A Second Sunrise: Taiwan of 2020 Sent Back to 1911

[ChrisProvidence]

Ishigaki Island, Taiwan, Republic of China, 30 January 1912

"Huh," Aki said aloud. "Michael, do you have a second?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"What exactly is this?" she asked him, pointing to the large piece of machinery in the article. "It's bigger than anything I have ever seen."

"That?" He took a good look at what looked to be farming equipment. "That's a Cotton Harvester, mounted to a tractor. Apparently it's one of those designs they're planning on using to speed up harvesting on the mainland."

"Right. So, how does it work?"

"No idea, Aki. Agriculture machinery's not really my specialty, but I think it goes through the field and sucks up the cotton, bales it all together, and another vehicle picks it up."

"Interesting… And this article says that it should speed up efficiency a hundred times?"

"Probably. Turns out these kinds of machines let one person do the job of a hundred, or even a thousand, people in the same amount of time."

"I see…" Now, she was no economist, but she could appreciate the efficiency at least. "And what happens to the other nine hundred ninety-nine workers who don't have any more work to do?"

"Huh? What about them?"

"Well, if they aren't needed, wouldn't they lose their jobs? Of course, the single person would be making a good living, but the rest of them would lose their only source of income."

"Yeah, when you put it like that…" From the looks of him, Michael didn't really have a good answer for that. "I guess they could find new work? I hear the construction industry is hiring a lot of people. Like, everywhere."

"I guess that works. What happens when they run out of things to build?"

"Honestly, Aki, I don't think they're going to be running out of things to build anytime soon. Plus, the harvesters are still being tested, right?"

"Right. This one in the picture is the first one they built, and they are testing it in the field."

"Well, at least they have that going for them. Besides, there's probably one thing holding them back right now, Aki."

"What's that?"

"It's going to take a while until they reach widespread adoption."

"Really? I thought they were promising the first batch this year."

"China's a big place, Aki. Plus, they're still building the new factories on the mainland. That stuff takes time, even if all the factories over here are working overtime."

"So… the machines in the factories on Taiwan are making the machines that will be used in the factories on the mainland?" It sounded about as weird as it did in her head. "Did I get that right?"

"I think?" Michael just shrugged. "Well, the machinery is probably downgraded to deal with supply chain issues, but basically."

"I see… Will the factories also end up replacing people?"

"Probably not. Hell, we will probably end up with millions working in the textile industry."

Shandong Province, Republic of China, 4 February 1912

Huang Wei was happy to be home. Fighting for the Tongmenghui was something he'd never regret, but he just couldn't see himself staying in the military now that the war was over.

Of course, there was always the political path, but he wasn't that interested in being a politician. Being an active member of society was important, but that didn't mean he needed to be the one running it.

Instead, he'd looked for some odd jobs, ever since he'd come back.

Originally, he had planned on working the fields. Sure, it was a step down for him, but it was honest work. He'd even thought that with Sun's land reforms, he could get himself a nice plot of land.

But one look at that… What was it called? Cotton harvester?

One look at that cotton harvester was all he needed to know that he would soon be out of the job. And if the crowd of men before him was anything to go by, they had gotten the same message.

Sure, they were hard workers and everything, but no amount of hard work was going to compete with a massive machine like that.

Thankfully, some of the local KMT leaders had pointed them in the direction of the construction office.

"There will be a lot to be built," one of his old comrades told him, "And we could use a leader like you who can train people."

Which was how he ended up here, instructing a group of men from his village.

"This," he began, holding up his colored helmet, "is a hard hat. It protects your head from getting pierced, cut, or smashed by any stray tools or objects. You will wear it at all times while you are working. Fail to do so, and you will be warned. Fail to listen to the warning, and you will be sent home."

From the looks of them, they seemed to get the message well enough.

"Good. Now," he continued, pointing to the various tools. "These are the tools you are going to be working with while you are on duty here. Remember that these power tools are faster than your old basic tools. Now, could I get a volunteer?"

One of the men raised his hand. Huang motioned him over and gave him a hammer.

"You know how to hammer nails?" The man nodded, so Huang picked up a nailgun. "Good. You are going to hammer in as many nails into a piece of wood as you can in a minute. Think you can do that?"

"Of course."

Sure enough, the two men spent the next minute competing, with Huang outrunning him by a couple dozen nails.

"As you can see, these are very powerful tools. Treat them with respect, and they will get the job done in a fraction of the time. Fail to do so, and anything that breaks will be coming out of your paycheck."

Haishenwai, Haishenwai Province, Republic of China, 8 February 1912

All things considered, Yurii was having a decent time under Chinese rule.

Sure, these new Chinese were very insistent on their passports and papers, but the increased bureaucracy was a small price to pay for the small improvements that came with them.

After all, it was not as if the Russians were the most benevolent overlord. Russification tended to follow wherever his rule went, even if he and the rest of the Ukrainians here mostly wanted to be left alone.

And then there were the jackets. It may be minor, but these were better jackets than anything he had ever worn before. Despite their light weight, they kept him as warm as any heavy coat he had ever worn.

But what truly stuck out to him was the medicine they had brought with them on the first cargo ship in. It was, quite literally, a life saver.

Artyom who worked at the docks had been battling tuberculosis for weeks, coughing his lungs out while he fought to keep on living.

Then here come the Chinese, promising a medical cure for what had once been a death sentence. Of course he took them up on the offer; any chance at survival was better than no chance.

The process would be slow. There was no such thing as an instant cure, and the doctor had said as such. Still, Artyom was on the road to recovery, and at least he wouldn't be coughing up his lungs anymore.

Come October (assuming he continued to receive treatment), the old cossack would probably be as good as new. Which, given that the man was slowly dying only a few months ago, was a marked improvement.

And then came the machinery. Sure, Yurii knew what an automobile was, even if Russia had been hopelessly under-mechanized. But to see the machinery up close was something else.

A great vehicle with a mechanical claw, this equipment could clear a week's worth of forest in a day. Coupled with the new single-man saws the Chinese had introduced, and productivity had nearly exploded through the roof.

More importantly, none of the new machinery put them out of work. Sure, the machines could outpace any single man, but there were only a couple of them and a vast swathe of forest.

If anything, the loggers that machine did replace found new work supporting it. After all, somebody had to drive the trucks back to Vladivostok. Who better than the men who knew the industry the best?

The funniest thing, however, was that despite the mechanization of the logging industry, the new machines had actually created more jobs than they rendered obsolete. After all, somebody had to fix the new machinery.

Which is how he ended up here, in this garage, with a machine that was as good as new.

"Is it ready?" the old cossack asked him.

"Da, Tyoma. The clutch should be fixed now."

MIB Headquarters, Taipei, Taiwan, Republic of China, 14 February 1912

"You have got to be kidding me," Rachel sighed as she read the report. "They actually agreed to this?"

"Hey, Nanjing wanted solutions to the opium epidemic," Li told her, once again. "This is a solution."

"They are proposing that we help get people off of their opium addictions-"

"Yup."

"…With Cannabis."

"Okay, when you put it like that, Fong, it does sound crazy."

"Which it is."

"It's no silver bullet, but there are some studies from the US back in our time that are pretty promising."

"And what is being proposed is, at the most, a study." Rachel sighed again. "This is one of those things that is crazy enough to work, isn't it?"

"Yup. Plus, it's not like we're going to run out of opium addicts on the Mainland. Maybe this can do some good."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then we use methadone and rehab."

"You do realize the cannabis is illegal in Taiwan, right? As in, if word got out that we were running medical tests on the drug…"

"I think people would understand what a pilot program is. Besides, everything is above board. We have accredited doctors and everything."

"Which brings me to my next question: Why exactly is MIB getting involved with this? We don't deal drugs to fund our operations. That's the CIA."

"Mostly because this operation is technically illegal in Taiwan. As opposed to the Mainland, where they don't have any legislation on cannabis in the first place."

"That sounds like a grey area, Li."

The man shrugged. "Probably. But what we are doing is technically legal. The best kind of- Oh God, that came out wrong."

That at least got a laugh out of her.

"Somebody has to work on their Phrasing."

"Yeah, alright, Archer. So, do you think it could work?"

"Honestly, Li? A little over year ago, I would say that this is too ridiculous to work."

"A little over a year ago, we weren't sent back in time to right before the Xinhai Revolution."

"Exactly. At this point, precedence has gone out the window."

"Yeah. Throw all your priors to the wind at this point."

"Fair enough."

At this point, Rachel could swear that she had almost been conditioned to deal with the ridiculousness that was known as her job, circumstances, and objective reality.

It was either that, or her mind would have devolved to constant internal screaming at the sheer insanity of it all.

"So," she continued. "We aren't going to be the ones tasked with this op, right?"

If nothing else, it would be a waste of talent for either of us. And a waste of valuable manpower on more serious things.

Like CK2.

"Us? Hell no, Rachel. We have seniority now. Probably even moreso when MIB is finally expanded and reorganized. This'll go to some new guy."

"Alright. And us?"

"New mission."

"Oh?"

"Yup. Hey, have you ever been to Bangkok?"

 

[ChrisProvidence]

It is no secret that we want to take the Concessions. It's Chinese territory, after all.

