In my defense, I used a map based on voting for the Civil Rights Act for America and a map of where Protestants and Catholics live for no-longer-Canada.
Presidential Palace, Nanjing, National Capital Region, Republic of China, 20 January 1942
Interior of Nanjing Presidential Palace
"You sent my daughter to Panama, to plan a mutiny?!" Michael Chen didn't know if he should be proud or furious. Probably both, now that he thought about it. "Rachel, what the fuck is wrong with you?!"
"She's almost twenty-three, Mike," the spymaster said coolly. This wasn't the first time she'd had to keep a cool head. "And Morgan had diplomatic papers, so she would have probably been expelled, at worst, if she had gotten caught."
"Yeah… That's not making me feel any better, Rachel," said the retired General. "Even if she's her own woman now, she's still my daughter. It's my job to worry about her."
"Ahem." Both Rachel and Michael turned to President Soong. "While I do understand the importance of filial piety and fatherhood, I would like to have today's briefing."
"Of course, Ma'am," Michael apologized. "Rachel?"
"We'll start with Russia," she decided, before turning the page to satellite imagery. "Our spy satellites have observed severe damage on enemy radar and air defense sites that have been corroborated with OSINT-"
"Come again?" asked President Soong.
"Open-Source Intelligence, Ma'am," former Director Martin Li clarified, "It involves the use of publicly-available information to gather intelligence that would otherwise be classified or restricted."
"So reading between the lines, in a way?" Li nodded. "I see. Please continue, Director."
"Yes, as you no doubt are aware," she said, without breaking a stride, "Much of the information on enemy troop locations and weapon emplacements comes from civilian sources. Whether they are sympathizers or simply careless, our analysts and their Russian counterparts are capable of gleaning intelligence from otherwise-inconspicuous sources."
"I see… And this plays into the combined counter-offensive over the last few weeks?"
"Yes," Director Fong continued. "WIth this information, we have been able to use a combination of loitering munitions, ballistic missiles, drones, and joint aircraft sorties between us and the Loyalists to devastate Ultranationalist air and anti-air assets in short order with minimal losses."
"Exactly how many, Rachel?" Soong inquired.
"Thirteen, including Russians and Chinese. Of them, five are confirmed KIA, six were recovered by friendly forces, one is MIA, and one has been captured by the Ultranationalist forces."
"And the Ultranationalists?"
"A Hell of a lot higher," former Director Li told her. "Ultras have lost about fifty planes, about as many helicopters, and their air defense network was overwhelmed with sheer numbers of missiles and loitering munitions."
"The famed 'suicide drones?'" Li nodded. "I see… And are the rumors true about the Far East Expedition?"
"They are," said former General Chen. "Ulan-Ude and Chita have been recaptured by Loyalist forces and paramilitaries, and they are making good progress to Magadan and Yakutsk, now that the Loyalists have air dominance."
"And Western Russia?"
Mariupol, Yekaterinoslav Governorate, Russian Empire, 21 January 1942
Nilson Mansion, Mariupol
On one hand, Captain Aleksandra Grigoriyevna Samusenko knew that ramming a barricade was a stupid idea. If you were engaging troops at short-range with a tank, then you were either bad at your job as a tanker or the unluckiest person alive.
And if nothing else, ramming the barricade risked damaging the barrel so it couldn't hold a zero and fire on target.
Of course, that was all assuming that one, the barricade was manned, and two, that the tank would be ramming said barricade head-on. Neither of those two were her concern right now.
For starters, the defenders of Mariupol had largely-fled during the night to the ships and to Yuzhova. All that were left were those who couldn't be evacuated: supporters, collaborators, and the Ultranationalist wounded.
And as she watched one of the infantry fighting vehicles ram through the barricade at full-speed, she knew she wouldn't have to worry about her 120 millimeter gun losing its zero.
She could focus on more-important things, like how sooner or later, she'd probably have to face the Ultranationalists' forces.
Serhii Pavlichenko looked over the wrecks along the highway.
Christ. There have to be hundreds of vehicles here, if not thousands, that were caught in the airstrikes.
Honestly, he didn't know what had happened. Sure, he knew what an airstrike was, but the sheer amount of firepower needed to annihilate an entire convoy of retreating Ultranationalists was… Well, it was definitely something.
Multiply that by two to four, and we're looking at a couple thousand dead.
Minimum.
"Well, I guess this explains all the stragglers we ran into," Yurii Petrenko observed. "Think there's anything we can bring back to the commune? Any weapons?"
"Tetanus," Serhii dryly observed. "No, most of this is bombed to Hell and abandoned. Let's just get out of here in case the Ultras come back."
"Works for me," Yurii figured, "Not like the Ultras are going to come there, anytime soon."
Not for lack of trying, Yurii.
It was the truth, and both of them knew it. The Black Hundreds had been fighting an unofficial war against the Libertarians for years at this point, and the latter were more than prepared to fight against the coup.
If anything, both he and Yurii had thought their most-recent attackers were just more Black Hundreds. One skirmish and a good number of dead Ultranationalist troops later were all they needed to know which side to choose.
Sure, they may be against centralized government in any form, but Serhii was smart enough to know that the Ultranationalists would eventually come for the communes they'd bypassed during the coup.
"Here's hoping the Loyalist Army gets here eventually," Serhii thought aloud, only to realize the implications. "Can't believe I just said that. What kind of Libertarian am I?"
Yurii just chuckled.
"A practical one, Serhii."
"Memo on Areas of Control," by Major General Dwight D. Eisenhower, 23 January 1942
Major General Dwight D. Eisenhower
With the defection of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General George Marshall, the Atlantic Frontline between the Unionists and the Nationalists has shifted to the Patuxent River in Maryland. In the wake of the chaos of General Marshall's defection, our forces have been able to hold the Nationalists from the Appalachians to the Chesapeake Bay.
The Nationalists continue to consolidate their control of the Southern United States, with their strength focused in the former Confederacy (effectively the Southern United States) and the Northern Great Plain states (Idaho, Montana, the Dakotas, Saskatchewan, Alberta, Manitoba, and Western Ontario).
The former can be attributed to the political strength of the True Patriot Party, who have wholeheartedly thrown their support behind the Nationalist leader Theodore G. Bilbo. This political support has served as a strong foundation under which they are able to consolidate their position, recruit manpower, and produce equipment.
A similar phenomenon occurs in the Northern Great Plains states, as the resettled colonial expatriate populations have given the True Patriots a second base of political (and now military) support. The low population density of the region allows the Nationalist-aligned forces to control entire states, so long as they control the few population centers (Billings, Helena, Boise, Calgary, Regina, etc) from which they can base aircraft and air defenses.
With Nationalist forces in the Great Plains and the South, our positions in Kansas, Nebraska, and Colorado are under threat of a pincer attack from the South and Northern Plains. Should this happen, the Nationalists in the two regions will be able to coordinate and focus resources on offensive operations against our forces Northeast and the Pacific Coast.
Conversely, if we are able to stabilize our own positions, we will be able to reallocate manpower and resources towards offensive operations against the Nationalists in the Great Plains or the South.
Irregular forces are one of the largest threats for our forces and the Nationalist forces. Both sides currently face internal threats from the opposing faction, with right-wing Nationalist-aligned militias waging a guerrilla war in Unionist territory and United Front militias waging a similar campaign against the Washington government.
So long as manpower and resources have to be diverted to combat these threats to logistics and security, neither side will be able to make use of their full combat potential against their opponents. Therefore, it is imperative that the insurrectionists in our territories be dealt with accordingly.
Mount Spokane State Park, Washington, United Front-Controlled Territory, United States of America, 25 January 1942
Mount Spokane State Park
"Christ." There wasn't any way for Detective John Decker to describe the sight he'd come across on his patrol. "How many lynchings does that make this?"
"Two dozen," Detective Lucas Eliis grimly observed, before taking a photograph. "Same profile as the rest of them."
"Chinese, Black, Catholic, Jew, or Disagrees-with-the-Golden-Circle?"
"One, three, and five," Ellis confirmed, "Assuming our info's correct."
