A Second Sunrise: Taiwan of 2020 Sent Back to 1911

[ChrisProvidence]

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Skies Above Manturikha, Buryatia, Russian Empire, 9 October 1911

"Qilin, this is Crane 1. Approaching the marked position. Beginning attack, over."

"You're cleared to begin the attack," the once-Singaporean AWACS told them. "Make every shot count. These bombs don't grow on trees, you know."

"Copy, Qilin. Crane 1, bombs away."

Over on the screen, the Major saw it again. Another direct on another railway bridge, its explosion lighting up the screen.

"Good effect on target, Crane 1. Crane 2, begin attack run."

"On it, Qilin," the pilot told him, before another explosion lit up the screen. This one destroyed the other side of the bridge, knocking it into the water as well.

"Good work, Crane 2. Crane Squadron, link up with Peacock Squadron and move north. We're going after the ferries today."

"Aren't those civilian transports?" Crane 3 asked him. "Thought they were off-limits."

"Affirmative," Qilin told him. "But it's almost midnight up here, so they're both in port. We'll take them out with the rest of our ordinance. Got it?"

"Works for me," Peacock 1 said over the radio. "Let's move."

The flight north was, above all things, pretty uneventful that dark night. Of course, night-vision meant that they could see everything in a green-tinted hue, but the Russians in Irkutsk wouldn't.

Honestly, as far as they were concerned, the Russians probably thought that saboteurs attacked the bridges the last time.

Or the time before that.

Either way, they were back to using the ferries over Lake Baikal again, just as HISTINT said they had before the route around the lake had been finished.

To that end, Peacock Squadron had been outfitted with anti-ship missiles for the two ferries in port, plus Crane's remaining bombs.

"All planes, we are approaching the target," Qilin announced to both squadrons. "Peacock, you go in first. Fire your Harpoons at will."

"On it, Peacock 1 radioed in, and he could hear the launches over the radio. "Missiles away."

The Major in the AWACS looked over to the screen to see the missiles slam into the hulls of both ships. Their hulls pierced, smoke quickly rose out the side and the top.

Then came the fires, lighting up the screen between the ever-growing plumes of smoke.

And then a load explosion roared through the air, while the flash itself blinded the camera for a second.

"Looks like you hit the coal bunkers, Peacock," Qilin told the leader, before looking back at the screen. Now that the explosion was gone, he could see the ships sinking in port as the city awoke. "Both ships are sinking. Looks like they'll be out of action for a long time."

"Want us to finish them off?" Crane 1 offered. "3 and 4 still have their bombs."

"Hold off on them for now," Qilin said quickly. "Like I said, we need every one of these we can get. Let's link up with the tanker and RTB. Good job."

Bridge Over the Yalu River, Choson-Manchurian Border, 10 October 1911

General Ueda Arisawa had a simple mission: Move into Manchuria and secure it for the Empire. To do this, he had the Japanese Korean Army move across the Yalu River into the region to occupy, or as they had put it, "intervene" in the region on behalf of the Qing.

To that end, he had an army of two hundred thousand at his disposal, with at least fourteen thousand more from the Kwantung Garrison to assist. And as the commander of the unit with the most troops, he would be the one to lead this expedition.

It wasn't as simple as that, however, given what short notice he'd had, but he'd managed to pull it off.

On such short notice, he had mobilized his men, as well as the reinforcements, and moved them north to the Yalu River crossing. After which they would meet with the Qing under General Zhang Zuolin and occupy Jilin and Shengjing, building up defenses against the Russians and the Chinese while suppressing any would-be uprisings.

Or to put it another way, he would be laying the groundwork for a de-facto control of the region, possibly with an annexation happening in the next decade or so. Assuming they could settle enough people while also integrating themselves into both the civil and the military administration, the Japanese presence could be negotiated as part of a second Taft-Katsura agreement.

That said, this wouldn't be easy. Even though they only controlled half of the region, Manchuria was still the size of Korea, and they still had to control Korea itself.

Truth be told, this would be a long project for them, he decided, as the rest of his forces pulled themselves across the bridge, with the supply convoy not far behind.

It was at that moment that he heard a load roar in the distance, off to the west.

He looked around, trying to find just where it came from, but he could see nothing.

"Up there!" Colonel Arakawa shouted as they turned towards the early-dawn sky. "What is that?"

The general could only look in wonder as the triangular object- no, objects came in towards them at breakneck pace.

Russian? No, it couldn't be. Do they even have planes?

Then it has to be the Revolutionaries. But how? Did they have airplanes that could fly all the way here?

He soon got his answer as the planes closed in on the bridge, dropping multiple weapons from their wings.

And then it hit them.

Load explosions roared behind him as the bombs- he thought they were bombs, landed on the bridge, sending metal and splinters all around them.

Arisawa himself was knocked off his feet by the shockwave, falling forward onto the ground in front of him.

And then came the next explosion, then another, and on and on again until his ears rang so loudly he might as well be deaf.

The general groaned and pulled himself off the ground. He stood up and dusted himself off, trying to get the dirt off his uniform as he tried to see just what had happened.

He looked at the bridge behind him to see that it was gone.

No, not exactly. The ends attaching them to the shore were there, but the bridges themselves were well into the Yalu River, along with the men and supplies that were unlucky enough to be crossing at that time.

Behind them, the rest of the supply line was similarly wrecked, their cargo burnt and their men screaming in pain or pulling their comrades off to the side.

And then the roaring came back.

He could see it in the sky, how the triangular airplanes turned so smoothly, only to make a beeline towards him and his men.

"Open fire! Open fire!" he shouted to his soldiers on the far side of the river. Men from the IJA unshouldered their rifles and started aiming at the sky, firing round after round from their bolt-action rifles.

Yet the airplanes kept flying towards them, numbering two dozen strong.

And again, they dropped their bombs.

"Get down!" he shouted at the men around him, "Get down!"

The explosions were even louder this time, and he could feel the heat from the blasts as the ground around him seemed to catch on fire. After that, the ringing came back, louder than the explosions.

He could hear the planes fly over, but he refused to get up. Not out of cowardice, but out of sheer practicality.

It took seconds for the airplanes to fly away, but those seconds felt like minutes. But soon enough, the planes had gone off into the distance, far enough away that they became only small dots in the sky.

He looked around him once more to see nothing but death.

His men, the men he'd just been assigned to, were strewn all around him.

Some were alive and coughing their lungs out from the smoke. Others were alive and broken, of them many were in pieces.

And the rest? He would see the burned and shattered corpses in his dreams until the day he died.

Still, he got up, and checked himself for wounds.

Somehow, the worst he'd gotten was dirt and blood on a torn-up uniform, but at least it wasn't his blood.

He got up and looked around once more, and saw the planes turning again to make another pass.

"Get off of the open!" he shouted to his men, but he wasn't sure if they could hear. "Get out of the open, now!"

"Run!" shouted another soldier.

"Get out of the open!" shouted a second.

All around him, men were running for what little cover they could find, while the wounded struggled behind them.

And as the planes came closer, he knew it wasn't enough to save them all, even if he himself had gotten to cover.

This time, there were no bombs, but the constant rattling of machine gun fire, tearing through anything that was still in the open.

By the end of it, all twelve planes had made their passes, and all twelve had gone over his men, until there was little left of them but charred and bloodied corpses, with a broken bridge between him and Choson..

Only then did he see the foreign planes fly back to the west.

Outskirts of Panjin, Shengjing Province, Qing Empire

"Jesus Christ," was all that Chen could say as the sheer number of planes flew back over his tank. "Marty, how much ordinance are we dropping on them?"

"A lot." Which, from the way he said it, sounded an awful lot like "I don't know, man."

"How do we even have this much ordinance, anyways?!"

"You'd be surprised at the amount of ordinance we have in storage, Mike. Besides, this is all the cheap stuff. We save the expensive stuff for things like bridges, remember?"

"I'll take your word for it," Chen figured. After all, it wasn't like the military kept an accurate record of all their bombs on Wikipedia… Or at all until recently, if he was being completely honest. "Any updates on the air missions?"

"Yeah. Air Force and Apaches softened them up real nice for you as you make your way to Panjin."

"That's a lot of ordinance for Panjin."

"Panjin? Mike, they're dropping dumb bombs and doing strafing runs against everything that isn't us across the front!"

Is this what happens when you're fighting three armies? Okay, two-and-a-half armies, tops.

"Got it. Anyways, we're approaching Panjin. Tiger Actual out," he said, before switching channels. "Here we go, Tigers! The Air Force and the Apaches have softened them up! Form up on me and move in!"

"We're approaching the city," Fa called up to him from the driver's seat. "Floor it?"

"Bring us in," Chen told the driver as they approached the smoking city. Just what they'd be expecting, he didn't know. But from the looks of it, Dragon Squadron had done a number on them already. "Enemy barricade, 400 meters!"

"Firing," Zhou called out. The tank shook as the round flew from the barrel, slamming into a barricade not a second later. "Hit."

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

"Enemy forces, twelve o' clock!" Chen called out, "Switch to the MG!"

Before the Qing- at least he thought it was the Qing- soldiers could recover, Chen opened fire with his .50 cal, tearing through the survivors as they tried to get their bearings. Zhou, meanwhile, cleaned up the stragglers with the coaxial MG, wiping them out by the time they crashed through the barricade.

"Barricade is down!" he shouted over the radio, "Tiger 1-2 to Tiger 1-6, follow us in."

"On it, Colonel," 1-2 answered.

"Dragon 1, this is Tiger Actual. Got any eyes on enemy movement?"

"Looks like you're clear, Tiger. No, wait, there's an enemy troop concentration at the city center. Moving in to soften them up. How copy?"

"Tiger Actual copies, Dragon 1. Thanks for the assist."

Before them stood another barricade along the street, with a few stragglers struggling to shoot them with anything to stop them.

Bullets, grenades, barricades, none of it was enough to stop the tank barreling towards them.

"Firing!" Zhou shouted.

"Hit!" Chen called down to them. "Floor it, Fa, we're almost at the city center!"

"On it, Colonel," the driver said once more, as they worked their way through the streets, blasting their way through the walls as they pushed towards the city center.

And then they arrived, out in the open.

Just like Beijing, only this time, the Qing were there. And if the Rising Sun was anything to go by, so were the Japanese.

There had to be hundreds, if not a thousand of them, all trying to organize any kind of defense, now that the Dragons had softened them up.

"Tigers 1-2 to 1-6, we have eyes on enemy infantry. Move in and start shooting!"

"On it," Zhou said as the turret rotated to the left, towards the city center. "Firing."

This round landed right in the city center, sending men and equipment flying, and even more running to cover.

"They're running to cover!" Chen shouted, before turning his turret and opening fire. "Use the MGs!"

The familiar rattle of the machine gun soon filled his ears as the bullets tore through countless soldiers. Japanese, Qing, they all died the same way as the tanks flanked around the city square, gunning down everything in between them.

"Dragon 1 to Tiger Actual, I have eyes on the city square right now."

"Say again, Dragon 1?"

"Repeat, I have eyes on the city square. Looks like the area's clear, so you're good to move up."

"Thanks, Shannon. Anything else we should know about?"

"Affirmative. The rest of the 66th is moving in to mop up as we speak. ETA five minutes. ETA fifteen minutes for the American volunteers to show up."

"Thanks, Shannon. Tiger 1-1 out."

Outskirts of Panjin, Shengjing Province, Republic of China

Jiang was impressed, to say the least. In about an hour, those tanks, followed by the APCs and Humvees, had not only broken through the enemy barricades, but had also torn through the city center and come out the other side.

At this point, there wasn't much left for his men to do as they drove through the city, where they could smell the smoke and blood the Marines had left in their wake.

Eventually, they got to the city center, where the Marine tanks were parked alongside their Humvees and APCs.

"You Jiang?" one of the marines called out to him once they'd parked. "City's all yours. Or, what's left of it."

"Is the area secured?"

"More or less," the Colonel told him. "Not many prisoners, I'm afraid. Seems that the Japanese were fighting to the death."

"I see. I take it you will be leaving, now?"

"Yeah. Just need to gas up and get going. Now that we've punched through their defenses, Command wants the 66th to move to Fengtian and start harassing them, before they can fortify the place."

"I see. Best of luck, Colonel."

"Thanks."

Qing Command Headquarters, Changchun, Qing Empire, 11 October 1911

The last day had been utter hell for Zhang Zuolin. Not only had the Russians arrived and taken over Harbin, but the Japanese weren't here yet. They were supposed to have crossed over yesterday, yet there was no word from General Arisawa.

And that was before the air raids that had targeted his men and the few artillery pieces he had with him. By the time the all-clear was given, he needed General Arisawa. More importantly, the artillery and machine guns that General Arisawa had brought with him.

"General!" an aide shouted as he ran inside. "General!"

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"It's Fengtian! They're under attack!"

"Are the planes back already?" That was the last thing he needed right now, but at least he'd managed to spread his men out to minimize further losses. "Captain, sound the alarms and get the Emperor to the shelter."

"No, sir," the Sergeant told him, "The planes haven't come back yet!"

"Then tell me, Sergeant. Who is attacking Fengtian right now?"

Ten Miles Outside Fengtian, Jilin Province, Contested Territory.

Truth be told, he wasn't much of a morning person. Not by a longshot.

Now, that wasn't exactly the best thing when he was a commander, but he had his ways.

Coffee. It was lots of coffee.

"So," Chen yawned as he poured himself a cup from the kettle. It was still early in the morning, so there weren't many awake, outside of the men who'd volunteered for sentry duty. "Anyone want one?"