To that end, we have multiple options to do so:

1. Invasion
Perhaps the most straightforward, we could probably take over the concessions in a week by sheer overwhelming force. That said, we would also be declaring war on at least four European powers. While we would be able to win, we would damage relations with a third of the world.

2. Economic Pressure
Given the exponential projections for Chinese industry over the following years, it is likely that we will be able to out-produce and undercut European powers in multiple sectors (textile, cotton, steel, etc). This would almost certainly lead to the global economy turning to us, rather than the Europeans, for several products. Using this newfound economic pressure, we may be able to negotiate a transfer of territory.

3. Referendums
Through propaganda, coupled with our projected higher standard of living in the coming years, it is likely that any referendum held in these territories would lead to a victory for us.

4. Riots and Intervention
Another option is fomenting unrest with the MIB and arming the rioters with surplus weapons. Afterwards, we could roll in and effectively occupy the territory. It is bloodier, but we would have plausible deniability, at the bare minimum.

5. Outright Purchase/Barter
Assuming we have enough in the treasury, it is theoretically possible to purchase the concessions by buying the Europeans out of their contracts. That said, we probably don't have enough money on our own, so the incentive of modern medicine would need to be on the table as well.

Now, these are five options for liberating the Concessions. Each has its own advantages and drawbacks, and none of them are mutually-exclusive.

That said, these are simply options. They are not necessarily viable options, and must be treated as such.

But at the bare minimum, they are worth considering.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Moscow, Moscow Governorate, Russian Empire, 28 February 1912

As far as coups went, Wrangel has decided that this was one of the more successful ones. Perhaps on the level of 18 Brumaire, if he was being honest.

Once General Brusilov was brought to the city in chains, Diterikhs expedited the military tribunal. With himself presiding, of course. The generals would all be there, of course; after all, somebody had to preside over the tribunal.

But what was most convenient for the plotting officers was that the Tsar himself had come to Moscow to attend the tribunal. It wasn't according to the original plan, of course, but in hindsight it made sense to the Colonel.

After all, the Tsar had planned to place all the blame for the Eastern Campaign on General Brusilov. Why wouldn't he be present at the military tribunal he'd ordered to get his point across?

Still, they had adapted to the circumstances, and instead launched the coup with the generals and the Tsar both present.

It had been quite simple, really. He and Denikin were in charge of security that day, and they had specifically chosen men they could trust to stand guard, while other trusted men stormed the building.

It was chaos at first. No plan survived first contact with the enemy, of course. But within a few minutes, the Tsar and his loyalists were placed under arrest for incompetence, while the men outside the barricades were none the wiser.

Wrangel could remember it like it was yesterday.

"How dare you defy your Tsar!" the man had shouted at Diterikhs, and all those around him. "You all are as guilty as the general you have sided with!"

"The general you sent on a suicide mission!" Kornilov shouted back, "Him, and the hundred thousand who lay dead in China!"

That, of all things, had served as a rallying cry, with officers who were previously on the fence about taking sides. Quite literally, in this case, as the Tsar watched them walk with the mutineers.

And then? Truth be told, the rest of it was a blur of events, shouts, and threats. The latter largely by Kornilov, of course.

But by the end of it, Tsar Nikolai II had abdicated, and his brother was to be appointed as Tsar Mikhail II, Emperor and Autocrat of All Russias, with the military's blessing.

Or at least he would have, had the man actually been in Russia at the time. No, the Grand Duke was off on vacation in Europe with his mistress and son. And, to their surprise, the man had declined the throne.

Apparently it had to do with the Grand Duke's relationship with Natalia Brasova, as his newfound position would likely prevent him from marrying her.

This in turn meant that the next in line was Grand Duke Kyrill Vladimirovich, the first Grand Duke to pledge his allegiance to the coup plotters. Now, without much other options, save for the sickly Tsarevich, the mutineers had met with him and agreed to have him crowned as Tsar.

Which was how they all ended up here, watching Tsar Kyrill I's coronation. With a fair number of promotions, of course.

Kornilov would be promoted to General of the Infantry, while he and Denikin were promoted to Lieutenant General.

And Diterikhs?

For his role in helping Tsar Kyrill rise to the throne, Diterikhs was promoted the General Field Marshal of the Russian Army.

And Interim Prime Minister until elections were held once more... whenever that may be.

Bangkok, Kingdom of Siam, 17 March 1912

"I take it Bangkok has been treating you well?" Captain Leng Srichand asked his guests as they returned to their quarters. "As representatives of the Republic of China, I do hope your accommodations are suitable for you and your men."

"They are, thank you," Li told him. "We do appreciate the Army's hospitality, of course, despite the dire financial straits of the Kingdom."

"I'll be sure to pass this on to my superiors," the Captain agreed. "And you, Miss Chu? I take it that His Majesty has once again asked that you and
Mr. Young train the Wild Tiger Corps?"

"Indeed," she sighed. "As I have reiterated, the Republic of China specifically permitted us to train the Army. We would need authorization from Nanjing to permit us."

"Did His Majesty believe that?" the Captain asked her. Fong nodded as they walked to an isolated part of the armory. "Good. We wouldn't want you to be training the people we'd be fighting."

"Of course," Li agreed. "How many have agreed to this, anyways?"

"Ninety-one," the captain promised. "Myself included."

"Will that be enough?"

"I believe so. After all, this is an assassination. We need only one good rifle."

"If you say so," Li told him. "Now, as representatives of the Republic of China..."

"You will have no part in this, of course," Leng Srichand agreed, but he flashed a tired smile. "That said, were the King to be assassinated and a Republic declared, would the Republic of China acknowledge us as the legitimate government?"

"I believe so," Fong promised.

Outside Jiaozhou, Shandong Province, Republic of China, 20 March 1912

Laying track was tiring work, but Huang Wei had no doubt that it was honest work.

And with the new inventions that the Taiwanese had brought with them, they were moving rather quickly. Or as quick for his standards, anyways, and he didn't have much of a reference.

Railways were one of the first major projects of the "New China," as they had called it. And that meant building as much rail as they could, as rapidly as they could, so long as it was still in Standard Gauge.

Which meant constant communication between various teams across the country as they all built their own part of the railroad and connect them with one another. Truth be told, the sheer scope of the coordination amazed him, but Huang was happy to not have to deal with something above his pay grade.

No, his job was to make sure his men were working as efficiently as possible, and that meant making sure they were well-rested, well-motivated, and well-fed.

Huang looked over to one of the rice paddies to see a large machine planting rice seedlings by the thousand. Even from this distance, he could see the green seedlings clumped together on a rug-like mat, only for the machine to spit them out in its wake in perfect lines.

Now, he didn't know how they did it, but he knew three things for sure.

He and his men would be well-fed. If they were well-fed, then they would be well-rested. And if they were well-rested and well-fed, then they would be well-motivated.

And the railway would be built in no time, at this rate.

Presidential Palace, Nanjing, Jiangsu Province, Republic of China

"Could you say that again?" President Sun Yat-Sen couldn't believe his ears. "It sounded like you said that rice production would skyrocket this year."

"Yes, that is correct," Wang told him, only to look at the report just to make sure he wasn't seeing things. "Given the introduction of machinery, high-yield variants, as well as fertilizers and modern methods, it is likely that this year's rice crop will actually exceed expectations."

"Exactly how much are we talking, Wang? Ten percent? Twenty?"

"Truth be told, Sun, I don't know. All I have are projections, and they are almost certainly off the charts. I could have the statisticians look over their data once more, but it is likely that this year's rice crop will be enough to get us through the year."

"That is good to hear." Despite his demeanor, Wang could tell that Sun was practically overjoyed by the news. These knew methods and implements have been a Godsend. Perhaps quite literally."

"Of course," Wang agreed. After all, this should, in theory, be enough to prevent a famine, at the bare minimum. "There is one caveat, of course."

Sun nodded, motioning for Wang to continue.

"It is the issue of supply. Despite their best efforts, the Islanders will only be able to have a fraction of the necessary equipment in the field by the time the harvest comes around."

"I see..." Sun shook his head. "With that in mind, Wang, what are the projections, given this shortage of equipment?"

"Without the equipment?" Sun nodded, doing his best to maintain a facade of calm. "Sun, these are the projections without the equipment."

"Do you mean to tell me that despite having only a fraction of the equipment we need for the entire country, we will be able to avert a famine?"

"Yes."

"I see... Now, on to the next crop report. I believe you had some interesting projections about the cotton harvest this year?"

"Yes, I believe so," Wang agreed, and flipped the page. "Factoring in the use of Islander machinery to plant and harvest a fraction of this year's crop, we can expect a harvest of roughly five million bales of cotton. Of course, this number is likely to rise sharply in the coming year as more equipment is produced and production lines are streamlined."

"I see... Exactly how many bales would we be produced by then?"

"Twenty-five million withing five years, though it is likely that we should be able to reach fifteen million with the amount of machinery available by planting season next year."

Sun simply looked at him in stunned silence. Wang just stood quietly until Sun motioned for him to continue.

"For reference, HISTINT has confirmed the United States of America produces approximately ten million bales of cotton at this time..."

Bangkok, Kingdom of Siam, 1 April 1912

Rachel looked through the scope of her Mk. 14, and she looked at the crowd below them.

"Merit-making ceremony."

"A what?" Li turned to her and put down his binoculars. "Never heard of it."

