Red Sun Rising

[Socialist Commonwealth]

Zhenjing
Carentanian Embassy

"Mr. Mlakar, comrade, I assume you had a pleasant flight?"

Ambassador Kovačič greeted the tall, black-haired and well-dressed man as he entered the entrance hall of the embassy building. Kovačič had been working as ambassador in Zhenjing for seven years now and could introduce the new arrival to all important aspects of Yujinese society and politics. To the officials of the Empire, the new Carentanian arrival was an unimportant office worker for the Carentanian embassy, a secretary of a low-ranking diplomat in supportive role to the ambassador himself. However, his strict composure, his military demeanor hinted to a deeper truth.

"Please follow me and I will discuss your new duties over a cup of tea?"

Mlakar merely nodded and the two men walked through the cold hallways of the embassy. The embassy was a block-shaped construction made of concrete and glass, painted in a flawless white. It was a typical example of Socialist Futurism and of all the embassy buildings in Zhenjing, the Carentanian building perhaps stood out the most. Inside of the building, the uncompromising functionality proceeded and only the occasional palmtree lightened up the interior. The goal of the ambassador and his new colleague, however, was a small conference room in the center of the complex, surrounded by thick concrete walls and without windows towards the outside.

"In here the Emperors secret service can't eavesdrop. Now, Lieutenant, your mission here is to act as liasion to the Hongmenghui and the broader socialist movement in general. This is already the first troublesome task of your mission, but I assume you have experience in that regards and considering that several cities are currently in open revolt, you should be able to establish contact - if you can avoid the government troops. In case you should have trouble, don't expect that your diplomatic immunity means you are protected. Only parts of the Yujinese Imperial forces can be expected to be disciplined enough to respect that and Carentanias ability to sanction a violation are limited at the moment."

"I understand as much," Lieutenant Kovačič answered with the raspy voice of a man who seemed to love cigarettes and strongly alcoholic beverages. "I wouldn't have become an intelligence officer if I had been unaware of the risk, much less accepted this mission."

"Good, then let us clarify what you are instructed to offer to the revolutionaries in Yujin. I assume you have been briefed before your arrival, but I have to repeat this to make sure there are no misunderstandings. We're not keeping any documents on this mission in Yujin - too dangerous. We are offering material aid to the revolutionaries, but only the socialist faction: money, some of our intelligence infrastructure, goods. Weapons and explosives are only a possibility once we establish a safe route to smuggle them into the country, you are allowed to discuss possible routes with reliable partners in the Hongmenghui. We can print leaflets and newspapers for free for the socialists. Finally, we can provide advisors, trainers, instructors to train a more professional force."

The ambassador leaned back in his chair, satisfied with the prospect of a possible regime-change in the near future.

"I propose you rest up and we will arrange a car for your mission, so you can begin tomorrow morning and head for the revolting provinces."

 

[Natal]

Vadim Ostasenko got up as he heard the sounds produced by the steam locomotive. He returned to the platform and saw that Wu was already up and was briefing the other revolutionaries about this shipment. When the Yujiner saw him, he smiled towards the Parthian and in turn, Vadim tried to smile back but he couldn’t do it so he gave a tired grimace. He was dead tired. Since he arrived he taught the revolutionaries how to use the PSM rifles.

The train stopped with a powerful crunch. Never would Vadim think that a noise would irritate him so much. The fact that the revolutionaries started moving around the wagons yelling in Yuhua and gesturing didn’t help. Just to make the matter worse a cold rain started falling. While he stayed at the base he saw snow for the first time. He was fascinated by it like a child, being sometimes the subject of the Yujiners’ japes. But in the last week, the temperature has risen and now gave way to mud and cold rains. He was wearing the winter mantle of the Military ProNat, a long, black mantle with the insignia of the Yatagan division, a hand holding a scimitar, with a hammer and sickle under the hilt of the sword. He used a knife to cut the embroidery and remained only with a silver coloured hammer and sickle on his chest. He raised the collar to protect his ears from the frozen wind.

At first he believed that he heard it… but then it repeated. It was a typical Parthia curse, something about the cunt of some whore and the cold… He harked. Yes, it really was that. He turned around and saw another man in a black mantle coming over to him.

“Pryvitannie, tovaras leytenant! Ya serjant Adam Doroshenko.” Said that man with a big smile on his face. Vadim looked at him circumspectly at first as he didn’t know if someone did spoke to him in Parthian in the northern reaches of Yujin, or he was just too tired. But still reimagining the reply again, he recognized the melody in the word that was characteristic to the Dara region, something that the mountain men called a womanish speech.

“Yes… Pryvitannie…I’m Lieutenant Vadim Ostasenko…”

“I know who you are; everyone talks about you at the sector of the ProNat which deals with Yujin.”

“Oh my…” He looked around. When he saw that the office worker from the station was preparing to exit the building he made a gesture with his hand to stop him. If Wu was here on the platform, it was something that the official shouldn’t know about. When he turned back to the Parthian soldier, Wu came already. As the revolutionaries were unloading the crates, Doroshenko took an AD-52 and it was presenting it to the socialist leader, with Ostasenko acting as translator. Along the weapons, the train also brought radios. Looking at him, Ostasenko asked with a grin:

"So, friend, they are fresh from the Dara Arsenal, what do you think of them?" he said holding in his hand an AD-52.

 

[Khemia]

Liangang
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery
3:10 p.m.

The pitter patter of rain droplets falling down across the city of Liangang was the only noise that could be heard, the trickle of water spilling off the unique gablings of each structure drowning out the silence that had taken a hold of the city overnight. Frightened people hid behind their glass windows, eyes watching the empty streets. In less than twenty four hours, the protests had stopped and the city had been choked of its expression of rage.

Jinyuan peered out of the window, still considering what had happened earlier. The government had reported city wide attacks against the Army, but in truth that was just the lie they told the foreigners who maintained embassies in Liangang. In reality, the government had deployed snipers to randomly kill protesters, incite panic, and disperse the crowds. No one was sure whether or not they still prowled the rooftops, but on the streets below like scampering rats the couriers of the revolutionary movements scurried about, spreading the rumors and the truth. The government had sanctioned the murder of its own citizens, and was conducting a campaign of state terror, arresting people at random and hauling them off to who-knew-where.

A son would leave his house to fetch some produce for his family, and his family would wait by the windows for his return. Some never came back, and they were afraid that the government would come to take them away as well. What had been a happy New Year had quickly changed into a day where people feared for their lives.

But there were revolutionaries within the city that had prepared for just this. They had gathered together with them the pledges of a large, vengeful populace. They had set a date: Friday, the 15th; a day of incitement and provocation. They would march on the City Hall itself, flanked by rows of embassies and international companies, and before the world they would put their lives on the line.

Jinyuan knew that this would fail. It was the plan of the Fuguotian to resist passively and draw international condemnation on the Imperial government. Jinyuan, the ranking officer among the Hongmenghui in the city, would have preferred to just start the fight now. But he had received his orders; he'd work with the Fuguotian, allow them to try their tactics first. If, no - when, the Fuguotian plan failed, the Hongmenghui would be there to strike back, and strike back hard.


Nianxu
Cai Province
Nianxu Commandery
4:18 p.m.

Han Juemin was little more than a mouthpiece for an organization which represented only a fraction of the Republican undercurrent that had polarized the society of Eastern Yujin. Where the Hongmenghui claimed to be the most organized and best armed organization in Yujin - a claim with no small modicum of truth - the Fuguotian had set before it a precedent for revolution. No less than one civil war and thirty revolts had been launched by Republicans in Yujin's recent history. The first of those attacks had been in 1887.

It was then that the pin borne on Han's jacket had first been made. The red, gold and blue ribbon pinned to his lapel represented the flag of revolution in Yujin. Han closed his eyes and hummed the revolutionary song to himself as he walked along, the tune carrying through the hallways. Men all around him turned their eyes to him to hear the tune of the song, humming the mere song of the battle hymn was high treason. Within moments, those men that walked through the hallways with him with defiant purpose had joined in and the tune carried aloft.

Han had fought in the failed Revolution three decades past, he had watched as his friends and countrymen gave their lives for an idea. That idea, however, had more power than the regime could imagine. Within the beating hearts of the men and boys around him he could feel that same unity of consciousness within them. At the end of the room, a young boy stood in the uniform used by the revolutionaries. A simple hat, blue suit, decorated in vibrant red and yellow. There would be no hiding their treason anymore; Nianxu would see the banner of revolt, of freedom, raised high.

He stood before the soldier, the boy himself smashing his fist into an open palm in the traditional salute. The flashes of camera's could not separate the man and the boys eyes from each other. Han responded in kind, snapping a quick salute and bowing his head gently. Han spun on his heels to face the man beside him; a veteran of the Revolution who himself had lost his arm in the war. Tucked underneath his remaining arm was the pride of the Fuguotian. The first battle flag of the revolutionaries on 1921, tattered and bullet strung but revered by many. Han took the flag from the veteran beside him and bowed to the man, quickly turning back to the soldier before him who still saluted.

He presented the flag to the boy who would no doubt become a man within days times. They both bowed together as the boy took the flag. "Raise our banner high so that all can see," Han ordered, saluting the boy one more time. The doors to the structure opened wide and an honor guard escorted the boy of eighteen to the flagpole outside the structure. A small ensemble of snare drums picked up to life, accompanied by a handful of flutes which brought life to the silent square outside the meeting hall of Nianxu. Round faces could be seen moving to the windows to watch the revolutionary banner of the Republic rising high. As if Heaven were blessing the day, a gust of wind picked up and carried the battle worn flag aloft, the streaming silk elegantly dancing in the wind, its frayed edges giving it all the more grace.

The song of the revolution continued to play as dozens of men quickly began to erect barricades at all the entrances to the small market square. Dozens of men formed an ad hoc militia, each of them bearing the colors of the country. Streams came in slowly at first to join in, and word of the defiance spread like wildfire. Nianxu, the former birthplace of the Revolution, was alive again with activity. Once the barricades were erected and the size of the militia had surged from a mere fifty men to over a thousand, mostly equipped with pitchforks and firebrands with a handful of rifles. Among their ranks, even members of the Imperial police had cast off their Imperial garbs and wore armbands of red, blue, and gold. Dozens of flags and banners were hung from the buildings, streaming into the streets that wove their way from the square into the crowded neighborhoods beyond, some made from little more than colored towels or quickly stained linen shirts. Other, more elaborate flags dating back to the Revolution and beyond were brought out. There was no turning back now; there would be repercussions for revolting.

 

[Khemia]

February 15, 1953.

Liangang
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery
4:29 a.m.

The city of Liangang was deathly quiet, the darkness of the night still shrouded the streets and buildings. Stacked atop each other like cages containing mice, the shelters that many Yujiner's called home housed within them restless people. Some of them could sleep, and the sleep they achieved was without comfort. Others could do little more than stare upwards to the ceiling. The sky was clear and the stars shone down and softly lit the glistening surface of a street still wet from yesterdays rain. The distinct pungent odor of rain laden with pollution yet stagnant on the sides of the streets wafted through the air still.

The sound of reveille came at last, calling the city to rise from their slumber. Within the center of the city, soldiers stirred, watches were changed and posts were manned. So, too, did the officials of foreign consulates open their eyes briefly and listen to the sound of men marching outside. They paid little attention to the noise. When the bugle call reached through the city, a soft echo of itself, citizens began to stream into the streets. At first, it was a trickle of citizens, but within a quarter of an hour it had become a flood. Many people yawned, and all were bundled in their warmest clothing. Flags of revolt, colored in red, gold and blue, were born aloft either on poles or as giant banners. Some people draped themselves in the flag to shelter themselves from the cold, others held them high to be caught in the breeze that came from the ocean.

Agitators from the Fuguotian stirred the crowd to life with fiery rhetoric, and the crowd began to chant at once defiant slogans to the Emperor. It did not take long for them to reach the town center and see the barricades constructed by the soldiers - the face off would last through dawn and into the day, but the crowd would only grow in size. Cooks and women distributed small snacks of sticky rice triangles throughout the crowd to warm their bellies, and this gave them more resolve.

They pressed forward against the barricades, against the orders of the soldiers, their shouts and slogans drowning out the outnumbered troops. Flags and banners waved everywhere, and the crowd swelled until, eventually, they found a hole in the city center's ring of barricades. A small alley was unguarded. They streamed forth through the gap, making a mad dash to the city hall. The soldiers, realizing their positions had been compromised, likewise fell back to positions around important objectives. Citizens streamed around them, too, blocking supplies from reaching the soldiers as they withdrew into police stations, radio stations, power stations, and other installations of their authoritarian power. But, it was around City Hall that the climatic face off would be seen before the eyes of the consulates who could now see the tens of thousands of unhappy protesters waving a flag the foreigners had never seen with their own eyes before. Some brave lads stormed a bank across the way from City Hall, ignoring the guards and clerks and money to push towards the roof. There, they took down the Imperial flag that flew and raised the flag of the Republic in defiance of the Governor.



