Ok, I have an idea for a seal/emblem of the Office of Public Virtue. Take the KGB emblem:

Replace the red star bearing the Hammer and Sickle with a white star bearing a Cross. For the slogan on the ribbon, I like De Virtute libertatem meaning "From Virtue, Liberty."

So, what do y'all think?
Sorry guys! Been just mentally exhausted lately. Anyway, here is a cheapo map showing where the battles occurred in the last chapter!

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So I was wondering what an Irish army would look like, I get the feeling they would be a mixture of British and Europan influence so I believe the Portuguese military from OTL World War 1 would be a good model for them...or it could work for some other random armed forces in the Great War, I don't know they certainly are distinctive:




Ok, I have an idea for a seal/emblem of the Office of Public Virtue. Take the KGB emblem:

Replace the red star bearing the Hammer and Sickle with a white star bearing a Cross. For the slogan on the ribbon, I like De Virtute libertatem meaning "From Virtue, Liberty."

So, what do y'all think?

Sorry if this is overstepping any lines, but I decided to mock up an example to see how that looks.

Been a viewer for a long time even when I did not have an AH.com account until just recently. Just wanted to say I enjoy the work and the community for making this fascinatingly, dark, twisted, comedic(?) world. :D
Normal Service will be resuming shortly, in the mean time here's some interesting colour photos* from around the globe:


Europan (mostly Italian and Austrian) Prisoners of War taken by the Russians, most would be shot not long afterwards


Europan Soldier gets shaved whilst Dutch collborators watch on, Holland 1911


Canadian Troops rest as they retreat to Quebec, Canada 1911


Dutch Officer preparing to collect the Royal Family, Hague 1911


NordReich Soldiers prepare for the worst, Europan/NordReich border, 1911

*Quick note, these aren't colourised images but original colour photography most are Autochrome photos which was an early type of Colour photography, look it up, it's fascinating.

The 5th Europan Infantry (aka The Blue Devils) struggle to regroup after a devastating attack by the 1st Chapel Hill Volunteers (aka The Tar Heels), 1911
I hope everyone gets the reference x'Dx'D
A fellow intellectual

Depending on how long Carolina is able to survive, I demand Chancellor-for-Life Roy Williams.


Confederate Chancellor Williams bellows at a subordinate before taking the stage at a rally (2015)
Any man who can rock pinstripes that hard deserves to become a dictator in Madnessverse, plot willing.

I'm listening to Caissons go rolling along in another tab and pounding out a new chapter! I have like 20 PMs I need to answer but I'm focusing and doing this first. lol
Hey folks you can vote What Madness is This:Redux for a Turtledove here, if you like this work vote for it and if you don't vote for it members of the ORRA will come around to your house.

(I've always wanted to say this)

Hark the Sound!
Hey folks you can vote What Madness is This:Redux for a Turtledove here, if you like this work vote for it and if you don't vote for it members of the ORRA will come around to your house.

(I've always wanted to say this)

Hark the Sound!

Sons of Ol'Caroline! The Office of Public Virtue Needs YOU!! Vote for WMIT: REDUX! If you don't the Popified Mongrels will corrupt YOUR NATION AND YOUR DAUGHTERS!!!

Yes! I would consider it the highest honor to win a Turtledove. Five years in the making! I will also print it out and frame it next to maps and posters I'm gonna get made, and I will post pictures. Lol It means so much to me that so many people enjoy this TL.

Also, I was messing around and trying to think of who could eventually be the propaganda movie maker for the Union. I chose Benny Riechenthal. While that might seem like just a pun on Leni Riefenstahl, it's actually the name of Bugsy Siegel. I'm very pleased with this turn of events. Lol
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Commander George Patton, a strapping young officer of 26 years of age, muffled a cough, trying to remain as silent as possible. He surveyed the icy ramparts of the Isle of Cornwall, one of the most defended areas of the entire northern border. Just north of the island, on the other side of the St. Lawrence River, was the city of Cornwall, the gateway to Montreal. It was the early morning of December 24, 1911, Patriot-Saints Day. No one in Quebec expected the Union to fight on their sacred national holiday, and their Christmas Eve as well. Surely, the Quebecois thought, there would be a ceasefire for just a day or so. Even the Legions advancing under Ashton in the southwest had stopped their attack, breaking out into festive songs about Father Abe around the campfires. But it was all part of the plan. One of the most daring battles of the whole war was about to begin.