"Buddhist ceremony. Followers give offerings to the monks in exchange for good karma. Or something like that, anyways."

"Oh, right. Like the ones back on Taiwan, right?"

"More or less, Li. Now, do you see the signal?"

"I see it," he told her. "There's two lanterns in the window, as promised. Their shooter is in place."

"Good. And do they know where we are?"

"No. As far as they are concerned, we are still at the hotel. That's what the Hu brothers are going to say if anyone asks."

"Good." Much as she wanted this mission to succeed, she couldn't help but feel a sense of paranoia, just in case it failed. "The less they know, the better."

After all, we aren't supposed to be here, right now. Let alone observing an assassination, of all things.

"So, when do you think they will be- Wait, are those the Wild Tiger Corps? What are they doing there?"

Rachel turned her rifle to see the king's personal unit investigating the window. The men kicked down the door and rushed in, guns at the ready.

"King's still doing his speech," Li observed. "Wild Tigers?"

"Going up the stairs. They should be at the window in three... two... one..."

Sure enough, the Wild Tigers were in the window, investigating the lanterns and the single rifle that was left there.

And then a shot rang out in the distance.

"Target's hit, Fong," Li told her. "You're clear to open fire on the Wild Tigers."

Rachel did her best to calm herself, given the circumstances. Controlled breathing was what she needed right now.

In her sights, she could see the Wild Tigers run out the doorway, right into her field of fire.

"Firing."

The first one fell to the ground, bleeding out of his throat.

"Hit."

"Firing."

The next suppressed round went through one Wild Tiger's heart, killing him instantly, and followed through into a third Wild Tiger's leg.

"Hit. Hold up, friendlies are moving in. Hold fire."

Sure enough, Leng had arrived with several of his soldiers, their weapons aimed at the surviving Wild TIgers.

Then they fired, finishing what Rachel had started.

"Looks like a framing," she told Li. "Window had line of sight to the King when he went down. Wild Tigers show up, King dies, and Captain Leng swoops in to gun down the last 'assassin.'"

"Huh. Think they'll buy it?"

"Probably. Should be enough evidence to convince the public that the Wild Tiger Corps killed the king."

Favored personal unit or not, it would be hard to dispute four dead bodies running with the "murder weapon" out of a building with perfect line-of-sight to the king.

Truth be told, neither she nor Li had expected the rebels to have that foresight. Not when they had picked the shooter by lottery, only for him to get cold feet in their timeline.

"Well, that's one way to start a revolution," Li muttered. "Let's get back to the hotel."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Presidential Palace, Republic of Siam, 1 May 1912

Rachel was no stranger to violence. She would be a poor sniper if she was.

And a poor MSS agent as well, but that didn't play as much a role these days. Not when China was in its infancy, and she could do her part to set it on the right path.

Sure, they had saved Mao from the Qing, but the Republic was entrenched in its position for the time being, and the CPC hadn't even been formed. Though now that she thought about it, it might not happen in the first place if Li's history was correct.

But she was getting sidetracked. Where was she...

Right. Violence.

Truth be told, it was more of an obligation. One that she was very good at.

Which was how she ended up here, watching another round of executions.

After the assassination of the king, the Wild Tiger Corps were quickly disbanded, with claims that they had killed him. It was bullshit, of course, but when you walk out of a building with the "murder weapon," it's easy enough to frame you.

After that came the arrests, where the leadership of the Wild Tiger Corps were thrown into jail, while the rank and file were interned.

Could they kill all the few thousands of them? Possibly.

Would it be a stupid idea? Absolutely.

Instead, the revolutionaries (with a little counsel from her and Li), decided on executing the leadership and the "perpetrators," coupled with a propaganda campaign helped by MIB.

Officially, it was a "Diplomatic Gesture to Ensure Justice in the Republic of Siam," or some legalese that HQ had come up with. She didn't buy it, of course, but it wasn't for her.

No, it was for the general population of Siam. And as far as they were concerned, the Wild Tiger Corps killed the king for... some reason.

Honestly, she didn't care what lie they used, so long as it worked. Besides, they had dedicated people who spent their time working on propaganda, and they had the decency to design the fliers and print the large pile of pamphlets that were being spread throughout the country.

But as far as she was concerned, there was only one thing that mattered:

It worked.

"Fire!" Colonel Leng shouted, and another volley fired off. Like the rest of them, these Wild Tiger Corps officers fell to the ground.

Rachel looked at Li, who grimaced at the sight. For an agent, he knew what they had to do if they wanted to create a better world.

That didn't mean they had to like it, though, but at least they could keep up appearances when Leng walked up to them.

"I appreciate your presence, Ms. Chu and Mr. Young. It's a terrible necessity."

"Indeed," Li told him, straight-faced as he could be. "Have you and the provisional government looked at the analyses some of our experts have sent?"

"We have," Leng promised. "The debt will be an issue, of course, but at least we won't have to worry about famine."

"Or digging yourselves further into the hole," Li agreed. "I take it the men are adapting to their new tactics?"

"Definitely. The M1 Carbine isn't the modern weapon we had expected-"

"We'll get you those modern weapons when we sort through our own industry," Li promised. "But for now, the Carbine should be a step up for your men. Should get them familiar with semi-auto instead of bolt action. Once the rifles arrive, we'll be able to train them on the new rifles."

"Fair enough," Leng relented. "I think we'll be busy for the next few months, anyways."

"Can you and your men handle it?"

"Of course, Young. Shame that the rest of the claimants wound up dead."

"Terrible shame," Rachel agreed. "But the silver lining is that the Republic won't have to deal with any monarchists in the near future. Perfect time for you and your people to consolidate your hold."

"Of course."

Chicago Coliseum, Chicago, Illinois, United States of America, 21 June 1911



"I would like to thank President Taft for his concession," he began. "While he and eye may have our differences in our politics, he was most certainly the man in the arena these last four years."

"But as member of the Republican Party- No, as Americans, it is evident that we change course. Even moreso, now that the world has changed so greatly in such a short period."

"In less than two years, an island from the future has not only traveled to our time, but they laid low not one, not two, but three empires in a matter of months."

"When an Act of God interferes with the sea of time, it is clear that we must change our course if we are to survive. That is not to say that we shall retreat, nor that we should reject what sets our great nation from all other countries."

"My fellow Americans, the world has changed. No longer are we rivaled in the Pacific, for our rivals have beaten their swords into plowshares, and their replacements reach out to us with admiration and cooperation."

"After all, one need only look at this new 'Republic of China' to see the success of our democratic values. Though we are no longer the largest democracy on our planet, it is clear that their victory against the yoke of monarchy is a validation of our republican values. Just as we had done over a century ago."

"No longer is the Pacific a battleground for rivals, but a cradle for democracy. Today, young republics follow in our footsteps, just as younger brothers follow their elders' examples."

"With this responsibility, we Americans cannot be an island in a sea of time. Instead, we must be a great ship, leading the world forward into the future through every ebb and flow."

"From Sea to Shining Sea, the light of democracy shines brighter than ever before. And as President, I will do everything in my power to lead us forward into this bright future."

"So without further ado, I, Theodore Roosevelt Junior, accept the Republican nomination for the 1912 Presidential Election!"

Downtown Seoul, Republic of Korea, 15 August 1912

Ahn Changho had never thought he would be here. Ever since the Japanese had formally annexed Korea, he knew this would be a long, drawn-out fight.

Yet less than two years, almost to the day, he was now standing in a free Korea. One that would seek its own destiny, free of the Japanese yoke.

"I solemnly swear in front of the people," he began, "That I will faithfully serve as president by complying with the Constitution, protecting the state, promoting the peace of my country, promoting the freedom and welfare of the people, and promoting national culture."

And just like that, he was the first President of the Republic of Korea.

"Short and simple," Sun Yat-Sen told him at the reception. "Now comes the hard part."

"Of course." Never had he thought he would be here in the first place, but he had at least hoped that defeating the Japanese would be the hard part. "This is why we chose this line of work, is it not?"

"It is," Ozaki Yukio told him. The Prime Minister of Japan's presence had been a contentious issue, but the fact that the Japanese had also taken up arms against the Katsura regime certainly smoothed things over. "The Emperor sends his regards, of course."

That, and the decision to pin the majority of the blame on the Katsura Administration certainly helped.

"Please forward him my thanks," Ahn said politely. As far as Japanese Prime Ministers went, Ozaki had to be the most agreeable one that Japan could have selected. Then again, most Prime Ministers weren't imprisoned by their predecessors. "And thank you for your presence. I trust the Japanese people are ready to move forward?"

"Indeed," Ozaki promised. "Of course, there are remnants from the Katsura administration who hold a revanchist line. Largely in the Kempeitai, of course... or what is left of them."

Ahn had to do his best not to smile at that news. He had no love for the Kempeitai, and he was fairly certain that Ozaki shared the sentiment. However, saying, "I am happy that those assholes who kept my people down and held you without trial are either dead or disbanded," would be very unbecoming of the President of Korea.

Even if it was true.

"I imagine they have been publicly disgraced?"

"Indeed. Shooting their own civilians is a rather poor way of earning public support," Att Hasitawet, the Siamese President added. "On behalf of the Republic of Siam, I would like to offer my congratulations."

