Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
Hey now, remember that the PRC didn't win it's war on birds either.
A Second Sunrise: Taiwan of 2020 Sent Back to 1911
- Thread starter ChrisProvidence
- Start date
- Original Modern Post-1900
Sakuya's Butler
A refined Butler to a knife wielding Mistress.
- Location
- ↓, ↘, → + Punch
Still makes me inappropriately giggle at the idea of Tolkien not just being a TTgamer, but an RPG designer. However D&D survived/was restarted, their execs likely bent over backwards to allow him in (read: begged & groveled). And/or C.S.Lewis as well, plus H.G.Wells.
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Guy has to have hobbies, y'know?
Sakuya's Butler
A refined Butler to a knife wielding Mistress.
- Location
- ↓, ↘, → + Punch
Yeah, but it's Tolkien.
The guy whom, if one could meet him, would cause probably 80% of fantasy RPG gamers worldwide to immediately drop to their knees and fully go "MASTER! TEACH ME YOUR SECRETS! I BEG OF YOU!", and mean every damn word of that plea.
There's having your hobbies, and then there's having your hobbies not just served on a silver platter for you, but outright funded by others, just so. you. can. keep. going.
Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
Tolkien's hobby was inventing languages
the worldbuilding was a side effect.
the worldbuilding was a side effect.
A side effect he took very seriously, though. And, given how playful he could be IRL (even as a university teacher), I think he'd like tabletop RPGs.
- Location
- Neptune
Does D&D have execs or was it reclaimed by fans and the whole game rests now with three guys who're publishing out of their garage rebuilding it?
Wells (as well as E.E. Smith) did much to popularise Traveller and SF RPGs and they quickly overtook D&D in spread and popularity. While fantasy roleplaying rapidly grew on the back of Tolkien's work, it never recovered from the loss in early lead. Academic research generally points out the unfamiliarity of the tropes it is built on as a main contributing factor. This is supported by it's rapid rise in popularity once Tolkien's works brought those tropes to the masses. But even eighty years later D&D still can't shake off its "fantasy Traveller" label.
Vampire the Masquerade remains a niche game for much of the new history, even though a new edition has been published in the late 1910s containing a foreword by Bram Stoker. It remains unclear how that was accomplished.
(I found a good comment that help explain why American gun culture become a mess here. Copy down. Edit at 11-01-2024: WRONG FACT ! the Swiss video about american gun culture are too focus in the negative while excluded positive aspect there, which is pointed by the commnet. It not help that this guy also haven't reach on American before and jut arrogant assume it. Aside from that the other two about china is legit though)
I'm no gun nut so I wouldn't know. Guns are illegal unless you're in the military, police or hunter association or shooting range. For the last I believe you can only get something like a hunting/sports rifle, not a handgun, let alone machine guns.
Btw I just watched a video how USA was modeled after Switzerland but diverged and fucked up the gun culture, where in Swiss it's a millitia duty, and in USA it's hillybillies yoloing or those psychos that commit masss shootings, or just for regular crime.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnBDK-QNZkM
Bonus: I also notice some Quora post that point out some interesting fact that most of us missed:
+ Do you know that American isn't the one who lead-being the first in 'social experiment' ?. If you learning Chinese history you would know that the so called libertarian value such as with melting pot, free sex, LGBT and drugs actually exist in ancient China. (this post do show why it fail though)
I used to read Chinese theory on world affair with a grain of salt. I took it as another alternative theory. In my westernized mind it wa...
+ Although I'm not siding with China here, only here for some interesting fact. For example do you know that the first 'astronaut' in medieval time is 'Wan Hu'. Who was a Chinese official ? (you will see his mention in this post comment)
Why did China had to copy everything from the West and the rest of the world in terms of military and almost never invent anything themse...
Jonathan Carlson's answer: You want military specifically, right? Well, how about this: This is a diagram of a modern blast furnace, which plays an important role in the manufacture of steel (and other metals). Of course, metals play an important role in military, both today and in the past. Th...
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Chapter 86: Prelude
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
National Taiwan University, Taipei, Taiwan, Republic of China, 8 August 1941
"The population seems to be rising exponentially, dear," Chen Akira's husband said to her. "People are having kids left and right."
"I'd assume so, given the decrease in maternal and infant mortality as well as the availability of housing-" she observed in her usual professorial tone, "Wait, are you thinking about grandchildren again?"
"You're not?" he asked her, with a smug smile that proved how right he was. "I mean, c'mon, Aki, we're a pair of Asian parents with children who are now young adults. It would be weirder if we weren't pestering our kids about when they'll give us grandkids."
"Of course I am, dear." As she spoke, she only slightly looked up from her papers. "I just have the tact to not be so obvious about it like you are."
"We're getting old, Aki. Sure, we might not look like it, but one of the perks is that we can just say stuff like that."
Aki looked at him intently.
"You keep bringing up grandkids to mess with our son, don't you?"
"Asian parent." Aki glared at him. "And yes - But only because he's fine with it."
"New topic, Michael," Aki decided for the two of them. "Like how neither of us believes in Destiny."
"Aki, I don't believe in it for philosophical and religious reasons. You don't believe in it because I got isekai'd with the island. We are not the same."
"You really like using that term, don't you?"
"Only because you're cute when you're annoyed, Aki." She just shook her head again at her husband's teasing. "But yeah, the whole Great Journey kinda screwed with everyone's belief of destiny, didn't it?"
"More or less. We may not believe in that sort of thing, Michael, but the Journey turned the concepts like Ming yun on their head."
"I don't follow."
"Take the Great Journey, for example: Does the sudden appearance of an island from the future a chance to repudiate the very concept of predetermined fate, or was it yet another step in our predetermined destiny?"
"Probably depends on who you ask," Michael figured, before pouring himself a cup of cocoa. "Want one?"
"I'm good, thanks."
"It's interesting, though: If we took your fate from my timeline and your fate in this timeline, they'd be different, right?" Aki nodded. "Then wouldn't you having two outcomes despite being the same person mean that predetermined fate does not exist?"
"Possibly," Aki closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "But you could also argue that the existence of different timelines means that we are different people from our alternate selves who have different circumstances."
"Or that the fates are different in both timelines," he realized, before realizing his own contradiction. "You know what? I think I'll take a Socratic approach to this."
"How so?"
"Because honestly, I don't know the answer, and I'm not about to pretend that I do.
Abidjan, Ivory Coast, French West Africa, 31 August 1941
Abidjan, Ivory Coast
The Abidjan Conference was the largest conference in African history.
At least that was what Saleh Ould Kerim had thought, even if conferences were part of his obligation as a diplomat. And there was nothing more-diplomatic than the conference that could decide the fate of Western Africa.
At least if it was in-session right now. Instead we're drinking tea while the GIGP clears the building after that bomb threat.
Again.
Fucking OAS Remnants.
"So what would you say is 'Real Socialism?'" Saleh asked the Frenchman he was drinking tea with. After all, it wasn't like he was going to get any work done today. "Ask a Russian and he will say it is Libertarianism. Ask a Frenchman and he will say it is pseudo-technocracy. Ask a Muslim and he will say Islamic Socialism, and the Christian will say the same thing about Liberation Theology."
"Indeed," the Frenchman agreed. "And in spite of all, they all fought side-by-side in the Great War. Which is why we're here in the first place."
Now, Saleh knew it was more-complicated than that. While fighting the OAS and the colonialists in the Great War had done much to forge a West African identity, the same could be said about ideology or idealism.
After all, almost everyone here is some kind of socialist who believes in this project of ours.
And about half of us had fought in the Resistance against the OAS.
"You know," the Frenchman observed, before taking another sip of his tea, "There are those who doubt you. Well, two types of people, anyways."
"Oh?"
"The first," he continued, with his eyes fixated on the ocean, "Are those who say that the people here are too different. Whether it's religion, ethnicity, or language, they would argue that the region would descend into ethnic violence within weeks."
"And in doing so, they would be arguing for the formation of ethnostates," Saleh pointedly observed. "They do realize that, don't they?"
"Including many who'd call themselves my comrades," the Frenchman sighed. "You wouldn't hear that from them, though: Many of them would argue that being a socialist meant that they couldn't be racist."
"The people of the Soviet Union in the Lost History would beg to differ."
"The people who thought the Soviet Union in the Lost History 'did nothing wrong' would beg to differ about your begging to differ."
"Mussolini will be Mussolini..."
"Indeed. And like Mussolini, that second group of doubters are those who would rather you all stay under 'Direct Rule from Paris,' as the saying goes."
"Even though we fought an entire war to not be ruled by colonialists and the only reason we have stayed French is that we all realized we needed to build an entire bureaucracy and nation from scratch for fifteen years."
"And by every metric, you all have done a fine job," the old French socialist agreed. "Even if our fair-weathered comrades would say otherwise."
"They do realize what that would happen if we did what they wanted, right?"
"That the Radical-Socialists would be little better than the OAS and we'd be the 'Red Colonialists' I've been warning about for over two decades?"
It was a rhetorical question. The Frenchman knew it, and so did he.
"You and I both know the answer to that one, Saleh."
"That it isn't a matter of them understanding. It's a matter of them not caring."
"Oh, I'm sure they care," the Frenchman chuckled. "They care about their reputations and their followings and their clout. What I do question, Saleh, is if these 'comrades' of ours care about the people they advocate for."
"Which is why this conference has to be an African affair. It has to be, otherwise we would have no legitimacy."
"That is the life of a freedom fighter, my friend. Though 'Freeing oneself from the outside world does not require you to reject it.'"
Why does that sound familiar...
Then Saleh remembered.
"That's Rabindranath Tagore's writing, isn't it?" The Frenchman nodded politely. "Are you a follower of his?"
"I dabble. Even if his writings are not meant for me."
Counterintelligence Service Headquarters, Saint Petersburg, Russian Empire, 12 September 1941
Logo of the Counterintelligence Service
"Thank you for meeting on such short notice," the seemingly-ageless Chinese woman said to Director Votsekhovsky through the screen. They had agreed upon speaking English for this meeting; it was the lingua franca of diplomacy despite the French's best efforts. "I trust that you received the files that I've sent you."
"I have, Rachel," Votsekhovsky yawned, before looking at his laptop. "It seems that chatter has risen in the last few weeks, despite our successes against the Black Hundreds. While I cannot share all of our information-"
"Of course."
He knew that Fong meant it. You didn't last this long in intelligence if you didn't know how the "game" was played.
It went without saying that a good intelligence officer didn't leave all their cards on the table.
Even with allies.
"-I can inform you that additional resources and manpower have proven successful in... handling the Black Hundreds issue."
What I can't inform you is that we've foiled enough plots to coup the government five times over at this point.
"Of course, Sergei," the Chinese spymaster breathed, before leaning back in her chair. "But what is concerning is that we've seen an increase in interactions between the Golden Circle, Knights, and other extremist groups of similar leanings. Is it possible they are sharing resources?"
"It is possible, Rachel. We've seen data pointing to Russian nationals traveling to America for weapons training, while American funds are often sent through back-channels to Russian accounts. And these are just what happens in the shadows. You've seen what Sakharov and Ford have been saying, haven't you?"
"Do you mean besides the constant diatribes against Jews, Catholics, and minorities? It's not too surprising, when both 'thought-leaders' are noted antisemites with racist streaks against Asians and minorities. 'Birds of a feather,' and whatnot."
"Of course. But some of my men have been noting that there is a significant uptick in communication between members of both organizations. While it may be a stretch, we have reason to believe that they are coordinating efforts. To what extent, we do not know, but I will share what information I have."
"Thank you for that," Fong told him in all sincerity. "I would recommend you forward this to the Americans as well."
A small grin formed on Votsekhovsky's face.
After all, this might be the only time I'll get to say this...
"We're already ahead of you, Rachel. The files were sent an hour ago."
Stanford University, Palo Alto, California, United States of America, 29 September 1941
Martin Li had trained for almost any scenario. A good spy was prepared for everything, and being an Eagle Scout meant being double-prepared.
Which meant he probably was over-prepared for a career in academia. Sure, he was pretty damn good at teaching history, but the sheer amount of preparation for almost-every contingency was probably a bit overkill for a couple semesters as a guest lecturer teaching about the Lost History.
Who was he kidding? It was definitely overkill, and that was before he factored in the suppressed 1911 he still concealed carried.
Okay, that one was somewhat-justified. I mean, I'm in America.
At a school.
"So," a student's voice interrupted. Li looked up to see an African-American student standing at the door. "You're Lin's uncle?"
"Sorry, haven't gotten your name." Really, Marty? Thought you were good with names. Age really is catching up to you, old man. "What was it?"
"Adrian Friese, sir," the young man said politely. "I'm one of Lin's teammates."
"Ah, now I remember," Li half-lied while he stalled for time. Oh right, he's one of Lin's roommates. "And yes, I am. Not by blood, but his father and I grew up together."
"Ah. If you don't mind me asking, are the rumors true?"
Li looked at his student flatly. "Depends on the rumors, Adrian."
"Lin said you used to be the head of the Chinese version of the OSS."
"Really?" Li asked with feigned surprise. "Do you believe that?"
"Well, Wikipedia says it's true, so..."
"Kid, you and I both know that Wikipedia isn't a primary source."
"Oh. Must be a different one, then. Apologies, sir."
"Heh, just kidding," Li yawned, before doing a quick stretch. "Yes, I used to be the head of the Military Intelligence Bureau. Been retired for years now, though."
"This isn't another joke, is it?" The Chinese-American professor shook his head. "Alright. It's just that... No offense, but you don't really look like a spy."
"Hey, thanks!" It was more emotion than he used to show, but Li had stopped caring the moment he retired. "Means I've still got it!"
"Eh?"
"Okay, that probably sounds weird, doesn't it?" Adrian nodded confusedly. "Okay, so I should probably explain that: When you're a spy, the last thing you want to do is attract attention, right?"
"Because you would stick out and people might think you're up to something. Like being a spy."
Hm... Kid's a sharp one. I like him already.
"Exactly!" Li exclaimed in a very un-spylike manner. "Which is why it helped that I just look like a normal Chinese guy. Even more if I could convince people I'm stupid."
"I wouldn't go that far..."
"You haven't seen me play poker, kid. Never underestimate the power of people underestimating you."
Rio de Janeiro, Republic of Brazil, 15 October 1941
Os Confederados (The Confederados of Brazil)
"Papai?" Gisele da Silva asked her father in her still-innocent voice, "What is a 'Confederado?'"
"Oh, those are white Americans from the Confederacy who immigrated here after they lost the Civil War. A lot of rich people didn't like not being able to own slaves or having to treat Black people better, al they moved here."
"Because Brazil still had slavery?" Gisele's father nodded. "They traveled all the way here… So they could continue to own people?"
"I never said these were good people," her father pointed out. "But Dom Pedro wanted to expand the cotton industry, and these people were good at growing cotton."
"I know that much!" his daughter said proudly, "They taught us that in school!"
Christ, they really want to link the Coffee Milk politicians to the slavers, don't they?
Can't say I blame them, though... Bunch of stuck-up rich assholes.
"Glad to see you're studying to be smarter than me," Gisele practically beamed at the compliment.
Huh. Turns out every kid wants to be told they're smarter than their parents.