The landing boats, not a one with any lights on of any sort, drifted toward Cornwall Island. The boats were rickety jobs to be sure, done up hastily and most barely capable of supporting the amount of men currently praying and whispering in them, packed like sardines. Patton kept an eye on the coast of the island with his binoculars. There were guards on the island in droves, but most were sound asleep. There were a few watchtowers equipped with spotlights among the evergreens, but most guards were simply frozen troopers standing on a rock, half-asleep. The winter had finally arrived, and the temperature had almost frozen the river. Patton had considered waiting for a true freeze so his men could merely walk across, but he knew the weight of the 13th could never be supported on fresh winter ice. No, the boats were the only way. It had to work. If Cornwall fell, the remaining Quebecois resistance in the southwest could be put down like dogs in a kennel, trapped between the 13th ORRA and Lincoln's Hammer. If Cornwall fell, the road to Montreal would be wide open. If Montreal fell, then that would cut off Quebec City once and for all. Quebec would be knocked out of the war. It had to work. Patton muttered a silent prayer to himself as the boats swayed and creaked under the soft moonlight, cutting through the water like shoeboxes rather than actual boats. Three had already sprung leaks and had to be left behind.

As Patton looked ahead, he could make out the lantern-toting Quebecois guards on the shoreline. Behind them were the pits of barbed wire and and razor-ropes. Behind even that were the artillery batteries and grinder nests. But all over the fort came the sound of freezing men snoring away, content that the Union would not violate its most sacred holiday. How wrong they were. The Americans were only about 50 yards from the shoreline now. Patton glanced down at the drummer boy next to him. The young lad wore the uniform of the Custer Youth Brigade and carried a black drum emblazoned with the 13th's insignia of an ace of spades.

"You holding up, kid?" Patton asked the blonde drummer, who seemed uneasy as he stared ahead at possible death.

The young boy looked up to him. The boy's bright blue eyes shone in the moonlight. His face was thin and gaunt, his mouth locked in a frown. He answered Patton, saying, "Yes, sir! I will not flinch or be afraid. I am a Custer Youth."

Patton patted him on the shoulder and said, "That's a good lad. Stay strong, we're almost in it now."

The landing barges crept closer. George was shocked the Quebecois hadn't spotted them yet. About twenty yards on, he began to hear the singing. He couldn't believe it, but the Quebecois defenders were drunk! This was Washington's Delaware redux and Patton felt chills run down his neck. He knew the 13th was about to make history. He knew the Quebecois were making a huge mistake. Smiling ever so slightly, he pulled his Colt 1911 out of his holster and turned to face the 100 or so other soldiers on his personal boat. He readied his whistle, placing it between his freezing lips. Next to the drummer, an officer readied his bagpipes, preparing to lead this band of protestant brothers onto the beach with a jaunty battle-tune. Just then, Patton saw the searchlight nearby begin to sweep in their direction. It was time. Some 50 yards remained when the light hit the first boat. Instantly, the siren began to blare on the island-fort. The guns began to fire. Shells lit up the night. Quebec officers shouted and screamed in French and English for their men to wake up and man their positions. It was pandemonium.

Patton put down the whistle for a moment and began to shout at his men, trying to buoy their courage as they headed into a hail of lead. "Men of the 13th ORRA! Men of Metropolis and Salvation City! Men of New York and Iowai! We're about to lose some good boys! We're about to have our mettle tested. But the 13th Mechanized was forged in fire! I expect every men here to do his duty, and if I see a second of hesitation from any damn one of you, regardless of rank, I will shoot you myself! Now let's kill some frogs! All hail the 13th! All hail the Pinnacle Man! Up the Pope's holy ass and may Old Boney burn in Hell!" He blew his whistle, ordering all the hunched over and cowering troopers to their feet. A grinder from the shoreline strafed their boat with a withering blast, sending about twelve soldiers to their deaths, their blood painting the bottom of the barge red.

