Vilageidiotx

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

It' more WWII/Inter-war tier technology. No jets, not advancements into space, no nuclear power.

@Chapatrap

no phone no lights no motorcars, not a single luxury

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

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June 7th: Gebi Iyasu, Addis Ababa
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The door shut with a loud echo as the German ambassador walked out. Sahle, lounging on his throne, casually threw a piece of raw beef to Aron. The lion caught it in his mouth and swallowed it in one bite.

"Who's next?" Desta said testily.

"Bacon" Benyam Felege, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, said. Desta and Benyam sat on stools at the foot of the throne. Sisay Makari, the old priest, leaned on his prayer stick at the Emperor's left.

"Jefferson Davis Bacon" a page announced. The blustery red-faced American entered the hall talking. "Now what the hell, I say, what the hell is going on in this country. An Ambassador Plenipotentiary getting kilt in his own home? Oh." He remembered to bow, and did so awkwardly, giving the Ethiopians time to talk

"I'll have the record show that Reginald Heap was not Ambassador Plenipotentiary." Benyam said, "Any potency he brought with him was his alone, and not given to him by the Rhodesian government."

"Well I don't see how this is a laughing matter. A man is dead, sir, and I need assurances that my people are as safe as they would be in the bosom of the ol' south."

"I apologize." Benyam said gracefully, "The Rhodesian authorities have assured us it was an in house matter. The murderer was one of their own staff. We're are increasing security on Embassy Row just to be safe. New police boxes will be installed, and the Shotel will keep an eye on the area."

"Well that's good to hear. Because I'll have you know that members of that damnyankee Carnahan clan have been blowing up our lines. That family ain't small potatoes, you hear? They are great big, expensive potatoes, with big expensive potato friends, and I can't afford to make enemies like that. Which reminds me, where exactly are the Carnahans?"

"Sidamo Province." Desta said. Benyam shot him a glance. Bacon looked like he was preparing to break out in hives. "You left them in the sticks? After you heard there's someone prowlin' around killing white folks?"

"I left them with the best guards in our country." Desta assured him, "They're safer than the Imperial family."

"I'm not sure that's I'd feel comfortable unless the entire Abyssinian army followed them on parade with the righteous ghost of Robert E Lee at their head. You better get them Carnahans to me, Desta. In pris-tine condition! They have much as a bad hair day and you won't sell another bean in America. We'll go over to chicory."

"You'll have your Carnahans." Benyam promised, "Fresh and lily white."

"I'll take that as a promise." Bacon said. With that, their meeting ended. Bacon blustered out the same way he'd come in. Sahle threw another scrap of meat to his pet.

"You didn't have to be here." Benyam turned to Desta.

"We did." Desta said, "The Emperor needs to be seen. The line between murder and revolution is thin."

"I disagree. It's a thick enough line. We've had some good murderers in this country, and few of them ever made it to Negus."

"Fuat Pasha" the page announced. The Ottoman Ambassador entered, a stately old man wearing a European suit and a fez, with a well kept beard that made him look a bit like Sigmund Freud. He approached the Emperor gracefully, made a textbook bow, and straightened up. "Your Imperial Majesty, the conquering lion of Judah, I am pleased to see you well."

"We are pleased to see you too. What can Ethiopia do for your excellency?" Sahle said. Nailing the words made him feel like a pilot who'd just performed a successful landing on a cheap carrier.

"The Turkish people have many enemies." Fuat said, "As your imperial majesty knows from experience, may I be so bold, greatness causes jealousy, and the greatness of the Turkish people is indisputable. The recent murder on embassy row reminds me of these enemies. I come to request better security."

"We're are increasing security on Embassy Row just to be safe." Benyam said, "New police boxes will be installed, and the Shotel will keep an eye on the area. Now, the Rhodesians have assured us it was an in house matter. The murderer was one of their own staff. But we can assign you Shotel if that would make you feel more secure."

"That would be excellent." The meeting ended, the Turk left, the door slammed. Sahle fed the lion. "Why do they keep coming here for such a basic request?" Sahle complained, "The Americans invented phones for this sort of thing."

"It's better than sitting around the Embassy playing solitaire." Benyam said. "Makes them feel useful. If we used phones for everything, like if there was some great big book of all the phone numbers in the world and we just called each other, then what would important men at the end of their political careers have to look forward to? That's why God in his good grace invented Ambassadorships."

"Anastasia Demetriades" The page announced. The Greek Ambassador was a woman of the stylish aristocracy, her hair kept in a short American style, a string of pearls around her neck. She looked flustered. Her bow was quick to the point of appearing violent, and when she came back up she was literally clutching her pearls.

"Do you have any news about the... murder?" she asked.

"The Rhodesian authorities have assured us it was an in house matter. The murderer was one of their own staff. We're are increasing security on Embassy Row just to be safe. New police boxes will be installed, and the Shotel will keep an eye on the area."

"That's good." she said, "That's very good."

"If you need any comforting, we are here for you." Sahle said. What he saw in the nervous Greek was a woman, and one not much older than him.

"All of Ethiopia is here for you." Sisay added, leaning in. "If there is anything you need."

