Tobias returned to Nandong with his dear wife, Matilda, their sons Norman and Jason, and their youngest, a daughter, Brenda.
In 1879, Storm founded a small military school that, over time, rose to a very high level of respect in the region.
It seemed so celestial in the beginning. Surely heaven’s gates had swung open for the Storms. They were housed in one of the lesser royal compounds—an ebony- and redwood-carved, ivory- and jade-decorated domicile of Oriental splendor—wrapped in gold- and silver-threaded silk brocades, and served on Ming porcelain.
The first bucking of heads between Tobias and Wu came almost immediately. Tobias planned an initial class to consist of twenty-five cadets to go through a very hard two years’ training.
The normal way of doing things in Nandong would be to draw the candidates from the most important families and loyal relatives. Inner-circle patronage was the ancient system and was not to be toyed with.
Colonel Storm reckoned he could abide with, say, three or four such cadets but insisted on open recruiting from the general population and countryside.
Wu Ling Chow halted the argument quickly. The loyalty lineage could never be tampered with.
“Okay, Your Majesty, it’s your fucking army,” Storm said . . . way beneath his breath. Twenty-five cadets were selected and underwent the displeasures of a brutal training regimen.
Within a month, eighteen of the twenty-five candidates had limped off in horror.
The colonel got a royal summons and learned that court shenanigans were being played by men of devious character and cowardly bent.
“Your Majesty, I cannot do what you want me to do with candidates who have soft hands and softer backbones. I am not here to play toy soldiers with a bunch of spoiled rich kids. And, Your Majesty, if you want to play with fourteen-inch coastal guns, you had better find me men who would be capable of being Marine officers.”
Easily said, but the interlocking privileged families were the source of the emperor’s power, along with the old generals who had done the ruthless work to keep Wu on his dragon throne. An influx of commoners would create jealousy in his military, and how would the important families accept the failure of their sons? Could he keep them in check?
On the other hand, Wu Ling Chow was Wu Ling Chow for good reason. He had survived since childhood with an omnipresent scent of conspiracy and, from his teenage years on, defended his throne without pity. He realized that court intrigue was bound to escalate and let it be known that he needed the new weapons and officers no less than he needed his old entourage.
Furthermore, it did not go unnoticed by Wu that the new corps would be heavily indoctrinated to ensure super-loyalty in the matter of the household guard. Wu shored up his base and assured his court that the academy was in their long-term interests.
“Otherwise our way of doing business will be carried on as usual,” he promised his retinue.
The emperor then took the plunge and issued a unique decree for open recruiting, which brought thousands of applicants from the underclass: merchants, common workmen, and peasants.
Storm sifted out those of high intelligence who passed tests of personal courage and who had the ability to travel a long way on very little rice.
Starting over with two dozen handpicked cadets, Storm saw twenty-one of them survive this training from hell, have the English language crammed into them, and learn to place honor above corruption. The academy became “The House of Illustrious Glory.”
A few more years saw the new officer corps rise to forty men. Around the hills, with sweeping lookout vistas, deep bunkers, with arsenals and connecting tunnels, the artillery went into place.
One if by land and two if by sea. A bandit gang from the south ran into Gatling-gun fire, and shortly thereafter, two privateer vessels were blown out of the water from nine-miles’ distance. The coastal raids
In 1879, Storm founded a small military school that, over time, rose to a very high level of respect in the region.
It seemed so celestial in the beginning. Surely heaven’s gates had swung open for the Storms. They were housed in one of the lesser royal compounds—an ebony- and redwood-carved, ivory- and jade-decorated domicile of Oriental splendor—wrapped in gold- and silver-threaded silk brocades, and served on Ming porcelain.
The first bucking of heads between Tobias and Wu came almost immediately. Tobias planned an initial class to consist of twenty-five cadets to go through a very hard two years’ training.
The normal way of doing things in Nandong would be to draw the candidates from the most important families and loyal relatives. Inner-circle patronage was the ancient system and was not to be toyed with.
Colonel Storm reckoned he could abide with, say, three or four such cadets but insisted on open recruiting from the general population and countryside.
Wu Ling Chow halted the argument quickly. The loyalty lineage could never be tampered with.
“Okay, Your Majesty, it’s your fucking army,” Storm said . . . way beneath his breath. Twenty-five cadets were selected and underwent the displeasures of a brutal training regimen.
Within a month, eighteen of the twenty-five candidates had limped off in horror.
The colonel got a royal summons and learned that court shenanigans were being played by men of devious character and cowardly bent.
“Your Majesty, I cannot do what you want me to do with candidates who have soft hands and softer backbones. I am not here to play toy soldiers with a bunch of spoiled rich kids. And, Your Majesty, if you want to play with fourteen-inch coastal guns, you had better find me men who would be capable of being Marine officers.”
Easily said, but the interlocking privileged families were the source of the emperor’s power, along with the old generals who had done the ruthless work to keep Wu on his dragon throne. An influx of commoners would create jealousy in his military, and how would the important families accept the failure of their sons? Could he keep them in check?
On the other hand, Wu Ling Chow was Wu Ling Chow for good reason. He had survived since childhood with an omnipresent scent of conspiracy and, from his teenage years on, defended his throne without pity. He realized that court intrigue was bound to escalate and let it be known that he needed the new weapons and officers no less than he needed his old entourage.
Furthermore, it did not go unnoticed by Wu that the new corps would be heavily indoctrinated to ensure super-loyalty in the matter of the household guard. Wu shored up his base and assured his court that the academy was in their long-term interests.
“Otherwise our way of doing business will be carried on as usual,” he promised his retinue.
The emperor then took the plunge and issued a unique decree for open recruiting, which brought thousands of applicants from the underclass: merchants, common workmen, and peasants.
Storm sifted out those of high intelligence who passed tests of personal courage and who had the ability to travel a long way on very little rice.
Starting over with two dozen handpicked cadets, Storm saw twenty-one of them survive this training from hell, have the English language crammed into them, and learn to place honor above corruption. The academy became “The House of Illustrious Glory.”
A few more years saw the new officer corps rise to forty men. Around the hills, with sweeping lookout vistas, deep bunkers, with arsenals and connecting tunnels, the artillery went into place.
One if by land and two if by sea. A bandit gang from the south ran into Gatling-gun fire, and shortly thereafter, two privateer vessels were blown out of the water from nine-miles’ distance. The coastal raids
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