"'Course it's correct," Decker muttered, "Fucking Golden Circle video taped the lynching and posted it on the internet!"
"Don't remind me, Luke. Forensics is going to have their hands full with this one."
"Could be worse," Ellis hollowly laughed. "Definitely could be worse."
"Yeah, I know."
At least this one was "just" murder.
Outside Maxton, North Carolina, Nationalist-Controlled Territory, United States of America, 26 January 1942
Hayes Pond, Maxton, North Carolina
Charles Locklear looked through the scope of his M1903 Springfield. This was the place, alright.
He could see a whole mess of men down by the pond. Had to be at least four dozen Golden Circle camped out here, with a handful of officers.
Not that it made much of a difference, these days. Most of that damned "Militia" were the same Golden Circle bastards who'd been harrassing the Lumbees for the last five years.
Odds are, at least one of them was there when a cross was burned on my sister's lawn for dating a white guy.
Charles still did his best to remain calm. Sarah and her husband were dead now, and he wouldn't get any payback if he let his rage get the better of him now.
Stay calm. Wait for the signal.
He could barely see anything in the darkness, but it was enough to see the faint shadows of men and women moving up with whatever guns they could get their hands on. Pistols, bolt-actions, shotguns, and even lever-actions were all fair game when "A gun" was better than "No gun."
With his time in the military and the police, Charles considered himself a pretty damn good shot with a rifle. He had to be, if he wanted to be left the Hell alone by some of the less "forward-thinking" officers.
Those were some good times.
He could still remember shutting up Sergeant Walker when he kept hitting the ten-ring during qualifications. Racist asshole had no other option than to tell him he'd passed selection.
Wonder what he's doing now? Probably joined up with the Nationalists, I bet.
Forget about him. Focus on the target.
Charles turned back to the encampment, and it was sloppy. Only two men were patrolling, and nobody was guarding the box truck full of guns and ammo.
Not that he minded, though. Saved him the hassle of picking his targets.
He kept his ears open, though. Once everyone was in position, he'd hear the signal.
He heard a single click.
Then two clicks.
Then three clicks.
Charles knew that meant the other Lumbees were in position, and now it was his turn.
Militia commander. Seven hundred meters.
Now, all he had to do was let the training kick in:
So he adjusted his aim.
Then he managed his breathing.
And finally, he fired.
The audible crack of the rifle rang through the night, right up until his shot sent the enemy commander tumbling down.
Charles didn't know if he was dead. He hoped so, but he'd have to settle for the bastard bleeding to death while he acquired a new target.
"Open fire!" a familiar voice shouted in front of him, and the gunshots of all types peppered the once-quiet night. Pistols, rifles, and shotguns all erupted from the darkness and flowed onto the ambushed militia.
"Pour it on!" another familiar Lumbee shouted to his own squad, "Do not let up until the bastards are dead!"
"Ambush!" one of the Militia shouted. He'd shout more, but Charles shot him through the chest as well.
"I don't see jack!" another Militiaman shouted, and he started firing into the darkness.
From this distant vantage point, Charles could see the entire battlefield. He could see his fellow Lumbee moving up, and he could see the Militia rushing to the truck to hand out their weapons.
The sight of the latter was all he needed to turn his focus to the Militia's de-facto quartermaster and do what he'd always wanted to do for years.
It wouldn't bring his little sister and her husband back, and it wouldn't undo the suffering they'd both endured in their last minute. But this would be some justice for it all, and that was enough for him.
The next fifteen minutes were almost a blur to Charles. He'd lost count of how many men he'd shot with his sniper rifle, but it would never be enough.
"Cease fire!" one of the Lumbee shouted over the gunfire, "They're all dead! Cease fire!"
Thankfully, his voice was loud enough to reach the other leaders, who began relaying the same message to the other squads.
It's over?
"Move in, and search the bodies!" shouted the first Lumbee from the ground, "Take anything we can carry: Guns and ammo first, then supplies! Burn anything we can't carry, and leave the bodies!"
No, we're just getting started.
Good.
US-Mexico Border, Tijuana, Baja California, United States of Mexico, 28 January 1942
Tijuana, Baja Calfornia
"Morning, Alex," the Mexican man greeted the Estadounidense, before looking at the vast emptiness around them. "Coming home from another trip?"
"Yeah, something like that, Jaime," Alex answered back, before looking at the number of well-armed men with him. "Still can't believe this many men wanted to come back with us as volunteers against the Nats."
"Legal loopholes, Ale," Jaime chuckled, "Sure, Presidente Cardenas has officially declared neutrality and encouraged a peaceful resolution, but that doesn't mean he can't look the other way if volunteers come north."
"These are some pretty fucking well-armed volunteers if they show up with their weight in guns and ammo," the American quipped. "Not that I'm complaining, though."
"Of course. Just be sure not to get them all killed, alright?"
"Jaime, this is America we're talking about. The last thing we're running out of is places to lay low."
Memo on Supplying Unionist Land Forces," by General Michael Chen (Ret.), Military Intelligence Bureau, 29 January 1942
Chinese CM-11 Leopard Tank
Although our government has officially maintained neutrality, the Ministry of Defence has authorized the transfer of weaponry to the Unionist forces in the Second American Civil War via trusted third parties.
Chinese military preparedness doctrine requires equipment to be stockpiled in several friendly countries throughout the world and maintained to a fixed level of readiness by locally-stationed Chinese forces or contractors. In the event of a war or another emergency, said equipment can be activated for use by Chinese or allied Nanjing Accord forces in short order.
Given these stockpiles constant maintenance, it is possible for us to transfer equipment to the Nationalist-aligned forces while we refurbish replacement materials and reactivate production lines.
Supply will be done via ship to Unionist-controlled ports that are far from the frontline, such as Vancouver, Long Beach, Los Angeles, and San Francisco on the Pacific Coast, and Halifax, Montreal, and Saint John on the Atlantic Coast.
Ships are to be contracted from Chinese companies and fly Chinese flags, so as to prevent attacks and interdictions by the Nationalist forces.
Given the United States' lack of military buildup compared to their Lost History counterparts in 1942, the current forces of the United States are more infantry-based, with only a handful of armored and mechanized divisions.
Most American regular and irregular forces are either infantry or motorized infantry of one form or another. While it is possible for both the Nationalists and the Unionists to create armored formations due to tank factories in Lima, Detroit, Atlanta, and Birmingham, the disruptions in supply chains will be limited at best.
A similar argument can be made for the transfer of aircraft to the theater,
Therefore, the supply of equipment (as well as the "Contractors" to train them in their use) will likely tip the balance in favor of the Unionists.
NOTE: A similar argument can be made for transferring aircraft as well. While the United States does produce much of its military equipment, most of their aircraft are either purchased from China or produced in America via production licenses. The transfer of aircraft to the Unionists (whether for new units or spare parts) can be done with relative ease without interfering with their still-recovering logistics.
Plus, it's not like China's running out of guns, tanks, or planes anytime soon.
Skies Above Irkutsk, Ultranationalist-Controlled Territory, Russian Empire, 30 January 1942
Chinese Type-25 Fighter
"Looks like the skies are all clear tonight," Crimson 2 "Lancer" said over the comms. "No radar, no launchers. Nothing."
"Don't jinx it," Crimson 3 "Saber" sighed, before getting into formation. "We're still knee-deep in Ultra territory.
"Keep it on-topic, guys," Colonel Jin Jie told his squadron, before banking to the right. "I'll take a boring night over an exciting one, any time."
"ETA on the target, Rider?" Saber asked him, "Give or take."
"Two minutes, Saber. Enemy squadron should be operating out of a highway, so the jets should be out in the open."
"Works for me," Lancer agreed, "Even if it's like taking a cheap shot."
"Yeah, well, you know what they call somebody who fights fair in war?" Jin Jie asked his subordinate, "Dead."
"Yeah." Lancer relented. "Hey, boss?"
"Mhm?"
"Why don't we use a drone or one of those kamikazes? Wouldn't that be better than sending us?"
