The Yeoman: Crying Albion Series - Book 1 (16 page)

Chapter
12

The
Cabal

The Inner Way
celebrated their victory against the Yeomen with a child sacrifice in the usual
fashion. Commissioner Roberts, Grandmaster of the cabal, led the activities. The
Prime Speaker took a proving turn, marking his full admission into the Inner
Way. After they’d all taken their own proof cutting, prayers and solemn words
were led by Roberts until their rites were completed. After a time it was over and
they all retired up two flights of stairs to a changing room. The masks and
robed garbs were removed and more normal attire of their everyday lives donned.
Only then could they discern who was who with any clarity.

The two dozen men made up some
of the most powerful men on the island. Police chiefs, a military official,
banking financiers, education and media controllers made up most of the group.
The remainder were politicians from all major factions and civil commissioners.

As one they filed into the palatial
conference room to dine on fine food and wine. It was a lavish contrast to the demonic
evils committed on innocents in the basement. To the Inner Way such moral ways
were selectively appropriate.

The royalty who formerly
inhabited the lavish buildings were long gone. Most were tucked away overseas
or in remote areas, their wealth had been squandered and frittered away over
the previous decades. Since the privatization of the castles, palaces and vast
tracts of land to overseas companies the public could not even access close to
the former tourist sites. With the exception of Stonehenge nearly all stately
places now belonged to their agents now. As far as the Inner Way was concerned,
they were the new Royalty who ruled the Island of Britain.

After a time the three-course meals
were consumed and the Grandmaster stood up to give his speech.

“Our victory is almost complete
brothers,” Commissioner Roberts said richly, “with the message we sent out at
Belgravia, the Yeomanry now know our feelings about any compromise.”

To this there were cheers and
whoops as their leader continued.

“In less than three weeks the
New Europeans will swarm this island and bring about the chaos needed to usher
in our golden age. Before it was a few waves from the colonies, now the great
flood beckons! It will be a glorious time seeing the victory here and soon
elsewhere in the world as well!”

A resounding cheer and
supportive encouragement roared out from the two dozen men.

“This is not just my victory,
but yours too brothers. Now, the Inner Way would like to hear your words,
wisdom and concerns.”

The Grandmaster gestured at
Timothy Collard, a man responsible for education in the country. He looked
plain and but with brown hair and matching eyes he was a good yarn-teller and
could ramble for hours about a matter.

“My father was a teacher, as was
I after him,” the man said with strong certainty. “The children of his
generation had parents who differed in their goals to ours. They were too
biased to Europe and the evils of our colonial past. Our schools soon carefully
corrected the teachers and then the precious children learned more of our
enlightened ways. My turn came and still there was work to be done.
Homosexuality was shunned by the educational establishment but we soon changed
that. Racism was ever present and I am proud to be a part of stripping away
their racial pride. Now nearly all teachers in this way act as family to the
school children. College and university tutors, professors and academics follow
suit. Any that get ideas above their station, differ from our agreed story of
history are given short thrift. You ask for concern Grandmaster? For me there
are none now. Each successive generation of children, from infant up to
university adult is well schooled in our ways. Soon the very capstone of
mentor-teaching will be reached, already we have some schools experimenting
with it. Child-bonding, still partly demonized even now will be brought into
line with our guiding light. I know that myself and many of our brothers will
be most keen to see the bonding made law sooner rather than later. It will
cement the separation of child from family, into our family! I give praise to
Cultural Marxism. It is now the dominant force in the education of our young!”

This speech was well received. A
parliamentary minister in charge of land and housing was the next down the
table.

“Land affordability is out of
reach for nearly all but the wealthy. Those in that bracket are known to us. All
housing applications for New Europeans will go straight to the front of the
queue, giving them only the best facilities.”

“Be careful not to exclude
existing colonials minister,” cautioned Roberts, referencing the already
established non-European folks in Britain. “I don’t want them to feel we are
being too favorable to the new arrivals.”

“It will be so Grandmaster.”

The next man to address them was
Cabinet minister Harlow. As a master of immigration trends, he was highly
regarded and sought after for the lynch-pin in their plans. The minister laid
out things in a less eloquent and more statistical fashion though, such was the
logic of his ways.

“The current New Europeans on
the island number about five percent of ethnic minority people. Including colonial
people from past immigration waves, their families and children we have
thirty-five percent of the island population who are non-European. With the coming
influx of New Europeans, if the vote goes through—”

“It will go through,” Veitch
said smugly.

“Then the New European’s will
jump to a majority of the current minority percentage. The numbers, trends and
historical evidence does not lie.”

“Assuming all goes well,”
Roberts asked, “how many years until the white majority of Britain is surpassed
by a non-white majority?”

“Fifteen years master, possibly
as few as eight.”

“I want it in five years,”
Roberts said starkly.

“Grandmaster,” Harlow responded,
“the white population numbers over forty million. Breeding them out takes
time.”

“Which is one of the reasons why
so many new people from needy places must be welcomed. To offset the majority,
a new majority must be brought in.”