"Well. There is one thing." she said, letting go of her pearls, "The Greek people are seeking recognition of Northern Epirus as part of Greek civilization."

"That!" Benyam stood up, "Yes, borders are very tricky. I will be glad to hear the Greek argument, but now is not the time I'm afraid. May we reschedule? Allow us to get all our candles on one stick, so to speak."

"That's all I have, your majesty." Anastasia toyed with her pearls again.

"It was a pleasure talking with you." Sahle replied. Sisay leaned in again. "Go with Christ, child." the old priest blessed her. She left. The door slammed. The lion ate.

"What's next?" Sahle asked, resting his head in his hand.

"The Filipo Ambassador" Benyam said, "Lucrecia Calimlim"

"Ooooh!" Sahle perked up, "I heard the Phillipines is ruled entirely by women. Like, if you are a man, you do the cooking and raise the babies, and the women go to work."

"I've heard there's a woman in Djibouti who smokes cigarettes with her ass." Benyam replied, "But we can't believe everything we hear. Pardon my language, Abba" he looked up at Sisay. The Debtera smirked but tried to hide it. "You are forgiven." he said with a quick blessing.

"Lucrecia Calimlim!" The page announced. In came a small woman who looked almost like a teenager, far younger than most public diplomats. She wore a frilly dress of a see-through white material, under which she wore a much shorter and tighter opaque dress. Sahle sat up, and watched her attentively as she bowed.

"I come to you asking for nuts and beans."

"Well..." Sahle began to speak, but Desta cut him off. "You have no concerns about the events on Embassy row? Before we get into anything else."

"No" Lucrecia said, "I trust that I am safe here. I have never felt unsafe in my time in your capital. Though I haven't had the time to explore it. Perhaps his Imperial majesty might find the time."

"So you just came here about nuts?" Desta asked, "You can buy them in the bazaar. We don't sell them here."

"Not all countries are so open about their agriculture. I was asked by my government to procure a few things. Coffee, Cacao..."

"We don't grow Cacao..."

"...Water Buffalo. Or just the sperm..."

"If you are hungry, your excellency, you might try Injera" Benyam quipped. "If you want this stuff in bulk, you are allowed to purchase it from private sellers. We are friendly to foreign enterprise."

"Do you know where best to buy these goods in bulk?"

"I don't do my own purchasing." Benyam said, "I'd have to ask my servants where they buy the choicest Buffalo sperm."

"Send a written list to the Foreign Ministry and they'll get you the information you need." Desta said. The Filipino ambassador left. Sahle watched the subtle sway of her hips as she walked out, and completely forgot about the lion.

"Well, next up is the important one." Benyam said, "The old Ambassador is dead. Long live the Ambassador."

"Evie Stevens" the page announced. In came a broad-shouldered woman in her middle age, dressed curiously more like a soldier than a woman, her skin a creamy latte color. She walked up, bowed manfully, and addressed the Emperor. "Your Imperial Majesty, I've come here to pick up the work the Heaps, God rest their souls, left off."

"We are terribly sorry this crime happened. And on our soil? That is mortifying to us." Benyam said.

"It was a tragedy. But the world was made for the living. We have to move on. The Rhodesian embassy unanimously insists our relationship go on as if nothing happened. Forget the past. Let's make the future of Africa, together."

"Well said." Benyam replied, "Working together I think we can build Africa into a continent that, after a thousand years, will make Europe a mere footnote in the history of civilization."

"And we would like to welcome you to Ethiopia." Sahle added, leaning on the edge of his seat.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

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June 6th, 1938: On a Long and Lonesome Highway, West of Wichita
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Floyd Switzer was sweating it. Miles of flat monotony surrounded him, nothing but corn as far as he could see. K-45 stretched for miles behind him and miles ahead. He wished more than anything that this place was as lonesome as it seemed, but everybody knew predators lurked this part of the plains.

Floyd wasn't cut out to be infantry, but he knew how to drive, so that's what he did for Uncle Sam. But there was more to this mission than simply driving supplies. He sat in the cab of a Kenworth truck, a big long thing originally designed to hall lumber, but this one converted for military use, pulling a box semi-trailer. The front lines of the Second War between the States stretched over a distance that made the fabled Western Front of the Great War look the size of his granny's driveway. Maintaining supply lines over such a stretch was a challenge. The traitors knew it, and they made it worse.

Bob Koster was cleaning his gun for the fifth time that day. Kansas could bore a man to death, and Bob was sitting shotgun so he didn't have the wheel to keep him busy. Bob didn't talk much, and Floyd was too distracted by their mission to start up a conversation. Bob only occasionally glanced up, but Floyd's eyes were constantly scanning, looking for even a little bit of dust, something to announce his fear was coming true so he could confront it instead of just sitting here worrying.

Ironically, when it finally came, it wasn't from in front, and he didn't have a warning aside from a quick glint in his side mirror. There was no time between realization and the first round of machine gun fire to hit the side of the truck.