"Drones and kamikazes have a radar cross-section the size of a drone or a kamikaze," Saber pointed out, "Our stealth fighters have a smaller one, so we're harder to detect."
"Cut the chatter, kids," Jin Jie yawned. He couldn't wait to get back to base and actually get some sleep. "Crimson 1 to all fighters: We are approaching the enemy airfield. Drop your ordinance, then RTB."
"Glossary of American Succession Conflict-Related Terms," Wikipedia, 31 January 1942
Hobbits
A pejorative for the followers of National Emergency Government President Theodore G. Bilbo due to the latter's short height and his sharing a name with the protagonist of The Hobbit.
Made In China
A catch-all term used by both sides of the conflict that refers to any and all equipment that could be traced to the Republic of China. The term originates from the pre-conflict era, due to much of the American equipment being produced via license from Chinese companies, or outright bought from China.
Militia
A catch-all term for irregular forces involved in the conflict. While the National Guard is considered by many to be the militia of the United States under Title X of the United States Code, they are considered separate from the irregular forces being described.
Nationalist
A term used for the American forces and civilians aligned with the National Emergency Government under Theodore G. Bilbo.
Neocon
Short for "Neoconfederate," it is a pejorative for the National Emergency Government that refers to Theodore G. Bilbo's segregationist and pro-Confederate political stances and argues that the National Emergency Government is illegitimate.
Scrapper
Informal name for the M1 Loitering Munition for its ease of production and its makeshift appearance. It is used as a pejorative by the Nationalists due to its poor appearance, though the Unionists have reappropriated it as an affectionate nickname due to the drone's reliability and low cost.
Unionist
A term used for the American forces and civilians aligned with the United Front against the National Emergency Government.
Hobbits
A pejorative for the followers of National Emergency Government President Theodore G. Bilbo due to the latter's short height and his sharing a name with the protagonist of The Hobbit.
Brest, Finiestere, French Republic, 1 February 1942
Flag of the Lafayette Brigades
Brest Harbor was somewhere he'd always planned to spend a vacation. With its harbor, cool sea breeze, and maritime history, it was the perfect place to spend a few months at the end of his tour in the desert.
Truth be told, he was mostly happy to be out of the sandbox that was the Sahara. Sure, he was proud to be a part of the final crackdown on slavery in Mauritania, known by many as "Operation John Brown," but he was more than happy to stop sweating his ass off 24/7, 265 days a year.
Plus, the mission's over. French Mauritania doesn't even exist anymore. Now, it's part of the Union of West African Republics.
"My reasons for joining?" former Sergeant Antoine Reval asked the journalist. She tapped his words in as he spoke. "The lack of sand and heat, if I'm being honest. Can't stand how rough and coarse it is. And don't even get me started of how it gets everywhere."
"I see," Elise Brodeur of l'Humanite dryly observed. "Now, do you have any serious reasons, or are we just going to share memes?"
"Oh, alright," Antoine relented, "If I'm being honest, I've always fought for what I believed in. It didn't matter if it was during the Great War, the Spanish Civil War, or Operation John Brown in Mauritania. I just wanted to do some good in the world, and soldiering is the means."
"So this is the next just cause you plan to fight for?" Brodeur asked with curiosity. "If you don't mind me saying that."
"Go right ahead," the former Sergeant yawned, "And yes, I've been a soldier since I was sixteen and the Kaiser and Kings of Britain, Belgium, and Italy had us blockaded. A life as a soldier isn't for everyone, but it is the life for me."
Of course, this probably goes against the "Citizen Revolutionary Soldier" that Elysee tries to promote up in Paris, but it's true. Or not, depending on who you ask, now that I think about it.
The "Citizen" is as important as the "Soldier," because both protect the Revolution.
Or something like that, anyways. It's been years since I've been in school.
"-Do you see any challenges?" the younger journalist interrupted, breaking his train of thought. "Antoine?"
"Huh? Oh, sorry. Come again?"
"Of course," Elise said with all the professionalism of a journalist with twice her experience. "Much of the Lafayette Brigades are made up of volunteers who have done their year of service in the military, as opposed to career soldiers like yourself. Do you see any challenges?"
"Ah. That's a complicated question," Antoine observed. He had to admit it was a good question, what with being one of the few volunteers with actual combat experience.
And if he was being honest, he would also have to admit he was stalling for time while he thought about it.
The concept of the Lafayette Brigades was simple: With the Second American Civil War happening overseas, there were those who wanted to volunteer for the Unionists. After all, it wasn't as if the Radical-Socialist government in France was going to stop people from fighting what they saw as an illegitimate right-wing dictatorship.
Those volunteers then got in touch and pooled their networks and resources to organize themselves into an entire unit, with even more volunteers joining up with them.
That was the problem, though.
Sure, most of the older soldiers had at least some combat experience in the Great War from fifteen years ago, but most of the younger ones had about a year of mandatory service at most
"Okay," Antoine decided aloud, "With all due respect to the younger comrades who make up the bulk of the Brigades, most of them were children during the war, and they have about a year's worth of non-combat service."
Of course, there was more to that. French law dictated that they couldn't send conscripts to combat zones unless war was declared, so he didn't really blame them too much.
"The older comrades, myself included," Antoine continued, "have served in the Great War or the later conflicts. Many of us remember living years under siege from both land and sea as we fought against a reactionary coup in our own country. As the more-experienced of the Brigades, it is our responsibility to pass on the lessons we've learned to the younger generation."
These kids are idealistic, I'll give them that. Almost all of the younger ones practically jumped at the call.
It had been less than a month, but the propaganda was already out there, comparing the Unionist cause against the right-wing National Emergency Government to the French resistance against the OAS coup from two decades ago.
The Great War and the struggle against both the OAS coup and the Kings and Kaisers of Europe were practically legendary in the eyes of the post-war generation. France and the Revolution were besieged on all sides by the forces of reaction for years.
And they didn't just survive. They won.
Was it any surprise that these kids wanted to follow in their footsteps?
But idealism and legend alone can't keep you alive, and it isn't enough to win a revolution.
No, they need to have a sense of pragmatism, too. Well, pragmatism and idealism in equal measure.
Idealism without pragmatism will lead you to defeat, but pragmatism without idealism will make you lose sight of what you're fighting for.
That's why people like them need people like me.
And maybe I'm a cynical bastard, but I probably need them, too.
Next chapter's in the works. Just need to do some research.
For example, did you know that all those high-tech nuclear reactors all over America could potentially be converted into breeder reactors to produce weapons-grade nuclear material?
Oh dear...
That's one way of spicing up a civil war.
Come to think of it, getting nuclear weapons probably wouldn't be difficult at all: several of these 'high-tech' nuclear reactors are already breeder reactors (such as thorium reactors) - with the advances in civilian nuclear technology, I wouldn't be surprised if civilian breeder reactors to reprocess nuclear waste back into nuclear fuel, as well as the knowledge to operate them, were a lot more common (relatively speaking) than in OTL.
Once you've got sufficient quantities of nuclear waste, it's only a matter of finding the right nuclear plant and a few months until you can produce industrial quantities of weapons-grade fissile material.
(DISCLAIMER: I am not a nuclear physicist.)
EDIT: Thorium reactors are actually really bad at making weapons-grade uranium, which is part of why they're considered so much safer.
How_Weapons_Are_Transferred_submit.docx, by General Michael Chen (Ret.), Military Intelligence Bureau Division 5, 2 February 1942
While it is abundantly clear that the Republic of China is arming and equipping both the legitimate Russian government in Saint Petersburg (which will be referred to as the "Loyalists") against the far right coup under General Sakharov (which will be referred to as the "Ultranationalists"), as well as the American United Front (or "Unionists," as they are called) against Theodore Bilbo's National Emergency Government ("Nationalists"), it cannot be understated that the two situations are largely-different.
Russia
In Russia's case, the Loyalist government is the legitimate government, while the Ultranationalists are a rebellious force. The Ultranationalists openly engaged in a coup against the legitimate government of the Russian Empire, and the Republic of China is allowed to support them under the Nanjing Accord charter.
