#Mythical Canary Literature

[asitrita]

Spanish myths and folklore: La Serrana

The Serrana (Mountain Woman) is a Spanish myth originated in Northern Extremadura, but widestread throughout the entire Iberian Peninsula, including Portugal, and the Canary Islands.

The Serrana is a beatuful woman with the appearance of a hunter or an Amazon with superhuman strength and certain supernatural characteristics who lives in the mountains and took the men she came across to her cave to kill them (often after getting them drunk and/or having sex with them) and store the bones in the cave.

She is realted to Medieval “serranillas”, to which other mythical components would be added to forge the current modern myth of the Serrana. The character has had to various manifestations in Spanish culture and folklore, being able to distinguish between the Serrana de la Vera as a myth, the Serrana as a character from romances of oral tradition and its variations, and the Serrana as a character from literature (especially suring the Spanish Golden Age).

The story of the Serrana has also been collected in numerous folk songs, especially in Extremadura and the southern region of Salamanca. Here’s an example of traditional Spanish folk music from the aforementioned regions, in which the lyrics are almost exclusively accompaigned by the also traditional and distinctive Spanish tamborilero, who, alongside the drum (tabor) also play the flute, dulzaina, or bagpipe. 

English Lyrics

In Garganta de la Olla, a league and a half from Plasencia,

there lived a tall, blond, charming mountain woman.

Her waist is yard and a half, her wirst a span and a half,

her hair reached her old shoes. 

When she felt thirsty, she climbed the high crags,

when she lusted for men, she came down from the mountains.

She saw a mountain boy coming with a load of firewood,

she tooks him by the hand and leads him to her cave.

She does not take him through paths nor lanes,

she takes him over high mountains, where no one can see them.

They tried to make a fire with the bones and skulls

of the men killed by that terrible beast.

They tried to dine a delicious dinner

of rabbits and partridges and turtledoves.

“Drink, mountain boy, drink, water from that skull,

it may be that one day someone drinks from yours”.

They tried to go to bed, she ordered him to close the door

and the mountain boy, as best as he could, has left it half open.

When he has felt her asleep, he has gone outside.

He has been walking for half a league without turning his head.

When she has sensed his absence, she has gone outside.

She put a stone in the sling, which weighed one and a half pounds.

With the force and wind that it carried, it has knocked down his montera,

and if not for an oak, it knocks his head off.

“Come back, mountain boy, come back; come back for your montera,

it is of fine and good cloth, it would be a pity if it was lost.“

“If it gets lost, so be it; I don't care about the montera.

My mother will buy me a new one, and if she doesn’t, I'm fine with it”.

“I beg you, mountain boy, do not discover my cave,

if you discover it, I will cut off your head.

Your father will be the horse, your mother will be the mare,

and you will be the little foal that neighs through the mountains.”

#spain #spanish culture #legends #tradition #folklore #mythology #spanish folklore #spanish music #music #song #españa #extremadura #Youtube

[paigevmackenzie]

Write It- A Creative Nonfiction Essay

Tru Red. That’s the only brand of pen that I will accept. I can’t write with the regular office pens that tend to overpopulate schools, offices, homes, and most worldly establishments. The stop-and-start of a Papermate or a dry, to-the-point chalky appearance of a Bic is the most uninspiring sensation imaginable. What draws me to a Tru Red pen is that it’s a flowy, liquid ink gel. The Tru Red has a concentrated, swimming flow across a page. It’s much more dramatic than a regular pen. A Tru Red pen holds the essence of an ancient scroll in bold, dark, swirling incandescent ink, with creating letters that vaguely resemble art. A Tru Red pen cradles thoughts, ideas, and emotions with soft curved lines rather than the angled corners of letters spewed from a Bic, that lunges off a page itching to hurl your own prose right back at you. A Tru Red is fanciful and grandiose. A Tru Red demands to be heard. Maybe other writers find Tru Red pens to be too much, and that’s why they stray away from it. A Tru Red pen is an acquired taste.  I’ve rarely ever noticed someone else using a Tru Red pen. Tru Reds tend to keep to themselves, and on the shelves. Maybe that’s why Tru Red pens are for me.

On a warm beginning-of-September night in second grade, my parents had a very tense parent-teacher conference with Mrs. Saunders. Mrs. Saunders seemed to have an issue with me that neither of my parents could comprehend to be a problem at all. Mrs. Saunders had prefaced to my parents her worry over my socialization skills. “Do you know where Paige sits in the classroom during our choice time Mrs. Blust?” she questions my mother as if she’s just as much a child as I am. “Paige reads by herself in the back corner every day. I’ve never seen her bother to play with the other children. I assure you both the other kids are not discluding her, she gets up right away and chooses her back corner reading spot the second the others get up to play.” The funniest part was children were let into the room during this conference, and I was peering out at her from behind a book, in that very same corner, when she said this about me.  I wasn’t offended or upset, just simply confused over Mrs. Saunders’ motives. Why was she unhappy with what I chose to do in my free time? Shouldn’t a teacher be happy that a student (whose class she was teaching how to read) was reading so well and enjoyed the material? Mrs. Saunders had coined my corner reading as “lonely.” But in my own little corner, I was far from it.

Mrs. Saunders disagreed with my parents for letting me try and read Harry Potter at that time. She said the material was too in-depth and I wouldn’t understand it. Frankly, Mrs. Saunders was more correct about that than not. I clearly couldn’t understand the deep themes of the novels at that age, and some plot points, but I soaked up the magnificent words as if breathing the crispest mountain air out the window of Trelawney’s astronomy tower. I had a paintbrush imagination, which turned A4 notebook paper into butterbeer-stained parchment, crayon buckets into a pensieve, the class guinea pig into a chirping, snowy messenger owl, and pencils into feather quills. Of course, I had a hard time socializing with the other kids enjoyably. They were perfectly content with our little corner of the Midwest, and never quite understood the excitement and solace I had found in mythical lands that cease to exist. Every time I attempted to explain my musings to the other kids, I was stared at like I was a cuckoo bird in a canary cage. I spent every free-time session of that class reading in my corner for the rest of the school year.

In fourth grade, our English classes started to teach poetry. Mrs. Barnes was passionate about English literature and gave each student a binder full of the most famous child-friendly poetry at the beginning of the school year. I soaked up every word I could from this binder and found the fondest joy in how something with so few words could tell me such a convoluted story.  She also gave us a poetry assignment halfway through the school year, and we each had to write a poem about a color. Our colors were assigned to us, and I got white. At first I had glared around the room at my other classmates, pondering what I had written if I had gotten pink or sky blue, or even yellow. I had been given the blandest color; white. This assignment taught me a very important lesson. Sometimes our muses are thrust upon us, and the true art lies in making do with the world we are given. The other kids started to chat, either bouncing ideas off one another or ignoring the assignment completely. I went to sit alone in the back and immediately started writing. I had gotten better at socialization since second grade, but for some reason unknown, poetry had snaked its way in between my heartstrings and pulled me to its creation, and I felt a need to take this assignment very seriously. Mrs. Barnes came to check on me in the back, as I sponged my notebook with angel food cake and the clouds of the heavens (in the way a fourth grader would explain that). She put her hand on my shoulder, and I expected to be reprimanded for not working near the rest of the class. Instead, Mrs. Barnes started to beam with a bittersweet smile and said “You have a gift, Paige. Keep it up.”

My father was a charming man. His office thought he was hilarious, his family a respected working-class man, and a doting husband and father. My parents had divorced when I was 6, and the days of the week that I had to stay with my father felt adjacent to purgatorial damnation at Dante’s. By 7th and 8th grade, things had gotten worse. My stepmother resented me and found joy in being cruel for reasons I’ll never fully understand, and my father was so desperate for a woman to take to bed that he never stood up for his own child. They adored my brothers. I was resented for having his ex-wife’s face. I spent every night there in my room, never coming out, rarely visited except for when my brother would “make sure I wasn’t dead.” I would go out into the rest of the house to get food and do laundry and live my life when everyone else was dead asleep in the darkest hours of the night. There’s a reason that so many poets muse over the night because it’s filled with sweet, sweet quiet. My stepmother and father decided that how I lived this way was pathetic and that I needed something to do.  We couldn’t afford much at my father’s but for Christmas in 7th grade, my one gift was an artist notebook. They thought that little girls must like to draw or something. I used it to write. I hadn’t thought about writing poetry since that one day in fourth grade, so I’m fuzzy on exactly how this began. I’m not sure what took over my body that one night in middle school, but in the dim mustard yellow light of my measly little room, I scooped up a pen, my artist notebook, and all of my grievances, and let my heart bleed open onto the desk. I had looked up after hours hunched over pen and paper, and suddenly the air felt easier to breathe. That’s what’s beautiful about the solitude of writing; I can let all my screams loose without ever being heard, and catharsis runs free. After that night, I would write every day for the next three years.

 It was the end of my sophomore year of high school, and I had left my father and his family behind. It had once again gotten worse, and it was my time to go.  I fought tooth and nail until I was living with my mom full-time. I escaped. The war was over, and I was free. Everyone asked me if I was relieved. I guess I should have been. I was surrounded by so much support from my mom’s side of the family, and while I was grateful, I did not feel any sense of community. The loneliest time in my life was not when everyone excluded me. It was when they looked at me like I was a wounded animal. During the grieving, crying, isolation, and overwhelming silence that came with becoming someone’s estranged sister, daughter, niece, granddaughter, and cousin, I was struggling with how to pick up my aching bones off the floor and learn to live again. I tried to feel relieved that I was away from the pain and danger, but all I could hear was a single thought ringing in my head. “Your family’s gone. No one will understand this pain but you. You are alone.” One day, my mother convinced me to go to target with her to get me out of the house. She could tell something was out of place, because among all I was going through and feeling, I hadn’t written in a long while. I was a caged bird unable to sing. As we were walking down the aisles, I decided to stop into the office section. I needed some more school supplies anyway. I wasn’t happy with the pens I had, and suddenly disliked the G2s that reminded me of my near past. I came across another ink gel pen and decided to test it. It was flowy, delicate, magical, and demanded to be heard without apology. On a sunny summer afternoon in a Target office supply aisle, I walked away with a fresh notebook and a box of brand-new Tru Red pens, and I started to heal again.

My life, just like any other, is constantly spinning, changing, spiraling, and forging new aches and pains. On my most isolated nights, where I suddenly feel once again like a child hiding alone in a corner, scared of anywhere that written word isn’t king, and reality comes to smack stories in the face, I involuntarily open up a hole in my chest, an avocado pit of pain that I can’t seem to shake. These are the nights that my bones are tired, my skin is heavy, and the tips of my toes go numb. On these nights, I sit at my desk and let the earth start to swallow me whole until I glance down to see my favorite Tru Red Pen, that slams an empty notebook page in front of me, drapes a blanket over my shoulders, shackles my wrists to the desk, and screams WRITE IT. WRITE IT. WRITE IT.