"I'll take one," Fa answered, and Chen poured him a cup. "Thanks, Colonel."

"See anything?"

"Nothing major, Colonel," the driver yawned, "Just a whole lot of nothing."

"Thought so. You'd catch 'em with your NVGs if you did."

"Yeah. So, when is the rest of the army showing up?"

"Let's see… The Lincolnites-"

"Who?"

"The American Volunteer Battalion," Chen explained. "They got here with us as part of the vanguard, while the 77th and some of the Army took Anshan last night once we broke through their lines. Think the 99th are headed down south towards Dalian with another chunk."

"Right. Think they can take it?"

"Once the Air Force wakes up and starts dumb bombing the place? Probably."

"So, who are we waiting on?"

"The rest of the Army's a bit slower than we are, and they're mopping up. Marty- er, Major Li said that Huang should be here in about fifteen."

"That slow, huh?"

"Hey, not everyone drives like you, kid."

"Fair enough." Fa would've said more, but the two of them could hear the rumble of trucks at the edge of the camp. "Think that's them?"

"Well, they aren't shooting, so probably," Chen told him as he ran off, "You coming with?"

"Sure!" Fa called after him, and the younger man ran after him.

A minute later, they were face-to-face with General Huang.

"Good work, Colonel," the revolutionary told him. "I trust that the area is secure?"

"Of course, sir. Should be some area for your troops to set up their camp. Figure your men could use a rest."

"Of course, Colonel," Huang said before motioning to his officers. "I'll send some men to take over once they wake up."

"Much appreciated," Chen said, and Huang gave a polite nod, before walking off.

"So," Li said to Chen. "You ever been to Changchun?"

"Nah. You?"

"Classified."

"Of course it is. Hey, Marty?"

"Yeah?" his old friend yawned. "What's up?"

"Not much. Just about time you guys got here."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Outskirts of Dalian, Shenjing Province, Empire of Japan 11 October 1911

Jiang had never seen anything like this.

Planes? Yes. Helicopters? More than once.

But to see this many planes and helicopters continuously pound the fortifications all at once?

That was something he'd never seen before.

Plane after plane would fly over the fortress and drop their bombs, only to fly off and let the next plane do their run, again and again, until they'd all fly away.

And then? Then the helicopters would come, firing their missiles at the remnants. Artillery pieces, troop concentrations, and anything and everything else that so much as waved a Japanese flag.

They came in as swarms, spewing lead from their noses and rockets from their wings, shooting at anyone who simply dared to carry a weapon.

Then again, this was to be expected. This was Lushunkou, or Port Arthur if you were a Russian and Ryojun if you were Japanese.

This was the main Japanese fortress north of the Yalu River, home to fifty thousand Japanese soldiers. Or at least it would have been, had the bulk of them not moved inland to secure the rest of Manchuria.

It was on that day that the planes came for the first time. These great, fast-moving machines flew across Manchuria (and if what Jiang was hearing was to be believed, even to the border of Korea), dropping their bomb after bomb on the advancing Japanese troops, followed by a swarm of helicopters annihilating the stragglers.

And that was before Jiang and his men had run into them. Or rather, the 99th Marine Brigade charged headfirst into the Japanese with their tanks, followed by the Army rushing through the gaps in their trucks.

All in all, it was a slaughter for the Japanese, with three quarters of their men and equipment dead or chased down by the Chinese.

And the rest? Those "lucky" few thousand who were kept as a skeleton crew around Dalian?

Those were the ones being bombed to hell and back as he safely watched, miles away.

This wouldn't be the first battle fought there, after all. Or the second.

It would be the third. Quite literally, if you were part of the IJA.

But all three battles were over this small peninsula and the fortress inside. And in all three battles, it would be a bloody fight. That is, if they outright assaulted it instead of bombing it into the ground.

And then it hit him.

Jiang suddenly remembered why his side wanted to bomb the IJA into smithereens, even after the small defense fleet was sunk at dawn.

To be precise, there were actually two reasons.

The first was that assaulting fortifications was costly. You needed at least a three-to-one ratio to have any chance of success, or so he'd been told, and even then the attackers could take heavy casualties.

If they could soften the Japanese up as much as possible, possibly to the point of surrender, then why wouldn't they? Even if most of the fortifications were against an amphibious assault, there were fortifications among the hills. Or at least there had been, before the air strikes.

But the second reason happened fifteen years ago, during the Battle of Lushunkou in the Sino-Japanese War. To be more precise, it was what happened afterwards.

See, the Japanese fought a bloody house-to-house assault against the city back then. And even then it was a fortress, defended by several German-built fortifications and artillery.

But in the aftermath, the Japanese retaliated by slaughtering hundreds, if not thousands, of civilians, largely under the pretense that it was revenge for the killing of Japanese Prisoners of War in Korea.

If he was being honest, he didn't know which it was: Overwhelming Firepower or Revenge?

Or was it both? It could very well be both.

But if he was being completely honest, he didn't particularly care about which it was, so long as it got the job done. Any love he had for his former hosts had gone away the moment they sided with the Qing.

What mattered was that they would take the fortress and wipe the Japanese off the peninsula.

And a few hours later, he'd get his wish.

Between Changchung and Fengtian, Jilin Province, Qing Empire

"Tiger Actual, this is Dragon 1. Qing Reinforcements are in sight. Looks like they're coming from Changchung."

"Thanks, Dragon. You guys want to deal with this one?"

"Negative, Tiger. We're about out of rockets after hitting the city itself. Need to go back to rearm, unless you want us to cover you with the chaingun?"

"Affirmative, Dragon 1. We could use the extra firepower."

"Good idea" she told him over the radio.

"How long are we talking, Shannon?"

"More cars than I could count. Look like passenger cars with some artillery on the flatbeds. Definitely military."

"No civilians?"

"I don't think Zhang is dumb enough to waste space that could be filled with more soldiers."

"Fair enough, Dragon 1. Lead the way."

Fengtian, Jilin Province, Republic of China

"Iraq, huh?" Diamond asked Le. "What part of Fengtian reminds you of Iraq?"

"Let's see…" the Army vet recalled… "We're occupying a large city once ruled by a military strongman that fell in record time, in spite of him having more people than we do. There's also the sheer superior firepower we have over them, not to mention the enormous disparity in casualties."

"I see. Wait, how old are you again?"

"Thirty. But I'm talking about Iraq back in '03, years before I enlisted. By the time I showed up, we were mainly fighting insurgents."

"That's not part of your comparison, right?"

"Oh God no. We actually made sure to make our enemy force disarm and stand down. Sure, you could argue that we don't have enough men, but at the same time, we aren't exactly foreign conquerors."

"Yeah, we actually get welcomed as liberators. The higher ups have a plan, right?"

"I'd bet good money on it. The War on Terror had a lot of things go wrong, but at least we learned something from it. Hopefully."

With how many historians we have as advisors, we probably won't make the same mistakes.

Then again, we could probably get away with that by none of our people being named "Donald Rumsfeld" or "Paul Wolfowitz."

"Cool."

"I'll be honest," Cohen told them. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Something about fighting in Iraq?"

"Yeah. Mesopotamia. Used to be in the US Army, remember?"

"I see. So, would that make us like the American Army?"

"Pretty much. Just with a lot less hubris and crappier weapons. Similar casualties, though, which is nice."

"...Right. How many did we lose taking this place, anyways?"

"Two dozen WIA and KIA, tops."

"And the enemy?"

"More. A hell of a lot more."

Kinda comes with the territory of being outgunned to the nth degree, though. Pretty sure they'd put up more of a fight if they hadn't been bombed and rocketed non-stop yesterday.

And then overrun by marines in tank who blasted their way through your barricades.

From what Chen had told his commander, the local garrison simply wasn't ready yet. Truth be told, Le couldn't really blame the Qing and Japanese when the frontline was over a hundred miles behind them.

Yeah, this is what happens when you try to fight jets, helicopters, and bombers with poorly-armed infantry, horse cavalry, and trains (if you're lucky).

Was only a matter of time until one of these cities just up and surrendered.

Or in this case, surrendered after they were outflanked and surrounded by the Marines and then the Army while being perforated with the Apaches' chaingun rounds.

That, and the Marines outright destroying the relief column Zhang had sent.

Wonder how those crazy bastards are doing right now?

Between Changchung and Fengtian, Jilin Province, Qing Empire

"Alright, Tigers, we've got a train heading straight for us. Stay off the tracks and hold fire until they're in range."

The plan was simple: Get to where the train would be and blast it with tank rounds. That, and stay off the tracks, because this train was one of the things that could destroy their tanks.

Not the artillery shells or the possibly thousands of men on the trains, but the sheer mass of the train itself could crush one of their tanks.

Maybe.

Honestly, he didn't really want to find out, either way. Tanks didn't grow on trees and the Army took the rest of the spares.

"Dragon 1 to Tiger Actual, we have a visual on the enemy train."

"Thanks, Dragon. All Tigers, form a firing line and fire on my signal."

"Round's loaded!" Chiu called up to him.

"Fire!"

The rumble of the volley of tank rounds shook the ground around him as his gunners let loose.

In front of him, a dozen and a half tank shells smashed into the engine, but it kept going.

"Reloading!"

"Zhou, aim at the base of the engine. Fa?"

"Yeah?"

Rotate the tank around ."

"Huh?"

"Trust me on this. We want to get out of here ASAP."

"All tanks!" Chen called out, "Prep the second volley and rotate the chassis by 180 degrees! Keep your turrets aimed"

"Say again, Colonel?" asked Tiger 2-1 "Did you tell us to rotate our 180 degrees and prep the second volley?!"

"Affirmative, 2-1. If that train derails, it's gonna keep going. We don't want to be here when it does."

"Works for me," the unit leader agreed.

"Gun ready!" Chiu shouted.

"Aimed," Zhou added.

"All tanks, fire!"

Their tank shook as they let loose the second volley, firing all at once.

Chen looked at his periscope to see the rounds impact the engine again, from the sides to the tops, to the bottom.

The Loyalist shook from the impacts and flew off the rail, its nose slamming into the dirt to the side.

"All Tigers, retreat!" Chen shouted for the first time in his life, "The train's coming right for us!"

"Floor it!" he shouted down to Fa, who revved the engine. The tank sped off away from the train, or what was left of the train, as it careened right for them.

Chen looked out the viewport to see that thankfully, his men had listened, and they too were speeding off away from the crashing train.

He looked back to see.. Honestly, he didn't know what to make of it.

The engine had flown off the tracks and went sideways, then the next car had crashed into it.

After that came the second car, which flew off the rails and off the the far side, dragging the cars behind it as they crashed into a multi-car pileup that grew wider and wider as Fa frantically drove away.

Car after car piled up behind one another as the wreck crawled forward, until one car, which he could've sworn had soldiers on it, flipped over the pile and flew towards them, only to land where tanks just were.

"Step on it, Fa!"

"I am, Chen!"

It was only the first, he could tell, as even more train cars were sent flying, their cargo and occupants tossed in the air as the cars flipped. Again and again they landed in the tanks' wake, crushing anything and everything that was in their way.

Which, to his relief, was open ground, trees, and the occasional Qing soldier who'd been hurled forward in the chaos.

Jesus, how long is this train, anyways?

And through it all, the train kept coming, its massive wreck going along the path of the rails until it finally, thankfully, stopped.

"Slow down," Chen breathed over the radio. "Tiger Actual to all tanks! Everyone, sound off!"

"Tiger 1-2, still alive."

"Tiger 1-3 here. No damage."

"Tiger 1-4 here. I can't believe we made it!"

Chen could only take a deep breath as the rest of his tanks and APCs checked in. Sure, they sounded scared out of their minds, but at least they were alive and moving.

"Dragon 1 to Tiger Actual- Good effect on enemy train. Looks like it's a complete loss."

"Any casualties on our end?"

"Nope. Couple close calls, but you all managed to get away."

"Glad to hear it, Dragon 1. Thanks for the bird's eye view."

"Anytime, Tiger. Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Sure."

"Holy shit, Michael," Shannon exhaled over the radio. "You guys actually did it."

"Yeah…" he breathed, and opened his hatch. Sure enough, there was a mass of wrecked train cars behind him. "Holy shit."

Two Hours Later, Between Changchung and Fengtian, Jilin Province, Republic of China

Honestly, Martin Li didn't know what to expect when he showed up. All been told was, "The 66th managed to derail an entire train of reinforcements. Send people to help secure the crash site."

But when he got there? He had to see it to believe it.

On one side were the tanks, the same tanks that he was always happy to see ever since Guangzhou.

On the other side had to be the largest pileup of train cars he had ever seen in his life, surrounded by Marines picking through the wreckage for survivors, or, knowing them, souvenirs.

By the time he'd found Michael, his friend was sitting on his tank and drinking a bottle of water while his men showed him a sword and fringed Japanese flag.

"...Where'd you even find this?" Chen asked his men. "Off the commander?"

"Yeah, found his body in the first car" Zhou told him. "Fa's looking over him for intel."

"Ouch. Wait, does he even speak Japanese?"

"About as much as you do."

"I sing ONE OK ROCK songs, Zhou. That doesn't count."

"He's a fast learner. Anyways, you want it?"

"What am I going to do with two-"

"Three," Chiu corrected. "Remember when we found Yuan's luggage train?"

"Oh right." Truth be told, they were stopping for lunch when they happened to find the wreck. "So, what am I going to do with three swords, anyways?"

"Dunno. Figured you might want to keep it, though."

"Sure," he said, taking the sword and flag. "Oh, hey Marty."

"Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"What the Hell did you guys do?"

"So, you remember how we couldn't destroy that railway bridge because we needed it to cross with the tanks?"

