The White House, Washington, District of Columbia, 30 November 1913
Manuel Quezon had never thought this would happen.
Not so soon, anyways.
Filipino independence had been the goal, of course, but he thought this would be a long-term goal, rather than a short-term achievement.
Yet here he was, speaking with the President of the United States about legislation that could accomplish that goal by the end of the decade.
"I have made it no secret," the American President began, "That I believed that independence to the Philippines would come at an earlier time than I thought was advisable. However, the circumstances have changed in the last few years."
To this, Quezon could only nod. After all, the circumstances had changed, now that an entire island had appeared through an Act of God Himself. Said island then proceeded to end millennia of imperial rule and China, and they humiliated two other empires in short order.
Regardless of one's politics, that much was an indisputable fact.
"Of course, Mr. President. And given these circumstances, would you sign the Philippine Independence Act in its current form?"
"I would consider it," Roosevelt told him. "However, I would ask that you see it from my perspective. Should this bill pass today, the Philippines would need years for its institutions to be entrenched, to prevent any un-democratic backsliding."
Quezon knew full well who Roosevelt was talking about. Though last he heard, Aguinaldo was still in exile.
"Of course," the Filipino man agreed. "Though I should point out that the Jones Act would set a deadline for independence in 1920. Surely that would be enough time for multiple elections, as well as a period of 'Filipinization' of the administration by then."
"That would be doable," said the President. "Six years is a long time, after all, but that should be enough time to legitimize a new government. However, independence would also present some geopolitical issues."
"I thought Japan was effectively neutralized as a rival in the Pacific?"
"It's not the Japanese I'm worried about, Quezon. It's the Chinese."
"The Chinese seem to have a different approach to geopolitics than the Japanese. One that, I might add, involves very pro-American foreign policy."
Roosevelt looked at him intently, silently evaluating his every word.
"While it is theoretically possible that they become a geopolitical rival," Quezon continued, "you yourself described the Pacific as a 'cradle for democracy,' going so far as to describe the Chinese and the nations of Korea, Siam, and Japan as 'younger brothers,' whose democratization was proof of the success of American ideas. Wouldn't the establishment of a Republic of the Philippines be another victory for American values?
"This will not be an easy task," Roosevelt told him. Faced with his own words thrown back at him, he didn't have much of a leg to stand on. "Do you think the Philippines can handle it?"
"Yes. It will not be easy, but I imagine the Filipino people are more than capable. I imagine we will have the support of our American brothers and sisters these next few years?"
"Of course!" Roosevelt told him with a hearty laugh. "Truth be told, they support this even more than I do."
National Taiwan University Hospital, Taipei, Taiwan, Republic of China, 13 December 1913
At this point, there were few things that fazed Rachel. The sheer insanity of the last few years had seen to that.
But for some reason, foot binding was one of them. Honestly, she didn't know if it was an ideological issue or the simple act itself disgusted her, but it did. That and sexual assault, but she was pretty sure that the latter was socially unacceptable for the last thousand years.
That wasn't to say that there weren't those who opposed it before the Revolution, but the Lost History showed that it would fester for the next few decades before being stamped out in the late 1940s.
So when Sun had issued a law outlawing foot binding, she practically leapt for joy.
Well, that's what Shannon had told her, anyways; Rachel herself had gotten blackout drunk to celebrate.
It wouldn't be easy, of course. Some more conservative people were stuck in their ways, but Nanjing's successes had given it a good amount of political capital. So when Sun signed that bill into a law, Rachel knew full well that it would have the teeth to be enforced.
There was one problem, though.
What did they do with all the women who already had their feet bound?
After all, it wasn't as if they could re-shape all these women's feet with surgery. Now that she thought about it, the doctors here might be able to do that, but it would be an extremely invasive and expensive procedure.
Assuming it would even work.
With that off the table, she called in a few favors to try something different. That was how she ended up here, on her phone as she looked at the prototype.
"Portal," she told him over the phone. "That's what it looks like."
"Huh?"
"It looks like Chell's boot from Portal, Michael. It has the same blades, and you designed the brace the same way."
"Yeah, well that's because I had to get creative, Rachel. Most prosthetics are replacements, and I'm not a prosthetist. I'm just a guy who owed you a favor and had a workshop in my garage."
Not to mention that I told you that it had to work without sawing off a woman's foot. Most prosthetic feet don't do that.
"I know." Honestly, she was surprised that he'd even managed to not only design something, but even build a prototype on such short notice. "So, does it work?"
"Course it does. Not like in-game, but it'll support a fully-grown woman. The smaller version should be able to support a child, no problem."
"Got it. I'm looking at the prototype right now. Have you seen it?"
"Yeah, I saw it. So, how long until they start testing?"
"Today, actually." Chen's eyes perked up at the news. "NTU managed to find a willing volunteer to test out the foot brace."
