Delusions of Grandeur I: Abyssinia Triumphant

Introduction:

It all began with a hole.

A wormhole, in fact. The search for a way to achieve faster-than-light travel accidentally moved the frontier from the space between the stars to the countless alternate dimensions in the Stream.

Thanks to cross-temporal observation, historians now have unprecedented access to the details of the past. Every single minute detail of the day that changed history forever can be, and has been, captured and recorded. However, that is not the purpose of this summary, the aforementioned purpose being to condense the basic outline of the history and development of cross-dimensional travel.

Back at the turn of the 22nd Century, the European Union and the Democratic Republic of China were engaged in a race to reach Alpha Centauri first. The Chinese, after decades of research and construction, had just recently launched the world’s first interstellar starship, the Blossoming Flower. It would travel at a speed of a little less than a tenth of the speed of light, and would take forty years to reach Sol’s closest neighbor. The ship was self-sustaining, and would supply its colonists, who would spend more than half their lives inside the ship, enough comfort to keep them from going insane during their forty-year trip. Cryogenics had not been perfected yet, and it didn’t seem as it ever would be. The children and grandchildren of the original 5,000 colonists would be the ones to send the first live message between Alpha Centauri and Earth. Even though it would still take nearly half a century before the first human being set foot, figuratively, in Alpha Centauri, the government of the European Union was in panic.

Everything about the spaceship, its engines, its reactors, its electronics, all indicated that the technology of the Democratic Republic of China was ahead of the technology of the European Union by decades. Though they were technically allies, the Council and the Union as a whole were terrified by this new development. They needed a way to get to Alpha Centauri fast.

But it was too late to go the conventional way. European technology in engineering and electronics were far behind Chinese standards, and they had spent thirty years on construction alone. The Europeans didn’t even have blueprints ready.

What they did have was a surprisingly large amount of its budget dedicated to secret “black projects“, and a team of the world’s best theoretical physicists trying to achieve FTL travel. The team was comprised mostly of American refugees, who were the best in the field before the continent collapsed into anarchy. Luckily for the Europeans, they decided to work in the Union instead of China. Armed with five percent of the tax revenues of the European Union, they quickly went to work on creating a wormhole generator.

Six years and billions of euros later, the Institute of Wormhole Research succeed in creating a microscopically small wormhole between two stations. Three years later, they were able to send objects up to three centimeters wide through a very small wormhole that ran between the two main research centers, the Valletta Research Base in what used to be Valletta, and the Arctic Research Base near the North Pole. It was an exciting discovery, and it seemed that all that was needed to make the wormhole larger and longer was more energy and space. The entire island of Malta was given to the Institute to build a giant wormhole generator. (During WWIII, retreating Russian forces had planned to detonate a series of nuclear weapons on Malta after the combined Canadian, American, European and Crescent League forces had taken it. Unfortunately, efforts to disarm the bomb failed. Fortunately, Allied Intelligence learned of this plot beforehand and the island’s inhabitants were evacuated. After ten years of decontamination, the island was determined clean. But before the island’s former inhabitants could return, the post-war EU government claimed the entire island as government property, much to the ire of the former Maltese.)

During the next ten years, construction began on a gigantic wormhole generator that would be able to transport a ten-meter probe to the Alpha Centauri system. Since a generator capable of making a three-centimeter hole two thousand miles long took an entire building, one that would create a ten-meter hole 3.4 light-years long took a generator the size of a small city. The project had also gone public, though there was still heavy security regarding the scientific and engineering details of the project. This, of course, sparked wormhole research programs in both the Crescent League and the Republic of China, who received a great boost in their own wormhole projects when parts of the research became public. In return, the Institute could stop many of the secondary security measures that were now unnecessary, saving much needed money and resources. The project’s pace quickened, until at last, nineteen years after the Blossoming Flower was launched, the Next Step, a twenty-meter wide probe packed with sensors, samplers, and a very powerful radio transmitter, was launched through a wormhole twenty meters wide from Valletta to Alpha Centauri.

3.4 years later, with the world waiting anxiously, a radio message was intercepted at 3:47:42 PM Greenwich Mean Time on hundreds of highly sensitive receivers placed around the globe. The message lasted for a full ten minutes, containing highly encrypted and highly compact data confirming that the probe was, in fact, in the Alpha Centauri system. Europe was elated, and the Institute research team, many of whom had spent their entire careers working on the project, took their first vacation for twenty years. Europe, and the world, it seemed, celebrated. The European Union was the first to have an object arrive at Alpha Centauri, and human presence had finally stretched to another star.

China, meanwhile, was not so jubilant. After all, they had been the ones that had hemorrhaged money and resources to construct the first interstellar spaceship. It was their citizens that were willing enough to spend their entire lives reaching the nearest star. The Europeans just cut corners! Typical European behavior... But they still had a one-up on them. The first person to set foot in the Alpha Centauri system would be Chinese.

The Council realized this, of course, and pressured the Institute to end their long-deserved vacation and begin work on an even grander mission. To send a human to Alpha Centauri. Ignoring the complaints and threats of the original research team, their vacations were all cut short as they began to work on this new problem.

But the Institute soon found a very large difficulty in sending a person through the wormhole to Alpha Centauri. Who would go? The journey to Alpha Centauri would be a one-way trip, and having the first frozen corpse in orbit around Alpha Centauri be a frozen corpse from the European Union wasn’t very prestigious. They needed to send an entire colony to Alpha Centauri, like the Blossoming Flower, which carried pressure domes, air purifiers, hydroponic farms, fusion generators, and everything else needed for a self-sustaining colony on an alien planet. The problem was that the Blossoming Flower was two kilometers long and had to be assembled in orbit. Even without the massive food stores, entertainment centers, and all of the other unnecessary components, a self-sustaining colony ship would still be much too large to fit inside a twenty-meter hole in space. Soon someone had an idea. If they sent through the wormhole a wormhole generator that could create a hole large enough to fit a person through, that volunteer could spend a few days in Alpha Centauri collecting data and be sent right back to Earth. Work began on a gigantic wormhole generator capable of creating a hole fifty meters wide, and a wormhole generator a little less than fifty meters wide that could create a person-sized wormhole. They settled on a spherical design for the wormhole generator that would be going to Alpha Centauri, which was named Little Brother. Most of the space in the sphere was taken up by the wormhole generator and its power supply, and the living quarters for the person that was going through was situated at the top of the sphere, in a little sphere of its own. The living sphere was actually a self-contained ship with a diameter of only 190 centimeters. Inside was a very small generator that powered the small engines in the sphere and a very strong transmitter, in case the Little Brothermissed Earth by a few hundred thousand miles or so. There was also enough dehydrated food to last for weeks, as well as a full water recycling system. All precautions were taken so that whoever went to Alpha Centauri would come back alive.

