Worthy of their Mettle: a Superhero Timeline

Mount Sterling, Illinois

Forgottonia, that isolated part of western Illinois that both Washington and Springfield pretended didn't exist, was a rather apt place for eccentric rich people to make their homes. If nobody cared what was going on there, nobody bothered to look too deeply into what was going on.

Even so the limousine with the cross of Charlemagne painted on its hood only attracted so much attention in the town of Mount Sterling. The driver was separated from his single passenger by a privacy screen, which insulated both sides from each other's noise.

"What makes you think I want to rule a bunch of uninhabited rocks?" asked the passenger. "Tell me again why I would pay you idiots to scavenge alien weapons from France, Spain, Guatemala and Mexico to rule depopulated blips in the north Atlantic? The Canaries? The Azores? Madeira? Hell no! I am a king by my birthright, and I need subjects! Saint Helena it is!"

The passenger angrily pressed the 'hang up' button on his mobile phone. He imagined that, before mobile phones, slamming the phone onto the base would have been much more satisfying. Nevertheless he did not have that old-timey luxury.

The limousine pulled into a driveway to an old mansion, isolated from the town center. Well, not that old; the Braithwaite family didn't get its wealth until after World War II.

"Mr. Braithwaite, we have arrived," announced the driver.

Jackson Braithwaite exited the limousine without a word. He checked his pockets.

Phone, keys, wallet, pistol.

The door to the mansion too had the centuries-old cross of Charlemagne mounted on it, in gold. Jackson knocked.

After a few seconds, the door opened, and there stood his father, Edward Braithwaite.

"No, Jackson, I am not giving you any more money for your idiot scheme."

"But father!" pleaded Jackson. "My sweetheart Lindsey wants to be a queen!"

Edward rolled his eyes.

"Father, I am your only child, and if you want to have grandchildren it would be befitting that they be princes and princesses!"

"I did not need to crown your mother royalty to have you," spat Edward.

Jackson barged in, and gestured his hand to the massive painting that adorned the wall. It was a massive family tree, with portraits starting at Charlemagne, the first Holy Roman Emperor, and going through the ages down to Edward Braithwaite. Jackson was still incensed he had not yet been added.

"Look at that! You too believe we are of royal line, but you do nothing to justify that! What I am doing is what we are entitled to by our birth! Do you not see it, father? Do you not see what you have kept in your own home for decades?"

"Kings do not come to power by mercenary adventures, which is exactly what you intend. I will have no part in this!"

The door was still open.

"Father, you have the money. Why do you waste your own potential?"

While Jackson ranted and raved, he took out his phone, opened the messenger app, and texted a certain person "799. Door."

"You really have gone mad."

Edward looked his son in the eyes. "I don't know what to say."

"And you won't need to say anything else."

Just as was planned, a bullet zoomed through the door frame and right into the elder Braithwaite's head.

A little too grandiose but on the right track. 

Excerpt from an article from the Brown County Democrat-Message, entitled Edward Braithwaite Found Murdered; Fortune to fall to son Jackson

Renowned weapons magnate Edward Braithwaite has been found dead from a bullet to the head in his mansion on the outskirts of Mount Sterling. His killer is unknown.

[...]

Edward was the son of Charles Braithwaite, the famed scientist who, during World War II, had invented Psionic Inhibitors in Winnemucca, Nevada, working with famous names such as Jasper Lefew and, later, Lubomir Rybalkin. Charles later spun off his work to his private company Braithwaite Psionic, which joined the ranks of Lockheed Martin and Boeing as the great defense contractors. He also sold to various Latin American governments and other American allies, and made an absolute fortune doing so.

When Charles died in 1971 the company went to Edward, who diversified the company by manufacturing other psionic-based weapons for world governments. Braithwaite was instrumental in improving psionic inhibition and other psionic technologies for the Vucub Caquix War and the Occupation of the former Soviet Union, which made him even wealthier than his father.

[...]

The Braithwaites still remain contentious figures, which many believing that psionic weaponry should not be in the hands of private individuals. Nevertheless, some of the most groundbreaking psionic research occurred under his direction, including the miniaturization of psionic inhibitors such that they could be deployed on trucks and helicopters.