"Yeah."

"So, we did the next best thing and derailed the train."

"Oh, that makes sense." Which honestly, by all logic, it shouldn't have. "So, you managed to crash an enemy train headed for Fengtian, solely because you didn't want to wait for the engineers to build a bridge?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Chen said, before holding up the flag. "Hey, you want this?"

"Where'd you get this, anyways?"

"Dead guy," Zhou said. "Found it while looking for survivors."

"Sure, I guess," Li said, before looking it over. "Yeah, the museums would take this."

"Alright. Anyways, happy birthday, Marty."

"My birthday was yesterday."

"Yup, and here's your present," his friend laughed tiredly. "Also, I might've forgotten your birthday was yesterday."

"It's alright. Besides, you were busy," Martin told him. "So, how'd this all happen, anyways? Did Shannon run out of rockets or something?"

"I mean..."

"You've got to be kidding me."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Moscow, Russian Empire, 12 October 1911

To put it mildly, the four men were anything but happy.

How could they, when they learned what happened in Xinjiang or Mongolia?

After all, that's why they were here in the first place, wasn't it? Reinforcements?

These four men, Diterikhs, Kornilov, Denikin, and Wrangel, were to be part of the second wave of troops sent to the Far East to reinforce and assist General Brusilov with the occupation and defense of Zheltorossiya.

To be more precise, Diterikhs, Brusilov's former Chief of Staff, would be in charge of this relief column with Kornilov as his own chief of staff. For their part, Wrangel, an up-and-coming officer, was appointed his adjutant, while Denikin commanded the 1st Corps of Diterikh's new force.

But for now, they were seated at a table, looking at the very reason they were all brought here in the first place.

We intend to occupy and maintain our hold on Zheltorossiya. However, the defeat of the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Army Corps in Sinkiang, as well as the defeat of the 4th, 5th, and 6th Army Corps in Mongolia has left our forces largely outnumbered.

In addition, enemy attacks have cut our forces off from the Trans-Siberian Railway. Attempts to resupply and reinforce our forces via ferry were also unsuccessful, due to enemy attacks on the ferries at Lake Baikal.

To that end, I am sending this request for supplies as well as Army and Naval reinforcements on behalf of General Brusilov. If possible, the bridges over the Trans-Siberian Railway must be rebuilt or repaired to working order.

Signed,

CAPTAIN ALEKSANDR KOLCHAK ON BEHALF OF GENERAL BRUSILOV

"Now," Diterikhs said to the men around him. "What do you make of this message?"

"To be honest, General," Kornilov said frankly, "I am surprised that the telegraph wire still functioned."

"It didn't," Diterikhs said plainly. "The message was transmitted to Lake Baikal, after which it was brought across via ferry before being telegraphed from Irkutsk."

To this, Kornilov nodded quietly.

"If I may," Wrangel said to Diterikhs, who nodded, "It seems that the issue at hand is that even if we are capable of mobilizing enough men to support General Brusilov's force, our inability to transport troops and supplies past Lake Baikal is a direct obstacle between our forces and General Brusilov's army."

"Indeed," Diterikhs nodded, his eyes focused on the telegram. With how long the man stared at the telegram, Wrangle thought Diterikhs was praying to God for a miracle. "Now, Denikin, what is the progress on the mobilization?"

"Currently, the Imperial Army is at almost a million and a half men. Factoring in the losses in Xinjiang and Mongolia, as well as Brusilov's troops in Zheltorossiya, we have about nine hundred thousand men available. However, the recent success of the Congress of Copenhagen allows us to redeploy troops from the European Front towards Zheltorossiya."

"I take it that manpower is not an issue?"

"Not immediately, no. However, further losses like those in Mongolia in Xinjiang may require us to call up the reserves. Should the Imperial Army attempt to conquer those regions again, we would have to mobilize outright to prevent a similar result."

"I see," Diterikhs observed, his eyes closed in thought. "And the supply situation?"

"We would need to pack enough provisions for both our forces and General Brusilov's forces," Kornilov explained. "If the most recent census is to be believed, there might actually be more soldiers in Zheltorossiya than there are civilians."

"Of course. Do we have the materials supplies?"

"Do we?" Kornilov asked rhetorically. "Yes. Do we have the means to ship them to Zheltorossiya? No. So long as the railway bridges are destroyed, we are in trouble."

"I see. And the supply situation?"

Kornilov turned to Denikin, who looked at his notes.

"To put it mildly, we are lacking in a number of areas, particularly artillery pieces, shells, motorized transports, and boots. While we certainly have enough to equip all of our regulars, the reservists would be poorly-equipped and the conscripts even moreso."

"What was he thinking?" Kornilov muttered. "Invading China despite being under-manned and under-equipped? And we're the ones who have to clean up this mess!"

"While I share your frustrations, Lavr Georgiyevich, I would advise you to not vocally criticize His Imperial Majesty. We have enough problems on our hands without any accusations of insubordination."

"Of course, General. My apologies."

Qing Army Headquarters, Changchun, Jilin Province, Qing Empire

Zhang Zuolin was not a happy man. Not by any means.

How could he, when the combined relief force sent to Mukden had not only failed to relieve the city, but they had also been annihilated.

Now, he sat here, in front of General Shiba, unaware of just what the two of them could do. Though the Japanese man was at a similar loss.

After all, he wasn't supposed to be the one here. No, this was General Arisawa's position, though Shiba had no idea where he was or what he was doing after he crossed the Yalu.

"It is unfortunate," Shiba finally said, breaking the silence. "However, it seems clear that if we are to defend, we must build entrenchments. Attacking the enemy like this would be unwise."

"Perhaps a more… unconventional approach would be better," Zhang proposed. If he was honest, he was out of ideas, but at least he knew what wouldn't work. "Small bands of soldiers will sneak out of the city and harass enemy forces through hit-and-run attacks."

"Surely you can't be serious, Zhang."

"Do you have any other option, Shiba? Attacking the rebels has failed. Defending against the rebels has failed. Now, unless General Arisawa somehow shows up with his reinforcements, I don't see any other plan than this or outright surrender!"

And we know that you would rather die than do that, General.

Shiba simply glared at him.

"My men will continue to fight until our last breath. We do not surrender."

"The two could hear a knocking on the door, only for several Chinese men to march in."

"General Zhang," the man, one of Yuan's subordinates from the Beiyang Army stated. "We are placing you under arrest for the murder of General Yuan Shikai."

"What evidence do you have," the bandit-turned general said, his hand at his hip, next to his pistol. "Lies and conspiracies."

General Shiba stood to the side, his revolver at the ready.

Off in the distance, Zhang could hear footsteps racing down the hall.

"Do not make this harder than it has to be," the officer told them. Even if his voice didn't lack the confidence that had to come with any mutineer worth a damn, his darting eyes betrayed him. "Put the weapons down."

"General!" Japanese voices shouted in the distance. Zhang recognized them as the Kempeitai who'd come with Shiba. "Out of the way!"

"This is Chinese business," the Beiyang officer said, his eyes turning to focus on the Kempeitai. "Do not get involv-"

And Shiba fired. The bang from his revolver rang through Zhang's ears as Yuan's officer fell.

One of his men shot back, gunning down Shiba with his rifle, but not before Shiba got a few good shots on him, taking the Chinese man down with him.

And then it started. Gunfire rang out all across the floor.

The mutineers were split, with half of them fighting off the Kempeitai and another half focused on Zhang and the still-bleeding Shiba.

Zhang looked at the man who had him at gunpoint, and he looked back, staring into the general's eyes.

And more importantly, not at Zhang's hip as the man drew his revolver and fired wildly, shooting fanning the handle like he'd done in his bandit days.

Six shots were fired, and six mutineers fell to the floor, while Zhang hit the floor.

He lunged for Shiba's own revolver, wrestling the bloody pistol out of the dying man's hands.

He turned to the mutineers, and they turned back. Zhang with Shiba's pistol, and the mutineers with their rifles.

He shot once, twice, and three times, fanning the handle again as he gunned down three more.

And then? Then he heard a click.

One of the other mutineers, bleeding on the ground though he was, heard it, too.

The man turned, looking at his former commander, and aimed with his still-loaded revolver.

And Zhang's world went black.

66th Marine Brigade Forward Operating Base, Outskirts of Changchun, Contested Territory

"What the Hell is going on?" Colonel Michael Chen asked, his eyes focused on the reconnaissance footage. "Marty-"

"Before you ask," Fong told him, "It wasn't us. Not this time."

"Okay, back to my previous question, then," Chen told the officers around him. "What the Hell is going on in Changchun?"

"The Japanese seem to be fighting the Loyalists," Li said bluntly. "Why? No idea. Mutiny? Brawl? Low morale?"

Or all of the above? Honestly, I'll take any of them, at this point.

"Well, this just makes our job easier, I guess," Chen figured. There wasn't much else to say, anyways,

"Colonel!" Fa shouted, running into the tent. "We've got somebody."

"Skirmishers again?"

"Not that," the tank driver told him. "He showed up on a horse with a white flag. Says he wants to talk to you."

"Okay… Did you check him for weapons?"

"Yeah. What do you want to do with him?"

"Bring him in," Chen figured, only for Zhou and Chiu to escort the Qing officer. "You wanted to talk with me? Here I am."

"General Zhang and General Shiba are dead."

"Huh?" More importantly, who the hell is General Shiba? "Is that what's going on?"

"More or less," the officer told him. Chen gave him a good hard look, and he seemed like he was telling the truth. Well, more like he was tired, but it did make sense. "Is that what's going on over there?"

"Yes. From what I've heard, General Zhang was killed by Kempeitai officers this morning, along with several officers. The Kempeitai, along with General Shiba, were killed in the ensuing struggle, and it spiraled from there.

"So now you all are fighting the Japanese in Changchun and the surrounding area."

"Yes."

"Okay, that makes sense." No it fucking doesn't, but apparently that's what's happening right now on the drone footage. "So, one more question: Why are you here, then?"

"We need your help. The bulk of the remaining Japanese force is in the area, and they're moving in."

"So why should we help you?"

"Zhang's dead, and the Japanese are bottled up in Changchun. You want to finish them off in Manchuria, here's your chance."

Or we could just let you kill each other, but odds are the IJA wins, and they commit another Nanking here.

Goddammit.

"I'll need to run this by my commanders. Could you give us a moment?"

"Of course," the officer said, before walking out the tent. Behind him were Chiu, Fa, and Zhou.

"We're going to need to run this by Huang, at the minimum," Michael told the officers. "Think they're telling the truth?"

"Recon says so," Martin told him. "And from the looks of it, they're too busy fighting off the IJA to try to betray us."

"Yeah, I know. Plus, we're fast enough that we can flank the IJA. Hit them in the rear with the tanks so they're sandwiched between us and the Loyalists.

It's not an original plan, but it's gotten us this far, hasn't it?

"Any objections?" The rest of the tent shook their heads. "Okay then. Marty, radio it into Huang. He's going to want to hear this."

"Think he'll go for it?"

"Probably. Helps that this time, there's no Qing general to betray us, right?"

Sugamo Prison, Ikebukuro District, Tokyo, Empire of Japan, 13 October 1911

Confinement was hardly anything new to Ozaki Yukio. How could it be, when he had been confined for protesting militarism multiple times in the past?

Of course, that wasn't to say that he liked being in jail. No, if he had his way, he would be at his home with his wife and daughters.

Which, now that he recalled, was where he spent his last time under house arrest.

Besides, he had his principles, and he stuck by them. And while he had his disagreements with his jailers, he had at least a modicum of respect to their convictions, if not more.

Still, this wasn't exactly how he expected it to pan out. As mayor of Tokyo City, he believed he had a platform to express his opposition to the Katsura government's intervention in the Chinese Revolution.

If he was being honest, this "Republic of China" was a natural ally, a democratic, modernizing Asian nation that sought to undo the Unequal Treaties forced upon them by the Westerners.

We ought to be kindred spirits, not bitter rivals, with how much we have in common.

That, and he didn't think that the government would arrest the Mayor of Tokyo City.

Which, now that he thought about it, probably explained the racket outside the prison. Crowds of young men, as well as a few women, were demonstrating outside of the prison.

Some were against the war, while others were against the injustice of imprisoning their mayor without due process.

Either way, the protesters were there for him, demanding his release. And from the sounds of it, they were getting louder by the day.

Of course, time in prison gave him much time to think and reflect. His first thought was of his family, but his wife and daughters were at the British Legation.

They were safe. That is all I need to know.

That said, his thoughts had gone to other things. Chief among them?

Why did the Prime Minister think that imprisoning the Mayor of Tokyo was a good idea?

No, he really didn't understand it.

Now, he was no stranger to politics and power plays. One didn't get re-elected to the Diet for over twenty years without knowing how the game was played.

But at the same time, this didn't make much sense to him. Outright imprisoning the mayor of the largest city in Japan was bound to have some consequences, after all. The crowd outside was all the proof he needed.

Sure, he was opposed to the war effort, but his opposition had been largely limited to speeches and opinion pieces in newspapers. It was hardly inflammatory rhetoric, anyways, echoing his own sentiment that the policy towards the Japanese should be one of co-prosperity as fellow Asian powers.

Was he that much of a threat? Apparently, the Prime Minister thought so.

But if the crowd outside was anything to go by, the people of Tokyo might not feel the same way.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

The gymnasium was empty, or at least it looked like that. Darkened lights flickered on to reveal a wooden floor with tables placed in lines.

Two men walked through the door. While the man in robes moved the rest of the tables into place, the man all in black checked outside, only to see that they were early.

