothing about this story on paper or in Fleming's imagination suggested that Fiona was a political problem; he imagined that if he reported the name back home it would take a week to learn she was declared missing/dead and that no one was actively looking.

Ian closed and pushed the folder back towards his hosts and shrugged, "Dead or missing, I was not told to look for this one."

"Shannon is a problem, however, and I do not take your word that she will not be." Fleming continued, "I was not looking for her either, but I see in her a political problem that could come home to roost."

Fleming accepted his hosts drink and food with thanks, still stewing on the Shannon Vespucci problem. The leadership of the Neighbors at home would not care to pursue or follow the child of what appeared to be a harmless absconder, but in her Ian saw an icon of a quintessential Nieve succeeding away from home.

With his smartblock returned Ian stood and asked for forgiveness to check in. The three saved numbers he tried led to a canned "this number has been duly terminated for public safety, please consult local authorities to reconnect."

Ian was truly flustered then, looking back at his hosts who were staring and smiling back at him. He could try a number for a Neighbor cell but decided against it. Dialing that number would expose it to them and perhaps a dozen other enemies. Alone in this foreign wilderness Fleming thought about his times in scouting before any Nieve had any of this technology: how they carried maps and journals, recording what they would tell people later about their time in the parks after a summer away from home.

"Keep the block then," Ian said, pushing the outdated piece of tech back a table toward his hosts, "I will write my lists and observations about the Terriers and the Nieves we encounter in journal."

"Do come check in and read while I am here, or molest me at an airport like ye did this time, fine" Ian said, "cannuh' imagine what damage this Shannon Vespucci is doing to the Terriers right now!"

 

[Radilo]

Nouvo Porto, 14th Quartiere, Magistrati
10:00 PM

Marco walked in therough the door and was greeted by an officer with La Civica. He was dressed in work pants and still wearing a reflective vest. He hadn't taken had time to wash up.

"Thanks, Marco, it's a big help, poor guy's nervous a wreck."

"Yea, everybody needs help at some point," he said as he was led inside.

"Guy says he's from Nieveland, and he said something about asylum."

At one of the Magistrate's desks sat a pretty tired looking man. The young Magistrate stood up to greet Marco.

"Thank you for comming on such short notice."

"Not a problem, part of making this whole country to work, besides I'd just got off when you called. This him?"

"Yea."

*language change*

"So... they-a tell me that you're-a-fro' Nieveland," he said gesturing broadly with his hands.

The man nodded.

"What-a-whadda ye need-a-'elp wit'?"

"I've committed treason--I've died. I'll die a mortal death if'n I go back'ta Nieveland."

"So whadda ye askin'fer is asylum? Si...Aye?"

"Aye."

Marco turned to the magistrate, "Magistrato, vuole chiedere asilo."

"Chiamerò un magistrato per l'immigrazione."

He turned back to the Asylum seeker. "He's-a gonna get a special judge t'elp ye."

"Thank ye a thousand times sir."

"I'm-a glad t'elp, ye m'lad."

The man took a moment to look over the man who had helped him.

"D'ya think they'll lemme stay?"

"I-a cannot say for sure young lad, but in my life-a, I've never seen'm turn anyone away." Marco smiled at him, "I-a seen ye suprise. I'm-a not a servant-a-th'court, I'm-a mooring man by trade. I'm-a volunteer. I-a 'elp translate."

The man smiled back at him. "Marco, ye not Nievish, how'd ye botha to learn'it?"

"Me-a wife is, she-a taught me."

A realization slowly dawned on the disserting soilder...

"Is by any chance ye kin in the Navy?"

"Aye," he said proudly, "she-a just graduated from th'academy."

Seeing the man's expression change, it dawned in him as well.

"Merda! Era stasera."

 

[Thaumantica]

Somewhere Safe in Continental Europe, Command Tent of the 1/11th Terrier 'White Helms'

"Even dumpster fires have to die out eventually, don't they McAtur?" Captain Hey asked from across a table busy with trinkets and souvenir trash from around Central Europe.

"Aye, I'll be finding me way home the same as any who's chasing a pension." the beleaguered NCO replied. He like many of the Nieves had never taken to the continent and had been counting down to this week since the moment their plane left Nievish earth. The majority were not chasing pensions at all, simply counting down a coinciding end of obligatory conscription.

They were the first Nieves to form an expeditionary force in well over a century and besides mixed receptions abroad, ranging from luxury to confused distancing, their friends and family back home feared how they might forever be tainted for going astray. Having never met the pope the Terriers became a source of ill humor and rumor back in Nieveland with tales of debauchery in Radilo and Central Europe. Banquets and buffets, prostitutes made cohort from dusk til dawn, and a unit that gave into camaraderie and fraternization with Eastern Orthodox and protestant troops from Central Europe.

