[b]Topkapı Palace, Constantinople[/b]
Topkapi Palace had served as the seat of power in the Ottoman Empire for centuries. It's halls had seen murder, conspiracy, love, hatred and arguments since the days of Suleimann but as of the 1940's, had been reformed to fit the Ottoman's new constitution. It stood proudly on the banks of the Bosphorus, overlooking the great city that had once been declared the Second Rome. Since the Tanazamat reforms 60 years previous, had lost much of its 
political relevance. In the early days of Osman's rule, it'd been the place of many meetings but as Osman had grown older and lost interest in politics, served more as tourist attraction and symbol of the old Sublime Porte.

"He's praying, Selim. I cannot disturb Him" repeated Muhammad, the smirk still mocking the Grand Vizier. "This is important, Muhammad" snarled Selim, lifting his walking stick threateningly. Muhammad looked unperturbed at the crippled veteran standing opposite and sighed. "This isn't the army, Selim. You can't get what you want by demanding it. This is the Grand Sultan, the Caliph of our Religion, Allah's representative on Earth! His word is second only to the Prophet Muhammad, Allah be with him" replied Muhammad in a hushed tone, as if afraid Osman himself was listening. "And he said, no more little disturbances while he prays! Why, I remember the last time you came barging into here, screaming about this and that, it was all very, very queer!"

Selim Pasha hated Muhammad. Why the Sultan had chosen a young, handsome Arab as the head of his own Janissary Guard was honestly beyond him but Selim guessed it was probably at the suggestion of the army. Those thick, blowjob lips probably had something to do with it as well.

"Yes, yes" snapped the Grand Vizier, his walking stick once again by his side. "If you'd like to wait an hour, the Grand Sultan will be with you" said Muhammad, his sickly sweet smile on intensified by the twirled ends of his moustache. The Janissary Muhammad gave him a wink and minced away behind the door, slamming it after him. Selim grumbled something about a bundle of sticks as he turned to look at the waiting room. Two French style windows flanked an ancient painting of Suleiman the Magnificent and several cracked, leather armchairs occupied each corner. The carpet was dusty and the tacky wallpaper showed traces of mold.

Osman IV had once held meetings with the military in this very room 20 years previous but it had fallen into disuse during the the Greek Invasion of Cyprus, when the military and cabinet had met independent of the Sultan. Selim Pasha lowered himself into a chair slowly, groaning at a shooting pain going up his leg. It was getting worse. Old age, said the doctor. Selim himself was on the wrong side of 70 and had been born in a dying Ottoman Empire but his own pride prevented him from retiring. He intended to stay in power as long as he could and leave a stable, politically independent Ottoman Empire in his wake. His premiership had lasted since the early 40's and he intended to keep it that way, army or no army.

Selim's hand gently brushed his leg, where that old war wound was. It brought back a flood of memories.

[b]Kara Station, Ottoman Sanjak of Syria
1917[/b]

The desert realm was silent now. Only the occasional burst of far-off gunfire cut through the dark wastes, each one sending a dark shiver down Selim's spine. He was handsome, then. The stresses of politics and age had not yet scoured his face and body but the desert sands and lack of sleep had taken their toll. Even bent within the remains of the train station, shakily reloading his rifle, one could easily see him on the front of a French fashion magazine. The sound of hooves and the trail of dust had slowly faded into the distance only minutes before but Selim still felt weary.

"[i]Nefer[/i] Selim" hissed Dervish from somewhere outside the station. "Are you still alive?" "Y-yes, sir" mumbled Selim, not daring to peek out over the shattered wall. Dervish didn't reply but instead hopped over the wall to join his inferior. "Anyone else?" "I-I don't kn-know, sir" replied Selim, tears springing to his dark eyes. Dervish, a man with a hard face and a powerful beard, ignored the cowering [i]Nefer[/i] and glanced over the wall.

The train station was the only source of Ottoman civilisation for miles around but days of raids and attacks from Arab cavalry had left it in ruins, a skeletal brick building that was slowly losing to the shifting sands. The tracks had been left deliberately untouched, to the relief of the Ottoman High Command. 

"Those fucking towel-heads will be coming back soon, [i]Nefer[/i]" said Dervish, that familiar glint of madness flashing in his eyes. "We'll give them hell, boy. There's a train coming in a few hours with supplies. We're going to take down as many of these fuckers as we can before it gets here". Selim nodded quickly, sniffing. "Cry for our brothers later" growled Dervish, glancing at the dead bodies, littered all over from the last raid. Friends, leaders, fathers had all died in the last raid. They had used dynamite and superior numbers to overwhelm the small Ottoman unit but the Red Star and Crescent still flapped proudly above the flaming ruins of Kara Station.

"Come on, Selim. I saw Enver fall at the machine gun but it's still up there. I have a plan" grinned Dervish, motioning his remaining soldier to follow him. The men crawled on their bellies to the doorway, avoiding rubble from the walls and the remains of their comrades. They stayed low, making their way to the tall, machine gun nest on the outskirts of the station. Selim's heart pumped hard in his chest as his hand brushed against the uniform of Enver, who had been shot from his nest and fallen 10 feet to the floor. He froze, tears springing to his eyes again. "Sir, I-I don't think I can..." he mumbled, a sob cracking his voice. Dervish already had a foot on the bottom rung of the ladder.

"Nonsense, [i]Nefer[/i]. We will be heroes" said Dervish, a reassuring smile and an outstretched hand pulling Selim to his feet. "You understand? I don't want tears or fear or any of that. I want you to be the good soldier you've always been". He bear hugged Selim and held the young man's face in his hands. "Reinforcements in a few hours. I promise" he said, kissing the young man on the forehead. Selim nodded and wiped his running nose on his  sleeve. "Up the ladder, there's a good boy. I'm right behind you" said Dervish, clapping the future Grand Vizier on the shoulder.