"So, um... why are you asking me about the Confederados?"
"Because they're in the news again. They keep doing parades downtown and saying people like you are evil."
"Marches, Gisele," he corrected. "Those are marches."
Pretty sure I don't have to correct her about them saying I'm evil for being the local Union President.
"What's the difference?"
"Marches can be fun or not fun. Parades are fun and not full of racist, Catholic-hating assholes."
Good thing your mother's picking up your little brother from football practice. She'd have my head if she saw me swear in front of you.
"Okay!" his daughter said with the innoncence only a child could have. "Papai?"
"Do you have another question?" Gisele nodded. "Go ahead."
"What's an 'Asshole?'"
Lyrics to "Our Tricolour," Anthem of the Republic of Britain, Adapted from W.J. Linton's poem
Flag of the Republic of Britain
Choose for hope the sky serene,
Freedom Albion's cliffs so white.
And eternal ocean's green,
Choose we for our nation's right.
Blue and white and green shall span,
Britain's flag, republican.
Fought with bows of burning gold,
Freed from dark Satanic Mills.
Workers break the chains of old,
From the sea to clouded hills.
Blue and white and green unite,
For a future ever bright.
British Museum, London, Republic of Britain, 1 November 1941
The British Museum
Dr. Thomas Lawrence was a historian through and through. And with the British Museum being... Well, the British Museum, it wouldn't do to have entire halls of empty exhibits.
No, that simply wouldn't do. He knew that, and so did everyone else who even knew an iota of history.
Or the impracticality of having a half-empty museum. That simply wouldn't do, either.
That was why he was here now, as the new museum's curator. It was a daunting task, but he liked to think that he'd done a decent job with the new, plunder-free exhibits.
Truth be told, it wasn't actually that hard.
This was the British Museum, after all, and he knew there was more than enough to put on display.
In place of the Elgin Marbles were artifacts of the Danelaw. The same could be said of the Rosetta Stone being replaced with a full-on exhibit of Caesar's invasions and the Celts of the time.
And that was before the sheer amount of exhibits on the Medieval, Renaissance, and Industrial Revolution periods. Then there was the Lost History, which had enough material to fill the museum if he so wished.
And that was before he got to the literature. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Marlowe, Tolkien, and Blair would all have their own exhibits. The men were literary legends of Britain, and living legends in the case of the latter two.
Even if Eric could never meet a deadline if his life depended on it.
It would be enough. Honestly, it would be more than enough, if Tolkien's enthusiasm at his offer to collaborate was anything to go by.
Be it Crusaders, the Tudors, and everyone in-between, before, and after, there was more than enough British history to replace all that had been returned.
Ishigaki Harbor, Ishigaki, Taiwan, Republic of China, 31 December 1941
Ishigaki Island
Michael Chen liked to think he was a good parent. Lin and Morgan were fit, intelligent, and most-importantly, they were just good human beings.
Yet there were moments of insecurity. These were times that he worried that he didn't do a good enough job at raising his and Aki's children. That if they had done things just a little bit differently, things would have been better.
"SHE SAID YES!" his daughter shouted as she ran across the beach, "MY LITTLE BROTHER IS GETTING MARRIED!"
Morgan, you're like, thirty seconds older than Lin.
"Do you think we should do something about this?" his wife Akira asked him, "It's a little weird to see one person running around and shouting like a maniac. Even if it is New Year's Eve."
"HE'S GETTING MARRIED?" Lin's friend Adrian shouted back, "HELL YEAH!"
"FUCK YEAH!" the kids' other friend Jon shouted, "MY BROTHER IS GETTING MARRIED!"
"Even better, Aki," Michael said with the biggest grin on his face. "Let them have their fun. Plus, I thought Selena already won you over?"
Not that it really matters. Sure, arranged marriages aren't really normal these days, but we were never much of a normal family in the first place. And with how much China's like America back in my time, it's not like interracial marriages are as frowned upon. Especially since the war ended.
Plus, it's not like we're going to have a problem with it. I mean, Aki's always thought future morals were superior, and I'm a guy who grew up in the part of California that is known as "Not-Huntington-Beach."
Seriously, fuck that place.
I guess America might have some problems if they decide to stay there after college. Interracial marriage didn't really get majority support until I was a kid, so there'll probably be people upset about them. Worst case scenario, the Knights and the TPUSA might go after them.
On the other hand, the Brandeis court had basically pulled a Loving v. Virginia a dew decades early, so we have that going for them. Plus, most people are either supportive or they don't really give a damn either way.
Can't underestimate the power of, "I do not approve of this, but it's none of my business."
Wait, why am I overthinking this? Our son's getting married, and I should be all smiles!
So he did. He smiled at the sight of his daughter and her friends shouting and running around at the good news, just like any good father would.
"Our little boy is all growing up, Aki."
"Mhm."
"I'm not that little, Dad," a familiar groaned said behind him. Michael looked up to see his son, a young man who was practically his spitting image, smiling sheepishly at him. "I'm almost 23, you know."
"When you have good parents, you'll always be their little kid," Selena teased. The mischievous look on her face turned to nervousness once she herself turned to him and Aki. "So, um... I guess this is the part where I ask your permission?"
"Lena, I'm from the future and my wife's more hands-off than me. You don't have to ask us for permission."
Also, isn't it supposed to be the other way around? Like, isn't the boy supposed to ask the girl's parents?
"Oh... Well, um... thanks?"
The two soon-to-be-family members just looked in awkward silence.
"For what it's worth, both my husband and I approve," Aki happily chimed in, breaking the silence. "Welcome to the family, Lena."
National Guard Armory, Boise, Idaho, United States of America, 12 January 1941
Downtown Boise, Idaho, during the Retro-Uptimer Car Festival
The weapons and ammunition were easy enough for Grand Master Carlson hands on. "It fell off a truck" was how they'd say it in the Lost History, and it held as much water in this one.
God-willing, this'll be enough firepower to stop that future Hellscape from happening.
It would be harder than that, of course. His cell (or "Prior" as they were officially called) was just one of the hydra that was the Knights of the Golden Circle. And all of them had to do their part.
Even if he didn't know how many made up "all of them."
"Compartmentalization" was the word of the day, every day. Priors barely interacted with one another in person unless it was absolutely necessary, preferring to use dead drops. And even when they did, it would be between Knight Commanders such as himself.
Hell, the Order was so secretive that almost-nobody knew the Grand Master's identity.
Some thought it was Henry Ford, while others bet their money on men like Charles Lindbergh or Gerald L.K. Smith. Commander Carlson didn't know for sure, but he didn't give a damn as long as it kept the Feds in the dark.
Not that it had stopped them.
Knight Commander Thurmond over in Charleston had gotten nabbed in a sting operation by the Feds last year. Rumor had it that he'd turned traitor in exchange for Witness Protection.
Though it would explain the arrests over the last few months.
He just shook his head while the crates of M1916s were loaded.
Not much we can do, anyways.
We just need to do our part to save America from making the same mistakes. The last thing we need is mongrel being elected President again.
It would be dirty work, but he had enough faith in God to know that he'd be rewarded for his efforts in this life or the next. That was to be expected when one fought for a cause as just as his.
Not that he would be one, though. No, when the Grand Master gave the signal, this would be more than a one-man crusade.
National Taiwan University Library
"The population seems to be rising exponentially, dear," Chen Akira's husband said to her. "People are having kids left and right."
"I'd assume so, given the decrease in maternal and infant mortality as well as the availability of housing-" she observed in her usual professorial tone, "Wait, are you thinking about grandchildren again?"
"You're not?" he asked her, with a smug smile that proved how right he was. "I mean, c'mon, Aki, we're a pair of Asian parents with children who are now young adults. It would be weirder if we weren't pestering our kids about when they'll give us grandkids."
"Of course I am, dear." As she spoke, she only slightly looked up from her papers. "I just have the tact to not be so obvious about it like you are."
"We're getting old, Aki. Sure, we might not look like it, but one of the perks is that we can just say stuff like that."
Aki looked at him intently.
"You keep bringing up grandkids to mess with our son, don't you?"
"Asian parent." Aki glared at him. "And yes - But only because he's fine with it."
"New topic, Michael," Aki decided for the two of them. "Like how neither of us believes in Destiny."
"Aki, I don't believe in it for philosophical and religious reasons. You don't believe in it because I got isekai'd with the island. We are not the same."
"You really like using that term, don't you?"
"Only because you're cute when you're annoyed, Aki." She just shook her head again at her husband's teasing. "But yeah, the whole Great Journey kinda screwed with everyone's belief of destiny, didn't it?"
"More or less. We may not believe in that sort of thing, Michael, but the Journey turned the concepts like Ming yun on their head."
"I don't follow."
"Take the Great Journey, for example: Does the sudden appearance of an island from the future a chance to repudiate the very concept of predetermined fate, or was it yet another step in our predetermined destiny?"
"Probably depends on who you ask," Michael figured, before pouring himself a cup of cocoa. "Want one?"
"I'm good, thanks."
"It's interesting, though: If we took your fate from my timeline and your fate in this timeline, they'd be different, right?" Aki nodded. "Then wouldn't you having two outcomes despite being the same person mean that predetermined fate does not exist?"
"Possibly," Aki closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "But you could also argue that the existence of different timelines means that we are different people from our alternate selves who have different circumstances."
"Or that the fates are different in both timelines," he realized, before realizing his own contradiction. "You know what? I think I'll take a Socratic approach to this."
"How so?"
"Because honestly, I don't know the answer, and I'm not about to pretend that I do.
Abidjan, Ivory Coast, French West Africa, 31 August 1941
Abidjan, Ivory Coast
The Abidjan Conference was the largest conference in African history.
At least that was what Saleh Ould Kerim had thought, even if conferences were part of his obligation as a diplomat. And there was nothing more-diplomatic than the conference that could decide the fate of Western Africa.
At least if it was in-session right now. Instead we're drinking tea while the GIGP clears the building after that bomb threat.
Again.
Fucking OAS Remnants.
"So what would you say is 'Real Socialism?'" Saleh asked the Frenchman he was drinking tea with. After all, it wasn't like he was going to get any work done today. "Ask a Russian and he will say it is Libertarianism. Ask a Frenchman and he will say it is pseudo-technocracy. Ask a Muslim and he will say Islamic Socialism, and the Christian will say the same thing about Liberation Theology."
"Indeed," the Frenchman agreed. "And in spite of all, they all fought side-by-side in the Great War. Which is why we're here in the first place."
Now, Saleh knew it was more-complicated than that. While fighting the OAS and the colonialists in the Great War had done much to forge a West African identity, the same could be said about ideology or idealism.
After all, almost everyone here is some kind of socialist who believes in this project of ours.
And about half of us had fought in the Resistance against the OAS.
"You know," the Frenchman observed, before taking another sip of his tea, "There are those who doubt you. Well, two types of people, anyways."
"Oh?"
"The first," he continued, with his eyes fixated on the ocean, "Are those who say that the people here are too different. Whether it's religion, ethnicity, or language, they would argue that the region would descend into ethnic violence within weeks."
"And in doing so, they would be arguing for the formation of ethnostates," Saleh pointedly observed. "They do realize that, don't they?"
"Including many who'd call themselves my comrades," the Frenchman sighed. "You wouldn't hear that from them, though: Many of them would argue that being a socialist meant that they couldn't be racist."
"The people of the Soviet Union in the Lost History would beg to differ."
"The people who thought the Soviet Union in the Lost History 'did nothing wrong' would beg to differ about your begging to differ."
"Mussolini will be Mussolini..."
"Indeed. And like Mussolini, that second group of doubters are those who would rather you all stay under 'Direct Rule from Paris,' as the saying goes."
"Even though we fought an entire war to not be ruled by colonialists and the only reason we have stayed French is that we all realized we needed to build an entire bureaucracy and nation from scratch for fifteen years."
"And by every metric, you all have done a fine job," the old French socialist agreed. "Even if our fair-weathered comrades would say otherwise."
"They do realize what that would happen if we did what they wanted, right?"
"That the Radical-Socialists would be little better than the OAS and we'd be the 'Red Colonialists' I've been warning about for over two decades?"
It was a rhetorical question. The Frenchman knew it, and so did he.
"You and I both know the answer to that one, Saleh."
"That it isn't a matter of them understanding. It's a matter of them not caring."
"Oh, I'm sure they care," the Frenchman chuckled. "They care about their reputations and their followings and their clout. What I do question, Saleh, is if these 'comrades' of ours care about the people they advocate for."
"Which is why this conference has to be an African affair. It has to be, otherwise we would have no legitimacy."
"That is the life of a freedom fighter, my friend. Though 'Freeing oneself from the outside world does not require you to reject it.'"
Why does that sound familiar...
Then Saleh remembered.
"That's Rabindranath Tagore's writing, isn't it?" The Frenchman nodded politely. "Are you a follower of his?"
"I dabble. Even if his writings are not meant for me."
Counterintelligence Service Headquarters, Saint Petersburg, Russian Empire, 12 September 1941
Logo of the Counterintelligence Service
"Thank you for meeting on such short notice," the seemingly-ageless Chinese woman said to Director Votsekhovsky through the screen. They had agreed upon speaking English for this meeting; it was the lingua franca of diplomacy despite the French's best efforts. "I trust that you received the files that I've sent you."
"I have, Rachel," Votsekhovsky yawned, before looking at his laptop. "It seems that chatter has risen in the last few weeks, despite our successes against the Black Hundreds. While I cannot share all of our information-"
"Of course."
He knew that Fong meant it. You didn't last this long in intelligence if you didn't know how the "game" was played.
It went without saying that a good intelligence officer didn't leave all their cards on the table.
Even with allies.
"-I can inform you that additional resources and manpower have proven successful in... handling the Black Hundreds issue."
What I can't inform you is that we've foiled enough plots to coup the government five times over at this point.
"Of course, Sergei," the Chinese spymaster breathed, before leaning back in her chair. "But what is concerning is that we've seen an increase in interactions between the Golden Circle, Knights, and other extremist groups of similar leanings. Is it possible they are sharing resources?"
"It is possible, Rachel. We've seen data pointing to Russian nationals traveling to America for weapons training, while American funds are often sent through back-channels to Russian accounts. And these are just what happens in the shadows. You've seen what Sakharov and Ford have been saying, haven't you?"
"Do you mean besides the constant diatribes against Jews, Catholics, and minorities? It's not too surprising, when both 'thought-leaders' are noted antisemites with racist streaks against Asians and minorities. 'Birds of a feather,' and whatnot."
"Of course. But some of my men have been noting that there is a significant uptick in communication between members of both organizations. While it may be a stretch, we have reason to believe that they are coordinating efforts. To what extent, we do not know, but I will share what information I have."
"Thank you for that," Fong told him in all sincerity. "I would recommend you forward this to the Americans as well."
A small grin formed on Votsekhovsky's face.
After all, this might be the only time I'll get to say this...
"We're already ahead of you, Rachel. The files were sent an hour ago."
Stanford University, Palo Alto, California, United States of America, 29 September 1941
Martin Li had trained for almost any scenario. A good spy was prepared for everything, and being an Eagle Scout meant being double-prepared.
