Throne Room, The Whitehouse
17 December 1992, 8:00 a.m. EST (1500 GMT)
Washington City, Federal District
Princess Anna returned from the necessary room with Rachel Berry in tow. She wore a very stylish cream-colored suit. The
medals of the Noble Orders were displayed in a row of miniatures on her right breast. Rachel, a Lady of the Royal Order of King George in her own right, wore a dark blue suit which she knew
the King would like with a pin displaying the medallion of the ROKG on her right lapel. She had been a favorite of the King’s for years. Their relationship was one of a favorite uncle to
his favorite niece.
Her eyes scanned the room in a practiced maneuver. She sighed as she watched the different groups around the room.
The politicians were divided up by party in the case of the Senators and Members of Congress with the Royal Governors who had been
invited in their own little knot. Her brother-in-law Prince James was holding court with a group of senior military officers, one of which was Commandant of the Royal Marines General Marty
Fields, who looked like he would love to break away from the Prince. Arthur seemed to lately be in constant awe of Drew Thompson, something which Anna took to be a good thing. In her
mind, there were few men she would rather her son emulate. The heroic Brigadier was listening closely to what the Prince said, while the eyes of SOC Rhymes and Captain Sanford scanned the room
with military efficiency. Even here, where there was little threat of attack, they were vigilant. In the heart of a mother, that should be painful, she thought. But in the heart of
the mother of a Prince who would make a valuable political target, it made her feel good.
She glanced around to see that every point of entry was guarded by Royal Marines in Blue and White Dress uniforms with
rifles. She had received the message from the King two weeks before that the King wanted Prince Arthur and a particular list of people from Lincoln in Washington City for this
meeting. Drew Thompson had been the third person on that list behind the Prince and Anna herself. She saw that he had separated from her son and was moving toward her. She also
caught the sight of Commandant Fields heading to intercept. They arrived together in the middle of the room.
Thompson’s smile to Fields was more than genuine. “General,” he said.
“Cut that shit, Drew,” came Field’s gruff, oddly-accented voice. His eyes cut quickly to Anna. “I beg your pardon, Your
Anna smiled sweetly. “That’s okay, General.” She leaned over and kissed Fields on the cheek. She knew that General
Marty Fields was a favorite of her father-in-law’s and that Drew was a favorite of Marty Fields.
She watched the gleam of a paternalistic pride glow in Fields’ eyes as he brushed the shoulder of Thompson’s Dress Blue uniform
tunic. “It’s nice to see that you’ve kept that star for the better part of a year this time.”
Thompson chuckled ruefully. “They’ve let me keep it this time.”
Anna was confused. “What are you talking about?”
The voice of Marty Fields answered in a New York accent colored with the flavors of Alabama. “Well, back when our boys were
in trouble down in Bogota, I get this message from some Major who’s an intelligence officer for the 8th Marine Regiment who’s taken command of the 8th. Well, he’s rendezvoused with the rest of
the 2nd Division and they don’t know who should be in charge. So, I made him a Brigadier and put him in command, and he made me look like a genius. Now they call him the ‘Hero of
Bogota’.” He grinned over at Thompson. “But they busted him down to a Colonel when they get out. A year ago, I talked to His Majesty and he tells me that he’s decided to make him a
Brigadier again. I told him if they took it away this time, I was quitting.” He nodded, hesitated. “So, this time they let him keep it.”
Anna laughed as Thompson grinned. “I think it was because this time, it was Bob Stuart’s idea, not Marty’s.”
Fields laughed and slapped Thompson’s shoulder. He looked back at Anna. “So, how’s he doing with guarding you folks out
She looked speculatively at Fields before cutting her eyes to Thompson. “I’ve never felt safer, General.”
Fields, shrewd old Jew that he was, thought there was more to the story, but it was none of his business, so he let the matter
rest. Instead, he gazed once more upon the young man he had known such pride in since he first heard that tense, strong voice over the radio from Bogota. Fields had gotten Thompson’s file
immediately that day back in November of 1984. He had been more than a little impressed with the young man, then of only 29 years, and had only grown more impressed when he saw how the boy
handled himself. He had made sure that Thompson had been assigned to the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force early the next year, to be sent to combat in Medellin. He had overseen the career
of Thompson at Medellin and been unsurprised when he heard of his heroic leadership against the Cartel in 1986 and 1987. The then-newly-promoted Commandant had ordered the Director of Marine
Personnel to have the Colonel assigned to Intelligence Command in 1988 after the conflict with the Colombian Cartels was ostensibly over. It hadn’t been Bob Stuart’s idea to have Thompson
assigned, which Thompson knew and Fields knew that Thompson knew, but Fields didn’t mind a quick riposte, even at his own expense.
The doors opened and everyone snapped to attention. Even the attention of the politicians went to the man who entered the
King Samuel wore a purple tunic, decorated with the medals and Order ribbons of a man who had achieved much in his 62 years, both
in the military field and the political realm. Fields knew that the King had been a brave Marine in Korea, starting out as a butterbar and earning a battlefield promotion to Captain before
being wounded and almost losing his left leg. He had lived his life to the fullest ever since, running for and achieving office in the Texas State Senate before being elected to the House of
Representatives from a district centered on Texas’ State capital. He had been appointed by King James II first to the position of Royal Governor of Texas, where he had earned the King’s full
trust, then to Chairman of the Royal Council, a position that denoted much about the man who held it and the respect which the King had for him.