"Thank you," Ahn acknowledged. "And I wish you the best of luck with your people's republic."

"Now, with that out of the way," said Sun, "I believe there are some treaties that we need to discuss. Given the circumstances, as well as our shared values and interests against foreign intervention, it would be prudent that our four nations begin cooperating more formally in matters of trade and defense."

"An alliance?" Ozaki raised his eyebrow at that. "I do hope that you do not intend to start another war, Sun."

"Hardly, Ozaki. But given our circumstances, it is in our nations' interests that we cooperate with one another to prevent hostilities from breaking out between ourselves or with other nations."

The Kremlin, Moscow, Moscow Governorate, Russian Empire, 4 September 1912

The Prime Minister looked over the speech written by Denikin.

"Yes, yes, this should address the main issues," he surmised. "Particularly the protests and the riots during the war."

"Of course," Denikin told him. "Particularly the Jewish issue. From what the Okhrana have reported, they had a disproportionate representation among the rioters. Them, the socialists, and the non-Russians, most of all."

"Is it not coincidental?" Wrangel offered, "Jews are known to have a significant presence in leftist circles. "Leon Trotsky, Julius Martov, and Pavel Axelrod are all Jews, for example, but it seems that their opposition to the war was less to do with their ethnicity or religion, and more to do with their ideology. As for the ethnic minorities, is it any surprise that places like Kiev, Warsaw, and Helsinki were the most eager to protest, given their past history of grievances against Saint Petersburg and Moscow?"

"Oh, but they are all related," Denikin countered. "One's ideology and morals are influenced by the cultural values and religion that they are raised in, after all. While there is certainly a marked difference between Judaism and Socialism, it is clear that in Russia, the threat we face is, in part, Judeo-Socialist in nature."

"As for the non-Russian question, it is clear that these ethnic groups pose a second fifth-column element in our society. Their cultural grievances provide the Judeo-Socialism ideology with a fertile breeding ground in which the ideology is able to absorb the causes and grievances into their own movements. Given these facts, it is clear that multi-culturalism, while not necessarily Jewish or Socialist in origin, is in fact Judeo-Socialist in practice."

Denikin, what the fuck are you talking about?

"Given this harsh reality, Wrangel," Denikin continued, "It is important that we address these calls for multi-culturalism as the clear and present danger to Russian society that they are. To prevent such a disaster as the Zheltorossiya Campaign from happening again, a united Russia is necessary in every sense of the word.

"He has a point," Diterikhs agreed, and that was enough to get Wrangel to shut up for the time being. "If we are to rebuilt a stronger Russia, we must be united as one, in every sense of the word. We must be one people, speak one language, follow one leader, and be one Russia."

"Of course, Prime Minister," Wrangel relented. He did have one question, thought?

Who exactly was that "one leader" Diterikhs described.

Was it himself? Or was it the Tsar?

Chinese Volunteer Headquarters, Haikou, Hainan Province, Republic of China, 26 October 1912

"I think I'm going to miss you two the most," Le told Diamond and Cohen in his office. "There truly isn't anything I can say to convince you to stay?"

"Afraid not, sir," Cohen told him. "The MIB is an opportunity I can't pass up. Especially when they need people who aren't, well..."

"White," Le finished for him. "Yeah, I get it. Would be pretty hard to run an intelligence agency made up entirely of Chinese people anywhere that wasn't China."

"Exactly," Cohen told him. "You know, if they were even willing to take in Diamond, I'm sure they could use somebody like you, Le. MIB could use a man who can speak Vietnamese. No offense, Diamond."

"None taken, Morris."

"That's why I'm here for the long haul," Le chuckled. "Somebody has to teach all these new recruits how to fight, and it's not like you guys know how to speak Vietnamese to them, and not just the swear words."

"Fair enough," Diamond relented, before offering a hand that Le readily shook. "Don't be a stranger, Sarge."

"You too, Jake. And do me a favor: Make sure Morris doesn't get too big a head, alright?"

"I'll miss you too, Sarge," the downtimer sighed, and shook his hand as well. "Until next time."

"Yup." And with that, his two soldiers walked out the front door of the headquarters. Le would miss them, but he had a job to do. "So, do you think the men are ready, Cung?"

"Ready as they will ever be," the younger Vietnamese man told him. "How many are there?"

"Not counting the Vietnamese, Laotian, and Cambodians who are already part of the Foreign Legion," Le recalled, "We have about two thousand who answered Phan's call. That should be enough for two battalions."

"Not much of an army," Cung observed, "But you have to start from somewhere, yes?"

"Exactly. Which is why we're starting today."

This had to be, what, the third army he'd be fighting with at this point? No, this would be the fourth.

America, Rojava, China, and now Indochina.

But out of all of them, this one made him the most nervous, and it wasn't because he was just talking with Ho Chi Minh.

No, it was because this time, he would be fighting for Indochina.

This time, it was personal.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Chinese Volunteer Headquarters, Haikou, Hainan Province, Republic of China, 12 December 1912

As far as trainees went, these men (and a few women) seemed to be doing better than most units he'd trained since he got here. Though in fairness, that was more to do with the fact that this time, Le didn't have to rush their training.

They weren't in the best shape once they'd gotten here, either. Sure, corvee labor meant a lot of them had the endurance, but these things took practice.

Still, they were fast learners, but this was the easy part. The hard part was the fact that about forty percent of the recruits were illiterate in some form or another.

All things considered, it came with the territory when a good chunk of your recruits were people who just moved here from Indochina for work and ended up joining the Foreign Legion for a better life.

Sure, most (if not all of them) were receptive to Phan Boi Chau's ideology, but a lot of them primarily came here for the promise of a good-paying job and an education.

Which they received, of course. The Foreign Legion actually paid pretty well. Sure, he was a Master Sergeant, but he was pretty sure that even a private got better pay than whatever the French were paying, back in Indochina.

Though I guess healthcare, education, food, and actually getting paid are definitely a step up from what's going on down there.

Wow, that's a low bar.

The anti-colonialist, pan-Asianist ideology was free, though, and it wasn't as if there weren't about two hundred thousand Vietnamese people who got sent back in time. With a class size of about thirty, there had to be at least thirty people who could teach and speak the language.

The hardest part was finding people who could speak Khmer and Laotian, and they'd even found people who could do that, too.

One way or another, Phan Boi Chau's plan to educate the next generation of Indochinese revolutionaries would work.

Ishigaki Island, Taiwan Province, Republic of China, 25 December 1912

"...You do know what Christmas is, right?"

It was a dumb question, now that he asked her. How long has it been? Almost two years?

In that time, Ishigaki had grown quite a bit. From the military base to the utilities to actually having a bank so that Aki didn't have to keep getting mailed envelopes full of money that she kept hidden under her mattress.

No, he wasn't going to forget that, and no, he wasn't going to stop bringing it up.

"Michael, we celebrated this last year," his partner told him. "Yes, I know what Christmas is. I just didn't celebrate it until last year."

"Right. But you get what I'm saying, right? When you're a kid, the last thing you want for Christmas is clothes. Once you grow up, it's the first thing on your wish list."

"Huh. That makes sense. Wait, is that why you got me so many clothes for Christmas?"

"That?" He motioned to the large number of packages currently inside his house. "No, that's because it takes forever to ship anything to this island, even after they set up the post office."

"You'd think that would be one of the first things they would set up." Aki just shrugged at that. "Better to look at the… what was the phrase?"

"Silver lining?"

"Yes, the silver lining in this."

"What's that?"

"I don't have to keep borrowing your clothes."

"Good. Wait, these fit you, right?"

"...Yes?"

"Good."

Tsu Residence, Manila, Insular Government of the Philippines, 7 January 1912

Emmanuel Tsu looked at his wife, who was as laser-focused as he was on their opponent. This was her home, just as much as it was his home, and she wasn't about to lose.

"Ready, Laura?"

"Always, Manny," she promised, with a tired smile on her face. "Let's do this."

He nodded at his wife and began.

"Pen pen de sarapen, de kutsilyo de almasen. Haw, haw de carabao batutin. Sayang pula tatlong pera, Sayang puti tatlong salapi Sipit namimilipit ginto't pilak. Namumulaklak sa tabi ng dagat."

"You're out, Tita Laura!" one of his great-aunts shouted with childish glee. "You're next, Tito Manny!"

"We'll see about that, anak," Manny told the little girl, before turning to his great-grandfather. "Want to join us, Lolo?"

"I'm fine, Manny," his great-grandfather told him. The slightly-younger man was busy smiling off in the corner. "Actually, could I talk with you for a minute?"

"Ninong," Manny's great-aunt complained, "Tito Manny's about to lose!"

"You win this round, Cora," Manny promised, much to the girl's delight. So he walked off with his ancestor. "So, what's up? Did something happen with the stores?"

"Nothing," Lolo Vicente told him. "Actually, it's good news. Tool sales are a bit low, but they keep buying all the clothes. I talked with one of my cousins down in Mindanao, and they were asking me how quickly we could get the next shipment!"

"That fast? Didn't know cheap clothes would sell for that much, Lolo."

"Cheap or not, it's good quality and affordable for the average Filipino, Manny."

When his Lolo put it like that, it did make a lot of sense.