Nianxu
Cai Province
Nianxu Commandery
3:07 p.m.

The crowds of protesters within Nianxu had surged up to nearly a hundred thousand unhappy, unemployed, and unmarried men dissatisfied with life and yearning for change, reform, and revolution. Revolts were always sparked by such men, men with empty bellies and empty beds. Revolts were turned into revolutions when those men had dreams and visions. There had been many, many revolts against the Xiong Dynasty, but there had never been a successful revolution. The men gathering in the streets could feel that that would change, though; they felt it in their hearts as though it were truth.

They had surrounded everything in the city that was a part of the government. Of the dozen police precincts within the city, seven had raised the flag of revolution and played patriotic music through their speakers. Scores of political prisoners had been released, and the police, still dressed in their uniforms, stood alongside the protesters and faced off against their own former colleagues. The plaza in front of City Hall was a teeming mass of protesters, flags waved from the rooftops and banners hung like tapestries on the facings of some buildings. The military was simply unable to mobilize quickly enough, and now only a sparse police force lay between the protesters and City Hall and the Imperial Court of Nianxu, where Chuan Mengde had been sentenced to death and split open a wound of repression that was borne on every worker in Nianxu.



February 18, 1953.

Liangang
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery
1:15 p.m.

The order had come in from Imperial Central Command to all units, regardless of location: put down the protests with any means necessary. In Liangang, where violence had already flared and dozens had been killed only a week ago, this meant calling in the tanks. They push past crowds of protesters that parted to make way for the hulking behemoths whose turrets looked pacified and tame for now. But, only the bravest and most foolish protesters still shouted their slogans and threw rocks at the tanks, for everyone knew what this meant. They could see, all around the central square where tens of thousands of people had gathered, and all down the main boulevard of consulates, soldiers contained the protest.

The tanks formed up in front of city hall like a wall of steel, turning to face south down the main boulevard, towards the crowd of protesters. A few paths still remained for them to flee, but as the tanks pushed forward against the crowd, panic ensued and the mass of people slowly turned into a screaming stampede. Teenage boys, with flags in hands, clambered atop the tanks. One tank commander, still peering out of his hatch, started shouting at the boys. Armed with little more than their revolutionary flags and a steely resolve, they ignored him, and he pulled out a pistol. The bullet he fired penetrated the skull of the youngest, a lad of no more than twelve. The bullet penetrated his skull, the exit wound carrying through it almost the entirety of the contents of the young boys skull. The other boys screamed, the officer turned his gun on them and began to fire. One boy was shot dead, the other fell in front of the tank only to be crushed by it as it pushed forward.

The sound of the gunshots set ablaze in the crowd, which surged into the walls of soldiers, who in turn began to fire back. At once the entire city center turned into a screaming, bloody mass. The crowd turned their flags into spears and rushed the soldiers, impaling some before they were shot. The gates of several consulates remained open throughout the protests, and the sound of automatic gunfire mowing into the crowd had forced all the guards and diplomatic staff of every consulate to look on aghast as the government put down the unrest. Demonstrators pushed against the gates of those consulates that were closed, begging the guards of countries like Danmark and Cantignia for help. There, they were shot, the high caliber bullets of the bolt-action rifles carrying the entrails of several victims onto the premises of the consulates.

Other protesters were more fortunate. At the Carentanian and Parthavan consulates, protesters flooded onto the premises in massive droves, armed soldiers urging them in while glaring at any Imperial soldier who dare cast his eyes murderously towards them. Several guards at the Parthavan embassy had brought out heavier weaponry, including a heavy machine gun, and fortified the main entrance to the facility. They could only watch as the wall of steel tanks continued down the boulevard, rolling over the corpses of protesters and tainting the revolutionary flags which were now drenched in blood and soot. Other consulates, such as the Havenshire and Frescanian consulate, had permitted a handful of protesters into the premises, mainly their own citizens and those protesters who the citizens had vouched for.

As night began to fall, it became clear that there were thousands of dead and wounded, and within the walls of several foreign nations over a thousand dissidents, fearing for their lives, huddled together on the cold wintry night to sleep together under the stars. Sporadic gunfire crackled in the distance, and it became clear that what had been a simple protest had turned into an armed uprising. Few could sleep through the sounds of distant gunfire, each persons ears trying to listen between the echoing cracks for the sound of bootsteps coming to the gates of the consulates and killing them all. That would not happen, at least not tonight.



Nianxu
Cai Province
Nianxu Commandery
5:01 p.m.

Word of the violence in Liangang reached the peaceful protests in Nianxu, creating an empty pit in Han Juemin's gut. He felt sick, as though he needed to vomit, but there was no time. Within twenty minutes of hearing word, he received another message, this one more fortuitous and yet dangerous. The protesters in downtown Nianxu had seized City Hall, taken the governor prisoner, and raised the revolutionary flag high above the structure. He quickly made his way to the structure, knowing that this was likely the last time he would have an opportunity to speak to the revolutionaries before the Army arrived.

Hopping up onto an ad hoc stage constructed in front of the City Hall, he looked towards the citizens who yearned to forge a new country for themselves with a smile. "My fellow countrymen," he began, cheers erupting throughout the plaza. "Today, you have made real your dream for a country of the People. But, be aware, the path before us is not easy. It will be difficult, full of struggles and strife and the loss of loved ones. Only with steely resolve and stone hearts can we hope to truly create this Republic," he paused for a moment, allowing the crowds applauses to die out. The moment lingered longer and longer, each passing second becoming more awkward.

"The Army comes to tear down this dream we have made for ourselves," he said finally, pausing again but this time there was no applause. A man here and there, filled with bravado, shouted insults and taunts to the enemy. Han Juemin raised his hands to silence them. "Killing the Army will not win us this war," he cautioned, "they outnumber us, and they possess more weapons than us. They have the backing of the entire nation, for now." Some men tried to shout him down, but Han continued. "There is a way to win this, a difficult path, the high path. We must be true to our own cause, and not take the path of our foe. When the Emperor and his Army strike at you, do not strike back. Remember what we fight for! Meet your enemy not with bullets, but with words. Say to him 'Brother! I do not fight against you, I fight to make a country for us both to live in. A country where we make our own future!'" Flags waved high amid the cheers of the people, but Han continued. "Many of us will die in the coming days. But I say to you, wives and fathers and daughters and brothers, the only cause worth fighting for is a cause worth dying for!"

Almost as if on cue, soldiers stormed into the plaza. Gunfire erupted as the bullets raked into the teeming masses of bodies. The citizens quickly began to flee, and before Han Juemin could cry out for them to follow the path of non-violence, soldiers had blitzed the stage and seized him by his arms and jabbed the barrel of the gun into his belly. He collapsed to his knees, breathless, watching his comrades fleeing. His eyes turned to the flags draped across the building, and for a moment he could almost see his dream. A burlap bag covered his head, and he could feel the strings choking him. The butt of a rifle smashed into his face, breaking his nose and knocking him unconscious.

 

[Khemia]

Northern Territories
Mao Province
Baixue Commandery
8:29 a.m.

Wu Jindiao grabbed the rifle from the Lieutenant Vadim, examining it closely. It seemed heavy and sturdy, but what was most noticeable was the large, curved, high capacity magazine arcing out from beneath the weapon. Wu Jindiao was quite familiar with automatic weapons, but this gun in particular seemed like a completely revolutionary design. The sheer size of it seemed to dwarf the other weapons. The barrel was longer, and would no doubt provide his men with better range and accuracy.

The leader of the Hongmenghui pulled out the ammunition cartridge carefully, leaning the butt of the rifle against his thigh and looking at the bullets themselves. They seemed smaller than the standard bullet used in the battle rifles of the New Army and Imperial Army, the .30-06's he had become accustomed to seeing, and yet it still looked quite lethal. A soft rain began to patter down as the workers continued to unload the train around them. Wu paid no attention to the cold rain as it beaded and trickled its way down his head. Men covered up boxes of radio's and quickly moved them into a once-abandoned warehouse.

"With these weapons and radio's," Wu started to say, "I believe, Comrade Vadim, that we will win the war. Tell me, my friend, how many are there in these crates?"

Wu paused for a moment and looked more seriously at Vadim. "How can I repay you for this?"



Two Blocks from Consulate Boulevard
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery
9:01 a.m.

"Pao kuai dianr!" shouted the supervising officer as dozens of men sloshed their way through the disgusting sewers beneath Liangang's streets. Light trickled in through a hole punched through the floor of a shop, men lowered down various types of tools to the workers below. One man with a miners hat shone the helmet-mounted light down onto a map, measuring his gate carefully. He looked down the pathway to the right for a moment, and other men looked at him. He signaled the direction and walked for two hundred meters before looking up. "Zai zher."

Men began to pull out a variety of tools, each for a different purpose, but all of which were turned to one objective: breaking through the foundation of whatever structure lay above the sewer line. The commanding officer nested a rifle in his arms and watched carefully down the way, hoping that the sound of the tanks running engines above would drown out the noises of hammer and chisels smashing against rock and cement.



Liangang Outskirts
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery
11:56 a.m.

There was a hushed silence that had overcome the building, several rebels who had once been squatting over a pair of dice looked up to each other. Each man reached for his weapon and listened intently. Countless seconds passed, a nerve-wracking eternity of waiting and praying. The floorboards downstairs creaked again, and each man staring at each other muttered a curse and slowly, carefully stepped over the spots on the floorboards they themselves already knew creaked. Keeping to the walls where the floor was most stable, they moved towards the only staircase that led up, passing through several doorways.

Down the hallway, though, they could hear the sound of boots softly tapping against metal as soldiers proceeded cautiously up the steps. One man fell softly to his belly and took aim, the other ducked into a nearby room and walked between connecting doorways to a more strategic position. Moments later, he could hear a the floorboards in the hallway right outside creak loudly. The moaning of the aging wood was interrupted by the sharp crack of a gunshot. Someone was trying to scream, but all he could hear was the gurgling sound of air pushing blood out a hole in someones trachea.

A loud thud followed as whatever poor soul had first walked in fell to the floor, no more than a carcass. Shouts followed as men hollered orders. Two more soldiers burst into the hallway to lay down suppressing fire, but they did not anticipate their foe lying on the floor. The rebel fired three times, catching one soldier in the chest twice. The third shot went wide. The other soldier ducked into a room and began shouting at his comrades. The rebel in the adjoining room, Lie Bing Po, saw the soldier duck into the room. The soldier was wearing the traditional uniform of the Imperial Army; brilliant azure robes and a bright red qin. Po raised his bolt action rifle and fired once into his foes chest. The bullet penetrated through flesh and plaster and smacked through the wall opposite the hallway. The soldier collapsed to the ground, and Po advanced into the room. He peered through the hole for a moment, and he could see down the stair well.

There a soldier was about to rush into his room. Po stepped out and fired down into the stair well once, ducking back into the room to pull back the bolt and drill the next round into the chamber. Several shots flew into the room, one busting through the plaster beside his head. Po ducked down and made a dash for the next room, stopping behind that wall and aiming at the entranceway he had just been next to. A flash of blue caught his eye and he fired, catching another soldier in the head. The red qin did little to disguise the burst of red and grey matter that splattered against the wall.

"Chetui! Chetui kuai!" he heard someone shout the orders to fall back. He waited for a moment, and he could hear the men hurrying down the steps. He wasn't stupid enough to follow. He went back from the way he had come, seeing that his friend had ducked into another room. They nodded at each other.

"We should get out of here, they will be back," his friend said. Po nodded in agreement, but the two had no time to move before a heavy machine gun opened up on the building. Lead cascaded through the plaster and wooden walls, sending shrapnel flying. Po and his friend ducked down to the ground and covered their heads, shouting curses and praying to their ancestors for help. The incessant gunfire seemed unending, and the walls seemed to disappear with every second as more and more bullets carried it away with them.

When the gunfire finally ended, Po shook his friend. "Let's go!" Po shouted. His friend didn't respond. He shook his comrade, trying to get him to stop being afraid and to start running, but there as no response. Finally the blood started to seep out of his jacket and flowed like rivers through the cracks in the floorboards.

"Shang didi!" he cried solemnly, falling to his knees. He grabbed his younger brother and pulled him into his arms. He could hear shouts as men entered the building, and Shang Po knew he did not have time to weep. He grabbed his brothers rifle and hurried up the stairs to the roof, where he could escape to other buildings by jump onto their roofs.



Nianxu Imperial Jail
Cai Province
Nianxu Commandery
5:25 p.m.

Everything was black, but that didn't stop him from feeling the crushing force of someone punching him in the face. Nor did it stop him from feeling the boot hit his gut. It didn't stop him from struggling for air as his head was dunked into water time and time again. It didn't stop the pain when the hammer broke his hand. There were no questions, there was no conversation. There was just beating, and then there was just the darkness of some cell.

