Chiang Kai-Shek Park, Taipei, Taiwan, Republic of China, 4 July 1945
The moon was fairly beautiful that night.
Sure, there was the whole issue of the power getting cut after an earthquake and a bright flash of light, but Morgan Chen's time in the Second American Civil War had taught her to appreciate the silver linings in things.
"You know," she said to her Uncle Martin, "When you said the MIB had plans for everything, I didn't think you meant
literally everything."
"Well, you weren't during the Journey," her surrogate uncle and mentor told her, "Back then, we were making things up as we went. And we all know how that went when your father landed at Ishigaki."
"...you mean how he met Mama, she helped him administrate the island, and then they got married and had me and Lin?"
"Okay, bad example," the former spymaster-turned-academic admitted. The Battle of Ishigaki was, for all of its haphazard planning, an absolute success. "The Revolution, then. Sure, we knew how to invade the mainland, but administering it was a pain in the ass. Roads were shit or non-existent, railways were still owned by the colonialists, and comms were basically telegraphs
at best. Not to mention that we didn't even have the manpower to
actually administrate the country we'd just taken over."
"So you were making it up as you went?"
Her uncle shrugged. "Pretty much. And your father and I both learned a few lessons by the end of it. Your father, for example, learned that he's a better administrator than a commander."
His niece-in-all-but-name gave him a dirty look, as if he'd practically insulted her and her entire family.
Which, now that he thought about it, he kinda
did.
"Don't get me wrong," Li quickly clarified, "I mean, he's good at both, but Mike's always been a damn
savant when it comes to logistics."
"Baba literally helps make the trains run on time," said niece admitted. It didn't come out too much, but Marty had noticed Morgan and Lin were quick to defend their parents. "And what'd you learn?"
"That we need to have a plan for everything. Or, if that's not enough, have a plan to have a plan for whatever does happen."
"So which one is it for this, then?" she said, motioning to the helicopters in the sky and the lights flickering back on. "Find a plan, or make one?"
"Get to HQ and figure out what the fuck just happened," her uncle sighed, "We need to find out where we are and what got sent back with us."
"Isn't that how most of these "Mass-Teleportation Event Contingencies" work out?"
"...Yes. I shout know. I wrote the first few of them."
Military Intelligence Bureau Headquarters, Nanjing, National Capital Region, Republic of China, 5 July 1945 (Downtime Calendar)
Samuel Kimura thought he'd been everywhere.
Hell, he'd practically driven across America a few years ago against the Nats and spent just as much of that time training in Europe and Asia to fight against the Holdouts.
But as far as places went, "Alternate Timelines" were a step too far.
It would be inconceivable, too, if it hadn't happened before.
"So... alternate timeline?" the American OSS agent finally begged the question to the MIB's Director, former Director, and a bunch of his fellow OSS agents.
"Yeah, alternate timeline," Morgan told him. For some reason, she sounded
much more calm about it. "For what it's worth, the science checks out."
"You get used to it, kid," Morgan's uncle told him. "Goes double for the promotion. Same thing happened to me, when I was around your age."
"You're telling me that the MIB ceased to effectively exist when you got sent back in time?"
"Nah. I mean, we lost a bunch of agents who were in mainland China at the time, but we were that strapped for manpower that I got kicked up the chain." From the way he spoke, former Director Li seemed too calm for Sam's likes. Then again, he and his generation
had been sent back before during the Great Journey. "Same with the Director over there."
"Now," Director Fong spoke as if she took her cue, "Let's begin this. What exactly do we know happened?"
"A Great Journey-level event occurred, via a Rift, Sh- er, Director," Morgan answered. "Similar events to what happened over three decades ago occurred last night, sending the nations of China and Korea back in time with all of its people."
"That much is clear, Agent Chen," the Director spoke professionally, "Which brings us to our next question: Where exactly
are we?"