This circumstance allows the Republic of China to openly support the Loyalist forces in terms of intelligence, materiel, transportation, logistics, political support, and most importantly military support. As I write this, the Republic of China (as well as other Nanjing Accord members) are currently engaged in joint operations with Loyalist forces.
I will be the first to admit that politics and military intelligence is outside of my specialization. However, the fact that the Republic of China is able to openly arm the Loyalists with supplies from our stockpiles, transport them entire divisions' worth of manpower and materiel to the Far East, and then support the subsequent offensive into the enemy's rearguard can be attributed to the circumstances of directly helping an ally who shares the largest land border in the world.
United States
While the Republic of China is ideologically and pragmatically aligned with the Unionist cause, realpolitik in the form of potential outcomes, the lack of geographical proximity, and the disputed legitimacy of the Unionist cause, and the protection of free trade around the world (particularly in the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico) have created a set of circumstances that require at least some sense of plausible deniability on the part of the Chinese side.
Or to put it another way, we cannot openly arm and supply the Unionists at this time because they'll start seizing and blockading our ships, which could escalate the conflict into a world war while also delegitimizing the Unionist cause.
To that end, intermediaries are used to transfer materiel to the United States. In doing so the Republic of China is at least able to maintain a semblance of neutrality on the public level.
Since the vast majority of Chinese materiel is produced by government-owned corporations, these intermediaries take the form of defense contractors from other Nanjing Accord nations that handle the transfer and sale of weapons. Said intermediaries tend to be localized in the allied countries, and they handle the allied countries' end of the familiarization.
By using these contractors we are able to maintain the plausible deniability on the grounds that the contractors are third parties and private businesses.
This typically takes the form of the contractors purchasing weapons from Nanjing Accord-aligned nations and then trasnferring them to the United States while the Republic of China transfers replacement weapons from our own stockpiles. For their part, the contractors will primarily handle the transportation of equipment from allied countries to the Unionist-controlled ports.
Of course, this primarily-involves Nanjing Accord states in Eurasia. The Radical-Socialist democracies of Eastern Europe have simply dropped all pretenses and are outright sending equipment to the Unionists, along with their volunteers. While the Nationalists have raised protests and have threatened to sink or board any ships carrying weapons, the presence of the Atlantic Fleet, including the carrier groups USS Theodore Roosevelt and USS Enterprise have minimized the threat of Nationalist naval interference.
Furthermore, the continued French naval presence (Particularly the carrier MN Internationale) in the Caribbean and the risk of escalation have served as an effective deterrence against any Nationalist interference with Western European shipping.
Conclusion
In short, different circumstances in Russia and the United States of America require different solutions. As such, I recommend we maintain this two-front approach while increasing our production in the event we run out of stockpiles.
Of course, that is highly unlikely. With how much materiel was produced during the Great War and put into storage, it is nigh-impossible that we ever run out of equipment.
THere are also areas where efficiency can be improved. Coordination with our French (and by extension Western European) allies can allow for a greater volume of materiel transferred to the Unionist forces via the North Atlantic. While contractors serve as acceptable intermediaries, they are incapable of matching the Western European logistical capacity and coordination.
Plus, it's not like they haven't been sending ships full of tanks and guns since hostilities started. Paris, London, Rome, Berlin, Dublin, and Madrid have all worn their diplomatic hearts on their sleeves, and they would serve as a more-than-adequate proxy to flood the Unionists with the weapons and materiel they need to annihilate the Nationalist forces.
NOTE 1: Personally, I'd say more, but I have been reprimanded (despite not actually being part of the MIB) for cursing out the Nationalists in these analyses. Not by the Director of the Military Intelligence Bureau, but by the President of China.
NOTE 2: In my defense, those guys tried to kill my kids. Assholes.
[...]
Furthermore, the continued French naval presence (Particularly the carrier FS Internationale) in the Caribbean and the risk of escalation have served as an effective deterrence against any Nationalist interference with Western European shipping.
[...]
Quick nitpick, but (modern, at least) French navy vessels don't actually have a prefix. FS is purely the NATO designation, although it's reasonable to expect that a Taiwan-descended China would use NATO conventions. I've also seen MN (standing for Marine Nationale) be used in historical fiction.
Quick nitpick, but (modern, at least) French navy vessels don't actually have a prefix. FS is purely the NATO designation, although it's reasonable to expect that a Taiwan-descended China would use NATO conventions. I've also seen MN (standing for Marine Nationale) be used in historical fiction.
Unit Analysis: Studies and Observation Group, Military Intelligence Bureau Division 5, 2 February 1942
Proposed Logo of the Studies and Observation Group
Active: 20 January 1942 - Present Type: Joint Unconventional Warfare Task Force Role: Reconnaissance, Covert Action, Logistics, Intelligence Sharing Size: Brigade (Incl. non-combat personnel) Headquarters: Sacramento, California, United States of America Commander: Lieutenant General Lei Feng
The Studies and Observations Group is a covert unit formed to assist the United Front (otherwise known as the "Unionists") during the Second American Civil War. Due to current political implications requiring at least a semblance of neutrality (in the event of a National Emergency Government victory).
To that end, deniable assets are to be used as an alternative means of assisting Unionist forces in terms of supply and operations.
Personnel are to be selected from the Army (Airborne Special Service Company & 101st "First" Recon), Air Force (34th Squadron "Black Bats" & 35th Squadron "Black Cats"), Marines (Force Recon and Patrol "ARP"), and Navy (Special Task Unit), as well as agents of the Military Intelligence Bureau. Logistics and support personnel will come from the Military Intelligence Bureau as well.
Additionally, relevant MIB assets already in-theater will be transferred to the Studies and Observations Group, including any and all intelligence-sharing operations between the MIB and the Unionist Office of Strategic Services (OSS).
Command will fall under the control of Lieutenant General Lei Feng, the former commander of the Airborne Special Service Company, though former General Martin Li will serve as an advisor and a liaison between the Studies and Observations Group and the Office of the President in Nanjing.
The Studies and Observation Group's supplies will be transferred as part of the larger supply operation via proxies, though MIB assets will be used when necessary to facilitate important transfers of equipment.
Operations are already currently underway, with the Special Task Unit assisting the Unionist-aligned 3rd Marine Division in the cleanup and consolidation around the Panama Canal Zone and MIB assets sharing intelligence on a daily basis with the Unionist command.
Chinese Consulate, Sacramento, California, Unionist-Controlled Territory, United States of America, 4 February 1942
This wasn't the first time Morgan Chen had been to Sacramento. It had, however, been the first time she had visited during an active conflict.
Still, it's better than Panama. Taiwanese humidity may suck, but at least it isn't as bad as Panama.
"So..." Captain Zhang Xueliang told her, before flipping the page in her file. "Year of service in the Marines as a Private First Class, where you qualified as a marksman and completed SERE training..."
Morgan politely nodded to the unit commander. Talkative as she may be, she had mastered the art of "Shutting up when necessary."
"Not to mention your role in retaking the train with former General Li Han," Zhang continued, "Impressive show of initiative there that you carried onto the Panama op."
"Thank you, sir."
"I'll be honest, Chen, normally we wouldn't take on somebody as green as you are, even with your experience. Despite going above and beyond during your year of mandatory service and your recent actions during the hijacking and the Panama op, you would normally go through a selection process that could take weeks."
Honestly, Morgan didn't know what to say to that. Sure, she was inexperienced, but participating in the retaking of a hijacked train and helping the Unionists retake the Panama Canal had to count for something.
Plus, it's not like they'd fly me out here just to tell me no.
"That being said," Zhang continued, "These are not normal times. A good chunk of my unit is over in Russia, and that allows me certain... liberties when it comes to recruitment and selection."
And there it is.
It was kinda obvious, now that she thought about it. With Russia being one, in a civil war, and two, on China's border, it was no surprise that the bulk of the manpower and resources went there. That, and the fact that China wasn't at war with the Nationalists.
Which meant units like the Studies and Observation Group couldn't be too picky when about personnel. Especially when it came to marksmen with combat experience.
