A/N: In my defense, I thought the title sounded great in my head.
August 15th, 1853
International Palace of Workers, Pyongyang.
Director Yoritomo rather quickly decamped from their helicopter ride, thanking the comrade pilot with a silent nod as they stepped onto the helipad tarmac right outside of the Palace. It would've been useless to voice their gratitude anyways, given the roar of the engines, and given the somewhat important matter they were not patient enough to wait until the blades had wound down.
They were dressed in a simple office suit, hair dangling down to their neck with large black circular earrings on either side of their face. Yoritomo looked up towards the elaborate curves and designs that completed the palace's dome, admiring the art deco style as she walked through the busy hallways of the Comintern's Headquarters, ever a flurry of the daily businesses of governance and that ever dreaded bureaucracy.
With a smile and a few short conversations, they were quickly led through the World Soviet Congress, ever the rowdy bunch as the disparate international sections debated and passed legislation, though with the upcoming elections, the Director assumed that it would quickly become a much less populated chamber soon enough. They had an eye for the MilInts getting a major boost in seats in the next elections, with so much going on after the Flash.
That would be a report for another day however, as they went further down the hall and into the Presidium, smiling waving at their Chosunese counterpart, Director Park, who was currently waiting outside on a bench, laptop bag in hand while shuffling through a shortlist of printed documents. He was a stout man, with a head as smooth as a baby's bum and wiry glasses to help with his somewhat advanced age.
"Ah, comrade Yoritomo, glad to see you again!" he scrambled a response as he noticed their arrival.
"The pleasure is all mine comrade, I suppose they've been waiting for little old me, huh?" they spoke, hand on hip.
"Yuuup, not to worry though, Comrade Deputy Jonesca just arrived a minute ago as well, so you're just in time." he rose up from the bench, patting himself as if he'd collected dust from the past 10 minutes of sitting.
Yoritomo turned to the door as they automatically opened. The Presidium too was a haze of discussion, though they quickly hushed up and sat back down as the two Directors entered.
"Greetings Comrade Directors, I assume we may forego the pleasantries? Time is of the essence, after all." Deputy Chokwe gave them both a well meaning smile as he said so, Secretary General Fusako making her way back into the room from one of the bathrooms.
"Of course Comrade Deputy." they both replied, Director Park nudged Yoritomo to go first, it wasn't as if the two agencies weren't deeply intertwined with one another.
Director Yoritomo swiftly laid down the documents, changing hands every few minutes with the dozen or so deputies.
"As you all know, Operation Fissure, the espionage component of the larger Operation Red Dawn, has been tasked with infiltrating and agitating the mainland Zhongguonese populace."
It had been a daunting task, certainly, though no more complex than the operations they'd had to plan before the Flash, albeit with a far larger scope than anything back then. It seemed comical to them to consider the fact that the population of Chosun, Nippon and Ryuku would amount to almost the same as this older Zhongguo, albeit spread out even further.
"Suffice to say, with the current political and economic turmoil, it has been far more easier than expected, with many of our operatives reporting success in inspiring local populations towards socialist revolution."
"And where have these operations been located? The Presidium understands that resources must be stretched thin, even with the generous appropriations granted to your two bureaus for Operation Fissure." one of the other deputies asked.
Director Park spoke in this case, allowing Yoritomo to prepare for another question.
"As set by the parameters of Operation Red Son, we have endeavored to ensure that most of the major population centers will have been inundated by Comintern agents. Of course, this means that we will most likely have more blind spots the further inland Operation Fissure encompasses, but we are confident that at the very least, Manchuria and the coastal provinces will be prepared to rise up when operations begin."
Director Yoritomo spoke to continue,
"As has been noted in the weekly reports as well, it is highly unlikely that large-scale resistance will be fomented by the Zhongguonese populace. The pre-existing anti-Qing sentiments, alongside steadily declining material conditions, even for those seemingly unaffected by the myriad rebellions ongoing, serve us well in that regard."
Secretary-General Fusako spoke up, "That is good to hear, Comrade Director Yoritomo. There is of course, the matter of those rebellions you speak of, is there any chance that they may be convinced to assist in our endeavor?"
"The Taiping? Highly unlikely, for all of their reforms, they are ultimately another monarchist group that will prove to be an obstacle." they scoffed as they said it, the fact that the leader of that godforsaken 'kingdom' was completely and utterly deranged was better left unsaid.
"And outside of the Taiping?"
"Already covered under Operation Fissure, Comrade Secretary-General."
An uncomfortable pause settled for a moment, that line of conversation dead, before being broken up by Director Park yet again.
"As to other operations outside of the purview of Operation Red Dawn, our comrades have begun establishing themselves within the Imperialist enclaves, as detailed in the document as well." he said, allowing the Presidium time to scroll through. "They will be useful in forwarding our demands to the colonial governments once Operation Red Dawn has commenced, and as lines of communication with our American comrade once he begins his journey home."
"Would he not be prepared with our radio equipment? It would be far less easier for the First Republic to intercept our messages." Deputy Chokwe asked.