Caesar Alexander I High School, Manhattan, Washington Capital District, Washington, Continental States of America, 6 July 1975 (Uptime Calendar)
Summer school fucking sucked. There was no way around it, and James "Jimmy" Simmons knew it.
Was he a perfect student? No.
Did he know all the crap they were having him write out in this test? Yes.
Everyone and their mother knew that George Washington was the first Caesar, just as well as they knew that he spent five terms fighting the Shaysites, or that Benedict Arnold and Richard Montgomery were the Liberators of Canada.
Come on, they named two states after them for nothing. Same reason they renamed Mexico City after General Zachary Taylor.
Modern history was even easier, since it was a chronology of America's conquests. All he had to do is remember dates, and he could do that in his sleep:
- Mexican-American War of 1846 to 1848
- 1849 annexation of Hispaniola after the Bonapartes fell the previous year
- Annexation of Central America in the 1850s through William Walker's Filibuster Wars
- Final Conquest of the Caribbean (1871-1875)
- Declaration of the Continental States of America in 1876
- Japanese-American Alliance of 1901
- Great East Asian War (1905-1910)
- 1935 Assassination of Caesar George II Washington
The Great War was his specialty, though. His history teacher didn't like teaching wars because it was, in the man's words, "Reading off dates in chronological order."
So it was no surprise that Jimmy loved the subject.
Everything he needed to know was a date, from the 1937 European attack on the US fleet at Sapporo and the invasions of the Caribbean and Alaska, to the 1940 counterattack and the fall of Bermuda, to the conquest of Shaysite South America during the Rainforest War of 1941 to 1948, and the Treaty of Washington in '49 that annexed all of South America.
His teachers would say that history was more than dates. To them, it was the story of how a nation grew from thirteen colonies to an empire across America.
But they weren't the ones who wrote the test he was taking, and all he needed to know were the dates.
Just how he liked it.
"United States of Europe Recognizes Chinese Government as Legitimate Successor State, Sign Trade Deals," Europe News Today, 1 August 1975 (Uptime Calendar)
In light of the recent Mass Teleportation Event, the newly-appeared Republic of China has announced that it has recognized the United States of Europe today in a ceremony in Macau. Despite the distance between the two and Europe's rivalry with the Empire of Japan, European President Herbert Frahm has expressed an interest in continued cooperation with regard to geopolitics and technological exchanges.
For their part, Japan continues to claim the Island of Taiwan and the Korean Peninsula as their rightful territory, which has been backed up by their allies in the Continental States and the members of the Minority Rule-led African Defense League.
Continental States Sends Mercenaries to Assist Japanese with Anti-Kirihara Uprisings, Accord News Network, 8 October 1975 (Uptime Calendar)
Revolts against the Kirihara Zaibatsu continue throughout the Japanese sphere of influence, with the security group taking several casualties by newly-armed worker militias. With their forces stretched thin, the Kirihara Group has entered into a contract with the American Continental Armed Security Services for the latter to send multiple detachments throughout East Asia and Southeast Asia.
The Japanese Government is currently undergoing an economic crisis after the loss of their Korean and Taiwanese holdings during the Mass Teleportation Event, which also led to the mass-disappearance of the bulk of their troops who had been stationed in Korea and Taiwan.
Continental Armed Security Services (or CASS for short) is the world's largest security contractor. Based in the Continental States of America, it was formed by Caesar John Washington in the wake of the mass unemployment among returning veterans and the need for occupational forces in South America after the wake of the Twelve Year War.
CASS has served as the main occupational and integrational force in the Americas, and the current Caesar Justin Washington has expanded their scope to the Integrated Territories of North and Central America to assist the Ministry of Internal Control with handling civilian unrest.
Critics both inside and outside the Continental States have argued that it is a conflict of interest for the leader of the nation to have a paramilitary force that is ultimately answerable to himself, though Caesar Justin Washington has brushed this off as "More Cultural Shaysite talk that got my brother, your First Princeps, assassinated years ago."