-PVM

#creative writing #creative nonfiction #literature

[typing-noises]

bird symbolism

hihi! our flower symbolism post was very fun, and we do love a good bit of symbolism in literature so— bird symbolism! in general, birds represent freedom, but individual birds have different meanings. it’s important to remember that different cultures will have different interpretations, so there will be multiple, sometimes conflicting, meanings.

owl - wisdom, darkness, death, luck

in english folklore, barn owls represent darkness and death, and was also known as the “bird of doom.” however, in the north of england, it is seen as good luck.

owls tend to represent wisdom. in greco-roman mythology, the owl is seen as the symbol of athena/minerva, the goddess of wisdom.

crow - death, intelligence, mischief, fearlessness,

crows can be viewed both as good and bad omens in western culture. they can represent transformation, destiny, intelligence, fearlessness, mystery, adaptability, death, mischief, and manipulation. they are often seen as omens of death because they are scavengers— feeding on carrion along with other birds, such as vultures.

in japanese culture, crows are related to mythical beings called tengu— who are usually depicted as tricksters. in greek mythology, crows are prophetic and a message from the gods.

dove - peace, freedom, love, messengers

because doves mate for life, they represent enduring love and fertility in many native american cultures. in egyptian myths, doves are associated innocence. on a related note, pigeons are seen as symbols of longevity in chinese culture.

in christianity, the dove is seen as a symbol of peace, as well as a messenger from god. in the old testament, noah sends a dove out, who comes back with an olive branch— seen as a sign from god. in greek mythology, the dove is a symbol of aphrodite, the goddess of love.

crane - longevity, loyalty, peace

in ancient china, cranes were seen as symbols of longevity and peace, and were the second-favourite bird, after the mythological phoenix. in christianity, it is seen as a symbol of vigilance, loyalty, and a good life. in celtic myths, they were seen as divine messengers (but so were other birds).

longevity is a common theme across many cultures, perhaps due to the long lifespan of the crane— the current oldest crane is 91 years old as of 2022!

vulture - death, uncleanliness, bad luck, reincarnation, judgement, shame

vultures are scavengers that feed on carrion— the basis for many of the things it symbolises.

in many native american cultures, the vulture has a negative connotation — they can symbolise death, uncleanliness, bad luck, danger, etc.

in tibet, the vulture is actually sacred because it feeds on dying/dead bodies, seen as cleansing the country of the dead, and is linked to the concept of reincarnation.

swan - beauty, grace, love, music, purity

in christianity, vultures are seen as unclean, and associated with death. it also symbolises judgement and shame, and are linked to the devil

the swan in tchaikovsky’s ballet swan lake is shown as a beautiful, graceful creature, and that depiction is stayed in recent times.

in roman myths, the swan is linked to aphrodite, the goddess of love, and apollo, the god of the sun, music, prophecy, etc. as it is one of their sacred creatures.

in many native american cultures, they represent grace, purity, beauty, strength, and wisdom, due to the whiteness of their feathers.

magpies - inteliigence, wit, deceit, good luck

magpies generally symbolise intelligence and wit, due to the nature of these birds. however, they can also symbolise deceit, opportunism, and illusion.

canary - selflessness

canaries tend to symbolise selflessness. miners would carry canaries down into caves with them, as they are more sensitive to toxic gas. they would die before the miners— and therefore sacrificing themselves as a warning.

peacock - confidence, power, ressurection, wealth

generally, peacocks are seen as confident and powerful creatures.

in christianity, peacocks symbolise resurrection and eternal life, because they shed their feathers every year. in hinduism, peacocks are associated with lakshmi, the goddess of wealth.

that's all we have for now! if there are any other "symbolism" posts that you would like, feel free to comment or dm us :))

[mythicalcanary-literature]

FanFiction - Crossing the Stars

Hetalia (c) Hidekaz Himaruya

FTL: Faster Than Light (c) Subset Games

[CHAPTER LIST]

Author’s Note: This FanFiction is a crossover between the sci-fi strategy game ‘FTL: Faster Than Light’ by Subset Games and the manga/anime called ‘Hetalia’ by Hidekaz Himaruya. The story will follow closely to the events of the rougue-like gameplay in FTL and the human characters will be replaced with the human versions of the national personifications in ‘Hetalia’. This is a fun personal project and it requires no knowledge of either fandom to enjoy this story. I’d encourage checking the original sources out though! Use of screenshots in this FanFiction are to supplement the storytelling to help plot the course of our heroes’ journey in the universe. Whatever the outcome of the gameplay I base this story on (as each playthrough is very unique) will be translated into the plot of this story. i.e. If the spaceship gets damaged, it gets damaged in the story. If a character dies in the game, they’re dead in this fiction. (Please note that I find this kind of storytelling entertaining to play/write and I plan to do more in the future if time allows!)

Chapter 1

The Federation was struggling with the advancing Rebel fleet. One lone ship carried some vital information that could turn the tides of the war and the Federation allied Star Ship APH was going to be their champion.

At the helm was Captain Alfred Jones, a spry young American whom fit the Golden Boy persona to a tee. Sure, he wore square-rimmed glasses but he was still awesome. Don’t let his cute blue-eyed, blond haired, ripped body mislead you! He had the courage to lead his crew to the very end. He was the youngest of his crew and had a Hero Complex but his heart helped him to make some decent moral choices.  His friends might disagree and say that his Hero Complex leads to some very immoral choices, but how could he be wrong? He’s great!

Stationed at weapons was his best friend from the academy called Arthur Kirkland. He was an officer from England and was keen to aid in an international project. Arthur was rather lean in build with messy blond hair that matched his sassy personality. His piercing emerald eyes held a wisdom beyond his years. He was tasked with weaponry because of his strategic skills and fearless judgement. Unfortunately his friends and colleagues often made fun of him for his bushy eyebrows, apparent inability to cook, and his obsession with the occult.

Last but not least was the Frenchman Francis Bonnefoy, a flamboyant friend of Arthur’s and on-and-off enemy of his. Much like Alfred, don’t let his looks fool you! Francis’ long, golden hair, sea blue eyes and wispy blond beard could charm many but he was a calculated thinker. He graduated with flying colours in engineering, which is why he was manning the FTL (Faster Than Light) Drive in the engine room.

The blond trio were in their twenties, young and wise together. If they could avoid their normal bickering maybe they would survive this after all!

“This is the awesome Captain Jones speakin’! Get your butts over to the Bridge, we need to figure out where we’re goin’,” the voice on the PA system called in a chirpy American accent.

“We’re already here, dipshit,” Arthur countered as he and Francis joined him on deck. “We’ve best be quick about this, the Rebel fleet is gaining speed.” He pulled up the Beacon Map on screen and surveyed their options. “Unfortunately we have no data on the properties of each beacon towards the exit into the next sector, but hopefully we can acquire that as we go along. The faster we get to the exit the better, our mission is too important to mess around.”

Alfred was sipping some coffee. “Psh, who’s messin’? I won’t lead you dudes astray! Hero’s promise!”

Francis sighed. “Let’s avoid battles if we can, ze stress gives me wrinkles.”

“We’re in a civilian sector! How bad could it be?”

Arthur glared at him. “You’ve best be joking. This area will be littered with Rebel scouts. We need to get a move on.”

Alfred dumped his coffee cup in the rubbish bin and winked. “Fine. Back to your stations! Off to our first stop! Warp us there, Francis!”

“Aye, sir,” Francis responded as they all returned to their posts.

The S.S. APH warped to the next beacon. If they were expecting a calming tour of space they were greatly mistaken. Alfred’s voice carried over the announcement system. “Hey, y’all! We have a hostile Rebel Scout attacking a small refuelling outpost here. That’s totes uncool so we’re gonna kick their asses! Kirkland, fire up the weapons! Try out our Burst Laser II on their weapons!”

“Aye, Captain! Locked on and charging.”

The small ship was quick with a laser drone circling the S.S. APH. An alert blared. “Shields took a hit!” Alfred informed them quickly. “Just an ion blast, it’ll be back online soon, stay at your posts!”

Francis’ voice joined him on the announcement channel. “The drone knocked out our door controls!”

“That’s alright, I destroyed their weapons room,” Arthur chipped in confidently.

“Good work, Artie!” Alfred cheered. “Lock on the drones now.”

“Roger that!”

The ship shook and Alfred’s voice called out in concern. “Yo, Francis? Are you okay? The shields are back online but it says the engines got hit.”

“I’m fine, mon ami! Minor damage to ze FTL Drive, I’m working on a fix. I’m not hurt.”

Arthur switched focus from the enemy drones to the helm. He cursed as he saw that the interior scan of the enemy vessel had repaired their weapons in the time his lasers charged. Luckily, his final few attacks took out the scout and they could safely proceed. He sighed with relief. “Danger has passed, let’s pull in the loot.”

Alfred congratulated them over the announcement system. “Well done, dudes! Artie, join me in the door room. We’re not moving on until that system is running again.”

“On my way!”

Francis kept an eye on the FTL charge as his friends repaired the door functions.

Arthur hummed as he replaced some fried wires and Alfred ran the diagnostics. Oddly enough, they didn’t chat the entire time. It was nice working together. “Alright, let’s get back to our posts. Who knows how many of these automated ships are lurking?”

“Just don’t lead us into a black hole or something.”

“Hahahaha! Noted.”

Back on the Bridge, Alfred pulled up his upgrades panel. They had enough scrap to give them a new edge. He grinned as he added an extra unit of power to their reactor and instructed the Frenchman to monitor the upgrade. He also treated himself to a more slick piloting upgrade. Having auto pilot help him to dodge attacks with a fifty percent advantage was too amazing to pass up! “I’m gonna jump to the next beacon. Hold on to your asses!”

The crew warped into the aftermath of a battle. The battlefield was littered with debris from Federation ships and Rebels alike. Their allies had been sadly outnumbered but it was clear they fought valiantly and Captain Jones respected that. He began performing a more detailed scan of the wreckage when his sensors picked up an enemy ship. He gasped and switched on the comms. “To battle stations! We have a Rebel Disrupter in our vicinity!”

The orange spaceship faced the S.S. APH head-on and momentarily knocked out the shields, just in time for the orbiting drone to shoot their door systems.

“Why do they always target our doors?” Francis complained over the communications system. “It’s hardly a vital system.”

“I think it was potluck,” Arthur answered as his return fire knocked out the enemy weapons. “Got the weapons room! I’m going to knock out that drone and then alternate. I wouldn’t put it past them to begin repairs.”

“As you are, Kirkland!” Alfred chimed in as he kept an eye on the enemy movements from the helm. They made quick work of this battle and reaped the rewards. “Good job. You know the drill, Artie. Gotta get those door systems online again. Meet me there.”

“Aye, sir!”

The next beacon jump was nothing special. Beautiful, but nothing interesting. Francis stared out of his nearby airlock windows to view the dancing binary star before they warped to the next point.

“I’m gonna do a triangular-shaped loop here, dudes. I detect a merchant nearby and I wanna see what they have,” Captain Jones announced to his crew.

“Don’t let us get caught by the Rebels, Alfred!” Arthur’s voice warned him.

“They’re not close enough yet. We’ll be fine. We can’t risk running low on supplies and if we can get this hull fixed that would be great.”

“Good point. Carry on.”

The next jump led them to a destroyed space station. Alfred had reservations about this as life signs could be detected onboard. He bit his lip and weighed up the options of investigating. On the one hand, if he could recruit a new member that would be useful! Although he was well aware that doing these kind of investigations could risk damage to his current crew’s lives. After a moment of hesitation he decided not to risk his friends. They collected miscellaneous debris to repurpose for their own mission and jumped them to the next beacon.

The crew assembled on the Bridge to witness the hails of a Rock Scout. The Rockmen were a powerful race but these aliens seemed to be relatively friendly. “Hey, this is Captain Alfred F. Jones of the Federation Star Ship APH. How can we be of service today, my dudes?”

Arthur stared at his friend unhappily. “You could use proper English, idiot. Did you learn nothing from etiquette lessons when dealing with foreign entities?”

“There was nothin’ wrong with my lingo, Artie! Don’t make me pull rank.”

“Insufferable git.”

The Rockman Captain simply stared at these weird humans before gaining their attention. “We could really use some help.”

Alfred saluted. “How can we help?”

“Our FTL navigation system is shot. Can you help us to a nearby station for them to patch us up?”