"In other words," said the Captain, "Welcome to the SOG."
Teller, Ede. "The Viability of Weaponizing Modular Nuclear Reactor Fuel and Waste." Central European Journal of Physics, vol. 5, no. 4, January 1942, pp. 41-45.
Abstract
The proliferation of Modular Thorium Molten Salt Reactors across the United States involves the Thorium Fuel Cycle, a process that involves the conversion of Thorium into Uranium 233. This process has allowed the United States to approach a net-zero carbon output at a fraction of the cost of China's full-size reactors, though critics have argued that the Uranium-233 involved in the Thorium Fuel Cycle can be removed and converted into nuclear weapons.
Although these criticisms are mitigated by the tamper-resistant designs of the modular reactors and constant oversight by International Atomic Energy Agency inspectors, a lack of oversight may result in modular molten salt reactors being converted into breeder reactors to produce weapons-grade nuclear material.
The ongoing hostilities in the Second American Civil War create such an environment for this to occur, and it is imperative that the international community apply pressure to all sides of the conflict to allow IAEA inspectors to inspect reactors in the conflict zones. Doing so would mitigate the elevated risk of nuclear weapons development or nuclear-related accidents.
Outskirts of Saint Louis, Missouri, Unionist Territory, United States of America, 4 February 1942
"Stand back!" the Sergeant shouted, and the men came out from behind the newly-loaded howitzer. "Fire!"
All the men covered their ears, and so did their commander Colonel Truman.
This had been their life for the last few weeks: Once the drones had their eyes on a target in-range, and the Missouri National Guard would fire with an accuracy that had only gotten better with two week's worth of combat experience.
"That's a hit," Lieutenant Coles observed, before putting down his tablet with the drone footage. "Counter-battery fire is successful. Enemy battery eliminated."
"Good to know, Lieutenant," Truman breathed, before looking back to his men, "Pack it up, boys! I want us out of here in two, before the Nats locate our position!"
As if on cue, the various artillerymen of the 2nd Missouri Field Artillery Regiment loaded up their equipment, un-anchored the M101 Howitzers, attached them to the trucks, and jumped in the back.
All in under ninety seconds.
"They're getting faster," Coles observed. "Not bad for a bunch of weekend warriors, eh, Colonel?"
"Indeed," said Truman. "As long as we have enough ammunition, we'll be able to keep them at bay. Doesn't matter if it's vehicles, infantry, or other artillery guns."
Of course, it went without saying that they could only keep the Nats at bay as long as they actually had ammunition. And spare barrels, of course, but Truman would rather have the barrels wear out than run out of ordnance.
"It's a good thing we have the St. Louis Arsenal, then, Colonel. We're sitting on a damn mountain of bullets, shells, and spare parts. No wonder the Nats tried to seize it from us on day one. Damn near pulled it off, if it weren't for the Guard, Militia, and Loyalists leaking the info."
Colonel Truman simply nodded.
He knew that if it weren't for a fellow Freemason, one Forrest C. Donnell, leaking the details of Bilbo's nationalization order to him (and by extension Governor Thomas C. Hennings), the National Guard wouldn't have been there to put up any resistance when Bilbo's Regulars showed up.
What should have been a simple seizure and nationalization of the Saint Louis Armory quickly spiraled into a standoff and a gunfight he'd unfortunately been caught right in the middle of, to the point he'd caught a stray round or two in his plates in the crossfire.
He would consider himself one of the lucky ones, though. With a hundred dead and two-and-a-half times wounded on all sides, he was kicked upstairs and placed in charge of the defense of Saint Louis against the inevitable retaliation from the Nationalists.
Even if the most-recent-wave of said retaliation was a dozen or so smoldering wrecks a few kilometers away.
There would be more, though.
Once a trigger-happy soldier had fired off the shot that started the whole firefight at the armory, Truman knew there would be no turning back, even if he didn't know if it was a Regular or a Guardman that'd fired the first shot, or even if he was still alive.
It didn't matter, though. Once Governor Hennings had made his decision, Missouri had cast the die and thrown their lot in with the Unionists.
Bridge of the MV Libertador, International Waters, Gulf of Mexico, 5 February 1942
"What in God's name is going on?!" shouted a groggy Captain Jose Reyes to the equally-tired morning crew. "Jaime, this better be important!"
"We're being hailed over the radio, Boss," his number two yawned, before sipping some of his coffee. "Broadcasting over a whole bunch of frequencies asking us who we are and where we're headed."
"What's it to them? Who do they think they are, the US Navy?"
"...Actually-"
"Oh for fuck's sake," Reyes groaned, before picking up the headset and switching to English. "This is the captain of the MV Libertador. To whom am I speaking to?"
"Libertador, this is the USS Charleston enforcing the blockade of the Panama Canal, as per the Emergency Naval Interdiction Act. Please state your port of origin and destination."
"Emergency Naval Interdiction Act?" Reyes asked aloud, before turning to Jaime. "What the Hell is that?"
Jaime just shrugged.
Shit.
"Repeat," said the American ship, "Libertador, please state your port of origin and intended destination."
"We sailed out of Georgetown, Guyana, and are sailing towards San Francisco to deliver a shipment of Bauxite."
"... Standby, Libertador."
Now Reyes truly didn't know what was going on.
"Libertador," the US ship continued, "As per the Emergency Naval Interdiction Act, we are authorized to board and seize any and all ships headed towards foreign ports. Please prepare to be boarded."
"Now hold on a second!" Captain Reyes shouted, "I am not about to surrender my ship to the United States Navy! This is a violation of international maritime l-"
"The Emergency Naval Interdiction Act permits the seizure of any and all ships headed to a rebel port. Please prepare to be boarded. Any and all attempts to resist will be met with proportionate force."
Ministry of Trade, Tokyo, Japan, 10 February 1942
"For the last time, Mr. Fukuyama," the Minister of Trade sighed, "We are already in discussions with the Bilbo government to release your ship that was impounded in Guantanamo Bay. While we are sure of an amicable resolution, I implore you to be patient."
"This isn't just about them," the shipping executive groaned, and leaned forward in his chair. "The Libertador was just the first of my ships to be interdicted by the Nationalists! The MV Hiroshima and the MV Brasilia were intercepted just two days ago and forced to sail to a "Neutral Port" in Kingstown instead of Llanitos Mexico!"
"We are very much aware of that-"
"Do you know how much this is interfering with shipping, Jyunichi?! I've had to re-route a dozen ships around Tierra del Fuego because I don't want to get them boarded by the Nationalists and sent back if I'm lucky!"
"I'm aware of that, Jun!" the minister snapped, only to sigh. "My apologies, but I've been working around the clock to deal with this with Nanjing, Seoul, Manila, Jakarta, Delhi, and Canberra. I want you to know that we're working on it, but these things take time. You aren't the only one who's being impacted by the Nationalist blockade of the Caribbean side of the Canal."
"I know, Jyunichi," Fukuyama relented, then sighed. "But I'm running a business here, and we both know that this will affect international shipping as a whole. Something needs to be done, and we both know it."
"Hug the shore."
"Come again?"
"It's not much, but as long as your ships are not in international waters, Washington will think twice about intercepting them until they get to the canal. Bilbo may be a bully, but he's stretched thin and won't pick a fight with Gran Colombia or Brazil."
"Here's hoping you're right, Jyunichi," Fukuyama sighed again. "But we both know this'll only work for so long."
Port of Rio De Janeiro, Rio De Janeiro, Rio De Janeiro State, Brazil, 11 February 1942
"So this is a strike, Papai?" Joao da Silva asked his father, "You just stand around and do nothing?"
"And you don't get paid," his father Henrique added. "But this isn't exactly a strike. It's more of a... work stoppage. Let's call it that."
"What's the difference?"
"During a strike, everyone at the port would stop all work, instead of just for Nationalist American ships."
"Wait, why them? Is this because of those sailors who were abducted?"
"Yes. It turns out that seizing ships headed to San Diego and then interning their crews in Guantanamo Bay is a bad thing. Who'd have thought?"