"Up the Pope's ass!" roared the 13th, despite the stream of bullets heading their way. The drummer began beating the attack pattern and the piper began to play the "March of the Custer Company" as the boat slammed onto the rocky shoreline of Cornwall Island. Cheering and firing away in a frenzy, Patton and his men stormed the beach, advancing in the face of almost certain death. A huge ORRA battle flag rose up, it's white spade a symbol for all on the beach to rally and push forward. All over the shore, dozens of boats were all playing the same song, all charging into the mouth of hell. The frenzied berserkers pressed on, losing hundreds of men in mere minutes. Despite the losses, the 13th fought on.

The Quebecois defenders were now completely terrified. Most were too drunk to precisely aim at intended targets and were only hitting the Yankees simply because the landing parties were so tightly packed together. Patton should have been dead instantly, but instead he was standing tall on the beach, blasting away with his Colt and directing his forces. The 13th was made of the hardest of the hard men, radical devotees to church and state. These were America's finest and most bloodthirsty. If anyone could break the frogs holed up inside Fort Cornwall, it was the fighting bastards of the Bad Luck Brigade. Now, from the Yankee shoreline not so far away, the artillery began to open up. Fort Cornwall began to crumble. Huge blasts took down the central command center of the Royal Army, killing most of the officers.

Yankee Sappers were being pushed to the fore, flanked by sharpshooters to defend them as they placed dynamite charges at several points on the fortifications. A few minutes later, the south-eastern part of the main wall fell, the ramparts shattering and crumbling into the sea. Patton let out a cheer with his men as they advanced into the chasm, raked by grinder fire. Over one thousand men had already died, but the attack was relentless. The 13th had never retreated or broken. The 13th had never tasted defeat.

Captain John Randall, Patton's right hand, did not seem convinced of their certain victory, however. As he ducked for cover behind a boulder, he yelled out, "Commander Patton! It's a no-go! Our boys are gettin' slaughtered! We've blasted them sons of bitches, but they're still holed up like demons in a Stygian pool, sir!"

Patton grinned as he knew the time had come to reveal the Union's newest addition to the national arsenal. "Captain Randall!" he hollered for his subordinate. "Get me those damn stormtroopers!"

Upon this order, about twenty men made their way to Patton's position by the "hole in the wall." The Quebecois had begun to secure the area again, using the hole to force the Yanks into a killbox. But Patton was having none of that. Instead, the twenty lumbering men, equipped with massive tanks on their backs and odd-looking suits more suited to an airship fire crew than infantry, came up to the breach. After adjusting their equipment a final time, the first batch of them charged into the breach. From their bizarre-looking backpacks ran hoses, attached to a nozzle. From the nozzle poured sticky flames, engulfing the Quebecois grinder nests in a blazing inferno. This was definitely the breaking point of the battle, and perhaps the war for Quebec. The "Battle of the Hole in the Wall," as it came to be called, was a moment so shocking that it would make headlines the world over. Other nations had developed "flamethrowers," but none had dared use them for fear of their enemies using them as well. In the face of all of this, Patton and the 13th ORRA had openly and brazenly used them to take Cornwall Island. With the island secured by morning, Patton and his troops now had a free hand to sack Cornwall proper on the mainland. General William Henry Smythe, the commanding general of the 13th, threw his praise upon Patton and his men for their "devastating victory upon the enemies of freedom and Godliness."