“Sure thing, rock friend! I’m receiving your fuel down payment right now and I’ll key in the co-ordinates you sent.”

“Thank you. We will be one step behind you, following your jump signatures.”

Francis beamed at his Captain as their communications shut off with their neutral acquaintance. “That was very kind of you, Alfred!”

The American beamed. “If we can help anyone in distress on the way we damn well will! We’re still gonna do our planned route unless we’re forced to change direction, but those Rebel scumbags ain’t gonna take all of us down.”

Francis patted him on the back and returned to his post. Arthur shook his head. “I wish you’d let me deal with the foreign comms once in a while, Alfred, but you did well. I’m heading back to weapons. Try to get our hull fixed at the shop.”

The next jump led them to an outpost that certainly had merchants selling some wares! Arthur and Francis volunteered to be the away party as Alfred kept an eye on the advancing enemy fleet from the Bridge. Their tailing Rockmen friends also spent a bit of time gathering resources for the journey ahead.

Aware of the encroaching danger and their limited supply of scrap to trade for goods, the European representatives agreed that they should spend all of it on an Advanced FTL Navigation Augmentation that would allow them to leap to any previously visited beacon in one hop no matter the distance and the rest of the scrap was allocated to hull repairs. They promptly beamed back on deck and installed their new augment and checked with the Rockmen to make sure that they were ready to follow.

The S.S. APH jumped back the way they came and immediately leapt to the subsequent beacon. It was a tough decision because they had to completely ignore a distress call. The Rebel fleet was advancing far too quickly, they had to put as much distance between them as possible. Alfred felt terrible but his crew and the Rockmen following them depended on forward thinking. There was no helping those in distress right now.

“Rebel transport ship detected!” Captain Jones announced on the communications system. “It doesn’t seem to wanna fight but we can’t take risks. Plus we need the scrap, we’re kinda poor right now.”

“Engaging weapons, Captain!” Arthur replied, powering up the Burst Laser II to lock onto their weapons room. He was going to target the drones next as those little bastards were a pain to deal with.

“CANCEL THAT INTERACTION, KIRKLAND! ATTACK THEIR ENGINES, THEY’RE GONNA JUMP AND WARN THE FLEET!”

“Fuck, really?! Alright, locking both the lasers and missiles onto their FTL Drive!”

It was a tense moment as their weapons warmed up and as they celebrated decimating the enemy FTL Drive, a missile hit their own engines.

“ENGINES, DAMAGE REPORT!” Captain Jones cried.

“Ze bastards damaged ze FTL Drive. I’m working on a fix but my head…”

“Focus, Bonnefoy. You can heal after we destroy these idiots!” Arthur chipped in urgently. He switched the lasers to focus on the Rebel weapons room whilst keeping their Artemis missile locked on the enemy engines.

An explosion rocked the Bridge and Alfred coughed through the smoke. “Dammit, they’re breaking my controls. Kirkland, finish this now.” He gritted his teeth as he repaired the system damage. His wrist was pretty sore but nothing too dire.

“Aye, Captain!”

Fortunately, the battle was over with soon after and repairs could be finished to both the engines and the piloting systems. Jones and Bonnefoy met up in the medbay to heal their injuries before moving on. It was becoming clear how dangerous this mission was.

Back on the Bridge, Alfred instructed his crew that to get to the quest marker they needed to enter a nebula. Nebula zones were always risky as they knocked out sensors but they could also be beneficial in slowing down the enemy fleet. “We’re heading to the nebula. Be prepared for anything! Warp ahead, Bonnefoy!”

This felt like a mistake. Nebulas can be rather peaceful but today was not their day! A plasma storm was active so not only were their sensors dead but their reactor was crippled to half-capacity. The crew was in a mild panic trying to figure out what systems were down as a Rebel automated scout swooped in to cause them hell.

“GUYS, WE HAVE A PROBLEM. SEVERAL PROBLEMS,” Alfred yelled through the communications system.

“No shit!” Arthur shot back as he examined the diagnostics from his post. “Our oxygen isn’t powered, we’ll suffocate!”

“Heat up the weapons, Artie, we have company! I’ll divert power from the medbay to the oxygen room!”

“SHIELDS ARE DOWN AND THEY HAVE A DRONE!” Francis cried from the engine room. “We’re sitting ducks!”

“Divert ALL power from engines to the shields NOW!”

“Aye!”

“I’m locked on their weapons, Captain!” Arthur informed them. “The shield is holding off the drone, thank God.”

“Fire on that and then the drone. Destroy it as quickly as possible.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

Thankfully the battle was over swiftly. Shaken and worried, Alfred gave the order to drop the shields and restore power to the FTL Drive. They would drop off their Rockmen friends at the next beacon and make their way to the exit.

“Approaching the quest marker,” Captain Jones announced keeping the ship steady, ready for a break. “I’ll inform our little convoy back there.”

“Can one ship in addition to ours really be considered a convoy?” Francis responded contemplatively.

He didn’t receive an answer as the Rockmen’s ship zoomed away without warning and Alfred flipped the Red Alert siren. “AGH! IT’S A TRAP! How could they? We trusted them!” He turned on the power to all systems after they were clear of the plasma storm and glared at the Rebel Disrupter ship. How dare they! HOW. DARE. THEY.

Ignoring the possible melodrama his best friend was stewing in, Arthur had already locked their weapons on the Rebel weapons and drones with their Burst Laser II and the Artemis missile. DIRECT HIT! That’s getting business taken care of. He disabled the Artemis and focused the laser onto enemy shields. He needed no consultation on this strategy, they would not be made fools of! With the shields down and the enemies focused on repairing the damage he dealt to the drones, he fired once again at the weapons room. The Rebel scum would not get a say in this!

VICTORY! The crew celebrated briefly as they collected the remains of their enemy vessel.

“Let’s get the hell outta here,” Alfred urged, turning them towards the next beacon. “I don’t want to try my luck with another one of these guys.”

“We can make it to ze Exit Beacon in two jumps, Captain!” Francis informed him over the comms. “With ze Rebels gaining ground we shouldn’t take anymore detours.”

“Agreed, buddy! Full speed ahead!”

The Rebels were determined to control this star system! The subsequent beacon greeted them with another Rebel Rigger patrol. It stood between them and the exit. This could not be tolerated.

“I’m way ahead of you, Captain!” Arthur called over the communications. “I’ve locked on their weapons and drone rooms. I’ll target their FTL Drive afterwards, we can’t let them get away to inform the Rebel fleet of our location.”

“Show no mercy, Kirkland!”

“Aye, sir!”

Direct hits!

“The enemy is powering up it’s FTL Drive!” Alfred informed them urgently. “This could be bad!”

The landed hits on the enemy vessel weren’t enough to destroy the hull and the Rebels were an inch from jumping out of reach. Fortune dealt them an unexpected hand, though.

Alfred opened up the screen to receive a hail from the Rebel Rigger Captain. “Captain Jones speaking. Stop right there!”

The enemy Captain scowled but offered a metaphorical white flag. “The day is yours! Show us your honour by allowing us to leave with our lives.”

This was a very fragile situation. The enemy hull was weak but their FTL Drive was primed to jump any second. There would be no time to stop them unless they agreed to a truce. Alfred growled in frustration but knew there was no choice. “Kirkland, cease fire! We’re entering a truce.”

“What? Um, okay?” came Arthur’s puzzled response. There was probably a good reason to cease fire so he complied. He would demand answers later.

Captain Jones accepted the supplies from the Rebel Rigger and the enemy did not warp away. Phew, that was a close one. The advancing enemy fleet would not gain speed on them.

Tense, Alfred called a meeting on the Bridge. He turned to his crewmates gravely. “We’re getting real lucky with these battles, our damage has been minimal. With Rebels so close to our Exit Beacon we need to be ready for a possible interception between us and the warp point. Don’t let your guard down and we’ll decide which sector to head to next once the coast is clear.”

Arthur nodded and returned to the weapons room without any answers, but he didn’t need them. It was clear they were in trouble and Alfred made a solid judgement call. He would be ready to defend.

Francis remained by Alfred’s side as they made the final jump to the Exit Beacon.

There was an asteroid field not far from their destination. They decided to risk navigating it for some materials that would help them in the next sector. Luck truly was not on their side as asteroids violently knocked down their shields and damaged their hull!

“Fire in ze portside airlocks, Captain!” Francis cried.

“I’ll open the airlocks to extinguish it. Everyone meet me in shields! We’ll repair and move on!”

Once that crisis was averted, the crew met up to decide where to go next.

Would they jump to the Engi Controlled area, or the Zoltan Controlled area? Both were civilian sectors but carried their own unique risks.

TO BE CONTINUED IN THE NEXT SECTOR...

Chapter 1 - END

[CHAPTER LIST]

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[Cover Art] This image was drawn in HB pencil and painted in watercolour paints on the 8th August 2021. It was digitally enhanced in GIMP Image Editor on the 9th August 2021. Paper type = 130 gsm 

This chapter was written on the 8th August 2021.

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That Was the Year That Was – 1916

Monarch – George V

Prime Minister – H. H. Asquith (Coalition) (until 5 December), David Lloyd George (Coalition) (starting 6 December)

The Battle of the Somme: 141 days of horror

Battle of the Somme: More than one million soldiers die; with 57,470 British Empire casualties on the first day, 19,240 of them killed, the British Army’s bloodiest day; the Accrington Pals battalion is effectively wiped out in the first few minutes. The immediate result is tactically inconclusive.

The Battle of the Somme, fought in northern France, was one of the bloodiest of World War One. For five months the British and French armies fought the Germans in a brutal battle of attrition on a 15-mile front.

The aims of the battle were to relieve the French Army fighting at Verdun and to weaken the German Army. However, the Allies were unable to break through German lines. In total, there were over one million dead and wounded on all sides.

The Allies bombarded German trenches for seven days and then sent 100,000 men over the top to attack the German lines.

The day was a disaster for the British. The Germans weathered the artillery fire in deep trenches and came up fighting. As the British soldiers advanced, they were mown down by machine gun and rifle fire. In total, 19,240 British soldiers lost their lives. It was the bloodiest day in the history of the British army. However, the French had more success and inflicted big losses on German troops. In spite of heavy British losses, Douglas Haig, the British general, agreed to continue the attack.

The home towns which provided the volunteers for General Kitchener’s “Pal’s battalions” were hit hardest. The 11th East Lancashire battalion was known as the Accrington Pals. Of the 720 men who went into action on 1 July, 584 became casualties. Although they were still behind the war effort, people at home wore black arm bands to commemorate those who had lost their lives.

UK Conscription: the First World War

Your Country Needs You

Within a year of Great Britain declaring war on Germany in August 1914, it had become obvious that it was not possible to continue fighting by relying on voluntary recruits.

Lord Kitchener’s campaign – promoted by his famous "Your Country Needs You" poster – had encouraged over one million men to enlist by January 1915. But this was not enough to keep pace with mounting casualties.

Conscription introduced

The government saw no alternative but to increase numbers by conscription – compulsory active service. Parliament was deeply divided but recognised that because of the imminent collapse of the morale of the French army, immediate action was essential.

In January 1916 the Military Service Act was passed. This imposed conscription on all single men aged between 18 and 41, but exempted the medically unfit, clergymen, teachers and certain classes of industrial worker.

Conscientious objectors – men who objected to fighting on moral grounds– were also exempted, and were in most cases given civilian jobs or non-fighting roles at the front.

A second Act passed in May 1916 extended conscription to married men.

Conscription was not applied to Ireland because of the 1916 Easter Rising, although in fact many Irishmen volunteered to fight.

