The Yeoman: Crying Albion Series - Book 1
Read The Yeoman: Crying Albion Series - Book 1 Online
Authors: Tyler Danann
About the Author
Tyler
Danann
was born in the United Kingdom and he served
in the armed forces in the 1990s and early 2000s. Having been on operations in
the Balkans and traveled across the globe his experiences have afforded a rich
sampling of worlds, ways and peoples.
A
global traveler; his research, imagination and adventure-spirit chronicle the
new worlds of Terra's Edge.
The Yeoman
Crying Albion Series
Book 1
By
Tyler
Danann
COPYRIGHT © TYLER DANANN 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This book is sold subject to the
condition it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be copied, resold, hired
out, or otherwise circulated in print or electronic means, without the author's
prior consent.
This is a work of fiction. All the
Characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any
resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Front cover and design by Kerry
Hynds
.
Printed by
CreateSpace
,
An Amazon.com Company
ASIN:
B019JAURWM
ISBN-13:
978-1522846468
ISBN-10:
1522846468
Acknowledgments
I'd
like to express my thanks and gratitude to all those muses, family and friends
who provided inspiration and support for my work.
Table of Contents
“
Tolerance and apathy are the last virtues of
a dying society
”
Aristotle. 384 BC to 322 BC
Yeoman
– Independent land-owner, a volunteer warrior.
Book 1
Prologue
It was
a fine sunny day in the English countryside, the following previous ones had
been showery drizzle. For several days now the military base, deep in
Bedfordshire basked in the heat of late summer.
From the base,
situated at the top of a hill the lay of the land was noticeable. Off to the
east three distant figures left a blue Ford Escort and entered the ancient
forest. A young, confident blonde led the way followed by a slightly older man
and a dark-haired woman. All of them were in their twenties and wore the olive
drab uniforms of the British Army. Once they were deep in the forest the confident
one turned back to the other two.
“This is far enough,”
she said smiling, her body full of warmth.
“What have you brought
us here for?” asked the brunette.
“This wood is an
ancient forest, there’s not many left in England these days. It’s perfect for
us to make a bonding before the old oak trees.”
“A bonding? You mean
like a pact?” the young man answered rolling his eyes and looking to the other
girl skeptically.
“Well, we’ll be going
our separate ways soon, we could end up never seeing each other again. I want
us to make a pact, one that helps bring us back together again. That way, no
matter what happens, we’ll always find each other in future times.”
The brunette nodded
and grinned in agreement. “Sounds like witchcraft,” she laughed brazenly.
“It’s folk magic, in
the olden times people did this all the time. Now what do you both say?”
“You always were the
space cadet, but I’m game,” the other woman said.
“Me too,” the man said
with a chuckle. “I don’t want us to remain parted forever after the fun times
we’ve had. If this pact helps, I’m all for it.”
“Alright! This will
take a few minutes.”
The blonde woman
smiled again before producing a Wiccan knife and began speaking ancient words
and oaths. The atmosphere grew serious though and even the bird song and
outside noise grew faint somehow. After facing the oak and raising her hands
she spoke some more before making a shallow wrist cut on herself. She wiped her
cut on the side of a nearby oak tree. Then made a similar cut on the tall man
and finally the dark-haired woman. The ritual concluded with both making separate
blood-marks on the oak tree in a manner so that they circled and almost touched
one another.
The folk magic
concluded with a prayer then the somber feeling in the clearing lifted.
“That was pretty
intense,” the man said, accepting a tissue from the witch to dab at his wrist.
The brunette did likewise.
“We’re joined now,”
she answered. “If there’s danger, strife or troubled times in the world we’ll
hopefully be reunited. This is to remain a secret, if we tell anyone outside of
ourselves the pact could go terribly wrong.”
They all agreed to
this and together they hastened to leave the forest before they were missed.
After re-entering the blue Escort they departed the area, heading up the hill
towards the base.
Chapter 1
Person of Interest
“So
what's your business been in Ireland then?” the Junior Commissioner asked the
Yeoman.
“Oh not much, just
driving around,” the Yeoman answered.
“Just driving around?”
“That’s right.”
“Where did you stay?”
“Various places,” the
Yeoman said, “when I was
driving around
.”
“I was expecting an
address? A residence?
There was a long pause
as the Yeoman ignored the question.
It was a brightly
colored room and the plain day outside might as well have been a world away.
For the occupants of the room it was one man in a three-piece suit and the
other in well-worn plain clothes. The Yeoman was not in uniform, but he felt as
if he ought to be. Outside the steady rumble of heavy goods lorries could be
heard.
Heysham
Ferry Terminal was always busy during
offloading, but soon the noise would fade. By that time and for many more hours
he could remain detained. He wondered if the anti-terror team rooting into his
vehicle outside had found anything. As a reservist member of the Yeomanry he'd
be automatically on their radar. It was no secret that the Colonels were
disgruntled with the new coalition regime. The registration of his Land Rover
Defender would have been tied to his Reservist status, which in turn would have
automatically flagged him up as a gun-owner.
“Eric
Weyland
do you have an address in Ireland?” the small man’s
tone became harsher.