"That's nice. Anyways, I've got to get going, Rachel. Aki's having the kids tour the Yushan today."
"Thanks again. Oh, and I'll tell Shannon you said hi."
"Thanks, Rachel."
With that out of the way, she put her phone back into her pocket and turned to the patient.
"I didn't get your name," Rachel said to the little girl in the waiting room. "What was it?"
"Huiying, ma'am," she said politely. "What's your name?"
"My name's Rachel. So, Huiying… Are you ready to learn how to run?"
Chinese Foreign Legion Headquarters, Haikou, Hainan Province, Republic of China, 5 January 1914
His men and women were fast learners. Le could give them that much. That, and how motivated they were.
With an eagerness he hadn't seen since the Revolution, this motley crew of intellectuals, laborers, and idealists were now a well-disciplined and well-trained force of soldiers.
More importantly, all of them had achieved at least a basic level of literacy, or at least some improvement.
"Simply remarkable," Phan told him. "How long has it been? Three months?"
"A little under that, sir. Give another few months, it is likely that all men and women will be at a basic level of literacy."
"That is good," said the old revolutionary, with a calm smile on his face. "I'm sure you have heard of my most recent proposal?"
"I've seen it, Phan, but it's… Well, I don't know how to put it. Bold?"
"It is a significant escalation," Phan admitted, "But it would be a rallying cry for the movement."
"Oh I'm sure of that, but we need to take everything into consideration," Le pointed out. "The French elections are in a few months, and the anti-imperialist Bloc of the Lefts is gaining steam. Should word get out that the Indochinese are rebelling, it is likely that more reactionary and imperialistic politicians would win."
"Not to mention," the Master Sergeant continued, "That this plan would involve attacking a French prison. An isolated prison, sure, but this ain't something you want to rush."
"He does have a point," Nguyen agreed. "While I would like nothing more than to see our comrades freed from Con Dao Prison, it would almost certainly be an act of war against the French."
"Are you suggesting that we abandon our people?" Phan nearly shouted. The man was furious at even the thought of leaving them. "The men are ready, are they not?"
"To fight a conventional war? Yes," Le told him. "But this is a raid. It takes training, preparation, and most of all, reconnaissance and intel work."
"I see… And such an act would almost certainly be rejected by Nanjing, wouldn't it?"
"Exactly." Still, Le couldn't help but sympathize with the man. "Look,.I would like nothing more than to run the French and their collaborators out of Indochina. Hell, if we geared up for war, we could probably do it."
And the French would deserve every bit of it.
"But right now," he continued, doing his best to stay calm for Phan and Nguyen, "We need to weigh our options. Attacking the French would be the first shot of the revolution."
"Of course," Phan relented. "Though I would encourage any and all methods to free our people. It's not as if the French don't already know that I'm here, after all."
"Then you're in luck," Le told the two of them. "While the Foreign Legion can't attack Con Dao, there's nothing saying that some well-armed 'rebels' couldn't organize a prison break."
From the way they looked, both Phan Boi Chau and Nguyen Sinh Cung knew just what he meant.
"That's enough military talk for now," Phan decided. "Cung, how is the leaflet campaign?"
"Better than we could have expected," said the younger revolutionary. "Now that we have the funds and manpower, we can spread revolutionary literature without tossing it out of the back of a plane."
Haishenwai, Haishenwai Province, Republic of China, 7 February 1914
As far as Yurii was concerned, life in Haishenwai was good.
Sure, Artyom would complain about how it was, 'Cold enough to freeze [his] balls off,' but they had food, heat, work, and a government that mostly left them the hell alone, so long as they paid their taxes and didn't go around doing pogroms.
Which, as far as pretty much everyone there was concerned, was good enough for them. Especially when he'd become the leader of the local Prosvita Society. Cold or not, it definitely beat what was going on back in Russia.
Now that he thought about it, Fiddler on the Roof had a point: "God keep the Tsar… Far away from here!"
Which, now that he thought about it, probably explained why shiploads of Ukrainians were arriving in port every day. And the Marines being sent there with the Yushan to assist with the refugees.
"Any friends of yours on that ship, Yurii?" Chen asked him, motioning to the crowd of Ukrainians pouring off the newest ship.
"What, do you think I know every Ukrainian, Mykhailo?"
"With how crazy my life has been, honestly I wouldn't be surprised, Yurii."
"If you say so, Myhailo. And in all likelihood, no. I'm from Chernihiv, and these people are from Kyiv."
"Ah. That makes sense. Looks like you're going to have your work cut out for you."
"Yup," Yurii sighed, before motioning to the Chinese soldiers motioning people along. "Not like you or your men can speak Ukrainian, after all."
"Think they speak Yiddish?"
"There's probably somebody here who does. Why?" Chen motioned towards one of the Ukrainians at the dock wearing a yarmulke. "Oh no."
"What's up?"
"Then it truly is as bad as I've heard. You've heard about the pogroms, yes?"