[...]

A Braithwaite eccentricity continued with Edward: the belief that they were descendants of Charlemagne, the first Holy Roman Emperor. Despite this, he was modest about it, and asked that people judge him "like any other man."

[...]

The Braithwaite fortune has now fallen to Edward's only child, Jackson, in light that Edward left no will. When contacted by the Democrat-Message, Jackson said that "I will handle the fortune in a way that will make my father proud. I miss him even now."

But not all of them are egomaniacs with money. 

With the nigh-obliteration of the British government (the remnants were holed up in Inverness), the little Atlantic island of Saint Helena was left to its own devices. With no military base and being far away from any place of military interest the world seemed to have forgotten about this little island.

But Jackson Braithwaite had not.

He was determined to be a king, and he thought that Saint Helena would be an ideal place to commandeer. It had plenty of people (or enough for a kingdom at any rate) and was isolated enough for the United States or any other power to particularly care. They were culturally close enough to an American he could understand them.

Jackson had spent a good deal of his money on what was ultimately a small aircraft carrier, docked in Bahia Blanca, where the government was not inclined to particularly care about the men and women coming in to build a ship. Nor were they concerned with the mercenaries with their trucks and helicopters arriving from other parts of the world.

This was his command ship, the Patrician. It would be used as a docking bay for helicopters and the few small civilian planes converted to fighters or bombers that he had at his disposal.

The money from his father's fortune hired more mercenaries and put the finishing touches on the Patrician, as well as that of his personal aircraft, the VTOL-equipped Pater Europae, emblazoned by the Carolingian Cross. The Pater Europae was equipped with missiles and machine guns and bombs, which could probably decimate the entire island should he so choose.

The day came. The Patrician arrived at Saint Helena and launched its helicopters and small fighters. Over the Castle, where the government of the island sat in its capital of Jamestown, the Pater Europae landed and issued an ultimatum: submit or die.

One member of the Executive Council stood up to him. That member of the Executive Council took several bullets to the face and stood up no more.

The mercenary buggies scoured the island with guns bigger than just about anyone on the island had ever seen. The Patrician docked in the harbor, and the armed men and women ensured compliance in Jamestown.

On the Castle itself Braithewaite proclaimed himself Jackson I, New Emperor of the Romans. He claimed Saint Helena, Ascension Island, and Tristan da Cunha as his new Roman Empire.

However there were some people who were rather unamused with this action. There was still Wideawake Airfield on Ascension Island, which was mostly occupied with dealing with fallout at home.

There was also one particular structure on Ascension Island that was of great importance to some people. Not all people, but a good deal of important people. That one structure was tall and metal, and important things went through it.

And it wouldn't have been likely for the likes of Donald Rumsfeld to let a wannabe monarch have control over a GPS tower, would it have?

Jackson Braithwaite had made a serious miscalculation. The British government holed up in Inverness did, in fact, have some fighters and bombers stationed on Ascension Island; they had to support the US in Guatemala somewhere, and it was good to have as backup, even as the Caribbean territories were directly assailed.

Prime Minister Burnham ordered the air forces stationed on Ascension Island to destroy the Pater Europae and Patrician and take down any other forces that resisted.

And so the planes were launched.

In Inverness Prime Minister Burnham and his entourage paid very close attention to the video feed of the Royal Air Force.

This was the grounds for the first major British success after a third of the country was destroyed by Vucub-Caquix. It would also prove to the Stewards that their country still mattered.

The planes approached the island. All was going well.

In the distance they saw an aircraft. It was colored darkly and had the Carolingian Cross on it.

"That's it," said one of the generals. "Braithwaite's personal aircraft, the Pater Europae."

"Then open fire."

"That's the plan."

Of what little they could see from the Pater Europae, it seemed to be deploying guns.

Out from said guns erupted these radiant green beams, shining as they zoomed towards the first fighter.

The fighter was obliterated, and the remains fell into the Atlantic.

One by one the Pater Europae ripped the entire RAF squadron to shreds.

Burnham's mouth was agape, and so were those of the generals.

They would need a lot more to liberate Saint Helena.

It started when Braithwaite landed.