A Second Sunrise: Taiwan of 2020 Sent Back to 1911

[ChrisProvidence]

I should break this into parts, starting with the Motivation for using repurposed civilian watercraft for landings, the Adaptation of said watercraft into landing craft for military purposes, and an Evaluation of landing craft in a combat environment.

Motivation

To put it in layman's terms, the Republic of China Marine Corps (ROCMC) has a handful of landing craft, all of which are unable to support an entire landing of even one Marine Brigade. In light of this, the 66th, 77th, and 99th Marine Brigades had taken it upon ourselves to create our own landing craft out of requisitioned civilian vessels to provide ourselves with enough transport capacity.

While the Army was able to requisition ferries, including the ones used to cross the Strait of Taiwan, the Marine Brigades were lower on the pecking order and were forces to use what we could get our hands on, from leftover ferries to fishing boats to a floating barge that was pulled across the strait by a tugboat.

Adaptation

The adaptation of said craft depended on the craft themselves. Vessels that could carry larger payloads were used to carry vehicles, while smaller vessels were designated as civilian transports.

In practice, every vessel we could get our hands on was as up-armored as we could with steel plates around the bow, sides, and stern. Of course, weight was put into factor to ensure that we didn't sink to the bottom of the channel on the way to the Mainland, hence the use of pontoons whenever possible.

In addition, vessels were outfitted with whatever motors we could get our hands on to provide every bit of propulsion we could get to cross the Strait. In practice, this often involved retrofitting more-powerful motors onto boats wherever possible. Or in the case of the barges, trying to weld engines on the sterns of barges so that they could be detached from the tugboats and then rammed onto the shore.

In theory, all landing craft were designed to be single-use by being rammed onto the shore so that troops and vehicles could land.

Evaluation

In practice, the adapted vessels were a success. While there were a few cases of mechanical failure on some vessels during the landing, as well as several leaks, we managed to have all landing craft reach the shore.

This, of course, comes with the caveat that we had to ram them onto the shore so that our men and vehicles didn't get lost in the sea, but they served their purpose.

Their previous owners, however, will not be getting them back in one piece, and will instead need to be monetarily compensated, as per the terms laid out in the legislation allowing for the military requisition of watercraft. Of course, shipbuilders could also be compensated with contracts to build reusable landing craft, but that is a point I will get to later.

While we were able to adapt different landing craft, from small boats to ferries to barges pulled by tugboats, these landing craft were used, and should only be used, as vehicles of last resort. While we can repurpose plenty of these boats by adding as much armor and as many engines as we can get our hands on, the fact remains that these are not military vessels and lack the reliability or durability of such vessels.

In practice, they were enough to get the job done, but we had to deal with leaks and repairs during rehearsal, with several craft outright breaking and our barge needing to be towed back to the staging ground because we didn't have a strong enough propulsion.

And when we finally used them in the field, the vast majority of our landing craft were damaged beyond repair when they came into the shore, a side-effect of the low-reliability and our forces having to ram them into the shore so that the vehicles wouldn't sink.

In short, while we can use repurposed civilian watercraft for military landings by up-armoring them, it should be a vehicle of last resort. If the ROCMC is expected to do large-scale landings in the future, it is imperative that we are supplied with purpose-built reusable landing craft, as well as the necessary ships for large-scale amphibious warfare.

Or to put it another way, give us actual landing craft if you want us to do landings.

We have like two ships and those aren't enough if you want us to do a full naval invasion.

Also, none of the men (myself included) ever want to do that again, so please, for the love of God, build us some landing craft.

-Colonel Michael Chen

Commander of the 66th Marine Brigade, Republic of China Marine Corps

NOTE TO SELF: Delete crossed-out parts later

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Urga, Province of Mongolia, Qing Empire, 20 August 1911

Sando looked at the message in his office from the Khalkha Mongols, then glanced at the latest telegram from Beijing.

Despite the lack of news from Beijing, rumors had even made their way up here. That Sun Yat-Sen had led an uprising in the South, and that the 'Republic of China' had invaded Shanghai itself.

For a while, he had been worried that something similar would have occurred here as well, only for the Russian diplomats present to reassure him that no, they were advocating for greater autonomy, not independence.

This would set back the resettlement plans by a few years. A decade, if he was unlucky.

Sure enough, the Khalkha nobles had sent a demand to his office, offering four thousand troops to the Qing in exchange for autonomy.

Were it his decision, he'd take it. If things were half as bad as they sounded down south, Yuan needed all the help he could get, and Beijing seemed to agree.

"Send word to the nobles," he said to the aide, "We'll accept their deal."

He'd have plenty of time to colonize Mongolia once this rebellion was stomped out.

Ürümqi, Xinjiang Province, Qing Empire

Yang Zengxin stood before his men at the parade grounds. Rumors of rebels had turned up nothing but empty dust in the wind.

Still, that had been enough to send Governor Yuan Dahua packing, but he had had the decency to leave his men behind.

"The governor has abandoned us, but I will not abandon this province. Will you?"

"No!" his men shouted together, standing at attention all the while.

That's what he liked to hear. Unlike those snakes to the east, he and his men had no intention of overthrowing the Qing.

"Good. Our duty is to the Emperor, and our duty is to hold Xinjiang from the rebels. Until our duty is finished, we will live here. We will fight here. And if the Heavens demand it, we will die here, fighting!"

As if on cue, he felt a piercing sensation in his chest.

Or at least what was left of it when he collapsed to the ground.

Though he would never see it, the incoming rebels would make sure that his men joined him.

Office of the Prime Minister, Tokyo, Empire of Japan

Life in Tokyo had seemed normal. Or what passed for normal, as long as you weren't part of the Tarō cabinet for the last few months.

Between the failing health of the Emperor and the protests in the streets, they had been walking a tightrope between militarism and pragmatism.

"We cannot declare another war," Admiral Tōgō advised. "The Navy will need decades to reconstruct itself."

"Of course..." Katsura grumbled. "With that damned treaty."

Militarist though he was, there was almost nothing standing between the Chinese Republicans and the Home Islands. And what little they did have was spent keeping the Russians at bay.

"Perhaps we can send weapons," offered Terauchi Masatake. "While we have promised peace with the Republicans, the agreement does not place any prohibitions on supplies, or even volunteers."

"In fact," the man continued, "perhaps we could deploy men as a sort of 'Intervention Force,' similar to what was done during the Boxer Rebellion."

"And in return?" Asked Prime Minister Katsura, "if we are to antagonize these Republicans, we ought to benefit as well."

"Perhaps some demands with regard to Manchuria?" Terauchi offered. "In their reduced state, the Qing would have no position to object."

"Very well," the Prime Minister agreed. "And if they lose, we will have the perfect opportunity to seize Manchuria."

"Do we have the manpower?" The Admiral's question was less of that and more of an accusation. "Because we almost certainly lack the military transport capacity."

"Civilian ships will be more than sufficient," Terauchi pointed out. "And as our diplomats have learned, the Republican navy, while effective, is very small. More importantly, their aircraft are likely out of range of our home islands, which should prevent any repeat of the Imperial Japanese Navy's previous failure."

"The transport of men and equipment to the Korean Peninsula can be justified as a reinforcement of already-owned territories," the Admiral admitted. "But I would argue against an outright intervention if we do not have enough manpower in the field."

"Three hundred thousand men should be more than enough," Terauchi insisted, turning to the Prime Minister. "Quantity has a quality of its own, it seems. Plus, the tenacity of the Japanese soldier on land is likely to win us the day, just as it had against the Manchus and the Russians."

"Then it is settled," Katsura decided. "Make the necessary preparations. I will handle any and all formalities."

The Trans-Siberian Railroad, Location Unknown, Russian Empire

To put it mildly, it was an ambitious plan.

To put it bluntly, General Brusilov thought it was insane, but he dare not insult the Tsar to his face.

Still, he had his work cut out for himself. He would take this army of his along the Trans-Siberian railroad, assume command of troops in the Far East, and intervene in the region in the name of "Regional Stabilization."

Could he do it? Well, he certainly had the numbers. That much was true.

But at the same time, he'd heard the news coming from Asia, of how the Imperial Japanese Navy was sunk in a single night.

If a nation were to win so handily at sea, what would they be able to do on land?

Though as far as he was concerned, he didn't know. What he did know was that the Qing would likely roll over, just as they did during the Boxer Rebellion.

After which the Russians would either annex the region outright, or assert their influence as the Qing's protector.

Of course, he had no illusions that this was anything other than a cynical landgrab, similar to what happened half a century ago in Outer Manchuria.

Only this time, there were three armies headed that way, towards Xinjiang, towards Mongolia, and his headed towards Manchuria.

It would be a while until he'd arrive there. A whole month, at the earliest.

But he had an objective to capture, and he intended to take it.

Could he? That was the question.

Over two hundred thousand men would be under his command, including the Russians already guarding the railways.

If the rumors were to be true, it is likely that they would outnumber either the Chinese or the Japanese in the area.

Of course, he would rather not fight in the first place, hence the sheer number of men he had.

The Russian Steamroller may be slow, but once it started rolling, it would be hard to stop it.

Beiyang Army Headquarters, Beijing, Qing Empire, 22 August 1911

"I trust that you had a safe trip?"

"Yeah, I could get used to something like that," the warlord told him. "My men are ready to fight these Republicans."

"It is good to have you here, Zhang Zuolin. Prove yourself to me, and the Empire will owe you an immeasurable debt."

Wuchang Air Base, Wuchang, Hubei Province, Republic of China, 30 August 1911

"Air Base" was a very generous term for what this was, as Shannon Wu observed. "Dirt field that we flattened by air-dropping a bulldozer with fuel" would be more appropriate, at least for the first day.

The next day saw a parade of C-130s going by, landing with everything from fuel supplies, to construction equipment, to everything they needed to build a tarmac, then taking off once again.

After that came the engineers and the construction crew, who got in their vehicles and started laying every layer and tamping it down over the next week, then building makeshift hangars off to the side.

Then came the final fixtures, from radio equipment to towers that were assembled in the next half week. After all, a pilot was nothing without their ground crew and support team.

At least this time, they all got similar accommodations, even if said accomodations were "Hastily made prefab structures."

Still, she was impressed that they'd managed to make it work over the span of two weeks from "Empty field you could maybe land a C-130 on," to "Hastily built to code military airstrip."

Now, it may have taken almost every C-130 they (and their Singaporean countrymen) had that wasn't dedicated to round-the-clock support missioms.

But they made it work. Through stubbornness, if nothing else.

And what did they have to show for it?

Another jet roared overhead as it circled the airfield, ready for another landing.

Off in the distance, she could see the KC-130 flying in to refill the tanks, followed by what looked like a cargo 747.

That, of all things, put a smile on her face.

Ever since the Great Journey, the pilots who have been stranded here had been the hardest hit.

Not only were they trapped in a foreign land (even if they were granted citizenship), but they were foreigners who came here without their families.

And to add salt onto the wound, they were pilots stuck on the ground. Citizenship and furloughed wages were nice, but if there was one thing every pilot wanted to do, it was fly.

But this, this was practically a dream come true for a lot of them.

"Huh. Looks like they are circling back," a voice observed from the bar. Shannon turned around to see a woman she'd seen around the base. Probably uptimer. "The pilots like to do that, don't they?"

"It comes with being grounded for months," Shannon told her, with a bit of a sigh. "Poor guys have probably had it the hardest out of all of us after we all got sent back."

"Air travel did basically stop overnight," the woman recalled. "Well, except for military pilots like yourself."

"Yeah, I'm one of the lucky ones," Shannon figured. "Probably helps that I don't need a paved surface to land."

"Oh, that's why Taipei was so insistent on building this as fast as humanly possible."

"Were you part of the construction crew?"

"Me? No, I work in Intelligence. I'm embedded with the 66th Marines."

"Michael's unit?"

"Oh, you know the Colonel?"

"Chen?" The woman nodded to Shannon. "Yes, he and I go back a bit."

"Let me guess? Childhood friend?"

"No, that's Marty. Ex-boyfriend."

"Ah." the woman flashed her a sad smile. "Sorry to hear about that."

"It's fine. We both wanted to focus on our careers instead of a relationship set up between our parents. Great guy, but a better friend than partner. A bit reckless, though."

"He did ram a floating barge into the shore," the woman recalled. "After having it dragged across the Strait."

"That sounds like him, alright."

"But enough about the Colonel. Mind if I buy you a drink?"

"Can't-"

"Oh. Sorry, didn't know you weren't-"

"No, not that. I have to prep for another mission. Dragon Squadron's getting called in for air support."

"Ah. Well, maybe another time, then."

"Sure."

Forward Operating Base Xinyang, Henan Province, Republic of China

"Wow." That was all Martin Li could say at the sight before him. Tanks, APCs, Humvees, trucks, artillery, and thousands of men had joined them, just waiting for the order to push further north. "Army doesn't mess around, do they?"

"That's what happens when you get all the funding, Marty," Michael chuckled. "Yet they still send me in, first."

"Army can't swim, Mike. Plus, somebody has to sweep up after your messes."

"Hey, not my fault that tank beats everything that Shannon doesn't blow up."