"Sheeiiit" Bob Koster exclaimed. The way he said it had the quality of a sword being drawn from its scabbard at the start of the duel. He reached back and knocked hard on the wall of the trailer. Floyd instinctively pushed the accelerator, and Bob was bucked back and forth as he reached across Floyd's lap to work the crank that brought the driver's side shield down. The gunfire pattered across the metal shield just as it closed, but a bullet got through and took off Bob's middle finger. Blood sprayed across Floyd's lap. "Mercy sakes alive!" Bob shouted, "They took the best one!" He pressed his finger into the palm of his hand while using the other hand to close the shields in front and on his side. "Put the hammer down!" Floyd saw a brief glimpse of the armored truck attacking them, the old southern battle flag waving defiantly from the back, and a surprised looking man strapped to the side with a gun in his hand. Once the steel shields were up, all he could see was a thin strip in front of him.

Southern raiders plied the barren expanse, stealing US war material like privateers of old. They set up traps. They didn't know that this truck, the one Floyd and Bob were driving, was a trap too. The hunters had fallen into a snare.

Floyd jackknifed into a field, presenting the broadside of the trailer toward the circling southern raider. The sound of metal thumping against metal echoed through the truck. Unseen firing holes opened, and a truck full of US soldiers threw lead at the enemy raider. Floyd heard it, but all he saw was young corn stalks flying across his thin field of vision like a reverse waterfall of foliage.

He piloted by ear now, guessing where the enemy was by who was firing where. He saw the armored vehicle speed in front of him, aiming at the small window. Bullets spat and sparked across the hood. Floyd ducked, and Bob stuck a pistol through the hole, firing one shot wildly at the enemy. Both cars furiously replowed the planted field.

There was more than the one part to this trap. The enemy gunfire bounced harmlessly off the armor camouflaged into what looked like a regular truck, and the US bullets bounced just as harmlessly off the obviously armored Confederate raider. But the US Army had an advantage here. The enemy hadn't expected or prepared to come across armored prey, but the Army had expected it, and they had prepared. The Confederates, avoiding the broadside of the US truck, attempted to enfilade it from the front. Then they circled around as quick as they could to do the same from the back, assuming the back to be the best target. That was a mistake on their part.

Floyd heard the big anti-tank gun go off, and felt its recoil push the trailer forward into the truck. All went quiet. Was it over? He became aware for the first time that Bob was cussing under his breath as he worked to stopped the bleeding in the stump of his finger.

Machine gun fire resumed. The battle was still on. He saw the Confederate truck in front of him, the man on the side slouched over dead.

"I wonder if this is all worth it." Floyd said out loud.

"When we're standing over their carcasses like a heap of trophy bucks, I'll call it worth while." Bob replied.

When it ended, it ended abruptly. He'd crossed a ditch, his hands white-knuckle against the steering wheel, the gunfire jittering at his nerves to the point he thought he might shatter into a million pieces. Then it all just... stopped. He was told by the gunners in the truck that the ditch gave them their opportunity. The Confederate truck was slowed for just a second, but it was long enough to the anti-tank gun to get of its perfect shot. They got out of the truck, Bob holding his bloody-drenched to keep it up. "Ain't she a beautiful sight" Bob said, looking at the smoking heap of Southern pride with a gory splatter where the outside gunner had once been. Floyd felt empathy. Not for the raiders; they had got what they deserved. He empathized with their truck, smouldering, smashed, ruined. Inside he felt the same.

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June 6th, 1960: Irgalem, Ethiopia
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The war hadn't truly ended for Floyd Switzer. He'd grown up in Colorado, but it was no longer home to him. After all these years it was still the front line. The seasons rolled by, the world moved on, and Floyd still couldn't get passed his war years. He went to the University of Maine, as far away from the battlefields as he figured he could get while still being in lower forty eight, but it didn't help. Even in Maine, it felt like the war was just on the horizon, a ghost staring at him through a doorway at the end of the hall. He shivered when he saw the sunset, remembering the dead resting on that horizon. The United States was ruined for him. He got his degree and left.

Ethiopia wasn't his first choice. It was a black nation after all, not one likely to accept a white man from the states, but his mind was changed by a professor who recommended it to him. Ethiopia was developing, trying to become one of the great powers, and it accepted white talent with open arms, without any of the racial ugliness of Rhodesia or South Africa that reminded him of America's eternal enemy: the southern states. The best part, it was almost halfway across the planet. He couldn't get further from America without treading water.

He sat on the tailgate of a landrover, picking on kocho bread wrapped up in the frond of a false banana tree. Behind him, a handful of men from Addis Ababa surveyed the hillside, and others worked with shovels and picks. He heard the bell on Betty Lou's collar tinkling somewhere in the bushes.

"Betty Lou." he called out, making a tsking sound. The dog marched out of the bush and to his side. She was an American Eskimo and Beagle mix - a mutt, though she looked like a miniature English Setter. She looked up at him. "Don't go where I can't see you, girl." he said, patting her head, "There are critters out there that'd give you a real fight."

Down the hill a cloud of dust formed. They were coming. He buttoned reclasped his the hanging strap on his overalls and stood up. Betty Lou sat at attention, staying close enough to him that he could feel her warmth on his legs.