When finally they took the cover off of his head and he could see, Han Juemin couldn't care less whether or not he could see the next punishment that awaited him. He knew that later he would be called upon again to be beaten and tortured without questions or conversation. This was just the way the Army would treat him until they decided they had questions. He looked down at his poorly bandaged hand, the broken remains of his fingers had turned a grotesque mixture of purple, green and blue.

Han sat down in the corner of his cell, looking up to a window near the high ceiling above. The only comfort Han gained was the sensation of a gentle, humid yet chill breeze that wafted into the room and energized his nerves with a sensation other than pain. It gave him some hope that he might some day see the outside world again.

 

[Havenshire]

ROSEFED CONSULATE,
Consulate Boulevard,
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery

Ambadassor Mortlake puffed his seventh cigar for that day. Another resource that he was running low on, but a shortage of cigars was a problem he'd worry about tomorrow. He peered out the shuttered windows, peering through a crack in the nailed up duckboards and barbed wire which now draped most of the windows in the Embassy. He could see the courtyard and the street beyond, strewn with debris and the occasional dead body. It looked deceptively peaceful, the overturned rickshaws, the crumpled doll-like bodies, the spent shell-casings, the burnt out embassy car.

He turned, seeing Captain Short's red, sleep-starved eyes waiting expectantly. "It looks clear. Do we risk it?" he asked, for the hundreth time.
The Captain inhaled, sucking breath into his sallow cheeks. His khaki dress uniform, once so neat and pressed, was now stained with soot, gunsmoke and days of wear and tear. He idly fingered the leather belt that ran diagonally across his chest, holding a gun-holster and all the pistol ammo he could scrounge up for his semi-automatic.

"There's probably snipers out there. Or something. Besides, this street might be clear, but what about the next? or the next block? Its hundreds of miles from here to the Uyghur border."
"What about the Docks-"
"You said yourself, Ambassador. We can't expect any help to be coming. It's just us."

A small boy wandered down the street, picking his way serenely amongst the trash of lives and vehicles. The grizzled Embassy guards and drafted staffmembers, tensed, and reached for their Bolt-action rifles and Stanpipe Submachine pistols. On the one-hand, the Yujin Consulate was often the last on the list for upgrades in equipment and personnel, seeing them without the new Dragan XM-2 Assault rifles, carentanian-designed, which were rapidly being issued to every element of Havenshire's vast millitary apparatus. On the other, it was a clearinghouse for "aid" for the Hongmenghui, some of whom had taken refuge within the Embassy aswell, and brought some more of Havenshire's guns back with them.

But Amunition was scarce, even if fire-arms for all the people weren't. Everything was scarce. Water, power, everything except the telegraph cable had been cut. No doubt they left that, to allow the Embassy to call for help, and to negiotiate. The Imperial government didnt want to destroy the Havenite consulate, it seemed, only humiliate them, and force them to give in.

Mortlake sighed, and went to sit down in his dimly lit office again. "Let me know if there's any change. Don't shoot the boy, probably just a scavenger."
"What if he asks for shelter?"
"You know we're overfull as it is. Turn him away. Turn everyone away, unless theyre our god-damned Crimson Marines with hugs and cake or something."
"Aye sir."

The atmosphere inside the compound was tense, and everyone was growing tired and tense. Would an attack come? Why had they been spared the demands that apparently had been made of the Carentanian and Parthavan Embassies, which were further up the road? In an ideal world, the 3 embassies would have been right next to each other, able to pool resources and intel and manpower, and present a united front. But the Rosefed Consulate had been built for the Kingdom of Havenshire in the late 19th century, when it had come to Yujin with its then close allies, Engellex and Breotonia, looking to open trade relations. Since the revolution in 1927, the owners and staff of the embassy had changed, but the location had not. This left them isolated and cut off from their current allies.

On the other hand, it might be possible to access other nation's consulates, who hadn't yet been pulled into the conflict. Of course, the utility of such a move was questionable. Most had likely already evacuated their staff, or were cowering waiting for the siege to be over. Plus, how much good would it do to break into the Engellexic consulate? It was a tough situation.

In the large lobby below, over a hundred yujiner refugees slept, talked, and huddled together for warmth. All of them had been processed and marked as either Havenite citizens or co-nationals, a dubious status supposedly indicating marriage or some other status of quasi-nationality. The Ambassador had tried to aid as many as possible, but had been forced to turn away hundreds more, to fend for themselves in the chaos out there.
The sounds of gunfire and rumbling tanks had suggested that the crisis would soon be over, most likely by Government Intervention.

What would happen to the Hongmenghui, however, and those accused of being sympathisers...

Mortlake sighed, looking again at the useless telegram he had recieved from Alan Wilkes, his boss. The man had pissed off the Big Boss, Macclesfield, with his shenanigans with the danish fleet, a month or so earlier. Yet, even if he hadn't, he suspected the response would be the same. Havenshire just didnt have the force to rescue them...or did it?

He had to hope, and wait the crisis out.

 

[Natal]

To respond the question, Vadim turned to Sergent Adam Doroshenko and asked him. The response that Doroshenko gave him was enough to make him smile at first but then his face became stern.
“Three hundred radios, and three thousand machine guns. Because of the Continuation War, the People’s council also said that even if a port was to be liberated, tanks can arrive only after Talemantros is defeated and Zamosk is returned. As for the repay, like I said, the People of Parthia wanted to help the liberation of our proletarian brothers, but we will like new Yujin to be an ally and friend of the Union.”

“Comrade, a telex arrived from Altaisk.” Ambassador Glushenko took the paper from the hands of an officer dressed in the black uniform of the Ier Cossacks ProNat Division, a unit designed for guard duty mostly. Standing in the room was also the commander of the guards, Lieutenant Osipenko.

Glushenko read the letter shocked. “We are all pawns of our countries…” he said full of abhorrence.

“What is it?” asked the officer, omitting the formalities. After the siege started he often did so.

“We are to keep the consulate at all costs. The main ambassador ran back to Altaisk and left us here. It seems that the relations between the motherland and the empire exist no more.”

“We are to hold it? Do they know that we have around a thousand or more of civilians, some even wounded?” nearly screamed the officer furiously.

“They do… well, at least if we are to die here… we must at least defend the perimeter…”

“The Hongmenghui must help us!” the officer shouted desperately.

“They won’t. We will be the victims in an international scandal which will finally bring this wretched regime down. Don’t you fucking see it? Since this protest has gone wrong, this was the plan in Altaisk! To let the fascists start an international scandal! Now get those weapons. Give the AD-52s to your soldiers and the old submachine guns and rifles to Yujiners who know how to use them. Get out!”

As the officer left, Glushenko went to one of the guards.
“Order the men to destroy all encrypting machines and to burn all documents.”

 

[Khemia]

Liangang; Parthava Consulate
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery
1:12 p.m.

Hundreds upon hundreds of people resided on the premises of the Parthian Consulate. Cramped as it was, their collective bodies provided some sense of warmth despite the chill air and freezing drizzle. Many people coughed, some had caught hypothermia overnight and their bodies had been graciously taken away by their hosts. Two of the elderly had passed in the nights from a combination of wounds and cold, and a child as well from blood loss. The poor child, no more than four, had taken a .30-06 to the shoulder. The bullet had taken off his arm, and the meager medical staff, with the assistance of doctors-turned-rebels, had tried to save his life.

Many families grieved; they had been separated from their loved ones for some time now. None were sure whether their kin had been killed in the massacre, or whether they were safely at home awaiting their return. Many of the people still help out some hope that they would be freed. That hope, however, was dashed when foreigners dressed in black and armed with machine guns came out with a loud speaker. In broken Yuhua, the consular guard called out for able bodied volunteers to take up arms.

The first to rise were the twelve Hongmenghui who snapped to their feet quickly. "Bao!" one by one they shouted as they raised their fists. The crimson cloth tied around their biceps depicted them as Hongmenghui. They received submachine guns. After that, the braver Republican boys handed their patriotic flags to their friends and rose, and they were given older model rifles. Now, with direction and purpose, scores of Yujiners set up sandbags and fortified the structure. A Republican flag and a stained bedsheet dyed in the blood of dead Yujiners with the character's 反抗 defiantly written atop it were flown high above the Parthian consulate. Nearby, the Carentanian Consul could see the flags raised high. Below them, a ProNat guard dressed in morbid black nested a machine gun in a crenelation created by the bricks lining the roof.

Meanwhile, outside in the main thoroughfare, several tanks moved into position to fire on the consulate. Lining the street behind them formed four companies of soldiers in blocks of one hundred and sixty troops each. The Imperial Army had redressed themselves for battle, discarding the ceremonial red caps and blue robes in favor of light grey uniforms with flat caps and two white straps forming an X across their chests. The sound of a bugle signaled the attack.

The reports of the cannons shook the walls of the consulates neighboring the Parthian structure, sending paintings flying and pencils rolling off desks. Clouds of smoke rose from the structure as tanks churned out noxious fumes and rolled forward through the gates. Another bugle call signaled the charge, and scores of men piled into the courtyard of the Parthian consulate, firing indiscriminately at the political refugees and ad hoc militia within. The machine gun atop the roof opened fire, the chatter of gunfire intensifying as the Imperial forces responded. More small arms fire came from the windows of the consulate, and more and more civilians were shot in the courtyard as the tanks breached the walls. Scores of civilians, Parthian and Yujiner alike, who had surrendered were lined up against the walls and shot. The courtyard was littered with the dead.

Two cannon shells punched a gaping hole in the front wall of the consulate, body parts of Yujiner and Parthian alike flew out. It was clear that the consulate itself was packed like a can of sardines full of refugees, but the defenders continued to resist. Plumes of dust sprouted from the brick crenelations nearby the machine gunner, who took cover and reloaded his weapon. A ProNat sniper moved to the other corner of the structure and took aim, opening fire. He let off eight shots before he himself was taken out. His body fell limp, draping the roof of the structure. More cannon shots echoed across the boulevard.

Imperial troops poured into the consulate itself, and the ProNat defenders within opened up from a machine gun nest hastily built in the main hall. Several dozen Imperial soldiers were killed before a tank drove into the structure, opening up on the nest with its cannon. The blast blew the ProNat soldiers apart and shattered the support columns of the center of the structure. The second floor and ceiling collapsed in, and light shone from above. Civilians fell through the gap, every one of them shot as they begged for mercy.

From the second floor, Yujiners armed with guns teamed up with ProNat to fire on the advancing Imperials who attempted to storm up the rubble into the second floor. They repelled the advance at first, but it became clear that they were running out of ammunition. More cannon shots were fired into the rear of the consulates second floor, and ladders were hoisted to the hole. Imperial soldiers climbed up and opened fire on the refugees within. Panic broke out, and the resisters, now numbering eight, fell back to the Consul's Office. They flipped over the desk and prepared to made their last stand as bloody as possible

In total, ninety seven men had resisted the onslaught and killed over two hundred Imperial troops. Of the 1,129 refugees and 86 civilian staff and consular family members, those who hadn't been killed in the fighting were rounded up and executed in the courtyard. From his own office, the Carentanian Consul watched as Imperial troops stormed the roof. The last three ProNat members resisted as bravely as they could, but the rattle of machine gun fire died out suddenly, signalling the end of the fighting. The bodies on the roof were thrown off into the courtyard, the flags brought down and torched.



Nianxu Imperial Jail
Cai Province
Nianxu Commandery
5:16 p.m.

The torture would begin soon, Han Juemin told himself as he sat naked waiting for the time. He shuddered in pain; real, phantom, and anticipated. He could smell the stench of his own feces and urine, the rot of his festering hand mixing in with the smell. He could hear the bootsteps coming for him. The door swung open, and he saw his foe cringe at the smell. He screamed and shouted and rushed at the soldier, but he was no match. Today, they would electrocute him, whip him, and break his hand again.

He lay there at night, looking up at the ceiling, hoping and praying that he would have the strength to die tomorrow.



Nianxu
Cai Province
Nianxu Commandery
7:36 p.m.

A crowd of protesters waved their flags and sun their songs as they marched towards the barricades built by the military to prevent anyone from entering the city center. Soldiers nervously watched the crowd taunt them, shout at them, and make their demands. They had heard reports of the battles in the North, and rumors ran wild about the atrocities committed by the rebels.

The protesters bravely stood their ground, though, as the military demanded they disperse back to their homes. A single agitator stood before the crowd and whipped them to life with his fiery rhetoric. The soldiers felt threatened, they instinctively wanted to leave. Many of them were from Nianxu, and some among them were wary that their friends and family might be in the crowd. The protesters pushed closer, and the officer in charge anxiously demanded that they halt. They did not heed his demands.