Effects of conscription

Conscription was not popular and in April 1916 over 200,000 demonstrated against it in Trafalgar Square. Although many men failed to respond to the call-up, in the first year 1.1 million enlisted.

In 1918 during the last months of the war, the Military Service (No. 2) Act raised the age limit to 51.

Conscription was extended until 1920 to enable the army to deal with continuing trouble spots in the Empire and parts of Europe.

During the whole of the war conscription had raised some 2.5 million men.

munitions factory explosion at Uplees near Faversham, Kent, kills 108 men

That morning, Major Aston Cooper-Key, His Majesty’s Inspector of Explosives, travelled to Kent to make an inspection of the privately owned factory at Uplees, which was then working flat-out in the wake of the shell crisis of 1915. The complex, so the inspector noted, was in “a very congested state”, the Ministry of Munitions having sent supplies “much in excess of the requirements of the works”. Of special concern were the quantities of TNT and ammonium nitrate – these were combined at the plant to produce amatol, for use in shells and bombs – packed into magazines or, when the buildings were full, left out in the open and protected with tarpaulins of green canvas. Still, such congestion was to be expected, and at least the Explosives Loading Company, which ran the plant, was not shirking out here on the marshes. Cooper-Key declared himself satisfied with the general condition of the factory, and left to file his report.

It seems the major had not noticed, in the course of his inspection, the pile of empty TNT bags tucked against the north wall of building no 833: a brick-and-timber structure filled with 150 tonnes of high explosive. In the early hours of Sunday 2 April, soldiers and civilian guards made their usual rounds of darkened sheds and silent machinery, and came across an incipient fire between the TNT store and a nearby boiler house. It had been caused by sparks from a chimney fitted with an inadequate arrester. The fire was put out, and around seven o’clock the working day began. We must assume the unseen arc and fall of another spark occurred late in the morning, in bright sunshine, and this time it reached the pile of bags, impregnated with TNT dust. It was shortly after noon when the foreman of a local contractor, having spotted the first flames, put his head in at the door of the canteen and said: “You are sitting here enjoying yourselves, but if you don’t look out you will have one of your buildings alight.”

The manager George Evetts had left the factory at noon for his home in Uplees, and was sitting down to his midday meal when the news reached him. He started back at once along the lane to the main gate, and called for the fire brigade to be sent. At building 833, 30 or 40 men were engaged with buckets and chemical extinguishers. Their efforts were having little or no effect. At half past 12 a fire engine arrived, but the nearest hydrant was 700 yards away; the firemen would have to wait for an additional hose.

In the meantime the most urgent task was to remove as much explosive as possible from 833 and surrounding buildings, and to drench with buckets what could not be moved. Sparks had begun to fall on another storehouse; a soldier, Private Wiltshire, clambered on to the roof to extinguish them, flinging himself flat to avoid heat and smoke from 833. A young firefighter, Steve Epps, recalled: “The stuff inside the shed was already alight … One old chap – he could see I was a bit nervy – he said: ‘That won’t go off unless it’s detonated, old chap.’ I said: ‘Right, I feel safe enough.’” Some of the workers present later reported they had noticed now some change in the nature and appearance of the fire; Evetts, standing 40 yards away, thought he saw a puff of dense black smoke as he turned in the direction of 833. Epps was closer to the heart of things: “We’d just got the water on it, and up she went.”

The explosion at Uplees, which killed 108 people and injured many more, was not the first nor the last such disaster at a munitions factory during the war. Nor was it even a unique occurrence that year on the outskirts of Faversham, though it was certainly the most deadly. (In the autumn of 1916, four women were killed at an adjacent factory. Only men had been present on 2 April – the “canary girls” had Sundays off.) Accounts of the day’s events, and the aftermath, survive in Cooper-Key’s report to the Home Office, and in oral histories recorded decades later. In writing about the explosion and its radiance or ramification in the land and in memory, I have tried to stay close to this minute-by-minute testimony. But I have had to reckon also with the half-mythic and evanescent nature of such an event; at times the story has seemed as porous as the landscape in which it happened.

The description of explosions is really a matter of before and after, it proving so difficult to inhabit the appalling moment itself, though there are notable exceptions, such as Hemingway and Ford Madox Ford. There exists, for example, a minor literature regarding gunpowder and munitions factories, with accounts of such places appearing in Victorian magazines such as Dickens’s Household Words. During the first world war, Arthur Conan Doyle and Rebecca West were invited to report on the Ministry of Munitions factory (unnamed in their articles) at Gretna. West, who is keen to note the diligence, grace and bravery of the women workers, also remarks that such a secret place, devoted to nothing but death, “has the disordered and fantastic quality of a dream”. In the case of Kent, the most resonant treatment of the county’s centuries-long romance with the chemistry of death came later, and in fiction. In Russell Hoban’s 1980 novel Riddley Walker, with its demotic Joycean dialect, post-apocalyptic Kent is in thrall to the ghost of an awful energy once loosed upon the land: “that cleverness what made us crookit”.

In the aftermath of 2 April 1916, men plunged into drainage dykes to retrieve the dying and the dead; they threw timbers from ruined buildings across the sea of mud surrounding the crater, and pulled their comrades, or what was left of them, from the ooze. Some stood up within the circle of destruction to find they were naked and almost unharmed, but the men beside them blown to pieces. Others had died 100 yards away, victims of flying debris or the blast wave’s capriciousness.

Epps, blown into a dyke and half-buried under shattered timbers, was the only survivor of his group of seven firemen. Evetts also lived; deafened and with most of his clothes blown off, he climbed with another manager on to the roof of a burning magazine building, and soldiers passed them up buckets till the fire was out. In his report, Cooper-Key notes with absurd sobriety: “Their gallantry is much to be commended.” The number of dead was first put at 106. Most were buried in a mass grave at Faversham cemetery, the Archbishop of Canterbury presiding. A week later, another body was discovered in a ditch. An ambulance driver who had helped gather the dead returned home to the village of Doddington, lay awake all night, then rose on Monday morning and hanged himself.

The explosion had been heard on the French coast. Dinner tables shook on the outskirts of London, and plate-glass windows shattered on the seafronts of Essex. The cross was said to have fallen from the altar at St Peter’s church, Shoebury. From the seed of a small agitation of the air, here at the darkened edge of England, destruction and the news of destruction hurried over the flat land. If you walk this summer through the nature reserve surrounding the place where building 833 stood – nothing there but a shallow declivity of the ground – you will find the dykes are filled with weed, so they look almost solid. And if you crouch towards the water, clouds of pond skaters teem on the surface, which remains unmoved till you stand and cast a shadow on the ditch, causing the insects to panic, sending countless ripples through the water, speeding across the flat green plain.

English civilian ferry captain Charles Fryatt is executed at Bruges

Charles Fryatt: The man executed for ramming a U-Boat?

The name Charles Fryatt is memorialised from New Zealand to Canada. Yet he was tried, convicted and executed as a "terrorist". A century on, Captain Fryatt’s case is still debated by legal experts. But why would a merchant ship’s commander ever try ramming a U-boat?

"I don’t think he set out to be a hero," says Louise Gill. "I think he set out to look after his crew, his men and women, and trying to avoid capture."

Gill is the great-granddaughter of Fryatt who, in March 1915, attempted to ram a prowling German U-boat with his 1902-built passenger ferry, the Great Eastern Railway-owned SS Brussels.

Ordered to stop by submarine U-33 near the Maas lightvessel off the Dutch coast, Fryatt – born in Southampton and raised in Harwich – saw the German U-boat surface.

It was his third such encounter with a U-boat that month.

Believing it was being readied to torpedo his ship, Fryatt ordered full steam ahead and tried to ram the U-boat head on, forcing it to crash-dive. The SS Brussels managed to escape and Fryatt was awarded a gold watch by the Admiralty.

But 15 months later his ship was cornered by five German destroyers shortly after setting sail from the Hook of Holland. Fryatt, his crew and passengers were taken to an internment camp near Berlin.

Fryatt was then taken away to Bruges to stand trial on charges of being franc-tireur – a civilian engaged in hostile military activity.

His gold watch from the Admiralty was used as evidence against him and he was accused of sinking the German submarine – despite U-33 still being in active service.

The hearing, sentence and execution by firing squad all took place on the same day, 27 July.

Fryatt had earlier told his captors he had done his duty to protect his crew but, according to press reports at the time, was not allowed to speak at his trial.

His death was to have propaganda value for both sides, says Mark Baker, a Fryatt memorabilia collector who is organising an exhibition commemorating the centenary of his execution.

For the Germans, the execution of Fryatt was a case of justice served.

For the British, says Baker, Fryatt’s execution was both an outrage and a useful springboard for recruitment and swaying international opinion against Germany.

"In 1916," he says, "people were starting to become a bit war weary and recruitment had become conscription.

"His death came at the right time for the government which used the case of Fryatt to show how ghastly the ‘Hun’ were."

The name "Fryatt" was also written on shells fired at the Germans.

The Fryatt case was also seized upon by Irish nationalists who accused the British government of hypocrisy.

If the British government was outraged at the execution of a civilian committing an act of war, the nationalists argued, how could they condone such executions in Ireland?

Mr Baker, whose exhibition takes place at the Masonic Hall in Harwich (where Fryatt himself was once a member), said: "I find the story itself fascinating,

"Though sometimes the way it is told on websites is as if he was the only person who had ever rammed a U-boat.

"U-boat ramming was actually common practice following an instruction from the Admiralty that crews should attempt to ram U-boats.

"The objective, however, wasn’t to actually hit the U-boats," says Baker, "because merchant ships were usually fairly fragile.

"The actual objective was to make the submarines dive."

"It is still very, very controversial," said Baker. "It’s a case that has exercised legal minds ever since.

"Merchant mariners’ rights to defend themselves in open water is still very much a grey area."

World War One: Hereford theatre fire killed eight at fundraiser

During World War One there were thousands of appeals and fundraising events to support soldiers serving at the front. One such event at a theatre in Hereford ended in "a ghastly tragedy" when eight children died after their cotton wool costumes caught fire. It led to accusations a smoker had caused their deaths.

Like many English cities Hereford has close ties to its local regiment and the soldiers serving in it.

By 1916, the vast army of Kitchener volunteers were in France preparing for the Battle of The Somme, and most families knew someone serving at the front.

The two concerts at the Garrick Theatre in Hereford, in April 1916, were advertised in the Hereford Times as "a grand variety entertainment – for the benefit of the Herefords and Shropshires".

More than 40 children were involved in the amateur show. But, just as the first performance was coming to an end, fire broke out.

As the newspaper reported, "in the space of three minutes what had been a highly successful performance was transformed into a ghastly tragedy".

Thirteen children had just left the stage after performing what the reporter described as "an exceedingly pretty dance and snow scene", complete with paper snow.

Their white costumes, which so caught the reporter’s eye, were made of highly-flammable cotton wool.

"By some means yet unexplained, the cotton wool garments of one of them had become ignited and in an instant a dozen children were literally in flames," the paper reported.

"The little mites’ clothes blazed up in pillars of fire, defying control before they had been terribly burnt.

"Bright happy little youngsters, only a few minutes before in snow white costumes, were now charred and blacked, some beyond recognition."

In the auditorium, "the large audience rose en masse" and there was "an immediate rush for exits with anguished cries", their correspondent reported.

Parents who were backstage, including "Mrs Lilly Roden… in the garb of Britannia", tried to beat out the flames "with the utmost heroism".

A man from the audience jumped the orchestra pit to help and "without fear, fought the flames with his hands", the reporter observed.

Six of the 13 children died that night from their burns – another two later died in hospital.

An inquest was held against the backdrop of rumours in the city the fire had been caused by a smoker.

Faith Mailes, who organised the concert and was mother to one of those who died, had no doubt a smoker was to blame.