The caravan was made up of several safari type vehicles. They were a mixed race group. Funny he should notice that. Blacks and whites sat chummily together in a way that would be highly illegal in the South - he spat at the mere thought of the Southern United States. That his guests were flouting some rule from half a world away endeared them to him already.

They pulled up in front of him. He didn't know who was the Ethiopian Emperor, though he figured it wasn't any of the whites, or the little Jap fellow, and it probably wasn't any of the drivers with their identical uniforms and red fezzes like a parade of armed Shriners. Floyd figured it was probably the sly looking moonfaced fellow with the Chaplin mustache.

"His Imperial Majesty, Sahle the First." one of the Shriners announced. The workers and surveyors stopped working and bowed. Floyd followed their lead, and was surprised when it turned out the Emperor was the youngest in the group. Sahle was taller than the rest except for his Shriner guards, had a boyish face, and something of an Impish look about him like a rascally kid from the funnies.

"This is Mister Switzer from America" The man with the Chaplin 'stache introduced him, "He is an engineer from America, and he's leading the team that is modernizing our infrastructure." They were not looking at Floyd himself, who figured he wasn't too amazing a sight except for being possibly the only white man in overalls in all of East Africa. But they did seemed transfixed on his feet. And of course they were. He was standing on a square chunk of paved blacktop.

"This is what the road'll look like." he said, kneeling down to touch the asphalt beneath his boots. Betty Lou sniffed his hand. "It'll be longer of course." he chuckled and spat a glob of tobacco juice, "We get the bitumen from the A-rabs, the gravel from pits somewhere up north. It'll follow the old War Road for the most part, but we're trying to skip places where it washes out. That's what we're doing up here." he stood up and looked behind him, where workers were backing up from a rise in the ridge. He winced before the explosion came, a big bursting roaring thing, clearing the troublesome rise and sending a shiver of bad memories down his back. He'd been so busy repressing war memories that he hadn't seen the faces of his guests in all their comical surprise.

"That'll do it." he said stoically. As his ears got used to the sound of things not exploding right next to him, he heard the puttering engine of a small motorbike somewhere down the slope. "We'll try to stay on higher ground to avoid the weather..." he started as the motorbike arrived piloted by a man in Khakis. The new arrival ran to Mr Chaplin Mustache and gave him a message that made the latter's face drop. "I apologize for the suddenness, but his majesty and myself must return to the capital. Dinner will be served here, and your lodgings have been settled. Again, I apologize."

The Emperor followed him into a Landrover and they sped down the mountain, leaving everyone else stunned. People whispered about what might of happened, and Floyd was left wondering if he was supposed to continue his demonstration. "Helluva country, girl" he reached down to pet his dog. "We'll get you some food in a minute it sounds like."

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

@Dinh AaronMk@Vilageidiotx

Ok Ill put it into the CS tab but I'll finish the history section before posting IC. Probably going to add characters as I see fit (mainly ambassadors, diplomats or foreign Algerian citizens maybe)

@SgtEasy

Sure, but don't get completely distracted by manicuring it. All real development happens in IC, and It's IC that I want to see.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

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June 6th: Addis Ababa
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Leyla Masri was among the murmuring crowd at the fence in front of the Rhodesian embassy. It was a pristine gothic manse not far from the Gebi Iyasu, in a neighborhood that included several embassies and homes for rich foreigners, so that the crowd was unusually multiracial for Addis Ababa's typically native population. Beyond the iron fence, the stately house didn't seem changed in any physical way, but an air of dread hung over it.

Three types of authority figure were gathered in the yard. Officers from Addis Ababa's police force were the most out of place, most consigned to guard duty at the fence and it's gate, though some just mingled in the yard and stared uselessly at whatever seemed good to stare at. That left two conflicting authorities, the security at the Rhodesian embassy in white colonial uniforms with pith helmets, and Ethiopia's own Shotel. The Shotel sent three agents, men in khaki uniforms with no sort of decoration, who were engaged in a conversation with the Rhodesians that somehow reminded one of Trench Warfare, tense and unmoving.

"They caught the camera-man." a familiar voice said in her ear. Chemeda Magana was standing behind her, a young man in the khaki uniform. She knew him because he was training to be an officer in the very same complex she worked.

"Did you follow me?"

"No. Everyone's coming out here."

She kept looking forward, afraid somebody they knew might see them talking and reach an unjust conclusion. "Cameraman?" she asked.

"Someone took a photo of the murder. I don't know how he got in."

A black van pulled up and with difficulty was let through the crowd and into the driveway. An eruption of excitement followed as the bodies were wheeled out in black bags. There were three.

"Whose the third?" Chemeda asked.

"The murderer."

There were seemingly infinite rumors floating around about who the murderer was. A servant. A Communist. Someone in the French embassy involved in a ménage à trois with the Rhodesian ambassador and his wife. The authorities were not letting out too many clues if any of those were true. With the bodies bagged, those who'd came looking for answers were disappointed yet again, and the crowd grew thinner. Leyla joined the exodus, needing to get back to work. Chemeda followed.

"I came here in a car." he bragged. "You want a ride back to the Academy?"

"You know we can't be seen like that. Addis Ababa isn't so sinful that a boy and a girl alone in a car won't be a scandal."