The soldiers were ordered to fire off several warning shots into the air to disperse the crowd. The weaker willed did leave, but they left behind them a determined and resolute bunch who taunted the soldiers and began to throw rocks. The officer ordered his men to open fire, and they obeyed. The protesters did not fight back; instead, they ran for their lives or dragged the bodies of their dying friends to safety in alleys.

 

[Socialist Commonwealth]

Liangang
Carentanian Consulate

The courtyard of the Consulate was crowded with refugees and the situation had been worsening the last days. Despite the best efforts by the consular staff, the small compound was just not built to house the massive crowd of refugees and the first people had already attempted to sneak out and leave, hoping to slip through the Imperial siege. No one knew if they had managed to survive their flight and the uncertainty of their fate motivated the large majority of refugees to stay within the Consulate even though food was getting scarce and the hygienic conditions worsened.

Especially the Consul herself was visibly shaken by the turn of events. She had watched the Imperial troops storm into the Parthavan consulate and was now awaiting a similiar fate. Consul Natasha Sorokin hadn't spoken for hours after the slaughter of the Parthavan consul. Then she had called in the staff and the guards and explained to them that they were probably going to die:

"I know that there had always been this talk behind my back about how I had gotten this post, that this honor was bestowed upon me due to my name only. I'd like to see them all now, to see if they are still envious of Ivan Sorokins granddaughter." She laughed a little, morbidly. "But my name wasn't only an dooropener for a cozy Consular post in the exotic east, it is also a heavy burden. My Grandfather died for the revolution and I will not stain his name with cowardice now. We have sworn to protect the goals of the revolution and to serve the working class of the world and that means we have sworn to defend those who are hiding from the Imperial troops in our consulate."

The guards took the news that meant they were probably going to die much better than the civilian staff. Perhaps because they were elite soldiers, part of a special detachment of the Revolutionary Guards. Most of them had fought in combat before they had been chosen for this task. Of course, it was very unusual for the Embassy and Consulate guards to ever get involved into fighting, but they had at least gotten accustomed to the thought theat they may die in the past. The diplomatic staff had expected a deskjob when they had chosen their career.

Natasha Sorokin had decided not to tell the refugees and the following hours had seen a tense silence cover the Consulate. They had started to burn a number of secret and confidential documents, when a message reached the Consulate through the cable. It were orders from Rijeka and the Consul was quick to implement the scheme. Hastily, the staff began to print hundreds of new passports and Consul Natasha Sorokin adressed the refugees directly for the first time since they had sought asylum in the Consulate. She spoke Yu fluently, even though she had only begun learning it after she had been given the post as Consul.

"You are all citizens of the Workers' Republic now and we will evacuate you. We can not guarantuee that the Imperial troops will not take action once we leave the Consulate and they realize that we are trying to trick them. But it is the best shot we have."

 

[Havenshire]

ROSEFED CONSULATE,
Consulate Boulevard,
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery

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Dawn rose. Another day trapped in the Consulate. Another day to count their diminishing supplies of dried rice, tinned beans, and rainbarrels filled with stagnant, stale water. Another day of growing increasingly filthy, unhealthy, and desperate. But this day brought them something new. A telegram, which Mortlake ripped from the telex himself with eager hands. A new, final message from home. All of them had found sleep even harder to find, after hearing and watching the slaughter of the Parthavan Consulate. They had all been appalled at the violence, and tried to shut it out as best they could. Captain Short simply bit his lip, his eyes haunted by evoked memories of his experience in the Havenshire Civil War. He knew too well what happened to the losing side in a siege. He'd done it himself, to the royalists, many years ago.

The Telegram was short, and to the point.

IN TALKS WITH YUJIN. FOLLOW THE GUARDS TO THE HARBOUR WHEN THE TIME COMES.
HELP IS COMING. THE YU ARE ON THEIR OWN.

-AW

Mortlake crumpled the daming telegram, and strangled a sob. God fucking damnit. "This is Bullshit!" he threw the scrunched up telegram, the ball of paper weakly flumping from his exhausted hand. The feebleness of his own throw made him laugh, almost hysterically.

"Christ, what the hell are we even doing here, Jim."

Captain James Short simply came and sat beside the exhausted Ambassador. "We're doing what we signed up for. Making a stand."

"For what? International Communism? Petty Party Bureaucrats in cosy offices in Westhaven? For starving Yu peasants?"

"No. For ourselves. For honour. Because being a socialist comes second to being a decent fucking human being."

"Thats rich coming from you. I know your record. You were in this situation before, weren't you? At Southborne?"

"Yeah. But I was the one on the outside, looking in."

"The royalists..."

"We showed no mercy. Even the children."

"Christ. And the Imperials?"

"They'll do the same, most likely."

Mortlake sighed, breathing heavily, thinking. "Its my decision isn't it."

"Yes sir."

"Gather everyone in the Lobby. I'll tell them."

Ten minutes later, the hundreds of refugees and dozens of staff and most of the soldiers gathered in the lobby, which stank of sweat, piss, gun-smoke and desperation. A sea of faces, mostly yellow but some white, stared up at the Ambassador as he stood at the top of the stairs.
He spoke in English, but one of the translators relayed his words in Yu.

"We've endured alot, these last few days. Commoner, Peasant, Diplomat, Soldier. Man and Woman. Elder and Child. We've all seen what awaits us, outside. We don't know whose winning. We dont know if...help...is coming." He stared into their eyes, weary, hopeful, hopeless, afraid. Depending on him. Was this really what he signed up for? Was this really why he had come to Yujin? He didn't know. He only knew that what he did now, was all he could do.

"I don't know what the Carentanians will do. All I know is, that this morning, I recieved a telegram direct from Westhaven." He paused as they gasped expectantly, letting the translator catch up. "They told us to surrender. to go with the Imperials to the harbour at Liangang. That help is coming. But...that you, the Yu, will be on your own."

He waited five minutes for the uproar to die down, people yelling and arguing, and angry looking, desperate men reaching for their side-arms and rifles. He nodded, and Captain Short fired a few quick bursts in the air.
"Settle down, godamnit! We have enough of an enemy outside, rather than tearing at each other in here. Look, im no speechwriter, no Clynes. I'm just someone whose job was to sign papers and talk fancy with local bureaucrats. But I promise you, that I'm not leaving anyone willingly behind. When the time comes to go, We will all go. As Havenite citizens. As Human beings, together. They try to seperate us, try to obstruct us, we'll fight. To the bitter end if need be. All or nothing! Whose with me?"

The response was not what he expected. Instead of cries of enthusiasm or uproar, the room turned solemn, as everyone broke apart into groups, debating and arguing what to do. He smiled. Even in the worst of situations, the democratic streak of council-communism seemed to emerge. They weren't going to do what he said just because he, as a leadership figurehead, had said it. It was almost admirable.

After half an hour, the majority consensus had come to a decision. They would follow Mortlake and his men. If they died in the streets, if they died fighting Imperials, then that was no shame. A better fate than waiting, rotting, in this place.

"Good. I'll let you all know when the time comes. Shouldn't be long."

=======================================

PNS Suffrage,
Disposable-class Destroyer
Long Sea
Task Force R

Captain Whateley watched the ticking clock in his office grimly, the roiling sea and the rolling deck a comfort to his sea-honed senses. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, as he did mental calculations. By now it would be dawn in Yujin. The Embassy had been informed. But what it had not been informed was the scale of the Rescue operation, nor what its own orders were in various situations. As head of the Task Force, Captain Whateley was privileged to more information than most.

7 Disposable-class Destroyers. Almost worthless in a stand-up fight, even against Yujiner ships. But 2 Activist-class Submarines also travelled with them. With their main refueling port in Carentania behind them, they had to somehow make it to Vangala before their fuel ran out. From there, Liangang. Aboard the Destroyers were nearly 300 Crimson Marines, who would deploy at the harbour and make their way, if necessary, towards the embassy, fighting all the way. Speed and suprise were of the essence, here. They didnt have the strength for a protracted fight. Their aim was, if necessary, to shock-force the Yujiner. He worried theyd not have enough firepower even for that. But the Submarines, fate willing, would prove the crucial edge, capable of destroying anything too heavy that might be docked in Liangang, or at least distracting it long enough for the Destroyers to arrive and load everyone up. All told, it was a highly risky operation. Better by far if things went smoothly, and they were welcomed into the harbour to evacuate their staff. But the situation was...flexible, and Whateley knew he'd not know what to expect till he got there.

There was a reason, after all, that the task force's compliment was made up entirely of... Disposable-class ships. It was a grimly honest name. Only the Activists were truly irreplaceable, but, if all went according to plan, he hoped they'd not need them.

He watched the clock tick. At 32 knots, at least the Destroyer was fast. The Submarines were far behind, and would probably arrive late, if at all, to whatever happened in Liangang. But they would be there....

Everything was in fate's hands now.

 

[Socialist Commonwealth]

RNS Maximo
Maximo-class Light Carrier
Long Sea

The situation in Yujin was tense and Carentania was in agreement with their allies in Havenshire that a backup plan was needed. High Command didn't need long to decide that the Havenite taskforce would be accompanied by ships of the Revolutionary Navy once they had refueled at the Maksimir Navy Port. A carrier, even if only a light carrier, would give the fleet some actual teeth and an additional seven destroyers would offer this very recent and priced addition to Carentanias Navy some much needed protection. Both the Maximo and its sistership the Samobor had been built shortly before the war in Solaren in a bid by Carentania to expand its reach beyond its own shores and the ships had already been instrumental in establishing a Carentanian foothold at the northern shores of the Long Sea.

Aboard the Maximo was a carrier air group of "Kavka" class fighter planes, the typical jet-fighter of the Carentanian armed forces. Designed in the late fourties, it was already coming of age a bit given the rapid advances in this field of technology, but they were still capable planes, especially in the hands of talented pilots. On the carriers the were configured with some limited ground attack and anti-ship capabilities, even though they were unable to carry the feared KSB-3, the dedicated anti-ship glide-bomb of the Workers' Republic.

If all proceeded smoothly, none of these would be needed. Yujin would allow for the Carentanian staff and the many hundreds new Carentanian citizens to be evacuated to the ships and brought to Himyar safely. However, if push came to shove, the Carentanian fleet would provide cover for the Havenite marines while they freed the diplomatic staff and the refugees by force.

 

[Khemia]

Consular Boulevard
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery
8:08 a.m.

The orders had come only eight minutes before for the Imperial soldiers to initiate the evacuation and ensure that the protesters were left behind. They had rattled the gates, and the guards had given their response. They had suspected what would come next, but they had not prepared for it. Holding up their Carentanian and Havenite passports for all to see, they slowly exited the premises and moved towards the harbor.

The soldiers could do nothing but watch, glowering at the refugees as they piled down the boulevard and took a left to head towards the harbor. Over a thousand men, women, and children; accompanied by retinues of soldiers armed as best they could. None of the refugees dared to wave a Republican banner or sing the revolutionary song - none were so stupid as to taunt the hundreds of armed men that watched them.

Arm in arm, the refugees continued, being harassed and looked over carefully by soldiers who knew better than to physically abuse the now foreign citizens. Word of the event raced towards military command, to the office of the Grand Secretariat, and finally to the Emperor himself. Several concubines were killed in his rage, and he sent out orders immediately. The Empire of Yujin had declared war on both People's Republics.



Liangang Harbor
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery
8:20 a.m.

Imperial warships patrolled the harbor furiously, a veritable nest of well armed and powerful warships - even if dated in design, the nine 460mm guns of the Yujiner battleship ISS Tianguo, combined with twenty more 155mm guns and bristling with anti-aircraft weaponry boasted impressive firepower. Complete with deck armor four inches thick, the hulking behemoth was a match for any conventional surface combatant.

It was complimented by a task force of six destroyers and a heavy cruiser, each designed for speed and endurance over firepower. Word reached the commander of the Tianguo that a Carentanian task force had penetrated Yujiner claimed waters and was quickly approaching the internationally recognized maritime border. The commander, Admiral He Hongkui, was ordered to prevent them from pushing in closer. The ships steamed from the harbor as quickly as possible.



Liangang Harbor
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery
8:24 a.m.

The refugees began to pile into the harbor, looking around in a confused state for the vessel that waited for them to depart. The vessel, a humble merchant vessel flagged under the Havenite flag, was bristling with marines. Almost in a panic, the crowd surged towards the pier; only realizing at the last moment that it was surrounded by Imperial soldiers. An officer shouted for them to halt, then paused as a man rushed to him with a letter. On that letter was an announcement that the Empire had declared war on the foreign nations for their part in this plot to trick the Empire.

Realizing the events unfolding, the Carentanian and Havenite guards surged to the front of the crowd and directed them into an open warehouse adjacent to the pier. The Imperial guards began to open fire, and the Communist guards responded together. Despite their best efforts, dozens of refugees were cut down, the sounds of their screams as they lay dying on the ground echoing throughout the bleak city.