Which meant he probably was over-prepared for a career in academia. Sure, he was pretty damn good at teaching history, but the sheer amount of preparation for almost-every contingency was probably a bit overkill for a couple semesters as a guest lecturer teaching about the Lost History.
Who was he kidding? It was definitely overkill, and that was before he factored in the suppressed 1911 he still concealed carried.
Okay, that one was somewhat-justified. I mean, I'm in America.
At a school.
"So," a student's voice interrupted. Li looked up to see an African-American student standing at the door. "You're Lin's uncle?"
"Sorry, haven't gotten your name." Really, Marty? Thought you were good with names. Age really is catching up to you, old man. "What was it?"
"Adrian Friese, sir," the young man said politely. "I'm one of Lin's teammates."
"Ah, now I remember," Li half-lied while he stalled for time. Oh right, he's one of Lin's roommates. "And yes, I am. Not by blood, but his father and I grew up together."
"Ah. If you don't mind me asking, are the rumors true?"
Li looked at his student flatly. "Depends on the rumors, Adrian."
"Lin said you used to be the head of the Chinese version of the OSS."
"Really?" Li asked with feigned surprise. "Do you believe that?"
"Well, Wikipedia says it's true, so..."
"Kid, you and I both know that Wikipedia isn't a primary source."
"Oh. Must be a different one, then. Apologies, sir."
"Heh, just kidding," Li yawned, before doing a quick stretch. "Yes, I used to be the head of the Military Intelligence Bureau. Been retired for years now, though."
"This isn't another joke, is it?" The Chinese-American professor shook his head. "Alright. It's just that... No offense, but you don't really look like a spy."
"Hey, thanks!" It was more emotion than he used to show, but Li had stopped caring the moment he retired. "Means I've still got it!"
"Eh?"
"Okay, that probably sounds weird, doesn't it?" Adrian nodded confusedly. "Okay, so I should probably explain that: When you're a spy, the last thing you want to do is attract attention, right?"
"Because you would stick out and people might think you're up to something. Like being a spy."
Hm... Kid's a sharp one. I like him already.
"Exactly!" Li exclaimed in a very un-spylike manner. "Which is why it helped that I just look like a normal Chinese guy. Even more if I could convince people I'm stupid."
"I wouldn't go that far..."
"You haven't seen me play poker, kid. Never underestimate the power of people underestimating you."
Rio de Janeiro, Republic of Brazil, 15 October 1941
Os Confederados (The Confederados of Brazil)
"Papai?" Gisele da Silva asked her father in her still-innocent voice, "What is a 'Confederado?'"
"Oh, those are white Americans from the Confederacy who immigrated here after they lost the Civil War. A lot of rich people didn't like not being able to own slaves or having to treat Black people better, al they moved here."
"Because Brazil still had slavery?" Gisele's father nodded. "They traveled all the way here… So they could continue to own people?"
"I never said these were good people," her father pointed out. "But Dom Pedro wanted to expand the cotton industry, and these people were good at growing cotton."
"I know that much!" his daughter said proudly, "They taught us that in school!"
Christ, they really want to link the Coffee Milk politicians to the slavers, don't they?
Can't say I blame them, though... Bunch of stuck-up rich assholes.
"Glad to see you're studying to be smarter than me," Gisele practically beamed at the compliment.
Huh. Turns out every kid wants to be told they're smarter than their parents.
"So, um... why are you asking me about the Confederados?"
"Because they're in the news again. They keep doing parades downtown and saying people like you are evil."
"Marches, Gisele," he corrected. "Those are marches."
Pretty sure I don't have to correct her about them saying I'm evil for being the local Union President.
"What's the difference?"
"Marches can be fun or not fun. Parades are fun and not full of racist, Catholic-hating assholes."
Good thing your mother's picking up your little brother from football practice. She'd have my head if she saw me swear in front of you.
"Okay!" his daughter said with the innoncence only a child could have. "Papai?"
"Do you have another question?" Gisele nodded. "Go ahead."
"What's an 'Asshole?'"
Lyrics to "Our Tricolour," Anthem of the Republic of Britain, Adapted from W.J. Linton's poem
Flag of the Republic of Britain
Choose for hope the sky serene,
Freedom Albion's cliffs so white.
And eternal ocean's green,
Choose we for our nation's right.
Blue and white and green shall span,
Britain's flag, republican.
Fought with bows of burning gold,
Freed from dark Satanic Mills.
Workers break the chains of old,
From the sea to clouded hills.
Blue and white and green unite,
For a future ever bright.
British Museum, London, Republic of Britain, 1 November 1941
The British Museum
Dr. Thomas Lawrence was a historian through and through. And with the British Museum being... Well, the British Museum, it wouldn't do to have entire halls of empty exhibits.
No, that simply wouldn't do. He knew that, and so did everyone else who even knew an iota of history.
Or the impracticality of having a half-empty museum. That simply wouldn't do, either.
That was why he was here now, as the new museum's curator. It was a daunting task, but he liked to think that he'd done a decent job with the new, plunder-free exhibits.
Truth be told, it wasn't actually that hard.
This was the British Museum, after all, and he knew there was more than enough to put on display.
In place of the Elgin Marbles were artifacts of the Danelaw. The same could be said of the Rosetta Stone being replaced with a full-on exhibit of Caesar's invasions and the Celts of the time.
And that was before the sheer amount of exhibits on the Medieval, Renaissance, and Industrial Revolution periods. Then there was the Lost History, which had enough material to fill the museum if he so wished.
And that was before he got to the literature. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Marlowe, Tolkien, and Blair would all have their own exhibits. The men were literary legends of Britain, and living legends in the case of the latter two.
Even if Eric could never meet a deadline if his life depended on it.
It would be enough. Honestly, it would be more than enough, if Tolkien's enthusiasm at his offer to collaborate was anything to go by.
Be it Crusaders, the Tudors, and everyone in-between, before, and after, there was more than enough British history to replace all that had been returned.
Ishigaki Harbor, Ishigaki, Taiwan, Republic of China, 31 December 1941
Ishigaki IslandMichael Chen liked to think he was a good parent. Lin and Morgan were fit, intelligent, and most-importantly, they were just good human beings.
Yet there were moments of insecurity. These were times that he worried that he didn't do a good enough job at raising his and Aki's children. That if they had done things just a little bit differently, things would have been better.
"SHE SAID YES!" his daughter shouted as she ran across the beach, "MY LITTLE BROTHER IS GETTING MARRIED!"
Morgan, you're like, thirty seconds older than Lin.
"Do you think we should do something about this?" his wife Akira asked him, "It's a little weird to see one person running around and shouting like a maniac. Even if it is New Year's Eve."
"HE'S GETTING MARRIED?" Lin's friend Adrian shouted back, "HELL YEAH!"
"FUCK YEAH!" the kids' other friend Jon shouted, "MY BROTHER IS GETTING MARRIED!"
"Even better, Aki," Michael said with the biggest grin on his face. "Let them have their fun. Plus, I thought Selena already won you over?"
Not that it really matters. Sure, arranged marriages aren't really normal these days, but we were never much of a normal family in the first place. And with how much China's like America back in my time, it's not like interracial marriages are as frowned upon. Especially since the war ended.
Plus, it's not like we're going to have a problem with it. I mean, Aki's always thought future morals were superior, and I'm a guy who grew up in the part of California that is known as "Not-Huntington-Beach."
Seriously, fuck that place.
I guess America might have some problems if they decide to stay there after college. Interracial marriage didn't really get majority support until I was a kid, so there'll probably be people upset about them. Worst case scenario, the Knights and the TPUSA might go after them.
On the other hand, the Brandeis court had basically pulled a Loving v. Virginia a dew decades early, so we have that going for them. Plus, most people are either supportive or they don't really give a damn either way.
Can't underestimate the power of, "I do not approve of this, but it's none of my business."
Wait, why am I overthinking this? Our son's getting married, and I should be all smiles!
So he did. He smiled at the sight of his daughter and her friends shouting and running around at the good news, just like any good father would.
"Our little boy is all growing up, Aki."
"Mhm."
"I'm not that little, Dad," a familiar groaned said behind him. Michael looked up to see his son, a young man who was practically his spitting image, smiling sheepishly at him. "I'm almost 23, you know."
"When you have good parents, you'll always be their little kid," Selena teased. The mischievous look on her face turned to nervousness once she herself turned to him and Aki. "So, um... I guess this is the part where I ask your permission?"
"Lena, I'm from the future and my wife's more hands-off than me. You don't have to ask us for permission."
Also, isn't it supposed to be the other way around? Like, isn't the boy supposed to ask the girl's parents?
"Oh... Well, um... thanks?"
The two soon-to-be-family members just looked in awkward silence.
"For what it's worth, both my husband and I approve," Aki happily chimed in, breaking the silence. "Welcome to the family, Lena."
National Guard Armory, Boise, Idaho, United States of America, 12 January 1941
Downtown Boise, Idaho, during the Retro-Uptimer Car Festival
The weapons and ammunition were easy enough for Grand Master Carlson hands on. "It fell off a truck" was how they'd say it in the Lost History, and it held as much water in this one.
God-willing, this'll be enough firepower to stop that future Hellscape from happening.
It would be harder than that, of course. His cell (or "Prior" as they were officially called) was just one of the hydra that was the Knights of the Golden Circle. And all of them had to do their part.
Even if he didn't know how many made up "all of them."
"Compartmentalization" was the word of the day, every day. Priors barely interacted with one another in person unless it was absolutely necessary, preferring to use dead drops. And even when they did, it would be between Knight Commanders such as himself.
Hell, the Order was so secretive that almost-nobody knew the Grand Master's identity.
Some thought it was Henry Ford, while others bet their money on men like Charles Lindbergh or Gerald L.K. Smith. Commander Carlson didn't know for sure, but he didn't give a damn as long as it kept the Feds in the dark.
Not that it had stopped them.
Knight Commander Thurmond over in Charleston had gotten nabbed in a sting operation by the Feds last year. Rumor had it that he'd turned traitor in exchange for Witness Protection.
Though it would explain the arrests over the last few months.
He just shook his head while the crates of M1916s were loaded.
Not much we can do, anyways.
We just need to do our part to save America from making the same mistakes. The last thing we need is mongrel being elected President again.
It would be dirty work, but he had enough faith in God to know that he'd be rewarded for his efforts in this life or the next. That was to be expected when one fought for a cause as just as his.
Not that he would be one, though. No, when the Grand Master gave the signal, this would be more than a one-man crusade.
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ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
It's been a while, but between the Simbang Gabi, my new job, Simbang Gabi, and my birthday today, I've been pretty busy.
Chapters'll keep coming out, but it might be at a reduced rate (so like once or twice every 2 weeks).
It's been a while, but between the Simbang Gabi, my new job, Simbang Gabi, and my birthday today, I've been pretty busy.
Chapters'll keep coming out, but it might be at a reduced rate (so like once or twice every 2 weeks).
- Location
- India
What happened in case of Noble Prize? Will Gandhi get peace prize this time?
How asian Cinema impacted by isot? Will we see collaboration between asian Filmmakers like Kurosawa, Satyajit ray and others?
Is china try to recruit various asian Intellectual and scientists though better pay?
What is the percentage of Buddhist india? Is northeast india Buddhist rather than Christian?
How asian Cinema impacted by isot? Will we see collaboration between asian Filmmakers like Kurosawa, Satyajit ray and others?
Is china try to recruit various asian Intellectual and scientists though better pay?
What is the percentage of Buddhist india? Is northeast india Buddhist rather than Christian?
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Still exists, and Gandhi got it as part of the group of representatives that attended the Hanoi Conference for their commitment to cooperation, prosperity, and peace in Asia.
There's an argument that there are countless Einsteins around the world, but they are unable to reach their full potential because they were too busy working in the fields to realize their full potential. That is kind of the guiding philosophy in the Nanjing Accord, and it is why the members are so keen to fund education and development.
Higher than OTL, so around 2%, while Christianity (specifically Liberation Theology and progressive Protestantism) have increased to around 3.5%. These two primarily come from lower-caste Hindus who saw the two as challenges to the traditional caste system that is often associated with Hinduism (and other faiths, but mainly Hinduism).
Whenwe (From Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia)
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Whenwe (From Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia)
Whenwe
A whenwe is an informal term for a former settler or descendant of settlers who talks nostalgically about their former homes in now-decolonized nations. The term originates from the phrase, "When we lived in..."
Background
Whenwes can trace their origin to the settlers and settler-descended populations of former European colonies in Africa, the Indian Subcontinent, Southeast Asia, and Oceania. Their emigration from these lands coincides with the Great War, including the refugee crisis, the Treaty of London that concluded the war, and the subsequent independence of all colonial holdings of the European Alliance.
The majority of Whenwes come from the former African and Asian colonies of the European Alliance, due to a combination of wartime anti-Nanjing Accord propaganda and a loss of political power to the now Majority-Rule governments on the continent. The nations of Australia and New Zealand-Aotorea experienced a significantly-lower rate of emigration, due to a combination of demographics and cooperation with the transitional governments.
Popular destination for colonial populations include the United States and the Kingdoms of Norway, Denmark, and Sweden. The United States received over eighty percent of expatriates.
Although the term can be used as a catch-all for all expatriates, its more-common usage refers to expatriates of a primarily-right-wing to far-right leaning who openly express support for the now-defunct colonial governments of Africa, Asia, and Oceania.
Relation to Holdouts
The Whenwes' and the Holdouts' (the catch-all name for anti-Majority-Rule insurrectionists in the Post-War Era) origin from the settler colonial populations of Africa, Asia, and Oceania has led to the two terms being used interchangeably.
Whenwes primarily consist of emigrants who willingly left the former colonies during and after the Great War, while Holdouts engaged in an insurrection against the post-war Majority Rule governments.
However, expatriate organizations such as the Lost Sons and Daughters Foundation have been audited for the transfer of funds to support Holdout organizations during the Holdout Insurrection. Recently-uncovered documents from the Knights of the Golden Circle have also indicated that the organization also assisted in the transfer of funds and manpower to similar organizations.
Connection to Extremist Groups
Expatriate organizations that are associated with the "whenwe" monicker have been accused of cooperation with various far-right extremist groups. Such organizations include the German-Afrikan Bund, the Lost Sons and Daughters Foundation, the Cecil Rhodes Society, the American-Congolese Organization, and the Francafrique Society.
Extremist groups include (but are not limited to) the Knights of the Golden Circle (KGC), the True Patriot Party of the United States of America (TPUSA), and the Black Hundreds of Russia.
A 1940 joint report from French, American, Russian, Chinese, and Japanese intelligence observed that cooperation varies between groups, including (but not limited to) the transfer of funds, training of manpower, information sharing, networking, and arms trafficking. The United States' Bureau of Investigation has also announced that several arrested members of the Knights of the Golden Circle are also dues-paying members of various expatriate societies.
The German-Afrikan Bund, Cecil Rhodes Society, and the Lost Sons and Daughters Foundation have denied any and all connections to extremist organizations, while the American-Congolese organization and Francafrique Society have refused to issue a statement.
Whenwe
A whenwe is an informal term for a former settler or descendant of settlers who talks nostalgically about their former homes in now-decolonized nations. The term originates from the phrase, "When we lived in..."