"Jin Hua, it's good to see you," the Catholic priest greeted. "Especially on such short notice."

"Likewise, Christopher," the monk told him. "How are you and your students handling this?"

"If I'm honest? They're just trying to make sense of it all."

"Aren't we all?"

"Yeah. Still, I don't think the Jesuits ever trained me for time travel. They don't cover that part in seminary."

"Some things are universal," the monk sighed. "I take it they're not handling it well?"

"No, I'm afraid. Honestly, a lot of them come to me for answers."

"Spiritual or physical?"

"Spiritual, mostly. Though I don't think my PhD in Physics would do much good, either."

"I take it your studies never covered time travel?"

"Time Dilation only, I'm afraid."

"And the spiritual answer?"

"The same thing every priest says when they're trying to comfort a grieving person: Everything happens for a reason, and it's all part of God's plan so we should have faith."

"Do you believe that?" It wasn't an accusation, so much as a philosophical question. "As a priest."

"As a Christian? Yeah, I do believe that God had something to do with this. Exactly why He would send this island back in time? I don't know for sure, but I'm sure He has some reason."

"I take it you would like to know that reason?"

"Of course. For philosophical reasons, if nothing else."

"Fair enough. And as a physicist?"

"I suppose there could be something bending spacetime, or maybe it turns out that Quantum Mechanics and General Relativity are compatible after all, and this is what can happen."

"...Christopher, if I'm being honest, I have absolutely no idea what any of that means."

"Oh good. Because it's a fancy way of saying that, as a physicist, I don't know, either."

"And as Christopher de las Casas? What do you think?"

"I don't know."

"That's it?" Jin almost sounded disappointed.

"I don't know for sure. Maybe it's a physical phenomenon. Maybe it's Divine Intervention. Hell, maybe it's both, and God's just letting the universe run on auto-pilot because He values Free Will."

"All I know," the priest told his friend, "All that I know for sure? I know that I don't know anything about this for sure, and I know that I don't really care, at the end of the day."

"You care enough to think about it."

"I'm bored, and I need to tell these kids something, alright? But whatever reason we're here, if there is one at all, doesn't matter. We're here now, and we can either keep moving forward or die."

"I see... Fascinating."

"So," the priest said, sitting down. "Have you had anyone come to you?"

"Yes. Not as many despairing, though, thankfully, but I believe that is due to most of them being locals."

"Fair enough. So, what do you tell them?"

"Are you familiar with the concept of Samsara?"

"That's the one where people go through an endless cycle of life, death, and rebirth." It had been a while since he'd studied Asian and Pacific Studies at Santa Clara, but his friend nodded.

"Right. Well, this... 'time travel' that we have experienced is simply another part of that. I see it not as some aberration, but a variation of what we all experience."

"Oh?"

"We are alive," Jin told him. "We have not died, nor have we been reborn. The same can be said for all of those in our old world, wherever they are."

Probably wondering why an island from over a hundred years ago showed up.

"Those people, the ones we left behind? They are still alive... Makes sense. Assuming that only we got sent back in time, life should still go on for them."

"Exactly. While they may seem dead to us and we may seem dead to them, we are all still alive, just in our own worlds. Or timelines."

"Spacetime."

"Sure, Christopher. We will go with that. But do you know what I tell every single one of the people who come to me?"

"Go on."

"That despite it all, some things never change. The Eightfold Path towards Nirvana or the 108 Temptations, for example. I take it that you have your own concepts?"

"Yeah. Things like the Seven Deadly Sins."

"Ah. Much easier to remember."

"Yup. All of those are still there. Still things we have to work on."

"Indeed. But do you know what I find the most fascinating about all of this?"

"What's up?"

"That despite having a completely different religions, we ended up reaching a similar conclusion."

"We did?"

"Yes. Have you ever noticed that I'm not particularly concerned about why we're here, so much as the fact that we are here in the first place?"

"Now that you mention it, yeah."

"It is a different pathway, yet we ended up with a similar destination for how we reconcile this event."

"Life goes on."

"Exactly. We continue to live. We continue to believe. We continue to live our lives according to our beliefs."

"I think I see where you're going. Just one problem though."

"Oh?"

"This entire conversation is about the spiritual needs that come from being sent back in time. And you know that saying I have about spiritual needs and physical needs, right?"

"God is great and all, but you cannot eat God."

"Exactly. Well, unless you're Catholic."

"Aren't you Catholic?"

"Yeah, but it's not supposed to be a full meal. But you get my point, right?"

"Yes, Christopher."

"So, how do you and your fellow Buddhists address the physical needs that came from this?"

A loud thud boomed from the other side of the gymnasium. The two men turned to see countless locals, as well as several American students, walking in.

In their hands was everything from food to water to other necessities they'd collected.

All for anyone who would need them in these trying times.

"The same way you and your students do, it seems."

"Well, it's good to see some things are universal."

"More or less," the monk agreed. "Except we do not say, 'Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam Inque Hominum Salutem' every time we try to help people."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Harbin, Heilongjiang Province, Republic of China, 18 October 1911

"It was over before it even started," Colonel Michael Chen decided, now that the city was secured. "You'd think they'd learn by now."

"It's not like they had that many survivors to tell them how we fight, Mike," his friend told him, motioning to the prisoners the Army were transporting. "So the same trick seems to work every time."

"Fair enough," Chen admitted. Not that he was complaining.

Truth be told, the last week or so was almost a blur to him.

After they took Changchun, they needed a day to finally understand just what had happened and secure the city. True to their word, the Loyalists soldiers fought the Japanese on one side of the city, while the Marines and Army circled around and flanked the IJA.

By the end of it, there wasn't that much of an IJA to surrender, while the Loyalists formally surrendered, now that the IJA were dead.

Then again, it wasn't as if they had much of an option, anyways, now that the rest of the Army had caught up with them and surrounded them on the other side.

Once they were disarmed and captured, it was just a matter of having Prince Chun formally sign the abdication of the Qing Emperor, on account of said Emperor being a five year old child.

Well, there were terms to be negotiated, but then there would be a signing, and it wasn't like the Qing court (or what was left of it, now that their Prime Minister was dead in his office and his predecessor was exploded by the former).

The terms were simple: In addition to the Emperor abdicating, there was also the acknowledgement of the Republic of China as the successor state to the Qing Empire and all its territories, as well as appropriated funds for the maintenance of the several tombs and other sites of familial importance.

As for the Emperor himself, it was decided that the young boy and his family would be transported to Taiwan, where they would live as private citizens. The former Emperor himself would receive a healthy stipend, as well as admission to the best private schools on the island.

It wasn't much (and it was subject to change if it didn't work), but it should help the boy grow up better than he did in the Lost History.

All of that, in one day. Christ.

After that, it was time for the rest of the Army to catch up, along with the supply lines. Sure, they could move fast, but it had been a near-miracle that they stayed supplied with how rapidly they had been advancing.

Needless to say, they weren't planning on stretching their luck as much, this time.

Now with that out of the way, it was on to Harbin, the Russians' main (and only) stronghold in Manchuria.

Or at least it would have been, had there not been the Lalin River blocking them and only one rail bridge across it.

Now, contrary to popular belief, the Russians weren't stupid. Or rather, General Brusilov wasn't stupid. The Tsar himself left much to be desired.

Brusilov knew full well that if the Chinese were to come for Harbin, they would need the bridge. Unfortunately, he also needed that bridge if he wanted to take the rest of Manchuria and complete his orders from the Tsar. Now, this would have normally been a stalemate.

Chen wasn't about to send his men onto a bridge that, for all he knew, the Russians had wired with explosives. Meanwhile, Brusilov wasn't about to abandon his defenses to attack the same army that had wiped out the expeditions sent to Xinjiang and Mongolia.

Or at least it would have, had the Chinese Army's Engineers not shown up on the 15th with half a dozen M3 Amphibious Rigs. If Michael's math was right, those would be just enough to cross the two hundred meter wide river.

The plan was simple: Artillery would bombard the Russians on the other side of the river, while Dragon Squadron would pull double duty, destroying Russian artillery and attacking the Russian telegraph lines.

Meanwhile, the Engineers would use this time to deploy the M3s into the Lalin, give the all-clear, then signal for the 66th to cross the river and begin their spearhead.

To say that the Russians were "shocked" would be an understatement. While they knew that something was going on, they didn't know what was going on.

Then the Tanks came through, plowing the Russian trenches into a breach that Chen's men, then the Army's men, rushed through.

After that, it was like clockwork. Armored and motorized units rushed through the gap in the Russian lines, only to spread out and encircle small pockets of a thousand or so men at a time while Chen and his marines wrought utter havoc behind enemy lines.

They drove forward, charging straight towards the reinforcements, guns blazing while the bullets pinged from the sides. Only hours later would he learn that the 66th had obliterated the Russian relief force sent to fill the breach.

But the Marines kept going, with the armored well behind them, until they hit Harbin.

And then? The local garrison was expecting Russian soldiers to return from the front, either victorious or carrying their wounded. Not sixty-ton Chinese monstrosities firing at them with their two machine guns and salvos of tank shells..

By the end of the day, they were in Harbin, though General Brusilov was nowhere to be found. From the sound of it, he had retreated his headquarters from Harbin to Blagoveschensk, if not Khabarovsk or Vladivostok itself.

Not that Chen would complain. He and his men had helped themselves to the officers' baggage train they'd left behind.

Which brought them to today.

They had captured the last (and only) Russian stronghold in Manchuria, but the war wasn't over. After all, it wasn't like Brusilov was offering terms of surrender, at least as far as he knew.

And the Japanese? Knowing them, he figured they were trying to raise another army to hold Korea, if not invade Manchuria again.

"So," Li asked him. "What's the plan?"

"I dunno. Chase them to the border? Wait, we're already doing that."

"Yeah. Plus, the Army's mopping up for us right now."

"Great. Um… Liberate Korea?" His friend shook his head. "I thought so. Long as the Russians are still here, the military's split between holding the Yalu and watching the Russian frontier."

"Short of taking Vladivostok, Khabarovsk, and Blagoveschensk, we're stuck holding the line until news hits St. Petersburg or the Japanese finally give in."

"Yeah…" Michael mused, before looking at his map. "Think we could do it?"

"Do what?"

"Take those three cities," he said plainly. "They're not as large as they were in our time, right?"

"I don't think so?" The historian-turned-agent told him. "The data's all in Russian, but HISTINT did say there's only about half a million people in what we would call 'Outer Manchuria," mainly concentrated in the areas of Khabarovsk "

"Plus, the bulk of their army has been encircled and captured over the last few days, right?"

"Yeah…" And then it finally sank in. "Christ, Mike. Are you serious?!"

"Yeah? I mean, we probably have more manpower in the region than the Russians have people. At least around here, anyways."

"Oh boy," Li sighed. It wasn't so much that he was worried about his friend's safety, but that he was worried that this would actually work. "I'll go get Huang on the line."

"Great. So, you think you can pitch it to him?"

"Hell no. You tell him. It's your idea."

"Hey, it could be worse. We could have tried invading Korea."

"I don't think anyone's that nuts. Even you."

Tokyo, Empire of Japan, 19 October 1911

To put it mildly, Katsura Taro was not a happy man. Not when his troops had suffered defeat after defeat in Manchuria, to the point that they'd even lost Kwantung itself.

"Can somebody," he asked exasperatedly, "Anybody, tell me one single fucking detail of good news about the campaign in Manchuria?!"

"Governor Terauchi Masatake," War Minister Ishimoto began, "has informed us that Choson is still under our control-"

Finally, some fucking good news.

"...Though there has been an increased unrest ever since the bulk of the garrison moved north."

"Damn it." It had been driving the Prime Minister to his wits' end. "Even if we control Choson, we will have lost territory to the Chinese, Ishimoto. This war will have been a failure, at the cost of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of lives! And for what? Losing our Chinese holdings?!"

"We cannot hope to take Manchuria with so few men," Ishimoto said as straight-faced as possible, undeterred by Katsura's wrath. "As of now, we may be able to hold the Chinese at the Yalu River and suppress any rebels if we move every professional soldier we have into Choson. And even then, we would still not have enough to take back Kwantung, let alone take Manchuria."

"And what would you do, then, Ishimoto," Katsura asked him. The man's voice reeked of venomous frustration as he questioned the War Minister. "I want options. Plans."

"One option that is on the table," Ishimoto said calmly, "Is to mobilize the country for war, conscripts and all."

"Then we will do that," Katsura told him. "Send the order for conscription."

"Prime Minister, are you sure about this?" Ishimoto couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What I have proposed is an option, but I ask you to reconsider! Tokyo is already undergoing unrest after the detention of Mayor Ozaki Yujio. If we enact conscription, that would almost certainly inflame-"

"Do we have a choice, Ishimoto?" the Prime Minister was almost shouting at this point. "We have already lost so many men, and I will not let their sacrifice be in vain."

"If we lose Kwantung to the Chinese, I- we will be disgraced. Japan will be disgraced, turned into a laughingstock for the world. Decades of progress we've made on the global stage will vanish overnight, and that is the best case scenario where the Europeans do not take advantage of us!"

"Like it or not, Ishimoto, we have no option but to press forward. Now you can either give the order, or you can resign in disgrace while I find a new Minister of War who will do what needs to be done. Have I made myself clear?"

"Clear as day," the Minister of War told him. "Then consider this my resignation."


The Viability of Liberating Korea, by Major Martin Li

It is no surprise that Korea is a vital area of importance to us. While it isn't part of China in any sense, we do have Korean soldiers within our ranks. Which, coupled with the fact that it is a Japanese colony home to hundreds of thousands of Japanese troops, means that neutralizing it is in China's interest.