More soldiers poured out into the waterfront road to surround the refugees and the Communist soldiers that had piled into the warehouse, and likewise Havenite soldiers fired on Imperial soldiers from their vantage point in the Havenite merchant ship. Imperial troops attempted to storm up the ramp, but the timely set up of a machine gun atop the bridge ended that endeavor bloodily. Corpses fell into the water or draped the thin wire railings that flanked the ramp like grotesque clothing hung out to dry.

More soldiers piled out into the waterfront, though, and soon tanks joined in and pushed towards the warehouse. The first tank opened fire, collapsing the north corner of the warehouse atop the guards and refugees within. Who knew how many had been killed before the turret rotated more, this time to blow down the front door.

The second shot did not come, however. The Carentanian troops had ceased fired and braced themselves for the blast, but it did not come. Instead, the sound of gunfire outside only seemed to intensify, until the sounds of guns firing seemed a bitter argument with each contestant seeking to overpower the other. A Carentanian soldier peaked his head over just in time to watch a rickety old foreign model car driven by a Yujiner whose face seemed frozen in anger ram the tank. It had been laden with explosives, and the explosion consumed the tank in bright light. Imperial soldiers were no longer facing the warehouse, but instead storming into the alleys that criss-crossed between the waterfront buildings. A third story window shattered, and the Carentanian troops could clearly see a plain clothes rebel open fire on the soldiers below, armed with a poorly made sten gun. The troops returned fire and killed the rebel, but another took his place. This rebel did not have a gun, but instead carried what appeared to be a massive burlap sack. He heaved it out the window, attached to it was a string, and it became clear that it was not a sack of rice or food, but instead a massive explosive. The explosion sent Imperial troops flying, their bodies clattering off nearby buildings and the destroyed chassis of the tank like rag dolls.

"Geming!" someone shouted from within the building, joined in a chorus by others whose words became a confused but excited garble.

"Revolution," Consul Natasha Sorokin repeated softly, translating the word. The Communist soldiers did not need to be told twice, they could clearly translate what their eyes were seeing. And, judging by the scale of the fighting, the entire city seemed to be engulfed in fighting, not just the waterfront.

"To the boat!" shouted one of the soldiers. The refugees did not need to be told twice, and they surged out towards the ship. Hurrying up the ramp - and taking the time to push the bodies off of it and into the harbor - they quickly looked like sardines in a can as they looked back to their city. Fires and smokes streamed skywards, and the crackle of incessant gunfire echoed out across the harbor, broken intermittently only by the sound of a tank cannon firing or an errant explosion ripping apart a building or crowd of people.

They were not home free yet.



ISS Tianguo
Yujin Territorial Waters
8:52 a.m.

Admiral He Hongkui looked down at his watch impatiently. Several staff officers looked to him nervously as well, knowing what events were about to transpire. The time had come, and passed, and they had just now become informed that a city-wide uprising had consumed the entire city of Liangang. He turned on his heels to the radio operator and hovered over his shoulder. The radio operator shook his head, and Admiral He grabbed a dial and spun it to change the frequency.

The operators eyes lit up. "This is the hour," the ensign reported to the Admiral. The Admiral moved back to the bridge viewport and grabbed his binoculars. On the horizon, he could see the combined navies of Carentania and Havenshire rapidly approaching.

"Ready the guns," the Admiral commanded, the XO echoing the orders like a parrot. He watched as other ships in the Yujin fleet took aim at the Carentanian ships. The Admiral looked to an expectantly waiting officer. "Signal the Dongfeng, Nanlang, and the Linggan. Cut radio contacts with all other vessels."

"Sir?" asked a confused XO who was hesitant to repeat the orders. Several of the Yujiner ships opened fire on the Communist ships on the horizon, but the three names He Hongkui had named had suspiciously not. "What's going on? We should be opening fire!"

The Admiral nodded to a marine guarding the deck. The marine walked up to the XO and placed a pistol behind his ear. "Brother, we are joining the revolution. Are you with us?"

The blood rushed out of the XO's face as his mind rapidly processed the question. He quickly weighed loyalty and survival, his eyes turning to the Admiral whom he had respected and trusted for so many years. "Traitor," he murmured. The pistol shot ensured he said nothing else.

"Comrades!" Admiral He Hongkui announced, "the Mandate is bestowed on us! Turn the guns on our enemies, and show them the wrath of the People!" The three turrets, each bearing many, many tons worth of heavy ordnance, fell quickly and the guns rotated to bring about the wrath of a full broadside from the Empire's heaviest warship. Nine of the biggest guns to ever set sail aimed towards the bridge of the nearest destroyer, the smoke spilling out of the cannons as they fired. The smoke from the exploding ship joined in, and soon there was no visible air between each ship save for the ruinous smoke that had been unleashed by the cataclysmic fusillade. The battleship began to turn hard to port, its heavy bow like a spear ramming into the ship nearest it. Anti-aircraft guns raked the decks of each ship and the 155mm guns made short work of the next target.



MV Oriental Star
Yujin Territorial Waters
9:01 a.m.

Many of the refugees had piled into the warmer decks beneath the upper deck, but others still watched their ancestral home as it slipped into the distance. Bleak, black smoke reached up towards the sky like a scar on the beauty of their country. Many people were crying, still remembering the horror and fear that had gripped them as they watched the Imperial troops first open fire. Others had heard the incessant screams of the dying from the Parthian embassy only days before - a sound so haunting that none of them could forget.

But when smoke from the East, towards the sea, was spotted on the skyline, the people aboard the vessel became more concerned and agitated. Hundreds of people, including the Communist troops, were now on the deck watching as the merchant ship sailed past the site of a naval battle. In the water, dead bodies floated past, many with missing limbs or shrouded in a dark cloud of blood that stood out against the blue ocean illuminated by the morning light. Strewn bits of wood floated past, and the glistening sheen of oil could be seen here and there, sometimes burning softly atop the water.

Several people pointed towards a vessel, its bow completely beneath the water. It was clear that the vessel was taking on water rapidly. Fearing the loss of their own people who had been sent to rescue them, the Havenites looked out with the binoculars to search for a flag. None fluttered in the wind from the stern flagpole.

The vessel began to approach more closely to another ship, this one larger and heavier. Smoke seemed to be climbing out from the main tower, and it was clear that a good chunk of the ship was alight. The crew again cast their binoculars to the ship to search for a flag. They could see the crew busily struggling to put out the blaze, and they could notice that the vessel - a huge Yujiner battleship - was sitting low in the water as well. A gash had been torn in its port stern armor, and several pock marks were accented by scratched paint from deflected cannon shells. From the rear, they could see a flag - no, it was not a flag - they could see bed sheets strapped to the flag pole with two characters written on them, the same characters that had flown above the Partian embassy only days before:

反抗

Resist. Above, Carentanian jets from the Maximo raced overhead and surveyed the scene. Of the Yujiner contacts that had been detected and had fired only a single volley upon their fleet, only three ships remained - one of which was rapidly sinking. Beneath the waves the hull of a heavy cruiser could still be seen slowly sinking into the darkness. Hundreds of bodies littered the expanse of ocean, bobbing up and down with the waves.

 

[Vangala]

Chittananga
Maga Province
People's Republic of Vangala

"Joy Vangala."

"Joy Vangala."

Jabbar's muttered greeting was met with an equally weary response from the two guards who passed him. The revolutionary fervour of early days had evaporated since the bulk of fighting had ended, and the burdensome task of reconstruction began in earnest. Chittananga, located in the troubled east of the country, had been one of the first major cities to be liberated by Communist forces. Its capture proved to be a terrible loss for the puppet government left by the exiting Franconians, with its port home to a main naval base. It then served as the provisional capital of the People's Republic, only displaced when Kilkila was seized last December.

Sighing, Jabbar continued to stretch the coil of barbed wire across the pot-holed road. The Grand Port of Vangala, as it had been named by Frescanian traders in earlier times, was only minutes away, and the local commanders were expecting important visitors: allies from Carentania and Havenshire. Chittananga, already the base of pacification operations in Vangala's rebellious eastern provinces, had acquired a new strategic significance since the rumblings of revolution in Yujin. Carentania and Havenshire, the two leaders of the socialist world, hoped to supply freedom fighters in the Empire through the porous border with Vangala.

The declaration of war on these two by the Xiang Despot added a new dimension to the situation. The newly established People's Republic, now a brother-country in the international fraternity of revolutionary nations, was now a potential target. Mother Vangala, battered and bloodied after a brutal internal struggle, could now face the wrath of the Yujiner Dragon.

Jabbar knew little about the schemes taking place. Born in a simple peasant boy in a village in the far-away Hijili province, close to the realms of Sikandara, he and his unit had been transferred to the protection of Chittananga after its liberation. After the eventfulness of the Revolution, his patrolling seemed mundane. He walked around emptied streets, staring into broken windows and gaping holes of once-great buildings. There was the daily volley of shots to disperse the desperate crowds who assembled daily around military posts in search of good news. It rarely came.

With the coil of barbed wire stretched as far as possible, Jabbar decided on a cigarette break. His overseer, dressed fancifully in his just-issued officer's uniform, was further up the road, explaining to a small crowd the reasons for the through-way's closure. There had been a change in the superiors' moods since the announced arrival of the Carentanian and Havenite ships. The officers had told Jabbar and others they were to bring supplies for Vangalans as well, not just Yujiner freedom fighters. Now scarce foodstuffs would soon be available, at least for a while.

From new recruits, Jabbar had heard less positive rumours. Rumours of war with Yujin, started by a Vangalan invasion. He pressed the attached Political Officer, who dismissed the stories as over-zealotry from recruits eager to prove themselves having missed the glory of the Revolution, and warned against further probing. Jabbar remain unconvinced.

 

[Khemia]

Liangang
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery
11:16 a.m.

It had been twenty seven hours since Zero Hour, and hundreds of militants and soldiers alike had died in the fighting. The guns had not silenced over the night, and had only been joined by a chorus of artillery and tanks and, in the distance, the hum of propeller planes relocating to the Liangang air base.

Li Jinyuan had been made commander of the 6th Provisional Combat Battalion, a promotion by most standards, but considering Li had been responsible for organizing the infiltration of Hongmenghui units into Liangang, he could not help but take it as a slight affront that they had not recognized his actions in a bigger way. What's worse, they had tasked the 6th Provisional with the impossible task of taking the rail yard.

With one thousand men, what success could he possibly have against the primary staging point for all the reinforcements pouring into Liangang? From his command center, a burnt out ruin of a building that had once been a woodworking shop until an artillery shell shattered it, he could coordinate his units by radio and monitor the progress. In a matter of hours since initiating the operation, he had already lost over ten percent of his men - he had inflicted great casualties on the enemy, but unlike they he could not afford such losses.

He had heard the rumors about what the "front lines" looked like. Bodies left in the streets, in some cases piled atop each other and used as cover by troops jockeying for position on the main routes into the rail yard. The thunder of artillery raining down on the outlying areas of the city was a constant worry, but the Imperials were shelling places at random, they had no information on the location of the insurgents.

Many innocents were dying, though. The regime still firmly controlled five major sectors of the city: the harbor, the arsenal, the railyard, the airport, and the government district. They had all been heavily fortified and had repulsed the initial attacks, turning what should have been a quick operation into a drawn out conflict. Two sites were key to the battle of Liangang - the railyard, which supplied the Imperial forces with fresh bodies; and the arsenal, which produced munitions for whomever controlled it. His men were low on bullets, and often times they used the weapons they picked off dead bodies to conserve the bullets required for the heavier guns for later.

Primarily, the Hongmenghui were not professional troops. They wasted their ammunition blindly firing around corners, they lacked the discipline and training of the Imperial regulars in the New Army. Worse, their only feasible weapon against the enemy tanks was suicide bombers, and they had lost most of their men in engagements with tanks. Li had learned from those mistakes; his men now slipped back into the myriad alleyways when tanks presented themselves. But giving ground to enemy armor was not the way to capture the railyard.

Li needed a critical breakthrough; and none were presenting themselves. One thing was clear - if the railyard could not be captured, the entire insurgency would collapse and the revolution would end as quickly as it had started.



Nianxu Imperial Jail
Cai Province
Nianxu Commandery
5:56 a.m.

Han Juemin was a broken man, jittery and nervous. Every sound made him scurry towards the dark corners of his cell in a futile search for safety. He cradled his broken, useless hand, watching the green taint of his flesh climb slowly past the wrist. Soon, the Empire would take his hand as well as his spirit in a bid to keep the gangrene from claiming his life. He had no more tears to shed for himself, they had been beaten and electrocuted out of him.