"No, that is quite literally your fault, Mike. Especially when you keep insisting on being in the vanguard despite, y'know, being the commander?"

"Not like I have that much a choice, Marty. We don't really have a command vehicle that works, and I got promoted by virtue of my boss basically dying."

"Not existing."

"You get the idea."

"Says the guy who rammed a barge into the beach."

"That was one time, Marty. And it worked, didn't it?"

"I think you're a bit too reckless, Mike."

"And I think you need to put in a word to Sun and Huang about purpose-built landing craft."

"I'll be sure to do that at the next meeting," Li promised. "You're not going to drop that, are you?"

"Marty, I can jury-rig a D-Day scenario using garbage barges, tugboats, leftover ferries, and as many engines as I could get my hands on."

"Which means you're possibly the best mechanic I've ever met."

"Maybe. Just one catch."

"Yeah?"

"I never want to fucking ride on those things ever again."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Outskirts of Beijing, Qing Empire, 8 September 1911

As far as campaigns had gone, this had been a greater failure than when they had fought the Japanese fifteen years ago.

At least then it had taken eight months, and they'd only lost Korea and Taiwan.

But this? He'd lost his two best men in what he could only assume were artillery bombardments, along with everything south of Xi'An to Lianyungang in under forty days.

Worse, he'd had to ally himself with that up-jumped bandit, Zhang Zuolin. Truth be told, he didn't trust the man any further than he could throw him, but he needed every soldier he could get his hands on.

"General Yuan," greeted his newly minted colonel. "The Mongolians have arrived."

"Good. And the Japanese supplies?"

"Already distributed the first shipment. These men are armed as well as any Japanese soldier. In time, they will be trained to fight like one as well."

"Good," Yuan answered. He hadn't said that in a while, ever since the Navy had been sunk. "And the trenches?"

"It took us about two weeks, but our soldiers and the civilians have finished the first two lines of trenches south of the Yellow River. As we speak, additional fortifications are also underway around the capital, but our Japanese friends are almost certain that the rebels will be stopped here with the weapons they have provided us."

From their position on the third line, Yuan had to give the former bandit credit. While the Japanese had generously provided them with arms and artillery, Zhang had drilled his men into a capable fighting force.

From Xi'An to Lianyungang was a massive network of trenches and earthworks for their infantry and the Japanese field guns they had been gifted. Barbed wire covered the top, while wooden slats furnished the sides. And while the reports were scarce, a large trench was built in front of them to prevent any of their vehicles from crossing over and wreaking havoc behind their lines.

Manning them were the Beiyang Army, Zhang's men, and countless Manchu volunteers, numbering approximately a hundred fifty thousand men in total, with a large reserve left at the capital. Should it come to it, Yuan figured that he could, in theory, mobilize another hundred thousand men at the bare minimum, but that would take time.

With the combination of Northern China's sheer population, Japanese arms, Zhang's men, and his leadership, Yuan Shikai would finally put a stop to this rebellion here and now.

First on the battlefield, then on at the negotiating table.

Joint Republican Forces Headquarters, Nanyang, Henan Province, Republic of China

"There is absolutely no way that we're falling for this," Li chuckled, and handed the photos back to General Huang Xing. "We could lay a bridge right on top of this and punch right on through to Beijing."

He was exaggerating, of course. If the last two thousand kilometers had taught him anything, it was less "punch through the enemy," and more "punch through the enemy, chase them down in Humvees and tanks, and drop off troops at every city and village along the way."

"It is impressive," admitted Lea. "Though I thought we destroyed most of their heavy weapons."

"My money's on the Japanese," the agent theorized. "These look like some of the weapons we found on Ishigaki. Or what was left of them, anyways."

"Treacherous bastards," Lea muttered, and slammed his fist on the table. "I thought their navy was destroyed months ago?"

"Not their cargo fleet," said Li. "This is probably the IJA's doing, anyways."

"It makes little difference," Huang decided. "Now, back to the task at hand. You were saying something about bridges?"

"Right," Colonel Chen continued, before pointing at the paused drone footage. "Here we can see what looks to be an anti-vehicle trench. While there aren't many survivors of many of our attacks, it is highly unlikely that the Qing would not have gotten wind of our use of armored vehicles in our rapid advance. Moreover, the lack of any wood or metal siding in this larger trench leads me to believe that these trenches were purposely dug for the sake of stopping our vehicles."

"I see," Huang agreed, before turning to one of the folders on the table. "So, how do you propose we cross these trenches?"

"Normally, a modern military would use a portable bridge. However, we don't have anything like that right now, so we will be using fascines instead."

"I'm not familiar with the term," Huang admitted, before turning to Sun and Lea. Both men shook their heads. "Is it similar to the word fasces?"

"Probably, sir. But to put a long story short, a 'fascine' is a bundle of sticks, or in our case, metal pipes, that are dropped into a trench to allow men or vehicles to cross them. In short, it will allow our vehicles to cross over the trench by filling in the hole."

"And how do your men plan to deploy them?" It wasn't so much an accusation as much as Huang was honestly puzzled. "Via tanks?"

"Armored bulldozer, sir. We took some of the bulldozers that we used to build the airfield in Wuchang, welded on as much heavy steel and bulletproof glass as we could get our hands on, and then attached a quick-release system onto the front of it to deploy the fascine."

"And this has been tested, right?"

"More or less. It's much slower than your average bulldozer, but it's armored enough that small arms and machine guns should not be an issue."

"Good. Though it does seem to be a bit haphazard, Chen."

"It's the best we have right now until the Armored Vehicle Development Center can get the bridgelayer shipped over."

"How'd you convince them to part with that, Mike?" Li asked him. "I thought it was still a prototype."

"Same way I get everything else, Marty." Okay, maybe not everything else, since I'm pretty sure some of our stuff is stolen from the Army, but they don't need to know that part. "By writing reports and sending them up the chain. Turns out the barge stunt got me onto somebody's radar."

"So," Huang interrupted, before turning back to Chen, "Exactly how many of these bridgelayers are being built?"

"Probably a couple dozen," Chen figured. "We had a bunch of M48 hulls laying around, so the AVDC decided to tinker with them and build the hydraulic system."

"By copying the American designs from Vietnam?"

"Yup."

Yancheng Forward Operating Base, Jiangsu Province, Republic of China

Lei attached the last part of his rifle and held it forward, remembering which bit to aim down. After his first battle, his unit had been trained and equipped with this "Type 65" rifle by one of the soldiers from the future, and he'd studied it with the same fervor that he'd studied Washington or Napoleon.

"Lights out was an hour ago, Corporal," a voice announced behind him, nearly making him drop the rifle. "Can't sleep?"

"Sir!" Lei hissed, and saluted the man who looked only five years his elder. Along with the men in black escorting him, whom he guessed were his adjutants. "I'll return to my tent."

"At ease, Corporal. And you can stay."

"Thank you, Captain."

"You're nervous, aren't you?" The Corporal nodded. "They say that this is the beginning of the end of the Qing Empire."

"Good riddance," Lei said, then quickly bit his tongue. "Excuse me. I have my own personal reasons to dislike them."

"Go ahead," the Captain insisted. "If you knew what I did to get here, speaking out of turn is nothing to me."

"I see." Now this stranger had him curious. "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly did you do, Captain?"

"Desert the Imperial Japanese Army and grab the first boat to China," the Captain recalled. "I wasn't going to shoot my countrymen. Even if they were from a different century."

"And now you're here."

"Well, I went to Beijing, then back home to Xijang, convinced my men to start a rebellion when the Qing tried to kill me for being part of Tongmenghui, and now I'm here."

"Sounds like how I ended up here."

A wry smile formed on the Captain's face.

"Wait, were you part of the Hangzhou Uprising?"

"No, no," Lei answered. "I'm from Hunan. Some Qing officials must have found out about my sentiments, and the next thing I know, I'm leading the charge on the governor's mansion in Changsha.

"And now we're here. We're more than halfway to Beijing, Corporal. One final effort and we'll have pushed the Manchus back to Manchuria."

"I doubt we'll stop at Manchuria, Captain," Lei figured. "Not until China's united once more."

"Then it looks like we'll be needed for a bit longer, Corporal. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get some rest for tomorrow. I suggest you do the same, Corporal."

"I will, Captain..."

"Captain Jiang Jieshi. And you are?"

"Corporal Lei Feng."

"Until we meet again, Corporal Lei Feng. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Captain," he said before heading back to his tent, with his mind at ease.

Though he could've sworn that Jiang's soldiers were giving him weird looks.

Wuchang Air Base, Wuchang, Hubei Province, Republic of China

"I thought I'd find you here," Rachel said as she walked into the hangar. "Captain Shannon Wu, was it?"

"That's me." Shannon turned around to see the agent standing at the door to the hangar. "You're the one from the bar, right? Thought they didn't let non-essential personnel into the hangars."

"I've got the clearance. I can leave, if you want."

"Honestly, I could use the company. And some help."

"Alright. What are you working on, anyways? I thought pilots had ground crews to help with maintenance."

"They usually do, yes, but I like to do my own inspections to make sure everything works."

"I… I don't think I can help you with that," Rachel admitted. "I'm an intel officer, not a mechanic."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not fixing it, then, er, I never got your name."

"Rachel- Major Rachel Wu, intelligence attache to the 66th Marine Brigade."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Ma'am," Shannon said, before turning around and saluting. "Apologies for the insubordination."

"At ease, Shannon. And please, call me Rachel."

"Yes, Ma- er, Rachel. So, can I get your opinion on something?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Shannon turned to the still-drying paint on the bow of her helicopter. "How does it look?"

Rachel took a good look at the helicopter to see just what the pilot was pointing to, and then she saw it.

A white eye with a black pupil was out in front, but what really got her attention was the red mouth with white jagged teeth along the side, all of it outlined in black.

"Nose art?" The pilot nodded proudly at her work. "It looks nice."

"It's an old design, based on the Flying Tigers' nose art."

"The World War II American volunteers?" Shannon happily nodded again. "I would have thought you'd go with a dragon."

"Rachel," Shannon shook her head and smiled, "We're fighting the Qing, and they got first dibs on having the dragon. I didn't have too many options."

"I don't think anybody is going to be dumb enough to think you've defected to the Qing in your helicopter."

"Yeah, you're right. Besides, I didn't really want to paint a whole dragon on the side. Too much work, and I'm not that great of an artist."

"Really?" Rachel looked back at the helicopter and took a good hard look at it. Sure enough, it resembled the nose art of the Flying Tigers. "It looks fine to me."

"Shark teeth are easier to paint," the pilot told her. "Plus, I think this one looks cooler than any dragon I could draw."

"Yeah. It's practically tradition as far as nose art goes."

"Probably. It's my tradition now, so I get to lay claim to it. That's how it works, right?"

"I guess? Copyright law is a whole mess, even before we all got sent back in time, but I'm pretty sure that as a Lost History design, it would be in the Public Domain."

"Works for me," Shannon figured. "Anyways, about that drink…"

"You know, we're trying to stop people from sticking their superiors with the tab, right?"

"Eh, you're not my commander. Besides, you asked me out, so you're paying."

Yancheng Forward Operating Base, Jiangsu Province, Republic of China

"This is never going to work," Cohen sighed as he looked at the sight before him. Somehow, some way, Le and Diamond had gotten hold of what they were calling a "dump truck," and armored as much of it as they could. "Where did you even get this?"

"Engineers had it laying around after they built the airfield in Nanjing, so I asked our commander if we could commandeer it, armor it, and fill it with as much dirt as possible." From the looks of him, Le seemed genuinely proud of his idea. "Plus, it's not like we have anything else we can use to cross the trenches with our vehicles."

"So the plan is to dump dirt into the trench so our vehicles can cross it?"

"Basically," Diamond said, matter-of-factly. "We ran the tests, and the Humvees and tanks should be able to drive over the dirt, even if it isn't packed too much."

"Oh, I saw the tests," Cohen admitted, "But what I want to know is why we have to be the ones driving the damn thing into enemy fire."

"Well, not exactly enemy fire," Le pointed out. "We'll have the armor covering us and the helicopters eliminating anything that can hurt us, even after we armored this thing to hell and back."

"If you say so," Cohen said, and shrugged. "You're driving, though. Sir."

"Works for me," Le agreed. Again, Cohen could tell the sergeant was just a bit too happy to be doing this. "Cohen, you'll handle the radio back at base while Diamond rides shotgun."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Now, the ROC Marines have gotten a reputation for being crayon-eating idiots who crash their landing craft into the beach.

I'll be the first to tell you that we didn't crash our landing craft into the beach. Crashing implies that we didn't do it on purpose.

But that's what the ROC Marines do. We're the first ones in, the tip of the spear. And as a tanker, my guys and I are the armored point of the tip.

Well, not exactly.

See, the Apaches, Cobras, and the Air Force go in before we do, and bomb the enemy to hell, killing anything and everything that shoots anything larger than a .50 cal.

We're talking artillery pieces, mortars, and heavy machine guns. After that comes fortifications, and they'll hit them with rocket pods and missiles.

And troop concentrations, to soften them up even more.