There were many volunteers, and during the years that it took to build Little Brother as well as enlarging the current wormhole generator in Malta to the size necessary to be able to send Little Brother between the stars, the volunteers were judged and eliminated one by one. Just in time for the completion of Little Brother, a decision had been made. Bebont Peers, a second-generation American refugee, would be the first person to visit Alpha Centauri.

He was given training in living at zero-gravity, as well as operating the Little Brother and his own sphere. But few thought it was necessary. They could have sent a comatose person on this mission, they said, as the Little Brother could handle all the operations on its own. It would be routine, they would send the Little Brother through the Valletta Wormhole Generator, which had a 100% accuracy rate so far, and the Little Brother would automatically use the same parameters to send Peers right back to Earth after one week.

The preparations were ready, and on 12:00 AM January 1, 2100, the switch was pulled and the Little Brother was gone from the room. In its place was a 50-meter sphere of what appeared to be dirt and metal. Something had gone terribly wrong.

Meanwhile, Bebont Peers had just experienced the first wormhole hangover, and since this was back in the days before countermeasures for the effect, the nausea and headache lasted for two hours. After vomiting several times, he was able to gauge his surroundings. Then he found something very strange. All the external visual cameras reported pitch blackness, but what the sonar showed couldn’t be right. By the sonar readings, he was apparently in a spherical pit fifty meters wide, that fit the Little Brother quite snugly. Only two centimeters separated the side of the Little Brother from the walls of the pit. A pit wasn’t the right word, though. A more correct term would be bubble. Apparently he was trapped in a bubble of space underneath the surface of a planet.

From what he had learned about wormhole travel, this seemed to make sense. The generator worked by designating two spheres of space on either end of the wormhole, and creating the wormhole to swap whatever was in those two spaces instantaneously. So if he was sent to, say, beneath the surface of the planet, the chunk of dirt that was his destination would be sent back to the Valletta Wormhole Research Institute, while he would be stuck where he was for a week.

But if he was surprised by the sonar readings, he would be terribly shocked by the chemical analysis. The dirt that he was trapped in matched exactly the dirt on Earth, right down to the bacteria. He wasn’t on Alpha Centauri,. He was right at home, on his Earth. Or so he thought.

Back at the Valletta Wormhole Research Institute, the entire research team was extremely panicked. Once the giant clod of dirt was deemed to be uncontaminated, further tests were done, showing results that could not possibly be true. The dirt samples matched exactly the very same dirt on the island of Malta! Furthermore, there were also some pipes embedded in the clod, and after going through the records and maps of what used to be Valletta, it actually appeared that the pipes in the clod matched exactly the pipes that would have been running through the space that the Valletta Wormhole Generator was built in! That meant that Little Brother had not moved a single inch spatially, but had moved in another way. But what way would that be?

By now an hour had passed, and Bebont Peers was apparently growing bored. He must have decided that if he was here on Earth, he would go up to the surface. He didn’t really care that the entire project was under extremely high security; everyone already knew what the Valletta Institute was doing. Using the power of the Little Brother’s mining lasers, which were supposed to have been used for collecting rock samples from meteors if he was fortunate enough to end up near one, were powerful enough to drill a hole to the surface. It turned out that he was only about five meters below the streets of Valletta, which was surprisingly barren, even if it was at the center of the city during its purportedly lively nightlife. If that wasn’t strange enough, all the signs were printed in Cyrillic. It turned out that he was in an alternate universe where Novaya Russia won the Third World War, capturing Jerusalem, Canberra, and the GANDI stations within them. For the next week, Bebont Peers managed to avoid Russian security, give some very tired European Resistance leaders hope, find out exactly what had gone wrong, and even make it back into Little Brother which had been cleverly camouflaged by Resistance experts, and escape back to the Valletta Institute. Though not before overloading the Little Brother’s engines, to both deny the alternate Russians wormhole technology and create a very large crater in the middle of alternate Valletta.

(The point of divergence was that the famed Russian engineer Pyotr Ivanovich, the designer of the Nova I HSP tank, did not die in a plane crash right before the outbreak of WWIII. He lived to see the botched Russian invasion of urban China, and managed to deliver the Nova II Urban Fighting Vehicle six months earlier than OTL as well as without many of the flaws of the original Nova II. This allowed the Russians to blitz across China, reaching Shanghai eighteen months earlier than OTL and fresh and ready for the invasion of Australia, instead of tired, weary, and overstretched. An additional blow was that India declared neutrality instead of declaring war against Russia after Shanghai was taken, fearing that China’s fate would befall India. Both of these allowed the Russians to overrun Australia and the Middle East, at last gaining enough signal stations to disable the GANDI satellite network. Now able to threaten the world once more with nuclear weapons, everyone else backed out of the Grand Alliance.)

When Peers returned to the Valletta Institute, it seemed that everyone except possibly the ones who had bet against his safe return (a very lucrative side business for the Institute) celebrated. It also seemed that every physicist, historian, philosopher, and journalist in the world was asking him about everything about his voyage. He answered to the best of his ability, and a frenzy was launched when he confirmed that he was in an actual alternate dimension where the Russians won WWIII. Everyone, everywhere, was discussing the journey and also the implications of the existence of alternate dimensions. Afterwards, every single nation on Earth began their own wormhole research programs, in various stages of advancement. China was the next nation to send someone into the Stream, as the hypothetical “place” between two dimensions was called. They even used the very same parameters that the Valletta Institute used. Unfortunately, the Chinese version of the Little Brother sent back an empty pod. Responding to hysteria about the Russians in the alternate universe getting their hands on wormhole technology, the Chinese government claimed that their version would self-destruct right after it sent its pod home. Other nations sent people to Dimension 2, as it was now being called, some only one-way trips. But after three more journeys by the Valletta Institute and two successful ones, the Institute decided that it knew enough about the evils of the alternate Novaya Russia. Three years after Peers’ return, the European Union declared war on Novaya Russia by a single vote, that single vote being of the Moskva Republic, which was the last member of the Union to cast their vote. Everyone thought that this was silly, considering the fact that Novaya Russia didn’t even know of the Union’s existence, and neither had any way to send entire armies through the Stream. But the silliness became serious when the leaders of the Democratic Republic of China met the leaders of the European Union in Moscow to discuss the “Novaya Russia Issue”. It so happened that reports by Chinese interdimensional travelers on Novaya Russia’s occupation of China had sickened both the public and the leadership of China. Especially graphic pictures of the “Shanghai Mill” with its stacks of dead, mutilated Chinese accused of helping the Grand Resistance. A week after the convention, China declared war on Novaya Russia and urged other nations with wormhole technology to join the “Second Grand Alliance” against another Novaya Russia.
Intelligence was shared between the two nations, now allies, and it was determined that although the Novaya Russia of Dimension 2 rules all of Eurasia, Australia, Alaska, and North Africa, it was still far behind in technology. Their weaponry had seen little change since their Third World War, as any attempts made at technological advancement by the non-Russian countries was answered with a barrage of nuclear weapons. Without anyone to fight except a sporadic Grand Resistance, Novaya Russia had begun to stagnate technologically, economically, and culturally.