Photo of a Union stormtrooper circa 1912

Despite stiff resistance, they did sack Cornwall the next day, on Christmas Day. The 13th went house to house, pillaging and dispatching any who dared fight back. In the southwest, the news of the victory at Cornwall Island rallied Lincoln's Hammer, who had been bogged down by militias and guerrilla fighters. On January 7, 1912, Patton shook hands with Acme Ashton in Cornwall, and together they plotted their next move. By mid-January, the St. Lawrence was firmly in American hands up to Montreal, and Montreal's days were now numbered.

Legate General Ashton took charge of the entire front. Cornwall, now his headquarters, was only about fifteen miles away from Montreal. Faced with Union forces so close, the Royal Commander, General Henri Blanc, had to decide whether to attempt an offensive operation against Lincoln's Hammer and the Bad Luck Brigade or fortify the city to survive a siege. The first blizzard of the winter had begun, and their was a chance that it could bog down the attackers and choke them all into Vaudreuil and keep them at bay as reinforcements arrived from Quebec City. Maybe, just maybe, if Montreal could hold the line and survive the winter, the situation in Europe could change enough for Caesar to begin sending over reinforcements.

For the first few weeks of 1912, it seemed just this very thing was to happen. Ashton made repeated attempts to cross over the Lake of Two Mountains and storm the city, but each attempt was pushed back and halted by the bitter cold and mounting snow. The famed armored "grinder wagons" of the 13th were bogged down and refused to start. It began to look as if all the advances had stopped. Perhaps Blanc would hold Montreal after all.

That was when the news came that Greenland had been seized by the Union Navy. The chief passage for Europan ships to supply their North American cousins was cut off. Now, despite his initial successes in staving off the Yankee hordes, General Blanc was faced with desperation. Cut off from supplies and living on the knifepoint of mutiny, his lines began to crumble. Men began to desert, reuniting with their families and fleeing into the northern wilderness, desperate to try to survive the coming apocalypse. Finally, on March 5, the Quebecois broke following a five hour artillery barrage which saw Ashton lob thousands of shells into their lines.

"At long last, this nightmare is drawing to a close. Montreal will burn. The injustices visited upon the New Jerusalem shall be visited upon the grandchildren of the Canadian perpetrators. None shall be spared from the wrath of a righteous God. These Inferiors will be sinners in the hands of an angry God."

- Legate General Acme Ashton, March 6, 1912​

When Montreal fell on March 10, Ashton, his officers, General Smythe, and Commander Patton all rode horses into the city. The sound of total silence was all that could be heard, aside from the coughing and screaming of the wounded and dying. One man Patton saw writhing in agony was one of his own stormtroopers. The backpack mechanism for the "Greek Fire" had frozen in a small part and exploded on his back, cooking him alive. But as the Union warlords thought of the cost of life and manpower that went into taking Montreal, they couldn't help but feel justified. For just up ahead, several block north, General Blanc had been found hanging in his personal quarters above a bookstore. In the main square, hundreds of Royal soldiers were throwing down their weapons and being herded into the local prison. ''


A woman inspects the wreckage of the Montreal City Hall


American troops march north to join the siege of Montreal

"Legate General, I think this city could be a beautiful Anglo-Saxon home one day," said Patton optimistically, disgusted with the city's inhabitants but also impressed with its natural beauty. "After we purge it of course."

Ashton shot him a smile as they rode on through the surrendered city. "That is very true, Commander Patton. I say, the sooner the purging commences the better. We won't be moving out for a while, after all. Commander Patton, take your stormtroopers and burn down every Catholic institution in this town. If anyone interferes with your mission, execute them on the spot. You are now military governor of Montreal, young man. Don't disappoint me."

Patton shook with pride and snapped a salute. "Yessir! I will begin immediately." The new military governor broke off from the leadership and rode off to begin his cleansing operation. As his horse took him over a pile of wreckage, he felt a little cough. It had been a while since he had had a drink and the smoke of battle was still thick. Again he coughed, but thought nothing of it. He found his remaining stormtroopers and gave them their orders. As they marched to the nearest Catholic church to begin thei purge, Patton let out another cough. A drop of blood fell to the icy white ground. Patton frowned. Then, just like that, he fell over in the snow, tumbling from his horse.


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