The Yeoman shook his
head. “I wasn’t expecting a welcoming party on my return to Albion. Neither was
I expecting a nameless Commissar to be asking me questions,” the Yeoman
retorted.
“My name is Junior
Commissioner
Brown,” the older man
stressed, annoyed at
Weyland’s
jibe. “Now why were
you in Ireland Eric?”
“Just visiting the
country,” the man responded.
As the Junior Commissioner
looked over the file he turned the pages slowly. His Person Of Interest was
thirty-five years old, a shade over six-foot tall. Unlike a fair few men his
age he showed no sign of drugs or drink abuse. His skin and eyes were clear and
he moved with an athletic laziness, as if he was conserving his energy until it
was most needed.
Weyland
knew the border-interrogator had him on ‘suspicion of external activities’. It
was a recent law that allowed police investigations for border travelers on the
flimsiest whim. Since the great land-slide election of a rabidly left-wing
government things had been changing. It had been nearly a year since they took
power and already things were going backwards again.
It had been good times
for people like
Weyland
in the past thirty-years. He
was born just after the short but decisive Colonels Coup that started the rift
throughout the land. A hard-right government that followed, backed by the
military. Nearly twenty years of this had undone much of the lunacy of the previous
governments. Even so, the rot was so deep the reform was being constantly undermined
by scheming politicians.
Weyland
had heard the call to arms ten years ago on the eve of the brief, but bloody
Colonels War. The firmly hard-right-wing government that followed effectively reversed
the worst of the issues ailing the island. The professional politicians were
done away with, a manufacturing industry was restored and the military reformed
to being more resource-orientated and island-centric. Most important of all, a
power-base away from London, in northern England was established. Thus giving
the Yeomanry a check and balance on London’s commercial stranglehold. More importantly
much of northern England became Albion, a nation within the nation.
A volunteer force,
independent from the old monarchy and loyal to Albion alone complimented the mandatory
conscription. That had developed into the Yeomanry and, following completion of
the conscription system, allowed a new standing army of volunteers to come
forth. Many of the former conscripts transferred to the Yeomanry rangers,
armored troops or the fledgling air-force but not
Weyland
.
He had a different calling that saw him dispatched overseas.
Years passed while he
was gone and the winds of change blew once again. The hardline government,
under threat of sanctions from more powerful countries formed a centrist
Coalition with other political parties. There were no sanctions against Albion territories
but it crippled the ultra-conservative leadership. The left-wing, always
masters at winning over the young, had a field day. Once ‘their’ generation
came of age the results became clear.
High on the office
wall a picture of the new Prime Speaker Veitch grinned down at
Weyland
like a mocking Hyena.
“So whereabouts in
Ireland did you travel Eric?”
“Am I free to leave?”
Weyland
responded plainly with a bored tone.
“We just have to
complete our search first,” the man said smoothly, “Then there’s also the
Anti-Terrorist Act that we used to… initiate our inquiries with you.” The Commissioner
spoke the last part rather smugly.
Weyland
looked down at the black and white slip on the table. It reminded him that,
thanks to the new powers granted last year in the parliament, coastal and
airport security had the power to detain anyone they felt was under suspicion
of what they deemed ‘terrorist activities’. It went on to state that he could
be held for a maximum of nine hours and items he held could be confiscated for
as long as two weeks.
What perplexed the
Yeoman was the fact a Junior-Commissioner was the man doing the talking.
Normally a police sergeant or detective did border interviews. Why such a
high-rank?
A uniformed policeman came
in through the door he’d entered. It led to a corridor and another door barred
the way outside.
“He’s got a crossbow
under the driving seat!” he said to Brown who looked over at
Weyland
.
“That’s not against
the law,” he replied, causing the commander to shake his head at his underling
who stomped out the door, obviously disgruntled that nothing was going down
that avenue.
“There’s a bill in
parliament being tabled to outlaw those you know?” the interviewer goaded.
“I wonder what they’ll
outlaw next? Your own batons perhaps?” he retorted with a smile causing the man
to flush.
Brown clenched his
fist. “Those are already—” he began to say before realizing
Weyland
meant they’d be outlawed to Enforcers. A notion he found ridiculous.
“Are you traveling
with your self-loading rifle?” the policeman asked, referencing the weapon
every member of the Yeomanry was armed with.
“Of course, it’s
stowed behind the driver’s seat.”
“With ammunition?”
“It’s not much good
without it now is it?”
The short man perused
the shipping manifest before taking a headmaster’s tone. “I don’t see any
record from the ferry company of your firearm or ammo being registered.”
“Of course not, it’s
not a legal requirement to notify them. I have to leave my vehicle unattended
while on that ferry, you can be sure I’m not telling the ferry crew what’s in my
vehicle.”
Weyland
took out his Firearms Exemption Authority from his wallet with a satisfied
smile and slid it across to Brown.
Like many Yeomanry
policies counter to Britain’s draconian weapons laws the validity of the authority
was to the year 9999. Additionally it was transferable to members of his family,
even fellow Yeomanry with an officers signature. In essence it was a
theoretically unlimited and a subtle ‘up yours’ to any police harassment. The Commissioner
looked at it briefly with disdain before sliding it back across the table.