However, our current forces would be at a severe disadvantage if the National Revolutionary Army were to invade the Korean Peninsula due to two factors: Terrain and Manpower.

Regarding terrain, it seems that Korea's terrain is hostile to our own forces in almost every sense. While I'm sure that the locals would be willing to work with us over the Japanese, the fact remains that Korea, outside of the West and South, is a largely mountainous region, allowing for the Japanese to minimize the manpower required to stall our forces multiple chokepoints.

Moreover, the terrain itself allows for the Japanese to launch a guerrilla campaign against our forces, even if we fully occupy the territory. This, I would argue, is due to, for lack of a better term, the Japanese not being stupid. They will adapt to our tactics, and it would be foolish to expect them not to, when the terrain is practically suited towards hiding from our aircraft and armor.

Of course, we could systematically root out the Japanese forces in Korea, but that would require us to dedicate a significant amount of manpower and resources that we need to garrison and administer China itself, even if we are rapidly recruiting local troops in liberated areas. Or to put it another way, this will be much more costly than chasing them down in Humvees across open plains.

Which brings me to the second problem we would face: Manpower.

While we have almost every force multiplier on the planet, from air superiority, to superior firepower, to maneuverability, to a hundred years of tactics and strategy (just to name a few), and those are the only ones I can think of, off the top of my head.

And sure, we could probably beat them in almost any battle out in the open, but the fact remains that we are going to be heavily outnumbered. If we look at the number of Japanese troops mobilized for World War I, we're looking at almost a million men mobilized for the war effort, and the vast majority would be deployed to Korea, and that would be a low estimate..

In contrast, our armies number about two hundred thousand Taiwanese troops, one hundred and fifty thousand New Army Defectors, with several hundred thousand more in training. While we could, in theory, match the Japanese man-for-man, the vast majority of these new troops would be infantry, lacking the armor, motorized vehicles, and air support that the modern NRA troopers enjoy. Factor in all the territory that we have to occupy (even if said occupation goes as seamlessly as it currently is), and we could field two hundred to two hundred and fifty thousand troops to invade Korea.

This, of course, does not factor in casualties. While we have, in theory, a near-infinite amount of manpower, guns, bullets, and shells, we have a finite amount of tanks, trucks, and artillery, not to mention aircraft, the latter of which will need to be maintained or replaced, sooner or later.

Sure, I doubt that the Japanese can shoot down an Apache, but they sure as hell can explode an M60 through trial and error. And that's before we get into all those precision guided munitions that we are already using sparingly. Not to mention all the munitions that we have in storage.

While I don't think we could run out of bombs and rockets, invading Korea against a well-entrenched IJA fighting a war of attrition could actually do it.

Could we win? Definitely. But it's going to cost us dearly. Ammunition, equipment, and manpower would be lost in larger quantities than we've ever experienced so far. And those last two are pretty hard to replace.

In short, while we can invade Korea, the IJA's advantages in sheer manpower and terrain would cause heavy losses in terms of manpower, ammunition, and equipment on our side. While we do have a significant edge when it comes to technology, force multipliers, and local support, such a campaign would be costly, at best.

As such, almost any alternative would be preferable to an outright invasion, and we should look into them accordingly.

Tianjin Air Base, Tianjin, Zhili Province, Republic of China, 20 October 1911

Shannon Wu could only look in awe as the cargo jet unloaded its massive payload.

That was all she could do, anyways, with how tight the security had been on the runways. Whatever this was, it was important. That much she knew.

"I thought I'd find you here." Shannon turned around to see Rachel walking up to her. "It's important. Trust me on this."

"I do," Shannon admitted. Not like she had much of a choice, since the MIB agent before her definitely did know more than she did. "Do you think it will work?"

"Honestly?" the Major told her, turning towards the secret cargo. "I don't know for sure."

"Yeah… What are you doing here, anyways?"

"It's classified. You?"

"Re-arming. Apparently we're headed east, now. Michael's got us pushing towards Vladivostok."

"Really?" Shannon could hear just the slightest shift in her voice. "Then we're headed in the same direction again."

"Oh?" A small smile formed on the agent's face. "It's better than Korea, at least."

"Yeah." Try as she might, Shannon wasn't exactly looking forward to fighting there. "Too many mountains. Plus, the Japanese actually have people there."

"Exactly. We may have to resort to… 'unorthodox' methods to deal with the Korean issue."

"Is that what's being unloaded?" Rachel's face was dead-serious, almost emotionless. "Figures. Was worth a shot, at least."

"What I can tell you, Shannon, is that whatever's in there is not a nuke."

"Wait… Do we have nukes?"

"No."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Skies Above Irkutsk, Russian Empire, 21 October 1911

"Stork 1, this is Qilin. You are approaching Irkutsk. Open the rear door and prepare to drop cargo."

"Copy, Qilin," the C-130 pilot answered. "Opening rear door."

"Stork 1, you are in range. Deploy cargo. How copy?"

"Stork 1 copies," the pilot answered back again, only to shout off into the back. "Release the cargo!"

Qilin's Major looked into the night-vision camera installed on their AWACS to see that yes, they had launched every bit of their cargo.

"Stork 1 to Qilin: Cargo is away. Returning to base to refuel and resupply for the second mission. Interrogative: Where are we headed?"

"Vladivostok."

Skies Above Pyongyang, Japanese Choson, 21 October 1911

"Stork 2," the voice announced through the pilot's headset, "You are entering the drop zone. Commence cargo run."

"On it," she said to the AWACS, then switched channels. "Lieu, drop the cargo!"

"On it," the Sergeant shouted back to her. She could hear the sound of fluttering in the background. "Cargo is free!"

"Hei Gui, this is Stork 2. First cargo drop is clear. Moving on to the second target."

"Good work," Hei Gui told her, "Link up with the tanker and get ready to fly to Seoul."

Sugamo Prison, Tokyo, Japan, 22 October 1911

From what he heard, the crowd had grown larger and angrier by the day. Shouts to end the war mixed with chants to free their mayor, until the two were one and the same.

Of course, there had been other shouts as well. Shouts that Katsura Taro was a corrupt man. Shouts that Katsura Taro was in bed with the militarists.

Needless to say, there were also shouts that Katsura Taro was a corrupt man in bed with the militarists. Though those were hardly anything new.

Except this time, they were chanted by protesters through the streets around the prison, not angry members of the Opposition in the Diet.

Day after day he'd seen the crowd grow. And night after night, he'd seen more of the crowd stay.

And that was before Prime Minister Katsura had enacted conscription. Now, the crowd was utterly massive, their numbers swelled by men who, while not necessarily opposed to the invasion of Manchuria, were opposed to being conscripted to fight in Manchuria.

Tokyo was on the edge of chaos. Soldiers stared down protesters in the streets, though nothing more than swears and warning shots had been exchanged so far.

For how long? I don't know. Hopefully longer than I'm imprisoned here.

Should that happen, maybe he could do something to prevent his city from descending into chaos. After all, he was a known critic of militarism, and now he had the time in prison to prove it.

Still, he knew that one little slip was all that was needed to let it all come tumbling down.

He continued to look at the street, seeing just what was happening. Listening to the arguments and chants calling for his freedom until they were drowned out by a large roar.

Ozaki looked up from the window to see just what was coming from there. To his surprise, a large, dark figure flew over the prison, traveling with impunity through the Tokyo night sky.

Then, from its rear, something… he didn't know what it was, but something fluttered into the night sky.

Just what was flying, he didn't know, but he continued to peer out as the swarm of… what was that? Paper? Fluttered towards Tokyo.

Now, Ozaki Yukio was no fool. He knew what an airplane was. Going off of that, then this must mean that the dark figure in the distance was an airplane, though larger than any he had ever heard of.

Why would an airplane drop paper?

He sat there in his cell, wondering just what was going on and why it was happening.

At least he had been, until one paper flew through his window and into his cell. He held it up to the light to find that it was written in perfect Japanese:

To the People of Japan:

This is a message from the Republic of China.

Like you, we look towards the future. A future where all Asians may live in peace and prosperity. One where we embrace technology and human progress, instead of looking to the past.

To that end, we, the people of China, rebelled against the Qing Empire and their backwardness.

Like you, we embraced science and technology to rapidly defeat their armies.

Like you, we defeated the Russians who saw us as a lesser, backwards people. We sent them back to Russia, and we are marching on Vladivostok as you read this.

But your leaders, including General Katsura Taro, have allied with the backwards Qing. In doing so, they have allied themselves against the very progress that so many of you have fought and bled for.

If General Katsura had his way, China, and Asia with it, would be sent back a hundred years, back to a time when men like him whored out our peoples to the Europeans who see us as sub-human!

Regrettably, we have been forced to fight back. And when we did, General Katsura Taro sent hundreds of thousands of your brothers and fathers to their deaths.

And for what? Greed? Power?

We fear that it is both. We fear that General Katsura Taro seeks to undo decades of progress for his own selfish ends. A man like him does not act as a democratic leader, but as a dictatorial shogun.

However, we are well-aware that General Katsura is not the Japanese people, nor are you him. To that end, we are willing to negotiate peace with the Empire of Japan and put an end to General Katsura's bloody ambitions.

Our terms are simple: We will accept peace when the Empire of Japan retreats from Mainland China, Korea, and Karafuto. In addition, the Empire of Japan must renounce any and all claims on the territory.

Know that we do not want to fight you.

But if your leaders do not come to the negotiating table, then we will have no other option than to continue fighting.

And the next plane will drop explosives.

Vladivostok, Primorskaya Oblast, Russian Empire, 24 October 1911

General Aleksei Alekseyevich Brusilov looked at the paper the Commander had given him.

It was a white printed paper with dark black letters in cleanly-printed Russian.

"Is this genuine, Kolchak?"

"As genuine as the plane it came from," the naval officer told him. "The men have been going around the city and collecting them off the ground. As per your orders, it is contraband and should be disposed of accordingly."

"Of course. Now, Commander. Do you believe what it says?"

"That it is from the Republic of China and that they have wiped out the expeditions sent to Mongolia and Turkestan?"

"Yes."

"If I may, General, I would normally say that it is a lie. However, the damage along the Trans-Siberian Railway does lend credence to this. Factor in how the expeditionary forces sent to Turkestan and Mongolia haven't been heard from in weeks, and there is a good chance that this is actually telling the truth."

"Then it is as bad as it seems," the General agreed. "And the rest?"

"General," the sailor said with all due respect. "Unless this is some sort of sick joke, they have annihilated our forces in Zheltorossiya and are now advancing on Vladivostok itself."

Then it truly was as bad as he feared. He had done the best he could have with what he had been given. Normally, hundreds of thousands of troops would be enough to defeat the Qing Army, just as they had a decade ago.

But this wasn't the Qing Army. No, this was something else entirely, unless the Qing had somehow managed to develop and weaponize airplanes, armored vehicles, and revolutionize mobile warfare in a decade.

Now, he'd heard the rumors. How couldn't he, when the Tsar wouldn't stop going on and on about how the Chinese had gotten revenge for the humiliations of 1905? Not only that, but the Japanese themselves had confirmed that they had lost the bulk of their fleet.

But to be on the receiving end of the sheer firepower and speed of this "New Chinese Army?"

Truth be told, it horrified him. In the matter of a few weeks, the vast majority of his army was either dead, encircled, captured, or wounded, with only a fraction of his own men retreating with him to Vladivostok, out of the hundreds of thousands he had before.

And while surrender was tempting, and part of him wanted to simply get it over with, he would make do with what he had left.

"Kolchak, what is the situation for the fleet?"

"We have a few ships in harbor. While we are at little risk of being attacked while in port, we do not have the firepower to threaten any naval forces outside of our harbor."

"I see." While he would never admit it, the Japanese had a stronger Pacific fleet than Russia did. And if they had gotten annihilated in a single night, how could the Pacific Fleet fare any better? "And the men?"

"The garrison is at full strength, along with what remains of our men after the retreat."

"And the supplies?"

"In terms of food? We should be fine for, say, a few months. We still control the harbors, so our fishing boats can gather additional food. I would say that we could last four months comfortably. Half a year if we stretch it out long enough, though it wouldn't be comfortable."

"All the more reason that we need that relief force to arrive, Kolchak. Has the Tsar received our message?"

"Yes. But there is one glaring problem."

"The Chinese intercepting the fleet, yes." That was something Brusilov never thought he'd end up saying. "Which means we have, at most, six months of food."

"Yes. There is one problem I've noticed."

"Yes?"

"Heating. While most of Vladivostok can be heated with firewood, we would lose access to the forests during a siege."

"Of course. How about coal, oil, or natural gas?"

"We have a finite supply of oil and natural gas. As for coal…"

"We need it for the ships." Kolchak nodded. "Which means that we would have to choose between freezing and going hungry."

And if he was being honest, Brusilov was not sure which he would rather endure.

"If we ration our firewood, coal, oil, and natural gas, how long could we last?"

"Without taking from the ships' supply?" Brusilov nodded. "Three months."

Shit. We would run out by Mid-January.

"Of course," Kolchak continued, "this would imply that our defenses hold for that long."

"And what is the state of our defenses?"

"While we have enough men to man the defenses, we face two major problems."

"Go on."

"First, the fortifications are still under construction. While we have the initial strong points, the fact remains that the Vladivostok fortifications would have needed years to reach full strength."

Brusilov grimaced at the thought. Much as he hated it, he couldn't blame the Tsar for this when the man had spent every penny he could on fortifying the city. The problem, however, was that all the money in the world couldn't make men work faster.

"And the second problem?"

"Those defenses are designed to hold off a naval assault."