Most clothes back in 2020 were made in places like Taiwan because it was so cheap. Factor in a large cotton crop, a literal century head start on manufacturing, along with the largest population on the planet, and it was no surprise that China could make clothes faster and cheaper than their American counterparts.

And once those clothes were made, they needed somebody to sell it. Who better than his large family of merchants with dozens of cousins all over the damn place?

Sure, it was probably some form of nepotism, but the Tsu family's sheer size meant that there were members all over the Philippines, and they were more than happy to sell clothes as well as tools.

Actually, clothes were probably easier to sell, now that he thought about it. Everyone needs to wear clothes. Power tools? Not so much.

"Makes sense, Lolo. So, we're in the black?" His great-grandfather gave him a weird look. "We're making good money?"

"Basically," Lolo told him. "Even after the Chinese get their cut, we've been able to make a good amount of money."

Well, that's a lie.

Not that Lolo or anyone else was stealing it, or skimming off the top. No, they had made so much money selling clothes that they literally did not know what to do with it.

"I guess we could expand to the US?" Manny offered, before Lolo shook his head. "We're doing that already, aren't we?"

"Yes."

"I guess we could use it to help people here. Our family should be set for the near future, but I'd like to spend the rest of it investing in the Philippines."

Honestly, he didn't know if Lolo would be on board with it, but the younger man just smiled and ruffled his great-grandson's hair.

"Then we'll do that," Lolo told him. "You're a man after my own heart, Manny."

"I'm your great-grandson, Lolo."

"And that's why I'm proud of you, anak… Wow, it still sounds weird to say that."

"I mean, I am older than you, Lolo…"

Blue House, Seoul, Republic of Korea, 26 January 1913

Park Jae-Hyun wasn't much of an economist, but he still had to sit through meetings with Ahn these days. Being in charge of the Korean Army meant he had to do things like that.

It was a shock at first, but he had been the best man for the job. Even if he didn't believe it at first.

Truth be told, it was Chen who had convinced him to take the job, despite his doubts.

"Jae, you're one of the best damn soldiers I've ever trained," Chen had told him, "It'll be tough at first, but I know you can do this… Plus, you can delegate a lot of the boring crap to subordinates, so that's nice."

Which was how he ended up here, reporting the modernization of the Korean Army to Ahn.

All things considered, it was awfully boring. Always the same, "The men are learning how to use their rifles as fast as the Chinese can provide them," and, "We should sign the STANAG Agreement as soon as possible to ensure that logistics is as simplified as possible."

Truth be told, he kind of wished he could delegate this part of his job away, as well, but that sure wasn't happening anytime soon.

"In the short term," Rhee proposed, "The agricultural and mining sectors will be of the utmost importance. However, I believe it is possible for us to finish our steel mills by 1915 with the help of our Chinese advisors. By 1918, we should have the first few drydocks in place so that we may enter the shipbuilding industry."

While it wasn't his specialty, Jae could understand at least that part. With how much product and material coming out of China, Korea could not hope to compete with them outside of domestic sales.

Which was why they had to work smarter, not necessarily harder, when it came to competing with their allies.

Tokyo Harbor, Tokyo, Empire of Japan, 2 February 1913

"We could always use somebody like you," Admiral Yaguchi told his former subordinate. "I never thought you would be interested in civilian life, Fukuyama."

"It's a new world, Yaguchi," he told his former commander. "Between you and Admiral Togo, I know that the Navy will be in good hands."

"Indeed. Shame about Sakurai, though. I know you two had your differences…"

"He will be missed." Much as he didn't get along with the man, Jun was saddened by his passing. "I doubt he would be happy about things, though."

"True," the admiral admitted. "I take it your business partners have set you up with your own ship?"

"Actually, yes. The Kobayashi is one of those futuristic ships, but it's actually bigger than the Aki itself."

"Slower as well, I imagine, with all those metal boxes on the deck."

"Apparently that's how people in the future would ship cargo, instead of break-bulk. It's much more efficient."

"I see… If you don't mind me asking, what will be the first thing you'll be shipping in those containers?"

"The containers."

"Come again?"

"The first thing the Kobayashi will be shipping will be these shipping containers. Apparently they're in high demand in China."

"It's not as if our harbors can use them," Yaguchi pointed out. Quite literally, in this case, since the Chinese cranes were still assembling things over there. Either way, he offered his hand, and his former XO readily shook one more time. "Best of luck to you, Jun. I know you'll do well."

"I did learn from the best, sir. Thank you."

University of Oxford, Oxford, United Kingdom, 15 March 1913

"As mentioned in the joint Manifesto Against Colonialism," Harrison Brewis said to his fellow leftists, "That the role of Empire is not one of civilization, but first and foremost exploitation. While empire may be a means of sharing these civilizing ideas, it is not inherently necessary for the spread of ideals."

"But the results are evident,'' the student's tory opponent countered. "One need only look at the Indian Civil Service to see the civilizing effects of the Empire firsthand. Whether it was intended or not, it is clear that the Empire has brought civilization to these people through our laws and technology."

"Perhaps," the young leftist admitted, "However, my point is not that the Empire is incapable of civilizing people, but that the Empire is not necessary to do so. Moreover, the constant repression of independence efforts in the Lost History provides sufficient proof that between self-preservation and the uplifting of its subjects, the Empire would always pick the former to the latter's detriment until it was no longer tenable."

"While it is good that you are using newer sources, Mr. Brewis, the rules of this debate specifically require that you do not use Lost History examples. However, as this is your first infraction, you will only be given a warning.

After that, this debate seemed to go on, and on, and on. Carlson would give off an air of an intellectual, or at least he would try to. Truth be told, Clem found the man to be a pompous ass more than anything else.

Brewis, for his part, seemed much more down to earth, if a little socially awkward. From what he had heard, the young socialist was a bit of an aficionado for the Lost history that had come with the Taiwanese.

"It's not every day that we have an alumni visit us," Clem's former professor told him. "I take it you watched the entire debate?"

"Yes. Mr. Brewis seems to be out of his element, and I have found his essays to be more engaging."

"And Mr. Carlson?"

"He is… somebody whom I could describe with many words, none of which could be said in good company."

"Very well," his old professor told him. Clem could see a slight smile on the old man's face as he walked away. "If that will be all, Mr. Attlee, I must take my leave."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Taipei Textiles International Warehouse, Taipei, Taiwan, Republic of China, 1 April 1913

As part of the British Delegation to the Nanjing Conference, it was clear to Churchill that the Chinese were open for business. Quite literally, in many ways, with the Chinese government's insistence on expanded trade in exchange for an end to extraterritoriality, the return of the smaller concessions, and an end to basing foreign troops on its territory.

The Chinese had, of course, pushed for the return of the larger settlements in Shanghai, Macau, Hong Kong, Tsingtao, Guangzhouwan, and Weihaiwei, but the European powers had managed to stand firm on holding at least those territories, instead negotiating for the railways and a permanent ban on the production and import of opium in China.

With such a deal on the table, it was no surprise that the European powers had readily agreed to it.

Why wouldn't they? Here was a market that had roughly four hundred million, and their government was offering them expanded trade with their advanced industrialized economies. Moreover, said market was notoriously under-industrialized, allowing for massive trade surpluses.

Truth be told, they would have to be fools not to agree to it.

So the delegations had signed the treaties in a heartbeat. Last Churchill had heard, almost all of their governments had ratified with the same eagerness, no doubt having come to the same realization.

"That is a… remarkable efficiency," Churchill observed. While Britain had a sizable garment industry of their own, the Chinese seemed to have maximized efficiency in every step of the process. I take it that the increased cotton crop this year will lead to an equally-large increase in textile production?"

"Possibly," Wang told him. "Though much of the crop will be brought to market, it is likely that China will produce about fifteen million bales of cotton in 1913. This can mostly be attributed to the sharp increase in relevant mechanization, as well as developments along the Trans-Chinese Railway."

"The Trans-Chinese Railway?"

"Indeed," Wang told their British guest. "Thanks to advances in communications, coupled with modern technology and construction methods that allow for greater coordination and simultaneous projects along the planned route, it is expected that by harvest season, the Trans-Chinese Railroad will be in working order, though the lack of rail cars is likely to limit output until 1914."

"I see…" It all made sense to him, now. The Chinese, with their technological advantages across the board, had utilized them to the utmost efficiency. "Would it be possible for such machinery and equipment to be exported? I am sure that many Europeans would pay quite a pretty penny for machines such as this."

"I do not believe so," Wang told him. "Rather, it is possible, but they would have to go to the back of the line, behind all of the domestic orders. Not to mention the issue of maintenance and supply chains for parts."

"Of course." Now, truth be told, Churchill didn't know if Wang was simply lying to him, or if it would literally take years. Either way, the answer was no. "Very well."

"Unfortunately, any possible export of industrial equipment would be unlikely at the moment," Wang continued. "To put it bluntly, we need as much equipment as we can to develop our own industrial sector."

"Of course. One must take care of themselves before they can sell abroad. I take it that much of your nation's steel production has gone towards railroads or additional steel mills?"

"Of course," Wang told him. "As the saying goes, one must spend money to make money. Or in this case, forge steel to make even more steel."

"Tell me, how much steel does China produce?"

"As of now?" Churchill nodded. "By the end of the year, it is likely that we will be able to produce about ten million metric tons of steel. Give or take."