Background
Whenwes can trace their origin to the settlers and settler-descended populations of former European colonies in Africa, the Indian Subcontinent, Southeast Asia, and Oceania. Their emigration from these lands coincides with the Great War, including the refugee crisis, the Treaty of London that concluded the war, and the subsequent independence of all colonial holdings of the European Alliance.
The majority of Whenwes come from the former African and Asian colonies of the European Alliance, due to a combination of wartime anti-Nanjing Accord propaganda and a loss of political power to the now Majority-Rule governments on the continent. The nations of Australia and New Zealand-Aotorea experienced a significantly-lower rate of emigration, due to a combination of demographics and cooperation with the transitional governments.
Popular destination for colonial populations include the United States and the Kingdoms of Norway, Denmark, and Sweden. The United States received over eighty percent of expatriates.
Although the term can be used as a catch-all for all expatriates, its more-common usage refers to expatriates of a primarily-right-wing to far-right leaning who openly express support for the now-defunct colonial governments of Africa, Asia, and Oceania.
Relation to Holdouts
The Whenwes' and the Holdouts' (the catch-all name for anti-Majority-Rule insurrectionists in the Post-War Era) origin from the settler colonial populations of Africa, Asia, and Oceania has led to the two terms being used interchangeably.
Whenwes primarily consist of emigrants who willingly left the former colonies during and after the Great War, while Holdouts engaged in an insurrection against the post-war Majority Rule governments.
However, expatriate organizations such as the Lost Sons and Daughters Foundation have been audited for the transfer of funds to support Holdout organizations during the Holdout Insurrection. Recently-uncovered documents from the Knights of the Golden Circle have also indicated that the organization also assisted in the transfer of funds and manpower to similar organizations.
Connection to Extremist Groups
Expatriate organizations that are associated with the "whenwe" monicker have been accused of cooperation with various far-right extremist groups. Such organizations include the German-Afrikan Bund, the Lost Sons and Daughters Foundation, the Cecil Rhodes Society, the American-Congolese Organization, and the Francafrique Society.
Extremist groups include (but are not limited to) the Knights of the Golden Circle (KGC), the True Patriot Party of the United States of America (TPUSA), and the Black Hundreds of Russia.
A 1940 joint report from French, American, Russian, Chinese, and Japanese intelligence observed that cooperation varies between groups, including (but not limited to) the transfer of funds, training of manpower, information sharing, networking, and arms trafficking. The United States' Bureau of Investigation has also announced that several arrested members of the Knights of the Golden Circle are also dues-paying members of various expatriate societies.
The German-Afrikan Bund, Cecil Rhodes Society, and the Lost Sons and Daughters Foundation have denied any and all connections to extremist organizations, while the American-Congolese organization and Francafrique Society have refused to issue a statement.
Biographies of Basically Every Character in Second Sunrise (IN PROGRESS)
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
So, for the sake of my sanity (and because I have written a lot of characters), I'm going to write up quick bios for almost everyone I can think of. I'll keep adding to this as I look through the sheer number of OCs I have written.
Chen Qirui/Michael "Mike" Chen
Born: 11 January 1993 (Lost History), British Hong Kong
Citizenship: Chinese-American
Occupation: General (Republic of China Marine Corps, Retired), Railroad Executive (Retired), Mechanical Engineer (Retired)
Michael "Mike" Chen (born Chen Qirui) is a retired General of the Republic of China Marine Corps who served in the 1911 Philippine Sea Incident, the Chinese Revolution of 1911, and the Great War of 1921-1925.
Chen was born in 1993 in Hong Kong, though the transfer of the territory would see him and his family immigrate to Irvine, California, where he would spend most of his formative years with fellow expatriate Martin Li. The two Chinese-Americans would grow close and see one-another as brothers. The two would become inseparable, be it in education or extra-curriculars such as the Boy Scouts.
Chen would immigrate to Taiwan during the 2010s due to career opportunities for both of his parents. After earning a Mechanical Engineering degree in college and an arranged marriage to Shannon Wu fell through (due in part to the latter's incompatible orientation), Chen would join the Republic of China Marine Corps as an officer.
Originally a Captain at the time of the Great Journey, the lack of qualified and competent officers allowed Chen to rapidly rise through the ranks in the two conflicts.
After the war, Chen retired from the military and took a position on the board of directors of SinoRail, a government-owned railway construction company, where his experience in mechanical engineering provided a hands-on perspective appreciated by workers and board members. He has participated in the construction of the Taiwan Strait Tunnel between Taiwan and the mainland, the Bering Strait Tunnel between Kamchatka and Alaska, and the Tsushima Strait Tunnel, and the global adoption of standard-gauge rail.
He is married to Chen Akira (nee Higa), whom he met during the Philippine Sea Incident and the annexation of Ishigaki into the Republic of China. They have two children: Chen Lin and Morgan Chen, who also served in the 6th Marine Division.
Chen Akira "Aki" (nee Higa)
Born: 20 June 1889, British Hong Kong
CItizenship: Chinese, Japanese (Formerly)
Occupation: Professor of History at National Taiwan University, Author, School Teacher (Retired), Translator (Retired), Civilian Analyst at Military Intelligence Bureau Section 5 (Retired)
Chen Akira's background is largely-unknown, though she spent much of her early life at sea due to her father's occupation as a merchant. This allowed her to travel throughout the Western Pacific and learn several languages, including Mandarin, Korean, Ryukyuan, and Japanese. Her father's sudden retirement in 1907 led to their residence on Ishigaki Island, where her father would become a community leader and she would become the island's schoolteacher despite having no formal education.
During the Philippine Sea Incident of 1911, Chen Akira was present on the island when the 66th Marine Brigade under Colonel Michael Chen occupied the island after a minor skirmish. After the island was annexed by the Republic of China, she would serve as a translator and develop a strong working relationship with the Marine officer that would eventually result in marriage during the 1910s and her giving birth to twins in 1919.
Afterwards, Chen Akira would study at National Taiwan University and work for the Military Intelligence Bureau as a civilian analyst with a specialty in Historical Intelligence. After her service during the Great War, she joined the faculty of the National Taiwan University as a Professor of History, where she has served as one of the world's experts on Lost History Studies.
Li Wuhan/Martin "Marty" Li
Born: 20 June 1994 (Lost History), British Hong Kong
CItizenship: Chinese-American
Occupation: General (Republic of China Army, Retired), Military Intelligence Bureau Agent (Promoted), Director of the Military Intelligence Bureau (Retired), Guest Professor of History at Stanford University
Born to a former triad member and a nurse in 1991, Martin Li's family seized the opportunity that was the Handover of Hong Kong to leave both Hong Kong and the life of organized crime by immigrating to the United States. Resettling in Irvine, California, Li's parents quickly adjusted to suburban life while Li himself would develop a brother-like bond with one Michael "Mike" Chen.
Li's father's criminal past catching up to him would lead to the family relocating to Taiwan during the 2010s, where the younger Li would earn a degree in History, after which he was recruited into the Military Intelligence Bureau due to his language abilities.
Li's service would be largely-uneventful until the Great Journey, after which he would distinguish himself by coordinating the training and arming of Sun Yat Sen's men, participating in the rescue of future president Wang Zhaoming during OPERATION: SECOND CHANCE, and serving alongside Huang Xing during the Chinese Revolution.
His distinguished service would see him rise through the ranks, leading to his promotion to Director of Section 5 of the Military Intelligence Bureau, which he reformed into the research and analysis juggernaut that it is today. This in turn put him on the shortlist to serve as the next Director of the MIB, with Agent Rachel Fong serving as his successor in Section 5.
Li's service as MIB DIrector would see the organization develop its long-term approach on the global scale, including the support of various anti-colonial rebel groups against their colonial overlords, ordering the killing of the Saudi Royal Family as part of OPERATION SCIMITAR, and the gathering and release of incriminating evidence that would kneecap the Right Wing of the Kuomintang and allow for Wang Zhaoming's ascension.
Li would serve as MIB DIrector during the Great War, during which his emphasis on coordination between intelligence and the military (thanks in part to his brotherly bond with General Michael Chen) would prove successful. Li would retire approximately a decade later, after which he would take a position as Professor of History at National Taiwan University.
Rachel Fong
Born: 1 July 1995 (Lost History), British Hong Kong
CItizenship: Chinese-Canadian
Occupation: Deep-Cover Military of State Security Agent (Formerly), Military Intelligence Bureau Agent (Promoted), Director of the Military Intelligence Bureau, Colonel (Republic of China Army, Retired)
Although Rachel Fong was born in Hong Kong, the Handover of Hong Kong exactly two after her birth would see her family immigrate to Vancouver, Canada. Her mother, a deep-cover MSS agent, would influence her personal views and encourage her to study at Hong Kong University, where her membership in the Hong Kong University Students' Union would lead to her recruitment by the Ministry of State Security.
During her service in the MSS, Fong would continue to infiltrate the HKUSU, though allegations of her sexuality would lead to her de-facto exile to Taiwan under the guise of her applying for asylum. Given her membership in the HKUSU and her academic achievements, Fong was deemed politically-reliable and recruited into the MIB.
After the Great Journey, she would serve alongside Agent Martin Li during the training and equipping of Huang Xing's men before the Chinese Revolution, and she provided sniper fire during the rescue of future-president Wang Zhaoming during OPERATION: SECOND CHANCE. Fong would continue to serve alongside Li during the Chinese Revolution while also coordinating the safety and survival of one Lei Feng (formerly Mao Zedong). During the war, Fong also met Major Shannon Wu, whom she would later marry.
Fong would continue to serve as Li's subordinate for the next few decades, first as the Deputy Director of Section 5, then Director of Section 5 once Li was promoted to MIB DIrector. In the latter position, Fong would shift Section 5's focus from Historical Intelligence to Research and Analysis.
Of note is that during Fong's service as Li's subordinate, she would continue to see action in the field. Such instances include the killing of the Saudi Royal Family as part of OPERATION SCIMITAR, as well as the arming and training of various anti-colonial rebel groups opposed to the European Alliance. Additionally, Fong is suspected of participating in the gathering and release of incriminating evidence against several high-profile Right-KMT members with the help of her wife Shannon Wu, the extranged daughter of a Chinese business magnate.
Fong's tenure as MIB DIrector would see the support of various progressive and left-wing groups via covert means, including the arming of Sandino's troops during the Central American Revolution as well as back-channel support and donations to progressive organizations as part of the MIB's long-term strategic plans. Additionally, Fong's tenure would see an increase in cooperation between the MIB and Nanjing Accord intelligence agencies, as well as cooperation between the MIB and the American Office of Strategic Services.
Shannon Wu (Formerly Wu Shu-fen)
Born: 1 January 1995 (Lost History), Taipei, Taiwan/Republic of China
CItizenship: Chinese
Occupation: Major (Republic of China Army, Retired), Award-Winning Manhua Artist and Author,Cool Wine-Aunt
Born to Wu Li-jun, Shannon Wu had been groomed from birth to be the heir to Wu Holdings, her father's corporation. However, her father's more-conservative leanings (and emotional abuse upon learning she was a lesbian) would lead to the two becoming estranged as the younger Wu grew older, to the point that she would go by the Anglicized name "Shannon" as an act of rebellion against her father.
This would culminate in the elder Wu attempting an arranged marriage between Shannon and Michael Chen, the son of one of Wu Li-jun's old colleagues. This would fail spectacularly due to the former's orientation, the latter focusing on his studies, and the two forming a sibling-like bond that would convince his parents to cancel the arranged marriage. This would be the final straw, as Wu Li-jun would disown Shannon, while Shannon would join the Army as a means to get away from her estranged father.
During the Chinese Revolution Wu would pilot an AH-64 Apache attack helicopter as the head of Dragon Squadron. She would serve alongside Chen, Li, and Fong by providing fire support, and she would enter into a relationship with the latter at the end of the conflict. During the inter-war years, she would find work as a Manhua artist and author while moonlighting as an anonymous whistleblower who would gather information about her father's corrupt business practices.
Wu would return to active service as the leader of Dragon Squadron during the Great War, and she participated in the Balkan, Indian, and British Campaigns. Wu's participation would prove vital to the final surrender of the European Alliance during the Battle of Britain.
After the war, Wu would return to her work as a manhua artist and author. Her works include the award-winning Twenty Years' Difference (based on the Winston Churchill novel of the same name), a manhua adaptation of the Halo series, and Upside-Downtimer, a slice-of-life period piece set around the time of the Great Journey and inspired by her own experiences.
Although a capable writer in her own right, Wu has delegated much of the writing to her protege, the literary prodigy Gu Xin-yi. Wu also does the art for Gu's own works, and she serves as the co-founder and Editor-in-Chief of Freeform Publishing, one of the most-prominent manhua publishers in the Nanjing Accord.
Jean Patrice Luc Brodeur
Born: 1 May 1882, Marseilles, France
CItizenship: French
Occupation: Journalist and Editor of l'Humanite, Captain (French Army, Retired), Member of the French Section of the Workers' International (SFIO)
Born to a working-class family, Brodeur was no stranger to leftist politics. His father was a staunch republican, and the same could be said of his activist mother. It was this upbringing that would introduce Brodeur to world of leftist politics at a young age, and he would soon find himself under the wing of French socialist leader Jean Jaures at l'Humanite.
Jaures' mentorship would provide Brodeur with a front-row seat to the rise of the Radical-Socialist alliance, as well as the consolidation of their control and the major events from the 1910s to the 1930s. From Aristide Briand's victory over Raymond Poincare, to the reforms and the OAS coup, Brodeur has been there in the thick of it.
Even a global war and his country being under siege hadn't deterred him. With a commission as a Captain, Brodeur served as a wartime correspondent in the press corps, and he provided firsthand coverage of the "Lifeline Flights" from the east that kept France supplied as well as the Liberation of Corsica.
Brodeur has used his platform to decry French colonialism, and he is credited with coining the phrase "Red Colonialism" to describe socialists who advocate for the continued rule of France's colonies past the nation-building phase. It is this activism that has led to him butting heads with Benito Mussolini, whose colonial policy advocates for the complete integration of the former African colonies into Europe.
Brodeur serves as the longtime Editor of l'Humanite after his mentor Jean Jaures' passing, and he continues to cover events in-person despite his age. He continues to be a strong advocate for African independence and the technocratic RISE economic integration system.
Although he has no children, Brodeur has raised his niece Elise ever since his borther Emile's death during the Great War. Under his mentorship, Elise Brodeur has become an accomplished journalist in her own right, having covered the conflict against African Holdouts in West Africa, the fight against slavery, and the region's transition to independence during a decade and a half of nation building.
Chen Qirui/Michael "Mike" Chen
Born: 11 January 1993 (Lost History), British Hong Kong
Citizenship: Chinese-American
Occupation: General (Republic of China Marine Corps, Retired), Railroad Executive (Retired), Mechanical Engineer (Retired)
Michael "Mike" Chen (born Chen Qirui) is a retired General of the Republic of China Marine Corps who served in the 1911 Philippine Sea Incident, the Chinese Revolution of 1911, and the Great War of 1921-1925.