She told the inquest jury Ivy Illman, sister of one of the victims, told her "she had seen a man smoking who threw his match down".

"I should like to find the one who dropped the match," Mrs Mailes testified.

Theatre staff and other people backstage strenuously denied this.

Reginald Maddox, theatre manager, told the jury there were notices in the dressing rooms and on stage banning smoking.

Staff working backstage and an agent who was there on the night all denied smoking.

Mr Maddox also told the inquest he had no idea the children would be wearing cotton wool costumes – its use was banned in theatres because of the fire risk. Mrs Mailes confirmed she had not told Mr Maddox cotton wool was used, "not thinking it was necessary".

The inquest ruled the deaths of the children were accidental and there was no evidence of what started the fire.

The city came to a halt when the funeral service for five of the victims were held at Hereford Cathedral.

People lined Broad Street ten deep in places as one by one the funeral corteges, each with an escort of soldiers to act as pall bearers, passed.

The letters page of the paper was filled with calls for a lasting memorial to the children who died.

In September, a meeting at the town hall decided to raise "£500 with which to endow a cot in the Children’s Ward of Herefordshire General Hospital as a suitable memorial of the sad incident".

The appeal beat its target, raising just over £540 and the cot and a memorial plaque were unveiled at the general hospital in April 1917.

That hospital building and the Garrick are long gone, but the terrible fire that claimed the lives of eight girls is commemorated by a plaque on the wall of the car park that stands where the theatre once did.

daylight saving time introduced

The Daylight Saving Act of 1917 was enacted by the Dominion of Newfoundland to adopt daylight saving time (DST), thus making it one of the first jurisdictions in North America to do so, only a year after the United Kingdom on May 21, 1916. DST was not instituted in the United States until March 31, 1918.

While living in Paris in 1784, Benjamin Franklin wrote a satirical essay, in which he suggested that Parisians get up earlier in the morning. Modern DST was first proposed by the New Zealand entomologist George Vernon Hudson in 1895. William Willett, a London building contractor, independently invented DST and pitched it to the British Parliament in 1907. In that same year Willett spoke with John Anderson, who was on a business trip in Britain, and explained to him the benefits of adopting DST and its economic benefits. Germany and its allies were the first European countries to adopt DST in 1916, followed quickly by the United Kingdom and many other western European countries, all in an effort to save fuel during the First World War.

Upon his return to Newfoundland, Anderson became a strong proponent of daylight saving time and three times introduced a bill to the Legislative Council for its adoption. The first two attempts, in 1909 and 1910, failed. In 1917, spurred on perhaps by the recent adoptions of DST in Europe, Anderson introduced a third bill which passed on June 17, 1917. The new law stated that at nine o’clock in the evening of the second Sunday in June clocks would be put ahead to ten o’clock and would not be turned back until the last Sunday in September. It is not clear exactly when clocks were put ahead in 1917, as the bill became law one week after DST was scheduled to take effect. In St. John’s DST was first applied on April 8, 1917, by virtue of a local ordinance. DST in Newfoundland came to be known as "Anderson’s Time", at least in the years immediately following its adoption.

Daylight-saving time remained a provincial jurisdiction in Newfoundland since 1949. In 1952, the timing was changed such that it began just after midnight of the last Sunday in April and ended at midnight of the last Sunday in September. In 1970, it was extended to the midnight of the last Sunday in October.

1916 UK news events

The British Admiralty invites bids for aircraft catapults for the first time, asking for electric, hydraulic, and compressed air catapults. It does not pursue electric or hydraulic types, but two compressed-air types are produced.

Spring – British officials order one million rounds of .303-caliber (7.7-mm) explosive and incendiary ammunition for use by aircraft against German airships. The ammunition will be issued to Royal Flying Corps home air defense squadrons during the summer.

On a single evening, 10 of the 16 Royal Flying Corps aircraft which take off to defend England against German air attack crash, killing three pilots. By May, RFC night flying skills will have improved to the point that 10 aircraft that take off on a single evening all land safely.

1 January – the Royal Army Medical Corps carries out the first successful blood transfusion using blood that has been stored and cooled.

9 January – World War I: Battle of Gallipoli: last British troops evacuated from Gallipoli, as the Ottoman Empire prevails over a joint British and French operation to capture Istanbul.

27 January – conscription introduced by the Military Service Act; applies to unmarried men aged 18–41 from 2 March and to married men in the same age bracket from April/May; it does not extend to Ireland.

1 February – night-long German Zeppelin raid on the West Midlands of England, claiming at least 35 lives; Tipton suffers the heaviest losses, with 14 fatalities.

1 March – transfer of the National Library of Wales at Aberystwyth into its purpose-built premises is completed.

4 March – third war budget raises income tax to five shillings in the pound.

10 March – Sir Hubert Parry writes the choral setting of William Blake’s poem "And did those feet in ancient time", which becomes known as "Jerusalem" (first performed 28 March at the Queen’s Hall, London).

22 March – marriage of J. R. R. Tolkien and Edith Bratt at St. Mary Immaculate Roman Catholic Church, Warwick. They will serve as the inspiration for the fictional characters Beren and Lúthien.

25 March – Military Medal instituted as a military decoration for personnel of the British Army and other services below commissioned rank, for bravery in battle on land.

1/2–5/6 April – nightly German Navy airship raids on England.

2 April – munitions factory explosion at Uplees near Faversham, Kent, kills 108 men.

7 April – Garrick Theatre fire, Hereford: 8 young girls appearing in an amateur benefit evening performance for soldiers are killed when their costumes catch fire.

9 April – The Libau sets sail from Germany with a cargo of 20,000 rifles to assist Irish republicans; Captain Karl Spindler changes the name of the vessel to the Aud to avoid British detection . 24–30 April – Easter Rising in Ireland: Members of the Irish Republican Brotherhood proclaim an Irish Republic and the Irish Volunteers and Irish Citizen Army occupy the General Post Office and other buildings in Dublin before surrendering to the British Army.

24 April–19 May – Voyage of the James Caird, an open boat journey from Elephant Island in the South Shetland Islands to South Georgia in the southern Atlantic Ocean (800 nautical miles (1,500 km; 920 mi)) undertaken by Sir Ernest Shackleton and five companions to obtain rescue for the main body of the Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition (left under command of Frank Wild) following the loss of its ship Endurance.

25 April – German battlecruisers and Zeppelins bombard Lowestoft and Great Yarmouth.

27 April – Gas attack at Hulluch in France: 47th Brigade, 16th (Irish) Division, decimated in one of the most heavily concentrated gas attacks of the war.

29 April – Siege of Kut ends with the surrender of British forces to the Ottoman Empire at Kut-al-Amara on the Tigris in Basra Vilayet during the Mesopotamian campaign.

2 May – eight German Zeppelins raid the east coast of England.

16 May – the UK and France conclude the secret Sykes–Picot Agreement, which is to divide Arab areas of the Ottoman Empire, following the conclusion of the war, into French and British spheres of influence.

21 May – daylight saving time introduced.

31 May–1 June – Battle of Jutland between the Royal Navy’s Grand Fleet and the German High Seas Fleet in the North Sea, World War I’s only large-scale clash of battleships. The result is tactically inconclusive but British dominance of the North Sea is maintained. Prince Albert is present as an officer.

5 June – HMS Hampshire sinks having hit a mine off Orkney with Lord Kitchener aboard. 737 lives, including Kitchener, were lost.

12 June – Whit Monday bank holiday abandoned.

First day on the Somme opens

1 July–18 November – Battle of the Somme: More than one million soldiers die; with 57,470 British Empire casualties on the first day, 19,240 of them killed, the British Army’s bloodiest day; the Accrington Pals battalion is effectively wiped out in the first few minutes. The immediate result is tactically inconclusive.

25 July – North of Scotland Special Military Area declared, restricting access by non-residents to everywhere north of the Great Glen. Other areas so designated this year are the Isle of Sheppey (7 September), Newhaven (22 September), Harwich (27 September), Dover (6 October) and Spurn.

27 July – English civilian ferry captain Charles Fryatt is executed at Bruges after a German court-martial condemns him for attempting to ram a U-boat in 1915.

3 August – the musical comedy Chu Chin Chow, written, produced, directed and starring Oscar Asche, with music by Frederic Norton, premières at His Majesty’s Theatre in London. It will run for five years and a total of 2,238 performances (more than twice as many as any previous musical), a record that will stand for nearly forty years.

7 August – August bank holiday abandoned.

10 August – the official documentary propaganda film The Battle of the Somme is premièred in London. In the first six weeks of general release (from 20 August) 20 million people view it.

21–24 August – Low Moor Explosion: A series of explosions at a munitions factory in Bradford kills 40 people and injures over 100.

2 September – William Leefe-Robinson becomes the first pilot to shoot down a German airship over Britain.

15–22 September – Battle of Flers–Courcelette in France: British advance. The battle is significant for the first use of the tank in warfare. The Prime Minister’s son, Raymond Asquith, is killed in action.

24 September – following a bombing raid on east London, German Zeppelin LZ76 carrying military number L 33 makes a forced landing at Little Wigborough in Essex; its crew are the only armed enemy personnel to set foot in England during the War.

6 October – a British Army Order removes the requirement for soldiers to wear moustaches.

27 October – life-boat William and Emma from Salcombe Lifeboat Station capsizes on service off the south Devon coast with the loss of all 13 crew.

21 November – hospital ship HMHS Britannic, designed as the third Olympic-class ocean liner for White Star Line, sinks in the Kea Channel of the Aegean Sea after hitting a mine. 30 lives are lost and, at 48,158 gross register tons, she is the largest ship lost during the War.

28 November – first bombing of central London by a fixed-wing aircraft when a German LVG C.II biplane drops 6 bombs near Victoria station.

5 December – Asquith resigns; on 6 December Lloyd George is invited to succeed him as Prime Minister, which he does on 7 December.

11 December – Lloyd George establishes a War Cabinet; Lord Derby succeeds him as War Minister; Ministry of Labour formed.

22 December – the Sopwith Camel biplane fighter aircraft makes its maiden flight at Brooklands.

31 December – Douglas Haig promoted to Field marshal.

The Kent village of Hampton-on-Sea is abandoned due to coastal erosion. Hampton-on-Sea was a drowned and abandoned village in what is now the Hampton area of Herne Bay, Kent. It grew from a tiny fishing hamlet in 1864 at the hands of an oyster fishery company, was developed from 1879 by land agents, abandoned in 1916 and finally drowned due to coastal erosion by 1921.

Mary Hare School is founded as Dene Hollow School for the Deaf, originally in Burgess Hill.

Gustav Holst completes composition of his orchestral suite The Planets, Opus 32.

White-tailed sea eagle last breeds in the UK, on Skye (prior to reintroduction).

The 1915–16 season was the first season of special wartime football in England during the First World War.

Britain proclaims Gilbert & Ellice Islands as a colony in Pacific.

Posted by brizzle born and bred on 2019-03-16 12:39:31

Tagged: , That Was the Year That Was – 1916 , 1916 UK news headlines , British , UK , Britain , United Kingdom

The post That Was the Year That Was – 1916 appeared first on Good Info.

[abjectionproductions-blog]

An Interview with Interregnum

Could you introduce the group? Who you are and what you do in Interregnum?