“I understand Grandmaster, yet
the carrying capacity of the island, with imports, would be stretched to the
limit in order to feed them. If it could be done gradually, through family
visas gradually increasing their numbers—”

“I will deal with logistics and
easing the island’s burdens, you just give me the statistics brother. Twenty-five
million New Europeans, most of them are men of fighting age, are waiting in
mainland Europe. They are to take their place upon this island. They will be rightfully
taking females of the white population and fulfilling the breeding of a new
population to supplant the old. Random crime and liquidation of natives will
sky-rocket of course, but this will be a teething pain more than anything. Now
let us hear the time frame brother.”

“Firstly the factors depend on
societal unrest, breeding rate of the New Europeans, displacement patterns. I
can give best, average and poor—”

“Have you factored in financial
incentives?” Roberts interjected.

“I have not Grandmaster,” the
man said nervously before mentally crunching the numbers, “Perhaps five to seven
years, nine at the most and the goal can be achieved.” Harlow sweated nervously
for a time as Roberts gaze fixed on him. The Grandmaster nodded slowly.

“Forgive me, but is that for Albion
as well or just within our own borders?” a military official said placidly.

“It includes data from just
prior to Albion’s separation.”

“Well there’s no way the Yeoman
Colonels will tolerate New Europeans coming over the border. They’ll be shot on
sight or beaten back.”

“There won’t be an Albion by this
time next year,” Roberts spoke confidently with a chuckle of casual malice. His
half-brother Seymour would pay once and for all. “Your army and a UN taskforce
will be brought to bear. It will happen, but the details will manifest in
future times brother.”

An economist Jerry Mills spoke
next.

“As I’ve said already, our
corporations calculate massive profits from the new workforce. In detail the
New Europeans will work for even less wages than many third-world areas. The
conditions of work can be less comfortable than the current pool of working-class
are used to. For benefits there’s again less reason to be generous. We can
tailor very well for the coming workforce in ways that would have the workers
of old marching on Parliament.” Mills spoke the last sentence with a laugh.

The next speaker was one of the
media controllers, Samuel Cohen. With reserve and diligence his words drifted
about the table.

“Everything broadcast on
satellite is under the BBC or our other channels. A majority of news directors
and program producers report either to me or my agents. The remainder report to
the other gentlemen at this table. Radio broadcasts are of a similar variable.
No deviation or slanderment of the New European agenda is tolerated. Public
opinion is firmly guided away from notions of nationalism, white on white
heterosexuality, femininity and tradition. Media attacks on the Yeoman
territory of Albion are relentless and rising. We are winning the media-war.”

“Not the internet war though,”
another media mogul, Alexander Hearn, stated sternly.

“Grandmaster and brothers,”
Cohen said apologetically, “I will need assistance if we are to tackle that
issue.”

Roberts nodded and looked to the
technological minister, Michael Richardson. He was a slender man with ruddy and
pockmarked features, no stranger to deviant ways and cruel pleasures.

“An Internet Driving License
would do it,” he said slyly. “The military have a similar system on their fixed
terminals, everyone’s visit to any internet site in the world is logged. If
every citizen is compelled by law to register their machines, handheld devices
and so on to a central super-computer we can do the same. To buy a new or used computer,
sell or transfer it the IDL must be shown or used via a registered dealer. Then
the IDL which must be hard-coded to their computer allows the super-computer to
track them wherever they go. No more internet proxies to shadow their movements
as that will show up on the super-computer. We just need an excuse or incident
to put paper into law and prototype trials can be rolled out within a year,
full-scale production and registration by the next.”

Roberts smiled and nodded. “So
brother Cohen, there is your assistance.”

“Such a thing would be greatly
appreciated Grandmaster,” the media controller groveled.

The next man to speak was Police
Commissioner Nomes, Robert’s favorite. “The last privately-held firearms will
be confiscated by winter. With the spree killing at Northampton I doubt the new
firearms bill coming through parliament will fail. If it does the incoming
martial law will allow us to ban all movement of firearms and move in
door-to-door. Gun clubs and so forth are under passive surveillance.”

“What about weaponry being
brought in from overseas? It’s no secret there’s sympathy in parts of the USA
and Europe for Albion.”

“Albion arms dealers rely on
independent shipping, workshops and smugglers for extra firearms, ammunition
and parts. Then there’s the existing military grade weaponry most of the
Yeomanry already use and the black market.”

“I was more concerned with our
borders brother.”

“I see master. Well there’s an
international movement ban on privately-registered firearms from and to Britain.
Weaponry aside what my biggest concern though are the New Europeans.”

There was an awe-filled pause at
this. It was the closest thing to displeasure to even hint at any criticism
towards them. They were a pet project of the Inner Way, for one to tread words
on them was risky.

“In what way are the solution to
our problems a concern brother?” the Grandmaster said icily.

“They’ll stretch and tie up
police resources massively. Even with army assistance it will be risking civil
war within our borders. It may also allow Yeoman agents to stir up mischief in
either case.”

“Ah but you see there’s an
answer to that Brother Nomes!” Roberts said with a grin, “Our own paramilitary
made up from the New Europeans!”

There were several startled
looks and mutterings at this. Roberts held up his arms for silence before
speaking on to them.