"So your men in the Union don't load their ships... because they captured other ships?" His father nodded. "
Doesn't that mean you would lose money?"
"Yes, but that's what strike funds are for, son. One of the reasons I pay money to the union every month is for times like these, so we don't walk away with nothing."
That, and it's not as if we're stopping work. We just don't load or unload the ships from the Nationalists, who make up about one in twenty of all ships.
"But you're still not getting paid."
"And they're not making money or getting the shipments they need. It's a war of attrition, Joao."
"Because you want them to give up before your side does."
"Exactly." It was times like this that Henrique was the proudest of his son being a quick learner. "Sure, we lose money, but it's not as if we're not working at all - just not on Nationalist ships. Meanwhile, the Nationalists need all the imports they can when most of Europe and West Africa don't want anything to do with them."
"So they need you all more than you need them?" Joao asked, and his father nodded. "And that's how a strike-"
"Work stoppage."
"-Work stoppage... works. There's just one problem: What about everyone else? It's not like you can get everyone to refuse to load and unload Nationalist ships."
"You'd be surprised, son. It turns out a lot of people don't like their sailors being illegally transported in Guantanamo Bay."
ANDRIY SAMIYLOVICH MALYSHKO: "Thank you, Vasily Semyonovich. I am reporting live from the city of Magadan, where Loyalist forces have recently-captured the city from Ultranationalist forces after a week-long battle. As you can see behind me, Loyalists are moving in with infantry and vehicles to what was once one of the last Loyalist strongholds in the region."
VASILY SEMYONOVICH GROSSMAN: "I see. Can you report on the status of the Ultranationalist forces that retreated from the area?"
MALYSHKO: "According to statements released by the Loyalists, the Ultranationalist forces were largely-annihilated by a combination of airstrikes and armored vehicle attacks. Locals have also claimed that some survivors that did not surrender fled to the surrounding area."
GROSSMAN: "Could you tell us about that?"
MALYSHKO: "Of course. For our viewers who don't know, Magadan is one of the northernmost cities in the Far East. Aside from a few villages and towns in the surrounding area, there isn't much left for the Loyalists to take in the immediate area, while the nearest large settlement is over four hundred kilometers north."
GROSSMAN: "So there is nowhere else for them to go?"
MALYSHKO: "It's possible that they could hide out in the villages or rural areas, but local loyalist officers don't expect them to get too far."
GROSSMAN: "Of course. Far Eastern winters have always been brutal, and it is still winter over there. Now, can you tell us about what the Loyalist command's next moves will be?"
MALYSHKO: "You and I both know that's classified, but my guess would be that with only small towns like Omsukchan left, Magadan was possibly the last stronghold in the region for the Ultranationalists in the Far East."
GROSSMAN: "I'm sure that our viewers both at home and abroad will be glad to hear that. Stay safe out there, Andriy Samiylovich."
MALYSHKO: "And to you as well, Vasily, Semyonovich."
Ministry of Defense, Nanjing, National Capital Region, Republic of China, 16 February 1942
"Increasing production shouldn't be too hard to do," Chief of the General Staff Sun Li-jen said to his former commander. "Even with your operation with MIB using our stockpiles and us supplying the Russian Loyalists, we're still able to stay above our minimum inventory threshold."
"And how long can we maintain that?" asked former General Michael Chen. "Assuming MOD maintains our current rate of procurement."
"I can't tell you, Chen."
"You and I both know I have the clearance, Sun. I can call up MIB or Soong herself if you want proof."
"It's not that, Chen. I can't tell you how long because I don't know. We're burning through stockpiles as we speak for bombing the Ultranationalists to Hell and back, and that is before we talk about the Shell Game you're playing to supply the Unionists. We could be looking at anything from three months to a year, depending on how much we send out every month."
"That quickly?"
"Chen, we've been at peace for the better part of a decade, and that's assuming we count the years fighting Rhodesians and other Holdouts in Africa as wartime. Sure, we have stockpiles, but those are supposed to hold us over until we can spin up production again."
"And we are spinning up production again?" It was a rhetorical question, but Chen needed to make sure. "Right?"
"Of course we are. I gave the order to the armories and manufacturers the minute we agreed on intervening on Russia."
"That's good to hear," Chen said with a bit of pride for his subordinate. After all, Sun was doing a job that Chen never wanted. "How's that coming along?"
"It's not as if I can just snap my fingers, but we're working quickly. Production has increased by about 34% overall compared to last month, and we could be looking at an exponential growth in arms production by summer."
"Christ, you guys work fast." From the way he sounded, Chen seemed genuinely impressed. Then again, the man fought in the Revolution, so he had a certain reverence for logistics. "It's almost as if we are at war."
"We are at war, Chen. For all intents and purposes, anyways."
"Yeah, I know."
Rathdrum Mountain Park, Rathdrum, Idaho, Nationalist-Controlled Territory, United States of America, 17 February 1942
Morgan Chen could see everything with this night-vision scope. Didn't matter if it was people, trees, wildlife, or Nats. She could see in the dark, and odds were that they couldn't see her.
Was it unfair? Probably.
Did she care? No.
"You're seeing what I'm seeing, Dole?" she muttered through the radio. "Patriot launcher, two kilometers north."
"I see it," her American counterpart observed through his night-vision scope. "What's the plan?"
"Command wants us to confirm and laze the targets for Scrapper drone strikes while we hold back and provide recon on the ground."
"That works for me. Got it?"
"Affirmative," she said, before pulling out the laser designator and marking the target. "Command, this is Tiger 0-2. Have lazed the target and transmitted coordinates. Please confirm transmission."
"Coordinates received, 0-2," the female voice on the other end answered. "We'll proceed to Phase Two once the other coordinates are delivered. Standby."
"Affirmative, Command," Morgan agreed, before letting off the radio. Now came the hard part.
Waiting wasn't too hard. She, Dole, and their spotters were all ghillied up with night vision, while the Nats had neither. There was always the chance of an infrared drone picking them up, but both of them doubted that the Nats would run recon drones over a forest in the middle of the night.
Even then, there's a good chance the Infrared Reflective Layer of the suit does its job. I mean, it's not perfect, but it should fool a drone at 100m.
Needless to say, she liked their odds in this phase.
An explosion sounded off in the sky. One became two became four became two dozen or so, and then an even louder one. Morgan turned her scope to see what had happened, and a bright explosion where the launcher was told her everything she needed to know.
"Tiger 0-2 to Command: Good effect on target. Confirmed Patriot battery destruction. Awaiting new orders."
"Copy, 0-2. Maintain position and provide overwatch as Operation: STRYCHNINE commences."
South of Coeur d'Alene, Contested Territory, Idaho, United States of America, 17 February 1942
"You ready, Jono?" Gunnery Sergeant Reynolds shouted to the Lance Corporal, "ETA 2 minutes!"
"Ready as I'll ever be, Gunny!" Lance Corporal Jon Doherty shouted over the whirring rotors and the jets flying overhead. "Still don't like fighting our own, though!"
"No shit!" Reynolds told him, "But they made their choice, and we made ours. You ready?"
"Get off the Chinook, take the town of Canyon, cut off the Nats, and hold out until the tanks take Coeur?"
"That's right, kid," Reynolds told him, before shouting to the rest of the soldiers in the Chinook. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the Frozen Angels, this is your steward speaking! We're approaching our target in about ninety seconds!"
"Now our brothers and sisters in the 10th Mountain did us a huge favor by knocking out the enemy AA last night. And at this rate, we're going to owe them big time! How does that sound?"
"Fuck no!" shouted one of the recently-transferred National Guardsmen.
Reynolds chuckled. "Damn right! So I'm going to do them a huge favor and take the town of Canyon cut the traitors off from the east. Anyone want to come along?!"
"Hooah!" the men and women shouted, and so did Jono.
Strike is for Nationalist ships, while the Nationalists don't have much of an option for trade partners when France (and by extension Europe) are openly giving them the middle finger, so the Nats are not exactly in a position to argue.