"Ah."

While the batteries could, in theory, be targeted towards the land, they were specifically designed to target battleships. It would be like trying to kill an ant with a hammer: Possible, yes, but highly impractical.

"We still have the bunker on the outskirts of the city, which should defend against any land assault, and keep their forces at a distance." At this point, it was a series of concrete fortifications with machine guns and artillery hastily mounted all around it, but it was better than nothing. "Of course, the batteries could be re-targeted to hold off a naval assault, but that would-"

A loud explosion sounded off in the distance, and both officers jolted up.

"What was that?" Kolchak asked his commander, before another explosion echoed through the city. "You heard that, right?"

Brusilov nodded and pulled his binoculars from the desk drawer, then followed the naval officer out.

What the two of them saw, however, needed no binoculars. Not when plumes of smoke rose across the city and Russky Island.

Brusilov pulled out a map, orienting it to where he was looking. To his horror, the batteries around the city, or at least the ones that had been finished, were up in flames. Off in the distance, he could see those damned Chinese aircraft flying away, now that their mission had been completed.

But as the aircraft flew away, he could see one more flying towards them. This one, it seems, was not flying alone. No, he had seen this one before.

This is the one that dropped those damned leaflets.

Brusilov sighed, and turned back to his office. He'd had enough for one day. If they were going to drop more paper on Vladivostok, then he wasn't going to stop them.

Hell, at least we will have something to heat our homes with.

And then he heard the explosion tear through the air, louder than any he'd ever heard his entire military career. He turned around to see a massive explosion off towards the outskirts of the city

Or at least the mushroom cloud that rose in the aftermath.

Questions ran rampant through his head as the explosion echoed throughout the city.

What was that?

Since when did the Chinese have a weapon like that?

Do they have more of them?

It doesn't matter.

What do we do?

Do we stay and fight?

Would they use another one of those weapons if we did?

Do we surrender?

Do we surrender unconditionally, or do we negotiate terms?

Are we even in any position to negotiate terms?

Kolchak turned to him. The officer was pale as snow, his eyes wide with shock at the sight before him. So he turned to Brusilov for an answer. Any answer.

But the general didn't know. Not with all the questions rampaging through his head.

Still, he was able to learn one thing from this ordeal. It wasn't much, but he knew it for sure, better than the number of months they could hold out.

"The Tsar… He has sent us on a suicide mission."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Outside of Vladivostok, Primorskaya Oblast, Russian Empire, 28 October 1911

Martin and Michael had never thought they'd end up this far.

To visit? Maybe. To negotiate with the General Brusilov himself?

A year ago, they would have said you were crazy.

Yet here they were, standing outside of the city outskirts under a flag of truce from the man himself.

"I'll be doing the talking," Rachel told them. When she offered to join them, it wasn't as if they had a choice. She spoke Russian, and they did not. "You'll have to wait for the translation. Got it, Chen?"

Michael nodded. He wasn't much of a diplomat or a general, but he was the closest thing they had right now.

"General Brusilov and Commander Kolchak," she began, before turning to Michael and Martin. "These men are Colonel Michael Chen and Major Martin Li. Colonel Chen, Major Li, this is General Aleksei Alekseyevich Brusilov and Commander Aleksandr Vasilyevich Kolchak."

Handshakes were exchanged, and the two sets of officers got down to business.

"I take it you are here about our offer of conditional surrender, Colonel?"

"Yes. Major Fong has briefed me on the terms you have offered. Conditional surrender with a two-week grace period for soldiers and civilians to leave, as well as transportation, if possible."

Michael turned to Martin once they'd heard the translation, and his friend (and de-facto XO) simply shrugged.

"We can do the two-week grace period, but we will require you and your men to relinquish any and all rifles, machine guns, or artillery. Sidearms should be fine, as well as any swords or daggers."

To this, the two Russians nodded.

"However," he continued, transportation will be an issue. While we could, in theory, take a cruise ship and ferry out twenty thousand people every two weeks, we would have to sail the ship through hostile waters in the Strait of Tsushima."

"And we lack enough space on what ships we have," Kolchak bitterly pointed out. "Which leaves us with few options, now that the Trans-Siberian Railroad has been cut."

"In your message, you said that you have been in contact with Saint Petersburg via telegram," Martin pointed out. "Yet the lines are cut. How exactly do you communicate with them, then?"

"That is simple," Kolchak told him. "We send a telegram to Ulan-Ude, where they then transport the message across Lake Baikal to Irkutsk, who then send the telegram to Saint Petersburg along regular lines."

"Right…" It did make sense to Li. Short of sinking every single boat on Lake Baikal, there would still be people sailing across it. Maybe not trainloads of them, but perhaps smaller loads. "So, if we were to transport you, your men, and any civilians who wanted to travel to be evacuated through this side of the Trans-Siberian Railway to Ulan-Ude, would it be possible to get them across in smaller ships?"

"It would be doable," Kolchak told him, speaking for both himself and the general. "After all, it is not as if your planes have sunk every ship on Lake Baikal."

"Right…" Chen continued, before the conversation deteriorated into an argument. "Of course, my commander is open to providing safe transit for any and all who wish to evacuate. That, we can do. However, the people who remain will also be an issue. Should this area be annexed by China, there will be several thousand Russian nationals within Chinese borders."

"I take it you are not a politician, Colonel?"

"God, no," Chen chuckled. "But I do not know what will happen. Hell, the fact that our two nations are still at war makes these negotiations remarkable as they are."

"Freezing to death is a very good motivator," Kolchak dryly observed. Though Chen couldn't speak Russian, he could definitely hear the bitterness in the man's voice. "Were this in the summer, we would not be here."

"Perhaps," Chen figured. Honestly, he didn't know what would have happened then. An all-out assault on the last Russian stronghold south of the Amur? "Given the… unique circumstances, General, I will need your help to ensure that the people understand the implications."

"That can be done," Brusilov agreed. Unlike Kolchak, Chen couldn't hear any bitterness in his voice. Weariness, yes, but not bitterness. "Of course, there will be the issue of a potential mutiny."

"My men are more than willing to assist, General. We have handled our fair share of mutinies."

"I see… Now, are there any other issues that you wish to discuss?"

"There is the issue of the fleet, General. Commander, I am open to negotiations on that."

"The fleet will be scuttled," Kolchak unflinchingly answered. "If the fleet is not offered safe passage, then I would rather have the ships scuttled than captured."

"As a warship, I can't allow an enemy warship to leave port." It wasn't so much that Chen was being a hardass, but he was pretty sure he would get court martialed if he let an enemy ship escape. "However, I am open to having the ship remain in port until a formal ceasefire is declared. During that time, you would be free to leave. Would that work?"

"Possibly," Kolchak told him. "I would have to see the terms."

"Of course." Honestly, I'd do the same thing if I was in your shoes. "So, with that out of the way, General, I'll have to send this up the chain. So, there any other issues you wanted to smooth out?"

"Nothing in particular," Brusilov told him. "I take it you have no concerns?"

"I've got a question, if you're willing to answer it."

"It depends on the question, Colonel."

"What will happen to you two when you return to Russia? I don't imagine the Tsar will be happy, even if this was an impossible mission."

"Colonel," Brusilov sighed, "As far as I'm concerned, the Tsar sent me and my men on a suicide mission. I couldn't care less about what he has to say to me."

Outskirts of Pyongyang, Japanese Choson, 29 October 1911

Captain Park never thought that he would end up here, and he wasn't just thinking of the past.

No, this was Pyongyang. The very heart of the Kim regime in the north.

Yet he was here, inserted with his men, with a singular mission: Wreak as much havoc behind Japanese lines as humanly possible.

Which, truth be told, he had been doing for a while. The Marines and the MIB had given him and his men the training and equipment they needed to form a partisan movement in the countryside, far away from the Japanese forces.

It wasn't exactly an easy operation, but picking off the IJA under cover of night was child's play when they could actually see in the dark while the garrison couldn't.

But this? The sight before him? It was more chaotic than anything he or his men could ever hope to accomplish, and that was after they'd started taking on new recruits.

Believe it or not, they had almost nothing to do with the outright riots and fires that had sprung up across the cities against the now-overstretched garrison. If anything, Katsura probably deserved most of the credit, ever since he began conscripting the locals.

Now, that wasn't to say that Park and his men were going to sit back and let the riot do all the dirty work.

"Team two, in position," a voice told him over the mic. "Got clear shots on two sentries and a couple in the watchtowers."

Park could see the four of them through his nightvision, nervously pacing back and forth outside of the armory as the riots raged in the city proper.

Was it unfair? Definitely. But war wasn't fair, and neither was the IJA. If he and his men could kill them with impunity, then they would.

"Drop them," he ordered, and the four men fell to the ground, none the wiser. "Team one, move in. Team two, cover us. Pick off any soldiers you can get a clean shot on. How copy?"

"Team two copies," his subordinate answered. "You're clear to move into the armory."

No, Park Jae-Hyun wasn't about to sit back and do nothing. And once they were done, neither would the rioters in Pyongyang.

National Diet Building, Tokyo, Empire of Japan, 31 October 1911

This was not the news that Katsura Taro wanted to hear.

Tokyo, he could handle with ease. One city wasn't much trouble to suppress, once the Army was mobilized to back up the police.

But a dozen cities, all across the country? That would be harder, but he thought he could handle that.

Sure, they weren't as large as the riots in Tokyo, but the IJA would be stretched thin. And that was before soldiers began defecting to protect the civilians they'd been sent to suppress.

But Choson as well? And while there were soldiers defecting to protect the rioters on the Home Islands, Terauchis last telegram said that the Koreans were outright raiding armories and picking off the IJA.

Normally, this wouldn't be a problem for the local garrison, but the bulk of the garrison had been deployed to Manchuria to capitalize on the Qing's disorganization. What was left was stretched to their very limits, and that was during peacetime.

"It seems that our forces are stretched to their limit," Home Minister Hirata observed. "While the Kempeitai would be useful in ensuring no further defections on the Home Islands, the vast majority of them are located in Choson, where they are working with their local auxiliaries and IJA troops to suppress the riots across the region."

"Which leaves us in a precarious position," the new Army Minister told him. We do not have the manpower necessary to deal with both Choson and the Home Islands. The men best-suited to suppressing the Home Islands riots are in Choson, while the manpower we require to suppress the rebellion in Choson is holding off the riots on the Home Islands."

"I see…" The Prime Minister understood it, but he didn't want to be reminded of just how overstretched they were. "And we are incapable of raising any more manpower in either territory? Militia, volunteers, and the like?"

"In Choson, we have been losing auxiliaries," Hirata told him. "Either through vigilante actions, partisan activity, or simply desertion."

"And on the Home Islands?" Katsura asked again, "What about them?"

"The Kempeitai is loathed, at best, by the general public," the Army Minister told him. Katsura could have sworn Hirata had shot the man a dirty look, but he couldn't care less right now. "While we could call on volunteers, they would be, at best, as poorly-trained as the rioters."

"If I may," the Army Minister continued, "I propose that we retreat our forces from Choson, at least for the time being, and redeploy the IJA and Kempeitai forces on the Home Islands."

"Are you mad?" Hirata asked him, before the Prime Minister could even voice his objections. "You, the Minister of the Army, are recommending that we abandon Choson to the Koreans?!"

"You said it yourself that we are overstretched right now in Choson and the Home Islands," the new War Minister shot back. Despite his lack of seniority, he wasn't about to be cowed by his fellow minister. "We do not have the manpower we need. We are not capable of fielding the manpower we need. Any manpower that we could have used has been sent to Manchuria, and they're either dead, captured, or missing. And any manpower we could have gained through conscription is currently rioting in the streets of Tokyo."

"If we lose control of Choson," the man continued, "this administration may be forced to dissolve. If we lose control of the Home Islands, the entire country could collapse. Prime Minister Katsura, I know that this is a difficult decision to make, but we are facing the greatest domestic crisis in decades. If we want to have even a chance of surviving this crisis, then we need to recall our forces from Choson. Once we consolidate our hold on the Home Islands, we can focus on retaking Choson."

Hirata could only scowl at this, and Katsura could feel the man's frustration.

But at the same time, Ishimoto's replacement had a point. If they focused on the home Islands, they would lose Choson. But if they focused on Choson, they would lose Japan itself to anarchy.

"I will not stand by and lose slowly on two fronts," the Prime Minister finally decided. "Send the order to recall our forces from Choson."

"Prime Minister, surely-"

"And we will deal with Choson once the domestic situation is resolved, Hitara," Katsura announced with newfound confidence. "Send the order. We need every soldier we have left."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

The Winter Palace, Saint Petersburg, Saint Petersburg Governorate, Russian Empire, 2 November 1911

On paper, this seemed like the simplest plan ever. Russia would take advantage of the chaos in China to annex a significant border region, just as his grandfather had done in 1858.

Surely the Chinese would not be in any position to object, especially when the Qing were fighting the Islanders. After all, he was quite literally following in his grandfather's footsteps.

In reality, it had been a disaster. Two expeditions of Muslims, Cossacks, and Imperial Army regulars marched into the regions of East Turkestan and Mongolia, expecting to meet little (if any) resistance.

Instead, they were met with the full force of the Islanders that had wiped them out in a matter of weeks. Or at least that's what his advisors thought had happened, as there were few (if any) survivors from either expedition.

China, the very nation that had been humiliated again and again over the last few decades, had beaten them.

Not the Japanese, no. China, of all people.

And the telegram he held in his hands was only further proof of it.

To the Tsar of all Russias:

While I and my expeditionary force have been tasked with reinforcing the local forces and holding Zheltorossiya, our forces were met with heavy resistance from the Republican Chinese.

