Amongst the burning crumpled remains of a crashed Zeppelin, a small paper note skirted by bullet holes, clings to an aluminium support in the breeze.
From the desk of Zebulon B. Vance,
If you are reading this then I am likely to be dead, and no doubt at your hands. Whether I lie in twisted metal coffin, or in blazing inferno, it matters not. You have successfully foiled my plans on numerous occasions and despite my efforts to regain control of the situation, you have always remained there.
From the start you have shown a desire to draw attention to yourself and be positively volatile. You proved useful in increasing tension between Texas and French Louisiana, we were all set to kick off that war and profit from the chaos. But then, you and your little Russian decided to wreak havoc and attempt an invasion of all things, lord knows we tried to get you killed but somehow you crawled away the victors.
Framing you for mass murder, setting you up for kidnapping and getting your Louisianan allies to turn on you: all seemed to be things you took in your stride. I am glad though, that 'Judas' was able to slip my grandfather's revolver back to me after that wench Jesse Coe had stolen it from me. Never trust a blonde.
Oh, to have seen your faces when 'Judas' betrayed you all. You really didn't see it coming did you? Leading you to that hangar looking for some mutt of all things. Getting you framed for such brutality was far too acceptable to the authorities.
Then your little catastrophe brought a whole goddamn war onto my front lawn! Still, you weren't suspicious when I took the Texan plans for the invasion of the People's Collective from right in front of you. They had been planning the invasion for months and were just begging for an excuse. You and the Russians gave Coe just what he needed to expand his empire.
Well now lets see, you've destroyed my new Nitro Engine facility, captured some of my scientists, crippled my radio relay and stolen copious amounts of new ammunition types. All part of my plan daredevils. With Texas invading I couldn't do anything so garish as to attract attention to my operation, so I had to find another way. We've always known we couldn't keep our toys secret, one day someone else would get their hands on them and then every gun-hoe fool capable of pulling on joystick would think himself immortal.
The problem has always been: "How to sell our arms and still maintain pirate supremacy". Selling them to authorities in return for privateer rights, and a very hefty sum, seemed the obvious answer, but the crusade against pirates and communists you had sent Texas on would not fit the bill. It was too close to our operations and would make them look politically weak.
So we came up with a new plan. If you cannot achieve co-operation, then intimidation is your course. By feeding you weapons and new engines, giving you the confidence to fight us head on, we could embark on a war with you. A war between pirate groups, one infamous and mysterious, the other know for bloodbaths and massacres. Air Action would be all over it, and we would show that weapons were only as good as the pilot who used them, but they were still an advantage. Selling them to pirates and national militias our battle would spark off an arms race, with us profiting as its masterminds, and best of all, no-one would dare touch us. We'd be both feared and revered.
The only matter left then is the demonstration, a showdown at dawn. No doubt you have received my radio transmission and A.A.W has already been tipped off. By this time tomorrow our great plan will have come to fruition, or...I will be dead. Blown to smithereens by you and your men, the conclusion which I expect will lead you to this letter.
If that is the case then I have one thing to say to you all: "Congratulations"
Watch the Skies pirate!
Signed: Zebulon B. Vance,
Squadron Leader of the Iron Lances.
The note is buffeted by a gust as the wind picks up. It is ripped away form the broken metal support, and is lost over the horizon.
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