Anyways, here are the Historical Figures in Chapter 90:
Edward Teller
Harry Truman
Bob Dole
Sun Li-jen
Vasily Grossman
Andriy Malyshko
Almost had Rod Serling (of Twilight Zone fame) in the helicopter instead of the OC Jonathan "Jono" Doherty, but I figured that would be a little too forced and OOC for him, even if Serling was part of the 11th Airborne.
So he'll probably show up as a journalist/correspondent, instead.
Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, Unionist-Controlled Territory, United States of America, 19 February 1942
The sight before Morgan Chen was definitely something: Destroyed buildings, POWs being moved, and the ever-present smell of gasoline permeating the air around her.
If this was what "Victory" smelled like, then she figured she might as well get used to it.
"Lieutenant Brower's back from the recon mission," Dole told her, walking up to the bombed-out cafe. "No sign of the enemy for miles."
"Makes sense," Morgan figured, before putting down the magazine she'd reloaded. "Airborne cut them off from the East, which means the Nats will try to regroup and fortify Missoula, next."
"Then what are we doing here, Chen?" Dole motioned to the east. "Missoula's two hundred-sixty kilometers that way."
"Yeah, through a crapton of mountains and forests," the Chinese agent figured. Truth be told, she wasn't too familiar with the terrain, but that was what the map said. "It's not like the East Coast, where everything's close together."
"So what do we do now? Wait for them to fortify Missoula?"
"Eh, probably," Morgan figured, moving south on her map. "Every man they send there is one they can't send south to Boise."
"I'll take your word for it," Dole relented, before leaning back into his patio chair. "Any news from the East?"
Skies Above Baltimore, Union-Controlled Territory, Maryland, United States of America, 19 February 1942
"How many of them are there?" one of the allied pilots shouted over the radio.
"Half the damn Nat airforce has to be up here!" shouted another.
"The Hell are our reinforcements?" a third screamed.
"Looks like we came in time," Lieutenant Robin Olds told his squadron, "This is Devil 1 to all Unionist aircraft. We are entering the AO. Requesting permission to link up with any friendly AWACS."
"Devil 1, this is AWACS Sherman. You're talking to the only friendly AWACS in the AO. Beginning handshake procedures."
Only friendly AWACS? What happened to the rest?!
Fine. We'll work with what we have.
"Copy, Sherman. Anywhere we need to go?"
"Let's see... Finback Squadron, was last seen over the Port of Baltimore dogfighting with a Nat squardron. Recommend you provide support over there."
"Copy, Sherman. You heard the lady," Olds told his squadron, "Let's get to work, Devils."
Christ, how many planes are up here? Are the Nats throwing everything they have at us?
Olds had to shelve that thought, though. Right now, he and his squadron had to go help Finback.
"I've got a lock," Olds spoke over the radar, "Fox two."
A jolt from the wing of his F-16 was all he felt as the missile flew into the darkness towards his target.
"The Hell was that?" an unknown voice asked over the radio, "Was that you, George?"
"Negative. Reinforcements?"
"Cavalry's arrived," Olds announced to the Navy airmen. "Devil 1 to Finback Squadron: Sherman sent us over to assist. Any of you still alive?"
"Affirmative," said the same voice. "Our flight lead ejected, which means Finback 3's in charge now."
"Alright then." Olds could barely hear over the tone blaring in his ear. "Fox two."
Another jolt, followed by a streak through the sky towards the Nat plane.
Come on...
Sure enough, that fighter also exploded into a fireball before fading into the darkness.
"Splash two," Sherman announced. "That makes four for Devil Squadron."
Huh. Guess the other guys must've gotten a few shots in, too.
"Devil 1 to Finback 3: What's your ammo situation?"
"Almost out of Sparrows, but our guns are still full."
"Alright then," Olds decided for the two pilots they'd rescued, "As long as you have something, then you can fall in with us. How copy?"
Not like they have an option. The Nats are throwing everything they have at Baltimore, so we need every plane in the fight.
"Finback 3 copies," the de-facto squadron lead agreed. "We'll follow your lead, Devil 1."
Department of Defense, Washington, District of Columbia, Nationalist-Controlled Territory, 19 February 1942
Lieutenant General George Smith Patton could feel tension in the room. A tension that came with launching their first offensive against the traitors to the north in Philadelphia.
And as one of the newly-promoted members of the General Staff, he knew he had to prove himself to General MacArthur.
"According to our reports," Colonel Curtis LeMay began, "It seems that the rebels have been rotating the locations of their air defenses for the past month. However, our intelligence came mere hours before the strikes. Either we're just unlucky, or the traitors received a last-second warning to move their air defenses and planes from where we thought they'd be."
"Either is possible," General MacArthur sighed, before swiping on his tablet. "So we may have a leak?"
"It's definitely possible," said the airman. "Otherwise, we wouldn't have so many damned traitor planes in the sky and traitor air defenses on the ground. That, or they just got lucky."
"Nobody is that lucky," MacArthur pointed out. "Which means we are going to have to deal with leaks, sooner or later. Roscoe?"
"Yes, General?" MacArthur just nodded at Rear Admiral Hillenkoetter. "I'll get to looking at that right away, sir."
Now, Hillenkoetter was no Wild Bill Donovan, and everyone in the room knew it. In all likelihood, he would admit it as well.
Then again, Hillenkoetter was somethinghat Donovan wasn't. The obvious fact was that unlike Donovan, Hillenkoetter hadn't literally burned down the CIA before defecting to the traitors with General Marshall.
"Good. Now LeMay, how does the air situation look right now?"
"We still have the advantage in aircraft, but we've sustained heavier-than-expected losses due to a combination of traitor air defense and unexpected enemy air reinforcements from the Lexington and the Concord. While we can escalate further and throw in more fighters as well as another barrage of missiles, we run the risk of over-committing and leaving ourselves vulnerable to a counter-attack."
"In other words, LeMay?"
"It would be a pyrrhic victory at best, sir."
"I see. And for the traitors?"
"They'd also likely lose much of their air force, sir. And while we have an outright advantage in aircraft, the traitors have a relative numerical advantage on the Atlantic Front."
From the looks of him, MacArthur wasn't too happy. He'd been banking on a coordinated combined arms offensive to wipe out the enemy air defense and airfields to quickly gain air superiority.
"I'll take that into account, LeMay. Be sure to relay that information to General Spaatz, ASAP." LeMay nodded. "Patton, what is the status of the Northeastern Army?"
"To be frank, General," Patton admitted, "The traitors have had a month to fortify Baltimore, and that includes supplies from France and other... sources."
Patton knew whom he was talking about, and so did everyone else in the room.
China.
They could never outright call them out on it. No, the Chinese were smart enough to have at least plausible deniability and likely worked through intermediaries to launder their weapons to the traitors.
Even Hillenkoetter, as lacking as he was, could tell that the Chinese were up to something. If intelligence was a game, then that game had no true allies, only interests.
As for Patton himself, he figured the Chinese were just sending guns to the French and having them do the dirty work. After all, the French made no compunctions about how they thought men like him were "fascists," or "reactionaries," or whatever it was they were called these days.
"While I do believe we can take the city, we may be seeing something similar to the ongoing Battle of Saint Louis."
That was enough to turn the room silent. Saint Louis (and by extension, the Missouri National Guard) had been a thorn in their side for the past month for turning what should have been a bloodless takeover into a grueling battle.
While yes, they had managed to nearly-pin the traitors against the Missouri River, they had suffered horrendous losses from a combination of Javelins, drones, and the literal mountain of shells of the Saint Louis Arsenal.
And this was against an enemy that had little more than a few hours to prepare. Marshall's traitors have had an entire month to dig in along the Patuxent River.
"Are you saying we should cancel the offensive, George?"
"I'm saying that we should not launch a ground offensive until we have secured air superiority, General. That, and we still need to consolidate our position against those who've taken up arms in support of treason in the area we do control."
"That goes without saying, George," MacArthur decided. "LeMay, I want you to tell General Spaatz to conserve our airpower and degrade the traitors'."
"Of course, sir."