As such, I had tasked my men with holding the line outside of Harbin and consolidating our hold on the outer area of Manchuria, while the Chinese depleted themselves against the Japanese. However, the Japanese (and their Qing allies) were quickly routed, and the Chinese Republicans turned to fight us, instead.

Although my men spent weeks entrenching ourselves on the border of our side of Manchuria (as per the 1907 agreement), the Chinese Republicans were able to utilize their superior firepower and technology to penetrate our lines with ease. In a matter of days, these forces had managed to encircle and either annihilate or capture the vast majority of the Zheltorossiya expeditionary force.

While I will not doubt the valor and bravery of my men, there is only so much that infantrymen and cavalry can do against armored vehicles and airplanes that can attack our men with impunity.

This, compounded with the cutting of the Trans-Siberian Railway (and by extension our supply of manpower, food, and fuel) had led to my decision to consolidate what manpower and equipment I had left and prepare a defense around Vladivostok. While a war of attrition would be possible, continued enemy attacks had made coordination impractical, at best.

Although a relief force had been sent eastwards, continued attacks on the Trans-Siberian Railway and other relevant infrastructure made any hope of resupply by land nigh-impossible. Moreover, any sea-based attempts at resupplying us would take, at best, four months.

Upon taking stock of what remained, Commander Kolchak had informed me that while we may have enough food to last us six months, we only had enough fuel to to last three months. This, coupled with the necessity of the Trans-Siberian Railway for both food and fuel for all settlements east of Lake Baikal, presented us with the grim realization that without the railroads, our people in the Far East would either starve or freeze to death this winter.

Given these circumstances, it is with great regret that I have surrendered the Russian Far East, including the Fortress of Vladivostok, to the Chinese Republicans. While I take full responsibility for my actions, I request that it be considered that I did so to prevent the starvation of our people.

Furthermore, I request that it be acknowledged that my men and I performed to the best of our abilities given our insufficient manpower and supplies.

Your humble servant,
General Alexei Alekseyevich Brusilov

The Tsar gripped the telegram with a mix of frustration and shock.

"This," he said to Foreign Minister Sazonov, "This is evidence that General Brusilov has formally surrendered to the Chinese. My agents in the Okhrana have verified it themselves."

"I see… And our current military status?"

"We currently are in control of all territory up to Chita," Minister Sukhomlinov confirmed. "However, continued Chinese attacks on troop concentrations east of Lake Baikal, coupled with attacks on the Trans-Siberian Railway itself have prevented any offensive action on our part."

"And why is that?" The Tsar demanded. "Isn't there a large concentration of reinforcements at Irkutsk?"

"Yes, there are," the minister confirmed. "However, most transport capacity over Lake Baikal is currently focused on supplying what food and fuel we can to our remaining territories to prevent a widespread famine."

"What do you mean when you say, 'widespread famine?'"

"In short, Your Majesty," Sukhomlinov began, "We do not have the ability to transport enough food and fuel to the cities and settlements east of Lake Baikal without repairs to the Trans-Siberian Railway. However, continued Chinese attacks on the Railway make it nigh-impossible, so long as we are in a state of war."

"I see. Now, how difficult would it be to transport our forces over Lake Baikal and supply them in a second expedition?"

"May I speak freely?"

"You better, Minister."

"To put it simply? We cannot do that. We are barely able to supply a fraction of our people east of Lake Baikal with enough food and fuel to survive the winter. And while we could, in theory, build up more transport capacity in Irkutsk to supply our people and a second expeditionary force, these new boats would not be ready until spring."

The Tsar furrowed his brow at the minister's analysis.

"And what would happen if we prepare a second expeditionary force in the spring?"

"It is likely that the Trans-Siberian Railway will not be repaired due to continued attacks, which could lead to tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of Russians freezing and starving to death during the Winter."

The Tsar shook his head at the news. Then this expedition truly is a failure. At best, I lose over a hundred thousand men. In all likelihood, a hundred thousand of my subjects would join them.

"Sazonov," he said dejectedly, turning to his Foreign Minister, "As my Foreign Minister, I am authorizing you to travel to Irkutsk to negotiate with the Chinese."

"Of course, Your Majesty. Though I do fear that the Chinese would exact heavy concessions from us for invading their territory."

"Go on."

"It is likely," the Foreign Minister continued, "That the Chinese would demand that we relinquish all territories your grandfather gained during the 1858 Treaty of Aigun and the 1860 Treaty of Peking."

"Surely you can't can't be serious," the Tsar exclaimed, "This would be an utter humiliation for our nation. And they dare to threaten my subjects for their revenge?"

"It would be," Sazonov admitted. Unlike the Tsar, his own distaste was much more subdued. "But it would almost certainly save your subjects from freezing to death in the Winter."

"...Damn it." That was all the Tsar could say. "Damn it all."

The room fell silent as the various ministers held their tongues while the Tsar stewed in his frustration.

"Perhaps a scapegoat could take the blame," Minister Aleksandr Makarov offered. Minister Sukhomlinov looked at him warily. "I take it we are all aware of the importance of preventing civil unrest against His Majesty, if we want to prevent a repeat of 1905?"

All around the room the various ministers nodded. Even Sukhomlinov.

"Then it is clear," Makarov reiterated, "That we need a scapegoat so that the people do not take out their frustrations against the Tsar."

"And exactly who would you have in mind, Makarov?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the Minister of Internal Affairs asked the room. "None other than General Brusilov himself."

Sugamo Prison, Tokyo, Empire of Japan, 3 November 1911

Ozaki Yukio awoke to the sound of gunfire. It was hardly the first time it'd happened, but it was just as rude an awakening this time.

No, this had become a daily occurrence, ever since the conscription riots had started and Katsura had the brilliant idea to have the troops fire on the protesters. After that, it all became a blur.

Day in and day out, protesters would clash with the police, with the latter firing at the former, until police began to defect. Soon, there were armed men on both sides, and the police were outnumbered.

So Katsura called in the Army the day after, and they would march on the protesters and their police defector allies. That is, until there were men in the IJA defecting to protect the protesters. And now, the Army and police were similarly-armed and outnumbered by the people they'd been sent to arrest.

The guards were in a panic. Rumors began to spread that this wasn't just happening in Tokyo. No, there were riots in Yokohama, Osaka, Nagoya, Sapporo, Fukuoka, Kawasaki, Kyoto, Saitama, Hiroshima, and Sendai, if they were to be believed.

Truth be told, Ozaki didn't know what was going on around there, but if Tokyo was anything to go by, the war had grown unpopular in record time, even moreso once Katsura had given the order to begin conscription.

Every day he could see the protesters grow in numbers, no just from those angry about the war and conscription, but from soldiers and policemen who refused to fire on their countrymen.

And as they grew, the crowd grew more confident, to the point that they'd even charged the line of soldiers outside the prison.

It was a brutal sight, with protesters swarming the better-armed soldiers and police who'd been sent to stop them. Sure, the soldiers had five bullets in their Arisakas, but for every protester they'd shot, two more would come closer, charging at them with a tenacity the soldiers thought that only they had.

It was at that point that the guards had made up their minds and abandoned the prison. While the vast majority ran off towards the next choke point set up by the IJA, there were those who ran to join the crowd, their defections met with cheers and embraces.

And on and on they marched, until they finally reached the prison. To their relief, one of the defectors had the good sense to bring the keys with him so they could enter without much drama.

He could hear the protesters rushing into the prison, with young men trying key after key to free every prisoner they could get their hands on. For the most part, these were other protesters who'd been captured by the police and IJA.

That is, until they got to his cell.

"Mayor Ozaki?" asked one of the protesters. From the looks of him, he could be no older than his late teens. "Is that you?"

"Yes, that is who I am," Ozaki answered, before turning to the others. "I don't suppose you're expecting me to pick up arms. I am not much of a fighter, you know."

"A fighter?" The young man snorted. "Sir, we are here to ask you to lead us."

Now that? That was not what Ozaki had expected. Yet here were these young men (though he could've sworn he'd seen a few young women as well), and they were armed like soldiers. Especially when one of them came running in with rifles he'd looted from the armory.

"Will you lead us?" the young man asked again. "We would be honored if you would join us, sir."

Ozaki looked at the young men, their eyes hopeful and determined. But he could see the guns in their hands, along with the blood on their shirts that, at best, was their own.

Here was his chance to stand up for what he had always stood for. But the means? He wished there was another way.

"I will lead you," he said to the men around him. "Under one condition."

They all looked at him intently, though a few of them tensed up, knowing full well what he was going to say.

"Go on," said the young man, their leader. "What is it, sir?"

"I know that I cannot ask you all to lay down your arms. So my one request is that you do not open fire unless fired upon. Is that acceptable?"

The young protesters looked around at the place, wondering just what the Mayor of Tokyo City was thinking, before turning to one another.

"Okay," said one protester. "That seems fair, right?"

"Yeah! I think we can do that," said another.

"I say yes!" a third shouted. "Who's with me?"

All around the room, the protesters nodded, whether they were carrying guns or not.

"I see…" Ozaki would be lying if he said he wasn't happy at the sight. "Then I accept your offer."

Moscow, Moscow Governorate, Russian Empire, 4 November 1911

Diterikhs couldn't believe what he was reading.

"As a result of hs failure in the invasion of Manchuria," he read aloud, "General Aleksei Alekseyevich Brusilov is to be arrested and subject to a court-martial for cowardice, mismanagement of the military, and the loss of surrender of Vladivostok, Northern Sakhalin, Khabarovsk, as well as the Amur and Primosrkaya Oblasts."

"In addition," he continued, "Commander Aleksandr Kolchak is to be arrested and subject to a court-martial for cowardice and the loss of the Pacific Fleet."

"Damn it!" Kornilov slammed his fist into the table. "This is a fucking disgrace!"

"Lavr Georgiyevich," the Diterikhs shot back, "Given the circumstances, it is remarkable that General Brusilov managed to last that long, only to surrender to save tens, if not hundreds of thousands of Russians from freezing to death in the winter."

"I'm not talking about General Brusilov," his subordinate spat. "I'm talking about- about this! He was sent there with not enough men, note enough food, and not enough equipment, against an enemy that can annihilate the entire Japanese fleet in a single night. And the Tsar has the audacity to blame Brusilov for the failure?!"

"Ah, I see." Enraged as the man was, at least he and Diterikhs were on the same page. "Yes, this entire expedition was doomed from the start, and it was hubris of the Tsar to think that the Chinese would simply roll over as they did in his grandfather's time."

"General?" Wrangel couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you questioning the Tsar's authority?"

"I am merely analyzing his capabilities as a leader," Diterikhs told him. "While General Kornilov is understandably frustrated, he is correct, wouldn't you say?"

"...Yes." From the sound of him, Wrangel didn't fully agree, but he wasn't about to object, either. "But there isn't much we can do."

"I would beg to differ," his commander told him, handing him a missive. "As the ranking officer of the reinforcement mission, I have been tasked with detaining General Brusilov once he arrives in Moscow."

"How would you-"

"That depends, Wrangel. Can I trust you?"

"Yes, sir." Despite saying this, Kornilov continued to glare daggers at him.

"Swear it."

"On what, sir?"

"On anything," Kornilov told him. "A Bible, your Honor, or even your mother. Just swear on something."

"Alright, then. I swear on my honor that I will not betray your trust, General."

Diterikhs turned to Kornilov, who slowly nodded.

"Well then, Wrangel, the answer is simple: I do not intend to imprison nor prosecute General Brusilov or Commander Kolchak. As far as I am concerned, both of them are innocent of any prosecution."

"Sir, is this not treason?"

"Normally, it would be," Diterikhs sighed. "But these are abnormal times. Besides, it is not as if the rest of the military doesn't share our sentiments. Isn't that true, Denikin?"

"In fact it is, sir. While the general staff may be more sympathetic to the Tsar, I have noticed similar sentiments among the other units."

"Can we trust them?"

"If it came to it, we would have to remove their generals from the chain of command. However, it does seem that the average soldier is more frustrated with the Tsar than General Brusilov. In their eyes, it is a 'Stab in the Back' on the Tsar's part by not providing enough manpower and supplies."

"I see… Would it be possible to out-maneuver them?"

"Possibly," Denikin figured. "If it came down to it, I do believe that we could count on the loyalty of the units around Moscow. While it is the largest concentration of troops in Russia, we would still have to contend with Saint Petersburg."

"Of course." All things considered, this was one contingency he didn't think would work. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. "We have much to discuss."

"Indeed." From the way he sounded, Kornilov was the one most on board with this plot. "But for the time being, we should prepare for contingencies. If, say, the Tsar demanded that we hand over General Brusilov."

"Then we must do all we can to push the narrative that the Tsar is to blame for Zheltorossiya, rather than Brusilov," Diterikhs said plainly. It was obvious, of course, but that was the plan. "But we cannot wait until Brusilov arrives in Moscow. No, the people need to hear the truth now. Denikin?"

"Yes, General?"

"I am tasking you with penning an anonymous letter that places the blame for Zheltorossiya at the Tsar's feet, not Brusilov's. It would need to be printed and distributed."

"Discreetly?"

"Of course. Can you do that?"

"I believe so, General. I should have it penned by the evening, and I know a printer who can work discreetly."

"Good. Then that will be your task for the foreseeable future," Diterikhs told him, before turning to an uneasy Wrangel. "I take it you have some concerns?"

"Yes. While an anonymous letter may have some reach, is this the only method we are using?"

"Hardly," Diterikhs told the young officer. "Look out the window."

