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For All Nails #180: Interruption
by Henrik Kiertzner and Johnny Pez

Amalienborg Palace, Kingdom of Scandinavia
11 January 1975, 2035 hours

Citizens and associates of the Scandinavian Monarchy, I have once again decided
to take the unusual step of making this unscheduled broadcast in order to tell
you directly of a development which affects you and our great nation, as well
as every other civilized nation in the world.

It is to do with the ongoing crisis in the Caribbean, where, as you are aware,
the government, in association with other powers, has presented a demarche to
the governments of the United States of Mexico and the Kingdom of New Granada. 
While the Mexican government has responded to the demarche in a satisfactory
manner, it is my regretful duty to report that the government of New Granada
has not.

The facilities located in Camacho City from which, by King Ferdinand's own
admission, the madman Vincent Mercator obtained his tritium bombs, remain
unsecured and uncontrolled.  This intolerable threat to the safety and
well-being of every person on the face of the globe is one that cannot, and
will not, be allowed to continue.

It is for this reason that I have chosen to act in my capacity as Sovereign of
the Scandinavian Monarchy and Commander-in-Chief of our Armed Forces.  By my
direct order, units of the Seventh Trondheim Air Assault Brigade have seized
control of the German Empire's missile complex at Moca on the Caribbean island
of Boricua, and have launched a full complement of atomic-armed Barbarossa
missiles at the atomic weapons production facilities in Camacho City.

I am fully aware of the terrible consequences of this action for the people of
Camacho City.  However, iron necessity has compelled us

The King of Scandinavia, beautifully clad in the dark green Marshal's uniform
he had sworn to wear until the capture of Vincent Mercator, was sitting in a
pool of light behind his huge rosewood desk in his study.  His eyes were
focused on a sheet of writing paper which held the scribbled rough draft of an
incomplete speech.  A fountain pen in his right hand was poised to resume

A soft tap at the door caught his attention and his eyes rose to the dark
figure which strode, uninvited, into the room.

Marshal Lauritzen, the Chief of the Great General Staff, dressed in an almost
identical uniform, came to a halt in front of the desk and, holding his sabre
close to his side, clicked his heels formally and laid a plain white envelope
on the King's desk.

The King leaned back, expressionless.

"I imagine, Marshal, that there is an entirely valid explanation for both your
surprise visit and this, this . . . /correspondence/ ."

"There is, your Majesty. On behalf of the Great General Staff and the
Chancellor, it is my painful duty to inform your Majesty that it is time that
your Majesty sought a more . . . reserved role in the political life of the