“I’m
gonna
be straight with you
Weyland
,
I don’t like your kind. I’ve read your file, seen your reports, you seem to have
a problem with how this country is being run.”
“This country is being
run by traitors and seditious pukes again. A blind man can see that.”
“They were
democratically elected! Unlike the coup that messed up this country about
thirty years ago.”
“That was by consent,
endorsed by the working and middle-class folk sick and tired of being abused by
the idiots in Parliament.”
“Consent? I didn’t
consent or agree!” Brown countered but
Weyland
spoke
as if he’d not even heard him.
“If it wasn’t for the
coup there would have been a rebellion from the other factions of the military,
then you’d really have seen a bloodbath!”
“What about the police
that were executed then? The politicians! The media-directors! The bankers!
They lined them up against a wall and murdered them! Those are your Colonels
actions.”
Weyland
nodded at this with a cool reserve. “I would have done it differently, sparing
them death, but one way or another high-ranking traitors get what they deserve.
They were enemy agents and that was proven!”
“You’re crazy, that’s
not how we should do things!”
“Yes it is, you’re
just too chicken-hearted to accept me telling it like it is.”
“Rubbish. We know
you’ve been traveling around
Weyland
. Places like
America, India, places in Europe that have a nationalist or government.”
‘So they know some of
my
rovings
?’
Weyland
silently mused.
“We don’t want you
filling young minds over here with any nonsense.”
“Nonsense is it?”
Weyland
countered. “The Jade people call it the Divine
Mandate, it allows lethal force to manifest against those that wish ill-will on
the local populace of a nation or people. People had forgotten this in the
West, but not when the Colonels reminded folk of it! Over in the USA they
fought a war for seven years to stay free from a tyrannical monarchy. So if
that’s nonsense to you then you are obviously a half-wit or just trying to wind
me up. Which is it?”
The words flowed like
a torrent of water from the Yeoman, stinging Commissioner Brown. The Commissioner
knew from the files that
Weyland
was intelligent, a
rabble-rouser and debater, able to speak with others. It was surely why the
Colonels had sent him overseas. The question that eluded him, MI6 intelligence
and even foreign intelligence was why?
“Why do you plot
against this island?”
The Yeoman smiled
enigmatically but said nothing, needling Brown who stared hard at the eyes that
didn’t even look at him. A glassy-zeal or sheen seemed to radiate from them,
something that conventional threats could not blunt.
Weyland
was a fanatic in his eyes, the sort of man who would kill others and not be afraid
to make light of it. There was an intensity to his icy blue eyes, it reminded
him of a storm trooper just on the eve of an assault or perhaps a pilot about
to dive-bomb an enemy position. Nothing seemed to sway him. Like a sudden turn
of the weather, he was calm again.
“Look, I don’t have a
problem with you Enforcers as a rule. I don’t really hate anyone typically,
even the traitors, but when things are out of order, Things have to happen.”
The Commissioner went
passive and held his hands up briefly. ‘Let the fool talk,’ he thought. ‘He’ll
tell us what we know now he’s begun rambling.’
“You know if it wasn’t
for people like the Yeomanry we’d have been invaded and conquered by the
immigrant hordes many times over. The Colonels know the score and speak out
about it.”
“The Yeomanry acts
like a private army traipsing about this country though. Most of all though,
it’s the fact you have carte blanch to wield military grade weapons. That’s a
bit much isn’t it Eric?”
“You only say that
because your police tyranny was hamstrung by the Colonels
Mr
Brown. In the words of my old Colonel ‘Too many traitors in high places,
starting from Junior Commissioner upwards.’”
“You don’t think it’s
outdated to have a militia bullying the police and shooting them during a coup?”
“It’s never an
outdated thing to have protection, the Yeomanry serve as a check-and-balance on
the tyrannical powers of the police state.”
“That’s nonsense, the
police force protect people, chase criminals and investigate law-breakers.”
“Good, then leave the
Yeomanry to be the Yeomanry and concentrate on people actually breaking the
law, not this thought-crime and harassment.”
“You know when the
firearms laws in this country were lax we had a man go on a spree killing in Wiltshire.
He reminded me of a Yeomanry type.”
“He had illegal
weapons and was a rogue
Gladio
operative according to
the Colonels. Those were government guys trained to fight if we were invaded,
except a few got ideas of their own. One went nuts because his meds were bad
and he was spurned by a woman who surprised him in a forest.”
“Rubbish,” the Commissioner
said.
“If people had the
firearm rights we Yeomanry have now, spree killers like him would have been cut
to pieces on sight.”
“We don’t trust you
Weyland
, not me, not the High Commissioners, not the Prime
Speaker! We don’t want to take a chance for your Yeomanry to go on the rampage.
I don’t understand your stupid gun rights, I think you Yeomanry are a relic, a
piece of history from when warfare was a way of life in Europe.”
“The feeling is
mutual. Yeomanry can help if the country is ever invaded. A professional police
force would likely panic, go home and even collaborate with the enemy.”