"How couldn't I? That's all the news is covering, these days. Apparently the Tsar's persecuting Jews, right?"
"Not necessarily," Yurii explained. "A pogrom is a riot incited with the aim of massacring an ethnic or a religious group. It's just that most of the time, they're directed at Jews."
"Jesus Christ. So, all of these refugees are Jewish?"
"Not necessarily. From what I've heard, a lot of these pogroms seem to be targeted at three groups: Jews, Leftists, and Non-Ethnic Russians."
"This is part of the new Tsar's policy, right?"
Yurii shrugged. "Either him or the Marshal, but it doesn't make much of a difference. People are running for their lives, Mykhailo. Just this week, there was another trainload of refugees coming from Chita."
"Again?"
"Yes."
"And the Tsar is just letting them leave?"
"It's better than if they stayed, Mykhailo. At least now, the only thing that will be burned and torn apart by the mobs are the books."
"Yeah. Anyways, are you free right now?"
"For you, my friend? I think I can make some time. Is something wrong?"
"We've got some sick people in the Yushan's med bay. None of the doctors speak Ukrainian, so we could use a few translators."
Huliaipole, Yekaterinoslav Governorate, Russian Empire, 24 February 1914
The simple fact that he was here was nothing short of a miracle. After all, he had been locked away for almost half a decade for his beliefs, only to escape through the chaos of the pogroms.
It was a jailbreak, plain and simple. While the guards and police were roaming the streets with the mob, he and his fellow prisoners were able to file off their chains and escape. Arshinov himself had planned to return to Moscow, but DIterikhs' consolidation and the subsequent purges changed him and his comrades' minds.
With nowhere else to go, they all ended up joining him here, in Huliapole.
"Pyotr Andreyevich!" he happily exclaimed. After all, it wasn't every day that you ran into your mentor and fellow fugitive from the law. "I knew we'd meet again."
"Nestor Ivanovych," the former prisoner greeted, having jumped off the cart. "When I heard you were still alive, I had to see it for myself."
"And it seems so many of our comrades came to join us," Makhno told him, motioning to the others who'd made it here. "They are with you, right?"
"Well, it's not like we could stay in Moscow, now could we?" Arshinov shook his head. "A silver lining in this madness is that the Okhrana are too busy clubbing every Jew in sight to care about us."
"I doubt that's our sacrifice to make, Pyotr. For what it is worth, they will be avenged. My men and I have already seen to that.""
"So I've heard," Arshinov agreed, only to let out a tired laugh. "We actually located you by following the stories you've left behind. You've made quite a name for yourself."
"People need inspiration, especially in times like these. And what better way to do that than lead by example?"
"Indeed. You know, the Russians have taken to calling you the 'Blind Bandit.' Apparently they increased the bounty on your head."
Makhno could hear a fair share of chuckles from his men at the news.
"Maybe it's enough to buy that dacha in Moscow, eh, Bat'ko?"
"Alright, alright," he told them, and adjusted his sunglasses. They were uncomfortable, but he did need them after being locked in a cell for so long. "Now, as much as I'm glad to welcome our new comrades, we do need to get them settled in. Pyotr, how many of your people can fight?"
"All of us," Arshinov told him, though he did hesitate a bit. "We are a bit low on ammunition, though. Had to do our fair share of fighting on the way here."
"Even better," Nestor told him, before motioning to his brother. "Omelian," bring some of the ammunition from one of the caches. Hryhorii, has Savelii's group returned from their scouting mission?"
Sure enough, he could hear his brother riding into town, with his brothers not far behind.
"Did something happen?" Nestor asked him. "Enemy patrol?"
"Okhrana," his elder brother told him. "There was a party of Okhrana in Polohy. About a dozen strong, just as many soldiers."
"Alright. What are they doing out here, Savelii?"
"They had torches and pitchforks, little brother. What do you think?"
Pogrom. Shit.
"Okay," Makhno said to his mentor, trying to convey calm to the crowd around them. "Pyotr, how many of your people can ride a horse?"
"A few dozen? The rest either walked or came by cart. Horses are tired, but I think they have enough in them to get over there."
"Good." Makhno turned to the rest of the people. "There are Okhrana who want to commit a pogrom in Polohy. Pyotr, my brothers, and I are going to stop them. If you want to join, raise your hands. Everyone else can stay back here to defend Huliaipole."
Sure enough, most of the assembled anarchists, both Russians and Ukrainians, raised their hands.
Oh for the love of- Not again.
At this rate, there won't be anyone left to defend Huliaipole.
"Alright, that is too many people. Everyone who didn't raise your hands, you're good to go. Pyotr, you and your men just arrived, so I'd recommend you all stay here and rest."
"Are you sure, Nestor?"
"Trust me, we can do this," Makhno told him. A determined grin formed on his face. "Wouldn't be the first time we attacked the Okhrana and won."