Only then do you send in the Marines, because we're the ones you send in when you really want to break through a line. And you can bet we're going to punch through once the enemy is softened up.

Tanks go first, of course. Not because we like being in harm's way, but we're the ones who punch our way through the front line, or what's left of it.

After that comes the APCs and Humvees, who pull double duty by serving as screens for the tanks and sweeping up after we punch through.

After that comes the Army. Once we breach their lines, the Army pours in and starts fanning out and flanking the enemy until they're cut off.

Once the enemy is encircled, they will either surrender or be eliminated.

Then we push forward until our scouts see the next line of defense and take an operational pause to regroup, reinforce, and resupply.

And this can be a few dozen to even a hundred kilometers, because there is quite literally nothing in our way that can stop us across that terrain.

So, what's the point of all this? Why write the obvious when you've personally come this far?

Well, I figured I'd write out just how we're able to advance so far in such a short period of time.

It's not just the Marines or the Air Force and Army Aviation or the Army, but a combined effort from all three of us.

Without the helicopters and Air Force, us Marines and the Army would have to push through hardened defenses while under artillery fire, the one thing the Qing have that can destroy our tanks.

Or to put it another way, those pilots are the reason our losses are so low.

Without the Marines, the Army would pull double duty by having to break through enemy lines and encircle enemy units, which is going to stretch them to their breaking point.

Can the Army do it? Sure. But they'd risk burning themselves out or running out of ammo.

Without the Army, us Marines would be stretched even thinner. While we can encircle enemy units, that is usually on the tactical level, not the strategic level.

Sure, the men and women of the Marines might be the greatest land fighting force on the planet, but there aren't that many of us.

Or to put it another way, all of us have our role to play in this campaign. Our rapid advancement through the south of China is a testament to our abilities. Not just our abilities as individuals, but what we can do when we all work together.

And you should be proud of just how far we've come in such a short period of time.

That's why I'm writing this.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Between Xuchang and Zhengzhou, Henan Province, Qing Empire, 14 September 1911

"Dragon 5 and 6, take the left guns. 7 and 8, take the right. The rest of you, with me."

"Copy that, Dragon 1. Let's go, 6."

"Dragon 7 moving to the east with Dragon 8. Happy hunting, Captain."

That left the four of them flying down the middle, with bullets pinging off the hull.

"Increase altitude to one thousand meters and spread out. I don't want them getting any lucky shots on us."

"Enemy field artillery, 800 meters," her copilot observed. "Orders?"

"Dragon 1 to Dragon squadron. You're clear to engage. Conserve your ammo, but I want those guns out of action."

"400 meters, Captain."

"Firing rockets," she said before strafing. "Four guns, destroyed- shit!"

Her Apache had begun to shake from the blast, but she stabilized it with ease.

"How are we doing, Jack?"

"All systems look good, Captain. Looks like we got caught in the blast from the ammo dump."

"Good."

"Dragon 1 to Dragon Squadron. Keep your distance. Nearly got taken out from the shockwave."

"Another set of guns, three o'clock."

"Firing rockets," she said with a bit more caution, but those burned all the same. "Any more targets?"

"One more group, two thousand meters to the west."

"Moving to target," she answered. In the distance, she could see Dragons 2, 3, and 4 flying around, and the massive explosions they left in their wake. "Firing rockets."

Like the last two, these guns also burst into a massive explosion.

"Anything else, Ma?"

"That should be it," he said. "Looks like we killed every last one of them."

"Dragon 1 to Dragon Squadron. All targets in our AO eliminated. Report."

"Dragon 8 to Dragon 1. All guns are eliminated. We're low on rockets."

Two through seven told them the same thing.

"Switch to guns and fall back to the frontline to support the push."

"Oracle, this is Dragon 1. All field guns in the AO are destroyed. Moving to assist Tiger Company's push. Dragon out."

Approaching Zhengzhou, Henan Province, Qing Empire

"All tanks, this is Tiger 1-1. The fascines are set. Repeat, the fascines set. Move forward, fan out, and move to your objectives."

"Copy that, 6-6," Chen's headset answered. "Send Dragon my thanks."

"I'll tell her you said hi," Chen said back. "Tiger 1-1 out."

"Looks like we're the vanguard, Colonel," Corporal Fa before flooring it, "How long's the Sergeant going to be out?"

"Helmet took the brunt of it after it went through the glass, so a couple weeks. Not bad for a guy who got shot in the head while driving an armored bulldozer."

An explosion rocked the entirety of the tank, knocking Chen to the bottom.

"What the hell was that? Mine?"

"Land mine, Colonel!" the driver shouted, only for another explosion to rock the tank. "And another one."

"Oh fuck this," Chen said, and shut the hatch. "Tell me when we're through the minefield!"

Five explosions and a laughing driver later, and it'd been a bit smoother. At least now it was just bullets pinging off their M60.

Thank God for mine plows.

"Looks like we're all through," Fa shouted. "Moving up to the infantry trench."

"Taking fire," Chen said as the bullets pinged around the turret. "Fire at that machine gun!"

"Firing." Sergeant Zhou announced. The tank shook as the round slammed into the machine gun nest. "Machine gun nest eliminated."

"Reloading!" Corporal Chiu shouted, before slamming the new round home. Ready!"

"Providing suppressing fire," Chen shouted, spraying over the top of the trenches. "Move up."

The fascines had been dumped into the large ditch, and they'd done their job. Just enough for the tanks to go over, with a slight dip.

Chen could feel his stomach drop as they rolled over the trench, only to lurch a bit higher once they drove out of it.

"Pelican, this is Tiger Actual. We have cleared the first trench and are moving up. You are clear to begin the bombing run! How copy?"

"Solid copy, Tiger," the C-130 pilot announced. "Beginning bombing run."

"Hey Colonel?" Chiu called up to him, shouting over the staccato of gunfire and the roar of a circling cargo plane.

"Yeah?"

"Just what exactly are they dropping on them? I thought we didn't have any bombers."

"We don't." Chen half-shouted, half-remembered. His eyes focused on the enemy trenches his tanks were approaching. "They're dropping flechettes."

"They're dropping what?!"

"You know how we play darts back at base, right?"

"Yeah."

"Imagine that, but like we're dropping a hundred thousand darts on the enemy, and they can pierce two feet of sand and helmets."

"Oh… They can't pierce tanks, right?"

"Negative, but I'm not trying our luck. Fa, slow us down!"

"On it," the driver radioed back as the tank jerked forward, grinding to a halt. "We're sitting ducks out here!"

"Not for long," Chen grumbled, before the roar of engines drowned him out.

The air support was here.

He peered through his turret to see a plane flying over him, a line of men in front of him, and a gray hail falling onto them.

Then in a moment, all three were gone. The planes had flown away, while the men disappeared after the metallic hailstorm.

He peered through the sight, trying to see anything, even as he heard the bullets stop pinging on the hull.

"We clear to move up?" Fa called over the radio. "Colonel?"

"Bring us in, slowly. Pelican, this is Tiger Actual. Good effect on target. How copy?"

"We hear you loud and clear," the pilot agreed. "Circling back around for the next run."

"Got it. Thanks, Pelican. All Tigers, this is Tiger Actual. Good effect on target. Move up slowly and keep your eyes peeled. I want MGs on any stragglers."

To this, the various subordinates agreed, and pulled forward with him.

As he looked through the slits in his turret, it turned out "Good effect" was an understatement.

No, these lazy dogs tore through the Loyalists until they had more holes than Swiss cheese, with blood pouring out of every one.

It was times like this that he was happy the tank was sealed for CBRN threats, so he didn't have to smell the blood and evacuated guts surrounding him.

He rotated his turret to the left, seeing just how many men were killed by the flechettes.

It had to be dozens. Hundreds? Thousands?

Either way, the weapons were thorough.

Or almost-thorough, if the men crawling on the ground were anything to go by.

There was one man who'd made it out, only to have half a dozen holes in him. Yet through it all, Chen could see him crawling in the dirt, struggling to get away from the tanks.

Without hesitating, he rotated his turret back.

Aimed.

And let off a single burst into the man's torso. A fine mist rose from where his head had been, but at least he stopped moving.

All around him, he could hear similar bursts from the commanders' MGs, the sound of even more mercy kills as they drove through the backup trenches towards the second line.

Chen looked forward and saw that this time, there were wooden pillboxes along the front, with men scrambling to face the tanks from their trenches.

And unlike the last time, those pillboxes were still shooting MG rounds at his tanks and APCs. Now, those rounds weren't exactly damaging the tanks, but he didn't like people who shot at his men.

"Pelican, you're clear to make another pass," he announced into his radio, before looking down. "Zhou, fire a round into those two pillboxes!"

"Firing!" he shouted, and a shell tore through the first pillbox, shattering it into splinters. "Hit."

"Good effect on target! Get the other one. Ten o'clock at 200 meters!"

"Reloading!" Chiu shouted back, before another round slammed into the chamber. "Ready!"

"Rotating," Zhou announced, his voice still staying cool under pressure. "Target acquired. Firing!"

The tank shook again, but this time, the second pillbox exploded into flames.

"Good effect on target," Chen told his men, before looking forward. "Second bombing run is coming through."

As if on cue, a new hail of flechettes rained on the second trench.

"Load canister shot," Chen ordered. "All Tigers, this is Tiger 1-1. We are approaching Line Bravo. Fall in behind us, and be prepared to shoot any stragglers."

Again, all the team leaders acknowledged, and they filed in behind him. Now, Chen's tank was always the first in, but that was when they were moving in a V-formation, not a straight line because his tank was the one they jury-rigged a plow to the front of.

This was an old tactic he remembered when he'd learned about the Gulf War, when the US Army attached plows to their own tanks and broke through the Iraqi trenches… and possibly burying thousands of Iraqi troops.

.This time, there would be nothing like that. Not when his tank approached the second anti-tank ditch, lowered it's plow, and tore through the earth. It wasn't the best plan, or even the first plan, but Sergeant Rong got shot in the head while deploying the fascines at the first line.

He could feel a second lurch as his M60 went into the trench nose-first, tearing through the near wall and burying itself into the far wall.

"Full power," he ordered, and Fa revved the engine. The M60 struggled, but its pointed plow slowly tore through the far wall, parting the dirt into a low slope for the next tank to cruise over.

"Tiger 1-1 to all tanks. We're through the second AT ditch! Follow through our path and fan out behind us!"

Sure enough, the rest of the tanks were able to get over with ease and re-form the V behind him.

"Trenches, 100 meters," Chen said, and Zhou lowered the gun towards ground level. "Load canister shot and prepare to fire on my signal."

He looked forward and saw a dozen men in front of him, firing with their bolt-action rifles. Again, the bullets weren't pinging off their hulls, but he knew what he had to do.

"Fire!"

Over a dozen cannons all fired at once, tearing through the men at the front.

Chen looked again through his periscope, and those dozen men were gone, replaced with mangled corpses and body parts strewn all over the place.

And he got a good hard look as his tank plowed through the front trench, with blood and mangled limbs churned up by the pointed plow at the front.

"First trench, clear!" Fa shouted through the radio. "We've got movement on the right side."

He could see the enemy soldiers running for their lives through the communications trenches, so he swiveled his gun once more and opened fire.

This time, he had a front-row seat to the carnage, where he could see the .50 cal blast their heads into smithereens. At least he thought that was what happened, when there wasn't anything left of them..

You need to do this, Michael. It's this, or they shove a grenade into the treads, then start climbing on the tank. Them or you, and you know it.

Still, they made it past the support trench, which meant it was just the reserve trench left.

Or, at least it would be, if the Loyalists weren't climbing out of their trenches and running for their lives. Some of them carried their rifles in hand, while others just dropped their rifles and ran full sprint.

They're not going to get away. Half a click over an open field against a tank? Not happening.

"Canister shot loaded!" Chiu shouted.

"Ready," Zhou added. "Just give the order."

They're running. Not a single one of them is shooting back at us.

"Hold fire. All armor, move to flank and cut them off. I want Humvees prepped to handle POWs."

It was child's play, really. There was no way in hell that the retreating men were going to outrun a tank.

Sure enough, they'd cut them off a minute later, with the tanks standing between them and city, and the Yalu standing between them and safety.

Chen stared them down through the periscope, his machine gun focused on the mass of men before him, all beaten and nearly blown to hell.

These were the lucky ones.

To his relief, they dropped their guns once they saw just what was in front of them. Even if it took another minute for their shell-shocked brains to let it sink in.

The very lucky ones.

And that was it for Trench Bravo, besides the burning remains of the Qing artillery pieces Shannon's squadron had blown to high hell.

"Oracle, this is Tiger Actual. Line Bravo is breached. Army is clear to move in and flank remaining hostiles. Requesting infantry support to take in POWs."

"We hear you loud and clear," the voice said through his headset. "Good work, Tiger Actual. Be advised: Drone flyovers show that Line Charlie is unmanned. Standby and await new orders."

"Copy, Oracle," he told them, and switched channels. "Tiger Actual to all Tigers: Line Charlie is unmanned, so we're waiting on new orders while the Army sweeps up."

To this, his men sounded the happiest they'd ever been all day. And these were the guys who would happily follow him into harm's way, and have done so time and time again.

