Michelson, tissue in nose, sat slumped in a chair in the middle of the field where once was a retreating army of Ontarian troops. 'Where the hell did they all go?' he thought to himself, looking down at the fistful of dogtags he had picked up, rubbing his thumb over the maple leaf of Ontario. Vern turned the dog tag over, Pvt. James Harlington it read, he had not heard the name before but he mourned for Harlington, the man who was there one second and gone the next. 

Vern picked out Jame's dog tag and stuffed it in his pocket, discarding the rest respectfully in a pile to his left. Upon getting up and turning around, he saw that his fellow Brigadier General, Craig Patton, was marching over the field holding gauss to his bloody nose.

"What the f*** just happened you Ann-" 

"Annoying Bastard, I know," interrupted Vern as he buttoned up his black leather trenchcoat, he gave the field one final look before settling his eyes on his friendly rival. Patton was a fairly young man as far as brigadier generals went, him and Vern both; he had messy blonde locks and a tall wiery frame, his eyes set with two Amber eyes. Vern on the other hand was a head shorter then Patton and had a thickly set body, a head of fiery red hair atop his dome. "But as to what just happened, I haven't got a clue."

Patton shifted uncomfortably on his foot and looked around, picking up a helmet and chucking it at Michelson's feet, "Don't tell me you don't have a f***ing clue!" he barked, "You're the smart one, the one I rely on to give me an answer when a bunch of [i]F***ing[/i] soldiers disappear before my eyes!" he was seething now and all Michelson could do was give him a level look with his watery blue eyes. He put some thought into it, of course he did, it wasn't like he was going to disregard the entire event; Vern stooped over and picked up the helmet, inside was a tuft of hair that had caught on a strap, it flickered, coming into and out of existence randomly before fizzling away. 

"I don't have an answer for you Patton but what I do have are a bunch of clues." upon finishing, he heard a yell from the distance and saw a message runner coming at them, waving a yellow telegram card at Michelson. The boy approached and handed over the message before giving a salute and running back to the trench. Vern turned the card around in his hands, a habit he had developed long ago after forgetting to check a lottery card and missing out on a £1000; he furrowed his brows, the reply he got from the republic was not what he had expected, as close allies he would usually get a straight answer but for some reason it seemed that they didn't trust Newfoundland anymore. This was above and beyond what Michelson was allowed to handle, so he simply forwarded the Ontarian reply to St. John's.

Priminister Lawrence J. Young stood in a dark room, lit by only a few lamps hanging over a conference table, around him were his trusted advisors, young, quick individuals that he much prefered over stuffy old politions. He was analyzing the reports he was getting from the field and was quite perplexed, 'an entire Ontarian Division and an Entire Franco-Montrealan armor division simply vanishing?' he thought to himself and these were briefs sent to him by Michelson and Patton, two people he trusted to not mess with him like this. He slipped his fingers through his grey hair and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"I'm getting too old for this." he grumbled, envoking a mirthless chuckle from the man by his side. Suddenly a message boy burst through the door panting, it seemed as if he hadn't had a break all day.

"Here. Sir," he panted, "From The Ditch." Young took the telegram from the exhausted runner and scanned through it.

"take a note." he told the runner.

[@mrambo90] [pre]From: Priminister Lawrence J. Young, St. Johns, The Soverign Dominion of Newfoundland
To: Priminister William Lyon Mackenzie King

I'm not sure who you are Mr. King, or what you've done with President Sirus Connolly but if it is negotiation that you seek then I propose that you come to St. Johns at your nearest convenience, as it seems that both of us have no idea as to what has transpired to get us into this situation. [/pre]