The sound of a key entering a lock and the creaking of a poorly oiled metal gate opening sent Han Juemin, the leader of the Fuguotian, flying towards the darkest corner in his cell. Two soldiers appeared at the gate and stepped in, followed by a private carrying two chairs. He set them in the center of the room, facing each other, then stepped out. An officer, well dressed and obviously of high rank, stepped in. His drab, grey uniform did little to comfort Han, but he did not have the customary loathful gaze that his captors often wore.

"Han xiansheng hao. Qing zuo, qing zuo," the officer bid to the leader of the Fuguotian to sit with him as he sat in a chair and crossed his legs, waiting. The prisoner did not respond, and an irritated soldier moved to him and kicked his head once. The blow tore open a gash on his forehead, and blood trickled down his brow and down his face. Han began to whimper, but he could not scream in pain. The officer rose to his feet and grabbed the soldier by the collar and shook him violently. "What kind of man are you, to beat someone who can not resist! Have you no honor?" the officer demanded answers.

The soldier glared at the officer, but when his superior flung him away with surprising force and demanded that the soldier receive thirty lashes, the face of the sullen man quickly turned to surprise. The other soldier grabbed him and carried him away. The pair were replaced by two other soldiers. These men, however, were from the New Army. They wore the same drab grey uniforms that the officer wore.

"Please sit," the officer repeated softly, extending a hand to Han. "My name is Zhao Yue, General of the 88th. I apologize for how you have been treated. I will arrange that this facility have my own guards stationed here, to ensure that you are treated better," General Zhao said. "The others will be suitably disciplined, and I will have this cell cleaned."

Han slowly rose to his feet and moved to the chair. He was suspicious, he knew that the interrogation would start now. They had broken his spirit, now they would extract his information. "I know nothing," he said. It was only partially untrue, what he knew would probably be useless to the Army now. "Please, let me go. I have a family, a daughter, they need to be cared for."

General Zhao nodded and cast his eyes to a pile of feces by the northern wall. "I cannot allow you to leave, Han xiansheng. You have been accused of treason, I would be negligent to allow you to leave," he hesitated for a moment. "I would like to ask you about the revolution," he began.

Han Juemin let out a long sigh and looked to the floor. He was afraid that if he gave the wrong answers, he would be tortured more. If he gave the right answers, he would be executed. The options were limited.

"Tell me, Han xiansheng, why is it that you fight?"

The question surprised Han Juemin for a moment, but he knew the intent of the question. "Know your enemy," he started to say.

"Know yourself," the General finished with a nod.

Han sighed for a moment. "My people and I fight to free our country."

"From?"

"From oppression. We desire a country where we can decide our own fate, not be shackled to the will of someone who knows nothing of our ambitions, someone who cowers from the masses within a palace and feasts on pleasure and wine and whores," Han gushed out his feelings, letting out his exasperation.

The General paused for a moment, a mix of what appeared to be offended pride and subtle respect flashed across his face. "A worthy goal," the General said finally, to Han's surprise. "But, the Empire has existed for generations. Without it, there would be no Yujin. It has united our people through the centuries, has it not created good?"

The question posed to Han took him further off guard. The General appeared to want to discuss political philosophy with him; Han was in a situation he would never have imagined himself in. "Dynasties are founded by men of great principle. But they are inherited by fools who squander great opportunities, and are subject to the schemes and influence of petty men. A Republic might not accomplish the great tasks that the heroes of our past have, but the politicians will be accountable and responsible in ways the Emperor and his eunuchs are not." The General seemed to ponder some more, and the guards shifted, agitated at Han's words. "Surely you can see that the Emperor is not a great man, you can see that the Dynasty has driven our great Yu people from the zenith of the world into a state pitied and insulted by the foreigners!" The General's eyes flashed to Han with anger, but Han was no longer listening. "Surely, you are a man of great ambition, an honorable man deserving of his post. But how many men rise in the ranks of the Army by merit and deeds, and how many buy their posts from their superiors?"

The General rose from his chair, "Enough."

"I do not want to live in a nation of corruption, ruled by people who are whores to the Emperor's desires. I want to live in a country that strives to make my life better!" A tear came to Han's eyes as his voice rose, standing and pleading for the General to listen. The General, however, raised a hand ordering his men to grab Han. Han snapped back to reality and realized that his fate rested upon the whims of this General, a man who for all his loyalty to his lord seemed to maintain more than a shred of dignity and honor. A man, Han thought, had not existed in the Empire's service.

General Zhao's eyes flashed to Han once more, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. He was obviously well educated and principled in the traditional ways of nations philosophy. "Clean his cell, tend to his wounds, and see that he receives a hot meal and a proper bed," the General ordered before moving onwards down the hall. The guards sat him back down in the chair forcefully, and within an hour the guards who had brutally beaten him were scrubbing the feces from his cell and had carried in a straw mat, down pillow, and some hot porridge that compelled Han to remember his wife and family and the warm meals she would cook for him. It had been some time since Han had cried sincerely, but when he finally let himself break he could not stop himself. When the night came, Han dreamed of the vibrant pink plum blossoms outside his home and the soft, tender rosy cheeks of his wife.

 

[Havenshire]

Chittananga
Maga Province
People's Republic of Vangala

Ambassador Mortlake idly swatted at flies, as he sat on the veranda of the Havenite Mission to the PRV, once a Frescanian Trader's house. He closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the fading sunset on his weary eyelids. He could still see the chaos, the panic. It seemed incredibly that it had been such a short time ago. It felt like a lifetime. He reached a weathered, tanned arm across to a cool glass of water, lying gently fizzing on the table beside him.

"The 'sahibs sure know how to put on a welcome, eh?"

Mortlake looked across, the grizzled voice of the Captain who had stood with him all those long, agonising weeks back in Liangang. It was funny, Mortlake thought. For years they had simply been co-workers. He, the ambassador, James- Captain Short- the chief of security. But the crisis had thrown everything into sharp relief. It was strange, in a classless society, Mortlake thought, that such an artifical division should have existed between them, and it had taken a near-death experience to bring them together as friends.

"I don't think calling them sahibs is appropriate somehow, James."

"Bah, whatever they are, theyre damned fine is what I mean." Short came and sat beside him. He looked somehow...different, a smaller man, wearing a new uniform. A khaki shirt and shorts with black puttees, the...vangalan cut of the Havenite millitary uniform looked somehow sillier than the standard dress that Short had worn almost constantly whilst in Yujin. Apparently they wanted to preserve that sweat-strained shirt for a museum. Mortlake snorted at the pomposity of it. It had scarcely been two days and already the papers and the radiowaves were full of talk about the Red Stand in Liangang, and how they were almost certainly going to make a movie about it.

But behind such fine words, behind the talk of medals to be awarded, how they would be greeted by ticker-tape parades in Westhaven in two weeks time, how in a month they would almost certainly be flown to Rijeka, there was a certain tension that couldn't be ignored, a certain distance that now existed. Us and Them. Heroes they call Us, but fools we may call Them.

Mortlake had seen the horror of war. Short had seen it twice, now. He couldn't forget the look of terror and panic on the not so lucky. The Yu men, women and children, cut to shreds by cross-fire, the crack-bang of bolt-action rifles, the ringing in his ear as Crimson Marines fired their assault rifles right next to him, loud brap-brap noises as they sycthed through the Imperials. He felt the weight of a Yujiner's hand, falling from his own, torn away by fading mortality. He felt the rough pull of a marine's hand, yanking him up the gangway to the waiting merchant vessel.

Yes, Heroes they call us. But are we the Lucky, or just the Damned? The ones who have to live with it. The memories.

"Does drink help?" Mortlake asked quietly. Short didn't need to ask what he meant.

"Sometimes." He paused, letting the chirp of circadas fill the hazy evening air.

"Think the 'sahibs have any around here?"

Mortlake smiled, thinly. "The Mission is bound to. Ambassador Ramsay promised me a bottle of his finest Eiffelandian champagne..."

"I prefer Ivernian Whiskey. The way it burns your throat..."

They sat there, watching the sunset. In a few minutes, someone would likely come find them, remind them there was a party on inside the mission. Or perhaps it would be a telegram boy, with further messages from the Foreign Ministry or the Central Congress. No doubt even now, large merchant vessels were being stuffed with munitions, with food packages, with crates of grenades, with light-machine-guns, with mortars, with tents and band-aids, everything a small army would need. No doubt in a few weeks time, when they were once again being toasted and feasted and cheered in the streets, those same weapons would be passing into the hands of waiting Yu, in this same sort of evening haze, on the docks of Chittanaga.

There was something awfully poetic, he thought, about this trade.

"You know, Ambassador, I don't think you ever told me your name."

"Really? How strange. Must have slipped my mind."

"So? what is it?"

"It's...John."

"John? John Mortlake? Fuck, thats such a letdown. I was imagining it had to be something good. Clive, maybe. Or Oswald."

For some reason, this struck Mortlake as incredibly funny. For the first time in weeks, he began to laugh.

 

[Socialist Commonwealth]

Liangang
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery

Lieutenant Mlakar had been surprised by the sudden changes in his mission. He had managed to make it to the outskirts of Liangnang, but his diplomatic cover had become worthless even before he had reached the city. Along the way, he had managed to pick up pieces of information from newspapers and hearsay and, truth be told, he was a little worried. First the consulate crisis, now the declaration of war on his homeland and its allies in Havenshire. If Imperial troops were to pick him up somewhere, he'd likely end up as a dead body somewhere in a ditch - if he was lucky. One of his priorities for the near future would be to get new fake documents from somewhere. With some luck, maybe he could pass as Danish businessmen or Frankener trader.

Still, his mission, he assumed, hasn't changed. He was going to contact Hongmenghui forces and offer them the support of the Workers' Republic. The open revolt in Liangnang had actually made that part easier, as he would just have to walk up to rebel militia forces without getting shot. And without crossing the paths of any Imperial forces before that. That part was modestly easy. He had military training, probably more than most of those fighting in Liangnang. He knew how to path his way through a battlefield. Lieutenant Mlakar even knew how to sneak past guards and how to trick patrols. That knowledge was courtesy of the Revolutionary Army Intelligence. From his point of view, not getting shot by the rebels would be the harder part. Rebels, he had learned, tended to be a bit trigger-itchy.

Somewhere along the road he had picked up a flag of the revolutionaries. There were corpses littering most streets, the fighting must have been rough. When he finally spotted some alive revolutionaries - they had set up a barricade on a road leading further downtown, all he could do was to hope this would be enough to convince them of his honest intentions. The rest would hopefully be achieved by the fact that he did not look Yu and that he had some convincing documents, proving him to be a diplomat of the Workers' Republic of Carentania. Though on second thought, he wasn't so sure these rebels could read them.

"Don't shoot, I'm a friend!" He said as he turned around the corner and into the view of the rebel militia, his hands help up high and waving the flag of the revolutionaries.

RNS Maximo
Maximo-class Light Carrier
Somewhere within reach of Liangnang

Admiral Ivan Krajncs orders had been simple, to safeguard the mission of the taskforce from Havenshire and return to Carentania once the evacuation had been finished. Arguably, things had become more complicated now and he felt that he needed to improvise now. The desertion of several Yu capital ships had been a major surprise to the Admiral, but one he was bent to capitalize on. Establishing contact with the Yu commander was troublesome at first, as not a single man or woman onboard of the Maximo spoke Yu. It took some hours of hasty searching for alternatives, but eventually, his subordinates found an Ensign from navigation who spoke fluent Touzen and brought him as translator in hopes, that somewhere aboard the Yu ships, they had someone capable of translating the messages as well. It was a long shot, but more likely than to hope that they'd have someone speaking Carentanian.

"Once you establish contact, tell them we wish to support operations in Liangnang and provide firepower to the rebels on the ground, but that we will withdraw once we risk any major engagements with Imperial Navy or Air Force. Inform them, that they are welcome to follow us to an allied port, should we have to retreat."

The message would be repeated a few times, not just in Touzen language, but also in Carentanian and in English. Hopefully, the Yu would be able to translate at least one of these languages. If they managed to establish contact and agree on a language in which to communicate, they'd be able to coordinate their operations more closely - though Admiral Kranjnc was planning on sending over a liason officer and a translator once they had done so, as he intended to enact at least minimal encryption of messages if they were to engage in actual combat operations alongside the Yu flagships.

And finally, there was another issue to attend to. They had received attempts from an unidentified radio position somewhere in Liangnang to contact them. Whoever was calling them, his encryption was identified as one of the standard codes in use by Revolutionary Army Intelligence - which brought up the question how exactly the RAI had gotten in their agents so quickly when war had broke out just hours ago. Chances were, either the RAI had been operating in Liangnang even before the Emperor had declared war, which wasn't that unlikely given the entire refugee crisis in the Consulates, or the Imperial troops had somehow gotten hold of this encryption code and were now trying to trick them, which the Admiral deemed less likely. However, while the Maximo and its jet fighters could do some good for the rebels on the ground if the RAI agents was real and actually transmitting valuable target data, the results if the unlikely case of the Empire tricking them was true would be desastrous. Losing a Carrier Air Group to Yujin would be more than a career ender for the Admiral. Likely, the Workers' Republic would consider it treason. No one had ordered him to engage Yu troops on the ground.