So a plan was devised. Using a yet-to-be-constructed Grand Wormhole Generator a little bit outside of Moscow, a wormhole 10 meters wide would be created. A nuclear missile, armed with cloaking measures that could avoid detection by both the GANDI satellite network and terrestrial stations, would be sent through the hole, along with an ultimatum: Withdraw from non-Russian territory, or die.

Every week, another missile was sent to a known Russian military or industrial base. From European and Chinese wormhole generators, contacts were made with the Grand Resistance and advanced fusion weapons were sent through the Stream. With fusion rifles able to tear through even the armor of the Russian Nova V,
the limited numbers of the Grand Resistance soon began to defeat organized Russian forces in open combat, even though they were often outnumbered twenty to one. With many of its major armories destroyed, Novaya Russia began to crumble.

As the success of the First Interdimensional War spread, other countries joined the Grand Alliance. Expeditionary forces from the Crescent League, Saharan Empire, India, the Andean Pact, Alaskan Oil, Corporate Japan, Mexica, the Horn Pact, South Africa, the Caribbean League, and Greater Korea were sent through the Stream to claim their respective areas in Dimension 2. Even some of the mini-states in North America sent a handful of troops to the North America in Dimension 2, with great protest from the American refugees in Europe and Asia.

Although only 1,427 people had traveled between the dimensions during the First Interdimensional War, and consequently most of the fighting went to the Grand Resistance, the nations of Dimension 1 had the gall to claim vast swathes of the Earth in Dimension 2 as their own. Sensing conflict, the leaders of the European Union, the Republic of China, and the Crescent League declared that they would only be rebuilding, not occupying. All of the other nations followed suit, except for the Saharan Empire, which only backed down over its annexation of Dimension 2 Africa after China, Europe, and the Crescent League threatened war.

For years the rebuilding continued, and during it the nations of Dimension 1 became closer than ever. Soon the Earth of Dimension 2 was restored, and peace fell on both Earths. There were more dimensions out there in the Stream, and the exploration began.

Using the increasingly advanced wormhole generators, teams of explorers launched themselves into the Stream, into the millions of Earths in other dimensions. In their travels they encountered world-spanning governments, anarchic tribes clashing over ruined, dead cities, two or more superpowers staring each other down with threats of a nuclear exchange, and countless other forms that human civilization might have taken. They found Earths where humans never existed, having died out in prehistory, and even ones where humanity had killed itself with advanced biological weapons. They met other Earths that were exploring the Stream, though most of them were decades beyond Dimension 1. They even witnessed frightening dystopias that had somehow managed to get their technology above that of Earth 1, except in the area of interdimensional travel. These were carefully avoided, and much of Dimension 1’s weapons technology came from stealing ideas from one of these nightmare dimensions.

But more importantly, as travel in the Stream grew, the nations of Earth 1 realized that they had far more similarities than differences. By 2200, the entire Earth, and many other Earths in the Stream were united into a government of peace and prosperity.

As interdimensional travel became cheaper and cheaper, it also became commercialized. Dozens of companies were founded for the sole purpose of finding out the commercial applications of interdimensional travel. Essential to the applications were two discoveries: loop travel and slant dimensions.

The first, loop travel, was discovered in the early 2300’s. Loop travel was using a wormhole to travel back in time, but staying in one’s own dimension. (Since the future isn’t definite yet, future travel has not yet been accomplished.) This process actually creates a new dimension that branches off from its parent at the point when the travelers arrived. Applications for this method are obvious, the first being time travel. Before cross-temporal viewing was discovered, this was the only way to literally see the past. But the expense of wormhole travel and concerns from certain human-rights groups limited this sort of activity. However even with these concerns, a game had gone on between the super-rich using this method. Ever since history itself, people always had wanted to know what would have happened if, say, the South won the First American Civil War, or the Left the Second American Civil War. Until then, to find out you had to be very lucky in picking the right dimension from the million million dimensions in the Stream. Now these exercises in thought could actually be tested.

The next discovery had even more applications. Using a new wormhole creation process in the mid-2300’s, it was found that there were literally thousands of times more dimensions out in the Stream than previously thought. But as the next wave of explorers went into the stream, there were reports of very strange happenings. Explorers would return from their trip a day after they’d left, then claim that they had spent months in the other dimension, and even cases where “lost” explorers would show up decades after their expeditions, looking not a day older. (These are some of the most extreme cases. Usually the differences in time are usually a day per month. However these are not the most extreme cases. Some explorers to the slanted dimensions have yet to return home.)

It was determined that in certain alternate dimensions, time passes at a different rate. In dimensions that are slanted long by seven, a week passes in the same time it takes for a day to pass in our dimension, while in a dimension that is slanted short by twelve, only five minutes would pass. This created some very interested applications. For example, the old or terminally ill could go to a dimension that is slanted extremely short, spending a week there while time, and medical technology advances ten years in the original dimension.

The applications for short-slanted dimensions were limited to scientific purposes, and the alternate-history games were limited in that the players could only alter the course of the dimension as long as it was feasible to stay there, which was only a few months at most. But on a historic day in 2384, an until-then-unknown company known as the Paradox Corporation combined both loop travel and short-slanted dimensions. Players would go back in time to a short-slanted version of our timeline, and spend an entire lifetime altering history while only several weeks passed in our dimension. Thanks to “anchoring” the consciousness to the original dimension, and compressing one’s memories after they return to the home dimension, players could actually stay in the alternate dimension for decades while their body and more importantly their minds age only a month.

But instead of calling these exercises in alternate history, gamers were given a country to lead on the basis of minimal intervention, and were scored by the success of their countries after a set period in time.

The craze caught on, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Book I:
Negus Negast

Chapter 1

Consciousness Shifts

One of the many unexplained phenomena regarding interdimensional travel is the consciousness shift. When sending something very small between the dimensions, say a dust particle or an air molecule, there is a possibility that the physical changes caused by the event will be, in effect, absorbed by its environs. This universe would be virtually identical to the one where the event did not happen, if it were not for the consciousness shift.

When anything is sent between the dimensions, all sentient beings, such as humans, experience a very small shift. This can range from a slight sense of something different to actual hallucinatory experiences. These are usually small enough that the person that is experiencing them usually dismisses it as a dream or an argument with themselves, or nothing at all. Only rarely do such experiences cause a dramatic change in a person’s life. Usually the immediate consequences are trivial, such as choosing soup instead of salad at a restaurant. But, as we all know, even such tiny changes will eventually make the history of that dimension so different from ours it would be unrecognizable.

Dimensional theorists have wondered about this phenomenon for decades, and they may have found a reason why such shifts occur, if not how. If an event occurred that altered a dimension enough to branch off from its original, but the event’s effects were nullified by its sheer insignificance, the events of both dimensions will play out exactly the same, and two people of the two dimensions would share the same consciousness. So the consciousness shift occurs, and everybody’s life and consciousness is affected slightly, making sure that two consciousnesses do not coincide.