"They have been issued to his uptimer counterparts that will be embedded on the return trip, it will still take quite some time for them to be educated on its use after all."
A spritely deputy from Argentina asked politely, "What of Operation Bottomfeeder?"
It was a question on the tip of the Executive Committee's tongue.
"Well, our agents for that specific operation have finally established communications with the Comintern again, though with our relative shortage of satellites, it will be quite spotty." Director Yoritomo spoke with a tinge of regret. That was the one thing the Comintern had not come into this new world with, with only a scant few smaller civilian purpose satellites coming with them by pure chance. It would take quite a while before they could return to the extremes of the pre-Flash days, so what few had to be kept for more important missions.
"Now, in regards to the contents of the operation..."
August 8th, 1853.
London, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.
The man walked through the dreary streets of early industrialized London, wearing a dark brown long coat, with messy long hair and the beginnings of a beard forming around the 30-something's face. Already the smog that the Big Smoke would become famous for in later years beginning to stain the skies with an unnatural grey hue, the factories and slums of East End making themselves known in the most uncordial of ways.
He once again counted his blessings, living in Soho had averted the worst of the conditions of the London slum workers.
That did not mean he was in the particularly best of positions, but he
was one of the few immigrants that could afford to rent an apartment flat. The source of that income was better left unsaid, though he could not be picky about it, relying on a friend to fund his own work allowed a bit more leeway in his jobs.
He made his way back home, the creaking of the stairs announcing his return far earlier, as the door to his apartment was already swinging open while he walked through the hallway.
"Jenny! How are the children doing?" he spoke in that hoarse German, his friends had tried in all but vain to get him to pick up any English, stubborn as he was with everything.
"They are doing fine darling, a little trip outside won't make them forget you exist you know?" his wife said with a small smile.
"Thank the heavens for that." he said, sarcasm dripping like a leaking faucet.
He made his way to their bedroom, finding his work desk as chaotic as he'd left it. A disparate collage of notes, papers, thesis and everything in between splattered around the wood face. He wondered if they would ever be published, he supposed it would be a far more comprehensive analysis of his previous work.
He dismissed that as a simple flight of fancy by his mind, opting to reach for one of the newer articles, the Balkan situation had thoroughly degraded to a point that he was surprised that the fat pigs in London had not decided to involve themselves against their perennial rivals in St. Petersburg. He shrugged, it was neither here nor there for himself to surmise what the diplomatic talking heads were negotiating, his American readership was most interested in their own involvement in the affair anyhow.
He made his way to the nearby telegraph office, convenient things that they were, they'd begun to sprout up just about everywhere these scant few years. A quick ring of the doorbell emitted through the tidy interior of the building, cleared out of the usual traffic of the early morning by now, with only a few gentry mucking about, probably wasting their time whilst their workers toiled in sweat and mud.
The clerk noticed him almost immediately, being a proud regular of the office had earned him that at least.
"Ah, Mr. Williams, how are you doing?" the man asked in German, he was a fellow from the motherland like Williams himself.
"Oh I am feeling as fresh as roses, I am sure your sore ass feels about the same as mine by now with how rigid that seat is." he retorted, the clerk merely chuckled, used to the sharp style of his conversation partner.
"I am sure it is Williams. So, New York again?"
"
Aber natürlich."
He handed over his small letter to the clerk, it would take a good few minutes before the article was sent. He counted himself lucky that the newspaper was paying for the telegraph fees, God knows he wouldn't be able to afford the job otherwise.
The clerk returned to the front desk in the meantime, his arm on the counter as he propped his head up.
"So, how's the kids?"
"They are doing about as fine as one could expect from living in this miserable city." he said with a softer tone.
"And the boy? You mentioned he had a terrible fever last week, I hope he's doing well."
"Oh, Edgar? He's recovering well enough. Damn boy has better care for his body than his old man here."
The clerk smiled, then straightened himself as he remembered something else.
"Right, I almost forgot, there was a telegraph specified for you, Mr. Williams."
That was strange, his friend in Manchester usually only mailed every week, and it was only yesterday they'd been in correspondence.
The clerk hummed as he quickly went through a door behind the counter, returning quickly with another letter. He handed it over before gesturing to his customer one of their public seats.
"Do you have the name of the sender?"
The clerk shrugged, "It's not Friedrich, that's for sure. Strange though, it came from the Shanghai office, they opened a branch in China a few months ago."
Slightly alarmed, he went over to the seats, quickly ripping the letter and reading its contents.
To Our Moorish Friend.
Do not be alarmed when you receive this telegraph, we are fellows quite interested in your works. We do not work for the Prussians, nor for any other monarch in Europe. We simply ask that you allow us to introduce ourselves to you properly. As we write this, your friend from Manchester is already in town, guiding our friends to your living quarters.
Best Regards,
The Revolution Awaits.
He cursed to himself internally. He took a deep breath, something made exceedingly painful from his wretched afflictions, and gave the clerk a curt sentence of gratitude before stomping out towards his house.
What has the fool gotten us into now?!