Office of Strategic Actions, Staten Island, Washington Capital District, Washington, Continental States of America, 6 September 1975 (Uptime Calendar)
"You know something?" Director William Lawrence asked his teenaged daughter before pouring himself a drink, "Having somebody trained from birth to be in charge only works if that person is
actually competent. If you stop... What's the phrase you kids say nowadays?"
"Rolling twenties?" his adopted Zenobia asked him.
"That's the one!" the spymaster confirmed, only to start glaring when she pulled the bottle away. "I was using that."
"And you've had enough to drink... Even if you are doing it to keep up appearances."
She knew that was a lie. So did he.
The man used his drinking to hide his competence the same way he used his status as a war hero to protect himself from ever getting fired.
Well, that, and decades worth of blackmail, but the whole point of that was not going around rubbing it in people's faces so they didn't just shoot you.
But Zenobia (or "Zen" as her adopted father called her) knew full well that at least part of him drank after all the shit he saw during the Twelve Year War.
"So," she finally decided for the two of them. "What did Tom's idiot little brother do to make you regret helping having to fake Tom's death instead of protecting him this time?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
Zen sighed, "Is this about the 'America for the Americans' plan he's bringing up?"
"'Course it is, Zen. The little shit's going around saying that up to forty percent of the damn population isn't 'Real Americans.' Do you know how much it costs to go after every non-Protestant and non-English speaker to make them speak English and pray to Protestant Jesus?"
"I'd assume the answer is 'a lot.'"
"You're damn right it is," the spymaster groaned, "And the little shit's doing that, instead of working to actually do right by the people he's responsible of. Kid's a ruler, not a leader, and he's got CASS overstretched going after randos instead of actual security threats. It's just- Fuck!"
"I suppose you didn't bring me here to vent, Dad?"
The old man formed a tired smile. "Course not, Zen. But we don't have the resources to do what needs to be done. Even if we had Tom show up again and say that he is the rightful Caesar of the CSA, it'd be us against basically everyone else and I do
not like those odds."
"You have a plan?"
"'Course I do. I'll send out some feelers, but I think we can use this whole 'Mass Teleportation Event' crap to our advantage."
"Sounds like a job for me?" Her father nodded. "Give me a time and place."
"I'll have it for you in an hour," he called after her, "Can I at least have my drink back?!"
"Nope!"
Roazhon, Republic of Brittany, United States of Europe, 30 September 1975 (Uptime Calendar)
"This has to be the first time you've called us here for a social call, Pete," Sam Kimura told the Breton smuggler, "Gun shipments not supposed to get sent to East Asia for another few weeks."
Pierre Delaporte almost looked disappointed.
Almost.
"What, a guy can't invite his friends over for dinner?"
"Making friends in this line of work's not really our thing," Morgan chimed in, "No offense, but you know how it is, right?"
"Fair," the Breton smuggler admitted, "Then consider this a business meeting between esteemed business partners. We're at least that, right?"
Sam looked at Morgan.
Morgan looked at Sam.
"Sure, let's go with that," she figured. "It's pretty much the truth."
"The best kind of truth," Delaporte chuckled, before bringing them over to a table with another man and woman. "Morgan, Sam, I'd like you to meet Zen and Tom. Tom and Zen, meet Morgan and Sam."
"Pleased to meet you," Morgan greeted, while Sam just nodded. "So, you two are Americans?"
"Yeah... you could say that," the man named Tom answered for the two on his side. "So, you're Pete's business partners from China?"
"We're the middlemen," Sam explained, "We get the goods from China, sell them to Pete, and he sells them to Europe. Pretty good deal all around, once you figure it's cheaper than buying from Kirihara."
"They must hate you," Tom laughed, "Kirihara - Well, I guess Japan as a whole, but Kirihara practically owns the country at this point - hasn't dealt with anyone who can actually fight back for decades. They're the dominant power in asia, and the most they've had to fight were rebels with zip guns."