Most researchers debunk this as nonsense, as there is no way to really prove this theory, and it sounds ridiculous anyways. But the truth is that consciousness shifts do happen, making sure that the events of history of the affected dimension will eventually diverge from its parent, even if no further changes are made.

-Andrei Wiekszi Encyclopedia of Dimensional Phenomena

Update 1


Sahle Sellassie, King of Shoa, looked up at the starry night sky. A cool highland breeze billowed through his robes as he walked to the balcony. Why was he up in the middle of the night? He didn’t really know. He just felt.....something. Like a disturbance in the air. A slight wrinkle in the fabric of existence. He couldn’t explain it very well. It didn’t feel wrong, or right. It was just there. A feeling of...change.

Something big was going to happen, something so large, it would affect all of Shoa. No, bigger. It would affect all of Ethiopia. Or what remains of it, Sellassie thought sullenly.

The region known as Ethiopia was now divided into innumerable little kingdoms and provinces, all of them warring with each other instead of unifying. There were three major ones, Tigray, Amhara, and Shoa, each claiming descent from the once mighty empire. Besides the three there were many other political entities, each with its own ruler deciding its fate instead of submitting to one Emperor. Shoa itself had even been cut off from the north by the Galla tribes that had penetrated Ethiopia deeply.

Well, I should be a little grateful for that. Being cut off from the north meant that Shoa was cut off from the eternal warfare that marked northern Ethiopia. Shielded from having its lands ravaged repeatedly, Sellassie had managed to construct a modicum of civilization in his kingdom. But even Shoa was not immune to the Zemena Mesafint, the Age of Princes. The Galla tribes regularly raided Shoa‘s lands, the province lords regularly disobeyed him, and the tax collectors overtaxed the peasants, skimming off revenues for their own personal fortune. The peasants were overburdened, regularly having at least three masters to pay a portion of the fruits of their labor. Even with this, Shoa was actually the least affected by the Zemena Mesafint. Imagine how the rest of Ethiopia felt! Was there no one to unite Ethiopia?

Why do you think about this now? he thought to himself. He didn’t know. Ethiopia had been this way for the past four generations, after all. There was not a man alive in Ethiopia that remembered the time before the Zemena Mesafint. It had been this way all throughout his reign, and undoubtedly would be for his son and grandson’s reigns also. Gondar and Tigray would continue to fight it out along with their allies, switching sides and allegiances at a change in the breeze. Soldiers would continue to plunder the land, peasants would continue to bear their unfair burden, and Ethiopia would continue to decline. What would stop it? Who would stop it?

You. Sellassie blinked. If he was in front of himself, and he had just told himself what he thought, he would simply laugh at himself. Me? he thought incredulously at himself. How would he do it? The only way he could think of was to go on a military campaign and subjugate all of the various princes and lords of Ethiopia. How could he do that?

You have been extending Shoa’s borders east and south. Why not north and west? Sellassie blinked again. He had been pushing Shoa’s borders, but to the south and east his opponents were mostly technologically inferior nomads. To the north lay the fairly sophisticated Gallas, as well as the domains of the de facto ruler of Ethiopia, Ras ‘Ali. To the west lay Kefa, and attacking that kingdom would upset Goshu of Gojjam, who collected tariffs from the trade routes that passed through Kefa. Since Goshu was one of ‘Ali’s allies...

Either way led to war with ‘Ali, who wouldn’t just sit there and let Shoa absorb his domains. Shoa may have only been lightly touched by the Zemena Mesafint, but it still could not support an army that would be close to the size of ’Ali’s, much less defeat it and annex ’Ali’s lands to Shoa. In the best possible case, Shoa would become a vassal of Ras ’Ali, as well as have its resources depleted and peasants burdened by supporting a large army. Why should he risk the well-being of Shoa, for which he had worked so hard, just for feeding his delusions of grandeur? He had spent twenty-two years bettering Shoa. How could he waste his entire life’s legacy?

That legacy will soon be for naught. How long do you think that the chaos will last in the north? Eventually one man will take power, either by force of arms or by mutual interest. How long before they eye the fruitful realms of Shoa, and come down to take it?

That shook him. But how would that happen? Although Ras ‘Ali was dominant in the north, he was by far not the only player. Dejazmach Ube of Tigray was hardly obedient, and if ‘Ali pressed his so-called allies too hard, they would undoubtedly turn against him. How could a single man take power?

One will. The people are tired of the Zemena Mesafint. If one man of power stands up to the forces of chaos, to the governors and princes that only seek betterment for themselves instead of the land and its people, they will surely join him. Then they will look south.

There was no question about it. A unified Abyssinia would see a subject Shoa. The only way to prevent it, it seemed, was to get involved in the politics and wars of the north again.

But what if I fail? If he failed, Shoa would be no different than the ravaged northlands. The addition of another player might even lengthen the Zemena Mesafint.

But what if you succeed? You would be known forevermore as the one who ended the Zemena Mesafint. Ethiopia will sing your praises until the end of time.

Was it worth the risk? Was he willing to bet his entire kingdom, for the hope of a dream that had died generations ago?

He looked, not south towards his own domains, but north. To north Shoa will expand, and to the north Abyssinia will be reunited. Perhaps the dream would not die.

Saony Muon hated that feeling. The your-insides-are-on-the-outside feeling. The feeling of your stomach trying to crawl up your throat, out your mouth, and shaking you down for protection money. The feeling came standard with interdimensional travel, which was what he had just done.

He gasped, and took a few ragged breaths as he tried to collect his thoughts. Yes, he hated that feeling, though it was the first time he had gone through it. However bad it was, it was much better than his old job. A cog in the industrial machine, his job was to provide feedback on the advertisements that the advertising department of the Paradox Corporation created. The feedback would be completely ignored. He would spend his ten-hour workday filling out paperwork analyzing every point of the advertisement, turn the paperwork in, be completely ignored, and receive a dwindling paycheck every two weeks. The corporation wouldn’t miss a beat if he dropped dead in his cubicle. He gave all of these reasons, several more, and a few invectives thrown in as well when he quit.

He had badly needed a vacation. He had been saving up for one through his nine years of unnoticed service to the Paradox Corporation, often having to live a very Spartan lifestyle. It would be a really big one, too. One where he could truly relax and collect his thoughts. Perhaps he would discover a true talent, or the career he had dreamed of. He had thought long and hard about it, and settled on the one obvious choice. What better vacation than one that lasted eighty-five years, spent as the secret power behind the leadership of a world power, no less! Yes, that was what he would do. Using every penny he had, he would buy one round of the Greatest Game, set in the Victorian Era.

Of course, he couldn’t really afford many of the normal packages that came with the Greatest Game. He had to forgo many of the luxuries and go for the cheapest options. Such as the anti-nausea treatment that he was supposed to go through before his trip through the Stream.

