Free The Yeoman: Crying Albion Series - Book 1 by Tyler Danann

launched against the island from overseas. As it was
there was an observer platoon from a neutral country that roamed both
territories unannounced. They acted as heralds and occasionally mediators. For
this meeting though, it was strictly between the island elites, the U.N observers
being well-occupied elsewhere with the Heysham incident.
    Commissioner Roberts finished
his hip-flask of brandy before sending his security chief forwards. Roberts had
been mostly office-bound and was largely an urban creature which reflected in
his pudgy frame. He wore no hat which showed graying hair with a slight
bald-patch. In his hooded, gray eyes was a glare of inner-cunning and covert supremacy.
They viewed the Yeomanry with a mixture of disdain and contempt. Roberts was
older, cunning and cynical from a lifetime of scheming and plotting. Put
together in different circumstances the two would make a devastating team. As
it was they almost seem to reflect a devastation of relations instead; the
taking of power from government by Seymour’s coup first, then the civil war
second.
    Roberts’ security chief walked
over to meet Seymour’s counterpart. Both were unarmed and showed this was so.
Then, switching places with one another the Yeoman walked over to await the Commissioner
while the security chief did the same for the Colonel.
    The two leaders closed the
distance to both their seconds. Neither was armed, as per the agreement and the
bodyguards did their duty. Both men showed open hands first then jackets before
turning around completely. To be sure the Colonel and Commissioner were
frisked.
    “No weapons,” the Yeoman Sergeant
confirmed in a clear Cumbrian voice.
    “Not armed,” echoed a Ministry
fellow, his Bristol tone contrasting both groups.
    The two leaders walked forwards beyond
both sentinels until they were only five yards apart. Both stopped and for the
first time in years they were face to face again.
    “Greetings brother,” the Colonel
said, opening the dialogue with a positive note.
    “You’re no brother of mine,” the
Commissioner said quickly.
    “Oh? Do we not share the same
father?”
    “That bond ended when you
launched your war on this country.”
    Seymour ignored the jibe. “Albion
is not yours now, but I called this meeting to avoid future bloodshed.”
    “You are ready to annex Albion
then?”
    “Never, but you put a stop to
the Welcoming Bill and I’ll talk with my Colonels about setting up a
trade-zone.”
    “A trade-zone?”
    “Yes, it can be a buffer-area
where your people, no matter what their race, calling or creed can trade and
exchange with my people of Albion.”
    “Why on earth should I try and do
that?”
    “Are you serious? Food supplies
are barely coping, your economy is on the brink, you can’t keep printing money
which isn’t backed by anything. Your nation, the once great Britain I salvaged
Albion from, isn’t producing anything. You import most of your energy and ninety
percent of your food. The oil and gas industry is paralyzed thanks to
environmentalist lobbying and massive taxes to pay for your welfare state. Need
I go on?”
    “You are an economist now as
well as a tyrant?” the Commissioner remarked dryly, unbothered by the plight of
Britain.
    “I have a good team of advisors,
many of whom left Britain to join Albion. They all say the same thing, with limited
cooperation we’ll be stronger, but this invasion of so-called New Europeans has
to stop! Then we can work on getting this island back from the brink.”
    “The brink is perhaps what will
bring people together, that way they’ll need the safety I can provide more than
ever.”
    “Safety from foreigners you are
bringing in! They may not wear the uniform or emblem of an invading army,” he
stated, “but they are surely acting like one! I saw the writing on the wall
years ago, only now is it providence.”
    “What do you care about Britain?
You have your Albion, you have UN recognition. What I do with Britain via