"Then out of nowhere," Tom continued, "Comes an entire
superpower that is better-armed that can out-produce them. Next thing they know, they're fighting rebels with assault rifles, RPGs, and missile launchers and getting undercut by their next-door neighbors. Who, I should add, also got rid of their two biggest colonies in Taiwan and Korea through a
literal act of God."
"Well, I can neither confirm nor deny that first one," Sam chuckled, "So, why'd Pete bring us out here to meet you guys, anyways?"
"Let's put it this way," Tom spoke for his side. Morgan noticed that he did most of the talking, while Zen just looked on. Morgan coudln't just ask her, but she had a suspicion that the woman (and in all likelihood the man with her) were some kinds of agents. "You don't like Japan's government or the zaibatsus controlling it."
"Japan's government and the zaibatsues allied with the American dictatorship."
"We don't like the American dictatorship, and they're allied with the zaibatsus and the the Japanese government."
"So our goals align," Morgan figured, and the younger man nodded. "So what are you guys, anyways? Rebels?"
"I could ask the same of you," Zen spoke up, seemingly for the first time. "It's not every day we meet two Asians who speak English with perfect Californian accents."
Sam shrugged. "Blame all this Mass Teleportation crap. So as far as we're concerned, what should we call you?"
"Concerned Citizens," Tom answered.
Skies over January River (Formerly Rio de Janeiro), Saint Paul, Continental States of America, 2 November 1975 (Uptime Calendar)
"Fifth one this week," Keegan Harper muttered to his co-pilot over the radio. "Where the fuck did the rebs get RPGs from?"
"Fifty-fifty it's the Euros or those slant-eyed bastards over in China," Adam, his co-pilot, shouted back, "My money's on number two!"
"I'll take that bet," Keegan muttered, "Christ. I do
not get paid enough to deal with this shit. You heard what happened with Jerry's chopper?"
"Shot down at the LZ," Adam sighed. "Can't say I liked the guy, but that's a shitty way to go. You know what's the worst part?"
"What?"
"It's all preventable. If he wasn't flying in a straight line, the idiot'd still be alive,
and we wouldn't have to be the ones ferrying the fireteams out here. No offense, of course."
"None taken!" the team leader shouted over the rotors. He was a bit
too cheerful for Keegan's liking, but it wasn't like they had to do anything more than drop him off and provide air support while they searched for the rebels. "ETA?"
"Five mikes," Keegan answered, before beginning his descent and seeing a familiar streak in the sky. "Gladio 1-1 to all choppers: We have confirmed RPG fire in the sky. Take immediate evasive action if you don't want to get shot down."
"Copy, 1-1," the pilot of 1-2 answered over the mic. "Evading."
Now, a rocket propelled grenade was a death sentence if it hit your helicopter, but that was just it.
If it hit your helicopter.
Like most projectiles, rockets had a predictable trajectory. Get out of the trajectory, and it wouldn't hit your helicopter.
So when the rocket turned to follow Gladio 1-2, Keegan could only look in horror as the helicopter flew right into the missile it'd moved to evade.
Shit.
Not only had half their manpower been shot down, but the enemy missile had locked onto 1-2 despite its evasive maneuvers.
"Command, this is Gladio 1-1. Gladio 1-2 has been shot down by what appears to be a tracking missile. Please advise."
"Gladio 1-1," the replying voice greeted, "You are cleared to return to base at your discretion. Please be advised that you and your attached fireteam will be forfeiting any hazard pay if you do not complete your mission, but it's ultimately your call."
"Copy, Command. Standby for response," Keegan answered, before turning to the fireteam in his chopper. "So, you guys good with heading back to base?"
The other mercs just looked at him blankly, before the team leader shrugged. "Eh, live to fight another day."
"Works for me," Keegan decided, before turning his mic back on. "Command, we've decided to RTB and forfeit the mission pay."
"Copy, 1-1. We'll have the pad cleared for your landing. Command out."
"Let's get out of here," he decided for everyone aboard the chopper. "ETA thirty minutes."
