--------------------------------------------------- [b][u]June 12th: Mek'ele, Tigray Province[/u][/b] --------------------------------------------------- [i]Ras[/i] Wolde Petros Mikael sat in the back of a staff car as it climbed the switch-backs up Mount Choma'a on the east side of Tigray's provincial capital. They passed men making the same painful route on foot, and on the back of mules. Mount Choma'a was a plateau, its elevation mostly in the steep rise facing the city. On top was a festival ground used on religious holidays. Behind that was Choma'a Airforce Base. Wolde Petros remained stiff and silent, draped in the robes and shamma of an Ethiopian nobleman. The car struggled up the hill. It was an Austrian model, a 1945 [i]Straßenmeister[/i]. It was made for city driving, not climbing up mountains, and the engine howled with all its strength until it reached the top. Choma'a airforce base appeared from far away like a collection of large hangers and warehouses cut out of the shallow rise to the pinnacle of the mountain. A swinging gate blocked the way in, watched by a guardhouse. The driver flashed their credentials and they were let in. From here Ras Wolde Petros saw his first airplane of the day; a British made Sopwith Goat, a bulky fighter with a pinched nose that looked like the radiator on an old car. It was painted in the fashion of the Ethiopian airforce, which is to say it was painted artfully, with the colors of a jungle at sun set covering most of the plane, and a pouncing leopard filling both sides of the fuselage, though the paint on this plane had faded and was beginning to peal. He was greeted in front of a closed Hangar by [i]Meridazmach[/i] Zekiros Argaw. The [i]Meridazmach[/i] was Defense Minister and marshal of Ethiopia's standing military. He was a middle aged man who'd been a teenage volunteer during the waning days of the Great War. Now he represented the new order; a non-noble, career soldier, paid in wages rather then land. "[i]Ras[/i] Wolde Petros" Zekiros shook his hand. He wore a military dress uniform. "We're only waiting on Ras Giyorgis now." "He's late." "We'll give him a moment." "How bad is this thing in the Semien?" "Confusing." Zekiros shrugged, "The government there is being quiet. I've heard this group had declared themselves democrats. I know there has been some cattle rustling. Not much more then that." "The [i]Mesfin[/i] isn't cooperating?" "If he was cooperating, this thing would have been over now. I tell you, I do not know what Issayas Seme has to gain from being stubborn, but it makes me wonder." "Me too." Wolde Petros said. Both men saw another car enter the gate and assumed it was the [i]Tigray Mekonnen[/i]. They saw there were right when a familiar middle aged man with a greying chinstrap beard hobbled out of the car and came to greet them. The [i]Tigray Mekonnen[/i] was the historical title of the rulers of Tigray, the most ancient province of Ethiopia and homeland of classical Aksum. He was [i]Ras[/i] Giyorgis Temare Mengesha, one of the last feudal rulers in Ethiopia along with Wolde Petros, his family having vacillated during the 1916 war until it was clear who was going to win, joining the side of the winners during the mop up. Ras Giyorgis's aristocratic credentials included his great grandfather on the male line, the Emperor Yohannes IV, who died in battle fighting the Muslims a century before. The three men greeted each other. Wolde Petros was the youngest, Zekiros the oldest. They went together around the the hangers and onto the Tarmac, where the patch-work Ethiopian air force was on full display. Zekiros knew where to go, and the two noblemen followed. They met under the wing of a [i]KK Zorya Polunoshnaya[/i], a sleek Russian fighter constructed by [i]Khil-Kobets[/i]. The artwork on this one was different from the others, showing a skull blooming from a flower in a colorful mix of flames and plants. The entire plane was painted this way except for the cockpit glass and the propellers. The man that greeted them wore a leather pilots jacket and a close cut mustache. They greeted each other with niceties and handshakes. "Have you met [i]Ras[/i] Wolde Petros?" Zekiros asked. "Of course." the pilot said in heavily accented Amharic, "Many times. What can I do for you all?" This was Hector Santareál, born in Cuba, who came to Ethiopia because of his African heritage, wanting to see a Black African power thrive on the world stage. He'd been a ranking officer in the Cuban air force before he resigned and crossed the sea. Before his arrival, Ethiopia didn't have a real air force, but rather kept their planes in arsenals with the rest of their arms, given haphazardly to pilots by army commanders. Santareál invented the air corp. It was his pride and joy. They sat on fold-out stools in the shade of the [i]Zorya Polunoshnaya[/i]'s wing, brought to them at the insistence of Santareál. "What's can I do for you, [i]amigos[/i]?" "Do you know of the problem in the Semien?" Zekiros asked. Hector shifted. "[i]Shiftas[/i]? Are those just bored kids, or are we looking at the real deal?" [i]Ras[/i] Giyorgis spoke up. "They are weak, but they are doing too well. News has came that they murdered a bunch of settlers in the hills. Gunfight. Settlers protecting their land." "Communists?" "Liberals." Giyorgis sniffed, "But it amount to the same thing. Trouble making." "I agree." [i]Ras[/i] Wolde Petros said, "We must put them down. It is the job of the [i]Mesfin[/i] of Begmeder to act, but he hasn't. Issayas Seme stays quiet." "Is this not what a professional army is for?" Giyorgis added. It was Zekiros' turn to speak. They all looked at him, expecting something. "I am more than willing to commit the armed forces, but I don't want it said that Zekiros was so spooked that he sent the entire army after a few mountain bandits." "Then we will have to." Wolde Petros said. Giyorgis straightened up and nodded, signalling his agreement. Before they could continue speaking, they had to pause, as an airplane was landing nearby. It was a fighter purchased from the Germans, a [i]Fokker As[/i], painted to look like an eagle. When it'd landed and the engine was cut, they continued to talk. "And I will be fine with that." Zekiros said. "Really?" Wolde Petros was surprised. "Is the Imperial Government not worried about [i]Mesfins[/i] abusing their right to organize militias? If [i]Ras[/i] Giyorgis and myself organize our retainers and go over into Begmeder, isn't that breaking the law?" "The Imperial Army invading a province is also breaking the law. The law says the [i]Mesfin[/i] of Begmeder is supposed to handle the policing of his own province. Fine. Where is he? We will have to break the law to finish this rebellion. Do we want to drag his majesty into it? Military occupation? Boots on the ground? No. There is scandal, and there is crisis. We need this thing done quickly, then we can quash the scandal in the courts." "I can't promise a quick end." Wolde Petros said. "The Semien mountains are wild." "I agree. I cannot give you boots on the ground. But I can give you something else." In the distance, another fighter came in to land, its engine rumbling deep and low.