Chapter 19: Peru does something!
5th October 1937
In the great city of Lima, Señor Cheezo surveyed his kingdom. President-dictator Oscar Benavides may sit on the throne downstairs, but he was the power behind it, and now, with his take-over of the inner court complete, Peru was set to expand and reach its potential.
“Mega Cheezo! Mega Cheezo!”
“What is it, Huan?” Cheezo said, wisely.
“Ecuador has been taken completely by surprise by our out-of-the-blue invasion. Despite heavily outnumbering us, we have the advantage!”
“Excellent. What have you heard from Major Calamity?”
“Only good things, Mega Cheezo. Things like ‘I guess their army is on the Columbian border’ and ‘I’ve forgotten my sunglasses’.”
“How is losing one’s sunglasses a good thing?”
“They make him look fat.”
“You are judgemental, Huan. Judgemental and stupid.”
“Yes, Mega Cheezo.”
The leader of the civil service, Cocoawriter, sidled up to the arguing pair. “Mega Cheezo,” he bowed.
“Cocoawriter,” Cheezo nodded back. “Any sign that the Americans are going to intervene and defend Ecuador’s sovereignty?”
“None, Mega Cheezo. It appears President Alf has taken the Monroe Doctrinal view that they only need to intervene if non-American…that is, non-Americas nations are intervening in the Americas.”
“Hmm,” the Grand Commander pondered mightily. “Good. Let me know if they come to their senses anytime soon, alright?”
He went back to staring across the cityscape. “Today is a good day, Huan. Peru has taken her first steps to continental domination.”
…
Meanwhile, in Italy
…
“No, seriously. Who the hell is Gordan Janev?”
The Mighty Black Cock rolled his mighty black eyes and clucked.
“Typewriter, Alan,” Cheesolini said absently, trying to read ‘Mental Breakdowns, and how to avoid them’.
“Oh yes,” Alan said sheepishly, pulling out the device and, in lieu of verbal apology, a dishful of corn.
The Mighty Black Cock strutted to the machine and pecked at the keys and the corn till both were finished.
“Apparently he’s a random man Beancounter picked up off the street,” Alan read from the transcript. “I knew it! Beancounter, you turd!”
“Boys, behave,” Cheesolini said, turning over the page and wondering if he might try giving cheese mongering another go. It would surely be less stressful than this, even if the shop did explode again.
The Mighty Black Cock clucked sharply at them all, reminding them that they had initially gotten him to ask how Peru had done a thing.
“Right, first things first,” Cheesolini sighed, putting down the self-help book and standing up. “Alan, what’s Peru’s deal?”
“A strange combination of assembly, political violence, instability, military overreach, dictatorship, fascism, socialism and democracy. In short, a somewhat typical South American country. Currently led by president-dictator Oscar Benavides. Field marshal, politician, and pretty decent diplomat to Europe. Started his term by ending a pointless war with Columbia, and has now started one with Ecuador.”
“Hmm. Right. And now what they are up to, Mighty Black Cock?”
The Mighty Black Cock clucked and finished their missive.
“Alan?”
“He says that Peru is trying to flex its muscles whilst the United States is isolationist and boring, the rest of the world is on fire, and because it is surrounded by weaker states it has dubious claims on.”
Cheesolini thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, fair enough. Chances of their success?”
“Ecuador is, comparatively speaking, democratic, stable and successful. They’ve previously spent decades trying to get border disputes resolved with negotiations rather than fights but have the teeth to defend themselves if needs be. We are fairly certain they outnumber Peru by some margin in terms of soldiers. They are also guaranteed by the United States…although for whatever reason, the US does not appear to have noticed what’s going on.”
“Funny…I wonder why?”
…
Meanwhile, in the White House
…
Alf Landon was at his desk in the oval office, probably thinking about oil or something.
“Mr President?”
“Ah Herpes, glad to see you. Where did you go dashing off to all of a sudden?”
“I do apologise sir, but it appears Peru have declared war on Ecuador.”
“I see,” President Landon said seriously. “And where is that?”
“South America, sir.”
“Hmm. They don’t tend to do much down there, do they?”
“No sir.”
“Well…good for them, giving action a shot.”
“Mr President? I’m afraid we’ve guaranteed the independence of both countries and vowed to defend their sovereignty.”
“Yeah, against European colonialism, Herpes. Good lord, if we went down there every time one of them had a revolution or a border dispute or a falling out…well…too much work, you understand. Especially as we are isolationists.”
“You are not, sir.”
“I’m not?” Landon checked his notes. “Oh yeah…no I’m not. Funny how they put me down as one.”
“I suppose you are, compared to Roosevelt.”