Gregory: The idea for the project has been evolving for around two years. Joshua and I met through Tumblr, when he submitted a collection of short stories to Cutlines Press (I was acting as co-editor). It turned out that we shared so many interests, from music and literature to occultism, that we began working on a publication that came out last December, a literary collection called Collapsed Cartographies. [http://www.cutlinespress.com/category/e-book/]  Other authors and artists contributed, and Joshua and I recorded an album to go along with the literary material. [https://collapsedcartographies.bandcamp.com/album/collapsed-cartogrophies]. In the group I do vocals, synth, harmonium, stick dulcimer, bells, rattles, field recordings and samples, etc…

Joshua: Hello, there. My name is Josh. I play things in Interregnum, I suppose. I sample stuff as well. Gregory and I kind of play everything. I don’t think we have set roles in the project. He plays the harmonium. I can’t play that. Or, at least I don’t own one. It’s my favorite part of our sound, though.

What's the origin of the project? Why the name Interregnum?

Gregory: As I said, we began with a pretty ambitious literary collaboration, and that has grown into Interregnum as a specific musical outlet.  The word “interregnum” means an interval or pause, and especially a period between reigns, of governmental transition. I first encountered the word around a year ago, and have found it increasingly useful in terms of political analysis. I think that, globally, we are definitely in a disorienting situation, where the coordinates of the 20th century (the Cold War, for example), are no longer adequate. I came of age during the era of the Bush administration in the U.S, which was a time when it looked like the U.S. was going to be able to set the agenda for the world, on the heels of the 90s boom, and so on. Now—after the global financial crisis, the failure of U.S. imperial policy (reminiscent of the decline of Soviet power, e.g., in their inability to control Afghanistan) all the ideas even of the Bush era seem totally inadequate. So many big projects and visions have failed, whether we are talking about U.S. imperial “democracy,” 20th century socialism, or even the new age movement – the whole millennial atmosphere of the turn of the century is dispersing. We’ve had record temperatures worldwide every month for almost a year. I mean, I saw spring flowers blooming in the middle of winter here in Louisiana in 2015. I am interested in exploring these zones of in-betweenness musically.

Joshua: Gregory and I actually met through the kind of transgressive literature scene. He published a few short stories of mine. We still connect on that level I think. I’m working as a kind of third creative mind on his novel The Ugly Spirit, which is fucking great, by the way. I’m the E.K. to his Edmund Spenser. We started making music together to soundtrack the publication and we just clicked. We both have hands in the same kind of experimental sound.

Why the choice of Scandinavian mythology as a concept for the Wolf Age album?

Gregory: I don’t have an exact answer of why we decided to focus here. I have worked with Odin and the runes in the past. The mythology is something that comes up periodically in my life. After working on Collapsed Cartographies, Joshua and I were talking about a possible EP centered around Norse mythology. I suppose I’ve always been drawn to the apocalyptic current in northern mythology (i.e. with the idea of Ragnarok), and that seems like a fitting motif for the times, given that we are in some kind of interregnum. 

Joshua: Gregory contacted me regarding putting together a project based on Norse Mythology. We both have a complicated relationship with the occult. I think our concept for the album, the lack of gender binary in Norse folklore, has a good academic basis and also might stop neo-fascist, dude-bro Asatru types from listening to our music, which is good.

During the creative process of the album there was some sort of material (musical, literary, artistic, etc.) or personal experience that influenced your way of work?

Gregory: At a highly abstract level, the mood suggested by this corresponded with a number of things happening in my life at the time. My grandmother was dying and I was also coming out of a period of pharmaceutical drug addiction, so I was in a dark and foreboding mood, but also being forced to start over on various levels. Joshua began sending me skeletal tracks with titles referring to specific episodes in the Poetic Edda. From there I added vocals or whatever else I felt inspired to add. In retrospect, I think that I benefitted by being prompted to create around mythic themes, which drew me away from the purely close-up view of my own life. In everything I did, I tried to maintain a certain fidelity to the stories in the Edda.

Joshua: This was recorded during a period of immense, but painful personal growth for me. Lots of stuff changed while we were making this. As far as artistic influences, a lot of David Bowie. Old gay pornography. Death in June. Metro Boomin. The devil, perhaps.

Could you describe the process of recording?

Gregory: We did everything remotely. Joshua would send me a base track, or I would send him one. He would add something. I would add something. I think we both gravitated toward a combination of improvisational, noisy approaches, with a structured style of song writing. I definitely wanted to have choruses, verses, and all of that sort of thing, but also a tendency for that coherence to dissolve, and then come back together.

Joshua: We recorded our parts separately and then emailed them to each other. Postal Service style.  

Wolf Age possesses a strong ritualist vibe. Is there some sort of proceeding to fully appreciate the music as a listener?

Gregory: My approach to music reflects my life-long interest in the occult. I haven’t made any music specifically for rituals, but the music is, as you say, ritualistic. I do hope that listeners will have some interesting experience with the music. The tracks on this album refer to a mythic temporality, as does ritual. I would like for listeners to have a sense of being transported outside of our mundane sense of being in the world.

Joshua: Not for me. Take from it what you will.

The album is going to be released in cassette, could you comment briefly about that and why this media was chosen?

Gregory: We both have a strong interest in analog musical instruments. We use analog synth, drum machine, etc. I’m a good decade older than Joshua (30), so I have a certain nostalgic interest in these formats. The first album I ever bought was on tape, and my earliest sound experiments were with tape recorders. On a very pervasive level, this continuing interest is related to my long-term engagement with the work of William S. Burroughs, and the tape recorder-fueled influence that he had on a certain moment in time, particularly in the U.K. My primary touchstones, musically, are Throbbing Gristle, Psychic TV, Current 93, and that whole occult musical scene…I see myself as continuing Burroughs’ research, as it were, to the point where I’ve literally done magical work to be in contact with Burroughs from beyond the grave. Also there seems to be a cassette revival going on now, like what has been happening with vinyl. I am interested in being part of that, precisely because it doesn’t seem to be purely backwards-looking. In fact, through the establishment of networks, particularly online, the cassette revival is intertwined with a lot of musical innovation. I like what Croatian Amor is doing, for example. There are so many new cassette releases at the moment.

Joshua: It’s just the classic underground music format. I love the scale of it. I love that it can be manipulated and destroyed and reshaped.

Do you see any relationships between the religious traditions of New Orleans and the ones practiced by the old Scandinavians?

Gregory: That’s an interesting question. In short, yes.

There has always been a lot going on in Louisiana. On the one hand, it is certainly a U.S. city, but it is also part of the Caribbean—in many respects the northern limit of the Caribbean. Many of the forces that have operated in Latin America have also been present here, so we have this kind of imported Mediterranean/pan-Latin/Catholic thing going on. For instance, I grew up outside of New Orleans in a rural, Sicilian ethnic community, embedded in a majority black town. It’s an odd experience of race and culture, considering, say, the historical composition of the Midwestern U.S. Another part of my family is from a Canary Island immigrant community, here. So I grew up around official Catholicism as well as folk Catholicism. The latter involved many essentially magical practices and orientations. Now, living in New Orleans, I see the ways that Hoodoo is still alive here, along with growing practices of Santeria, Mexican curanderismo, the Santa Muerte cult, etc. I’ve practiced Golden Dawn-style ceremonial magic for a long time as well. I feel very close to that, but there is something missing in that sort of practice, namely the veneration of ancestors and things like that, as I see in folk Catholic practices. I suspect that there are similarities between these kinds of approaches and how northern Europeans, in a shamanic culture, would have related to reality. I have more understanding of the contemporary traditions I just mentioned, whereas northern paganism is a reconstruction, except in the sense in which it survived and came down through fairy tales, folk songs, and so on. In that regard, we’re left speculating based on textual evidence and our own spiritual experimentation. Freya Aswynn has said that she sees similarities between northern paganism and West African diaspora religion. Something to think about.  

Joshua: I’m actually not from New Orleans. I’ve been there a few times, though. Last time I ended up drinking absinthe with Ad-Rock from the Beastie Boys. Wild.

In your opinion, what type of role does paganism exert in our contemporary society?

Gregory: Modernity brought about a radical de-centering, so that the Christian God is no longer at the center of social life in western civilization, or whatever we want to call it. Global capitalism has created a situation where extreme mixing of cultures is an accomplished fact. I don’t see any potential in resisting that mixing; we have already lost the ground of former identities, such that they ever existed. In some respects, maybe this is like a hyper-driven version of what happened in late antiquity, where Egyptian and Greek religious practices blended together, and Hermeticism and strange Gnostic cults flourished amid wild experimentation…This was brought about by the existence of a cosmopolitan empire that foreshadowed capitalist globalization. Gods abounded. This was the death of an old world but also a time of great creation.

Joshua: Paganism IS our society. Everything humans will ever do that is not directly related to our baseline survival implies faith and implies symbolism and implies archetypal thinking.

Any message to your listeners?

Gregory: If you’re out there, I want to connect with you! I want to find others who have the same deep longings that are driving me create art and think about the world, even in the face of the major disasters that are unfolding around us.

Joshua: Don’t ask permission. 

Follow @interregnum-music, @abjectionproductions

Facebook/Bandcamp

[mythicalcanary-literature]

Darkside of the Sun

Mutant mornings Crystal Noon Conscious creatures Circling moons

Darkness rising Deepest fears Darkness sunshine Weeping tears

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A poem I wrote on the 6th August 2021.

Please do not repost, modify, resell or claim this work as your own.

(Reblogging is fine though!)

[Mythical Canary Info]

#poem #poems #poetry #Poetry by Mythical Canary #literature #Mythical Canary Literature #MythicalCanary #Darkside of the Sun #sci-fi #science-fiction #science-fantasy #fantasy #dark fantasy #surreal #dystopian #space #planets #life #fears #phobias #sun #sunshine

[mythicalcanary-literature]

Considerate Cover

Why fear a piece of cloth that can save lives? Fear the rampant diseases not the preventions as those who will see you die are the spreaders of lies. A facial cloth is miles better than critical loss.

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A poem I wrote on the 6th August 2021.

Please do not repost, modify, resell or claim this work as your own.

(Reblogging is fine though!)

[Mythical Canary Info]

#poem #poems #poetry #Poetry by Mythical Canary #literature #Mythical Canary Literature #MythicalCanary #Considerate Cover #health #healtcare #stay safe #wear a mask #disease #pandemic #prevention #stop disinformation #save lives #be considerate #be kind

[mythicalcanary-literature]

FanFiction - Crossing the Stars

Hetalia (c) Hidekaz Himaruya

FTL: Faster Than Light (c) Subset Games

[CHAPTER LIST]

Author’s Note: This FanFiction is a crossover between the sci-fi strategy game ‘FTL: Faster Than Light’ by Subset Games and the manga/anime called ‘Hetalia’ by Hidekaz Himaruya. The story will follow closely to the events of the rougue-like gameplay in FTL and the human characters will be replaced with the human versions of the national personifications in ‘Hetalia’. This is a fun personal project and it requires no knowledge of either fandom to enjoy this story. I’d encourage checking the original sources out though! Use of screenshots in this FanFiction are to supplement the storytelling to help plot the course of our heroes’ journey in the universe. Whatever the outcome of the gameplay I base this story on (as each playthrough is very unique) will be translated into the plot of this story. i.e. If the spaceship gets damaged, it gets damaged in the story. If a character dies in the game, they’re dead in this fiction. (Please note that I find this kind of storytelling entertaining to play/write and I plan to do more in the future if time allows!)

Chapter 2

The crew of the S.S. APH pondered their options. At the Exit Beacon of their first Civilian Sector they had a choice on where to jump. Both branching sectors were civilian areas, one was under Engi Control and the other under Zoltan Control.

Captain Alfred F. Jones brought up the file on the Engi species. “It says here that Engi dudes are made of nanomachines. That’s pretty damn sweet! Maybe we could get them to be our mechanics?”