I do not get paid enough for this bullshit.
World's End Bar, Ushuaia, Magellan, Continental States of America, 25 December 1975 (Uptime Calendar)
"Turns out the American mercs didn't expect somebody else to fight back, either," Tom told his two patrons at the bar. "Not that I'm complaining, though."
"That's the thing I don't get," Morgan pointed out, "So you guys in America have a military, which does military things,
and a mercenary army that
also does the same kind of work?"
"Pretty much. Ever since my- er, when the last Caesar came to power," To Tom's relief, neither of his guests noticed the slip-up. "Business has always had a hand in everything. You should've seen it when I was a kid: Companies were moving left and right to take control of everything they could get their hands on in South America. Even started having their own security forces going after one another at times."
"Factor in that we had
two continets' worth of decommissioned soldiers who needed jobs, and we were looking at the makings of a full-on corporate war that'd burn down everything that wasn't already burned to the ground in South America and bring the war home to North and Central America if something wasn't done."
"So a state-run monopoly on mercenaries," Sam observed, and Tom nodded. "Doesn't sound very Free Market."
"Neither is having your hands so far up almost everyone's ass in the government that they're your puppet, but here we are. Anyways, it kinda worked at first - CASS handled all the manpower needs down south, which meant the military could de-mobilize and we'd have the semblance of peace. Problem is... well, three things, if I'm being honest."
"First," the bartender told them, "Is that Caesar John Washington died. Official story's that he got sick, but I have pretty good intel saying otherwise."
"How did-"
"Second, is that the First Princeps Thomas Washington died," Tom continued, paying no attention to Morgan's question. "America - well,
this America, anyways, doesn't
officially have a monarchy, but the Caesar is an Absolute Monarch in all but name and the First Princeps is sort of like a Crown Prince."
"So a hereditary dictatorship," Morgan observed. "Doesn't sound too Presidential."
"Trust me, I know," Tom sighed, "But for the most part, it kinda worked. Every Caesar, be they George I, Alexander I, Phillip, Alexander II, George II, or John Washington, was either smart, competent, smart
and competent, or they surrounded themselves with people who were one of those three things and listened to them. I mean, you don't get this far from just dumb luck alone, right?"
"Makes sense," Morgan admitted, as much as she didn't like it. "But what happens when you get somebody who isn't, y'know, competent, smart, or decent?"
"Well that's how you get to our third problem," Tom muttered. Morgan could see his hands ball up into fists. "The current Caesar."
"The racist one, right?"
"They're all racist, Morgan," Tom admitted. From the looks of it, he wasn't too happy to say it. "Not 'lynch mob' racist, but you don't get a contrinent-spanning empire by not clubbing minorities. Then this new Caesar decided to turn it up to eleven."
"You know," Morgan interrupted, before downing her drink, "Usually it's the patrons griping to the bartender. Not the other way around."
Which is a fancy way to ask, "Why did you bring us all the way down here to the literal end of the world?"
"Well, it's not like I can do this myself, right? We're going to need everything: Manpower, Weapons, Resources, and Recognition. Zen's got the first part, and I have people who can get numbers 2 and 3. You're going to be how I get the last one."
"You think you can really pull this off?" Morgan asked him. At this point, she'd seen enough to know anything was possible. "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into."
"Let us handle the details," Tom promised. "Trust me: I know this shit inside and out. Been dealing with it my whole life."
"If you say so."
"All I ask is that when the time comes, we get that recognition. Extra guns and resources wouldn't hurt too, though."
"How North and South America Can Find Common Ground," by "Thomas Paine", Liberatdor Magazine, January 1976 (Uptime Calendar)
As I write this, mercenaries sent by the American Caesar are imprisoning and interning our fellow Americans all across the continent. What had once been relegated to South America and sometimes Central America (and censored in the media in North America) has now hit home as a new wave of arrests for charges of sedition have hit North American communities.