"Come again?"

"Of course, this is only an estimate, but with a construction time of about two years, it is likely that several new mills will come online in the following years, leading to a further increase in Chinese steel production."

"Much of this production will be for domestic use, yes?"

"Of course."

Thank God.

Though to be frank, the analysis from the Chinese minister-without-portfolio disturbed him greatly. Here was a country that was rapidly industrializing with modern technology, and they already matched Britain in steel in such a short period of time.

Of course, much of this could be attributed to increased production in Taiwan, but two things were clear:

First, that China would experience a near-exponential economic growth in the coming years across several sectors.

Secondly, there was no doubt that they were only using a fraction of their potential at the moment.

Jinan, Shandong Province, Republic of China, 21 May 1913

"So, how was your first day at work, cousin?" Huang Wei asked Huang De. "The work wasn't too hard, was it?"

"Hardly," De told him. While he had been interested in traveling to Taiwan, Wei had convinced him to move to Shandong after a quick visit. "But there was something I couldn't help but notice, cousin."

"What is it?"

"How clean it was."

"Come again?" After all, that wasn't what he expected from somebody whose job it was to make train cars. "It's clean?"

"As far as factories go, anyways. Yes. They make us wear protective suits and masks. For 'worker safety,' as the manager calls it."

"That's nice. So, how is it?"

"How is what?"

"Making train cars, cousin. It must be hard work building cars like the ones you saw in Taiwan."

"That's the thing," De told his cousin. "They aren't like the ones in Taiwan."

"Is this because of the different-sized tracks?"

"Well… yes. But the train cars we are designing seem to be… what's the word?"

"Simple?" De nodded. "How?"

"There are fewer futuristic devices. Plenty of wiring, of course, and the seats are more-comfortable than anything I've ridden on in America."

"So what sets them apart?"

"Fewer complicated parts. None of these fancy electronics that I saw in Taipei or Kaohsiung."

"That bad, I take it?" De shot him a weird look. Only then did he realize he'd accidentally insulted his cousin's work. "Sorry."

"It's alright. Truth be told, these trains are still nicer than anything I've ridden in America. But at the same time, they seem much simpler than the ones in Taiwan. Likely cheaper, as well."

"Of course. Is the pay good, at least?"

"For the quality they expect? You better believe it. I think I can afford to take care of our cousins with this kind of money."

CNS Yushan, Taipei, Taiwan, Republic of China, 6 June 1913

This had to be the happiest day in Michael Chen's life.

No, that would be the day that Aki agreed to start a relationship with him. Or the first Independence Day. Or when he got promoted to Major General. Or the day after the Great Journey when he learned that his parents' plane was delayed at the airport and stuck in the past with him.

Okay, today was one of the happiest days in his life, and he'd spent the last few hours showing off every nook and cranny he could to his parents and Aki, from bow to stern.

"You kids go on ahead," his mother called after them. "We'll catch up with you!"

"She seems nice. Both of them do."

"Yeah." Both of them want grandkids, too. "So, where do you want to go, now?"

"Honestly, Michael? I'm just going to follow your lead. It's your big day, after all."

"Yeah, I know." From the corner of his eye, his reflection had the dopiest grin on his face, but he didn't care. "It's just, I don't know how to put it."

"Exciting?"

"Yeah. You don't know how long I've been waiting for this, Aki."

"You've been telling me about this every night."

"Yeah, I know."

"...And you wouldn't stop complaining in your diary about how you didn't want to ram another barge into the shore, 'no matter how cool it looked.'"

"I did?" Aki just crossed her arms at him. "Oh right. Yeah. Forgot I had you transcribe it to the computer."

"If it makes you feel better, it did sound pretty cool…"

"Really?"

"Probably. I never watched the videos. Not really my thing, you know?"

"Fair enough. So, how does it look?"

"How does what look?" she asked, motioning to the mostly-empty hangar. "Engineering isn't really my forte, Michael."

"Yeah, but you grew up on ships. Honestly, I'm pretty sure you've been at sea longer than I have.'

"It's a very nice ship. Cleaner than almost any ship I've ever been on, but that's not a high bar."

"Give it time. Anything else?"

"I could say that it's bigger and better-armed than any ship I have ever traveled on, but the biggest threats my father ever faced were pirates."

"Wait, your father fought off pirates?"

"Long story, and it was on shore."

Aw.

"So, other than that, what do you think about it?"

"It works."

"That's it?"

"Michael, it's not like I've been on this ship for more than a couple hours. All I know is that it passed its trial phase with flying colors, and we're riding it back to Ishigaki. Oh, and one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"It makes you happy and keeps you safe. That's good enough for me."

"Thanks, Aki. Oh, and the whole, not-being-a-barge-I-bolted-a-bunch-of-engines-to, right?"

"Yeah, that too."

Bridge of the Kobayashi, Guangzhou Harbor, Guangdong Province, Republic of China, 4 July 1913

"Excuse me," Li asked the captain in Japanese. The Japanese man turned to meet him. "Do I know you?"

"I think so," Fukuyama told him. "You were one of the agents who interviewed Admiral Yaguchi, yes?"

"Yaguchi?" Oh, right, the Japanese captain from two years ago. "Yeah, I remember him. Did he get promoted to Admiral?"

"Yes," Fukuyama told him, with a fond smile on his face. "Not as if there were many qualified men after…"

Well, this is awkward.

"...Yeah, sorry it came to that."

Really, Marty? Okay, not the worst thing you could say to a guy you nearly blew up two years ago.

Fukuyama shrugged. "It can't be helped."

Oh thank God.

"So, how is Yaguchi, these days?"

"Much calmer, ever since the war ended. Thankfully, the Aki wasn't sent into combat against the Chinese Navy."

"Yeah. Glad to hear he made it through. So, you're the captain of this freighter, huh?"

"The Kobayashi is mine, yes. Well, I only own a part of it. The men and I all pitched in our money to save up for it."

"How the Hell- Sorry. How were you and your guys able to afford a whole ship?"

"Backpay. Lots and lots of backpay."

"Yeah, that'll do it. So, how's civilian life treating you?"

"It's nice. Much calmer than life in the Navy, that's for sure."

"Yeah, figured as much. So, what brings you to Guangzhou, Fukuyama?"

"Just doing shipments back and forth. Turns out the Siamese ordered a bunch of fertilizer and farming equipment. Same as the Koreans. Apparently everyone wants them, these days."

"I don't blame them. Have you ever seen one of them in action?"

"Can't say I have, Li."

"These things are nuts. Imagine a machine that can plant entire fields in minutes, along with a machine that can harvest them just as quickly."

"Oh, that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"All the cheap soybeans I keep shipping to Japan. And I guess all the clothes, too."

"That's good, right?"

Because Hell if I know anything about economics.

"For me and my men? Yes. For Japan? Also yes."

"Thank God. You had me worried for a second."

"Li, Japan has to import over half of all our food. Dirt cheap prices are good for us."

"Fair enough; anyways, here's my stop," he said, and offered the man his card.. "Give my regards to Admiral Yaguchi if you ever run into him again."

"I'll be sure to do that, Li," Fukuyama promised. "What's this?"

"My card. If you and your men are ever hard up for work, I'm pretty sure I could find some work for all of you."

"Thanks," the captain said, before looking at the cargo being loaded for their next stop. "But I think we're going to be busy for the next decade at this rate."

Li looked over at the harbor to see the sheer sea of shipping containers filling the docks.

"Yeah, looks like you're going to be busy."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

By Christine Kwan

Ever since the Great Journey, diseases we had long thought extinct have resurfaced. While the average Taiwanese Chinese citizen has all of their shots, there remains one glaring question:

How exactly do you vaccinate over four hundred million people?

The simple answer is public health campaigns, and to the government's credit, it seems to be effective. Working with local leaders and meeting people where they are at has been a tried and tested way of convincing them to get on board with vaccination.

Of course, there were the holdouts, but incentives and public expectations were strong motivators.

Which brings us to our next problem:

How do you manufacture four hundred million vaccines?

While China isn't exactly running out of money, there are only so many doses that can be manufactured on Taiwan alone. To that end, private-public partnerships have built several facilities in Shandong, Tianjin, Guangzhou, and Nanjing to manufacture and distribute doses in bulk.

Though this process is much more complicated than building a steel mill or a textile plant, it is expected that the facilities will be up and running by the end of 1915, which should supply China with doses by the end of 1916.

Other countries have also expressed interest, with Japanese PM Ozaki, British PM Asquith and Ottoman Grand Vizier Ferid Pasha have begun small-scale clinical trials with Chinese assistance.

Washington, Vienna, Rome, Paris, and Berlin have expressed similar sentiments, though the Chinese Ministry of Health has warned that mass production will take time.

Moscow has refused to comment.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Historical Intelligence (HISTINT) Report
Person of Interest: Mikhail Diterikhs
Compiled By: Military Intelligence Bureau, Division 5

Born in 1874, General Field Marshal Mikhail Konstantinovich Diterikhs is the current Prime Minister of the Russian Empire since the abdication of Tsar Nicholas II in early 1912.

The son of a general, Diterikhs served in a number of positions from 1900-1914, including service in the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-1905.