Chen was born in 1993 in Hong Kong, though the transfer of the territory would see him and his family immigrate to Irvine, California, where he would spend most of his formative years with fellow expatriate Martin Li. The two Chinese-Americans would grow close and see one-another as brothers. The two would become inseparable, be it in education or extra-curriculars such as the Boy Scouts.
Chen would immigrate to Taiwan during the 2010s due to career opportunities for both of his parents. After earning a Mechanical Engineering degree in college and an arranged marriage to Shannon Wu fell through (due in part to the latter's incompatible orientation), Chen would join the Republic of China Marine Corps as an officer.
Originally a Captain at the time of the Great Journey, the lack of qualified and competent officers allowed Chen to rapidly rise through the ranks in the two conflicts.
After the war, Chen retired from the military and took a position on the board of directors of SinoRail, a government-owned railway construction company, where his experience in mechanical engineering provided a hands-on perspective appreciated by workers and board members. He has participated in the construction of the Taiwan Strait Tunnel between Taiwan and the mainland, the Bering Strait Tunnel between Kamchatka and Alaska, and the Tsushima Strait Tunnel, and the global adoption of standard-gauge rail.
He is married to Chen Akira (nee Higa), whom he met during the Philippine Sea Incident and the annexation of Ishigaki into the Republic of China. They have two children: Chen Lin and Morgan Chen, who also served in the 6th Marine Division.
Chen Akira "Aki" (nee Higa)
Born: 20 June 1889, British Hong Kong
CItizenship: Chinese, Japanese (Formerly)
Occupation: Professor of History at National Taiwan University, Author, School Teacher (Retired), Translator (Retired), Civilian Analyst at Military Intelligence Bureau Section 5 (Retired)
Chen Akira's background is largely-unknown, though she spent much of her early life at sea due to her father's occupation as a merchant. This allowed her to travel throughout the Western Pacific and learn several languages, including Mandarin, Korean, Ryukyuan, and Japanese. Her father's sudden retirement in 1907 led to their residence on Ishigaki Island, where her father would become a community leader and she would become the island's schoolteacher despite having no formal education.
During the Philippine Sea Incident of 1911, Chen Akira was present on the island when the 66th Marine Brigade under Colonel Michael Chen occupied the island after a minor skirmish. After the island was annexed by the Republic of China, she would serve as a translator and develop a strong working relationship with the Marine officer that would eventually result in marriage during the 1910s and her giving birth to twins in 1919.
Afterwards, Chen Akira would study at National Taiwan University and work for the Military Intelligence Bureau as a civilian analyst with a specialty in Historical Intelligence. After her service during the Great War, she joined the faculty of the National Taiwan University as a Professor of History, where she has served as one of the world's experts on Lost History Studies.
Li Wuhan/Martin "Marty" Li
Born: 20 June 1994 (Lost History), British Hong Kong
CItizenship: Chinese-American
Occupation: General (Republic of China Army, Retired), Military Intelligence Bureau Agent (Promoted), Director of the Military Intelligence Bureau (Retired), Guest Professor of History at Stanford University
Born to a former triad member and a nurse in 1991, Martin Li's family seized the opportunity that was the Handover of Hong Kong to leave both Hong Kong and the life of organized crime by immigrating to the United States. Resettling in Irvine, California, Li's parents quickly adjusted to suburban life while Li himself would develop a brother-like bond with one Michael "Mike" Chen.
Li's father's criminal past catching up to him would lead to the family relocating to Taiwan during the 2010s, where the younger Li would earn a degree in History, after which he was recruited into the Military Intelligence Bureau due to his language abilities.
Li's service would be largely-uneventful until the Great Journey, after which he would distinguish himself by coordinating the training and arming of Sun Yat Sen's men, participating in the rescue of future president Wang Zhaoming during OPERATION: SECOND CHANCE, and serving alongside Huang Xing during the Chinese Revolution.
His distinguished service would see him rise through the ranks, leading to his promotion to Director of Section 5 of the Military Intelligence Bureau, which he reformed into the research and analysis juggernaut that it is today. This in turn put him on the shortlist to serve as the next Director of the MIB, with Agent Rachel Fong serving as his successor in Section 5.
Li's service as MIB DIrector would see the organization develop its long-term approach on the global scale, including the support of various anti-colonial rebel groups against their colonial overlords, ordering the killing of the Saudi Royal Family as part of OPERATION SCIMITAR, and the gathering and release of incriminating evidence that would kneecap the Right Wing of the Kuomintang and allow for Wang Zhaoming's ascension.
Li would serve as MIB DIrector during the Great War, during which his emphasis on coordination between intelligence and the military (thanks in part to his brotherly bond with General Michael Chen) would prove successful. Li would retire approximately a decade later, after which he would take a position as Professor of History at National Taiwan University.
Rachel Fong
Born: 1 July 1995 (Lost History), British Hong Kong
CItizenship: Chinese-Canadian
Occupation: Deep-Cover Military of State Security Agent (Formerly), Military Intelligence Bureau Agent (Promoted), Director of the Military Intelligence Bureau, Colonel (Republic of China Army, Retired)
Although Rachel Fong was born in Hong Kong, the Handover of Hong Kong exactly two after her birth would see her family immigrate to Vancouver, Canada. Her mother, a deep-cover MSS agent, would influence her personal views and encourage her to study at Hong Kong University, where her membership in the Hong Kong University Students' Union would lead to her recruitment by the Ministry of State Security.
During her service in the MSS, Fong would continue to infiltrate the HKUSU, though allegations of her sexuality would lead to her de-facto exile to Taiwan under the guise of her applying for asylum. Given her membership in the HKUSU and her academic achievements, Fong was deemed politically-reliable and recruited into the MIB.
After the Great Journey, she would serve alongside Agent Martin Li during the training and equipping of Huang Xing's men before the Chinese Revolution, and she provided sniper fire during the rescue of future-president Wang Zhaoming during OPERATION: SECOND CHANCE. Fong would continue to serve alongside Li during the Chinese Revolution while also coordinating the safety and survival of one Lei Feng (formerly Mao Zedong). During the war, Fong also met Major Shannon Wu, whom she would later marry.
Fong would continue to serve as Li's subordinate for the next few decades, first as the Deputy Director of Section 5, then Director of Section 5 once Li was promoted to MIB DIrector. In the latter position, Fong would shift Section 5's focus from Historical Intelligence to Research and Analysis.
Of note is that during Fong's service as Li's subordinate, she would continue to see action in the field. Such instances include the killing of the Saudi Royal Family as part of OPERATION SCIMITAR, as well as the arming and training of various anti-colonial rebel groups opposed to the European Alliance. Additionally, Fong is suspected of participating in the gathering and release of incriminating evidence against several high-profile Right-KMT members with the help of her wife Shannon Wu, the extranged daughter of a Chinese business magnate.
Fong's tenure as MIB DIrector would see the support of various progressive and left-wing groups via covert means, including the arming of Sandino's troops during the Central American Revolution as well as back-channel support and donations to progressive organizations as part of the MIB's long-term strategic plans. Additionally, Fong's tenure would see an increase in cooperation between the MIB and Nanjing Accord intelligence agencies, as well as cooperation between the MIB and the American Office of Strategic Services.
Shannon Wu (Formerly Wu Shu-fen)
Born: 1 January 1995 (Lost History), Taipei, Taiwan/Republic of China
CItizenship: Chinese
Occupation: Major (Republic of China Army, Retired), Award-Winning Manhua Artist and Author,
Born to Wu Li-jun, Shannon Wu had been groomed from birth to be the heir to Wu Holdings, her father's corporation. However, her father's more-conservative leanings (and emotional abuse upon learning she was a lesbian) would lead to the two becoming estranged as the younger Wu grew older, to the point that she would go by the Anglicized name "Shannon" as an act of rebellion against her father.
This would culminate in the elder Wu attempting an arranged marriage between Shannon and Michael Chen, the son of one of Wu Li-jun's old colleagues. This would fail spectacularly due to the former's orientation, the latter focusing on his studies, and the two forming a sibling-like bond that would convince his parents to cancel the arranged marriage. This would be the final straw, as Wu Li-jun would disown Shannon, while Shannon would join the Army as a means to get away from her estranged father.
During the Chinese Revolution Wu would pilot an AH-64 Apache attack helicopter as the head of Dragon Squadron. She would serve alongside Chen, Li, and Fong by providing fire support, and she would enter into a relationship with the latter at the end of the conflict. During the inter-war years, she would find work as a Manhua artist and author while moonlighting as an anonymous whistleblower who would gather information about her father's corrupt business practices.
Wu would return to active service as the leader of Dragon Squadron during the Great War, and she participated in the Balkan, Indian, and British Campaigns. Wu's participation would prove vital to the final surrender of the European Alliance during the Battle of Britain.
After the war, Wu would return to her work as a manhua artist and author. Her works include the award-winning Twenty Years' Difference (based on the Winston Churchill novel of the same name), a manhua adaptation of the Halo series, and Upside-Downtimer, a slice-of-life period piece set around the time of the Great Journey and inspired by her own experiences.
Although a capable writer in her own right, Wu has delegated much of the writing to her protege, the literary prodigy Gu Xin-yi. Wu also does the art for Gu's own works, and she serves as the co-founder and Editor-in-Chief of Freeform Publishing, one of the most-prominent manhua publishers in the Nanjing Accord.
Jean Patrice Luc Brodeur
Born: 1 May 1882, Marseilles, France
CItizenship: French
Occupation: Journalist and Editor of l'Humanite, Captain (French Army, Retired), Member of the French Section of the Workers' International (SFIO)
Born to a working-class family, Brodeur was no stranger to leftist politics. His father was a staunch republican, and the same could be said of his activist mother. It was this upbringing that would introduce Brodeur to world of leftist politics at a young age, and he would soon find himself under the wing of French socialist leader Jean Jaures at l'Humanite.
Jaures' mentorship would provide Brodeur with a front-row seat to the rise of the Radical-Socialist alliance, as well as the consolidation of their control and the major events from the 1910s to the 1930s. From Aristide Briand's victory over Raymond Poincare, to the reforms and the OAS coup, Brodeur has been there in the thick of it.
Even a global war and his country being under siege hadn't deterred him. With a commission as a Captain, Brodeur served as a wartime correspondent in the press corps, and he provided firsthand coverage of the "Lifeline Flights" from the east that kept France supplied as well as the Liberation of Corsica.
Brodeur has used his platform to decry French colonialism, and he is credited with coining the phrase "Red Colonialism" to describe socialists who advocate for the continued rule of France's colonies past the nation-building phase. It is this activism that has led to him butting heads with Benito Mussolini, whose colonial policy advocates for the complete integration of the former African colonies into Europe.
Brodeur serves as the longtime Editor of l'Humanite after his mentor Jean Jaures' passing, and he continues to cover events in-person despite his age. He continues to be a strong advocate for African independence and the technocratic RISE economic integration system.
Although he has no children, Brodeur has raised his niece Elise ever since his borther Emile's death during the Great War. Under his mentorship, Elise Brodeur has become an accomplished journalist in her own right, having covered the conflict against African Holdouts in West Africa, the fight against slavery, and the region's transition to independence during a decade and a half of nation building.
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ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Like I said, I'll be writing out bios so people know just who the heck all these people are through 80-something chapters.
So far, at least I got several of the first generation POV characters finished.
Which just leaves... Like 30 other people.
Crap.
I'll keep adding to that post as I write more, and I'll be sure to let you all know when I do so.
Anyways, Chapter 87 is in the works.
So far, at least I got several of the first generation POV characters finished.
Which just leaves... Like 30 other people.
Crap.
I'll keep adding to that post as I write more, and I'll be sure to let you all know when I do so.
Anyways, Chapter 87 is in the works.
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Chapter 87: Synchronization
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Bering Strait Tunnel, 6 January 1942
Alex Cartwright checked his gear again.
Assault rifle? Check.
Spare mags? Check.
Plate carrier? Check.
Phone?
He pulled it out once more, to see the homescreen's picture of his niece with his older brother.
She'll be turning twenty-one this year. Arty'll be turning fifty.
Should be there with them in Regina. Not here.
No, I have to be here. It's for them.
They would understand.
They will understand.
He looked over to the other men in the train car. They all were as stone-faced as he was, ready for what they had to do.
"For our future," one of them muttered, "And for our children."
"So that our people will not perish from the Earth," Alex answered back.
The men nodded, then opened the car.
They had a job to do.
Location Classified, Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America, 6 January 1942
One of the side-effects of the Great Journey was the foreknowledge to act years, if not decades ahead. Be it Civil Rights, the FDIC, or a foreign policy that didn't make him a muscle-man for Big Business, the America of today was a far cry from that of the Lost History.
When Senator Butler thought about it, the Presidential Succession Act of 1916 wasn't that different from the other Lost History legislation that'd been passed decades earlier.
Even if it means I will miss the State of the Union.
Officially, the President's Cabinet would select one member to serve as their own Designated Survivor. If a decapitation strike were to kill or otherwise incapacitate the rest of the Cabinet, then the Designated Survivor would be able to continue the government. While it wasn't strictly necessary, the recent chaos in Congress had led to the "Big Four" parties selecting their own Designated Survivors for similar reasons.
Unofficially, it was a chance for the leadership of the Democrats and Republicans to punish people like him and Lyndon Johnson for joining up with Olson's Grand Coalition. Their strong working relationship with Olson over the last year had angered enough people in high-enough places that they had to do something.
Even if it is reassigning me to Antarctica for the night so I don't get credit.
But that was enough stewing about his predicament for now. Even if it did sting that the only ones missing this were otherwise "exiled" like him, on a diplomatic mission like Long, or in the hospital like that asshole Theodore Bilbo from Mississippi.
A small rumble shook the office table in the makeshift "safehouse."
"Butler here," the Senator spoke with soldier-like precision. "What is it?"
"Oh thank God," a familiar, if older, voice came through. "The number's good."
"Chen?" the retired marine said to his Chinese correspondent, "How did you get this number? This is my work-"
"No time, Butler," the Chinese man spoke in his usual Californian accent. "You need to listen to me: You're in danger."
"...Very funny," Butler quietly chuckled to himself, "I know you have a sense of humor, Mike, but this isn't your style."
No, that came in the form of monthly letters that were almost-certainly being intercepted by the OSS at least once.
"No shit it isn't my style!" Chen hissed back. "Do I really seem like the kind of guy who'd track down your work phone for a joke?"
"...No." You tend to be more straightforward than that. "Alright, I will humor you, Mike. What is happening?"
"Got a tip from MIB that your security detail. Don't ask how, but I have intel that your team's compromised. Not sure how they're compromised, but that's what my contact told me."
"Golden Circle?"
"...Yeah? Lucky guess?"
"Classified, Mike," the senator chuckled, before putting the phone on speaker. "Think of it as an 'Educated Guess.'"
"So you believe me, then?"
"If I'm being honest, Mike? It's hard to believe. Even from you."
Two muffled bursts of gunfire rang out from behind the door. From the sound of the audible thuds on the door, the source of those gunshots was close.
"Shit!" Butler dove under the table.
"You good?" Chen's voice shouted through the speaker. "Hey, talk to me!"
"I'm here," Butler grumbled, "And it's suddenly much easier to believe you now."
"Yeah. You armed?"