August 18th, 1853.
The Forbidden City, Beijing.
The Xianfeng Emperor rubbed his eyes with his fingers, trying to alleviate some of the sagging feeling of tired vision as he continued processing the daily affairs of state. Whether or not that was from overwork, or the fact that he'd been drinking with his
consorts all night long was up to debate for anyone who had half a mind to keep their head on their body.
He muttered something fierce, summoning one of his servants.
"Fetch me some tea."
They quickly returned with the tea, calming the mood slightly. It didn't help that today was yet another round of appeasing these damn bureaucrats and listening to every Tom, Dick or Harry's petition, whenever they reached the Emperor directly anyhow.
All in all, just another day in the royal court.
He was about to call an early end to the daily proceedings, mundane as they were, when an official hurriedly went through the entrance. Still trying to maintain some decorum, he had the unenviable position of neither running nor walking with the expected short stride within the Forbidden Palace. If he was trying to look unbothered, he was clearly failing.
"Your Majesty, this humble servant of yours wishes to deliver a message from the Governor of Fujian-Taiwan, Wang Yide." he said, kowtowing immediately.
The Emperor let the man's actions slide for now, at least he had the common sense not to look at his ruler. Xianfeng waved his hands towards the messenger.
"Your Emperor permits you to speak, what is the matter?"
"Your loyal Governor submits that Taiwan has fallen to some sort of insurrection, and that they have refused any and all communication. He requests that the government may spare some forces to retake the island from the rebels."
"Incompetent fool, does he not realize that we are already stretched thin with these rebels marching north?!" he said with a shout that instantly stopped any murmuring that existed before, all attention in the room turned towards the messenger.
"I beg for your forgiveness your Majesty!" the messenger hit the floor hard with his head, an audible thunk.
The Emperor breathed in slowly, calming himself down with another cup of tea.
I am surrounded by idiots...
"Tell Governor Wang Yide that he will have to manage with the forces that he currently posses, begone."
"Of course, your Majesty!." the messenger quickly withdraw, a small dribble of blood accumulating where the man had smacked the marble before.
Wordlessly, a servant went over and wiped it, before returning to an adjacent room.
It was unfortunately true that, no matter how well the Emperor was in his governance, that even the Great Qing could not cope with the stresses of so many simultaneous rebellions ongoing. Though, he allowed himself to admit, perhaps they had not been fully willing to commit their overburdened forces towards suppression of another rebellion, fearing a repeat of the White Lotus rebellion.
Their Manchu banners were few and far between ever since then, though with the rebels now daring to march directly against the Forbidden Palace, perhaps it was enough of an emergency.
"Is General Sengge Rinchen in the Palace?" he asked to one of his secretaries, busying themselves with documenting the daily occurances of courtly intrigue and businesses of state.
"Of course your Majesty. I may summon him for you, if you so wish."
"You need not do that, tell him that he is to head to Manchuria and collect the Bannermen there, we must gather our forces and strike against these rebels as quickly as possible."
The secretary pursed his lips, thinking how best to put this matter.
"You Majesty, I would strongly ask that you consider otherwise."
"And why is that?"
"The Joseon have failed to pay their tribute this year, even with multiple messages sent to Pyongyang reminding them of their official obligations. We have not heard a peep from their court since the pomegranate month."
The Emperor felt his hands curl into fists by instinct.
"The damnable fools! They take our moment of weakness as time to be as unruly as possible?"
First this Taiping expedition, then the Nian, Taiwan, and now the Koreans intend to follow their lead? He would have to crush this foolhardy attempt at insurrection.
"But of course, have the good general dispatch forces for a...
friendly visit to Pyongyang, as a reminder of why they shall need to respect what their liege asks from them."
"It shall be done, Your Majesty."
Messages would be written, orders received, and horses galloping. It would no longer be a time for peace, even for all the blood shed within the Great Qing Empire, for the great and wise Xianfeng Emperor would show why his Middle Kingdom would need to be feared and respected by its wide array of Asian vassals.
The drums of war beat ever so rhythmically, and perhaps for once, the Emperor would not be on the backfoot.
After all, it was just their little brother that needed to be disciplined, right?
The servants quarters was very much the perfect encapsulation of how the Qing treated anyone and everyone who was not considered part of the privileged classes. Decrepit, disgusting and overcrowded, it seemed that not even the revolt of half of its provinces could convince it that it was not in the middle of fomenting even more rebels for the Taiping cause, even amongst the very core of its power.
It was that same arrogance that allowed Koon-Hei and Shirley to so casually set up an observation post directly under the nose of the Empire, it was so frustratingly simple compared to infiltration attempts into Australasia.
It was because of that that they'd been able to hear the conversation, listening bugs planted just about everywhere within the Palace over their month-long stay here.
They looked at each other, wondering if the other was thinking the same thing as they were.
"Shit."
Another flurry of messages, invisible and capable of crossing vast distances in mere milliseconds, were sent to Pyongyang.
A simple message contained within.
War was coming to the East, and none but the instigators knew it.