He immediately stooped over and vomited into the dirt as the waves of nausea hit him. When the worst was over ten minutes later, he noticed another man of thin build next to him.

The man was supposed to be his aide, a combination of guide and referee. Aides were needed as Players were not necessarily historians or engineers. In the advertisements he hated so much, the aide was always a smiling, helpful person always ready with the critical advice or important news. This one was surly, hostile, and bored. Of course, the aide was a Paradox employee and received nausea treatments for free.

With a look of false concern on his face, the aide spoke to Saony for the first time.

“You didn’t purchase the anti-nausea treatment? What are you, an idiot?”

By this time the nausea had somewhat subsided, and Saony was able to provide a response, although it was a bit slurred.

“Yes...” Saony shook his head vigorously. “No. No, I’m not an idiot. See, I’ll have this pounding headache for only two hours, and I save fifty credits! I’m making money on this already!” Just then more nausea hit him, and he emptied the last contents of his stomach.

The aide shook his head. “Are you sure you want that headache for the next two hours?”

Without anything left in his stomach, Saony began dry-retching. Through the retches, he managed to gasp, “Fine...I’ll....take...the....treatment.”

“Fifty credits,” the aide said without hesitation. Saony fumbled in his pocket and almost threw the fifty credits at him. The aide threw back what looked suspiciously like a stick of chewing gum.

Saony bit into it, and immediately the nausea and headache subsided. He began to chew the gum.

“Banana,” he commented.

The aide looked unsurprised. “Why didn’t you take the treatment beforehand? Are you a cheapskate or something?”

“I’m not cheap, I’m poor.”

The aide’s bored expression parted slightly. “Then I don’t know what to call you. Don’t you know Games are expensive?”

“I’m well aware of that,” Saony muttered through chews. The gum lost its flavor surprisingly quick. “I think it’s worth the expense.”

The aide nodded, with the same expression on his face. Saony didn’t know if that meant that the aide agreed with him or still thought he was a nut. He spat out the gum, which was by now undoubtedly flavorless. As if on cue, the aide began to speak again.

“Shouldn’t you be picking a location for your office?” He gestured to the small suitcase that had come through the wormhole with them.

The office was the latest in Gaming technology, or at least it used to be twenty years ago. It was the size of a small office building, completely self-sustaining in energy, food, water, and entertainment, as well as equipped with the necessary long-distance telepathic units which were used to alter the decisions of people in critical moments in history. Using molecular compression, the entire building had been shrunk to the size of a suitcase, and using a relatively new “mass-folding” technique, the several hundred tons of light duranium was made extremely light, allowing Saony to grab the handle and lift the suitcase effortlessly.

“Urg,” Or not. The suitcase actually weighed about a hundred kilos. After several unsuccessful attempts, he suggested, “Why not set it up here?”

The aide rolled his eyes and took out what appeared to be a remote control. He pressed a button and four red lines appeared in the dirt, forming a square where the building was going to be. “That should be self-explanatory,” the aide said without a hint of amusement in his voice. Just as Saony cleared the nearest red line, he pressed another button.

Instantly, everything within the cube where the office would expand to disappeared, leaving a complete vacuum. The vacuum only lasted a split-second as the suitcase instantly folded out into a nice, if plain, office building

“Nice place,” Saony remarked, as he stepped inside.

The aide followed, muttering “You‘ll get sick of it after eighty-five years, believe me.” He then began to give a tour with all the enthusiasm of a large brick. In the middle of the tour, Saony spoke up.

“Where are we?”

“We’re in Dimension 1-dash-1835-dash-1-dash-1-dash-zerozerozerozero-dash-slant-long-1440,” the aide droned.

“I mean where are we on the Earth?”

“Where did you want to be?”

Saony really had had no interest in actually playing the Greatest Game. He could have “played” any country for the duration of the Game, but there was a rule that if your country was overtaken in a rebellion or annexed by another country, you would immediately return home for scoring. Since he didn’t want to do any work and wanted the vacation to last as long as possible, he picked the United States of America, where he only had the Civil War to worry about. An event that actually could have been avoided.

“The USA.”

“Really? What accuracy option did you pick?” Paradox, going along with its noble quest for the almighty credit, made it an incentive to spend more on the accuracy of the wormhole you took. The most expensive option would take you to the exact location you wanted, with absolutely no error. By spending less, the operators would sometimes make “mistakes” and err by several kilometers.

“The cheapest one.”

“Then it really will be a mystery.” He gestured to an unlabeled door. “That leads up to the map room.”

The next room was in a bunker motif with a large, round conference table ringed with chairs. On one end was a very large screen, which immediately lit up into a terrain map with mountains and rivers. A red dot was flashing in the center.

“Can you zoom out?”

The map did so, resolving into a very nice map of the Horn of Africa. Over Saony's surprised expression, the aide’s face broke into a smile.

“Congratulations, you are now the power behind the currently powerless throne of Ethiopia. Your nation is going through some political instability right now, and you’ll need to reunify the country before you can do anything else. Also, don’t forget the constant threat of rebellion from discontent provincial lords and oppressed minorities. As a bonus, after all that, you’ll have the joy of fending off European colonialism.”

Saony Muon took it all in, then collapsed down onto one of the uncomfortable metal chairs. This vacation wouldn’t be as relaxing as he thought.

Two weeks of writing that, and the narration still feels off...

There'll be no pictures for a while, since I need to find a place where they wouldn't mind several gigabytes of screenshots. Also, for nearly the entire first book (60 or so updates, hopefully) the events will not be based on the game. Mostly I'll be developing the characters that will shape Ethiopia and the world in the future. Also, for semi-historical accuracy, the in-game Ethiopia doesn't make sense at all.

Now I need a map of Ethiopia+provinces that dates anywhere from 1800-1950 or so. It'll have provinces roughly correlating with the kingdoms of the Zemena Mesafint, such as Gojjam, Begemdir, Shoa, Tigray, etc. Can anyone find one?

http://albums.photo.epson.com/j/ViewPhoto?u=4210449&a=31232231&p=68055304

Why does it keep showing up as a link?

Anyways, the map is a map of Ethiopia and its provinces from 1960, the provinces roughly correlating to the ancient kingdoms of Shewa, Tigray, Gojjam, and so on.

doesn't seem to be working, so I'm just giving the URL.

Edit: The link works now, but I can't get a picture on this site.

Could someone help me? Does Epson not allow remote linking?

It pains me that I took so long to update, but I really have been slacking off. I'll start with what this AAR will be like. It will be roughly 300(!) updates long, divided into 8-9 books of 30-40 updates. The first, Negus Negast, stretches from 1835 to 1854, during which absolutely NOTHING happens in-game, so I'll be filling it in with how the world got to the way it was in the game in 1854, when interesting things start happening. I have about eight updates now.