In terms of Lost History, Diterikhs served in the First World War under General Brusilov and joined the White Movement during the Russian Civil War. During this time, he supervised the investigation into the deaths of Tsar Nicholas II and his family, and held the Jews responsible.

A religious man, Diterikhs is likely to be a religious fanatic, given his Lost History reputation for plastering his railway coach with religious icons, as well as his belief that the Russian Civil War was a crusade against Bolshevism. Given this behavior, it is likely that Diterikhs currently holds similar beliefs and will act as if his actions are not only morally just, but with the backing of God himself.

Despite this, it is unlikely that Diterikhs himself is the main ideologue of his government, given the difference between his diction and that of the Letter by an Anonymous Soldier. Although this cannot be verified, it is likely that Anton Denikin is not only the author of the anonymous letter but also the chief ideologue in Diterikhs' inner circle.

This can be attributed to similarities between Denikin's writings in the Lost History and the Letter by an Anonymous Soldier. Moreover, his statements on the Russian state, as well as his own sentiments about Jews and Masons which are even more radical than Diterikhs seems to be present in this time as well, paint a picture of Denikin, not Diterikhs, as the origin of the "Four Foundations for One Russia."

The "Four Foundations for One Russia" is, in many ways, the Russian equivalent of Sun Yat-Sen's "Three Principles for the People." Though instead of being a reaction to the Century of Humiliation, the Four Foundations are likely in response to the defeat and loss of territory in the Russo-Chinese War of 1911, given their similarities with the ideals expressed in the Letter by an Anonymous Soldier.

Despite taking an ideological back seat to his subordinaye, it is likely that Diterikhs largely shares similar sentiments and ideals as Denikin. While Denikin is likely to be the ideological brains of the "Four Foundations for One Russia," it is clear that Diterikhs has wholeheartedly embraced the ideology, given his recent speeches and political positions.

This, coupled with his religiousness and crusader-esque rhetoric, paints a picture of an uncompromising ideologue, a True Believer who cannot be swayed. While Tsar Kyrill I is the Head of State of the Russian Empire, it is clear that Diterikhs is the true leader of Russia.

Kyiv, Kyiv Governorate, Russian Empire, 9 September 1913

Denys Shevchenko was no stranger to taking a stand. He had his beliefs and his principles, and he'd stand up for them.

Whether it be his vocal opposition to anti-semitism or his membership in the Prosvita Society, he was no stranger to letting his voice be heard, criticisms be damned.

That said, he did not like his chances against an angry mob headed in his direction.

He was no stranger to pogroms, of course. Not when those October nights eight years ago were seared into his memories.

He'd done what he could do, of course, helping his neighbors get out of town before the mob showed up. That didn't stop him from kicking himself over not being able to do more, even if Danylo told him otherwise.

But this time? It was different.

As bad as last time, when the crowd literally chanted, "All Russia's troubles stemmed from the Jews and the Socialists," this time they'd added the "Separatists" to their hit list.

And by "Separatists," they meant anyone who is not an ethnic Russian or tries to be an ethnic Russian, if the book burnings were anything to go by.

Which was how he ended up here, at Danylo's house, with little more than the clothes on his back.

At least Denys could see that he wasn't alone. Plenty of familiar faces were gathered there at the edge of town.

There was Vadym, one of the leaders of the trade unionists. He and his sons were crowded around a campfire.

Then there was Dmytro, one of his colleagues from the Prosvita Society and a university professor. With his briefcase full of books, the man looked like he was here to teach some of his students.

Last but not least was Rabbi Danylo Kovalchuk, his old neighbor who'd returned after the pogroms.

"Denys!" the rabbi shouted with a tired smile. "It's good to see you again, old friend."

"Likewise, Danylo. But what the hell is going on? Another pogrom?"

"It seems as such," Dmytro announced. "God, this one is bigger than the one eight years ago!"

"It's revenge," Vadym told them. "Revenge for dissent."

"Maybe for you," said the professor, "But why are they coming after Ukrainian speakers?"

"Haven't you heard?" the socialist muttered, "The Tsar has called for 'One People, One Voice, One Tsar, One Vision, One Russia,' and the mob has been chanting it all the damn week!"

"That's enough!" Danylo told him. Or at least Denys thought that was directed at Vadym. "Now, does anybody have a plan for our escape?"

"Horses?" Denys offered, "We could outrun them in carts and carriages."

"We don't have enough carts and carriages," Vadym told him. "Enough for the elderly and the children, but the men and women would be on foot."

"Shit." That was all Denys could say right now as he thought aloud. "Okay, what about rifles? How many of those do you have?"

"A dozen?" From the way he spoke, Vadym sounded like he and his men didn't have all of them on their persons. "Along with pistols, we should have about two dozen, give or take a few."

"Then we don't have enough firearms either," Dmytro pointed out. "Not against a mob in the thousands."

Shit. That was all Denys could think of at the moment. This can't be it. Not like this.

Okay, so we have, what, a thousand people here, including women and children? Which means we can't fight them head-on.

Vadym could fight a delaying action while the rest of us escape, but it'd be certain death for him and his men, while the rest of us are defenseless in the night.

"I've got it," he finally decided. "Vadym, what do you know about the mob?"

"It's in the thousands. Think I saw police officers and soldiers there, too. Why?"

"Okay… Were they armed?"

"Do you mean besides the police?" Denys nodded. "Then no. Torches and pitchforks at most."

"Okay, we can work with that."

"How?"

"We can't fight them off, and we can't run them off. So the next best thing we can do is a delaying action."

"I thought you said we couldn't fight them off," Dmytro pointed out. "For what it's worth, I… I volunteer to stay behind."

"No, that won't be necessary, my friend," Denys promised. "We don't have enough weapons to fight them off, but we can probably scare them off. Take a few potshots at them, and that'll scare them long enough for the rest of us to run to the treeline."

"And the riflemen?" asked the rabbi, "What will happen to them?"

"They'll work in pairs. One takes shots at the mob while their partner runs back. Then the partner will take shots while the first shooter runs. Keep doing that until we run out of ammunition or we reach the treeline."

"Fair enough," Vadym relented, and pulled out his pistol. "Any volunteers?"

Of course, Dmytro and Denys were the first to volunteer. But to their surprise, Rabbi Danylo had also stepped forward.

"Not you," Denys told him. "We need at least one leader to guide everyone to the treeline."

"If you say so, Denys," the rabbi told him. "Do you think this will work?"

Denys could only shake his head.

"Do we have much of a choice?"

"Try not to get yourself killed, Denys."

"Likewise, old friend," he said, clapping the rabbi on the shoulder before handing him the professor's briefcase. "Dmytro, you're with me."

Moscow, Moscow Governorate, Russian Empire, 1 October 1913

"Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov!" his uncle sternly admonished him, "What in God's name have you done?"

"Nothing, uncle! I swear!"

"Then why are Okhrana agents coming by, saying you are to be arrested for treason!"

"Treason?!" His uncle nodded. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me, boy. Were you at the marches last year?"

"Of course not!" Which was technically the truth. He just wished he had been there. Or at least he had, until five minutes ago. "There's a difference between agreeing with people and joining them!"

"Then why is there an arrest warrant out for you?!"

"I don't know, Uncle! I swear I don't!"

"God damn it," the older man told him. "You're telling the truth, aren't you?"

"Honestly, Uncle, I don't know why they are coming after me. Is it a mistake?"

"Unless there is another Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov in Moscow, they specifically wanted you. They said that I was to keep you occupied until they arrived to arrest you."

"Are you going to do that, Uncle?" Georgy asked, standing just a bit taller.

While he wasn't that much taller than his uncle, Zhukov was for sure stronger than the man, just like his mother.

"No. Never in my life."

"Okay. So, what do we do? Fight them?"

"God, no. It would be suicide to try to fight them when they have revolvers."

Right. Forgot about those.

Okay, Uncle, I hope you have a plan, because I don't.

"Punch me in the face."

"What?!"

That's your plan?!

"Punch me in the face, nephew. I can convince them that you attacked me and ran out the back with the horse."

"Will they believe it?" His uncle just shrugged. "Great. So, how hard?"

"Try not to hit me in the mouth, Georgy. I'd rather not be drinking my meals for the rest of my life."

"I'll do my best, Uncle," Georgy told him.

This is insane. Not just Uncle's plan, but what is happening.

What the Hell is happening, anyways?

Pogroms?

Purges?

Alright, I heard about what happened in Kiev, but that had to be an exaggeration, right?

Right?

"One People!" the crowd shouted, breaking his train of thought. "One Voice! One Tsar! One Vision! One Russia!"

Okay, maybe they were telling the truth.

And with that, went the rest of his hesitation as he wound up to his fist.

"Uncle?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Merkheuli, Kutais Governorate, Russian Empire, 24 October 1913

"Lavrentiy Pavlovich Beria," the Okhrana agent said to the young boy, "You are under arrest for treason against the Tsar!"

"There must be some mistake!" Marta Jaqeli shouted, putting herself in between the soldiers and her son. "My son is a child!"

"Our orders were clear. Step aside."

Marta Jaqeli stood up and glared at the officers who'd barged into their home.

"No."

So the Okhrana officer punched her in the face, knocking her out cold by the time she hit the floor.

"Mother!"