"Oracle to Tiger Actual… um… we might have an issue. UAV is showing heavy movement headed your way from the north. Looks like enemy cavalry."

Cavalry?

"Say again, Oracle. It sounded like you said cavalry."

"Affirmative, Tiger Actual. Looks like an entire force is headed your way. ETA ten minutes."

Okay, what the Hell? You know what? Screw it, I'll ask questions later.

"On it, Oracle. Requesting air support."

"Denied, Colonel. Apaches are flying back to base and re-arming. All remaining air assets are engaged in ground attack missions to support the 77th and 99th Marine Brigades in the east."

Oh Goddammit.

"Understood, Oracle. Tiger Actual out." Chen let off another sigh as he changed the channel again. "Okay, Tigers, change of plan. We've got enemy cavalry headed our way."

Chiu and Zhou looked up at him, wondering just what the hell he was talking about.

Chen simply shook his head in disbelief.

Yeah, I know, I didn't believe it either.

"Fan out into a wedge formation. I want MGs with overlapping fields of fire and canister shot loaded. Get these POWs to the rear!"

It was a hasty plan. A quick plan. But it was a plan, helped out by the APCs and Humvees pulling up on the flanks.

Sure enough, he saw them through his binoculars, coming down from Xuchang.

There had to be hundreds of them. No, thousands, at the minimum, their uniforms a mix of bright colors and browns. They all seemed to come together as a single blur, besides the weird standard one of them carried.

"All forces, this is Tiger Actual. Enemy is about five clicks out and closing fast. All armored units are clear to fire at will!"

As if on cue, his tanks roared to life, sending round after round into the cavalry, crippling their vanguard at four thousand meters. Horse and rider either crumpled down or flew in the air.

The cavalry fanned out, not wanting to die together from a lucky shell, their lances and swords at the ready.

But the APCs were waiting for them, firing their autocannons with rapid staccatos only matched by the heavy machine guns on the tanks.

Chen himself steadied his sights and aimed at anything he could see in the chaos.

There was a group of riders, maybe a dozen or so, headed right for him. So he opened fire, shooting them with quick, controlled bursts with what was supposed to be an anti-air gun.

These men fell all the same, some collapsing when their mounts were hit, while others were shot clean off their horses, who continued to thunder past him.

The same could be said all along the front, with stationary tanks and APCs firing every shell and bullet they had into the mass of surviving cavalrymen still barreling towards them.

And they just kept coming.

Those of them who'd still survived broke left and right, and Chen furiously started cranking his turret to keep them in his sights, while struggling to lead them enough for a hit.

"Tiger Actual to all units. Be advised, we have enemy cavalry closing in fast. Humvees are cleared to break off and pull back!"

This time, it was the Humvees' turn to erupt into fire, and a new staccato of bullets roared through the air, even above the roars of his tanks.

He could see the Humvees moving up along the flanks, driving off as their gunners fired at the horsemen who'd given up on going after the tanks from point-blank range..

Chen rotated his turret to see his Humvees driving off into the distance, outrunning the cavalry in hot pursuit.

A grim smile formed on Chen's face. They'd taken the bait.

"All Humvees, you are cleared to pursue! Everyone, check your fire!"

At his command, the Humvees in the distance pulled back around and began firing into the oncoming cavalry.

The horsemen began to fall once more. Some tumbled down from their horses, while others tumbled down with them in the chaos.

And all he could do was watch, else he might risk hitting the Humvees with the .50 or, God forbid, a tank shell.

But they were doing it. The Humvees were gunning down cavalry left and right, their fields of fire carving a bloody path through the cavalry. The cars zig-zagged through the field of corpses, taking care not to beat a dead horse into a speed bump.

Or what was left of them. As what had once been a force six thousand strong had been reduced to a few stragglers running for their lives from faster cars and even faster bullets.

And then?

Then, the bullets stopped firing.

Chen looked through the periscope to see the field before him.

Bloodied, perforated corpses of Loyalist soldiers littered the battlefield with their mounts, their bodies in various states of dismemberment.

All around them there were horses running amok, confused and terrified, now that their riders were along the ground.

For the first time all day, Chen leaned back and breathed.

Just for a moment, now that they've done it.

They'd beaten back the Qing all the way to the Yellow River.

Yancheng Forward Operating Base, Jiangsu Province, Republic of China

"Why are we standing down?" Lei Feng asked his commander. "Aren't we supposed to come in after the tanks?"

"Not anymore, Corporal," the Sergeant, a foreigner, told him. "The Loyalists have surrendered, and we're being reassigned to guard the prisoners."

"They surrendered? Already?"

"Better that they surrender than we have to fight them," another foreigner, this one a white man, told him. "Makes our jobs easier."

When the American Corporal put it like that, Lei got the point. Why try to fight someone who will surrender?

"Bring your rifle, though. We don't know how many we'll be taking in."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Zhengzhou Outskirts, Henan Province, Republic of China, 15 September 1911

"Say Beachhead!"

"Beachhead!" his soldiers laughed. They were all smiles as they held up the captured Qing flag. Michael looked at the phone to see the same thing.

"Is it good?" one of his soldiers asked. Michael smiled and nodded. "Alright, your turn, Colonel!"

"Huh?"

"Come on, Colonel!" Chiu called out to him. "We need you in at least one of these pictures!"

"You guys aren't going to take no for an answer, are you?"

"Nope!" Another marine shouted, "So come on!"

Chen laughed, shook his head, and joined them. Chiu made room in the middle for him.

"Alright, everyone crowd around," Chen said as he switched the phone's camera around. "Everyone in?"

"Almost," another soldier told him. "Hey, Zhou, duck down if you don't want your head cut off!"

He peered into the screen and made sure his gunner was in the shot. All that was left to do was smile. "Alright, one… two… three!"

"Did you get it?"

Chen looked at the screen. Plenty of his men were in it, smiling and laughing while they held up the captured flag.

"Yeah, got it," Chen told the men, before they all stopped crowding around him. "Alright, everyone. We've got some downtime while the Army sweeps through and flanks the Loyalists. Now, we're going to do an ammo sweep-"

He could already hear the groans from his men.

"Yeah, I know. But hear me out. We'll be doing an ammo sweep, which means you all get to take trophies. You know the rules."

"No guns. No body parts. No explosives. No priceless treasures," a marine recited from memory, "Or you'll kick our ass."

"Damn right I will," Chen told him, and that got a few chuckles. "Now, I'm going to need you all to run it by me and Major Li, who's joined us today to do HISTINT. Am I clear?"
"Clear as day, sir!" the same marine shouted, "Are we free to go?"

"You better," Chen chuckled. "Army might get back if you don't get moving."

With that, he saw his men run off to the battlefield, making history once more.

Not only were they the first to the Huang River, but they were also the first unit to actually want to do an ammo sweep.

"You know," Martin told him, "These guys aren't the kind of guys who'd want to take severed limbs for trophies, right?"

"Works for me," Michael told him. "I really don't want to kick the shit out of them."

"Yeah, I know. Morale's through the damn roof, Mike."

"Yup. Turns out leading from the front is a good way to inspire your subordinates."

"You know, that's how Rommel almost died. Multiple times."

"Rommel didn't have a tank, and I don't have to worry about getting strafed by aircraft. Plus, I'm no Rommel."

"'Course you're not. You actually understand the importance of logistics and not outrunning your supply chain, despite the stupid amount of ground we've covered in a month."

"Helps that the Qing's defenses are as vast as a continent and as deep as a puddle."

"That too. So, think they'll come up with anything good this time?"

"You tell me. You're the historian."

"Got something!" Chiu announced as he lugged what looked to be a large pole with horsehair arranged in a circle at the top. "Not sure what it is, but it looks important. Some Mongol soldier was carrying it when he charged us, remember?"

Yeah, Chen remembered that. The man was in the vanguard of the first charge, at least until he'd gunned him down with the .50. At least he thought he did. Might've been another marine.

"Yeah. Seems fancy," he said as his loader dropped it on the table. "Hey Marty, you know what this is?"

"Tug"

"Huh?" both Chen and Chiu asked.

"It's a type of banner used by cavalry centered cultures. So the Turks and Mongols, for example."

"Makes sense," Chiu figured. "So, this is like the colors Colonel Chen keeps in the tank?"

"More or less," Li told him. From the looks of it, the man was in his element right now. "This one must've been a volunteer unit from Mongolia."

"Cool." Now, Chen wasn't exactly one for history, but it made his friend happy, at least. "...I don't think you can bring it with us, Chiu. That thing's not fitting into the tank."

"This one's for the unit, sir," Chiu explained. "Or a museum, if the Major wants it."

"What do you think, Marty?" If Chen was being honest, he kind of wanted to hold onto

"I guess the museum could hold onto it for you," Li figured. "That work?"

Chiu looked at Chen, who nodded back at him.

"Got anything else?" Chen asked him, and Chiu dumped a bayonet, a watch, a couple of five-pointed star pins, Qing coins, and a bit of cloth on the table. "These good?"

"Yeah, knives should be fine," Chen told his loader. The man flashed the biggest smile he'd seen all week. "What's the cloth?"

"Some kind of rank symbol. Found it in their commander's belongings when we were searching the command tent. You ever seen anything like this, Major?"

Li took a good hard look at the cloth, which he was grateful the soldier hadn't ripped apart..

"Rank badge. This one's a Qi'lin, which designates the highest of the nine ranks. Military uses animals, while civil services use different birds."

"So, it's valuable?"

"Yeah. Historians would pay good money for this."

"Really?" Li nodded. "How much are we talking?"

"No idea, but we've already got one from Duan Qirui's crashed train, so it's not too much, but it's valuable."

"You could probably get the Medal of Culture for donating it," Chen added. "No promises, but I'll file the paperwork tonight."

"Works for me," Chiu figured. "So, everything else is cleared?"

"Yeah, you're good, Chiu. You find anything else, you bring it here, alright?"

"Got it, boss," he said, before running off.

"Good kid," Marty told him.

"Marty, he's like, what, eight years younger? That isn't a kid."

"You're right. It makes us old."

Next up was Fa, who dropped a bayonet, some coins, and a sword onto the table.

"Holy shit," Chen said as the sword landed with a thud. "Where did you find this?"

"Took it off a dead guy. Had to wipe it clean, but it's not a gun, right?"

"Mongol saber," Li clarified. "Probably came from the volunteers we fought."

"Yeah it did." Fa sounded a bit too proud of that, but in his defense, said owner of the sword was trying to kill him. Chen wasn't really sure how that would work, but it's the thought that mattered. "Lot of the guys have been picking them up, too."

"Don't tell me you're switching to mounted cavalry, Fa," Chen asked him with a wry grin. "I already have to fix the tank. Last thing I need is to have to drive it, too."

"And get shot at? Hell no."

"I thought so." Not like we have that many experienced drivers, anyways. Shit, the only reason we got enough M60s was because the Army didn't have enough men to man them. "Anyways, you should be good."

"Alright," Fa happily said, before reaching down to pick up a rifle, which he dropped on the table. "Hey Major, do the museums want any of these?"

"We've got plenty," Li told him. "Hey, Mike, where do they put all the rifles?"

"By the quartermaster. That it?" Fa nodded. "Alright. Next!"

After that, it was pretty similar, with his marines checking in rings, watches, insignia, and swords.

Honestly, at this point, Michael had an easier time counting how many of his men didn't take a sword as a trophy.

The answer was zero.

Still, there were the occasional oddities, including one marine who'd get a Medal of Culture for donating, of all things, an entire set of Mongol armor.

"The hell you'd find this?" Chen asked in the nicest way possible. It wasn't so much that he was offended, but that literally every other cavalryman was riddled with bullet holes.

"Must've fallen off and gotten trampled," the marine figured. "So, would that get me up to 2nd Rank?"

"Easily," Chen promised.

After that, it was more bayonets, more swords, more coins, more flags, and more swords.

That was, until Chiu and Fa showed up again, this time dragging an entire artillery piece.

At this point, Chen didn't know what to say.

"...Where did you guys even get this?"

"Fell off a truck," Chiu told him, with as straight a face as possible. "Just messing with you, Colonel. We found this at the artillery pit. Or what's left of it. Apparently, Dragons missed one."

"Think we can bring it back home with us?" Fa asked him. "It's tradition that units display captured guns as trophies."

"He does have a point," Li pointed out. "Plus, it's not like we can use it, since Dragon Squadron keeps blowing up all the supply dumps."

"Then yeah, we're keeping it," Chen promised. "I'll try to take it apart later."

"Thanks, Colonel," Fa told him. "Also, you remember how I forgot your birthday this year?"

"This again?" Chen sighed. "I told you, it's alright. Just because I'm your commander doesn't mean you have to get me anything for my birthday."

"Yeah, well, we still felt bad about it," Chiu told him. "Plus, Zhou got you something, too."
Chen looked to see his gunner approach him. Zhou wasn't much of a talker, so he handed him a sword wrapped in a Qing flag.

"It's a present from the whole Brigade," Zhou told him. "Couldn't let you be the only one who didn't get a sword, Colonel."