Butler looked at his 1911, and he could feel the spare magazine he kept in his concealed-carry holster.
"Always. Why?"
"There's a van out back that'll get you to safety at the Embassy. ETA 90 seconds."
"I don't have that much of an option, do I?" Butler surmised. The fact that he was on the second floor certainly didn't help things. "Figures."
"Eh, I think you could take 'em, but let's not take any chances."
Tauride Palace, Saint Petersburg Governorate, Russian Empire, 6 January 1942
"Fall back!" Captain Kuznetsov shouted, before firing off another burst of rifle fire at the oncoming attackers, "Fall back to the secondary positions!"
Normally, the use of live ammunition against civilians would be illegal.
These were not normal times. Nor were these people civilians.
Far from it, when an armed mob was trying to get into the Duma while it was in session.
The worst part of it all was that Counter-Intelligence knew that something big would happen. Even if they didn't know what that would be or where it would happen, they had reinforced Tauride Palace with as many trustworthy men as they could.
That was why he and the rest of his Spetsnaz unit was here to reinforce the police against what should have been an angry mob armed with little more than black, yellow, and white tricolors. While there were rioters armed with those, the vast majority of the insurrectionists were armed as well as the Black Hundreds he'd been fighting for years.
Exactly where they'd gotten those rifles was another matter entirely. Kuznetsov had his suspicions, but he had more-pressing matters to think about right now.
And that was before the tanks appeared in the distance.
Shit.
We're armed to fight off infantry. Not tanks.
He needed to think of something. Fast.
"Throwing smoke!" he shouted, and a thick cloud began to form between him and his pursuers. "Fall back to the interior!"
It wasn't much, but at least he could buy some time until he could fins something... anything... that could kill that tank.
Bering Strait Tunnel, 6 January 1942
Chen Lin yawned. Even if he was with friends, family, and his fiance, being on a train for hours would get boring eventually.
Wait, where's Uncle? I could've sworn he was here just a second ago.
"This is your new conductor speaking," a polite voice announced over the speaker. Lin could have sworn the man had a slight Australian accent. "This train is being commandeered by the Knights of the Golden Circle."
The Hell?
"There is a bomb aboard this train, and we ask that you do not panic. We demand your cooperation..."
Is this happening?
"...Any who refuse will be shot."
Oh God, it's real.
"Please have your passports ready," the Australian-sounding man continued. "Do not make any sudden movements, or we will be forced to kill you."
He looked over to his partner Selena, who put down the manual for her new toolkit.
"What's going on?"
"Hijacking, I think?" Lin whispered back, in between panicked breaths he tried to stifle, "I don't know, but let's try not to piss them off, alright?"
"Works for me."
Lin looked over to Jon and Adrian, who looked equally confused while they looked for their passports."
"Passports!" one of the armed men shouted at the front of the carriage. Lin could see the assault rifle in his hands and other armed man backing him up. "You! Chinawoman!"
The second terrorist pointed his assault rifle at his sister.
"Me?"
"Yes, you. Hand... Over... Your... Passport..."
His sister Morgan handed her Chinese passport over to him.
Training or no training, she wasn't in any position to fight off a man with a gun in her face.
C'mon... Just leave her alone, asshole.
The armed gunman flipped through the pages, before handing her passport back to her.
Thank God.
"You're clear," the gunman said, before turning to Adrian and Jon. "Passports."
Shit. This is bad. Jon can probably pass, but Adrian? I've seen what they do to guys like him.
"How'd a person like you get a seat up here," the first gunman sneered, while pointing his pistol at Adrian's temple. "Where I come from, folks like you oughta sit in the back."
"He got an upgrade," Jon spoke for the two of them, before handing him the papers. "Take it up with SinoRail."
The gunman just laughed, before handing back their passports.
"You're more-patient than me, kid," he said to Jon, before turning to Lin. "Passport."
"Here you go," Lin said instinctively, before handing both of his passports to the gunman.
"Huh? Two passports?"
"Dual-citizen," Lin admitted, "I'm Chinese-American, you s-"
The first gunman shoved his rifle in his face.
"Get up."
"What's going-"
"I SAID GET UP!" he shouted, before grabbing Lin and throwing him into the aisle. "You... I thought we'd run into somebody like you..."
"Hey, what the fuck?!" Jon shouted. He began to stand up, but a rifle butt to the gut knocked him back down. "He... He didn't do anything..."
"He did nothing?!" The first gunman spat, "People like him are the reason we're here, instead of with our families! Men like him are the reason why Brom over here had to leave Salisbury! Their entire existence is the reason why America is the way it is now!"
"The real question, brother," the gunman continued, though his eyes were squared on Lin, "Is why you're here, sitting with them, when you should be up here with us?"
A quick wheeze was all Lin could hear from Jon. A quick glance back showed his friend had the wind knocked out of him."
"And you," the first gunman spat again, before jabbing Lin in the back with the barrel of his gun. "You're everything that's wrong with this world! Your existence has been nothing but oppression for me and my kind, and it's about fucking time somebody does something about it!"
"I don't know who you are!"
"Yeah? Well, I know what you and your kind have done to people like mine. And I'll be damned if I let it keep happening!"
The Hell does this have to do with me?
Oh.
It's not me.
It's who I am.
"Kneel."
Lin didn't need to turn around to know what the gunman wanted.
He didn't need to ask, either.
"You stupid?" the gunman shouted, "Kneel, you slant-eyed fuck!"
"Why? You're gonna shoot me anyways. So look me in the eye when you do it, coward."
"If you insist," Lin could feel an arm lift him up back on his feet until he was face-to-face with the gunman aiming at him. "You're just the beginning. Nothing more."
He could even hear the audible click of the gunman's fire-select.
And then it clicked for him.
Instinct took over where panic once was, as if he was a spectator in his own body.
Lin grabbed the rifle with his left hand and punched with his right. The sheer force of Lin's punch sent the would-be gunman back as he tore the rifle from the man's hands.
And then he opened fire.
Adrenaline rushed through Lin's veins as he fired shot after shot into the gunman's face until he knew for sure the man was down.
Instinct kicked in again, and he looked forward, rifle at the ready to kill the other gunman.
Only to find the second gunman dead on the ground in a pool of his still-fresh blood flowing from his neck.
Lin looked up to see the source of the fresh puncture wound: His sister Morgan standing there, with a bloodied hand holding a bloodied spike that'd once adorned her hair.
Like him, she was breathing heavily at the realization at what she'd done.
A knock on the door broke the silence, even if it couldn't get rid of the sickening odor of blood.
Lin aimed at the door with his rifle.
Morgan picked up the second gunman's rifle, crouched, and aimed at the same door until a familiar voice called out to them.
"Morgan! Lin!" The two of them practically lit up at the sound of their uncle's voice, "Are you two okay?"
"Yeah!" Morgan shouted back, though she kept her rifle aimed at the door. "You?"
"Been better," the old man shouted with what sounded like three decades of confidence. "I'm coming out, okay?"
"Yeah, okay!" Morgan shouted back. "Do it slowly!"
"Not like I have much of a choice," their uncle grumbled. The twins could see their uncle's 1911 in one hand, and... something being dragged with the other. "I'm going to need some help here."
"Yeah, give me a sec," Lin promised before moving up. To his surprise, his uncle was dragging the body of one of the other gunmen with him. "Who the Hell is this?"
"This?" Their uncle kicked his semi-conscious prisoner. The man groaned in pain, yet the old man didn't seem to give a damn. "This, Nephew, is the person who is going to tell us just what the fuck is going on."
Saint Petersburg, Saint Petersburg Governorate, Russian Empire, 6 January 1942
"Keep pushing, Mariya Vasiliyevna!" Captain Aleksandra Grigoriyevna Samusenko shouted to the driver of their Leopard tank, "We're a kilometer to the Palace!"
"Tank, twelve o'clock!" Aleksandra Leontievna Boiko shouted from her gunner's sight. "I have him in my sight!"
"Round loaded!" her husband Ivan shouted, before taking a second to breathe, "Ready when you are!"
"Firing!" The tank shook as the round exploded out of the barrel and into the side of the rebels' tank. "Hit!"
A second later, and she could barely make out the crew abandoning the now-burning wreck.
"Opening fire with the MG." Aleksandra announced. A relatively-quieter staccato rang out from the coaxial turret. "Crew is dead."
"Tauride Palace, this is Alfa-1." Samusenko announced over a friendly radio channel, "Enemy tank is destroyed. Moving to engage additional targets."
"Much appreciated!" the Spetsnaz Captain breathed over the radio. "Is that all of the tanks?"
"That was the last of the tanks, but we'll move to clear out the courtyard while the reinforcements come in. Status?"
"Thirteen KIA and thirty WIA, Samusenko. Our medics were hit in the bombardment."
"Alfa-1 copies, Tauride. Reinforcements include an APC that can evacuate your wounded to the hospital."
Bering Strait Tunnel, 6 January 1942
"About time you woke up," a voice in surprisingly-good English said to Alex Cartwright. "Didn't think you'd wake up so soon."
Where... Where am I?
Alex tried checking his rifle, but he could barely move his hands. All he could feel instead was the sharp press of leather binding against his skin.
Was I captured?
Shit.
No, this wasn't supposed to be this way. We were supposed to take hostages, issue demands, and come back as heroes.
Not like this!
"Okay, Alex," the voice instructed. His vision cleared to show an aged Chinese man with a suppressed pistol pointed at his temple. "Well, that's what your passport says you are, so I'm going to call you that. Is that okay?"
"Go fuck yourself," Alex spat, "You slant-eyed c-"
"Well that's rude," the Chinese man said with a face that betrayed absolutely nothing. "And here I was, thinking that we could just talk things over. I tell you something, then you tell me how many more of your buddies are on this train, plus where the bombs are. Everybody wins."
"W-why should I tell you anything, asshole? You're just going to kill me anyways, aren't you?"
Might as well get it over with.
"Well... that's where you're wrong, buddy," the Chinese man pleasantly pointed out. The sick bastard even manage to make a smile, just to rub salt in Alex's still-fresh bulletwound. "For one, whether or not I end up killing you is still up in the air.'"
"And the second thing?"
"I've done this kind of stuff for thirty years. I've done many terrible things - probably have the blood of countless men, women, and children on my hands. I've killed, murdered, and even tortured my fair share of people for the Greater Good. And I know full well that when I die, that's more than enough for God to send me to Hell for all eternity."
"...Is that supposed to scare me?" Alex scoffed. "You'll have to try harder than that, you old fuck."
"No." Any hint of pleasantries faded from the Chinese man's voice. "That's not what you should be afraid of."
"Then what?" Alex spat again, "What should I be so afraid of, old man?"
"You should not fear me because of what I have done or where I'm going."
"No... You should fear me because no matter what I do to you, I'm going to the same place..."
As he spoke, the Chinese man pulled out a knife. Exactly where he'd gotten it wasn't important when Alex knew what he could do with it."
"...What's one more for the road?"
Chinatown, San Francisco, California, United States of America, 6 January 1942
The boxtruck was cramped and loud. And that was before the men started cheering about the successful attack on the Olson Regime in Washington.
"Hey!" Commander Carlson shouted towards the back, "Keep it down! You want to blow our cover when we're this close to the objective?"
That was enough to shut them up.
Sure, he too was happy that they'd managed to hit the State of the Union, but they still had a job to do.
So he did what anyone who'd trained for their job would do and checked his gear once again.
From the looks of it, twenty magazines of .223 might be overkill for some people, but these were weapons that would tear through any and all unarmored targets. That's what they'd trained for, over the past month and a half.
And if we're lucky, that'll be all we are facing tonight.
"Thirty seconds!" the driver shouted from the front. Carlson and his men did their last preparations.
Some prayed. Others checked their gear one more time before the truck stopped.
Carlson nodded to one of his men, and the door slid open to the bright nighttime of Chinatown. Lanterns, streetlamps, and windows all lit up like it was Chinese New Year.
The people, though? They were confused at the sight of dozens of masked men carrying rifles coming out of boxtrucks. Some backed away slowly, while others just stared at them in confusion.
"The consulate is three blocks away!" he shouted, "You know what to do!"
The bystanders were still surprised, but Carlson paid them no mind.
Why should I, when they'll all be dead in the next thirty seconds?
Military Intelligence Bureau Headquarters, Nanjing, National Capital Region, 6 January 1942
Director Rachel Fong hadn't slept in twenty-four hours. At least that was how long she thought she'd been awake.
They'd been monitoring the situation in China and America and sharing intel with their counterparts, but they needed everyone for this one. And that went double for the Director of the MIB.
We did everything we could.
We shared all the intel and we're even been running joint operations in the field for months, now.
For fuck's sake, even the Americans and the Russians did everything they could. We gave them everything we had, and they listened and did what they could with what they had.
The problem is that when you're being hit on every front, you can't do everything, everywhere, all at once.
Stop the attack on New York, and that diverts manpower from Philadelphia and Pittsburgh.
Do a sting operation in Georgetown, and that takes away resources from protecting the Capital.
Bring enough reinforcements to protect Governor Warren in Sacramento, and that means you can't protect Chinatown in San Francisco.
And those were just a few of the attacks that could have been prevented. Edmonton, Detroit, Atlanta, Miami, Montreal, Tulsa, and dozens of other cities had their own attacks, to the point that it was easier for her to find a city that hadn't been hit by the Golden CIrcle.
Like it or not, intelligence agencies are supposed to be proactive and prevent these things from happening. Do this, and our finite resources and manpower can be used to their full potential.
Not reactive, once it all spirals out of control. In doing so, we surrender the initiative to the attacker.
"Got the first reports, ma'am," a Lieutenant somberly announced. "Analysts wanted you to see it first, before we run it over to the PResident."
"How bad is it?"
"The Consulate in San Francisco and the Embassy in DC are still standing. SFPD are working with our security teams to clear the former, while DCPD managed to relieve the latter."
"That's good. And the Capitol Hill Bombing?"
"Capitol Police is still looking for survivors, but we're looking at mass casualties."
"Decapitation strike?" The Lieutenant nodded. "What about President Olson and La Guardia?"
"They... They found them. Or what's left of them, anyways."
Fucking Hell.
"Any survivors?"
"Senator Butler was relocated to the Embassy, thanks to our intervention. He's sustained minor injuries and is currently recovering. Other than him, our sources say that the other parties' Designated Survivors are still alive. Representatives Lyndon Johnson and Norman Thomas were confirmed safe by USSS, while Senator Robert Byrd was positioned at the Department of the Treasury at the time. There are a few back-benchers in the House who didn't make it, but the only other survivors were Senators Sanji Abe, Phillip Vera Cruz, Senator Theodore Bilbo from Mississippi."
"Abe and Vera Cruz were flying back to Hawaii, yes?" Her subordinate nodded. "And what was the Senator from Mississippi doing?"
"His staff said he was getting checked for cancer at UMMC in Jackson."
"I see..." And as the most-senior member of the Senate, that would make him the de-facto President Pro-Tempore of the Senate and first in the line of succession. Him or Butler, anyways. "What about Russia?"