Activists, opposition politicians, and everyday people have been detained and imprisoned by the Ministry of Internal Control and shipped off to detention centers, just like their fellow Americans in South and Central America.
Peaceful protesters are dragged into vans and shot with live ammunition, just like their fellow Americans in South and Central America.
The American Caesar has argued that these people are not "Real Americans," just like their fellow Americans in South and Central America.
While some may see it as hypocritical that the North American people have only become aware of the injustices of the American Caesar's dictatorship when it started affecting them, the very fact that it
does affect them creates a common cause between the people all across the Americas.
Some would even argue that we should refuse to cooperate with these potential allies, arguing that we should stand by ourselves as we had for decades.
To them, I ask which they want to be: Victorious or Self-Satisfied.
Because this is a golden opportunity for a United Front against all who oppose the dictatorship, and we need as many allies as we can get.
Pan-American Uprising
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
(Redirected from Second American Revolution)
The
Pan-American Uprising (also known as the
Second American Revolution) was a popular uprising that led to the escape of Caesar Justin Washington to the unrecognized State of French Algeria.
The conflict began as a result of blowback against the American Caesar's abduction and subsequent detention of protesters throughout the North American states. While this has happened more recently in the Southern American states, the reality of these actions radicalized several sectors of the American populace and led to uprisings against Ministry of Internal Control (IC) forces and Continental Armed Security Services (CASS) mercenaries.
These protests would only be inflamed upon the return of First Princeps Thomas Washington, who had been presumed dead after a 1970 assassination in Tayabas, Philippines. His return, coupled with the Office of Strategic Action's surprise release of documents detailing the conspiracy to kill him and his father, Caesar John Washington, and replace him with his younger brother.
On July 4, 1976, Caesar Justin Washington would flee from the Cesarean Residence in Washington (now re-named New York City) and traveled via private plane to the State of French Algeria, where he currently leads a government-in-exile.
First Princeps Thomas Washington gave a speech the same day accepting the position as American Caesar, only to shock the crowd by abdicating and acknowledging the Provisional Government of the United American Republic as the legitimate successor to the COntinental States of America.
World's End Bar, Ushuaia, Magellan, Continental States of America, 4 July 1977 (Uptime Calendar)
"You know," Morgan told the bartender, "At the MIB, we have a plan for everything. Or at least a plan to have a plan for everything."
"I'd believe that," Tom figured, "OSA was pretty similar. So, what was yours?"
"Ally with the least-terrible people and screw over whoever is screwing over East Asia the most. Usually it's Japan in these scenarios? Sometimes China."
"Speaking of plans, you remember how I was talking about how the plan with the American Caesars would work?"
"Train somebody from birth to be the ruler so he's either smart, competent, or he can surround himself with people who are both. Then give him near-dictatorial powers."
"Exactly," Tom said with a smile, "And do you remember what the weakness in that system is, right?"
"That you're kinda screwed if you end up with a guy who's none of those things."
"Basically my little brother. Which is exactly what happened when I 'died.' You know what's the funny thing, though?"
"What?"
"What happens if you train somebody from birth to rule, and they don't want to?"
"Even if he's smart, competent, or willing to surround himself with people who are?"
"Well, I like to think that I am," Tom chuckled, "So sure, let's go with that."
"I..." Now that Morgan thought about it, she didn't really have an answer. "Honestly? I don't know. Not off the top of my head, anyways"
"I don't know either," Tom admitted, "I mean, I'd like to think I'd do a good job, but I honestly have no idea how I'd do."
"It's all hypothetical, anyways," Morgan figured, "And unlike physics, it's not like we can solve it with calculations."
Not to mention that unlike photons, people are not rational actors.
"Eh, I guess I'd abdicate, declare an actual Republic, and then fuck off to a bar at the end of the world."
"Yeah, seems like something you'd do. Guess you really do have a bit of George Washington in you."
"I
really hope you mean yours, Morgan. Because mine left a lot to be desired by the time he died."