"Well, thanks, guys." Chen didn't know what to say as he unwrapped the flag. Sure enough, Zhou had handed him a Mongol saber, just like the one his men had gotten. He looked at the flag in his hand, ready to hand it off to Marty before he saw the writing.

Sure enough, they'd signed it. From the looks of it, almost everyone in the armored section had signed it, plus some of the infantrymen, too.

"I appreciate it. Really, I do. Thank you."

It was at that moment that a cell phone rang. Li picked it up.

Way to kill the moment, Marty.

"You're where, Rachel?" The crowd of marines turned to the agent. "They're doing what in the Zhengzhou?!"

"Everything alright?" Michael asked his friend. Marty's face grew grim, and he shook his head. "How bad?"

"It's Fong. She's in Zhengzhou and needs backup. Now."

"I thought the Army cleared it a few hours ago."

"Yeah, a group of New Army defectors swept the area. Problem is, they're about to mutiny."

"And you need me to put it down? Marty, I'm not an MP."

"No, but you have a tank and the best infantry on the planet in case it goes hot. How fast can your men mount up?"

"Five minutes. Why?"

"I'll tell you on the way. And bring the tanks."

Zhengzhou, Henan Province, Republic of China

"They want to do what?!" Chen shouted through the mic. "What the fuck is going on there?"

"At 1400 hours, New Army defectors finished their sweep of the area. After which, several of the men garrisoned in the city began dragging Manchu women from their houses by force and began physically assaulting them."

As she spoke, Fong seemed oddly calm, but the contempt in her voice was ever-present.

"At 1410 hours, Captain Wu and I confronted them. When they refused to let the women go, we retreated to a nearby building with a few Manchu women and barricaded ourselves indoors."

"Is that it?"

"More or less!" Shannon shouted in the background. "We're holed up nicely, Mike, but if you could roll up here, that'd be gr- Hey, relax, it's going to be alright."

"Everything alright?"

"No," Fong told him. "These women are scared out of their minds, Chen. And these are the ones who got away. I'm a little busy threatening to blow these traitors' heads off with a sniper rifle, so would you kindly get over here?"

"Yeah, I see you," he told her. How couldn't he, when there was a mob of angry downtime soldiers frozen in place while their comrades held onto various women in the street. "Tiger 2-1, bring your guys around the back to cut them off."

"Roger," the Lieutenant told him over the radio as the second column broke off. "Moving out."

"Stop here," Chen told Fa, who brought the tank to a slow stop, about fifty feet away from the crowd.

Chen took a deep breath and opened the hatch, making sure he had his rifle, vest, and mags.

I'm a tanker, not an infantryman, dammit.

He could see Marty pull up in one of the Humvees, rifle in his hand. Unlike Michael, the man was a natural.

Up top, he could see the two-story building they were crowded around, with a barrel peering over the side and a familiar agent holding it.

"Gentlemen," he said as he kept his rifle down. "What seems to be the holdup?"

The crowd of men turned to see him. Those who weren't holding onto a woman were holding rifles that they'd started pointing at him.
"You marines?" one of the soldiers shouted at him.

"Yeah! 66th Marine Brigade! You?"

"We're Beiyang defectors! What are you doing here?!"

"We got a call about a bunch of soldiers about to mutiny over some women. Would you happen to know anything about that?"

"Yeah. We were just minding our own business and taking some of the spoils of war when a couple of crazy women pulled guns on us and took away our prize!"

"I see. And would those women be the people in that building?"

"Yes."

"Alright then, um… what's your name?"

"Lieutenant Pei Jian of the Zhengzhou garrison."

"Alright, Lieutenant Pei. As the ranking officer in the city as of this moment, I am ordering you to let those women go and lay down your arms for disciplinary action."

"What?! Just who the hell do you think you are to tell us to do that?"

It was at that moment that Tiger 2-1 rolled in behind the would be mutineers.

"Well,.Lieutenant Pei," he began, and aimed his T65 at the Lieutenant. "I'll cut to the chase."

"My name is Colonel Michael Chen of the Republic of China Marine Corps. And I am placing every last one of you under arrest for kidnapping, assault, and the attempted rape of non-combatants."

Pei and his men were split. One third were aimed at Fong, while another third were aimed at Tiger 2-1. Pei himself had his rifle aimed at Chen, while Li aimed his own T65 at the mutineer.

And it happened.

One of the mutineers slowly put his rifle down and put his hands in the air.

Then another.

Then two, four, eight, and many more. All of them dropping their weapons or laying them on the ground.

Now it was just Pei and the few of his officers who weren't grabbing the women they'd taken.

Pei looked around angrily at the men who'd surrendered, but he and his own refused both commands.

"Last change, Pei. Know that I will personally blow your fucking head off if you don't lay down your weapons and let those women go in the next thirty seconds. Have I made myself clear?"

The Lieutenant only scowled at him, and looked around. Nine out of ten of the mutineers had laid down their weapons, and half of the remnants were still holding on to their captives.

It was at that moment that Pei slowly laid his weapon down, with his men following suit.

"Oracle," he said into his headset, "This is Tiger Actual. We have an attempted mutiny in Zhengzhou City Center. Situation is contained, but we need MPs to secure the mutineers and medics to assist with injured civilians."

"Roger, Colonel. They'll be there in ten."

For the second time in two days, Michael Chen could breathe easy.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Christiansborg Palace, Copenhagen, Kingdom of Denmark, 20 September 1911

Everyone was here.

No, that was not a hyperbole when he'd observed that, because literally everyone was here.

Representing the British was Prime Minister H. H. Asquith and Foreign Secretary Edward Grey.

The French had sent over President Armand Fallières and Minister Justin de Selves.

Meanwhile, the Germans had sent Chancellor Theobald von Bethmann Hollweg as well as Secretary of State Alfred von Kiderlen-Waechter, though both the Kaiser and Kronprinz were also in attendance and expected to take part in affairs.

Continuing this trend were the Austro-Hungarians, who had sent Archduke Franz Ferdinand as lead negotiator, with his wife in tow.

Russia, for their part, was represented in person by the Tsar, though it was expected that Sergey Sazonov would do the bulk of the talking.

Italy, on the other hand, would be represented by Foreign Minister Antonino Castello, representative of Prime Minister Giovanni Giolitti.

Of course, there were several other notables, particularly Kronprins Christian, who would serve as his father's representative while the latter was on vacation in Nice, as well as Ibrahim Hakki Pasha, the Ottoman Minister of Foreign Affairs.

However, those were the "Big Six" of this conference: Great Britain, France, Russia, Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Italy. These were the great powers of Europe, and the primary reason that they were all here in the first place.

That, and the prevention of the Great War… and the Chinese Question, it seems.

Such was the magnitude that he had been brought here as well, though that was largely due to his position as First Lord of the Admiralty. That, and the deal that he and McKenna had made to switch positions less than a month ago.

"Now," the Kronprins began. Due to the presence of three members of the Triple Alliance and three members of the Triple Entente, it was settled that the hosts were best-suited to be the moderators of this all. "I thank you all for attending, in spite of our short notice. As Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Denmark, I am honored to open this Conference. Now, does anyone have anything they wish to add, before we start our discussions?"

The room fell silent, though the delegations all began eyeing one another.

"Very well," the Crown Prince decided. "Then let us begin with the first topic: European Territorial Disputes."

The First Lord took another sip from his flask and sighed.

This was going to be a long day.

Honestly, he didn't know what to expect, as within the first few minutes, both the Italian and French delegations were already making demands. The Italians, for their part, insisted on containment of Austro-Hungarian interests in the Balkans, while the French, once again, were going on about the issue of Alsace-Lorraine.

"It is worth noting," the Italian Foreign Minister insisted, "That Montenegro and Albania are likely issues of conflict between Serbia and Austria-Hungary, a conflict that I believe that we all ought to avoid."

To this, the various diplomats and leaders grumbled, though it was one of reluctant consensus.

"In light of this, I believe that it is imperative that Montenegro's neutrality is respected, akin to a Belgium of the Balkans."

"We all know full well how Belgium's neutrality was respected," Minister de Selves muttered.

"I believe that would be speculation," von Kiderlen-Waechter snapped back. "If we are to prevent this war, it is unlikely that this would be an issue."

To this, the French Minister stared him down in frustration, but removed further objections.

"Perhaps it would be preferable to maintain the status quo," said Secretary Grey. "While we are interested in the region, it is abundantly clear that an uneasy peace is preferable to a war, is it not?"

This got at least some nods from the men at the table. So far, it was the closest to a consensus that they had achieved beyond "Let us all actively attempt to prevent the Great War."

"Which brings us to another issue regarding the Balkans," said the Austro-Hungarian Crown Prince. "Tripolitania and the possibility of a Balkan War next year."

"Perhaps we could come to a compromise," proposed Ibrahim Hakki Pasha. "While we would like little more than the status quo, we are willing to transfer control of the Tripolitania Vilayet while maintaining our own Suzerainty."

"In a manner similar to the British in Egypt, yes?" asked the Italian Prime Minister, to which Hakki Pasha nodded. "In effect transferring de-facto control of the Vilayet."

"In effect, yes. In exchange, Italy will support Austria-Hungary and France in maintaining the status quo in the Balkans regarding conflict. Such terms would require non-intervention and diplomatic support at preventing a war."

"That…" Giolitti said, before Castello whispered into his ear, "...That seems… reasonable. Of course, the issue of Rumelia will need to be settled, sooner or later."

To this, many of the diplomats agreed once more.

"Perhaps a measured autonomy and delineated protections would be in order," the Archduke offered. "While we are all well aware of Constantinople's insistence on centralization, perhaps targeted concessions for the Christian and Albanian populations would prevent the catalyst for conflict."

"I do not believe that this will be palatable to Constantinople," Hakki Pasha told him.

"Perhaps. But reduced control of a territory, even if it is ever-so-slight, is better than losing control. Is it not?"

"Perhaps," the Ottoman minister conceded. "It is an imperfect solution, but a solution."

To this, Churchill was rather surprised. While he expected diplomats to act, well, diplomatically, he did not expect to see this much progress in such a short period of time. Of course, there would be other issues as well to handle.

"Then it is settled, or settled for the time being," the Kronprins announced, though all knew it was a tenuous agreement at best. Of course, that was better than what they currently had, which was nothing. "On to the issue of Morocco."

"We propose," said Viscount Grey, that the solution in the "Lost History" would be acceptable: France will control Morocco as a protectorate, while Germany will be compensated with lands from the French Congo. Do the German or French delegations have any objections?"

The French delegation, for once, was silent, while the German delegation quietly nodded.

"Then I believe we are in agreement," said the Kronprins. "This concludes our discussions regarding territorial disputes in Europe and Africa. Now that this is finished, I propose that we adjourn for the day and begin negotiations tomorrow."

To this, the various came to a more-substantial agreement, and they were all dismissed. From the corner of his eye, Churchill could see the various diplomats travel towards the reception hall, to which he joined them.

And like many of them, he traveled to the bar.

"Ah, Lord Churchill," the German Secretary of State greeted. "I take it you have had a productive day of negotiations as well?"

"Indeed. It is remarkable how rapidly so many can come to an agreement if there is a present threat."

"Of course. Speaking of which, have you paid attention to the Far East recently?"

"No, I haven't. Of course, there is the Chinese Revolution, but I haven't paid much attention to the region ever since the end of the Second Sino-Japanese War."

"Is that what they're calling it?" the German asked, before taking another sip of his drink. "A massacre would be more apt. What else would you call it when the largest naval power in the Pacific is wiped out in a few hours? No offense, of course."

"None taken." After all, the man had a point. While the Royal Navy was second to none, they were stretched out across the entire planet. "But yes, it would seem that the Chinese were somehow capable of sinking an entire fleet in a matter of hours with, how many ships was it?"

"Six dozen, I believe," the German recalled. "Despite their strongest ships having, at most, half the tonnage of a dreadnought."

"Indeed," Churchill mused. "It is remarkable. And disconcerting, if I am being honest. Now, Secretary, I take it that you aren't here to simply make idle talk?"

"Of course not. But in light of these events, perhaps it would be prudent for our two nations to come to an agreement regarding this arms race of ours."

"Truly? I would imagine that Berlin would be interested in increasing naval production in light of the events in the China Sea."

"Perhaps, but ships cost money and take time to travel around the planet. Time that a potential enemy could spend seizing our holdings in the Pacific."

"Our holdings, or Germany's holdings, Secretary?"

"Perhaps both. All I ask is that you hear me out, Churchill. Say China were to try to take Kiautschou Bay or Hong Kong."

"Go on."

"In such a scenario, it is likely that local naval forces would be inadequate to deter an attack. This, coupled with the rapid advances that they are making against the Qing, implies that the best-case scenario would be a siege, yes?"

"That it would," Churchill figured. The Boxer Rebellion was the first that came to mind. "Which would require either of our nations to send a fleet in response, if not an invasion force."

"Exactly. And while I would say that the Kaiserlische Marine and the Royal Navy are much better-equipped than the Imperial Japanese Navy, I believe that any invasion force would be wiped out before reaching shore."

"Surely you cannot believe that it would be repeated?"

"I do, Lord Churchill. While we would have the advantage in tonnage, I believe that we would be hopelessly outgunned in such a scenario."