As a unit and namesake the Terriers needed to return home to Caitekurke for a new generation of training and conscripts. McAtur intended to maintain his role and return with the 1/11th, after all, no other unit or central body would take him after this. Others could and would remain to train the next generation in a purely homeside environment and mission. Hely had been informed some months ago that he would be relieved of this command upon return and that no general staff would permit his presence at Garda HQ. Everything about the Terriers was tainted, poisoned, and ruined in the minds of an insular military institution concerned with policing street corners and conducting quarterly parades above international dalliances.

"I do have another offer," Hely confessed with a wince. McAtur sighed and made a cross over his chest, whispering "save me" before nodding along and asking "what's that then?"

"Pherson still believes a White Helm presence from Nieveland matters, she . . " Hely began before First Sergeant McAtur could cut him off with a clunk of his white helmet down on the table, "She's nutters, another Pherson Folly! How many did we shoot down in the bogs for that fool and what of us now, chasing spirits in the center. Save yourself Hely, save your family name, save your bloody soul from that fool!"

Captain Hely found it difficult to argue, but still shook his head in protest, "Pherson has permitted my family license to reside abroad to receive and train new waves of White Helms independent of a Garda legacy unit."

"Are we bugged? Tell me true!" McAtur demanded.

"No bugs, no serpents, just two terriers saying goodbye." Hely replied. His family had already been alienated and ostracized island-side for his command overseas. Bringing them here, anywhere but Nieveland, would be respite from attacks or isolation from fellow Niomonnach.

"I shall not stay, sir" McAtur bellowed with boldness, "and I shall not ask any terrier to stay with ye over here."

"Kenned it and would never ask. I would ask this: do pray for me and mine and save my name so long as you know it's true?" Hely asked, offering a hand for one final shake. To save his name meant honoring it even after the state pronounced him spiritually dead, when all would publicly condemn him as lost that McAtur would pray for and hold on to his name as alive in grace and kinship.

McAtur agreed, holding the promise and handshake tightly, and soon this and all of their tents began sinking into bags as the bulk of the terriers took their leave home. White helmets, rifles, and equipment designated to the White Helm effort were piled high along with small crosses and rosaries for whoever picked the pieces up after them. Wee Ian was mature now, yapped only when ordered to and no longer prone to eating food from strangers, he was the last to board the plane back to Caitekurke.

 

[Thaumantica]

Questionnaire for the Returning White Helm

All returning White Helms will be asked to complete this battery anonymously and privately. Select the top right question button if you wish to opt out of participating. This is a 1-5 likert scale touch screen where you can agree or disagree with the following statements freely without significant repercussion:

1. I am individualistic
2. I will put my time on the continent behind me
3. The Nievish Spiritual Vision means something
4. Our enemy is within Nieveland
5. I understand the Nievish Spiritual Vision
6. I would re-enlist for another White Helm mission
7. My faith supports me in my daily work
8. The Pope is an important figure in my life
9. Freedom is an important European value
10. I would re-enlist for a domestic mission
11. My future is dark
12. Nievish Catholicism is superior to other faiths
13. Engells must be especially punished
14. My work matters to Nieveland
15. Post-delegationism is a viable ideology for Nieveland
16. I understand my place in the NSV
17. I am a member of a team
18. My command team was supportive of me
19. Foreign influence is dangerous for Nieveland
20. I established meaningful relationships abroad
21. God determines who wins
22. Nievish Catholicism can learn from other faiths
23. Capitalism is not as bad as socialists say
24. I seek solace in tradition
25. I am fulfilling a Holy Mission
26. Interference from outside forces endangers Nieveland
27. Friends are found within the fold
28. Absconders from Nieveland are spiritually dead
29. Nieveland could learn from other cultures from abroad
30. My family supported me throughout my deployment
31. Protestantism has no place in Nieveland
32. I enjoyed my time on the continent
33. Foreign equipment served better than domestic
34. I established meaningful relationships in my unit
35. Nieveland could benefit from foreign influence
36. Rationing is essential for fair distribution
37. My future is uncertain
38. My command team was abusive towards me
39. Post-delegationism is the eternal enemy
40. Protestantism has a place in Nieveland
41. New ideas are more important than tradition
42. I understand my role in society
43. My future is bright
44. The Almskeeper is an important figure in my life
45. I deserve more than my allowed rations
46. Sufficient entertainment was offered on deployment
47. Poison is a serious concern from civilians and strangers
48. Our enemy is outside Nieveland
49. Sufficient religious services were offered on deployment
50. The world needs Nieveland

 

[Thaumantica]

Poblete, Ebria

The 1/11th Terrier Company returned to the European mainland continent once more now over a year later. This time it was comprised of a mish-mash of Thaumanticans ranging from down-Cannie youth draftees to media conscripts such as Lieutenant Fern MacGuire, host of Nieveland's morning Breakfast Companion radio program for two years now.