"Maybe scandal isn't so bad."

"Don't be foolish." she said, walking up to one of the several cycle rickshaw's that'd pulled up to the crowd expecting the exodus. She felt powerful paying the cyclist with her own money in front of a man who was trying to woo her. "I'll see you later." she said to Chemeda before turning to the cyclist, "The Menelik Roundabout". She was off, leaving Chemeda behind her.

She arrived at the Academy just after noon, when most everyone had wandered off for lunch. The wind was pleasant as it rustled through the eucalpytus trees in the courtyard garden. She entered through the open door below the sign of the crossed swords and was greeted kindly by the very same receptionist she'd haggled with when she first applied to work here. They'd put her in the Propaganda Section, an open place on the second story consisting of a few shared desks and a cabinet full of supplies.

There was very little need for Propaganda in Ethiopia. What they mostly put out was the equivalent of public service announcements. Everybody had left except for their director, who sat on the sill of an open window and smoked. He looked at her sort of startled. "Woizerit Leyla, I thought you went for coffee?"

"I went to see the Rhodesian Embassy." she said, "But nothing is happening there."

"I can't have you around the office." he said, "I'm letting you go for the day. All active agents are on call just in case whatever happened at the Rhodesian embassy happens again. We have no orders until then."

"Oh. Where do I go?"

"Home." he put out the cigarette and stood up, "Or the shooting range. Have you been? They said you shouldn't have a problem."

"I haven't yet."

"Do that I guess." she shooed her, "But you can't stay here."

Feeling embarrassed, she left. She couldn't shake the feeling she had done something wrong, though she couldn't think what the earth it might be. Still, she had the day. And he had a point. She'd go shooting.

The range was across the way, in a room made to hide the sound. It was open to the Shotel, even those who were mere clerks, to practice shooting. The Shotel wanted their entire workforce to be able to shoot, just in case they were drafted into the military as a civilian regiment during a future war. Of course, they hadn't thought of women, and the agent watching the range barred her from entry at first. Her director managed to get her permission, but by that time she'd been spending excess break time talking to Chemeda.

She liked Chemeda. She liked watching him, talking to him. But she didn't want to marry him. She was young, her life ahead of her, a world to see beyond a bubbling pot of wat and children clinging to her skirts. And with marriage off the table, why talk to him at all? That was how rumors started. Rumors that could ruin his career, and hers.

The man watching the shooting range, Agent Reja, watched her distrustfully when she walked in. He had to let her use the range, but he didn't want to. He picked up a German Luger, standard issue for the Shotel, and showed her how to load a magazine and prepare it to be fired. Then he handed it to her. This was the first time she'd ever touched a gun. It was like handling a holy object, something of uncertain magical power. She weighed it with her hands. It was, ominous to her, heavier than it looked. All thoughts of work or men or murder on Embassy Row went from her head. He pointed her in the direction of the range. She went as solemn as a priest.

The Shotel's firing range was not especially impressive. It was a concrete room, its floor, ceiling, and walls chipped by stray bullets. Paper targets hung from steel frames, replaced fresh for every new user. A plywood box marked where a person was supposed to stand. She felt nervous, and playfully mused if this was what it felt like going into combat as she took her place in one of the firing boxes. Taking a deep breath, she guessed at a proper stance, aimed, and after a moment's hesitation, she pulled the trigger.

She knew guns were loud, but the noise seemed too loud, and that combined with the kick back made her think she'd done something wrong. She almost dropped it, and let in a quick gasp that was almost a yelp. When it was over, she was stunned, looking down at the smoking gun. Laughter rang out from the doorway. Agent Reja had been watching her the whole time.

"That is not a coffee pot, is it?" he said. "But you did not do so bad, little lady." He pointed to the target. She'd sent the shot into the outer red ring. "Maybe they'll make you a field agent, eh?" he laughed again.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

So I have a WIP CS so far, still have to write a history and fix up all the dates in my head

Edit: Mostly because I actually haven't set up a timeline like a normal person did and wrote everything else before fixing all the events. So whoopsies

Islamic State of Algeria

The People's Democratic Islamic State of Algeria

^{More commonly known as the Islamic State of Algeria or Algeria}

Leader:

Farid Hamidou is the current elected President of the Islamic State of Algeria. A direct descendant of a famous Algerine corsair, Raïs Hamidou, he won his elections through his youth and vigour. He was born to Arya and Khalil Hamidou in the Casbah of Algiers, one of the districts in the capital city of Algiers. Living his earlier years in the last decades of French rule in Algeria, he was one of the younger Algerians to join the Algerian Islamic Modernists and participated in anti-Imperial activism. He thoroughly believed in Algerian independence from French rule and was part of a movement that was crucial to the overthrowing of the colonials after the rise of the People's Republic of France in 1946. A fighter at 17, he was one of the many young men to participate in the Algerian War and fought for the freedom of his peoples. Later on, after the takeover of the Algerian Islamic Modernists over the nationalist front, he welcomed the movements decision to create a full presidential system with a constitution that recognised Islamic Modernism as the basis for the country's laws. He then became a member of the United Modernists of Algeria Party, soon becoming its head at the young age of 29.