"The situation is developing, but Loyalist forces have managed to secure Saint Petersburg and Moscow. Coup plotters had more success in Siberia, seizing at least Magadan, Chita, and Omsk-"
"...But the situation is developing," Fong spoke for the two of them. The Lieutenant nodded. "We'll need Soong to condemn the attack ASAP. Get Foreign Affairs on the line: The Accord needs to present a united front and condemn the coup. I want every bit of actionable intel forwarded to MOD immediately, to coordinate a response."
"Of course, ma'am. Anything else?"
"Any update on the hijacked train?" she asked hopefully. "Anything at all?"
"Which one are you- oh, right. Um... How do I put this?"
So it happened.
Better to rip the bandage off now.
"How many dead?"
"Unknown, ma'am."
"Okay. What about the hostages? Are they still alive?"
Please be alive.
"We don't know. Their last transmission was an hour ago, and the camera feeds were cut off."
Bering Strait Tunnel, 6 January 1942
"Did they talk?" Morgan's brother shouted from the back. He had to, now that the rear window was broken and the outside wind was roaring in. "Uncle-"
"They always talk," the retired agent sighed, before shoving two suitcases out the now-broken window. "Eight men armed with ARs, plus two suitcase bombs. I guess just four men and zero bombs, now."
"Well, that was easy."
"Easy part's getting them to talk, Lin. The hard part is seeing if they're telling the truth or they're just trying to get you to stop torturing them."
"If you say so." From the sound of him, her brother probably just nodded and handed their uncle one of the gunmen's plate carriers. "Waiting on you, old man."
Here's hoping they managed to get more of the blood off of theirs than I did.
"Thanks," their uncle grunted, and Morgan heard the all-too-familiar sound of a chambered round. "Okay, you two: just like your training. Check your fire and stay behind me. Got it?"
"You sure you want to take point?" Morgan called back to him, "We can handle ourselves, you know."
"Thirty years' experience says I can," Uncle Marty chuckled, before walking up to the front. "Plus, your father'd kill me if either of you get hurt."
"Aw, thanks, Uncle."
"What about us?" Jon asked in his usual drawl, "Want us to stay back?"
Morgan's uncle nodded. "I need you and Adrian keeping an eye on the rest of the passengers and the prisoner. You two are our last line of defense if... Well, you get the idea. Got it?"
Both Jon and Adrian nodded.
"Alright," the old man agreed, before turning to her and her brother. "You two ready? If you want, we can go over the plan again."
Take the gunmen's gear and use it to rush the front to stop the train. Then we hit the brakes and run as far away from the train, just in case there's another bomb.
If that happens, Uncle might actually torture that guy he captured.
Okay, so storming the front of the train like it's Flight 93 probably isn't the best plan, but it's a plan.
Beats letting Golden Circle have a train full of hostages to crash into the station.
I'll take a chance at survival over next-to-no chance.
"I'm good," Morgan promised. "Lin?"
"Same."
"Doing great, you two," their uncle breathed. Morgan didn't know if he was lying or not, but the confidence boost didn't hurt. "Alright, last call: Anyone have any other questions?"
Morgan glanced back to see the passengers quietly looking back at them.
From the looks of them, they also khnew this on-the-spot plan was their best chance at survival.
"Alright then. Let's roll."
Alex Cartwright checked his gear again.
Assault rifle? Check.
Spare mags? Check.
Plate carrier? Check.
Phone?
He pulled it out once more, to see the homescreen's picture of his niece with his older brother.
She'll be turning twenty-one this year. Arty'll be turning fifty.
Should be there with them in Regina. Not here.
No, I have to be here. It's for them.
They would understand.
They will understand.
He looked over to the other men in the train car. They all were as stone-faced as he was, ready for what they had to do.
"For our future," one of them muttered, "And for our children."
"So that our people will not perish from the Earth," Alex answered back.
The men nodded, then opened the car.
They had a job to do.
Location Classified, Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America, 6 January 1942
One of the side-effects of the Great Journey was the foreknowledge to act years, if not decades ahead. Be it Civil Rights, the FDIC, or a foreign policy that didn't make him a muscle-man for Big Business, the America of today was a far cry from that of the Lost History.
When Senator Butler thought about it, the Presidential Succession Act of 1916 wasn't that different from the other Lost History legislation that'd been passed decades earlier.
Even if it means I will miss the State of the Union.
Officially, the President's Cabinet would select one member to serve as their own Designated Survivor. If a decapitation strike were to kill or otherwise incapacitate the rest of the Cabinet, then the Designated Survivor would be able to continue the government. While it wasn't strictly necessary, the recent chaos in Congress had led to the "Big Four" parties selecting their own Designated Survivors for similar reasons.
Unofficially, it was a chance for the leadership of the Democrats and Republicans to punish people like him and Lyndon Johnson for joining up with Olson's Grand Coalition. Their strong working relationship with Olson over the last year had angered enough people in high-enough places that they had to do something.
Even if it is reassigning me to Antarctica for the night so I don't get credit.
But that was enough stewing about his predicament for now. Even if it did sting that the only ones missing this were otherwise "exiled" like him, on a diplomatic mission like Long, or in the hospital like that asshole Theodore Bilbo from Mississippi.
A small rumble shook the office table in the makeshift "safehouse."
"Butler here," the Senator spoke with soldier-like precision. "What is it?"
"Oh thank God," a familiar, if older, voice came through. "The number's good."
"Chen?" the retired marine said to his Chinese correspondent, "How did you get this number? This is my work-"
"No time, Butler," the Chinese man spoke in his usual Californian accent. "You need to listen to me: You're in danger."
"...Very funny," Butler quietly chuckled to himself, "I know you have a sense of humor, Mike, but this isn't your style."
No, that came in the form of monthly letters that were almost-certainly being intercepted by the OSS at least once.
"No shit it isn't my style!" Chen hissed back. "Do I really seem like the kind of guy who'd track down your work phone for a joke?"
"...No." You tend to be more straightforward than that. "Alright, I will humor you, Mike. What is happening?"
"Got a tip from MIB that your security detail. Don't ask how, but I have intel that your team's compromised. Not sure how they're compromised, but that's what my contact told me."
"Golden Circle?"
"...Yeah? Lucky guess?"
"Classified, Mike," the senator chuckled, before putting the phone on speaker. "Think of it as an 'Educated Guess.'"
"So you believe me, then?"
"If I'm being honest, Mike? It's hard to believe. Even from you."
Two muffled bursts of gunfire rang out from behind the door. From the sound of the audible thuds on the door, the source of those gunshots was close.
"Shit!" Butler dove under the table.
"You good?" Chen's voice shouted through the speaker. "Hey, talk to me!"
"I'm here," Butler grumbled, "And it's suddenly much easier to believe you now."
"Yeah. You armed?"
Butler looked at his 1911, and he could feel the spare magazine he kept in his concealed-carry holster.
"Always. Why?"
"There's a van out back that'll get you to safety at the Embassy. ETA 90 seconds."
"I don't have that much of an option, do I?" Butler surmised. The fact that he was on the second floor certainly didn't help things. "Figures."
"Eh, I think you could take 'em, but let's not take any chances."
Tauride Palace, Saint Petersburg Governorate, Russian Empire, 6 January 1942
"Fall back!" Captain Kuznetsov shouted, before firing off another burst of rifle fire at the oncoming attackers, "Fall back to the secondary positions!"
Normally, the use of live ammunition against civilians would be illegal.
These were not normal times. Nor were these people civilians.
Far from it, when an armed mob was trying to get into the Duma while it was in session.
The worst part of it all was that Counter-Intelligence knew that something big would happen. Even if they didn't know what that would be or where it would happen, they had reinforced Tauride Palace with as many trustworthy men as they could.
That was why he and the rest of his Spetsnaz unit was here to reinforce the police against what should have been an angry mob armed with little more than black, yellow, and white tricolors. While there were rioters armed with those, the vast majority of the insurrectionists were armed as well as the Black Hundreds he'd been fighting for years.
Exactly where they'd gotten those rifles was another matter entirely. Kuznetsov had his suspicions, but he had more-pressing matters to think about right now.
And that was before the tanks appeared in the distance.
Shit.
We're armed to fight off infantry. Not tanks.
He needed to think of something. Fast.
"Throwing smoke!" he shouted, and a thick cloud began to form between him and his pursuers. "Fall back to the interior!"
It wasn't much, but at least he could buy some time until he could fins something... anything... that could kill that tank.
Bering Strait Tunnel, 6 January 1942
Chen Lin yawned. Even if he was with friends, family, and his fiance, being on a train for hours would get boring eventually.
Wait, where's Uncle? I could've sworn he was here just a second ago.
"This is your new conductor speaking," a polite voice announced over the speaker. Lin could have sworn the man had a slight Australian accent. "This train is being commandeered by the Knights of the Golden Circle."
The Hell?
"There is a bomb aboard this train, and we ask that you do not panic. We demand your cooperation..."
Is this happening?
"...Any who refuse will be shot."
Oh God, it's real.
"Please have your passports ready," the Australian-sounding man continued. "Do not make any sudden movements, or we will be forced to kill you."
He looked over to his partner Selena, who put down the manual for her new toolkit.
"What's going on?"
"Hijacking, I think?" Lin whispered back, in between panicked breaths he tried to stifle, "I don't know, but let's try not to piss them off, alright?"
"Works for me."
Lin looked over to Jon and Adrian, who looked equally confused while they looked for their passports."
"Passports!" one of the armed men shouted at the front of the carriage. Lin could see the assault rifle in his hands and other armed man backing him up. "You! Chinawoman!"
The second terrorist pointed his assault rifle at his sister.
"Me?"
"Yes, you. Hand... Over... Your... Passport..."
His sister Morgan handed her Chinese passport over to him.
Training or no training, she wasn't in any position to fight off a man with a gun in her face.
C'mon... Just leave her alone, asshole.
The armed gunman flipped through the pages, before handing her passport back to her.
Thank God.
"You're clear," the gunman said, before turning to Adrian and Jon. "Passports."
Shit. This is bad. Jon can probably pass, but Adrian? I've seen what they do to guys like him.
"How'd a person like you get a seat up here," the first gunman sneered, while pointing his pistol at Adrian's temple. "Where I come from, folks like you oughta sit in the back."
"He got an upgrade," Jon spoke for the two of them, before handing him the papers. "Take it up with SinoRail."
The gunman just laughed, before handing back their passports.
"You're more-patient than me, kid," he said to Jon, before turning to Lin. "Passport."
"Here you go," Lin said instinctively, before handing both of his passports to the gunman.
"Huh? Two passports?"
"Dual-citizen," Lin admitted, "I'm Chinese-American, you s-"
The first gunman shoved his rifle in his face.
"Get up."
"What's going-"
"I SAID GET UP!" he shouted, before grabbing Lin and throwing him into the aisle. "You... I thought we'd run into somebody like you..."
"Hey, what the fuck?!" Jon shouted. He began to stand up, but a rifle butt to the gut knocked him back down. "He... He didn't do anything..."
"He did nothing?!" The first gunman spat, "People like him are the reason we're here, instead of with our families! Men like him are the reason why Brom over here had to leave Salisbury! Their entire existence is the reason why America is the way it is now!"
"The real question, brother," the gunman continued, though his eyes were squared on Lin, "Is why you're here, sitting with them, when you should be up here with us?"
A quick wheeze was all Lin could hear from Jon. A quick glance back showed his friend had the wind knocked out of him."
"And you," the first gunman spat again, before jabbing Lin in the back with the barrel of his gun. "You're everything that's wrong with this world! Your existence has been nothing but oppression for me and my kind, and it's about fucking time somebody does something about it!"
"I don't know who you are!"
"Yeah? Well, I know what you and your kind have done to people like mine. And I'll be damned if I let it keep happening!"
The Hell does this have to do with me?
Oh.
It's not me.
It's who I am.
"Kneel."
Lin didn't need to turn around to know what the gunman wanted.
He didn't need to ask, either.
"You stupid?" the gunman shouted, "Kneel, you slant-eyed fuck!"
"Why? You're gonna shoot me anyways. So look me in the eye when you do it, coward."
"If you insist," Lin could feel an arm lift him up back on his feet until he was face-to-face with the gunman aiming at him. "You're just the beginning. Nothing more."
He could even hear the audible click of the gunman's fire-select.
And then it clicked for him.
Instinct took over where panic once was, as if he was a spectator in his own body.
Lin grabbed the rifle with his left hand and punched with his right. The sheer force of Lin's punch sent the would-be gunman back as he tore the rifle from the man's hands.
And then he opened fire.
Adrenaline rushed through Lin's veins as he fired shot after shot into the gunman's face until he knew for sure the man was down.
Instinct kicked in again, and he looked forward, rifle at the ready to kill the other gunman.
Only to find the second gunman dead on the ground in a pool of his still-fresh blood flowing from his neck.
Lin looked up to see the source of the fresh puncture wound: His sister Morgan standing there, with a bloodied hand holding a bloodied spike that'd once adorned her hair.
Like him, she was breathing heavily at the realization at what she'd done.
A knock on the door broke the silence, even if it couldn't get rid of the sickening odor of blood.
Lin aimed at the door with his rifle.
Morgan picked up the second gunman's rifle, crouched, and aimed at the same door until a familiar voice called out to them.
"Morgan! Lin!" The two of them practically lit up at the sound of their uncle's voice, "Are you two okay?"
"Yeah!" Morgan shouted back, though she kept her rifle aimed at the door. "You?"
"Been better," the old man shouted with what sounded like three decades of confidence. "I'm coming out, okay?"
"Yeah, okay!" Morgan shouted back. "Do it slowly!"
"Not like I have much of a choice," their uncle grumbled. The twins could see their uncle's 1911 in one hand, and... something being dragged with the other. "I'm going to need some help here."
"Yeah, give me a sec," Lin promised before moving up. To his surprise, his uncle was dragging the body of one of the other gunmen with him. "Who the Hell is this?"
"This?" Their uncle kicked his semi-conscious prisoner. The man groaned in pain, yet the old man didn't seem to give a damn. "This, Nephew, is the person who is going to tell us just what the fuck is going on."
Saint Petersburg, Saint Petersburg Governorate, Russian Empire, 6 January 1942
"Keep pushing, Mariya Vasiliyevna!" Captain Aleksandra Grigoriyevna Samusenko shouted to the driver of their Leopard tank, "We're a kilometer to the Palace!"
"Tank, twelve o'clock!" Aleksandra Leontievna Boiko shouted from her gunner's sight. "I have him in my sight!"
"Round loaded!" her husband Ivan shouted, before taking a second to breathe, "Ready when you are!"
"Firing!" The tank shook as the round exploded out of the barrel and into the side of the rebels' tank. "Hit!"
A second later, and she could barely make out the crew abandoning the now-burning wreck.
"Opening fire with the MG." Aleksandra announced. A relatively-quieter staccato rang out from the coaxial turret. "Crew is dead."
"Tauride Palace, this is Alfa-1." Samusenko announced over a friendly radio channel, "Enemy tank is destroyed. Moving to engage additional targets."
"Much appreciated!" the Spetsnaz Captain breathed over the radio. "Is that all of the tanks?"
"That was the last of the tanks, but we'll move to clear out the courtyard while the reinforcements come in. Status?"
"Thirteen KIA and thirty WIA, Samusenko. Our medics were hit in the bombardment."