A few originals, so to speak, from the first terrier White Helm mission remained such as Ian Fleming (the former Neighbor intelligence officer) who now commanded the company while still leading around Wee Ian the Nievish Terrier mascot dog. Wee Ian and Captain Ian, likewise, were made to avoid each other by First Sergeant Maguire who found their energies at odds with Wee Ian growling and Captain Fleming kicking and shouting whenever the two did meet.

"And so once again with your kettle on back in Caitekurke here I am, Fern MacGuire, joining you live and with love under my White Helm steeping with a brow of sweat down-Ebria . . ." the Nievish reporter lied, recording this the evening before from a Clover SmartBlock phone while her counterpart Hennessy typed away at her larger and angier text based fans.

"Last night we was watchin' motionFix, 'A Colonial Witch', and in tha'firs ep of one them Feddie kids says to our Nievish lass: 'better dead than red'. Okay, what did that mean? The writers of tha'toon wanted to say, and perhaps ever so justly, that the world confuses communism with communalism. So, this morning upon reveille alongside the Ebrian soldiers in strike we asked our Thaumantic troopers to explain the difference . . ."

Her first interviewee, the day before, was Private Stewart. A tall lanky black haired boy of 17 years who, like many of this Terrier iteration, did not belong on more serious fronts due to screened physical problems such as his hunched back that denied him super human height. On the issue of communism Stewart remarked that "the founders of that'un were quite heady, counters of beans much like Engwahlians in the time of their enterprisin' rape of we, we Niomonnach, and them the world over."

"I then spoke to an Engwahlian in our unit, a young woman from Gosfirth in Engwahl who like us grew up with a distrust of the banksters of Lexkirk. This is what she did remark . . ."

A different accent, long and bemoaning, echoed in Corporal Enis's voice as she described "Ahhh yessss tha heaaavenly naaature to uuuus heeere in theeeese comuuunes o Eaaass Engwahhh. K? Gahhhd is with uuuus, an'wa K, naaah can we maaan know theeee beterrr than Gahhhd do know. Don't we?"

"Fine." Fern MacGuire replied, moving on then to a Cantignian by the name of Lazarus Webb.

"I grew up in a declared Communist commune down-Cannie, and yes I can discern the differences here. To start: we were mostly non-denominational or atheist - that the collective human spirit was, in a sense, our higher power. Next, and so very sorry if I offend you Fern, we took note and studied how Communalism as a Nievish construct is so kin oriented . . . It is paternalistic, just look at the reign of Almskeepers and Alderfolk in most communes up-Nievie who replace each other as if the Democratic Revival is more and most accurately a revival of inheritance . . a family dominance, a nepotistic democratic machine that while surely eschews the trappings of royalty, still establishes itself . . "

"Fair, I thank ye." Fern interrupted, quite concerned of how that recording would play back home. "Soo're, it is quite clear that few in our camp confuse communism with communalism. But what of the Ebrians? Many of us believe that the strike of soldiers here down-Ebrie has been inspired by communism rather than communalism. We are here, once again, with White Helms handing out the good books: the Holy Bible, and MacKinnon's Communal Ethos. We will stay until either our 3 month declared mission is through, or til' we are asked to leave by the striking group. I wish ye a pleasant morn up-Nievie, and send my love to me parents, me Grand-Liam Pa, and tha'dashin' boy I met on leave before comin' here. Save me a spirit me loved ones, and save me my dear God!" she said before pressing off and sending the recording across the CloverWebs to Caitekurke.

"YIP YAP!" Lieutenant Hennessy mocked, ". . dumb dog bitch, slut for Nieveland!"

Fern stood then, aggravated by two days of these insults and slapped the SmartBlock out of Hennesy's manicured hands. The other Thaumanticans formed a circle but did not intervene, watching to see how these two who spoke to millions would speak to each other. "You're as good as dead to Nieveland, Luanne, and I will see that through."

"I've been granted citizens' down-Cannie, and so what, I do not want to return to your blackouts every night, souplines, and shit of life!" Hennessy barked back.

Fern crossed her arms and smirked so smugly that not even Luanne dare attempt to slap it off. "An'wha about your dear ma'n'da, that grams you post on about? They're not getting no pass down-Cannie, you got one because you're oh so feckin'special! So individual, so alone!"

The two then rushed at each other, claws out, before being pulled away by the watching circle.