The President is a charming, dashing man who roused the younger populace with his inspiring speeches and charismatic smile. He had promised a greater effort to further boost the economy and general quality of living through the capitalisation of the oil reserves throughout the country. He had promised better access to education for Algerians living in the south with the creation of new colleges within the area. He had also promised the disbanding of the Old Republican threat to the south by the end of his first term. So far, Farid had accomplished two of his main goals but the Old Republicans prove tricky to deal with and the rise of traditionalists have diminished his hold over the country. Still, his approval ratings sit on the positive side, with many Algerians believing that he will come through with his promises as he is halfway through his third year in office. Critics say that his lack of experience has led to the sudden surge in traditionalist power and that numerous villages are being lost to their rhetoric every year under his office. Alas, the young man from Algiers has once again promised the eradication of both Old Republicans and traditionalists terrorists, declaring war on both sides. One can only wonder how this war could split this prospering country apart.

Government:
The country functions on a full presidential system in which the the executive branch and the provincial branch are separate. The President is a elected by the citizens every five years in the presidential elections and is chosen through popular vote of the people. The President has full executive powers and can veto any legislation that the provincial branch (made up of popular voted Wali) has put forward but in turn, this veto can be overridden by a supermajority of Wali. The President also acts as the Supreme Commander of Algerian Military Forces but has a group of veteran generals called the "حماية" literally meaning "protection" which he confers with on matters of defence. The President appoints the Cabinet of Algeria with Secretaries that serves as an advising institution to the President. They also administer departments of their expertise (the حماية act as Secretaries of Defence in the executive branch). The executive is not responsible to the provincial unless in special circumstances. The provincial also serves as the judicial branch as well (further explained below). In judicial matters, the President can pardon any criminal but must bend to the will of the Wali if found guilty of a crime (as do all executive branch members). A member of the executive branch may be impeached by the provincial branch.

There are different parties that Wali can be a part of and align with. Each party can forward a presidential nominee and a Wali nominee for any number of provinces of their choosing. Every party has agreed to align itself with Islamic Modernism but differ in policies, interpretations of Modernist thought, position on the political spectrum and other smaller differences. Major parties include:

• Algerians of the Leftist
• Azmegh Republican Party
• The Socialist Party of Algeria
• United Modernists of Algeria
• The People's Party for Algeria

Algeria is divided into 50 wilayas (provinces) which are further divided into 557 daïras (districts) and are then split into 1545 baladiyahs (municipalities). The port cities of Algiers, Oran and the trading city of Constantine are the only ones which are further counted as their own wilaya which are of course split into daïras and baladiyahs. Due to the modernisation efforts of the new government, the cities of Oran and Constantine serve a much larger purpose than they otherwise would have with the government encouraging urbanisation across the country. Each waliya enjoys some economic and diplomatic freedom apart from the state. The Wali are selected governors who are voted in by their respective people to govern their waliya. However, by law, the governors must be entirely loyal to Algeria, be subservient to the government of Algeria and must serve the Algerian peoples first and foremost. The Wali also hold judicial powers in a High Court with the leaders of daïras and baladiyahs holding judicial powers in a Middle and Low Court respectively. A case is to be judged based on its severity with incredibly severe cases to be dealt with in the High Court of Wali (all cases involving a member of the executive branch or a high ranked general is judged to be incredibly severe). The police act as an extension of the Wali's will over their waliya but arms can only be supplied by the government and recruitment of police officers must be scaled to the area or population that the waliya has.

The Islamic State of Algeria have incorporated some aspects of Islamic laws into their legal system and has declared Islam to be its state religion (although other religious bodies are accepted in the eyes of the state). The almost radical reinterpretations of Quranic texts with polygyny, penal punishments, jihad and treatment of non-believers contained in Islamic Modernism has been accepted wholly and integrated with existing shari'a law. The constitution states that "All legislation created by the provincial branch or amendments made to this Constitution must coincide with Islamic Modernism." This shows how much the Algerian Islamic Modernists, the major influence of the revolution, has influenced Algeria as a country. Islamic modernism is widely accepted in all branches of government (at least in the surface).

Location and Landscape

Map

Northern Algeria has seen great prosperity and urbanisation since Algerian independence. The coast is dotted with industrialising towns and cities which are currently urbanising at a speed greater than normal. Due to the country's increasing populations, the agriculture sector has seen a boost in funding and farms have been popping up in as many green places as possible. However as only 3% of the land is suitable for farming (mostly in the northern coast), much of Algeria's food is still imported. The north is seen as wealthier and more advanced than the southern dunes (which is unfortunately very true). It contains the three biggest and most important cities in Algeria - Algiers, Oran and Constantine.

Algiers serves as the political and cultural capital city of the ISA with the largest population, the largest amount of daïras out of the three main cities and the most cultural landmarks. It serves as the main port city along the Algerian coast with trading ships in and out of its harbours. The Alger la Blanche stands proud with its glistening white architecture, with the Old City and Modern City blending together in an almost blinding amount of white. It is said that that you must avoid approaching Algiers from the Mediterranean at some select times of the day, lest you be blinded by the reflected sunlight. These claims have been proven to be exaggerated but the white tops of the city is truly something to behold, attracting many a tourist. The government also sits itself in the city, with President and Parliament making their home in Algiers.

