"The History of Rural Brigands"
When it came to the meeting place, Tredegar was the only option. At least, it was to Kinnock. His birth city, a place where he sat on his father's knee and learnt of the worker's cause, of how every mining man worth his salt declared he had been down the mine with that great icon of Welsh Socialist unionism, Aneurin Bevan. The Valleys were easily the most stable land of the government in Wales, but after barrage and barrage of military fire, even the industrially dead steel city seemed quieter than ever. Passing through, Neil's car had been pelted with stones and eggs, while the young rebels spat insults into the misty sky. Kinnock had felt worse. He had been tortured by Healy's russian hitmen back in the 60's, had told Hatton to fuck off in the 80's, had been captured and again tortured by Duncan Smith's Purples, and had mucked through the dirty shit that Kennedy dug for himself in the 2010s. And each time, he survived, metaphorically or not, on pure skill and wit. And all he got was a seat in Sugar's re-established House of Lords and the job of dealing with arguably the most dangerous remnant of the Civil War.
Byddin Cymru, or "The Army of Wales" to anyone outside of the damn region, had been reported to be everything from a terrorist group to a provisional government. The Army, clad alternately in suits and balaclavas made claim to Wales in essence on the basis of negligence. It had been let fester and rot while the Trots drowned their cities for more pipelines to Liverpool and insulted the "Taffies" for their language and their culture. Kinnock had to admit that they had a point, but they displayed that point by threatening farmers at gunpoint not to sell their goods to England. And of course, that was only the start. Even as Welsh unrest became too big to not notice, Healy was too busy engaging in illicit carnal pleasures to notice, and by the time he finally shit the bed and died, there wasn't a Welsh soul involved with the Trots. As the government collapsed during the Flag Revolution, Wales had one of it's own, as a demonstration in Cardiff turned into a protest, turned into a riot, and then turned into a war. Hatton didn't even try to negotiate despite the arguments of Kinnock himself and every other opposition leader. But Hatton didn't see them as a threat. And as the New Beginning party fractured immediately and the Socialist faction declared allegiance to Trotsky once more, Wales went strangely quiet. It was the army's land, and although there were some minor conflicts, the army appealed to those Irish-Americans who moved back home during America's particular stagnation. And of course, it appealed to the students.
The bloody students.
As the years went by and the French intervened, The students grew up to be the Army and the Army grew up to be a government, claiming right over Wales in it's entirety. But as the peace was created and arguably maintained, a silent agreement emerged between the two governments. No one goes in, no one goes out. Especially not any bloody English looking to holiday in Powys. But there is a benefit to two governments. If you shut two people in a room for long enough, either one will kill and eat the other or they'll figure out a compromise. Prime Minister Sugar was hoping for the latter in his big "Union Together" campaign. The dirty bomb in Liverpool didn't help.
The armoured vehicle finally pulled up to the empty clearing where the arrangements were to be made. The day was honestly lovely, with blue skies (In September? Kinnock could hardly believe it.) flashing between the leafless branches of the trees. There were a number of militants wearing balaclavas holding non-descript guns, possibly of Russian origin. There was a man sitting in a suit and tie in a foldable chair in front of a foldable table. The man had an almost constant grimace, his eyebrows arched. Kinnock got out of the car, and held his arms out.
"I assume you're not the kind of people who enjoy meeting in big, important buildings." he said, as he was briefly pat down by a militiaman.
The man's grimace twisted into a small smile. "We're in a town that has no important buildings left."
Kinnock sat down. "I wouldn't say that." He placed the document onto the table.
The man's smile reduced back into a grimace. "My name is Adam Price. I assume the terms of our agreement are as descibed in your communiqués?"
"Indeed." Kinnock replied.
"Very good. I will be signing on behalf of the Army of Wales. Tomorrow, one of our cohorts will meet with Prime Minister Sugar and you'll get your big moment in a very important building."
Kinnock looked for a smile on Price's face, but none came.
He took out his pen, and quickly scribbled his name on the document. Turing the sheet over to Price, Kinnock suddenly heard a click.
It would be the last thing he would ever hear. In his final moments, he saw the balaclava wearing militants place a note, and he thought of Glenys.
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The chauffeur would deliver the letter to the government. Scribbled in it was a simple message, of course, written in Welsh.
"We shall live as one, die as one. We are Wales. We are not to remain idle. The deaths of Kinnock and Price is a warning. Leave now and give us our rightful lands and there shall be no more blood shed for your people. Signed, The New Army of Wales."
It appeared an age of peace had become a new war once more.