Carefully, he weighed his options.

"Get the planes ready for combat. But tell the pilots not to take risks. They'll be flying missions in unknown territory with only minor intelligence."

 

[Vangala]

Raganapura
Maga Province
People's Republic of Vangala

Its skyline resplendent with giant golden pagodas built centuries ago, Raganapura still possessed a certain majesty befitting a former imperial capital. The seat of the once proud and mighty Empire that had given Maga Province its name, Raganapura had seen greater glory. Its decline had started with the seizure of the Maga's southernmost territories by the wicked Yujiners, an ancient enemy, which was soon followed by the arrival of Frescanian merchants and the spread of their pernicious influence, corrupting the city with their foreign ideas and customs. The Maga had then witnessed the swallowing of the Vangalan-speaking princely states, other traditional rivals, by the Franconian imperium not too soon after. The Frescanian Republican Revolution of the mid-nineteenth century saw the disappearance of their protector, and the Franconians took their place. The Maga Empire, which had struggled for near-millenia to avoid domination by its neighbours, had been reduced to a mere province amongst many.

The fate of the Maga people had not changed with the recent passing of Franconian rule. Brief hopes of a re-established Maga state were dashed as quickly as the blood of its advocates spilled in the streets of Raganapura. Maga remained just a province, this time of the emergent People's Republic. The new Communist authorities did not shy away from arrogantly displaying their power over Maga lands, with Red banners and Red soldiers ever present.

***​

'From Kilkila to Zhenjing!'

The triumphalist scrawling was one of many to adorn the sides of the transport vehicles destined for the border with Yujin, but was the one that was to remain with Jabbar for the duration of his journey, which was spent cramped into the back-space of a converted truck with nearly a dozen other men.

'Yujin is a tiger-wolf pretending to be a tiger.'

This was the other one to stay in Jabbar's memory, and crept to the fore whenever the tiring engines roared back into life again as they sped along winding, poorly-maintained dirt roads that cut through the thick rainforest of Vangala's eastern regions. It quoted the President of the People's Republic, and General-Secretary of the Workers and Peasants Party, Jadugopal Basu, or more simply: Netaji, 'Respected Leader'. The line itself was from the Respected Leader's speech in retaliation to Yujin's declaration of war on Vangala's two new allies, Carentania and Havenshire, and in turn was an adaptation of an age-old Vangalan adage. To outsiders, the tiger-wolf, a local name for the jungle wolf, was an impressive animal in its own right, but in Vangalan folklore, the tiger reigned supreme, with none of its competitors even remotely comparable in stature.

After a few weeks being stationed in Chittananga, already far away from his home village, Jabbar was being redeployed to Raganapura, before moving to the frontier with Yujin. He remembered the words of his attatched Political Officer, who promised him no invasion of Yujin was being planned, and the new revolutionary government was more concerned with Vangala's internal security and economic development. He had repeated those words when he announced Jabbar's unit's redeployment. Both times Jabbar was unconvinced, even moreso after the second.

Following a torturous journey of several days, his convoy blighted by misdirection, technical break-downs and potential threats, Jabbar was finally in Raganapura. Through the cracks in his transport vehicle, he had been able to see the gleaming tops of solid gold of the Buddhist temples, just as he had been able to see the glittering waters of the great Aravati River for most of his drive. Now, standing inside the city centre, he could view them in their true glory.

The other sights around Jabbar were less impressive. Many buildings, already the victims of vicious rioting during colonial rule, had been further damaged in the Revolution, the invading Communists using heavy artillery indiscriminately to force a surrender. The army that took the city was even less impressive - a ragtag collection of men, and women, dressed in surplus or stolen uniforms, red bands around their heads or arms the only unifying marker, armed mostly with dated equipment. Was this to be the army that would liberate Yujin as well?

 

[Havenshire]

Raganapura
Maga Province
People's Republic of Vangala

"What a shithole." Colonel Trask grumbled, lighting a heavy Providencial Cigar. He inhaled the calming fumes, and cast a critical eye over the decaying Pagodas. "This is the city they chose?"

"Yes, unfortunately. Something about it being ideally suited for dissemination via existing road networks or something. I only go where I'm told, Colonel, I don't complain." Arms Co-Op representative Harry Buller was technically a private citizen, an elected delegate and employee of the Arms Co-operative, and as such could not be commanded in any official government capacity. However, he spoke one of the Vangalan languages fluently, and he had years of experience with small arms sales in third world countries, making him invaluable for this operation. Trask was along for security, and also to head up the delegation that would train the Hongmenghui. They'd arrived by a long-haul flight from Carentania. Risky, but speed was crucial. The first of many arms convoys was still some weeks away. For now, though, a sample of what they could offer had been provided for Buller and Trask to show off- both to the Vangalans and the Yu representatives from the Hongmenghui.

"It seems like a very round about way of equipping slanty-eyes. You sure the wogs won't just steal everything we give them?"
Buller snorted. "Your cynicism does you credit, though your ah, less than political language might not. No, we'll try and place Arms CoOp delegates at key waypoints along the proposed shipping routes. Vangala will be reimbursed for aiding us in arming the Hong', but helping themselves to our surplus will not be that way....however much they may need it." Buller eyed the ragtag millita that served as the bulk of their security here. Given what had happened to the Liangnag Consulate, there had been some debate about wether it was safe to allow missions to go so...understrength into the wild. Buller had argued hotly that it would take too long and be too expensive to equip every delegate with their own Havenite security detail. Besides, if you couldn't trust the Vangalans to keep their allies safe, you sure as heck couldnt trust them to help the Yu.

So, inevitably, Buller and Trask found themselves as one of about maybe 12 Havenites in total, to organise what would become a steady flow of guns and war material from the port of Chittananga to the borders where the Yu could collect it. An Ambassador was in Kilkila now, trying to work out the fine points, and organise a collaborative "Hong Meng Trail" to make the process easier. Also on the cards was setting up a Training camp for Hongmenghui guerillas, which Trask was not looking forward to running. Whipping pasty-faced Havenites with scrawny arms into shape was hard and taxing enough, how he was going to turn these pajama people into real partisans was...well, it was going to be damned hard.

"Jandi, Jandi, sahibs!" yelled Trask, growing impatient. Leaning his head out of the truck, he looked out on the hustle and bustle of a gridlock on the dusty, crumbling roads that Ragnapura called a main thoroughfare. Rickshaws, bicycles, carts, even livestock made up the majority of what could only loosely be called moving traffic. The 5-tonne truck theyd borrowed from the Embassy to carry their "sample" equipment and fresh khaki uniforms for the Hong' was not going anywhere, and Trask's cigar was burning low.

Not a good start.

"Do you have to smoke that-"

"Yes."

"Fine. We should be there in an hour or so. Maybe. I hope."

"You best hope we get there before I run out of cigars, Buller. You may not be a government employee but by the ghost of Clynes if I won't find some way to physically court martial your ass and every one of these godamn wogs-"

Suddenly, with a loud, jarring thunk of brakes and a throaty broom of the engine, the Truck lurched forward. For a heartbeat he dared to hope they were making progress, but, less than a few paces later, the truck came to a clunking, chunky stop again.

"I think I know how we'll be compensating the Vangalans, Colonel."

"My boot up their ass?"

"No. Tarmac. Lots and lots of it."

 

[Khemia]

Nianxu
Cai Province
Nianxu Commandery
1:19 p.m.

A chill wind slipped down from the southern mountains, stirring through the streets of Nianxu, whipping the tricolor banners to life in a city that had given birth to liberty in the East, and had paid for that dream in blood. Block by block, house by house, the New Army had pushed into the Republican heart of the city, executing men, women and children - families and their distant kin - for their part in treason against the Empire. The city which had birthed the noblest of dreams now hosted one of its greatest horrors.

In the central park of the city, the stench of death was accompanied not by the sound of gunfire, as could be heard defiantly roaring in the north. No - only the sound of flies buzzing over a mound of corpses which piled higher by the hour could be heard from a deathly grave in the center of the city; the soft, unbroken requiem of the dead. But in the western reaches of the city, defiance still gripped the city. In the face of oppression, men and women still stood arm-in-arm in the face of the Army's slaughter. Senseless violence and murder had commonplace, but the hearts and minds of the soldiers themselves, having committed these atrocities, was beginning to crack. With every gun shot fired, another war ravaged the minds of the soldiers. They were firing on the helpless, people who could not defend themselves. Dozens had broken, clutching their head in the field hospitals, mimicking the screams they could hear echoing in their minds. Their mad comrades, too, had an impact on them.

Between searching homes and murdering children, some soldiers found time for themselves to come together to talk, to relieve their guilt, and to plot. Disguising themselves as simple social clubs, one by one entire squads of soldiers agreed that they would not waste any more bullets defending a government that had to murder its citizens to stay in power.



Nianxu Jail Clinic
Cai Province
Nianxu Commandery
3:20 p.m.

The room was quiet, save for the humming of machines and the occasional soft footsteps of an attractive nurse whose round face and rosy cheeks always made Han Juemin smile as she checked his bandages and made sure his drip was full. He cradled the stump that had once been attached to a hand, grateful that he was still alive, and more grateful for the pain killers that had eliminated the non-stop throb that had constantly been by his side for a week.

A door opened and Han recognized the man that entered this time. He was unaccompanied by guards, there was no need for him to be protected. The one good hand Han had was restrained, but Han harbored no ill intent for the General Zhao who approached his bedside and glanced down to the bandaged stump.

"I am sorry, Mr. Han. The loss of your hand is extremely regrettable," the General said after a few moments.

"No, do not apologize," Han interjected humbly, struggling to start speaking despite the numbness that desensitized his mind. "What is done is done, it cannot be changed, there is no use in apologies."

"Very well," the General nodded, "are you feeling well?"

"Better, yes," Han said, a thousand thoughts on his mind that he desired to ask. The General looked at him expectantly it seemed. "What is happening outside?" he asked finally.

The General's eyes did not avert themselves, but Han could see that something within the warrior stirred. "Our men are pushing into the Western districts, the streets are full of blood, many people are dying," the General said sternly, the muscles in his jaw twinging. Han could sense a conflict in the General, but knew better than to approach it.

Han did not know what to say, he could only look to the ceiling and see the lights above him, casting down on him serenely. He could hear the gunfire throughout the night for a week, but he didn't know what was happening. His eyes felt wet, the thoughts of all those people who had joined in his rally, their bodies laying in the street. He was haunted. Had this revolution been proper? Self doubt cast itself on him.

"Can't you see?" he asked through a tight throat, "Can't you see the dream we have for our country? Can't you see the love we have for our people? That so many would die, can't you see... the fields of Yujin will be watered by the blood of the martyrs, the tears of the mothers, and the sweat of a people made slaves."

The General turned his eyes away and looked to the crepuscular rays streaming in from the window. "Rest, Mr. Han. I will come again for you tomorrow," he said, bowing his head respectfully as he turned to leave through the door, leaving the imprisoned leader to consider everything he wished he could have told Zhao Yue.



Liangang
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery
4:12 p.m.

"Who is this fool?" someone asked angrily, pointing to the white man walking forward waving a flag.

"Tourist?" someone asked snidely.

"Maybe he wants directions," another joined in, and the men chuckled.

"Tell him we're not open for business," the commanding officer said sardonically.

"Go away!" a private shouted to the white man, "the Empire has sharpshooters around, you'll get shot!" Indeed, it was clear that the statement was true. All the men were huddled closely to the over of the barricade. The sound of several explosions nearby caught their attention, and the men stopped smiling and listened to see if the artillery barrage was creeping in their direction. That bought the foreigner enough time to hurry up and move next to the men, though they suspiciously watched him. It was unlikely that a white man would be employed in the service of the Empire - the Emperor wasn't stupid enough to think that the Hongmenghui would trust a big nose any more than he would, they knew.

"You're persistent," the commanding officer grumbled as the artillery silenced. "What do you want?"



Liangang
Mao Province
Liangang Commandery
5:59 p.m.

Sergeant Huai Yuli rested his back on the rubble behind him, holding his rifle before him. Dusk had rapidly approached, a brilliant ephemeral red seized the sky. High above, the blood of the sun turned the clouds into a marbled mixture of color. His eyes turned to the man beside him, a bitter, pale wretch who had not eaten in some time. He had lost his brother, Huai thought, died in his arms.

Huai sighed and looked back to his rifle. The pale rays of the sun glinted off it even as the shadows steadily crept upwards against it. He was waiting. Seconds turned into minutes, and the sun had completely hidden itself from sight. "All the better," Huai whispered to himself quietly enough no one else could hear. The sun does not want to witness any more violence today.