The second largest port city, Oran, has the second largest total population with the largest population of Pied-Noirs present within the city. The presence of the Cathedral de Sacre Coeur appeal to many of the Christian Pied-Noirs. The relative peace in the manner that the Algerian government dealt the Pied-Noirs during their takeover resulted in lower amounts of Europeans leaving the city of Oran (though many of them still left in the period of North African Exodus). Although relations between the native Muslim and the majority-Christian Pied-Noir occupants of the city have been, at times, violent, the situation has cooled itself over time to an uneasy peace. Tensions have simmered and the younger population have intermingled despite the protests of the more distrusting elder population. The government views the city as a step towards general acceptance of Pied-Noirs as citizens of Algeria and as a shining example of Islamic Modernism. It has the largest growth rate in the country and is quickly becoming the technological capital of Algeria due to the skills of the Pied-Noir citizens and the native Arab-Berber population's eagerness to modernise. The city shows promise and has the second highest economic traffic in the country due to its proximity to the Strait of Gibraltar.

The third noteworthy city within the country is Constantine. The third most populous city, it serves as the headquarters for the state-owned oiling company Constantine Petroleum and as the connecting city between oil digs and the coast. Most petroleum traffic travels to Constantine to be divided into national use or export. While filled with Arab cultural landmarks and its iconic bridges, the city is more famous for the constructed (and still constructing) oil pipelines connecting to Algiers, Oran and other major population centers connected to the growing number of oil digs sprouting within the country. Seeing the importance and value of this oil, the Algerian government has decided to make Constantine its base of operations for controlling state oil rigs with its largest amount of backup oil barrels. The need for so much construction has invited an influx of eager citizens seeking employment. Constantine is the sight for the largest engineering project the country has ever seen, a large amount of pipelines called "Golden Roads" leading in and out of the city. Although oil has only been found as recently as 1954, the Algerian government decided to capitalise on the precious commodity as fast as possible. However, construction has been slowed by the deserts and the lack of skilled workers.

Although there have been attempts to populate the uninhabited arid deserts in southern Algeria, it has remained relatively untamed due to the hostility of the desert dunes. The only population centers which exist among the dunes are centered around oases or rivers that can be found such as the near border town tof Tindouf. These oasis towns have become a popular place for rural Berbers to migrate to for employment as the familiarity of the desert appeal to these hardy folk. Especially as conflict between the Algerian military, Old Republicans and Islamist traditionalists heat up within the Sahara, these pockets of civilisation have become more appealing. There are numerous oil digs that have started up in the desert as well with government officials scouring the deserts for valuable oil reserves. Since the discovery of Algerian oil in 1954 and subsequent construction of oil digs later that year, the liquid gold is sought after. The Berber tribes to the eastern mountains and south of Constantine have complained of intrusion into their lands but these cries are mostly ignored. Other than these intrusions, they have remained relatively isolationist even as more rural Berbers join their kin in the cities and towns that dot the Algerian lands.

As previously mentioned, the Old Republicans of France and Islamist traditionalist groups have a well-known presence within the country. The Old Republiccans have used to base out of Fort Lapperine, formerly known as Tamanrasset. Although they have since been kicked out of the oasis town by Algerian military in 1959, they still remain at large in the nearby Hoggar Mountains where they have set up an underground series of tunnels and bunkers. They have also come to raid the nearby village of In Eker for supplies and what raid survivors call "pleasure women". The flat-topped mountain of Assekrem has also become another base of operations for the Old Republicans where they "plan to triumph against the Muslim infidels and the socialist traitors to protect the memory Monsieur Focauld." They claim that the Sahara and all its denizens are rightfully theres. Meanwhile, the Islamist traditionalists are more spread out across the country. They do not have a base of operations in any sense of the word but operate in close knit groups which are strategically placed in various cities in Algeria. The traditionalists have groups in Oran, Tindouf, Constantine, Skikda and other major towns though their presence in Algiers has been mostly eradicated. They are also known to have recruited from smaller southern towns and have been known to turn entire villages against the government through their rhetoric. As the Sahara remains contested between the Old Republicans, traditionalist and government forces with the three factions warring against each other. It is recommended to anyone with a sense of self-preservation to stay out of the desert dunes and stay in the towns.

Demographics:
In a recent government survey, there are an estimated 11.57 million residents of Algeria. Of that resident population, 94% of the population are made up of native Arab-Berbers (although some claim that as much as 25% of the native muslim population is of Turkish descent, all identify as Arab-Berbers despite this due to previous interracial mixing). Only 5% are of European descent with the vast majority being of French descent (note that any resident found to be colluding with the Old Republicans are stripped of their residency). The remaining 1% are of smaller ethnic groups such as the various Jewish communities found in the coastal cities. There has been a massive growth in population due to the rapid urbanisation the country has taken, leading the country from a post-Algerian war population of 8.3 million to what it is now. Women hold a disproportionate amount of administrative power within the country and as much as 60% of university students being women. There are also a greater amount of Pied-Noirs found in universities but the margin has gotten significantly smaller by 1960.

