There had been some disquiet brewing. Since the assembly had been called people began appearing mysteriously in meetings, arriving at workplaces, across the streets, speakers who would berate the commune and it’s failings, alluding to order, tradition, legitimacy. They’d mostly get short shrift, but they just kept coming and coming in seemingly bigger numbers? What was going on?
The campaign of arson attacks, which had peaked in the summer before the Knights uprising, began again. The communards questioned some of those caught in the act, prisoners, many of whom pledged allegiance to the Bishop, none of whom gave any clear clue to his organisation. Shortly before the emergency kicked off there was an unsuccessful attempt to firebomb the Root and Branch HQ. The culprit eventually caught confessed to be an agent of the Bishop quite readily. He seemed pleased with himself, assured of something, a little to eager to oblige his captors.
The prisoners were the source of an ongoing argument amongst the communards. The prisons in London were largely abandoned at the onset of the crisis. Some guards opened the gates before leaving. Others locked the doors behind them, perhaps expecting that they would return to their posts someday. One prison, Yarlswood, was taken over by a prisoner coalition.
People paid very little heed to these Victorian fortresses in the early days. It was only after the first uprising that people began to search the prisons for people to set free. The old order was dead. There was no crown to detain anyone. The people had to be set free. There was no going back.
Except what to do with the saboteurs, vicious agents whose actions cost life, limb and precious resources, people who sowed discord and fear amongst ordinary people? Prison was a brutal, repressive tool. It was a hangover from the middle ages, when it was possible for one body to own another: but what to do?
Various militia would apprehend an arsonist (or arsonists) and take them to the nearest secure building, usually an old police station. There they would question them. Who are you? What are you doing? Who do you work for? Almost like an old-fashioned police interview, except much less effective.
Regardless of what progress was made or light shed there was very little for the militia to do. There was no recognised law, no crime with which these people could be charged. Sometimes the prisoners would be let go. Sometimes they were beaten or even killed. Most often they simply became the property of the local commune.
As the campaign continued the problem began to fester, all these people going nowhere in permanent custody. What to do? Some argued that they should be set free. Some argued that they were a menace and had to be done away with. A life and death struggle was being fought on the city streets, day and night. It was the communards or the saboteurs.
In the end a call was agreed that each commune could set up its own legal system, with open court and all the usual democratic controls, to find a solution to the problem. Anything too intractable was to be referred to the all London council.
It became common for any troublemakers who could not be trusted to be put to work. Some called it slavery. The Bishop used it as an example of the brutal mob rule that was engulfing the nation. Despite the unease it was generally agreed as an expedient, an unfortunate necessity of the times.
The Bishop’s supporters were the first to be rounded up in the emergency. They had been gaining in confidence. They had become more and more open and direct. There were a few demonstrations that bubbled over into street fights. On one occasion collective buildings in Central London were attacked. One gang attempted to ransack the Recovered University.
While the letter of ultimatum was being delivered to the assembly groups of pro-Bishop speakers were trying to hold meetings, boasting of immanent violence and retribution. People were afraid. Six hours later most of the Bishop’s gangs were gathered up or had gone to ground. The prisoners were put to good use on the front line, digging and building duty.
The following morning, the streets swept, calls called, bells rung, the message spread, morale turned around, the biggest urban overhaul began.
Communal London got busy. The assembly convened early in the morning and decided to go into immediate, permanent session. A plan was drawn up.
The militia were all mobilised, mostly to search for any of the Bishop’s supporters. Units not on search detail were told to inventory all arsenal, food and medicine in their jurisdiction for later distribution. The leaders of each militia were summoned to two bases. One was in an old hotel in Bloomsbury, commandeered. The other was in Newham Town Hall, near the likely front line. The defence of the city was turned over to the militia leaders, who would report back to the council every half hour.
Various metal workshops were commissioned to work overnight. Every drop of fuel that could be found, every battery that could spared or recharged was turned over to production of weapons and tools. Crews of scavengers were sent down to the dead zones to search for any useful materials that could be dragged to the workshops or the front line.
Riders were sent out into the night with bundles of leaflets. Each neighbourhood was to be woken with the news (although word spread quicker than the riders). London was in danger, but the commune was going to act, once and for all, to purge the threat hanging over it. All able bodied citizens not already employed in the workshops, the militia or scavenging the dead zones were to assemble 6am at the nearest communal meeting point.
The following morning tens of thousands of ordinary Londoners appeared across the city. They split into two rough groups, spades or arrows. Across the morning, as streets were dug up, barricades erected the tens turned into hundreds of thousands. Each major road was blocked off and guards put up. Every large junction was booby trapped and covered by snipers, rifles and bows. All working machineguns were commandeered and placed either high up or in street level trenches. All groups were kept in touch my phone, bicycle courier or rider.
While the rearguard was busy the frontline was braced. As the first full day of the emergency wore on no signs of movement came from the other side. News of the conspiracy and the counterblast was broadcast on the radio or distributed by notice. To begin with many on the frontline thought they were making a last stand. Peace reigned at the front while the tide began to turn abroad.
Peace of a sort. The hot, yelled diplomacy continued at a greater intensity. On the second morning, after reading out the communal response to the Bishop’s ultimatum the militia got a universal response. Up and down the line the militiamen and women (reinforcements only just starting to fall in) were told to expect an attack within two hours. Each militia had that time to surrender and ask for mercy. Once the assault was underway no prisoners would be taken.
The officers in the Bishop’s army did not expect many late defections. After all, the militia were defending their own city. Across the morning into afternoon news began to feed through the balance was shifting, in France, in Germany, Egypt, Poland, America… The tremendous catastrophe in the west.
The militia would announce each new story over a battery of megaphones freshly rustled up. They got more and more bold, stepping over the barricades, into clear sight. The day stretched out, no attack came. Some of the Bishop’s men even started asking for updates.
That night fresh batches of militia arrived at the front. Something had happened. The Bishop’s men had not attacked. Chances of a fresh assault receded with each passing hour. Volunteers with contacts or intelligence on the other side were asked to go over and talk to the Bishop’s soldiers, bring them back across. Wave after wave went over, up and down the line, 5-6 at a time until almost dawn. The Bishop’s men received each delegation peacefully.
Shortly after dawn on the third morning word crossed both sides. A dozen representatives from each side were to meet at an agreed spot over no man’s land, as it happened a small field just west of Grays. Nerves were taught. Most of the night volunteers were able to return to the commune’s side. Some stayed on to talk with the Bishop’s soldiers. Momentum was in the commune’s favour, but there was no telling what would happen until the meeting.
12 noon a dozen people on each side broke cover and made for the elected spot. From the militia came 6 men and 6 women, dressed in the basic denim and canvas communal uniform. They were met by 12 men; traditional looking officers, dressed in uniforms and insignia lightly adapted from the old regime. They were well polished and groomed but distinctly tired looking.
It turned out the conspiracy had fallen apart. The Bishop and his leading henchmen had fled. They may have even left the country. The remaining members of the army wanted to make peace with the London Commune and the coming Assembly. The militia delegates were happy to accept and, on that basis, offered the army to send (unarmed) delegates to the assembly to negotiate a full peace.
They shook hands and parted ways, and with that peace came to Britain for the first time in almost a year.