"That would be a fair assessment," he admitted. "And I would assume that any such fleet, even if it were a combined fleet of our two navies, would likely suffer the same fate."

"Perhaps, but they would sustain heavy losses," von Kiderlen-Waechter hypothesized, before taking another sip of his drink. "In either case, it is clear that a new strategy must be enacted."

"I do not follow."

"To put it bluntly," the German diplomat told him. "The Prime Minister, Kaiser, and I have drafted a proposal to limit the naval arms race in exchange for a detente between our two nations. One in which we will both reduce our naval spending to more reasonable terms. In exchange, our two nations would cooperate on matters regarding China and respect one another's imperial interests in Africa."

"That is a bit much," Churchill answered. "Not that I would oppose it, but I would have to bring this proposal to both Foreign Secretary Grey and the PM."

"Of course," von Kiderlen-Waechter agreed, and handed him an envelope. "You will find the terms here. Now if you will excuse me, I must return to my delegation. Good day to you, Mr. Churchill."

Christiansborg Palace, Copenhagen, Kingdom of Denmark, 21 September 1911

It was another day, and Churchill found himself in the same room with the same diplomats. Though this time, the doors were locked behind them, with guards behind the doors.
As while the previous day's discussions were over open issues, these were to be done in secret, likely to prevent anyone else from getting wind.

To that end, it was just the Big Six in attendance today.

"It is clear," the Tsar said as the discussion began, "That in light of the recent Revolutionary advances in China, that the Qing Empire will be defeated on the battlefield. Given the rhetoric that comes from this "Republic of China," it is likely that they will threaten any and all holdings, should they find an opening."

"As such," he continued, it is my belief that we are to act now to ensure the protection of our holdings and concessions in China. To that end, I have dispatched General Brusilov with an intervention force so as to maintain order in the border regions of Manchuria, Mongolia, and Sinkiang. This action is not an act of aggression so much as to protect our own interests in the area, one that the Japanese have also done with regards to their own portion of Manchuria in their sphere of influence, as per the 1907 agreement between our two nations."

"And you expect us to just accept a landgrab where you take a third of China?" Von Kiderlen-Waechter was almost infuriated at the news. "We come here trying to achieve peace amongst ourselves, and you're here trying to act behind our backs!"

"This Congress is regarding Europe, Secretary. However, as you yourself have said, this new Republic of China is a potential threat to all of our interests in the region."

"That they are," von Kiderlen-Waechter admitted. "But you cannot expect us to abide while you reap the rewards of the chaos."

"Of course," the Tsar said in agreement, "Which is why I am proposing a partition. While we would be ill-advised to war with this new Republic, we are in position to expand our spheres of control. While Russia will, of course, expand our influence among the three northern protectorates, I believe that Shandong Province would be part of your own country's sphere, coupled with several Concessions along the coastline for Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Italy."

"And France and Britain?" asked Foreign Secretary Grey, "Should we decide to delineate spheres of influence in China, then we would lay claim to Tibet and Yunnan province, and I'm sure the French have their own interests."

"Hainan Island and Guangxi would be in our sphere of influence," said de Selves. "Now, if I may point out the elephant in the room, it seems that the Republic of China would raise several objections to this."

"They have a finite number of men and would be fighting against six of the strongest nations on the planet, all at once," the Tsar pointed out. "While they are able to consistently humiliate the Qing, I doubt they could enjoy the same success, so long as we act as a united front."

There it was, Churchill realized. That was the crux of this whole plan.

This agreement rested on the continued cooperation of all of the Big Six, with every nation providing the diplomatic (and if they so chose, military) backing against the Chinese.

"Now," the Tsar announced to the diplomats at the table, "Are there any questions?"

Churchill was the first to raise his hand, and the Tsar turned to him.

"While this agreement is ambitious and it has the potential to further cooperation between our six nations, this would require a combined military intervention by all of our nations, would it not?"

"Perhaps," the Tsar figured. "Though as part of the terms of this secret agreement, I believe that every signatory would be able to pursue their interests at their own discretion, so long as the other signatories provide diplomatic support."

"Which brings up another issue," Churchill said as delicately as he could. "Several of these regions are already held by the Revolutionaries. While they have not arrived in force in Sinkiang or at all in Mongolia or Manchuria, much of the Southern and Eastern parts of China are already under their control."

"Indeed," said the Tsar. "But as per the terms, each signatory will act at their own discretion within our designated spheres. Should your nation not wish to expand into the region, that is your choice."

"What the Tsar means to say," Sazonov added, "is that this agreement is first and foremost a defensive one to protect what we currently have. But if our six nations wish to maintain what we have, we must always act as a united front."

"We will not send troops to support Russian expansion," Von Kiderlen-Waechter told them all. "But under this agreement, only diplomatic support would be required, yes?"

Sazanov nodded.

"Then the German delegation withdraws our objections.

"Very well," said the Kronprins. "Now do any of the other delegations have any objections?"

The other four delegations simply nodded their heads.

For his part, Churchill could only watch in surprise at the sight before him.

Here was an agreement that could end all wars before they started… or the catalyst to an entirely different one.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Forbidden City, Beijing, Qing Empire, 24 September 1911

"They surrendered?!" Zhang wasn't sure if Yuan was furious or shocked when he said that, but he had a feeling it was somewhere in the middle. "An entire army of men just surrendered?"

"It seems as such," Zhang observed. "Are the rebels still demanding an unconditional surrender?"

Yuan nodded. Well, he balled his fists and nodded, but Zhang got the idea.

"Then it would be in our best interests to move the court to Manchuria. Let the rebels grow fat on Beijing while we regroup."

The fact that Manchuria was effectively Zhang's domain was not lost upon either of them.

"Very well," Yuan grumbled.

What other choice did he have? His men were dead. The core of the Beiyang Army had surrendered after being surrounded. And the only person he could rely on was an up-jumped bandit who had likely murdered his way into controlling Manchuria.

"How far are the rebels?"

"Two hundred miles and closing fast." The simple notion of that frustrated him to no end. The Beiyang Army, his Beiyang Army, was wiped out in a single battle.

If rumors were to be believed, the rebels pierced their line and began flanking his infantry until they were surrounded.

After that, he didn't have much of an army left, besides the local garrison and the Bannermen who'd lived around Beijing.

And what good would they be? They have their positions because of their fathers and grandfathers! They hardly ever trained, and when they did, it was with bows and arrows, not fucking rifles!

"Then we must hurry," the up-jumped bandit told him. "I will send word to the Court and contact the Legation Quarter, then wait for you in Shenyang."

"Very well, Zhang," Yuan admitted. "The Banners will serve as a rear guard to cover our retreat. Perhaps they could be of some use, after all."

"Well, if they can't fight for China, then perhaps they could at least die for China."

That actually got a chuckle out of Yuan.

"Perhaps, Colonel. Now, how many men do you think you can raise once you arrive there?"

"With the backing of the Emperor? A hundred thousand, if given enough time."

"Within a month?"

"Fifty thousand of, if I am honest, middling quality."

"Of course." Yuan wasn't happy about that, but he knew why. Soldiers took time to train. Good soldiers took even longer. "Then go. You have your orders."

Office of Prime Minister Katsura Tarō, Tokyo, Japan

"It seems that the Qing have failed," General Terauchi Masatake informed the Prime Minister.

"From what our observers have seen, the revolutionaries have captured the bulk of the Beiyang Army after destroying their artillery."

A grin formed on the Prime Minister's face.

"Send the order to the troops in Chōsen. General, are the troops prepared?"

"Two hundred thousand of them are in position," said General Terauchi. "Colonel Zhang has informed us that he and his men are willing to cooperate with our administration."

"And the rebels?"

"They may be able to defeat us in the ocean, but the Army will do what the Navy could not."

"Send the order, General. Manchuria will be a fine replacement for Formosa."

Ozaki Residence, Tokyo, Japan

"Do you ever stop getting into trouble, dear?" Yei Theodora Ozaki asked her husband. "I read about your most recent speech."

"If they arrest me, then so be it. Though I doubt the Prime Minister would be so eager to arrest the Mayor of Tokyo."

"Perhaps, but Yukika and Shinaye would raise a fuss, and you know how our little girls can be."

"Of course." They could hear a knocking at the door. "I'll get it."

Ozaki Yukio walked to the front door to see several armed policemen waiting for him.

"Mayor Ozaki, under orders from the Prime Minister, we are placing you under arrest. My apologies, sir, but we are under orders."

"Is this about my article on the long-term ramifications of our annexation of Korea?"

"Truth be told, sir, I do not know," the officer said with a sad smile. "But like I said, we are under orders to arrest you."

"And my family?"

"Your family will be left alone, sir."

"Very well. Would it be too much to say goodbye to my wife and daughters?"

"Not at all."

Urumqi, Xinjiang Province, Republic of China, 25 September 1911

For Captain Kenny Ma, it seemed like he was constantly up against impossible odds.

First was the fact that he was somehow sent back in time with his men to 1911.

Next was how his unit and the MIB managed to save, of all people, Wang Jingwei from the Qing in what might have been the first dedicated special forces mission in the 20th century.

After that, he'd jumped out of a plane into Shaanxi province where he spent the next few months behind enemy lines fighting a guerrilla war with the Tongmenghui and training rebels.

And that was before he had to fight off a massive horde of Qing loyalists, only to be saved by gunship strafing run and a C-130 dropping flechettes, of all things, on the enemy.

So as far as he was concerned, his men getting transferred to a base in the ass-end of nowhere in Xinjiang was an improvement.

The fact that they'd gotten the airstrip and fuel depot up and running definitely helped with things. Running low on clean water was always a risk when in the field, so having a constant supply of water and electricity flown in was a nice change of pace.

That, and the Air Force finally showing up.

He'd been here for, what, three weeks at this point? In that time, a parade of C-130s had managed to not only drop supplies off, but also drop off construction equipment and materials to build an entire airstrip.

With people working around the clock, he'd had a fairly easy time, for once in his life, doing nothing more than guarding the perimeter of the area and sending out scouting parties to go after the stragglers.

And what did he have to show for it?

Well, there were the squadrons of F-16s that were resting on the tarmac. They flew in the same day it'd hardened and the construction teams managed to build the hangars.

Of course, there was also constant airlift going in and out, delivering fuel, men, and supplies. From what he'd heard, the guys flying the 747-400Fs weren't actually military but in fact civilian contractors who were, in their own words, "Just happy to be here."

He could get that. Well, not really, but there were certain types of people who had a place they always wanted to be. Sailors at sea, pilots in the air, soldiers on solid ground, and marines apparently charging headfirst into enemy fire in their tanks.

He'd heard the news. Even out here in the middle of nowhere, they were getting info on the main army's rapid advance towards Beijing.

Suddenly, the siren began to wail, and he was off running towards the HQ at the tower, weapon in hand.

"I need a SITREP," he told one of his men as he walked into the pre-fab. "What the hell's going on?"

"You're not going to believe it, sir."

"At this point, I don't think anything can phase me. Shoot."

"UAV picked up heavy troop concentrations headed this way."

"I thought we killed the Qing loyalists in the area. UAVs have shown nothing since then."

"It's not the Qing, sir. It's the Russians."

That? That was enough to give Kenny pause.

"Say again?"

"Russian forces, sir. They are headed towards Urumqi." Sure enough, the UAV footage and recon photographs confirmed it. "I'd say they have an ETA of a week, tops."

"Okay, got it. Just sounds as insane as the first time."

"Of course, sir. Any plans?"

"Infantry and motorized will fortify here for now. Teh Air Force will continue recon missions. Do not engage unless fired upon."

"Understood, sir. Anything else?"

"One more thing. What the fuck are the Russians doing in Xinjiang?"

Qing Barracks, Urga, Bogd Khanate of Mongolia

In such a short time, Sando had gone from preserving Qing rule in Mongolia to being escorted out in a day.

He could see those damned Russians outside his window. This was their doing, more specifically that bastard Semyonov.

But there wasn't much he could do. Not with a hundred fifty under-paid troops.

"What is that sound?" one of his men asked, and he looked out his window.

"Shit," Sando said to himself, once he had seen the blue and white banners on the dozens, no, hundreds of green vehicles.

As if this day could get any worse.

Outskirts of Urga, Bogd Khanate of Mongolia

This entire operation was, if he was being completely honest, mad.

Once they'd broken through Taiyuan, MIB had given them new orders:

Take Mongolia.

No, not seize the region, but liberate it from the Qing.

Of course, there was just one issue: HISTINT said that the Mongolians weren't happy about Chinese people coming there.

Well, if he wanted to get technical, the upper class of Mongolia was split between those who sought independence, autonomists under the Bogd Khan, and nobles who would be more amenable towards the ROC, assuming the latter followed the 63 Stipulations given to Chen Yi in 1919.

And that was before they got into how there were different groups of Mongols.

If he was being honest, Richard wasn't exactly excited about dealing with the HISTINT work, but the MIB attache who was on loan from NTU was more than capable of explaining the basics of it.

All that was left was to actually get to Urga, and that was the hard part.

No, it wasn't the fighting. In fact, they'd hardly faced any resistance on the drive up here.