Wrangel turned to see the crowds of people marching through the streets, expressing their frustration at the Tsar's failures while the police failed to hold them back. There were even banners calling for the Tsar to cede power, though what exactly that meant was anyone's guess.

"If we had been alone in our opinion," Diterikhs continued, having risen to join Wrangel, "Then it would not be enough. But this? We are simply saying what so many others know to be true."

"That the Tsar… stabbed General Brusilov in the back?"

"Precisely."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

San Francisco, California, 2 November 1911

"Extra! Extra!" the newsboy cried out, "Read all about it! Chinese Revolutionaries defeat Russians and Japanese in Manchuria! Thousands captured by soldiers from the Island of the Future!"

Huang De handed the boy a few coins for the paper, then looked at it. After all, it was the closest he'd ever get to China. Sure, Chinatown was a little slice of China on its own, but he had never actually been to China for over thirty years.

After all, travel from China tended to be a one-way trip. Or at least it would have, had it not been for the Chinese Exclusion Act. Ever since that day, any hope of being reunited with his family had been dashed against a rock.

Still, he had kept in touch with his family through letters, and they seemed to be doing well for themselves, or at least as well as he could hope. Cousin Wen had found work in Manila as a banker, while Aunt Min had just become a grandmother.

But Cousin Wei? Huang shook his head.

Cousin Wei was the firebrand of the family, and he could never keep his mouth shut. Last Huang had heard about him, Wei had run off to join the Tongmenghui, or at least that's what his letters had told him.

And with the Revolution over there, he had no idea if his cousin was still alive. Headstrong as he could be, Huang still loved his cousin more than anything else in the world, ever since they were children.

The very thought that he may be dead, whether at the hands of the Japanese, Chinese, or Manchus, horrified him, and he prayed each night that his family would survive.

But if these reports were to be believed, then there was a good chance that Cousin Wei was still alive.

Not only that, but he wanted the Revolutionaries to win. Huang wasn't a rich man, not by any means, but he had given donations to the Tongmenghui when they'd come to San Francisco. Now, he wasn't a fighter by any means, but he believed in the cause.

Still, the thought of a free China fascinated him, and the Island of the Future even moreso. Ever since he arrived here, there were Americans who treated him like he was a lesser-man, somebody they needed to "civilize." The "White Man's Burden," as Kipling called it, compelled them to act as such.

Sure, they probably had the best of intentions, but he didn't like being condescended to. And that was before most of the white people talked slowly because they thought that he couldn't speak English.

So to hear that there was an island of people just like him who were more advanced, more modernized, and more "civilized" (to use the term he'd come to loathe so dearly) than any civilization on the planet filled him with pride.

Truth be told, he hoped that this island, which had joined the Tongmenghui in their rebellion, would succeed. Not out of cultural posturing or fantasized revenge against the white people who looked down on him, but out of hope.

Hope that one day, those people who talked down to him would see him not as some backwards savage to be uplifted, but as an honest man who was just as capable as he was.

After all, if the most advanced society on the planet was an island full of Chinese people, then it would spit in the face of every single person who believed in the White Man's Burden.

As he folded up the newspaper and walked off to the laundromat, he couldn't help but smile at the thought that China could be the most "civilized" nation on the planet.

Now that he thought about it, he would like to go there, one day. After all, it was an entire island from the future. Who wouldn't want to visit it?

I should answer Wei's letter. I hope he's okay.

Oh, who am I kidding? He's too stubborn to die.

Manila, Insular Government of the Philippine Islands, 3 November 1911

Looking back at it all, Emmanuel Tsu never thought that he would come back to the Philippines. Sure, marrying Laura meant that he was no longer TNT, but there was the reason his family fled to the United States in the first place.

Family rivalry. He didn't like to talk about it, even with his wife.

For her part, she seemed to be fitting in just fine. Being able to speak tagalog certainly helped her, and the fact that she could play the guitar.

As far as his family was concerned, those were two out of three requirements for anyone the Tsus wanted to marry. Of course, the whole atheist thing caused a bit of a stir once that slipped out, but the family had learned to accept it, so long as she respected his beliefs.

"And as long as she makes you happy, anak," he remembered his parents telling him. And if they were anything to go by when he and Laura sailed off from Kaohsiung, that was enough to make them happy.

It was funny, now that he thought about it. Because his ancestors told him the exact same thing.

And like his parents, they'd gotten along well with her, if the crowd of Tsus listening to her sing and play the guitar was anything to go by.

As for him, he'd picked up the daily newspaper to see if there was any update on the war in China.

Chinese Republicans Make Rapid Advances, Push Into Russia… Huh.

Sure, he supported the Revolutionaries, but this was personal for him. After all, Laura's brother was one of the foreign volunteers who'd signed up. Turned out he had a friend from Rojava who'd convinced him.

So for her sake, he would read the newspaper every morning and walk to the telegraph office before work, just to make sure that she never got that dreaded message.

And sure enough, she had gone one more day. Emmanuel himself breathed a sigh of relief at the news, or in this case lack of news, about his brother-in-law.

That, coupled with the news that the NRA had made it all the way to Harbin and Vladivostok meant that, God willing, most of the fighting was over.

But it was the news that the IJA invasion force had been obliterated that put a smile on his face.

Good riddance.

Sure, China was still at war with Japan, but Japan would hopefully collapse in on itself or finally get the message that imperialism wouldn't work this time around.

Honestly, I'll take either, if it means my family stays safe.

Like most Filipinos, he loved his family. Sure, they were a great help at expanding their power tools business to the other provinces, but they were family first.

They'd welcomed him and Laura in with open arms, just as he was sure they would for his parents, if they had been able to make the journey.

Here's hoping they live longer, this time around. If World War II is avoided, then maybe they won't have to live under the occupation?

But that was all hypothetical.

Right now? He was going to listen to his wife's beautiful singing with his great-grandparents.

Outskirts of Pyongyang, Provisional Republic of Korea, 8 November 1911

"Ready!" Park shouted. The soldiers held up their weapons.

"Aim!" Then they took aim.

"Fire!" And fired a volley into the convicted collaborators, sending their bodies crumpling to the ground.

Blood pooled around the corpses of the now-dead Koreans who had been accused and convicted of working for the Japanese.

Or at least people they had managed to convict of being collaborators. Through all the chaos, he'd made sure there was at least some order once they'd rounded up prisoners.

Granted, said order was basically sentencing anyone to death who could be proved to have worked for the IJA (or worse, the Kempeitai), but some sense of order was better than outright lynch mobs.

And for what it was worth, they only executed those who had substantial eyewitness testimony against them or outright evidence. And even then it was mainly those who worked with the Kempeitai.

Or at least he hoped they were people who worked for the Kempeitai.

It wasn't a perfect system, of course. Not when they were mainly relying on testimony due to tangible evidence being scarce at the moment.

Park didn't have enough time to complain, though. Not when the Japanese were retreating.

"Never interrupt your enemy is making a mistake" was what he'd learned while training under the 66th, and he doubted Chen would make an exception here. That, and "Always offer the enemy an out."

Okay, knowing him, Park figured that the Chinese colonel would probably say "Charge through the lines with your M60 tank and encircle them in mobile warfare, then offer them an out."

Too bad we don't have any tanks.

Or cars.

Or horses… wait, I don't know how to ride a horse.

No, as a largely-infantry force, he and his men were content with watching the Japanese ships pull away from the harbor. Sure, they could, in theory, attack the Japanese as they pulled back to the harbor, but their mission was simple.

Put an end to the Japanese occupation.

Sure, that meant that they could kill every single Japanese soldier and collaborator they could get their hands on, that would cost more men and resources than he would like to lose.

Besides, that wasn't his job. Technically.

No, his job was to get rid of the Japanese.

And if they wanted to do his job for him, well, he wasn't about to object.

Occupied Vladivostok, Occupied Territory, 12 November 1911

All things considered, this had to be one of the most successful operations Michael Chen ever done. Not only had the Russians surrendered, but the locals had been fairly cooperative, all things considered.

Admittedly, "Fairly cooperative" in this context meant, "Too busy packing up and preparing to screw off to Chita before the Chinese decide to get revenge for Blagoveshchensk and start marching people off the ice."

Sure, he had tasked Rachel with informing the population that no, they would not be harmed and would have their property and lives protected under his watch, but that didn't do much to discourage their fears.

Though when Li told him about what happened during the Boxer Rebellion, including the outright massacre at the hands of cossacks, it did make sense. The people remembered what happened, just as they remembered the Honghuzi siding with the Japanese during the Russo-Japanese War and the subsequent hatred they had for the Russians.

Honestly, I can't blame them. If I massacred five thousand Chinese people, then had to live with bandits who hated me so badly that they sided with the Japanese, I would also be scared for my life if a group of heavily-armed Chinese people annihilated my army and marched up to the front gates of my hometown.

Still, if current company was anything to go by, that wasn't everyone in Vladivostok. Or the Far East, for that matter.

"It will be much emptier when they are gone," Yurii Hlushko told him. "Seems the audiences will be much smaller at the theater."

Hlushko was an odd sight for Chen. Sure, there were bound to be some Russian citizens who could speak Chinese, but he didn't think that a lot of them would stick around.

Or be Ukrainians, not Russians.

In fairness, he kind of skimmed that part of the briefing Li had given him. History wasn't really his forte, but Chen could learn quickly enough.

Still, they managed to hit it off pretty well once Chen found out he was a draftsman. Or at least as much

"You know, you still have your chance to leave," he told Hlushko. The Ukrainian engineer shook his head, "Really?"

Hlushko shrugged. "You did promise to protect our rights to speak our language and put an end to Russification."

I mean, yeah, of course I did. Why the Hell wouldn't I?

"Besides," the Ukrainian told him, "You all seem like decent enough people. Very good at killing, though. Scarily good."

"Tell me about it. So, all of you guys are sticking around?"

"As in, Ukrainians?" Chen nodded. "For the most part, yes. You'd be surprised at how far respect and a lack of chauvinism can go, Chen."

"So, what are you going to do then? You know, if China re-annexes the territory."

"Same thing I was doing before. Engineering by day, theater by night."

"Sounds like a plan. In Ukrainian, right?"

"Of course, Chen. You know, if you stick around, you might pick up a word or two."

"Besides the profanities?"

Now that? That got a chuckle out of Yurii.

"That's the first step, Mykhailo."

Assembly of the Nobility, Irkutsk, Irkutsk Governorate, Russian Empire, 8 November 1911

To say things were tense would be an understatement, a fact that was not helped by the armed escort that had flown in with him on helicopters.

Though that was to be expected. Upon Sazonov's arrival in Irkutsk, the two sides had agreed to negotiations and a ceasefire.

Of course, said ceasefire largely boiled down to, "The Republic of China's Air Force will stop bombing the Trans-Siberian Railroad," now that the Chinese had stopped their advancement into Siberia itself.

Still, Song Jiaoren had his own work cut out for him once he'd arrived with the Chinese delegation and their armed escort.

The negotiations were to be done in this ornate building, far away from the gathering crowds around the landing zone, or the Russian and Chinese soldiers working to maintain order.

And so far, it had been going without a hitch.

Obviously, the first issue at hand was the growing humanitarian crisis that came from the damage to the Trans-Siberian Railroad.

"It is clear," Sazonov began, "That the potential starvation and freezing of civilians in the Russian Far East is entirely due to the Chinese attacks on the bridges along the Trans-Siberian Railway.

"In addition," the Russian foreign minister continued, " as successor to the Qing Empire, the Republic of China is in violation of Article 25 of the Hague Convention of 1907, stating that the "attack or bombardment, by whatever means, of towns, villages, dwellings, or buildings which are undefended is prohibited."

"The Chinese delegation objects to this accusation," Song replied, "The destruction of multiple bridges along the Trans-Siberian Railway was an attack on a military target in response to the Russian invasion of Manchuria, Xinjiang, and Mongolia. Moreover, the use of the Trans-Siberian Railway to transport troops into the Far East classifies it as a military target."

"Furthermore," Song continued, remembering what notes he had been given beforehand, "Article 25 primarily covers attacks on undefended settlements and residences, not infrastructure. However, the Provisional Republic of China has acknowledged the side-effects of the conflict, and we are willing to assist the Russian government with food, fuel, and reconstruction of the various bridges along the Trans-Siberian Railway as a sign of good faith."

"The Russian delegation… accepts these terms," Sazonov relented. All things considered, it did provide an immediate solution for the incoming humanitarian crisis, which meant fewer people would starve and freeze to death. "And the issue of prisoners of war?"

"All prisoners of war have been treated in accordance with Articles 4 to 20 of the Annex to the 1899 Hague Convention. They have been cared for accordingly, and the republic of China is ready to repatriate them to the Russian Empire post haste."

"Very good. And civilians?"

"Civilians have also been treated in accordance with international law. Despite our assurances as such, many Russian civilians have fled from Chinese-held territory to Russian-held territory during the occupation of Outer Manchuria. As such, we have provided supplies and offered safe passage to any and all who would leave, along with their possessions."

"I see… That is much appreciated." From the sound of it, even Sazonov had thought the Chinese would enact reprisals for the Boxer Rebellion. And there almost were, had the Marines not intervened in time. "The Russian delegation acknowledges the Republic of China's assistance and offer of safe passage."

And with that issue, the first day of negotiations had been adjourned. Both delegations returned to their respective quarters: Sazonov and the Russians to their hotel, while Song and the rest of the Chinese delegation returned to their helicopters and flew back to Urga for the night.

As he climbed aboard the helicopter, he planned to get as much sleep as he could on the ride back.

Tomorrow would be another day of negotiations, and he had a feeling it would be a long day.