Selim shakily climbed up the ladder and scrambled into the tiny nest. Dervish came after him and they both crouched behind the shaky wooden structure. A machine gun, still hot to touch, lay motionless on its stand. Dervish examined it carefully, muttering to himself for some moments as his [i]Nefer[/i] hugged his knees. "Okay, Selim. You keep a look out, I'm going to find more ammo for this gun in the stores in the cellar. You see anyone, let me know" whispered Dervish. As he shuffled past, he stopped momentarily. "This is one train that won't be late, you'll see, Selim. It'll be over before you know it" he smiled and Selim returned the favour.

Selim squinted through his binoculars, scanning the horizon for the daily dust cloud he had come to hate. This was the first time the Arabs had broken through the fence and they had wreaked havoc. No doubt they were returning to their camps to gather up another force to fully take control of the station. 

Dervish picked through the bodies of his fallen comrades, collecting ammo, guns and whatever else. He paused over the body of a Turk who had lost his legs to dynamite and a fallen horse. His screams had pierced the air of the battlefield for hours until he had fallen abruptly silent at the hands of his own gun. "Allah loves a warrior" he murmured, closing the mans eyelids.

When he returned to the bottom of the ladder, Selim was peering over the edge, staring down at him. "Selim, keep look out" he hissed, shifting the collection of guns slung around his shoulder. "Don't you need help, sir?" replied Selim meekly. "No! Now check the horizon!" he retorted in hushed tones. Selim nodded and scrambled to the other side of the nest, squinting through a pair of binoculars.

In the dawn sun, at the end of the valley, he could just see the very thing he didn't want to. A large dust cloud, kicked up by the biggest force of horses he'd ever seen. 

Arabs.

[b]Topkapi Palace, Constantinople[/b]
"Selim Pasha?" asked a voice, gently shaking the Great Vizier awake. Selim awoke quickly, his bloodshot eyes madly scanning the room. His heart pumped in his chest. He was still in the Sultan's Quarters. "Selim Pasha?" repeated the man, standing up. It was Sultan Osman, casually dressed in dark robes. His impressive beard had become even greyer since Selim had seen him last. A white turban was wrapped around the Sultans head.

"My Sultan! My greatest apologies, I must of drifted off!" apologised Selim, jumping to his feet to bow. A pain shot down his leg and he audibly gasped, reaching madly for his walking stick. The Sultan gently took his Grand Vizier by the shoulder and lowered him back to his seat. "It happens to the best of us, friend" he smiled sadly. "Please, go easy on that leg. I want my Vizier in one piece".

Selim, his face red with embarassment, bowed his head in shame. His beating heart was slowing now but the pain in his leg was yet to subside. "You seemed disturbed while you slept, friend. What were you dreaming of?" asked the Sultan. "A better time, my Sultan" replied Selim, only now daring to look the Ottoman Emperor in the face. Two Janissaries flanked the Sultan, who sat on an Ottoman stool opposite the armchair that Selim had slept on. They each looked bemused but neither was Muhammad, who would of no doubt made a quip by now and stayed silent. "It's the crack of dawn, Selim. Why are you here?" asked the Sultan kindly, placing a hand on his friends.

"Kurdistan, my Sultan. It's exactly as we feared" replied Selim. "There was an explosion this afternoon. The city of Karakilise is under martial law". The Sultan sighed and scratched his beard. "When did you hear about this?" he asked finally. "Two hours ago, my Sultan. I rushed here to inform you as soon as I heard. The military are staying silent on the matter apart from that".

"Shall we move ahead on your proposal, my Sultan?" asked Selim, slowly massaging his leg at the epicentre of pain. The Sultan never answered.

[b]Some days later[/b]

[i]To: Tsar Alexandre V of the [b]Russian Empire[/b], Kaiser Wilhelm IV of the [b]German Empire[/b], Kaiser Franz Joseph Otto II of the [b]Danubian Confederation,[/b] Hetman Anastasiya Artemivna Solovski of the [b]Kingdom of Ukraine[/b],

In light of recent events in the Ottoman Empire, I write this letter with a heavy heart. The end of the Great War was a turbulent time for many European nations and I'm sure no one would like to return to the fruitless bloodshed and anger of these times. But I fear if we do not take a united stand against evil ideologies present in our nations and neighbours, the turbulence of these times will once again begin to rock our great continent. The fingers of nationalism and communism have found their way into all of our nations and at the sixth decade of this century, I believe it is finally time to take a united stand. I am proposing to you, great, holy leaders of Europe, a co-operation of our states against the growth of these ideologies that wish to topple our states. 

Communism grows on the fringes of Europe and will spread from nation to nation until all of the world follows the word of the Red Dragon, which stirs in the Far East. Already, great nations such as France and Greece have been swayed by the words of Karl Marx and its citizens placed under oppressive, atheistic regimes. Communist insurgencies are present in both Russia and Ukraine and I am open to pledging the Ottoman Empire behind the legitimate monarchies in the fight against communism. Likewise, the question of nationalism lays unanswered in many of our nations. It is my own solemn belief that all nations of Europe should be united under strong leaders and empires and I believe all of you join me in this line of thinking. 

The slide of Europe towards chaos can be prevented before it becomes an unstoppable free fall. But only in our own co-operation. I look forward to a safe, holy and just Europe under our careful guidance.

Signed:

[b]Sultan Osman IV Han, Sovereign of The Sublime House of Osman, Sultan of Sultans, Khakhan, Commander of the faithful and Successor of the Prophet of the lord of the Universe, Padishah of The Three Cities of Istanbul, Edirne and Bursa, of Anatolia, of Rumelia, of Kurdistan and all territories of the Ottoman Empire[/b][/i]