Then again, that was to be expected, as Qing defenses were, at best, uncoordinated and at worst, non-existent once you penetrated their frontlines.

After that, it was smooth sailing until the Qing managed to cobble together another line of soldiers and militia that they'd penetrate and encircle.

At this point, he was wondering if they even had any soldiers left.

"Are we there yet?" his little brother joked for the umpteenth time that day.

"Nope."

"How about now?"

"Say that one more time," Richard chuckled, "and I'm turning this whole expedition around."

That got a few laughs from his brother in the turret and the Dr. Lim, their translator and advisor.

"Also, no."

No, it was the simple issue of getting there in the first place.

Sure, they had enough trucks. If anything, they had more than enough Humvees and trucks to rapidly advance in the better part of a month.

And they had enough manpower, too. About fifteen thousand men, all things considered, loaded into Humvees and 4WD heavy trucks.

But fueling and supplying them? That was the hard part.

To that end, the convoy was supplied by air-dropped supplies from C-130s, who would make daily airdrops at designated points.

These airdrops would be pallets of fuel, food, and most importantly, water.

Thank goodness for army engineering.

It was a messy op. An inefficient op.

But through coordination and sheer determination (or as Dexter would joke, stubbornness), they had managed to make it with minimal resistance.

"You know what?" he finally said to his brother as he pulled up to the city. "I think we are."

"Okay… Who the hell are those guys?"

Richard grabbed his binoculars, fiddling with the sights to see just who was leading the large gathering.

Oddly enough, there were banners of white, blue, and red before him… which raised even more questions.

"Hey, Dr. Lim?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"What are Russians doing in Mongolia?"

"Russians? Could be a delegation."

"Doesn't look like a delegation," Dexter said from up top. Richard looked up to see his brother had his own binoculars out. "Looks like a military detachment."

"That just raises more questions," the older brother answered. "All units, this is Leopard 1-1. Moving in to investigate. 1-2 through 1-9, follow me in a wedge formation. Rest of you form a perimeter."

"Copy, Captain," one of his lieutenants answered. "We're with you."

"Keep it easy, everyone," he said as he drove them closer to the gathering. "I don't want to start a war. Not right now."

The wedge of Humvees rolled towards the gathering, and only then did they see what was going on.

Of all things, there were Mongolians on both sides, some with the Russians, while others stood apart from them.

Between them were several Qing emissaries who were being loaded up onto wagons under guard.

"Ease it up," he instructed, and the Humvees slowed to a halt in the middle of the field. As they waited, several riders rode towards them, all of them in Russian uniform. "Anyone speak Russian?"

"I think I know a bit," Corporal Duan said from the back. "Want me to try to translate?"

Exactly how he knew Russian, of all things, Richard didn't know. Or care. But he wasn't in any position to say no.

"Works for me. Dismount with me. Doc, you stay in the Humvee. Dex?"

"Yeah?"

"You keep overwatch. They try anything funny, and you blast them. Got it?"

"I've got you covered."

Sure enough, he and Duan got out of the vehicles with their rifles pointed down. In front of them, the Russians rode to a halt.

"I can speak Chinese," the leader, a dark-skinned man, demanded. "I am Captain Grigory Mikhaylovich Semyonov of the Russian Imperial Army. What is your business here?"

"My name is Captain Richard Hu of the Republic of China Army, and we are here to liberate this province from Qing rule."

"Well then, Captain," Semyonov said with a smile. "We have done your job for you. So if you would kindly leave-"

"That isn't going to happen, and you know that. As the legitimate successor to the Qing government, we find your forces to be violating our territorial integrity."

"Like Hell are we going to leave," Semyonov told him. The man wasn't so much angry as he was determined. "We have been invited by the Bogd Khan as guests."

"If this was Manchuria and you were guarding a railroad, then you would be well within your rights. But this is not Manchuria, and you need to leave. Now."

For a moment, the two sides stared at one another, weapons drawn. The cossacks had their pistols, while the Chinese had their rifles and the M2.

"It seems we are at a stalemate," Semyonov finally said, breaking the silence. "Sternberg?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Semyonov's adjutant turned to him, and opened fire with his revolver.

The shots were quick, rapidly slamming into his chest.

"Rick!" his brother shouted, opening fire on the Russians with the M2.

In a few seconds, Semyonov and Sternberg were on the ground in front of him with the other Russians, with their horses bleeding out from the crossfire.

"Shit," Hu stammered. "Duan?"

"I'm good, Cap!" the Corporal said as he started dragging him back to the Humvee. "You?"

"Plate stopped it. Hurts like hell, though."

"Yeah, I'd imagine. Lim, help me get him in the back!"

"Is he good?" Dex shouted between bursts. "Is he going to make it?"

"Yeah, I am, little brother," the older Hu wheezed. "Hurts like hell, though."

"Yeah, I thought so. Want me to take over?"

"Yeah."

"All units, this is Lieutenant Dexter Hu. Captain Hu is hit and requires medical attention! All Humvees move up to engage hostiles. I repeat, unknown forces are hostile!"

Zhangzhou Air Base, Zhangzhou, Henan Province, Republic of China

"This the last of them?" Shannon asked the grounds crew as they fastened the tanks to the last Mirage-2000.

"Yeah, that's everything, the mechanic told her. Appreciate the help on short notice, even when you're supposed to be moving up north to Shijiazhuang."

"Glad to help," she told him, happier than she had any right to be right now. "They should make it, right?"

"Well, the Mirages should have a combat range of about 960 miles, and that's without the under-wing tanks."

"And with them?"

"For where they're headed," the mechanic told her, "It's close, but they'll make it with the tanker."

"They know how to refuel on that thing, right?"

Skies Above Vydrino, Buryatia, Russian Empire

"Qilin, this is Crane 1. We have visual on the target. Requesting permission to begin the attack."

"Copy, Crane 1. You are clear to begin launching Paveways. AO is clear of civilian trains."

"Firing."

An explosion echoed off in the distance, and the Major looked on the screen in the AWACS.

"Good hit, Crane 1. Bridge is still standing. Crane 2, begin attack run."

"On it," the pilot of the Mirage told him, before launching his own ordinance at the same spot. "Target hit. Requesting damage assessment."

"Standby," the Major told him as he looked back at the monitor. "Good effect on target. Looks like the bridge is going into the river. Crane 3 and 4, finish it off. Peacock Squadron, prepare for your own bombing run. We're cutting the Trans-Siberian Railway tonight."

Jingfeng Railway, Shenyang Outskirts, Qing Empire

Were it not for the lanterns, Lieutenant Kōmoto Daisaku would have been stumbling in the dark."

"How long until the train arrives?"

"A few hours, now get that dynamite in the ground," said the Lieutenant. "We're running behind schedule."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Outskirts of Beijing, Zhili Province, Republic of China, 30 September 1911

"This is what we've been waiting for," Chen said into the radio. "A thousand miles ago, and we came here, fighting for liberty, and the Qing laughed at us. Called us bandits."

"They claim that their 'Emperors' are the Sons of Heaven tasked with ruling us!"

"And they call themselves the Sons of Heaven? Bullshit! If there is a Mandate of Heaven, then they lost it when they ran!"

"They are no Sons of Heaven! But do you know who is a Son of Heaven? You. Me. Every one of us who fought to get here. Every one of us who died to get here."

"From this day forward, every person who fights for a Free China is a Child of Heaven!"

"This isn't our first battle. And it won't be the last. The Russians and Japanese have made sure of that."

"So let's finish the Qing off so that we can free this land from all tyrants! Go!"

With that, Fa drove the tank forward.

"Helluva speech, Colonel. You ever thought about going into politics?"

"Shut up and drive, Fa," Chen laughed. "I like getting shot at too much."

"Tiger Actual, this is Dragon 1. All enemy artillery has been neutralized. Returning to base to rearm and provide ground support, over."

"Thanks for the assist, Shan. Tiger Actual out," he said as he looked through the periscope.

What he saw shocked him. Instead of enemy soldiers firing at him, he saw a hodgepodge of militia. Sure, there were some soldiers in uniforms, but there were also men in robes waving banners behind them, like that Taiping Rebellion movie.

"Enemy, 1000 meters!"

"Firing," Zhou said, and the round flew through the barricade. What must have taken hours to build had been reduced to splinters, with dead Bannermen on the ground.

The rest of them? Running for their dear lives. Some of them even dropped their rifles after the first shot.

The hell? Wait, are these really Qing Bannermen?

They kept going, running for their lives as the tank advanced. Chen could hear the staccato of the coaxial MG as Zhou gunned them down.

Poor bastards, but they aren't surrendering, and we can't cut them off down the streets.

Still, he put that in the back of his mind as he kept going through the city, looking down at the map the HISTINT guys had sent his way.

So far, they were making good progress as they blasted their way through barricade after barricade.

And all the while the Bannermen were running for their lives. Many of them still dropped their weapons and ran, but that was good enough for him.

It was, how would he put it?

Underwhelming?

Yeah, that seemed like it. Here they were, expecting this massive battle like the Battle of Berlin, and what was there defending it?

A bunch of poorly-trained men in antiquated uniforms waving banners.

Honestly, he wasn't going to complain too much. If all of his enemies would turn and run at the first sign of danger, it made his job way easier.

More importantly, it kept his men safe.

Still, there were those who would resist. Those who were either brave or fanatical enough to go up against the tanks with their rifles and grenades.

They had guts, he'd give them that. It was all he could, now that they were dead, gunned down by MG fire or blown up by tank rounds.

"Looks like we're approaching Tiananmen Square."

Sure enough, they were out in the open, but this too was empty.

"All Tigers, follow me. We're pushing up to the Imperial City. Be prepared for any sniper fire."

And so they drove forward, prepared for something, anything, to happen.

Yet here they were, at the gates of Imperial Power, with not a shot fired at them.

Seriously, what the hell is going on here?

By that time, even the infantry had shown up and formed a perimeter with the tanks.

Sure, he could try to cross the bridge with the tank, but it wasn't worth the risk. Not now.

Instead, he opened the hatch and got out, making sure to wear his vest and plates.

"Alright," he told his men as they gathered at the entrance, "I want a perimeter. Nobody goes in or out. It looks empty, but you keep your heads down. I don't want any of you getting killed at this point. Got it?"

His men nodded at the order.

"Okay, once the Army catches up to us, they'll take over the perimeter while we move in."

Within minutes, several more trucks came through, bringing countless soldiers, including General Huang, as well as Agents Li, and Fong.

"Good work, Colonel," Huang told him as he got out of his Humvee. "Most of the city's surrendered at this point, besides the Imperial City. My men will handle the perimeter while yours move in."

"Permission to go with the Colonel?" Li asked Huang. "For HISTINT purposes."

"Granted," said the downtime general, before handing him a parcel. "Hang this from the gate."

"Got it," Li said, before turning to Chen and Fong. "So, who's ready to visit the Imperial City?"

"66th! We're going in! Keep your guard up and don't start robbing the place, alright?"

It wasn't that hard to get in. Not when the gates were unlocked.

But this? This was creepy.

Not because they were walking through a centuries-old palace complex that almost certainly had dead bodies buried somewhere.

No, it was the fact that there was literally nobody there.

Nobody. No soldiers, no servants, nothing.

And what was even more surprising was the fact that everything was still here.

Now, Chen wasn't much of a history guy. No, that was more Marty's thing. But if Taiwan was anything to go by, the retreating army usually took everything of value they could get their hands on that wasn't nailed down.

Yet quite literally everything was here. Artwork, furniture, even weapons and food.

But no people.

"Hey, Colonel!" Chiu called out to him as the trio walked through the hall, "We found something!"

"What, did you find the Imperial wine cellar?" he asked his loader. Off in the corner, he could see Fa and Zhou carrying a few bottles.

"Well…"

"Oh you have got to be shitting me."

"There's a lot of it, too. You get the first pick."

"Hold off on the wine," Chen instructed. "You three, with me."

"Something happen?"

"Not yet. Marty, you know how to get back to the Tiananmen Gate?"

"Just 'Tiananmen,'" he said, leading the way. "And yeah, follow me."

As they walked, Li started talking about the history of the place, from its Ming origins to the Qing traditions regarding succession.

As before, Chen didn't care too much for it, but it made his old friend happy, and that was good enough for him.

"Hey Major," Chiu interrupted, "If you don't mind me asking, what's in the package?"

"Honestly, I don't know," Li said as he ripped the top open. "Huh."

Inside were three flags.

The first was most recognizable, with the white sun on a blue sky. Li held onto that one.

The second was the five-colored flag of the new republic. They handed that one to Fong.

And the third? That was a blank flagpole, to which Chen attached the 66th's banner.

"So," Li asked, as the six of them climbed the stairs to the balcony. Below them they could hear a gathering crowd of cheering soldiers. "Who's ready to make history?"

Urga, Mongolia, Republic of China

"So, brother," Dexter Hu asked as he walked into the yurt-turned-hospital tent. "How are you feeling?"

"At least I can talk normally," his brother breathed. "Hurts like hell to laugh, though."

"Yeah, getting shot'll do that to you. Or, so I've heard."