A hollow trumpet shattered the silence, and a lone man shouted out the dreaded, sonorous word: Tūjī! Charge. Huai opened his mouth and began to shout as loud as he could, joining a chorus of over a hundred other men. He clambered up and over the rubble, sliding down the facing of a ruined building. A great, open expanse lay before them as dozens of revolutionaries surged out of the rubble towards the rail yard. Bullets sizzled past Huai's ears, mowing down comrades all around him. Huai closed his eyes and focused on feeling his feet carry him forward. An awful silence had fallen over the field as hundreds of revolutionaries struggled to push forward and take the vital location.

A deafening roar had cried out its ferocity over the bravery of the men that charged forth. Huai struggled to open his eyes, to see how much further he had to go. Only the flag carrier remained, still charging forward. The comrade was almost upon the enemy, readying the flag as a spear to stab the first Imperial dog he found, when the bullet caught him in the right shoulder. The flag carrier stumbled at full speed, spinning hard clockwise, and plowing into the ground with his left shoulder. Huai caught up to him, scrambling to grab the flag. The roar of gunfire made him waver, and he looked up just long enough to see a grenade land at Shang Po's feet. The brotherless lad was carried aloft into the air before Huai couldn't make out the silhouette of his comrade from the blown up dirt. Huai started to charge again, but machine gun fire wildly raked through the dirt of the explosion. He felt a searing, hot pain tear through his belly, and he looked down, falling to his knees. Slowly, his guts started to spill out, and Huai slumped forward, dead.



Yujin Imperial Embassy
Westhaven, Havenshire

Ambassador Gao Jiabao was not an impressive man. Fat, balding, and crowned with an unseemly mustache through which his upper lip could still be seen, he was completely unattractive. The circular spectacles that crowned his nose aided his aging sight, but despite his conservative figure he was a man who had lived abroad long enough to have learned different walks of life. The letter that he read, as such, caused him suitable anxiety. He took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes, sighing and contemplating.

He rose from his feet and paced the hallway. In the rooms adjacent to it, he could hear the clippers shredding documents quickly. A furnace normally used to heat the facility burned away the most important documents downstairs. The Ambassador nodded at the frantic diplomatic staff as they milled about, Gao Jiabao almost entirely incapable of drawing their attention as he passed. He approached a servant waiting by the main entrance, who greeted him and waited on him with all the agitation of a man who had just been told to evacuate an embassy in the middle of a hostile nation.

No one was quite sure whether or not the Havenite government would permit their people safe passage back home. Gao Jiabao was fully aware that many of the people here had families they had left behind, and wished to return to them as quickly as possible. That knowledge made what Gao Jiabao was about to do all the more difficult.

He whispered into the ear of the aide who nodded submissively. It took the aid over a dozen minutes to spread the word, but after enough poking and prodding the staff had been convinced to delay their activities long enough for Ambassador Gao Jiabao to make a short speech within the main lobby. He stood at the head of the lobby before a makeshift podium, his weight held aloft by a rickety box he used as a step stool to make himself more visible. He held a letter above his head. "I have sent a copy of this letter to my Havenite colleagues in Westhaven," his voice said meekly. A hushed silence fell over the room as people waited to hear what the senile old man had done. Gao Jiabao shored up his glassed and held the paper close to his face so he could read it.

"My dear friends," he began, pausing either out of hesitation or old age, "I have spent much time here in your Republic, and I have grown accustomed to your culture, your ways, and your philosophies. I have become learned on a variety of subjects that I had not been exposed to before, in my beloved country of Yujin. In the East, I was known as a loyal servant of the Emperor, and of my people..." Some eyes began to roll, and many of the people began to wonder what this speech was actually for, but Gao Jiabao continued, "Now, in the West, I have become known as a supporter of a government which attacks its own people. This displeases me, because I know that my nation was once powerful, mighty, and a beacon of civilization which all aspired to be like."

He paused and the crowd began to murmur. His eyes sleepily drifted past some more words and some of the figures began to move to leave. "Ah, yes," he picked up the speech again, "It is in this context that I write this letter. I wish to see the glory of Yujin restored once more. I wish to return home to a country of great people, a country that is once again a beacon of civilization. It is this spirit that I hereby do denounce any loyalties and ties I maintain with the Empire of Yujin and proclaim this embassy, and all of its willing staff, to be servants of the Republic."

The faces of the diplomatic staff drained of the blood that flowed through them. Pale faced as many of his compatriots had been, he had never seen quite so many of them look as sickly as they did now. Some of the guards moved to seize the man they thought was obviously mad, but Gao continued before they could reach him, "I request that any of my staff who wish to leave be permitted to do so, because many of them maintain families within my great nation. But, if they are to seize me and try me for treason, know this: I will not defend them from the prosecution of crimes against them within the People's Republic of Havenshire," he said, slowing the soldiers as they drew closer, "nor will I profess them to be loyal subjects of the people of Yujin. This embassy is loyal to the Republic, and any staff who act against the Republics interests are enemies of both Yujin and Havenshire."

No sooner had the old man finished his sentence than did the diplomatic guard seize him and haul him off to an ad hoc jail cell near the furnace in the basement. The entire diplomatic staff murmured quietly, unsure of whether or not they should go about their business, flee home, or wait to see what came of this business.



Xinhai-Vangala Border
Xinhai Province
Daoji Commandery
3:36 p.m.

"Bao!" a soldier shouted as he hurried towards a bunker dug into the ground and lined with sandbags. He repeated the signal as he hurriedly entered the room, a commanding officer glaring to him as he fired off a salute.

"Report!" the office commanded.

"Sir, Vangalan scouting parties are probing our defenses. They've made maximum efforts to avoid engagements, but frontline units report that they have repelled the incursions when necessary!" the man reported.

The officer turned to an advisor grimly, his hand on a telegram that had been wired to him only several hours before. "It seems the Vangalans are wasting no time," he muttered, "they seem bent on bringing this revolution to Yujin from the West. We have ten full divisions of men, spread along the border at all of the major mountain passes and in the Gujiang Gap. We have orders to repel these barbarians by any means." He pointed to the map, noting the four divisions which were assembled closest to the sea where the border of Vangala and Yujin met with the Bay of Vangala. "Have three divisions rally at the Gujiang Gap and prepare to launch an offensive by weeks end. We will create a buffer zone between Yujin and these devils."

 

[Khemia]

Zhenjing
Yu Province
Zhenjing Commandery
2:02 p.m.

The sound of gongs and eunuchs proclaiming the new hour finally died down, heralding a stern silence within the throne room as a dozen castrated men knocked their heads against the floor, begging for forgiveness. The Emperor, in his forties, sat upon the throne with his legs spread wide, exuding an aura of arrogance and pomposity. "The hypocrite communists send their imperialist supplies to the enemy through Vangala," he scolded them through gritted teeth, "and yet my forces have not rooted them out like the weeds they are?!"

"This insufferable slave deserves death!" cried out the eunuchs in chorus, kowtowing many times. One spoke up, begging forgiveness, "The enemy is moving through hidden passes in the mountains, with the aid of locals. I have tried to deploy troops to stop them, but we do not have enough to secure every pass!"

"Two hundred thousand soldiers! Insolent bastard, is this not enough to secure the border?!" the Emperor raged.

"My eternal apologies, Son of Heaven!" cried out the eunuch.

The Emperor waved to one of his guards. "One hundred strikes of the bamboo." A guard equipped with a heavy bamboo stick began to beat the eunuch, splitting apart the robes and the skin. The Empress, an aging woman of the Ma family, known to everyone as Empress Meixie, giggled at the sight of their pain. The Emperor looked to see her smile, and so too smiled sadistically.

"Oh, great Emperor! Spare your unworthy servant!" cried out another eunuch. "The troops are plenty to secure the border from an invasion force. But with forces rallying at Gujiang Gap for an offensive, there are not enough men to watch all of the small places," he knocked his head against the ground many times.

"Bah!" the Emperor snorted, rising to his feet and dismissively waving his robe. "Fifty lashes for them all! Summon Prince Hua, he will explain these matters to me personally!" A servant quickly ran out amidst the screams of eunuchs being beaten to within an inch of their life. A trumpet sounded, signalling the arrival of a noble of importance. "Prince Zao arrives!"

The Emperor sat back in his seat, watching his cousin enter the throne room, noting the look of disgust as eunuchs being hit by bamboo clutched for his feet for mercy. He kicked them away. "Huangdi Qirui!" he bowed his head with his hands before him in a respectful prostration. "I have come to report that the revolt in the city of Nianxu has nearly been suppressed, and that General's Zhao and Duan have put commendable effort into putting down the revolt there. Many cityfolk are fleeing to the countryside, but your generals assure me that most of the rebels have been captured and are being executed. In total, they expect to put down one hundred thousand unloyal subjects."

"Finally, results," the Emperor folded his hands eagerly, "what of Liangang?"

The Prince prostrated again, but this time kept his gaze lowered as he spoke. "The rebels there continue to battle with your armies. They are receiving support from traitors in the Navy, who have no doubt been bribed by the foreign devils from Carentania who, as we speak, are conducting air strikes in your venerable land. But, with or without their support, the rebels have failed to capture any locations of importance and only caused minor damage to a bridge, delaying reinforcements to the city for a week, at most."

The Emperor frowned, displeased. "Unfortunate developments, but not entirely unexpected. Have the Army purge the city of traitors. Public executions of traitors and their relations, I want the people of Liangang to know that it was the rebels who brought this calamity upon them."

"Of course, majesty! Your benevolent rule could never have caused them such pain if not for the rebellion!" the Prince echoed agreement. The eunuchs cried out their support in between beatings as well.

"Very well, I entrust this matter to you, Prince Zao. I will take my leave from court," he rose to his feet, the Empress following shortly after, hopeful and expectant that he may find time for her. He smiled at her. "Flower of mine," he said, "I have business to attend to in the chambers of my concubine." He rubbed her fat, pregnant belly, and the Empress knew that until she bore a son she would not receive the same favor as the young and beautiful consort Chan Xiaorui. Jealous but unable to contest his decision. The Emperor left her sullen presence and approached the concubine suites, his presence announced by the eunuchs.

"Huangdi Qirui jiu dao!" The girls scurried about their chambers in feigned excitement, fearful that any action that could be construed as offensive to his majesty would result in a beating. The girls each gave him their respectful greetings as he entered and he smiled, turning to his chief concubine, a girl of the age of sixteen who carried his only son, cradled between her luscious breasts.

"Beautiful Chan," he smiled to his favored toy, unable to see the fear in her eyes and the trembling nerves that shook her hand, well concealed by her efforts to appear to be caring for the child in her arms. The concubine nodded respectfully, and the Emperor took the babe from her arms and handed the child to a nearby concubine, grabbing Chan by the hand and pulling her to a private chamber where he conducted more personal matters with the poor girl.



Shanghu Provincial Gardens
Xinan Province
Shanghu Commandery
5:45 p.m.

General Sun Daoshi looked to his son with a smile, tussling the boys thick, black hair with his hand. To the west the sun had already fallen behind the shadows of the mountains, but the light of day still struck the beautiful pink flowers of the plum blossom trees which decorated the beautiful, peaceful garden. Far away from the violence and death that destroyed the East, the people of the Southland had always been the Yin to the rest of Yujin's Yang. When one was gripped by strife and war, the other was serene and calm.

"Do you have to go East?" his son asked him, aware that the nation had been called to arms. His father was both a General within the military and the Provincial governor, having inherited the position through a line of prodigious men.

"Yes," Sun Daoshi responded resolutely.

"Why?"

"It is our duty to obey our leaders," Sun Daoshi responded without hesitation. "That is the tradition, you know the Path."

"Yes, father. I just wonder, is our leader just? Is his cause right?"

The words of skepticism were brave ones which could not be spoken out of the sanctity of the garden, but Sun Daoshi heard the words of his son carefully. They were ones that had often passed through his own mind from time to time. Recently, they had manifested themselves in open revolt. It was a hard feeling to suppress, having seen the actions of his venerable leader for himself. Power had no doubt corrupted the Emperor as a boy, shaping him into the man he was today, but the Imperial system had lasted for a thousand generations. "It is the duty of the subject to obey his master," Sun Daoshi convinced himself as much as his son, "the moment we cease to do so is the moment that we fail the system and our people."

His sons eyes looked to the East bitterly. A boy of eighteen, Sun Daoshi felt proud to have raised him and to have such a scion carry on his legacy. He was a thoughtful, patient boy who would be a good official in time. "I understand, father," the boy Zhida said.

"I will not be gone long," Sun Daoshi promised to his son, "keep the Southland well." His son simply nodded, fully aware of the responsibilities set before him. Sun Daoshi rose from his seat in the garden and headed towards the palace. His most trustworthy officials would be left behind to safeguard and guide his son, the rest would come with his to defend the Empire from threats both within and without.