Update 3


Ras ‘Ali, Enderase and Re-ese Mekawint(Regent and Noble of Nobles) of Ethiopia, was jubilant. A message had just arrived in Gondar from Goshu Zewde, dejazmach(Title equivalent to count) of Gojjam, saying that he was prepared to submit entirely to him and his mother, Itege Menen. Considering the distance from Gondar to Debre Markos, the capital of Gojjam, the decision must have been made about a month ago, near the end of the month of Takhshash. (Late December-Early January by our reckoning). Ras ‘Ali had wondered briefly what had made Goshu make such a radical decision. He did not really think on it, though. The important thing was that he had certainly received the news before his mother had, and he wanted to be the bearer of such good news.

He entered his mother’s chambers with his head up high. Itege(Empress) Menen, his mother, nodded to ‘Ali, telling him that he could speak. He cleared his throat.

“Mother, I’ve received excellent news-”

“Goshu of Gojjam has offered to submit directly to us.”

Ras ‘Ali was stunned. “I-”

“Was sure that you were the first to know.” [i[Itege[/i] Menen smiled wryly. “My son, although you are the Enderase of all of Ethiopia, you are still but a child.”

I am not a child, ‘Ali thought indignantly, his mood growing worse. But he was not a fool. He knew that the reason he had so much power was mostly due to his mother’s actions and abilities.

His mother spoke again. “Son, did you consider the reason
why Goshu had this sudden change of heart?”

“Well, I- No.” ‘Ali hung his head.

“You’re much too trusting, my son. It is entirely possible that Goshu is trying to make us relax our guard.” She paused, her face obviously in concentration. “I do have a plan. If Goshu is truly willing to submit, he will not object to, say, one of our armies marching across his lands Five thousand of our best men, armed with our best muskets, marching from Gondar to the southernmost parts of Gojjam. Such a show of force will certainly reinforce his submission.”

‘Ali was surprised. Usually his mother provided sound, insightful, if a little condescending, advice. This plan was so obviously full of folly that it took ‘Ali a few seconds to blurt out the most obvious reason it wouldn’t work.

“But Mother, how will we pay for such an expedition?”

“All part of my plan, my son. For you see, the expedition will pay for itself. Tell me, what lies to the south of Gojjam?”

‘Ali shrugged. “The region of Welega, full of unassimilated Gallas.”

“Exactly. Surely five thousand soldiers are more than enough to overcome any defenses the Galla tribes offer. And some of those tribes have very rich herds of cattle, as well as other things. Surely their possessions will be better off in our hands.”

‘Ali nodded in agreement. “So the expedition will more than pay for itself, and in the end we will have a stronger, or more submissive, ally as well as tribute from the peoples of Welega.” He looked up. “That is a good plan, but-”

His mother interrupted him, and ‘Ali noticed that she had a faraway look in her eyes. “Yes, and beyond Welega are the kingdoms of Kefa, Jima, Bonga. We can even go further than that and extend our borders to stretch beyond even Ethiopia’s former border. Imagine, people even as far away as Fashoda paying tribute to Gondar!”

“Yes, that would be great,” Ras ‘Ali said, enthusiasm shrunken from his voice. He called out the next weakness in the plan. “But would that not leave our lands defenseless? Taking out five thousand men from our armies will shrink them considerably.”

Itege Menen just smiled. “I am sure that after Goshu’s loyalty is cemented, and after our forces show how profitable a venture into the south would be, Goshu would be more than happy to supply some of his own men to attack the Galla kingdoms to the south. And Dejazmach Ubye has his own problems in Tigray. For now, we can spare the troops. Any more questions?”

Ras ‘Ali shook his head. “I am sure the Emperor will agree.” They both laughed. Everyone knew the powerlessness of Emperor Sahle Dengel’s throne. The only question was if the Emperor himself knew it. Judging by the self-importance Dengel drew from his title, probably not.

Withdrawing from his mother’s chambers, Ras ‘Ali began issuing orders to his subordinates. Soon, the Galla tribes in Welega and beyond would submit to his rule. Perhaps his influence might even stretch to the border of what the Empire used to be. Such a far-flung dream, returning to, at least in one aspect, the glory of the days of old!

Update 4


Dawit Tessema uneasily shouldered his flintlock musket. It wasn’t the firearm’s weight that bothered him, even though it weighed quite a bit.

He was in the advance guard of Ras ‘Ali’s army, assigned to a unit of forty musketmen. The problem was that he received his flintlock as inheritance only a short time ago, and had never fired a shot outside of training. It was a good, reliable flintlock too. Many others in the unit, who were undoubtedly more experienced, were using even older matchlock muskets. This naturally made him uncomfortable.

They’d been marching for hours, two full days ahead of the rest of the army, with the job of intimidating at least one Galla tribe or village into submission. Or destroying them, whichever was more convenient.

Hamsaleqa(Captain of a unit of 50) Iyasu ordered the unit to stop, right on a hill overlooking a Galla village. Not surprisingly, there were about fifty or so Galla men, undoubtedly warriors, standing in the distance. The unit had been singing and yelling and complaining all day. There was a mounted man standing out among them, dressed in the full regalia of a Galla chieftain. Tessema also noticed that he was quite old,. well past fifty. The old man rode over to Hamsaleqa Iyasu.

Iyasu dismounted and made the proper gestures of respect to the chief. After he was finished, they began speaking in what he presumed to be one of the Galla languages he couldn’t understand.

“Can’t understand, eh?” The man next to him had a south-western accent bordering on Gojami. Although the unit did have many soldiers from the region, it made him turn all the same.

The man smiled and explained. “I spent quite some time as a trader in this region before joining up with ‘Ali’s army.” He frowned. “My caravan was attacked by Galla raiders, probably the same ones I’ve been trading with. Lost everything I had.” A shrug, and an amiable smile. “Except this.“ He tapped the stock of his own flintlock, which looked a lot more rugged than Dawit’s own intricately carved family heirloom. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ya’kob Giorgis.”

“I am Dawit Tessema.” There was an awkward pause. Hamsaleqa Iyasu began speaking much louder, as well as in a more officious tone. It was still incomprehensible to Tessema.

He tilted his head towards Ya’kob. “So, you can understand what they are saying?”

Ya’kob smiled again. “Oh, yes. For instance, the good Hamsaleqa is giving the old chieftain a choice. Either his village will give us half of their material goods, or we will take all of it by force.”

The Galla chief responded rather calmly, given the choice he was given. He said something very briefly, and began to ride back to the village.

“What did he just say?”

“He says he’ll think about it.”

Tessema gave him an inquiring look.

It was at this point that Hamsaleqa Iyasu turned around and began yelling, though it was in Amharic this time. He made as if to strike at one of the soldiers, who was leaning on his musket for support.

“Treat your weapon with respect, soldier! That musket will be your life, and your death!” Everyone else suddenly stiffened up, heavy, cumbersome muskets at their shoulders.

Except Tessema, who blurted out, “Why are our muskets our life and our death, sir?” As the words flew out of his mouth, he regretted them. Even more so as Hamsaleqa Iyasu turned to face him. Just as he feared, he was still unused to the life of a soldier.