"Grab the little bastard!" spat the Okhrana agent, and two of the soldiers did just that, dragging the frightened adolescent out of his house. "Let's get this over with."

"Where are you taking me!" the boy shouted. He tried kicking and screaming to no avail. "Let me go!"

Eventually, they had dragged him to the edge of the village, far away from the gathering crowd.

"Kneel."

"What- what do you want with me?"

"I said kneel!" the Okhrana agent shouted, before he kicked Lavrentiy in the back of the legs.

"Under orders from the Tsar, you are found guilty of treason against the Russian Empire. You are hereby sentenced to death."

"Who are you-" he began, only for a gunshot to end his adolescent life.

The Kremlin, Moscow, Moscow Governorate, Russian Empire, 3 November 1913

"As per the Okhrana's reports," Denikin began, "It is predicted that between one and two million Jews will either flee the Russian Empire or be killed in pogroms. Furthermore, we can expect millions of Poles, Belorussians, Balts, Malorusians, and Finns to leave the country to seek refuge in neighboring nations in Europe. The same could be said of leftists and intellectuals, albeit in smaller amounts."

"Of course," the general continued, "a similar phenomenon is likely to occur in our eastern territories, albeit in much smaller numbers."

"Does this mean that our preemptive actions were successful?" Diterikhs asked, referring to the list they'd been anonymously provided full of important targets. "I do believe you were in charge of that, Kornilov."

"We have had some success. Men such as Lenin, Beria, Jugashvili, Bukharin, and Trotsky were successfully eliminated."

"And the rest?"

"They have most likely fled the country at this point." From the way he looked, this was the first time Kornilov showed even an ounce of fear. "Though it is possible to pursue them, if you would like!"

"That will not be necessary, Lavr Georgiyevich," Diterikhs promised, though the General of the Infantry remained on edge. "We will have enough of a manpower shortage as is, without pursuing these people. All of the significant leaders have been eliminated, and those who reject our vision of a united Russia are fleeing for their lives."

"Marshal Diterikhs," Wrangel began, "May I ask a question?"

"Go ahead, Pyotr Nikolayevich."

"Exactly how many people are either dead or fleeing Russia?"

"Denikin?" Diterikhs asked, turning to the man. "What are your estimates?"

"Approximately fifteen to eighteen million," Denikin said off the top of his head. "Of course, these numbers are the lower end of projections, but it is likely that the vast majority of the Jewish population will have fled the country by the end of 1914. Them, as well as several million dissidents and separatists. Good riddance, I say."

"There you go, Wrangel," Diterikhs told him. "While it is regrettable that we lose such a large number of people, Denikin does have a point; the loss of dissidents and separatists would be a net positive."

"If I may-"

"By all means," said the Prime Minister, "Go ahead."

"Right. If I may, I should point out that our population is currently at roughly one hundred eighty million people. Assuming eighteen million people flee our borders into neighboring regions, it is likely that we will lose about ten percent of our population."

"That's the point, Wrangel," Diterikhs told him. "Self-deportation is preferable to mass imprisonment and subversion."

"Still, that is a sizable chunk of our population would hinder industrialization-"

"It is a sizable chunk of our population that rejects a united Russia," Diterikhs corrected. "And I say, good riddance to them. Had they stayed, they would have hindered our efforts at uniting Russia under the Four Foundations. Industrialization efforts would be similarly affected as well."

Oh, is that what Denikin's calling this madness now? "One People, One Voice, One Tsar, One Vision?"

"Without the separatists," the Prime Minister continued, now that the room was free of dissent, "We can become one people. Without the dissidents, we can have one voice."

"And the Jews?" asked Wrangel, "What about them?"

"Without them, we will have one Tsar, with one vision for one Russia."

From the way he talked, Diterikhs sounded so sure of himself. And even if he wasn't, Wrangel wasn't about to oppose him.

"Does that answer your questions?"

"All but one, Prime Minister: Does the Tsar know about this?"

Was this his idea? Or yours and Denikin's?

"His Imperial Majesty has given his complete approval, as well as a 'blank cheque' in ensuring his vision. Does that answer all of your questions?"

"Of course, Prime Minister."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Raymond Poincaré: The President That Never Was
By Pierre Delaporte
Le Peuple, December 1913

Raymond Poincaré's defeat in the 1913 Presidential Election was a shock to many. Myself included.

However, it is clear that his defeat cannot simply be credited to the arrival of the Republic of China to the global stage. Rather, it is due to several domestic factors here in France.

First of all is the creation of the two voting blocs: the right-wing National Bloc, and the left-wing Bloc of the Left. The former, created through a split in the Radical Party, led to the right wing of the Radicals leaving to form an alliance with the Democratic Republican Alliance and the Republican Federation, with Poincaré as the presidential candidate and Clemenceau as the legislative head.

In response, the now left-wing Radical Party entered an alliance with Jaures' French Section of the Worker's Internationale, and the Republican Socialists to form a second Bloc of the Lefts, with former Prime Minister Aristide Briand as their compromise candidate.

This, however, might not have been enough to defeat Poincaré, who was seen by many as the favorite going into election season. However, two pre-election scandals quickly turned public opinion against the National Bloc candidate.

The first was the publishing of evidence that the Russian government had outright bribed multiple French newspapers to publish pro-Poincaré articles. While said papers were quick to deny the allegations, follow-up pieces in L'Humanité only served to add fuel to the fire.

However, it was the published correspondences between Poincaré and the Vatican that caused an even greater uproar throughout France. While many Frenchmen may excuse Antisemitism, those same people would draw the line at cooperating with the Vatican through the Italian government.

The response was explosive in all but name. Parisians across classes and professions came out to protest against Poincaré, decrying him as an "Agent of Rome and Moscow." Jean Jaures famously quipped that Poincaré "would act in the interest of the people... who live in Moscow and Rome."

It is these scandals, coupled with the subsequent public relations campaign against Poincaré that led to a surprise victory for Aristide Briand, with the former Prime Minister winning 56.23% of the votes in the third round to Poincaré's 34.46%.

As 1914 approaches, the Bloc of the Left seeks to hold onto control of the Chamber of Deputies, and compromise candidate Marcel Sembat seeks to hold the office of Prime Minister under this new coalition.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Location Unknown, Moscow Governorate, Russian Empire

Military exercises were, of all things, an island in the vast insanity that was Moscow court politics.

And with the ascendancy of Diterikhs and his subordinates, it was no surprise that the military had received special treatment.

Though from what Kornilov and Wrangel could tell, they had a long way to go. Soldiers were hardly in short supply, even in these times. After all, Diterikhs' rhetoric wasn't necessarily unpopular.

A strong Russia was something everybody could support, after all.

But just letting millions of people leave? Truth be told, this had to be one of the stupidest ideas General Kornilov had ever heard of.

Now, he didn't care much for the Jewish population. Nor was he an economist.

But even he knew that almost twenty million people leaving by the end of the decade would cripple Russia for the better part of a generation!

"You see it too, don't you?" Wrangel asked him. The two were observing military exercises, demonstrations of how they could adapt for the next war. "It's suicide."

"Yes it is, Pyotr Nikolayevich. At this point, we are lucky that we have enough manpower to replenish the regular army!"

"Of course. And have you read that report on industrialization?"

"The one that basically tells Diterikhs 'This will not fucking work' in all but name? Yes, I have. And it is absolutely correct."

"Unfortunately, yes. You said it yourself, didn't you?"

"What exactly did I say?"

"You said that the Tsar stabbed General Brusilov in the back, right?"

Kornilov nodded. Truth be told, that was the extent of it. None of this ranting and rambling about Jews or Socialists or Masons.

"If that is the case," Wrangel continued, "Then Diterikhs and Denikin are kneecapping Russia, then expecting her to start running."

"I see..." Kornilov said tentatively, perhaps for the first time in his life. "Choose your next words carefully, Pyotr Nikolayevich."

"Let's drop all pretenses, General. You and I both know that these two are leading us off a cliff. We need to do something."

"And what would you have me do? March right into the Kremlin and shoot the two of them dead?"

Which, now that I think about it, is a very tempting idea.

"Well, that's one solution. All I am asking is that you find similarly-minded people. Once we amass enough support, we make our move."

"And then what?"

"Well, I haven't thought about it that far, but I imagine you would be the next Prime Minister."

"For fuck's sake, Pyotr Nikolayevich, I know that part! How do we undo the damage of almost twenty million Russians fleeing the country?"

"That is Denikin's estimate by 1920. Assuming we put an end to this madness now, we would only lose a fraction of that."

"Exactly how small a fraction are you talking about?"

"A third? Hopefully a quarter, so that would be about five to six million people permanently leaving the country by the end of 1915."

"This assumes that we walked into the Kremlin right now, and shot them dead. Then killed anyone else who is stupid enough to support them."

"I believe so." Wrangel shook his head. "In such a short time, Diterikhs and Denikin have done irreparable damage to Russia. We will be lucky if the most we have to deal with is a brain drain, manpower shortages, and a sizable chunk of the population who actually agree with these morons."

That last part stung the most to Kornilov. He wanted a strong Russia, which was why he agreed to the mutiny in the first place.

But this?

How the fuck was slaughtering random people supposed to make us stronger?!

"Oh God damn it," Kornilov finally grumbled. "I'll find the people we need. It shouldn't be too hard at this point."