"Ha… I wasn't joking, Dex. It really hurts like hell to laugh."

"Right."

"So, did we win?"

"Seeing that you're the only person who needed medical attention, and I didn't spend the last few hours collecting dog tags? I'd say we did. At this point, the Humvees are mostly just spreading out to occupy and set up another airstrip so the jets can land."

"Good, good," he groaned. "I'm going to need to fill out the paperwork, aren't I?"

"Already done. You owe me twice, now."

"Twice?"

"Yeah. First for saving your ass after Sternberg shot you in the chest-"

"Still can't believe he did that. Wait, Sternberg? As in, Roman von Ungern-Sternberg?"

"Yeah, that one. The guy from Kaiserreich. Blew his head clean off and took his sword."

"Huh. That's pretty cool."

"You want it?"

"What am I going to do with a cavalry sword?"

The younger Hu shrugged. "No idea. Maybe one last 'Screw You' to the guy who emptied a revolver into your chest?"

"Fair enough. So, anything else?"

"Yeah. You missed the airstrikes on the Trans-Siberian Railway."

"The what."

"Once we'd gotten word that the Russians were attacking, Air Force sent out a few squadrons with a tanker to Lake Baikal and blew up the one bridge they had on the Trans-Siberian."

"Oh. Did it work?"

"Apparently, they kept throwing missiles at the span until it collapsed."

"Huh. Anything else?"

"We took Beijing. Apparently the Qing abandoned it, so it took less than an hour. Flag's probably flying over the Imperial Gate by now."

"Cool. And anything else?"

"Let's see… We're at war with Russia-"

"Yeah, I knew that part."

"...And Japan."

"Again?"

"Yup. Japan's moving into South Manchuria, while Russia takes the northern bit. It's actually their best performance out of their three fronts."

"Three?"

So if they were in Mongolia and are in Manchuria, where's the third front?

"Xinjiang. Apparently they'd sent a bunch of conscripts from Central Asia and the Urals."

"Really?" It wasn't so much disbelief at this point, but curiosity. ""How'd that work out for them?"

Ten Miles Outside Urumqi, Xinjiang, Republic of China

Now, Kenneth Ma didn't expect to get into too many fights in his lifetime. Not when Singapore was the Switzerland of the East.

But as far as fights went, this had to be the easiest. Looking up at the sky, he could see the planes returning to base, now that it was over.

How else could he describe it, when squadrons of F-16s flew ground attack missions like clockwork?

They'd be loaded up, take off, find the Russians, bomb them, and fly back, only to do it all over again and again.

It was, quite possibly, the most unfair battle that he'd ever taken part of, and he was one hundred percent fine with that.

At this point, it was more an issue of moving in and rounding up what few survivors remained. Which, if he was being completely honest, was harder than the actual fighting.

Turns out most people can't survive multiple bombardments of missiles, bombs, and gun pods.

Of course, he'd have to check the recon footage, but of the, what, fifty thousand men they'd brought, only thirty thousand survived? Give or take a thousand, but they happened to be the few people lucky enough to somehow dodge constant airstrikes out in the open while also not getting gunned down by the APCs and Humvees that chased down the stragglers from the cavalry.

Of those, about ten to fifteen thousand were taken prisoner, while the rest deserted.

Exactly where they were going, he didn't know, since they were in the middle of a desert over a hundred miles from the Russian border.

But that was a problem for the Humvees and APCs that were chasing them down.

After that was treating those who were still alive, and using what able-bodied men they'd captured to dig twenty-thousand holes in the ground to bury all the dead Russians.

Because if he was being honest, he and his men needed all the help they could get, once the excavator broke down.

That, out of all things, was the hardest part of the day for him.

Not the bombings.

Not the fighting.

Not the sheer carnage.

But burying all the dead Russians in the ground before the wolves showed up.

Well, that and chasing down the ones who fled the battle, but those men wouldn't get far in the desert.

Then again, he wasn't a Russian soldier sent all the way here.

And if he was being honest, he was very happy he wasn't one.

Outskirts of Shenyang, Liaoning Province, Qing Empire

How did it come to this?

Just months ago, he had been the most powerful man in China, one who ruled in all but name.

But now? He barely had a Division to his name, along with what was left of the Bannermen, while a former bandit in charge of an Army had become the new power in the Court.

What power base did he have now? Duan Qirui? His in-law had died in a train crash.

Feng Guozhang? Dead at the Battle of Yangxia.

The Beiyang Army? Perhaps, but a few trains' worth of men paled in comparison with the Zhang's Fengtian Army, or the Japanese Kwantung Army.

Still, having some men was better than no men, so he'd be of some use to Zhang. Perhaps he'd even be able to remain as Prime Minister.

But even in his reduced state, Yuan had ambitions to get what was his. In time, he would be able to put this up-jumped bandit in his place.

Having brought the Empire's treasury on his train would certainly make things easier.

"All in due time," he told himself.

Huanggutan Railway Station, Liaoning, Qing Empire

Captain Daisaku Kōmoto yawned. He'd been here for hours, staring into the darkness.

But this time, he could hear the roar of a train in the distance, with its light coming ever-closer to the bridge.

"It's here," he whispered to Lieutenant Fujii, "Press the plunger!"

The Lieutenant pressed the plunger, sending the bombs off and the night ablaze.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Imperial City, Zhili Province, Republic of China, 2 October 1911

"So, could you explain this to me again, Major?" General Huang asked the agent. "We're running out of bombs and missiles?"

"Well, not exactly. We're running out of 'smart bombs.' We have plenty of dumb bombs, bullets, and rockets."

"I thought you were mainly using the dumb bombs, not the smart bombs."

"We are," Fong said plainly. If Rachel was telling the truth, there were entire depots of them in Taiwan, along with a literal mountain of small arms and ammunition. "However, we do, on occasion, use smart bombs or precision-guided missiles for important missions, such as targeting Duan Qirui's train or attacking the bridge near Lake Baikal."

"I see... I thought Taiwan was capable of producing more of them?"

"It's complicated." That was the easy answer. "Sure, we can produce many dumb bombs. We do, already. But smart bombs are more-expensive, require more resources, and are more-complicated to build. Not to mention that many of them require specific resources we have to import."

"Which is why the military receives the highest-priority when it comes to resources."

"Yes sir. However, we are limited by manufacturing capacity. These things take time."

"How long will it take?"

"We started production months ago, so we can replenish our stocks over time. The problem is that we can't replenish them fast enough at the rate we're using them."

"I see... and how much more time do we have?"

"Off the top of my head? I give it a few months at our current rate. We can stretch it out much further if we primarily use dumb bombs outside of high-priority targets."

"As in, more than we already do."

"Exactly. The Air Force is actually doing something like this already. At Xinjiang, the ground-attack primarily consisted of dumb bombs and gun pods mounted to the F-16s in the area. Meanwhile, the bridge near the Baikal that was collapsed was taken out with our PGMs."

"I see. And how will this affect combat effectiveness?"

"Seeing as the enemy can't shoot any of our planes down, it shouldn't have too much of an effect. We will have to use our weapons more-efficiently, of course."

"Of course. Which is why we will be saving the more-modern weaponry for high-value targets as well as emergencies."

"Like blowing up bridges on the Trans-Siberian Railway?"

"Of course, Major."

Blagoveshchensk, Russian Empire

It was frustrating, to put it mildly.

While he had brought his share of munitions and weapons to the Far East, General Brusilov knew full well the importance of the Trans-Siberian Railway.

Given Vladivostok's lack of an industrial base, as well as its low population, he needed that rail line if he wanted to get resupplied or reinforced.

And here he was, receiving a telegram that a day ago, the Chinese had managed to destroy a bridge along the railway.

This was not something he wanted to hear. While they could repair (or in all likelihood, replace) the bridge in due time, that would be, at best, and entire month to wait.

And this, of course, assumed that he could rely on the ferries from Irkutsk in the meantime.

Could his men last that long? Presumably, yes. They had packed extra provisions and could requisition from the locals.

What worried him more was the issue of materiel. While his men could ration their food, the same couldn't be said for the ammunition. You couldn't only shoot at the enemy with half a bullet, after all, or launch half a shell.

That, of all things, was what kept him up at night. That, and the Japanese, but they had an agreement to stay out of one another's territory, as per the 1907 Treaty.

Tianjin Harbor, Tianjin, Zhili Province, Republic of China

This had to be the first time in his life that Michael Chen was actually happy to see a ferry. Then again, this was largely due to him not having to ram it into the coast again.

Still, the mass of ships in the harbor were a godsend, bringing in even more vehicles and supplies to the front.

Of course, much of it was asphalt for the tarmac, but the next ship was carrying shells, bullets, and as many dumb bombs and rockets as Shannon and her fellow pilots could throw at the invaders.

"Think we'll ever run out?" Chiu asked him. "I mean, besides spare parts."

"Nah, that's the next ship. But if I'm being honest, Chiu?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know if we can run out of ammo for the tanks. You remember how I was talking with Major Fong, right?"

"Uh-huh. That was about logistics, right?"

"Yeah. Well, seeing that we mainly fire 'dumb ammo' like 105mm, along with 7.62 and .50 cal, we have pretty big stockpiles of them lying around. Plus, it's really cheap to make."

"So no, we probably aren't running out, are we?"

"Probably not, unless we deliberately want to waste our ammo."

Urumqi Base, Urumqi, Xinjiang, Republic of China

"So," Ma said, looking at the manifest. "Fuel barrels, dumb bombs, ammo, spare parts, dumb bombs, and water, huh?"

"Yes sir," the pilot told him. "The jet fuel will be coming in on the next plane in."

"Got it. Say, could you answer a question for me?"

"Sure, Captain."

"How exactly do you transport jet fuel in a plane?"

"Very, very carefully."

"No, seriously, how do you transport fuel in a cargo plane?"

"Oh, we put it in containers and then keep it in the cargo hold."

"You what?!"

"Look," the pilot said, in a tone that said 'Please don't shoot the messenger.' "We don't really have any other option until we get roads set up. Until then, we're going to be transporting fuel in sealed, secure containers that are then offloaded and added to the fuel tanks at the base.

"Is that even efficient?"

"Generally speaking? No. For you guys, out here in Xinjiang? Actually, yes."

"How?"

"The 747-I has a range of over seven thousand miles, while a round trip for us is only about seven thousand kilometers. Factoring a weight of six pounds per gallon of gasoline-"

"Wait, why are you using Imperial?"

"That's what the numbers I have say. Anyways, we have a maximum payload of one hundred sixty-seven thousand pounds, or over twenty thousand gallons of gasoline, plus the containers."

"Do you even have enough space for twenty thousand gallons of gasoline?"

"More than enough, honestly. Now, to do the math for volume, we end up with about forty-seven thousand gallons of gasoline that can be carried. Of course, we have to factor in weight, so we're limited to twenty thousand gallons-"

Wait who the hell measures the volume of a plane in gallons- you know what? Never mind.

"-Which should be enough to provide a full tank of gas to eight hundred Humvees-"

"Which is more than we have. So, you guys really thought this through?"

"Yeah. Honestly, it's not that different from doing civilian cargo. Except for the parts where your cargo can either explode, shoot somebody, or is designed to explode or shoot somebody."

"Makes sense."

"So, any other questions?"

"Not really. Do you have any?"

"Not really. Just happy to be doing my job again. Even happier to know I won't be bringing back coffins."

"Yeah, I guess having a large request for medical supplies can make it seem bad, right?"

"Yup. Say, if you don't mind me asking, why do you guys even need all this equipment? I heard there was a massive battle, so did you all take a bunch of casualties?"

"Oh no, it's not for us."

"Oh thank God."

"It's for all the Russians we captured."

"I see... So, are we going to have to keep flying in more supplies in, from now on?"

"Not exactly," Ma reassured him. "Say, out of curiosity, how many people fit inside a transport plane?"

"Depends on the plane," the pilot told him matter-of-factly. "Say you want to use the Airbus A380. You could probably fit about eight hundred people inside one of them. Why?"

"We'd need, let's see... We'd need about twenty-five flights to transport all of the prisoners back to Taiwan."

"I don't think we have enough capacity to do that," the pilot told him. "At least not for a while."

"Okay, then... Cargo planes are pressurized, yes?"

"Yes... Captain, is this going where I think it's going?"

"I'm not saying that it has to come to that, but I'm asking hypothetically."

"Well, we would have to basically tie people down while they're packed like sardines. A lack of personal effects should help limit the space every soldier takes up."

"Which would fit, how many people?"

"Are you including space for a security team, including seats?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm fairly certain that we would be able to fit at least a thousand prisoners on a single 747-8I. Won't be comfortable, of course, but I imagine it is better than being stuck out here in the desert."

"Okay, that's more doable. Think you could fit a security team on your next flight?"

"I'd have to arrange it, but it's doable."

"Thanks. Oh, and sorry for the random questions, um... Never got your name."

"Name's Smith. Used to fly cargo until I got sent back with all of you. Just making the best of it, now."

"Well then," Ma said, offering the man a hand that he readily shook. "Thank you for your work, and again, sorry for the morbid topics."

"It's alright. You're not the first one to ask me about flying prisoners out to Taiwan."