Arthur Kirkland, the weapons master, pulled up the file on their second option, the Zoltans. “Apparently both the Engi and Zoltans are allies. We could encounter either species in either sector so we have a coin toss here. Zoltans are energy beings, meaning that they can act as a kind of battery to save us some engine power. That’s rather handy.”

Their engines expert Francis Bonnefoy hummed in approval. “Now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind having either of those creatures on board. An expert mechanic? A spare battery, pardon ze term… and if we can encounter them in any of these two sectors I don’t think we could lose.” 

“It says that the Engi are secret allies of the Federation. That bodes very well for us. Provided the Rebels haven’t corrupted them, of course,” Arthur added thoughtfully.

Their American Captain beamed. “Hell yeah! I guess that means the Zoltan dudes are allies as well. Can’t go wrong here.”

Arthur coughed. “Actually, if we enter Zoltan territory and we’re attacked by hostiles whom have a Zoltan Energy Shield we could face problems. Those energy shields are a bitch to destroy. We need to avoid as many problematic scenarios as possible.”

“Agreed,” the Frenchman said quickly. “I am still shaken from ze last battles.”

“Engi Controlled then?” Alfred suggested. “Back to your stations! Let’s get this important cargo on the move!”

A cautionary message popped up on Alfred’s monitor. It warned them that Mantis had been preying on the Engi core worlds and those insectoids were a rather violent race. He hoped for a peaceful voyage this go-round. He programmed in the next jump, reluctantly avoiding the temptation of visiting the store located at a nearby beacon. If they could harvest more scrap maybe they could invest in some more kickass weaponry or upgrades!

A rather disgruntled British voice chimed over the announcement system. “OH FUCKING HELL!” As tempted as the Captain was to discourage swearing, he allowed it in this case. Out of the frying pan and into the literal fire!

Francis gasped, staring out of his nearby airlock window at the super-giant Class M star! They were too close, they were going to cook like that rather delicious duck l’orange he made for his crew before they left the Federation space port back home. “Oh non non non!”

DANGER! SOLAR FLARES! DANGER! SOLAR FLARES! DANGER!

“Incoming dumbass Pirate Scout ship! Kirkland lock weapons on their shields and weapons rooms before we grill like a BBQ!” Captain Jones commanded as he anxiously kept an eye on their FTL Drive charge. He really did think those pirates were dumbasses, who dares lurk around a giant star to attack passersby at the risk of setting their own ship alight? Idiots.

The S.S. APH successfully damaged the pirate ship but the enemy return shot rocked the weapons room. FIRE!

Arthur hardly knew what hit him, but the searing heat was enough of a tip-off to tell him that if he didn’t move right now he was going to die. Scrambling to his feet, he reached for the fire extinguisher and tried to combat the flames. This was very bad.

His best friend’s voice hailed him over the comms. “Artie, get out of there! I’m gonna open the airlocks to snuff out the fire. Go literally anywhere where you have oxygen.”

“Aye, sir!” he acknowledged, coughing from the smoke as he fled to the shields room. The portside and starboard side airlocks shot open along with a couple of doors into the weapons room draining the air rapidly to deny the fire any fuel.

As soon as the fire was out, Alfred closed all of the doors. That was all kinds of horrible. The pirate ship was repairing and had shields online. If they could get their weapons…

The super-giant Class M star wanted in on the action. It stretched a solar flare right out to the warring ships!

WARNING! SHIELDS CRITICAL!

Good thing Kirkland kept that fire extinguisher. Fire seemed to be following him today. Alfred sighed from the Bridge and called his crew. “Artie, get out of shields, I’ll open the starboard airlocks. Bonnefoy! Assist Kirkland in weapons, we need to get those back online.”

“Aye-aye, Captain!”

In the weapons room, Arthur and Francis united to repair the systems. The Frenchman quickly pulled his on-and-off frienemy into a hug and checked him for injuries. “Mon Dieu! I am happy you aren’t too badly hurt. Ze shields are down, we have to work quickly. Are you well?”

Arthur huffed and pushed him away. “Yes, I’m fine. Let’s get to work before more fire follows me.” He was feeling a little paranoid that he had pissed off a sun god or some crap like that.  They had to get away.

The pirates were fighting well! They destroyed their surveillance system, not that it was a vital system at this point in time but it was extra hull damage that our heroes could not afford to take. “Bonnefoy! Shields are broken, meet me there. Artie, I see weapons are online, stay there and give them hell!”

Give them hell indeed! The Englishman dealt the deathblow to the pirates and was glad to dust his hands of the bastards. Unfortunately the star was not done with them and heavily damaged their oxygen systems and the weapons room again. The battle was won but the war wasn’t over!

“I’m off to repair O2!” Arthur announced as he fled from his post at weapons to stop them from suffocating. Alfred acknowledged. “Francis, join him! Get the oxygen back online, we can repair other things later but our ship can’t handle more of this. I’m gonna jump us away!”

“Oui! Please get us out of here, I am sweaty and it’s gross.” The pair split directions and Alfred slammed in the co-ordinates of their next destination at the Bridge. If this was what was in the stars for them in this sector they might not live to see the end and that thought was terrifying.

The next leap took them to an existing battle between a Mantis ship harassing a small Engi research vessel. Alfred was almost ready to command an intervention but the insectoids fled as they entered their space. The Engi Captain hailed them, offering thanks for showing up, and gave the S.S. APH a new drone schematic.

Captain Jones gasped in awe. “OH SHIT YEAH! A BOARDING DRONE?! YEEEEEAH!”

His friends joined him on the Bridge. Arthur blinked in surprise. “A Boarding Drone? Wow, that’s powerful tech! Too bad we don’t have a drone room.”

“Dudes, we get one! Or we can sell it if we can’t, whatever, but damn, those Engi guys were nice.”

Francis stretched. “Let’s keep moving, mes amis. Ze Rebels are always on our tails.”

Arthur beamed. A Boarding Drone? That would be fun to use against the Rebel Fleet.

“Alright, dudes, you’re gonna hate me for this, but I’m gonna backtrack to the store. Our hull is fucked and if we can get a drone room to use this fancy-ass tech we’re sure as hell getting it!” Arthur chided him for his horrible use of the English language but agreed that the risk might be worth it. Their hull was already fifty percent damaged, it could spell death if they carried on without fixing it.

Luck turned in their favour! Alfred authorised the purchase of the new drone room to house the Boarding Drone, and it also came with a free Defence Drone Mark I! Bargain. They spent the rest of their scrap on hull repairs and moved on to the next beacon.

They backtracked to an earlier beacon and leapt right on towards the distress signal. Captain Jones listened to the plea and cringed. Oh boy, this was not a pretty distress call but he didn’t feel that they could risk a rescue mission. He called his crew to the Bridge to make an informed decision.

Francis peered through the window in surprise. “It’s an evacuation.”

Alfred hailed the fleeing vessels. “Yo, this is Captain Jones of the Federation Star Ship APH, what’s the sitch?”

Arthur glared at him for once again disregarding etiquette. He ignored his friend.

One of the fleeing ships responded; “Help! We’re being overrun by some sort of giant alien spiders!”

The Frenchman squealed. “WHAT? That’s disgusting! Call pest control!”

Arthur whacked him across the head. “I think literally anyone coming to their aid IS pest control.”

Alfred winced. “Giant alien spiders? Seriously?”

The fleeing ship yelled, “Help us or flee yourselves! Those things are evil!”

Arthur bit his lip. “Sending an away team isn’t advisable, Alfred. I don’t think we can afford to waste more time with the Rebels on our heels and we don’t know what we’re up against.”

Francis nodded. “Oui, I say we go. They’re already evacuating, we should stay ze course.”

The young Captain sighed and agreed resolutely. “Yeah, you’re totally right. Back to your stations, we have a mission to complete!”

“Heads-up, all! We’re navigating an asteroid field.” Alfred paused and checked the radar. “Incoming pirates! Kirkland, power down the Artemis missile and channel it into the drones. I’m gonna power down the medbay to support the Defence Drone, it’s gonna take out the asteroids for us.” Arthur switched the power routes and confirmed that the drone was ready.

“Ah shoot, it looks like we’ve got another coward on our hands. Enemy vessel is powering up its FTL Drive!”

“I’ve destroyed their weapons, sir!” Arthur replied, prepared to change tactics. “Thank God for this drone, it’s stopping the asteroids from striking us. Their hull is weak, the pirates won’t last long.”

True to his word, the pirates perished soon after and they could reap the rewards. There was no time to spare, they had to continue the journey!

“Hey, dudes! We have a Rebel Auto douche here with a sweet cache. Let’s attack it and steal its shit.”

Arthur audibly sighed over the comms system. “Is that an order, Captain or are you daydreaming aloud?”

“HAHAHAHA! Shut it and fire up the weapons, bro.”

“How the hell did you earn your Captain’s badge again?” he asked rhetorically.

“By bein’ a HERO, of course! Fire up!”

“I’ve taken out their weapons, Captain!” Sadly, that wasn’t enough to stop an enemy missile from screwing with their shields.

“Shields are down! That goddamn drone is setting everything on fire! Francis, run to weapons, I need to open the airlocks!”

“Oui, I’ll keep Arthur company and hope he doesn’t attract fire again,” Francis responded, running down the halls.

Arthur scoffed. “Quiet, idiot, or I’ll make sure you’re in the way of the fire beam.”

“So cruel!” the Frenchman whined as he entered the weapons room. The Englishman stuck out his tongue and switched the Burst Laser to lock on the drones as Alfred opened the airlocks to control the drain of oxygen.

Once the fires were extinguished, Alfred shut the airlocks and commanded Francis to repair the shields and medbay.  The Auto-Assault ship exploded and left them with a decent reward. Arthur examined the weapon from the cache. A Healing Burst? That could be useful but he was hoping for something a little better.

The next beacon was a store! The Engi hive operating it seemed friendly enough and Alfred treated Arthur to a special weapons augmentation. As the Engi repaired their hull, Arthur installed the ‘Automated Re-Loader’. An extra ten percent recharge rate on their weapons could really give them an advantage!

Feeling refreshed, the crew embarked to the next beacon, painfully aware of how close the Rebel Fleet was getting to them.

“Yo, crewdudes! I found a dormant Rebel Automated Scout here. I’m gonna try and download its data stores. You guys chill or whatever.”

A FEW MOMENTS LATER…

“Uh… Yeah, Artie, can ya do me a favour and like… blast the ever living hell outta this thing? I miiiight have activated it into fight mode.”

Francis could have sworn he heard the audible facepalm from his friend, but then again he could have done that deliberately over the announcement system.

Fortunately these ships were quick to deal with and Arthur destroyed it without putting up much of a fight. They collected the loot and moved on with their lives.

The next beacon was located around a pulsar. A small research station orbited it, but it seemed to be abandoned. Alfred scanned the area and flipped on the Red Alert sirens. “BATTLE STATIONS, PEEPS. WE HAVE MORE PIRATES!”

“I thought this was Engi space? All we’ve seen are Rebels and Pirates!” Francis complained over the comms system.

“They could be Engi pirates? We don’t have the scanners to see into their ships,” Arthur reasoned as he powered up the weapons. “Brace yourselves for ion waves, everyone. Our electronics are going to go haywire.”

DANGER! ELECTROMAGNETIC WAVES! DANGER!

The enemy weapons room was targeted and blasted to pieces. An ion wave disrupted their engines and shields, whereas the enemy had a mild disruption to their weapons and oxygen rooms.

“We have another runner! Take these losers down, Kirkland!”

“I’m doing my best! The bloody pulsar knocked out my weapons charge.”

“Shit, they’re getting away!”

There was a tense moment as the pirates used their FTL Drive to flee. The crew of the S.S. APH were worried that they would alert the Rebel Fleet about their location. This did not happen and they could breathe again.