For a wonder, the Hamsaleqa didn’t shout, but began to speak in somber tones.

“You may ask, ‘Why have the Gallas come so far into our lands, when we are so many and so advanced?‘ But it does not work that way. Yes, we are many, but we are civilized. Our people are divided into farmers, artisans, and clergymen as well as soldiers. But sometimes, I swear, the Galla begins to hold the spear from the moment he exits his mother‘s womb. ”

He gestured to the Galla in the distance. The ones that weren’t shouting at each other were standing at attention, faces firm in unyielding glares, muscles strong from a lifetime of labor, seemingly ready to kill anything that moved.

“Look at them. Do they look like they live for anything besides making war?” Dawit shook his head. They all were fighters, through and through.

“We are civilized, yes. But because we are, our people are also farmers, clergymen, artisans and merchants as well as soldiers. The Gallas do not have any such distinction. That is why they have come so far into Abyssinia, why people in the borderlands constantly fear Galla attacks. And these,” he gripped the barrel of Dawit‘s musket, “As little and as few they may be, are our only advantage now.”

The Gallas in the distance must have begun shouting loudly enough for some of their words to be discernable, as both the Hamsaleqa and Ya’kob distinctly frowned.

“Prepare arms!” Iyasu shouted. With the sheer variety of firearms in the unit, the order simply meant to prepare to fire as quickly as possible.

Dawit got to work, pouring a measured charge of gunpowder down the muzzle, followed by a ramming a cloth-wrapped lead round ball. A bit of powder in the dish, hammer to full-cock, and the musket was against his shoulder in less than twenty seconds. Ya’kob had his up already. Other men in the unit, some with older and less efficient muskets, were taking some time to prepare. Meanwhile, the Galla began charging at the men, lances and swords at the ready, their terrifying battle cry filling the air.

After what seemed like forever but was really about fifteen seconds, Iyasu shouted “Fire!”

Forty slow-matches and flint hammers descended, and not-quite forty muskets fired. In a unit like this, it would be lucky if twenty-five muskets worked perfectly. Fortunately by now the Galla were close enough for the unit’s smoothbores to be somewhat accurate. Unfortunately that meant that there was no time for a second volley, especially with some of the matchlocks in the unit. Dawit held his musket like a club, while others did the same or drew their daggers. Hamsaleqa Iyasu was preparing his flintlock pistols, which were inaccurate and unreliable but good enough for close-range fighting.

The Galla closed in, numbers significantly reduced from the first volley. One of their number, face in fury, lunged for him with a spear, which Tessema just barely dodged. Dawit quickly struck the Galla’s temple with his musket’s stock, barely turning around in time to block another attack.

The rest of the battle went by in a blur, punctuated by the loud barks of Iyasu’s flintlock pistols, and by his equally loud curses when they didn’t fire. The struggle ended when the Galla chief, who had miraculously survived the battle, shouted more unintelligible words and Hamsaleqa Iyasu ordered his men to stop fighting. The chief dismounted and bowed down in a gesture of submission, saying some more unintelligible words.

“He is saying that their village and their herds and their fields are ours. He humbly asks that we do not take much, as their menfolk are seriously depleted.” Ya’kob’s voice startled Dawit, who had been counting up the dead and injured.

“He’s right. Of the Galla, I’d say about ten of them are fit to work.” Ya’kob simply nodded.

By now Hamsaleqa Iyasu had replied to the chief, who seemed to have aged ten years in the past ten minutes. The chief gave a short response, and began to walk back to his injured people.

Ya’kob did not need to translate, as Iyasu began shouting in a booming voice. “For those of you who are wondering, we will not be taking anything from this village besides the chieftain’s horse. Even that is merely a gesture of submission. Hopefully, the news will spread and in the future we will not have another encounter like this one.” There was a little pain in the Hamsaleqa’s voice. The fighting strength of the unit went from forty to nineteen in a single encounter.

Iyasu continued, “Be sure to take the muskets of our dead. Out here, they will be more valuable than gold. We’re heading back to camp, and we have plenty of wounded. So make sure that they are all accounted for. Back at camp they will be taken care of by our camp followers. Hopefully, their injuries are light. If not, we have an ordained priest all the way up from Aksum...”

Update 5


Kasa Hayla looked on jealously as Ras ‘Ali’s men paraded through town with their spoils of war. Five campaigns had been conducted against the numerous Galla tribes of the south in as many years, and each one seemed to bring more riches and fatter cows to Gondar than the last. After each campaign, Gojjam also became more subservient to Ras ‘Ali, and Gojjam’s army likewise.

He had joined Gojjam’s army for social advancement as well as military experience. He’d had enough of the latter, and now the former seemed unattainable. He was no longer serving in the army of an independent kingdom, but in the army of a vassal state. There was no future in that, and he resented it. So too did many of the other men in Gojjam’s army.

“But what will you do about it, Kasa?” asked Nejas Makonnen, his brother in arms and closest friend.

Kasa didn’t know. “Well, I might swallow my pride and join Ras ‘Ali’s army, that Moslem son of a Galla!” While ‘Ali was the latter, he was not, or at least claimed not to be, the former.

“Come now, you’re starting to sound like a Tigre.” He laughed. “Just because Ras ’Ali sleeps with Muslim concubines, doesn’t mean he is one.”

“Of course. It would be literally suicide if he admits it.” He threw up his hands in anguish and frustration. “Is this how far we have fallen? Having a filthy Galla hold the real power in Gondar?”

Nejas quickly looked around, but none of ‘Ali’s soldiers heard that remark. None of the Galla soldiers in both armies, of which there were many, heard it either. “You know Sahle Dengel is still the true Emperor of Ethiopia. How can you claim otherwise?”

Kasa looked at him. A bit quieter than last time, “Are you implying that ‘Emperor’ Sahle Dengel is anything more than something that Ras ‘Ali can spit on when he is bored?”

Nejas sighed. “Look, Kasa. Things have been this way for generations. What are you going to do about it? End the Zemena Mesafint by yourself?”

Kasa blinked. Slowly, “Maybe I will. Maybe I just will.”

“Yes, I’m sure. A low-level officer in the army of a vassal state changing the political makeup of the hundreds of tribes, peoples, and kingdoms of Ethiopia. Look, Kasa, we can’t do anything about it. The best we can do is make the best of our situation. Maybe swallow our prides and join the army of that Moslem son of a Galla.”

Kasa replied in the same slow tone. “When I was a toddler my father died. I would have received an inheritance, but my relatives seized it first and forced me and my mother out of Kwara. We went to Gondar, where my mother had to peddle kosso for years just so I could have something to eat. Then my monastery was burned down by a robber baron. I escaped, but so many didn’t.” He sadly shook his head. “I don’t want that to happen to anyone else, ever again. Even if the results of our efforts are negligible, it will be worth it.”