“We already have the Cadre teams
preparing the way. The seeds have been sown, once the main force arrives they’ll
be carefully chosen and groomed into fruition. Once they are ready, you will
have a powerful asset to help manage things if the populace gets out of hand.”

“Inner Way families are still
assured priority protections Master?” asked Nomes neutrally.

“Absolutely. Remember we all
will be far from their population centers so your families needn’t worry about
any misdeeds though. We of the Inner Way look after our own, remember that well
brothers!”

The Grandmaster raised his voice
at the last sentence before resuming his dictation to the others.

“So, we won’t have too many
issues with the New Europeans and it won’t be long now! Steered correctly
they’ll be our docile slaves within a few generations of hardship. By that stage
the upstart Britons shall be crushed into the trashcan of history!”

The real leader of Britain made
a flourish when he said this, the others cheered and roared in giddy
excitement.

Chapter
13

Media
Noise

‘Yeomanry Shot After
Attacking Authorities With Swords!’ read one liberal newspaper. Another even
claimed that the Enforcers had foiled a major terror-attack with the headline ‘Enforcers
Triumph Against Yeomanry Terrorists!’ Another stated ‘Possible Yeomanry Link to
Ferry Terminal Attack?’ Even the anti-liberal Knight News would only dare print
‘Yeomanry Killed During Chaotic Arrest in London.’

Gearson prepared some food in the kitchen of
Riley’s apartment while she watched the media-machine go into over-drive. The London
International News was on-going with snazzy graphics and goggle-eyed
news-readers. They played their part of acting with disgust well, one by one
they were almost rabid with their indignation and mock-outrage of the Yeomanry.
The fact that nearly a dozen of them were cowardly shot down in cold-blood was
barely mentioned. When it was even referred to the response and agreement was
that it was ‘thoroughly justified’ given the ‘dangerous circumstances.’

“They had swords and were going to use them
against Enforcers. People that carry such offensive weapons deserve no mercy!” bellowed
one fat little man when a newsman asked if the Enforcers had over-reacted.

The London Commissioner himself was
interviewed outside his fortress-like base near the Tower of London. After making
over-inflated boasts of how his brave men had saved the Conference from Yeoman
terrorists he issued a demand that any Yeoman that still owned arms after
midnight would be required to surrender them to the nearest Enforcer Post.

“Three of my men lie dead in a morgue along
with four in hospital because of thugs with swords who put themselves above the
law. Yeomanry are an outdated concept. In modern Albion we do not need anyone
but Police Law Enforcement owning, carrying and using weaponry. It quite simply
is not a British value to have an armed citizenry, volunteer militia or
anything like that when that is the job of the police. With the authority of
the Police Emergency Powers Act I can authorize the detention and revocation of
any remaining arms privately held, following the Council's approval. Although
this day is a tragic loss I am confident to see a new beginning.”

The next images began to show the scene
unfolding and Gearson had her turn it off. The outrage had begun, the die was
cast and now Gearson had to consider his moves. Colonel Penkin had already
departed to his country-estate and it was only he, Riley and a few others that remained.

After they'd eaten he drew up his plans.

“How many Deep-Eye operatives do we have
here in the city?” he asked Riley.

“Three, but one has been off-comms and hasn't
answered any calls for months,” she said neutrally.

“We can work with that. I'll need to arrange
meetings with them before the week is out.”

“I'll put out the word,” she assured. “I've
lived here for several years and I've never seen it this bad you know?”

“I've seen it worse believe me,” Gearson
said seriously. “Yet there's a strange concentration of evil in this city
especially as well as the land as a whole. It's bad here, at least there's
places elsewhere to go to if things get worse. My concern is not only for the
people of this land, but for others elsewhere that the evil present may spread
to.”

“Can you fight whatever it is though? You
once said not every war can be won or is possible to win. That sometimes a war
has to be lost in order to learn for later times.”

“We might not have to fight a war with what lies
ahead in future times.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something has meddled and interrupted the
flow of things to cause discord, fear and oppression.”

“What do you think it is?”

“A threat to western civilization, one which
is making its move at a most vulnerable period. Whatever it is, I'm glad I
brought along artifacts,” he motioned to a non-descript set of five cases under
the table. Lorraine Riley was surprised, even her own gear amounted to very
little. Most of her supplies were all cached in the countryside.

The early night was bittersweet as they
remembered the fallen dead and held a brief ceremony with lit candle-flame and
ancient rites. Gearson swore an oath to avenge the fallen and that they were
deserving of the best halls in the afterlife.

That night as Lorraine slept the monsters of
the city prowled the night. For Gearson, the man who was part of a long
forgotten race, he prepared himself and his equipment like a brooding deity.
Weapons were checked, Artifacts were readied and warrior-prayers were made. He
was tempted to head out into the night and to launch a devastating lone-wolf
attack on the very heart of darkness within London. Not only was that risky, he
could jeopardize future things as yet unbroken. The Prime Speaker and his band
of vipers would pay, but it would be done right. Gearson slept on the couch
just after the clock struck two in the morning. It wasn’t a long enough couch for
his tall frame but it was enough to catch up on a few hours rest.