Berber, Algerian Arabic and French are the official languages of Algeria. Algerian Arabic, more commonly known as Algerian, is used by most the population and is infused with elements of Berber and French. French is considered an official language due to the large amount of Pied-Noirs that stayed in Algeria and because its widespread usage. Many universities and main education systems still use French as their language of choice because of Algeria's previous colonial status. Berber, while the least widespread of the three languages, remains as the cultural language of Algeria and is spoken by many in Southern Algeria, nomads in the Sahara or tribes who dot Algerian lands. Algeria has a large majority of adherents to Islam (mostly Sunni) with smaller populations of Catholics (mainly French Pied-Noirs), Protestants and Jews in the country.

History:

Notable Organisations/Factions:
Constantine Petroleum - The state owned petroleum company which has a monopoly over all Algerian oil reserves in the country.

Tamer Brothers Gas Company - State owned, one of the several natural gas companies which operate within Algeria that siphons natural gas from the dunes.

The Algerian Silk - An Algerian-based fashion brand which promotes cultural dresses and exposes Algerian fashion to the international world.

The Old French Republic Remnant - Made up of Old Republican forces which refuse to recognise the People's Republic of France and the Islamic State of Algeria. Led by an unknown collective of Old Republic generals left from the Algerian War for Independence, is unpopular with majority of the populace.

True Traditional Algerian Muslim Party - An unconstitutional political party labelled as a terrorist organisation by the Algerian government. Has gained popularity throughout the country, particularly in the south and southwestern villages.

Characters
President Farid Hamidou - Current acting President of Algeria

Samia Lellouche - Secretary of Resources, effective head organiser of Constantine Petroleum

Youcef Mojdehi - Ambassador to Rhodesia

Nassim Anwar - Ambassador to the Ottoman Empire

Sgt. Muhammad Lellouche - Algerian Soldier, currently deployed in Saharan Desert against Old Republic forces

Lt. Louis Alexandré Martin Dubois - Officer of Old French Republican Armed Forces, currently deployed in Saharan desert

Almami Said Zidane - Current Leader of the True Traditional Algerian Muslim Party, organisation gaining ground in the south near Tindouf

Nour Hamidou - Leading designers of The Algerian Silk, sister to current acting President

Khalil Sanoun - Southern Algerian resident of Tindouf

@SgtEasy

the app you have now is passable. You pretty much cover the necessary history details in your other sections. It looks to me like you got everything right. Imma have Aaron double check.

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@The Wyrm

We Germans do. It has so much minerals to extract and utilize.

@Shyri

If you aren't up for a collab - can I have my Duke arrive in Berlin for some talks?

@NecroKnight

When doing collabs don't bank on them entirely. Best make sure you have storylines to play with at home just in case the person doing the collab takes a long time.

That was, like, the first lesson I learned in RPing, when I tried to collab with someone and they took a couple of weeks to even answer my pms.

That's why it's good to use Ambassadors instead of your main characters overseas too. Probably best have your Duke in Kamerun doing Kamerun stuff and his ambassador in Berlin waiting for Shyri to post.

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@Vilageidiotx

Thanks. And yes, I used a phone to edit my post. Now have a PC - will remove Guinea...removed and done. Can I then, add into the char tab?

@NecroKnight

sure.

make sure to get posts going for ic tho.

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I think you should be good. Only thing is your map still has Spanish Guinea.

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@Shyri

What is the state of the Kaiser of Afrika and his lands?

@NecroKnight

His lands would be Tanganyika, Malawi, and the north half of Mozambique lying northwest of the Zambezi river (most of it that is, the border following the Zambezi river up to the southern most tip of Malawi, then following the border of Malawi). He probably doesn't rule Zanzibar (historically when Tanganyika mixed with Zanzibar it took the name of Tanzania. Since we're still calling it Tanganyika, I'm guessing Zanzibar is independent or an unannexed protectorate.) They are bordered on the North by the Swahili People's Republic (rped by myself), in the south by Rhodesia (RPed by Wyrm), and in the west by whatever is happening in Zambia, the Congo, Rwanda, and Burundi.

Who the Kaiser is hasn't been established... until right now. Paul Von Lettow-Vorbeck historically lived until 1964, so he could very much be alive, but in 1960 he'd be 90 years old. This means that if he is alive, he's probably either stepped down or put all real power in the hands of his successor. His successor is most likely a son. His grandson is a character living in Ethiopia, who I'll probably retcon as the Ambassador from Tanganyika.

With Wyrm and myself bordering Tangaynika, and now elements of your own situation based on what is going on there, Imma go ahead and assume Tanganyika is now a full fledged NPC nation and those of us with connections to it can make up details. So lets say Rüdiger von Lettow Vorbeck is currently the Kaiser and that Paul retired. This'll mean the von Lettow-Vorbeck family tree is something like...

Kaiser Paul - Martha Wallroth
^
Kaiser Rudiger - ? Arnd - ? Heloise Ursula
^
Rudolph