“That may be so, but we are still low-level officers in the army of a vassal state. Even if we manage to go up to Ras ‘Ali and cut his head off, it wouldn’t help.”

“No, not that. Though I would enjoy it.” Kasa‘s voice returned to normal. “You know as well as I that there are many other officers that are sick of this army and the Zemena Mesafint. We could all desert together, with our weapons and experience, and become shiftas in Kwara.”

Makonnen‘s eyebrows rose, though not at the suggestion of desertion, a problem that plagued armies for various reasons all over Ethiopia. “Become robbers and highwaymen? Would this not exacerbate the current situation?”

“You don’t know Kwara. Its rugged terrain hides many a bandit king, some of whom wield great power. We could carve out a kingdom of our own, raise an army, and side with whoever is most likely to break this cycle of ruin and stagnation.”

Nejas gave him a wry smile. “Even if the agent of Ethiopia’s reunification is that Moslem son of a Galla?”

Kasa’s face turned quite reddish. “No, never! I mean, yes! No!” He shook his head vigorously, taking in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. He then exhaled, restoring calm and reason to his thoughts. “I think that Ethiopia will stand better behind a proper Amhara king of the Solomonic line, as it has for millennia. I doubt that many will truly and loyally stand behind the current Enderase.”

“Well, as I recall, Emperor Sahle Dengel is officially part of the Solomonic line....” Nejas stopped when he noticed Kasa turning red again. “But your plan does have merits. It’s much better than what I have now, anyhow.”

Update 6


Sahle Sellassie smiled as more of the messengers came to him. For the news was good, very good indeed. For half a decade, he had been struggling to subjugate the Gallas that had entrenched themselves in northern Shoa in one fell swoop. Through diplomatic maneuvering, he had finally managed to force the Galla armies to unite, so a single, swift victory was possible. Through military maneuvering, he had managed to force the Galla to stand and fight in a single pitched battle that would determine who ruled in northern Shoa.

The advance guard had already met the Gallas several times. Fitawrari(Leader of the vanguard) Sehul was a capable commander and had been able to obtain detailed information of the Galla forces through skilled reconnaissance. So the army of Shoa knew exactly where the Galla were and their formation, but not vice versa. Armed with the knowledge, Sellassie had positioned his men and began the march to the battle. But in the interest of speed, he only took along two thousand men, as well as six hundred cavalrymen from the right wing of his army.

The battle had started early for the right wing. Comprised mostly of cavalry, it would strike the weak point in the left flank of the Galla army hard and fast and penetrate it, wreaking havoc behind the lines. But the attack was merely an expensive distraction, and the rest of Sellassie’s army might not have been able to reach the battle on time. Regrettably, the Kenyazmach(Commander of right wing of the army) was a close friend of Sellassie. There was a good chance that he would not survive for the next part of the plan.

Sellassie was among the front line, which had been comprised of musketeers wielding the precious few firearms in Shoa. The army had been marching up a gently inclined plain that crested at the horizon. He kept scanning the horizon for- Could it be? Yes, it was a horseman waving a red banner from the distance. That meant that the next maneuver was ready.

On his command, the front line readied their muskets and aimed them at the horizon. The second line, also musketmen, did the same. Behind them was a wall of spear, sword and shield. Soon enough, it seemed as if a wave of cavalry flooded down the main path, with a Galla army in hot pursuit. Kenyazmach Miriam must have done a very good job, it seemed like a disorganized rout even to Sellassie. But it wasn’t. At the very last possible moment, the wave split into two and flowed to the left and right of the two lines of musketmen, and the much-feared Galla cavalry were staring down the barrels of a hundred muskets, every single firearm in Sellassie’s 8000-man army, of which two thousand were with him on the plain.

They fired, and certainly more than a hundred cavalrymen went down. To avoid getting stampeded, the musketmen melted into the regular soldiers behind them, who advanced into the panicking wave of cavalry to finish the job. The much-feared Galla cavalry melted before the cool emotions and cold steel of Sellassie’s infantry.

By now the remnants of the right wing had formed up behind Sellassie. He turned and grimaced at the fact that only a third of the right had survived, and his friend was not among them.

He led the charge up the gentle slope, and overran the Galla line, but had to retreat again when casualties became too fierce. The battle was exceptionally bloody, with the full measure of Sellassie’s infantry advancing against a tide of Galla tribesmen. But at least Sellassie had another advantage over them. On Sellassie’s cue, every musket in his army fired at the Gallas, who had rushed Sellassie’s front line with everything and had broken through. Sellassie charged again with his diminishing numbers of cavalry, and this time it worked. With the Galla center disintegrated and Sellassie’s left and right beginning to envelop the Galla force, they would soon be fighting backwards for a retreat and the battle would be his.

He couldn’t hear them through the din of battle, but he saw them on the horizon. Galla reinforcements, about equal to half of the Galla force already here. Enough to swing the battle firmly into the Galla’s favor. When he had concocted the plan of luring and destroying a large part of the Galla force with the small advance guard before the big battle, he worried that not enough Galla would fall for the ruse and chase after Miriam’s cavalry. It never occurred to him that the opposite might happen.

Exactly as he predicted, the mass of Galla warriors began fighting to look for a way out of the encirclement they were in, and many broke and panicked. But Sellassie’s forces, though victorious, would be exhausted by the intense battle. And since they were closer to the bulk of the Galla army than Sellassie was to his, Galla reinforcements would arrive much sooner than reinforcements from the Shoa side.

But as the Galla reinforcements were a quarter of the way between the horizon and Sellassie’s battle, they suddenly seemed to lose coherence. In fact, they seemed to be running around in panic. He puzzled over that until the reinforcing army broke into two and a line of cavalry emerged from the middle. His cavalry. Actually, Kenyazmach Miriam’s cavalry.

By now the Gallas that were encircled by his men completely broke and began to retreat towards their reinforcing army, and at the same time the reinforcing army, surprised by the unexpectedness and sheer force of the cavalry attack, began to retreat towards the army they were supposed to reinforce. Sellassie’s men followed and the rest of the battle was not even a struggle. With Galla morale broken and strategic position nonexistent, Sellassie’s army easily destroyed any resistors and took the rest of the army captive.

The rest of the campaign was also no struggle. With a third of the Galla army made into casualties or prisoners of war in a single battle, the Galla tribal leaders surrendered. There was only one last battle, when a minority of Galla noblemen, wishing to die warrior deaths instead of living under Shoa’s might, had themselves a nice little last stand. They were outnumbered ten to one, but they fought with a fierceness disproportionate to their numbers. But all in all, the campaign was a total success.

At the end of it, he had extended his borders far north, and during the past five years, nearly doubled Shoa’s lands. At great expense of the native population, of course. But in Sellassie’s eyes, the land once belonged to his medieval ancestors, and was rightly his. He looked north, to Gondar, with wine in hand. He drank to the next campaign, the one that would make him the emperor of a reunified Ethiopia.