“Fuck, that was intense!” Alfred called over the announcement system. “Look, things are gonna get ugly. We’ll pitstop at the next store but we’re gonna encounter the Rebels at the Exit Beacon. Artie, be on high alert when we get there.”

“I’m already on high alert, but I will do my best to fend them off so we can get to the next sector.”

“Good man. Franny, come with me, we’ll get the supplies this time.”

The Engi trader was a nice entity. He showed the crewmembers his wares and allowed them to discuss budget. In the end, they settled for a Flak Gun Mark I to potentially give them an advantage over multiple shields on enemy vessels along with an extra bit of fuel to tide them over. That was it, that was ALL of their scrap, which included the extra currency they made by selling their Healing Burst. They hoped it was enough to keep them alive.

Captain Jones gathered his friends in the Bridge with a grave expression. “Okay, so the Rebels are definitely at the Exit Beacon, no escapin’ that. Just do your best and try not to die. Our priority is to buy time to escape, alright? We’re not aiming for a win, we’re aiming for an escape.”

Francis looked nervous. “I don’t want to die!”

Arthur sat on the pilot’s chair and rested his head in his hands. “We all know the risks. Let’s not be pessimistic. We’ll either succeed in getting through the beacon or they will blow us to kingdom come. We’ve better head there right now. I just hope they haven’t had time to set-up anti-ship batteries…”

“Good luck, guys! I believe in you!” They all hugged for a brief moment before marching off to their stations. Here goes nothing!

As Alfred suspected, the enemy ship had two layers of shields to deal with. The investment in the Flak Gun was worth it. Arthur warmed up the weapons and aimed the Flak Gun at the enemy engines with additional fire power aimed at their shields in the form of the Artemis missile. He also noticed that they had a teleportation pad. Well, this was about to get bloody!

WARNING! INTRUDERS DETECTED!

“Bonnefoy! Get out of engines and man the doors! I’m opening the back airlocks, don’t get caught in it, I’ll try and suffocate the bastard!” Alfred called over a private comm link as he monitored the single human intruder.

“Aye, Captain!” Francis responded, racing to his new post as the engine and oxygen rooms were starved of air. The intruder was going to regret beaming aboard alright!

In weapons, Arthur cringed as his Flak debris missed the FTL Drive. He was counting on the Artemis missile to destroy the shields to help things along. The shields were hit on both ships and they tried their best to remain stable.

WARNING! SHIELDS CRITICAL!

The oxygen room was under attack by the one intruder that was slowly suffocating because he didn’t bring a space suit. The S.S. APH’s shields were vulnerable, which meant that the Rebel Elite Fighter could definitely land more hits. This wasn’t looking great and the FTL was taking its sweet time to charge up!

Francis did his best to hold the doors firmly secured shut. This was difficult when they never invested any scrap to upgrade their reactor and subsequently their subsystems further. He could not leave his post whilst the intruder remained on board, which left the engines unmanned so that he couldn’t assist Alfred with dodging attacks, and if he left the doors to repair the broken shields Arthur would be attacked by the intruder, no doubt. This was a horrible situation and it was going to get worse.

WARNING! INTRUDERS DETECTED! WARNING! SHIELDS CRITICAL!

Arthur managed to damage the Rebel’s engines, shields and weapons but chaos had already reigned on the S.S. APH. Enemy retaliation had damaged their piloting systems, shields and engines. On top of that, there was a fire in the drone control room and the entire oxygen system had been destroyed. They were in major trouble!

WARNING! SHIELDS CRITICAL!

WARNING! HULL AT 75%!

It was a never-ending sound of alarms on the ship. Alfred was stuck repairing the piloting system so that they could continue charging the FTL Drive, Francis had left the door system room to try to fix the shields to give them SOME protection as Arthur madly aimed their weapons at the enemy ship.

Arthur panicked and knew he had to do something or they’d be stuck as a waiting target for the Rebels to destroy any minute now. He ran to the engines to repair the FTL Drive. “Alfred! I’m repairing the engines. We can’t leave if they’re broken!”

“The weapons are auto-firing, right?!” he called back.

“Yes! I…” Wow, the air was constricting in this room. He continued working as hard as he could to get the engines back online but he couldn’t focus for some reason… “We need to get vital systems online!”

The Rebels were close to destruction but that felt like a hollow promise of victory. The teleportation room activated again and now they had THAT to deal with too.

Alfred was sweating. The drone room was directly behind the Bridge and that was completely on fire now. He couldn’t run to help his friends and they were losing! He checked the ship surveillance to see how everyone was and his eyes widened in horror. “FRANCIS, GET TO THE OXYGEN ROOM NOW. FIX IT QUICKLY, ARTHUR’S DYING!”

“What?!” came the Frenchman’s startled response. “I’ll head there now!”

“ARTIE, BUDDY! Your vitals are critical. Are you conscious?! Get out of there and head to the medbay right now. ARTHUR! Move it! Please…”

Arthur was hanging on by a thread. He could barely move but he had to get out of there. Somehow he got to his feet and felt his way out of the engine room. His health was waning and he almost fainted en route to the medbay. He had to get there. To heal. To breathe. There was so much NOISE. Where was medbay again?

WARNING! INTRUDERS DETECTED!

Arthur collapsed on a bed in the medical wing. Luckily the system was able to start helping him to convalesce but he was extremely close to death! Thankfully he made it there in time.

Francis was struggling. It took a lot of effort but the oxygen was back online! He coughed and hurried over to the medbay as his health depleted further. He was the second member close to death that day. He saw Arthur and relaxed, letting the system heal his body.

BOOM! The enemy vessel exploded leaving them with a nice bit of fuel to move on when they weren’t burning to death. That was one less worry for Alfred but he had plenty more to deal with post-battle. Namely the one intruder destroying their weapons room!

Alfred sighed with relief and spent a moment recovering. He checked on his friends’ vital signs... they seemed to be improving in the medbay. Good. That was too close for comfort. He exhaled and began opening most of the airlocks, not only to deal with the raging fire in the room behind him but also to make the intruder suffer.

He watched as the oxygen fled the ship and waited for his best friend to regain consciousness. They had to get this ship running again pronto or they’d face another vessel, which they can’t afford to do!

WARNING! INTRUDERS DETECTED!

Alfred made a beeline to the medbay once most of the fire was extinguished. He hugged Arthur once he woke up and dragged him to the door systems room. “Good job there, Artie. Sorry you almost died, but we’re alive now. I need you to focus and help me repair these doors or we’ll never be able to close them. Francis repaired the oxygen room, he’s healing at the moment, and we have an intruder on board and the Rebels are kicking our asses but we’ll be fine! Just help me fix shit so we can leave, okay?”

The shorter blond blinked his emerald eyes tiredly at him and nodded, helping to restore the systems. He put out the fire in the door room with Alfred and was feeling well enough to take back responsibilities on the ship.

Once all of the fires were extinguished on the ship, Alfred remotely sealed the doors and responded to an alert from the medbay. The intruder had decided to launch an attack on Francis whom was still recovering!

“Gotcha, Rebel scum!” Alfred yelled as he barrelled into the intruder and started hand-to-hand combat with the enemy. Arthur woke up his bearded friend and together the three of them eliminated the rebel for good. Panting, the crewmates gathered their wits as the medbay healed them.

Francis looked pale. “I think we almost died. For real that time.”

Arthur bit his lip. “I should have known that something was off when I tried repairing the FTL Drive. I didn’t realise the oxygen was knocked out, I should have gone there, but my thought was to fix the engines so we could flee.”

Alfred sat down on a bed and ran a hand through his hair. “Ugh, that was horrible. I almost lost you both. I don’t want to pilot this ship on my own, we’re already a tiny crew.”

“Well we made it!” Francis chimed in optimistically.

Alfred hugged them all tightly before standing up with purpose. “Now we’re all healed, let’s get this ship functioning again and then get the fuck outta dodge!”

Arthur stretched and saluted half-heartedly. “I’ll fix drones, Jones should take engines and Bonnfoy fix my bloody weapons. When we get to the next sector we REALLY need to focus on upgrades if we can. Our reactor power is weak and we can’t use all of our systems to full capacity.”

“I know that, dude,” the Captain scoffed. “Let’s just get out of here and then worry about the technicalities.”

With repairs completed, Alfred went back to the Bridge alone. The sector map branched out into two locations. They could either go to another Engi Controlled sector, not that this sector bore much fruit for the S.S. APH, or they could risk everything and attempt to survive in Rebel Controlled territory. He groaned. Being a space Captain wasn’t as cool as he thought it would be. He wished he had convinced his friends to stay home instead.

TO BE CONTINUED IN THE NEXT SECTOR...

Chapter 2 - END

[CHAPTER LIST]

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[Cover Art] This image was drawn in HB pencil and painted in watercolour paints on the 8th August 2021. It was digitally enhanced in GIMP Image Editor on the 9th August 2021. Paper type = 130 gsm  

This chapter was written on the 30th-31st August 2021.

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[Mythical Canary Info]

#Crossing the Stars #Chapter 2 #FanFiction #FanFic #FTL #FTL: Faster Than Light #FTL Faster Than Light #Hetalia #APH #ヘタリア #crossover #prose #Prose by Mythical Canary #literature #Mythical Canary Literature #MythicalCanary #sci-fi #science fiction #science fantasy #manga #anime #story #series #game #games #gaming #fiction #Fan Art #FanArt

[mythicalcanary-literature]

Angelic Ambition

Bright blue skies A cool calming breeze and a dream of peace of release of prosperity. Shine brigthly Never dim Floating along So you can swim.

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A poem I wrote on the 6th August 2021.

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#poem #poems #poetry #Poetry by Mythical Canary #literature #Mythical Canary Literature #MythicalCanary #Angelic Ambition #calm #calming #relax #cool #peace #shine #beauty #soul #spiritual

[mythicalcanary-literature]

Moon Magic

Lunacy Lunedì Dance around your fantasy Make-believe Belief in faeries The moonlight shines ecstatically!

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A poem I wrote on the 16th March 2021.

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#poem #poems #poetry #Poetry by Mythical Canary #literature #Mythical Canary Literature #MythicalCanary #Moon Magic #moon #magic #fantasy #fairies #faeries #moonlight #lunar #beauty #make-believe #hope #positive #happiness #belief #innocence

[mythicalcanary-literature]

Casual Hero

Diving headfirst into danger Overcoming obstacles that endanger Speaking from the heart With no fear of upstart No offence from casual intent No reasoning with the hellbent Stand tall in life Be brave with insight

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A poem I wrote on the 15th March 2021.

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#poem #poems #poetry #Poetry by Mythical Canary #literature #Mythical Canary Literature #MythicalCanary #Casual Hero #courage #bravery #bold #free speech

[mythicalcanary-literature]

Meditation

Calmness may wash over you in the most peaceful of environments where the problems of the world are too small to care about.

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A poem I wrote on the 12th January 2021.

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#poem #poems #poetry #Poetry by Mythical Canary #literature #Mythical Canary Literature #MythicalCanary #Meditation #calm #tranquil #peace #hope #positivity #positive #zen #relax

[mythicalcanary-literature]

Against Currents

Reflecting on moments past Destined to be better An internal contemplation Struggling to master Lack of hope for the future Lost in a current of time Slipped under the net Floundering When will time become mine?

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A poem I wrote on the 19th March 2021.

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[Mythical Canary Info]

#poem #poems #poetry #Poetry by Mythical Canary #literature #Mythical Canary Literature #MythicalCanary #Against Currents #reflect #destiny #internal struggle #hope #despair #unsure #uncertainty #time #flounder #anxiety