“Which one?”
“…either, I suppose.”
“Hmm. Well, keep me informed, but I doubt the American people or Congress for that matter will be all that enthused for action or intervention. We don’t do that sort of thing here, you see.”
“I see,” Herpes nodded. “I suppose that’s why the rest of the world rarely hears from us.”
“And they aren’t likely to hear from us again for some time,” the President nodded definitively.”
…
20th October 1937
It was Jam Night at the Arcadian once again, and Cheesolini was delightfully sticky.
Alan was busting a move with the flunky monkeys.
The band was on fire, but that was being put out now.
And Beancounter was in the corner, typing away on a portable desk.
“I’d say you need to get out more, but…well…” General Catastrophe looked around the room. “Anything interesting?”
“Many things. SIM estimate that the two sides of the French civil war are very even in terms of soldiers and manpower overall.”
“Which means our theory about the Commune having the initial advantage was correct, given the Nation side has their troops spread all over the colonial empire too,” Catastrophe nodded.
“Indeed. Yemen have also once again broken out of the Arab assault and this time really are going all out in a last ditch attempt to end the war on their terms.”
“How on earth does this keep happening?”
“I’m not sure for the other times, but this one is probably due to the Persians smashing through Iraqi lines and sharing a border with the Saudis. At least for a while.”
“Ah, so they massively overcompensated in panic. Makes sense.”
“Indeed. Baghdad has fallen to the Persians, though the Iraqi army appears to still be around, given the casualty reports.”
“Last I heard, Yemen was on the way to the Saudi capital. If they take it, they win. If the Arabs stop them, Yemen are too overextended to defend anymore.”
“Game over either way.”
“Just so.”
“And France?”
“Corsica has fallen to Commune forces. They’ve also enveloped a Nation French army in between Lyon and Dijon.”
“Convenient how all our French claims are now held by communists…”
“Rather.”
The pair watched Cheesolini let off some steam with another jam sandwich, and the band started playing again, this time with fewer matches.
“The Estonian Civil war ended this afternoon as well,” Catastrophe said after a while. The fascists never really stood a chance.”
“It’s hard to feel sorry for idiots like that. I’ve got Berretta to start forging advanced barrels now, which could be interesting.”
Further discussion was interrupted by a flunky monkey bursting into the room, cutting off the music and dancing.
“Oslo has fallen! The Communists are on the run!”
“Hooray!” roared the room, and the party went back to full swing.
…
2nd November 1937
Still groaning under a jam hangover, Cheesolini sat face down at his desk, occasionally mumbling things that could be construed as agreement and orders.
“Well, that looks conclusive for Norway,” Alan mused, perched on the desk and reading through the SIM report. “Finland did Denmark a solid. Will they be maintaining their alliance after the war?”
“I think so…though the Finns may have to resolve the fascism thing first,” Beancounter replied. “Provided the resultant election or civil war goes in the far-right direction, that alliance seems solid enough.”
“Any hint as to what the Danes are going to do with Norway?”
“Not sure. The Norwegian king is still missing in action, and most of the parliament is dead, so I suppose unifying the crowns under Denmark makes sense, given Christian is running the show anyway.”
“That could be suitably wacky,” Alan nodded.
Both men winced as a flunky monkey burst in, very loudly, and was shot by Cheesolini.
“Ook,” the messenger said mournfully, looking down at where its tail used to be.
“Oh, look,” Beancounter said, gingerly picking up, wiping and reading the letter. “The UK and France have agreed to negotiate East Africa.”
“Mmm,” grumbled Cheesolini, reloading his pistol.
“They have invited us to join the Stresa Front Alliance.”
“Mmm?” Cheesolini grumbled at Alan.
“Yes, Mighty Cheesare. The Stresa Front was an agreement between the western powers against the Nazis, signed in 1935. You were there. Or rather, your predecessor was. And you yourself were, in our timeline’s 1935.”
“Hmmm,” Cheesolini put his head back down on the desk. Then he waved for Alan to continue.
“Anyway, we broke it when we invaded Ethiopia. And now they want us to sign up again, having conquered Ethiopia.”
“A bit stupid, but we are dealing with Neville Chamberlain,” Beancounter added. “You’ll also be pleased to know that we have learnt lessons from the Great War and developed inter-war artillery.”
“Our weapons manufacturers are now advanced enough that we can research improved infantry equipment at little to no penalty, and General Catstrophe informs me we are ready to invade Romania.”
“Ah, I was wondering where he’d gone,” Alan said. “War alright with you, Mighty Cheesare?”
Cheesolini appeared to have fallen asleep.
“I think that’s a yes.”