"That said, we do have a shortage of capable men right now," the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs acknowledged. It went without saying that much of that had to do with Marshall's defection. "To that end, I am promoting you to Major General and placing you in charge of Missile Command. The failures of others in the intelligence community should not detract from your performance these last few days."
LeMay stood up and saluted. "Thank you, sir."
"Don't let me down, LeMay. I'm expecting great things from you."
Butte, Montana, Nationalist-Controlled Territory, United States of America, 21 February 1942
Communal life took some getting used to, but they'd managed to come along pretty well here.
What had started as a motley crew of libertarians, Mormons, libertarian Mormons, outcasts, and free spirits had grown into a relatively self-sustaining commune that could handle everything from crops to water to livestock (though they did need to get their solar panels shipped in from China a few years ago).
Sure, it was nothing like the integrated communal networks in Europe that could handle entire supply chains and yes, they still needed to purchase medication and computers and gasoline. If the Makhno's example was to be followed, more-complicated goods would require greater coordination between the other communes in the region, and that would be at least a decade down the line at best.
But at the same time, they saw themselves as the first step towards creating a viable alternative to modern society that was freer, more-fulfilling, and more-egalitarian. Especially when they were comparing themselves to the racist bastards who supported Bilbo's regime.
The Mormons and Catholics didn't like him because he discriminated against them. The socialists and libertarians didn't like him for his politics. And everyone who wasn't white disliked him because they didn't like being treated like second-class citizens.
Which is how they ended up in this stalemate at the front gate, with both sides heavily armed to the teeth.
"Like I said before," Justin Greene groaned for the umpteenth time, "Fuck off. Come back with a warrant if you want to search the premises, alright?"
"I'd say it's reasonable to search the farmland of a bunch of armed men and women who seem to harbor sympathies for the traitors over in Philadelphia."
"For Christ's sake, we ain't siding with 'em, either!" This wasn't the first time Justin had to tell them that, either. "We mostly just want to be left the fuck alone, alright?"
"Still, y'all are armed to the teeth."
"Oh for the love of- We live in Montana. In the ass-end of nowhere! Everyone and their grandmother's armed to the damn teeth here, and I don't see you going around the Rhodies next door, and they've been out here as long as we have!"
"You mean the Smiths?" The Sheriff shook his head. "Yeah, well they aren't the ones telling us to fuck off every time we show off."
Pussies.
"Well no shit they're not going to tell you to fuck off. I mean, how else do you boys get those boots shining so bright?"
"Heh, fair enough, J," the soldier chuckled, before turning around. "Pack it in, guys. We need to get back into town for a warrant, then we can search the place. There, you happy, asshole?"
"Very," Greene answered, "Now fuck off."
And sure enough, the Nats did just that.
"You hear all of that?" he called into his radio. "Juno?"
"I hear you," a female voice sighed. From the sound of here, she was about as annoyed as he was. "What's the plan?"
"Plan Alpha: Hide the guns and make sure everyone's all segregated, or whatever those racist assholes want to call it."
"Do we have to?" his partner groaned, "Can't we just shoot them?"
"We all have to make sacrifices, Jun," Justin chuckled, "Now c'mon. They'll be back in a few hours."
Army of the Rockies Headquarters, Edmonton, Alberta, Nationalist-Controlled Territory, United States of America, 24 February 1942
General George Van Horn Moseley shouldn't be here, cut off and commanding an entire front. General Marshall had sent him out here to oversee the enforcement of Martial Law and ensure that any mutinies were suppressed.
Then again, that had assumed that Marshall wouldn't have turned traitor with the former President and the rest of those Judeo-Socialist allies.
But as the saying went, no plan survived contact with the enemy, and that included the best-laid plans. That went double, when it turned out the 10th Mountain and the 11th Airborne turned traitor and seized Coeur d'Alene.
"Reinforcements have already arrived in Missoula, General," the staff officer informed him, "They have begun digging in and laying mines, as ordered."
"And the push on Denver?"
"Fort Collins has surrendered, but our forces will need time to reorganize after a drawn-out battle, sir."
"Of course," Moseley sighed, before looking at his missives. "And Salt Lake City?"
"Slowly making progress. Forces are preparing to push on from Ogden as we speak. However, they have been slowed by irregular forces and artillery strikes."
"Go on..."
"Anti-tank missiles, mostly, sir. Rebels are firing them from the ruins of Layton. We've had to devote the last week to rooting every bit of them out with infantry, but they often blend back into the general population."
"Fucking Mormons. Break off a detachment of infantry and have them do an ammo sweep of the area."
"Understood, General," the soldier quickly answered, before rushing out of the room.
"General!" another staff officer shouted as he took the man's place, "General, it's an emergency!"
"What is it this time, Westmoreland?"
"The traitors are attacking Boise, sir! Division strength, at the minimum!"
Which means Coeur d'Alene was a feint. Damn it!
"Tell me," Moseley continued, trying to compose himself, "What do we have in the area?"
"Militia and remnants of the Idaho National Guard, sir."
"Then they'll have to hold until reinforcements can arrive."
The only question was from where. Right now, the Army of the Rockies was engaged in offensive actions against Salt Lake City and Denver. Hell, they were at the cities' outskirts at this point.
Factor in the reinforcements that were sent to Missoula, and the otherwise-massive Army of the Rockies was spread thin.
Outskirts of Boise, Idaho, Contested Territory, United States of America, 25 February 1942
"Target, five hundred meters!" Sergeant Lafayette "Padre" Pool shouted, "Fire, Groundhog!"
"Firing!" shouted the Corporal, before the tank shook around them. "That's a hit, Padre."
"Good shooting, Groundhog. Keep us moving, Red."
"On it, Padre," the driver agreed, and the Leopard-2 lurched forward.
The brass called it a "Thunder Run," based on some Lost History concept. But Pool and the rest of his men didn't need to go to West Point to understand the basics of beating the ever-living shit out of your enemy before he could react.
"Loaded!"
"Target, ten o'clock, four hundred meters!"
"Firing!" The tank rumbled again. "Hit!"
"Loaded!"
"We have a runner. Enemy truck, twelve o'clock! Six hundred meters!"
"Firing!" Another rumble shook the tank, "Did we get them?"
Pool looked through his sight to see a flaming wreck in the distance. A few figures seemed to crawl out the back, only to writhe and collapse to the ground.
"Yeah, we got them."
FOB Alpha, Boise, Idaho, Contested Territory, United States of America, 25 February 1942
"Tanks are making good progress" Lieutenant Young-Oak Kim told his men at the rendezvous point, "Our job is to clear out the city. Move up, check your corners, and you'll make it out just fine. Got it?"
The various men of the 542nd Regimental Combat Team nodded.
Corporal Samuel Kimura, for his part, did the same, before leading his fireteam out to the first building.
"Inouye," he instructed, "Take point."
"Copy," the Hawaiian-born soldier agreed, before peeking around the corner.
One burst of fire was enough to send him back out the door.
"Shit! Inouye's hit!"
"Medic!" Kimura shouted, "Get up here!"
"What's the plan, Sam?" Private Shinoda asked him. "They're watching the front."
"Go around the back, Daigo," Kimura whispered, before turning to the other men and motioning to the back door. "Nakano, Gabaldon, you stay here with Inouye. How bad's he hit?"
"I think the plate got it?" Inouye breathed, only to pull it out of his carrier. Sure enough, the dented ceramic armor had held. "Yeah, it did."
"Lucky bastard," Kimura sighed, before he moved up to the window in-between the two. Now, he didn't know what was on the other side, but it looked like it had line-of-sight on the back door. "On my go."
Kimura slammed the butt of his rifle into the window. The glass shattered, followed by a hail of bullets that would've shredded him to pieces if he wasn't crouching, before the gunman inside stopped to reload.
And in that moment, he pulled the pin on a flashbang and tossed the grenade through the window.
"Breaching!" Shinoda roared, before firing off a few shots. "Room clear!"
"Front clear!" Nakano shouted from the front.
Now, it was just sweeping up, with the occasional gunshot.