"Alfa-1 copies, Tauride. Reinforcements include an APC that can evacuate your wounded to the hospital."
Bering Strait Tunnel, 6 January 1942
"About time you woke up," a voice in surprisingly-good English said to Alex Cartwright. "Didn't think you'd wake up so soon."
Where... Where am I?
Alex tried checking his rifle, but he could barely move his hands. All he could feel instead was the sharp press of leather binding against his skin.
Was I captured?
Shit.
No, this wasn't supposed to be this way. We were supposed to take hostages, issue demands, and come back as heroes.
Not like this!
"Okay, Alex," the voice instructed. His vision cleared to show an aged Chinese man with a suppressed pistol pointed at his temple. "Well, that's what your passport says you are, so I'm going to call you that. Is that okay?"
"Go fuck yourself," Alex spat, "You slant-eyed c-"
"Well that's rude," the Chinese man said with a face that betrayed absolutely nothing. "And here I was, thinking that we could just talk things over. I tell you something, then you tell me how many more of your buddies are on this train, plus where the bombs are. Everybody wins."
"W-why should I tell you anything, asshole? You're just going to kill me anyways, aren't you?"
Might as well get it over with.
"Well... that's where you're wrong, buddy," the Chinese man pleasantly pointed out. The sick bastard even manage to make a smile, just to rub salt in Alex's still-fresh bulletwound. "For one, whether or not I end up killing you is still up in the air.'"
"And the second thing?"
"I've done this kind of stuff for thirty years. I've done many terrible things - probably have the blood of countless men, women, and children on my hands. I've killed, murdered, and even tortured my fair share of people for the Greater Good. And I know full well that when I die, that's more than enough for God to send me to Hell for all eternity."
"...Is that supposed to scare me?" Alex scoffed. "You'll have to try harder than that, you old fuck."
"No." Any hint of pleasantries faded from the Chinese man's voice. "That's not what you should be afraid of."
"Then what?" Alex spat again, "What should I be so afraid of, old man?"
"You should not fear me because of what I have done or where I'm going."
"No... You should fear me because no matter what I do to you, I'm going to the same place..."
As he spoke, the Chinese man pulled out a knife. Exactly where he'd gotten it wasn't important when Alex knew what he could do with it."
"...What's one more for the road?"
Chinatown, San Francisco, California, United States of America, 6 January 1942
The boxtruck was cramped and loud. And that was before the men started cheering about the successful attack on the Olson Regime in Washington.
"Hey!" Commander Carlson shouted towards the back, "Keep it down! You want to blow our cover when we're this close to the objective?"
That was enough to shut them up.
Sure, he too was happy that they'd managed to hit the State of the Union, but they still had a job to do.
So he did what anyone who'd trained for their job would do and checked his gear once again.
From the looks of it, twenty magazines of .223 might be overkill for some people, but these were weapons that would tear through any and all unarmored targets. That's what they'd trained for, over the past month and a half.
And if we're lucky, that'll be all we are facing tonight.
"Thirty seconds!" the driver shouted from the front. Carlson and his men did their last preparations.
Some prayed. Others checked their gear one more time before the truck stopped.
Carlson nodded to one of his men, and the door slid open to the bright nighttime of Chinatown. Lanterns, streetlamps, and windows all lit up like it was Chinese New Year.
The people, though? They were confused at the sight of dozens of masked men carrying rifles coming out of boxtrucks. Some backed away slowly, while others just stared at them in confusion.
"The consulate is three blocks away!" he shouted, "You know what to do!"
The bystanders were still surprised, but Carlson paid them no mind.
Why should I, when they'll all be dead in the next thirty seconds?
Military Intelligence Bureau Headquarters, Nanjing, National Capital Region, 6 January 1942
Director Rachel Fong hadn't slept in twenty-four hours. At least that was how long she thought she'd been awake.
They'd been monitoring the situation in China and America and sharing intel with their counterparts, but they needed everyone for this one. And that went double for the Director of the MIB.
We did everything we could.
We shared all the intel and we're even been running joint operations in the field for months, now.
For fuck's sake, even the Americans and the Russians did everything they could. We gave them everything we had, and they listened and did what they could with what they had.
The problem is that when you're being hit on every front, you can't do everything, everywhere, all at once.
Stop the attack on New York, and that diverts manpower from Philadelphia and Pittsburgh.
Do a sting operation in Georgetown, and that takes away resources from protecting the Capital.
Bring enough reinforcements to protect Governor Warren in Sacramento, and that means you can't protect Chinatown in San Francisco.
And those were just a few of the attacks that could have been prevented. Edmonton, Detroit, Atlanta, Miami, Montreal, Tulsa, and dozens of other cities had their own attacks, to the point that it was easier for her to find a city that hadn't been hit by the Golden CIrcle.
Like it or not, intelligence agencies are supposed to be proactive and prevent these things from happening. Do this, and our finite resources and manpower can be used to their full potential.
Not reactive, once it all spirals out of control. In doing so, we surrender the initiative to the attacker.
"Got the first reports, ma'am," a Lieutenant somberly announced. "Analysts wanted you to see it first, before we run it over to the PResident."
"How bad is it?"
"The Consulate in San Francisco and the Embassy in DC are still standing. SFPD are working with our security teams to clear the former, while DCPD managed to relieve the latter."
"That's good. And the Capitol Hill Bombing?"
"Capitol Police is still looking for survivors, but we're looking at mass casualties."
"Decapitation strike?" The Lieutenant nodded. "What about President Olson and La Guardia?"
"They... They found them. Or what's left of them, anyways."
Fucking Hell.
"Any survivors?"
"Senator Butler was relocated to the Embassy, thanks to our intervention. He's sustained minor injuries and is currently recovering. Other than him, our sources say that the other parties' Designated Survivors are still alive. Representatives Lyndon Johnson and Norman Thomas were confirmed safe by USSS, while Senator Robert Byrd was positioned at the Department of the Treasury at the time. There are a few back-benchers in the House who didn't make it, but the only other survivors were Senators Sanji Abe, Phillip Vera Cruz, Senator Theodore Bilbo from Mississippi."
"Abe and Vera Cruz were flying back to Hawaii, yes?" Her subordinate nodded. "And what was the Senator from Mississippi doing?"
"His staff said he was getting checked for cancer at UMMC in Jackson."
"I see..." And as the most-senior member of the Senate, that would make him the de-facto President Pro-Tempore of the Senate and first in the line of succession. Him or Butler, anyways. "What about Russia?"
"The situation is developing, but Loyalist forces have managed to secure Saint Petersburg and Moscow. Coup plotters had more success in Siberia, seizing at least Magadan, Chita, and Omsk-"
"...But the situation is developing," Fong spoke for the two of them. The Lieutenant nodded. "We'll need Soong to condemn the attack ASAP. Get Foreign Affairs on the line: The Accord needs to present a united front and condemn the coup. I want every bit of actionable intel forwarded to MOD immediately, to coordinate a response."
"Of course, ma'am. Anything else?"
"Any update on the hijacked train?" she asked hopefully. "Anything at all?"
"Which one are you- oh, right. Um... How do I put this?"
So it happened.
Better to rip the bandage off now.
"How many dead?"
"Unknown, ma'am."
"Okay. What about the hostages? Are they still alive?"
Please be alive.
"We don't know. Their last transmission was an hour ago, and the camera feeds were cut off."
Bering Strait Tunnel, 6 January 1942
"Did they talk?" Morgan's brother shouted from the back. He had to, now that the rear window was broken and the outside wind was roaring in. "Uncle-"
"They always talk," the retired agent sighed, before shoving two suitcases out the now-broken window. "Eight men armed with ARs, plus two suitcase bombs. I guess just four men and zero bombs, now."
"Well, that was easy."
"Easy part's getting them to talk, Lin. The hard part is seeing if they're telling the truth or they're just trying to get you to stop torturing them."
"If you say so." From the sound of him, her brother probably just nodded and handed their uncle one of the gunmen's plate carriers. "Waiting on you, old man."
Here's hoping they managed to get more of the blood off of theirs than I did.
"Thanks," their uncle grunted, and Morgan heard the all-too-familiar sound of a chambered round. "Okay, you two: just like your training. Check your fire and stay behind me. Got it?"
"You sure you want to take point?" Morgan called back to him, "We can handle ourselves, you know."
"Thirty years' experience says I can," Uncle Marty chuckled, before walking up to the front. "Plus, your father'd kill me if either of you get hurt."
"Aw, thanks, Uncle."
"What about us?" Jon asked in his usual drawl, "Want us to stay back?"
Morgan's uncle nodded. "I need you and Adrian keeping an eye on the rest of the passengers and the prisoner. You two are our last line of defense if... Well, you get the idea. Got it?"
Both Jon and Adrian nodded.
"Alright," the old man agreed, before turning to her and her brother. "You two ready? If you want, we can go over the plan again."
Take the gunmen's gear and use it to rush the front to stop the train. Then we hit the brakes and run as far away from the train, just in case there's another bomb.
If that happens, Uncle might actually torture that guy he captured.
Okay, so storming the front of the train like it's Flight 93 probably isn't the best plan, but it's a plan.
Beats letting Golden Circle have a train full of hostages to crash into the station.
I'll take a chance at survival over next-to-no chance.
"I'm good," Morgan promised. "Lin?"
"Same."
"Doing great, you two," their uncle breathed. Morgan didn't know if he was lying or not, but the confidence boost didn't hurt. "Alright, last call: Anyone have any other questions?"
Morgan glanced back to see the passengers quietly looking back at them.
From the looks of them, they also khnew this on-the-spot plan was their best chance at survival.
"Alright then. Let's roll."
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So the golden circle has fucked up now and I believe a American civil war is happening
Sakuya's Butler
A refined Butler to a knife wielding Mistress.
- Location
- ↓, ↘, → + Punch
Nice thing about Terrorists playing hardball this hard.
It means nobody gives a fuck later if you give no quarter.
It means nobody gives a fuck later if you give no quarter.
So begins a new War on Terror
The same Ottomans who were using it as building material?
At least the French would have an actually reasonable claim, since they were the ones to realize its value for translating Egyptian hieroglyphics.
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'll flesh this out more later, but here's a rundown of the status reports for various nations right now:
Russia: The Black Hundreds' coup attempt in the eastern cities has largely-failed, and much of Western Russia has managed to hold on. Siberia has seen several cities along the Railroad fall under Black Hundreds' control, but the Nanjing Accord is readying a counter-attack by land and air. The Tsar is currently missing as well.
Eastern Europe: Largely uneventful, but that is more due to the Black Hundreds focusing everything on Russia. That said, the governments there aren't too fond of a far-right Russia taking power, so they recognized the Loyalists.
Western Europe: Yeah, they support the Loyalists. I mean, c'mon, they're one, socialists, and two, not the type of socialists you find on Twitter or Tiktok.
Nanjing Accord: Supports the Loyalists and have condemned the attack. China is about five minutes away from ferrying loyalist troops for a counter-attack on Magadan and Chita and is open to joint air missions against the Putschists with their shiny new stealth fighters.
America: They've suffered a Decapitation Strike. The President, Vice President, Cabinet, Supreme Court, and almost all of Congress are dead, along with several other leaders and judges across the country at the hands of the Golden Circle.
America has been brought to a standstill, and defeating the Golden Circle (or otherwise convincing them to stand down) is their top priority.
As of this moment, there is nobody in charge of the United States, though as the most-senior member of the Senate (and the de-facto President Pro-Tempore), Mississippi Senator and noted segregationist Theodore Bilbo is the most-likely to be selected as Acting President of the United States.
Latin America: Aside from several bombings of Chinese embassies and consulates by far-right groups, largely uneventful, though pretty much everyone is condemning the attacks.
India: Has condemned the attacks on their civilians in America. Is willing to send forces to assist the Loyalists.
China: They are putting out fires basically everywhere. With embassies bombed and a putsch right across their border, their resources are being stretched to their limit.
Intervention in the Russian Civil War is the Russian government's call, but odds are they will be sending airstrikes if Saint Petersburg gives the green light.
The Americas are probably where most of the focus is, since embassies and consulates have been bombed all over the place, while the equivalent of the Tulsa Massacre has happened to the Chinese diaspora everywhere from San Francisco to Sao Paulo.
Nanjing wants revenge against the Golden Circle, and they are about to get a blank check to do it.
Russia: The Black Hundreds' coup attempt in the eastern cities has largely-failed, and much of Western Russia has managed to hold on. Siberia has seen several cities along the Railroad fall under Black Hundreds' control, but the Nanjing Accord is readying a counter-attack by land and air. The Tsar is currently missing as well.
Eastern Europe: Largely uneventful, but that is more due to the Black Hundreds focusing everything on Russia. That said, the governments there aren't too fond of a far-right Russia taking power, so they recognized the Loyalists.
Western Europe: Yeah, they support the Loyalists. I mean, c'mon, they're one, socialists, and two, not the type of socialists you find on Twitter or Tiktok.
Nanjing Accord: Supports the Loyalists and have condemned the attack. China is about five minutes away from ferrying loyalist troops for a counter-attack on Magadan and Chita and is open to joint air missions against the Putschists with their shiny new stealth fighters.
America: They've suffered a Decapitation Strike. The President, Vice President, Cabinet, Supreme Court, and almost all of Congress are dead, along with several other leaders and judges across the country at the hands of the Golden Circle.
America has been brought to a standstill, and defeating the Golden Circle (or otherwise convincing them to stand down) is their top priority.
As of this moment, there is nobody in charge of the United States, though as the most-senior member of the Senate (and the de-facto President Pro-Tempore), Mississippi Senator and noted segregationist Theodore Bilbo is the most-likely to be selected as Acting President of the United States.
Latin America: Aside from several bombings of Chinese embassies and consulates by far-right groups, largely uneventful, though pretty much everyone is condemning the attacks.
India: Has condemned the attacks on their civilians in America. Is willing to send forces to assist the Loyalists.
China: They are putting out fires basically everywhere. With embassies bombed and a putsch right across their border, their resources are being stretched to their limit.
Intervention in the Russian Civil War is the Russian government's call, but odds are they will be sending airstrikes if Saint Petersburg gives the green light.
The Americas are probably where most of the focus is, since embassies and consulates have been bombed all over the place, while the equivalent of the Tulsa Massacre has happened to the Chinese diaspora everywhere from San Francisco to Sao Paulo.
Nanjing wants revenge against the Golden Circle, and they are about to get a blank check to do it.
oh well I see the socialist in America taking FULL control now and they won't stand with a segregationist
ChrisProvidence
Time Traveling Unequal Treaty Destroyer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Honestly, the bigger issue is that he probably has ties to terrorist groups and has spoken positively of them at times.
Also for context, this is a guy who got into the Senate in our timeline because voters didn't like that his predecessor tried to stop a lynching.
Like, I could probably have him say the most comically-racist, slur-filled diatribe in human history, and it would still probably be in-character.
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Ooohhh I see the American people not liking this and I definitely see the USA fully dissolving here or well a civil war and I see that the Golden circle being seen as a world order because they shouldn't have gotten this Big like holy shit Big there's something wrong here
@ChrisProvidence i believ Butler will become president here since well Bilbo sounds like he won't get the job done and will america go into a second civil war