When King James II had died without leaving a viable heir from the Royal House of Roosevelt, it had come down to two Houses to
ascend to Royal House status as the Roosevelt line was declared at an end: the House of Kennedy from Massachusetts, which had produced four Presidents of the Senate, or the House of Webster,
which had produced the Chairman. The decision had been shockingly easy, even if it had embittered the Kennedys to further hatred of Texas. The House of Webster had been selected by a wide
margin and Chairman Samuel Houston Webster had become King Samuel.
The King ascended the three steps to the throne and nodded once to his younger, now his only, son, who ascended to stand behind
him and to the left. The second nod went to the King’s grandson, who, by prior arrangement, rendezvoused with his mother and moved to stand behind and to the right of the King. Chief
Rhymes and Captain Sanford moved stealthily to the base of the dais. The Chief took position to tackle the boy in case of a problem, interposing his muscled bulk between the boy and a
bullet. Sanford’s position gave him greater command to fight back in the case of attack.
The old Texan’s voice carried easily over the disturbed silence of the room.
“I have asked all of you to be here today because I am making a statement which will be released to the press this afternoon
regarding the succession of the Throne in the event of my sudden demise. As you know, since the reign of King George II, a Royal House which wishes to remain viable after the death of the
sovereign is wise to select a Crown Prince as heir-designate to the throne. If you will recall, the only monarchs who have not done so at some point in their reigns were King Robert II, the
last monarch of the Royal House of Washington-Lee, and King James II, last monarch of the Royal House of Roosevelt. And while these Houses will forever maintain the status of being dormant
Royal Houses, I wish to see my House maintain its position of the active Royal House. That being said, I must here make a decision that will carry my line as far into the future as possible
and produce the best results for the nation.
“I have made that decision. I will be presenting to President Bush and Senate Opposition Leader Gore Royal Resolution 1 of
the next session, formalizing the succession of the Royal House of Webster and of the Throne of the United States of America by naming Prince Arthur George Webster as Crown Prince and heir
There was muttering as the words of the King sank in. Most eyes went to the disbelieving face of Prince James. It was
most unusual for a generation to be skipped and many were aware that, since the death of his older brother, James had coveted the concept of being King, talked about it, even bragged about it.
To quell any untoward thoughts, the King reached out and waved Prince Arthur forward. “This is no ill reflection on my
son. He is a fine man and a fine officer in the Royal Navy, and I have no doubt that he will serve me and the next King effectively and well. I believe that this young man has the will of
a King, an uncommon thing that I doubt I have despite my high status.” He turned and gestured for James to come forward. “This is my will and my right as King.” He looked over at the
President. “Mr. President, my private secretary will have a copy of the Royal Resolution, with a copy sent to the Opposition Leader’s office, by this afternoon.”
The nasal voice that betrayed Connecticut birth and Texas transplantation rang from the throat of George Bush. “I will have
it sent to the floor as soon as the Senate convenes, Your Majesty, with my personal sponsorship.”
The Tennessee tones of Senate Opposition Leader Al Gore responded. “The Whig Party will lend its voice in support of the
measure as well, Your Majesty.”
The King nodded once, decisively. “I thank you both, gentlemen. That is all I have. I wish you all good day.”
He turned and left the stage.
The voices rose again, in excited tones from the King’s announcement. Only two did not participate in conversation.
Prince James had an angry, embarrassed, and dangerous look to him.
But the only one who seemed to see it was Brigadier Andrew Thompson.
The Oval Office, The Whitehouse
17 December 1992, 11:03 a.m. EST (1803 GMT)
Washington City, Federal District
“Come in, Brigadier.”
Thompson stepped into the King’s private office. The Princess and Prince, Crown Prince, Thompson corrected himself, had been
sent to their places in the Residence, where they were under the watchful care of both their own private bodyguard and the highly-trained forces of RSF Alpha.
Thompson brought his heels together before the King’s desk. The King, his eyes tired, nodded up at the younger man before
motioning him to a seat. “You asked to see me, Brigadier?”
Thompson looked away for a moment. “Your Majesty, I am concerned.”
“With what, Andrew?”
“I fear that your son might plot with his being skipped over for the Royal office.”
Samuel blinked. “I do, too, Andrew. That is why you are where you are. By the way, I hear you are doing an
excellent job. There have been no repeats of the incident in January.”
“No, sire. There have been attempts, but all unsuccessful.”
The King sighed. “If something happens to me, Andrew, I fear that the attempts will be by better-prepared forces.”
Thompson knew that the King did not fully trust his son James. That was all right, Thompson didn’t trust him
either. “That’s why I have the best.”
The King smiled. “A SEAL to watch over the boy and a Recon Marine to watch over the Princess, one male and one female, from
what I gather.” There was a slight leer in the King’s voice and Thompson realized that, as discreet as they had been, the King knew about his and Anna’s relationship.
The King ended his fears. “I am happy that she is happy. When she is well, my grandson rests more easily. I also
see that it has lifted you into a higher realm of thought.”
Thompson swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The King sighed again, the sadness returning to his features. “I know I put you in an impossible situation, Andrew. I do
that because you are a man who is unaccustomed to failure, perhaps even a man who is unable to fail. You can lead a large number or a small number of men because you lead by example and your
men follow with respect. That is why you are who you are and that is why I want you protecting my family. Now, is there anything else?”
Thompson thought about the King’s words and felt energized by them. He shook his head once. “No, Your Majesty. That
Samuel nodded. “Good. Dismissed, Brigadier.”
Thompson snapped to attention. “Aye, aye, sir.”
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