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Wounded Reconciliation

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Grand Republican Palace - Presidential Apartments​


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Republic of Jizhou - Yiyuan


April 18, 2010, 1:45 Local Time

This is bullshit!” the old man yelled in a weak, raspy voice, beating the stack of papers with his right hand, “It's ridiculous, no one will believe this report.” The man, dressed in a traditional changshan that poorly hid his fat, particularly considering his piggishly round face. His oversized, boxy spectacles only accented the proportions of his ancient body, “This 'Hua' rabble only appeared last week. They couldn't have made contact with Vangala yet,”

“Vangala could have funded them to begin with,” argued the business-suited official, seated in the study's leather chair, “They were clearly well-armed to pull off such a daring attack.” He was a froggish man, younger, thinner and with much more fashionable eyewear. “They had a bomb.”

“It was an oil refinery, the whole thing is a fucking bomb, Dan!” The old man's raspy shouting descended into a coughing fit, he leaned on a cane to stabilize himself,

“Your Excellency!” Foreign Minister Dan Yimou jumped up to support the ailed president,

“Get away, I'm fine. It's this bullshit intelligence agency, publishing dog farts like this report, that's what's killing me, Dan.” The President hobbled over to the bookshelf and produced a silver case, pulling out a fine cigar. He offered it to the Foreign Minister, who shook his head in refusal,

“Thank you, sir. But, you see, Premier Li already praised the report.”

Striking a match, the President smugly replied, “Then Yuying can promote them all when he is president,” Dan was discomforted briefly, hearing the Premier's given name. “This is my republic, Dan. I am the head of state and head of government and supreme executive,” Zhang lit the cigar and took a drag, “I think Little Li forgets this too often.” The President coughed again.

“So you think the Agency fabricated everything, sir?” Dan sat back down.

“I think the whole thing is bullshit, a smelly dog fart,” the President took a leather armchair next to Dan. As he settled in, Zhang removed his spectacles, letting his sleepy eyes fall onto the Foreign Minister's face, “You can't blame the Vangalans for this.”

“But with the recent conflict in Sinhai-”

The President went to interrupt, but found he could only cough, so he waved away the thought with his hand, “The Sinese can handle their own problems. Hell, there's a good chance the monkeys made the whole thing up too,” he leaned over and spit some of the bile from his cigar into a crystal cup, “It's time for all this bullshit to end, Dan. 42 people dead in one day, how many thousands more before them? What will happen if Li takes this report to Vangala? Will they admit wrongdoing, apologize, turn their government over to Oikawa and dance to Kihara's tune?”

A brief silence fell. Yimou assumed the President was asking rhetorically, that he didn't want an answer, but Zhang took his time with his cigar, his head rolling back as he enjoyed the taste. Finally, the Foreign Minister said, “No, I don't think that would happen.”

“It definitely would not happen. The best that would happen, they would ignore him. The worst? A war. Cold or hot. More people dead. This report,” the President picked up the stack of papers again, “It's bullshit, Dan. Burn it, fire the man who wrote it and call Vangala in the morning.”

“Why call them, sir?” Yimou looked surprised,

“I want to talk to Cheng. I want him, in the room, with me. I want the whole Revolutionary All-China People's Government sitting in a conference room with my cabinet, and I want to end this.” The President spat again.

Dan leaned forward, concerned about Zhang's train of thought, “Forgive me, Your Excellency, what is 'this?'”

“This whole fucking conflict, Dan. I have been alive for nearly ninety-two years, Little Dan, I am too old to keep playing dogma. The First Emperor Jizhou united the nine states of China into the greatest empire in Europe, that would claim half the world as tributaries for a millennium. The western powers finally tore that down, and the eastern devil has done his damnedest to keep us divided,” the President's hand lazily drooped onto the arm of the chair, letting cigar ash stain the leather, “It is time to end that division, to reunite the Chinese people into a strong, modern state.”

“President Zhang...” the Foreign Minister tried to interrupt,

“We have entered the 21st century, Dan. One-party rule is a relic of a bygone era. We are a joke to the rest of the world. It's time to put a stop to the bullshit and the violence, bring the commies into a conference room and end this fucking war once and for all. You are going to call Vangala in the morning and you are going to get me Cheng Shikai!”

Dan stood up, concerned about the President's cigar, “But Oikawa, they won't respond well to a motion for reconciliation.”

The old man ignored the burning tobacco, which had rolled out of his hand and onto the rug, “What are they going to do, Dan? Demand more territory? Will they take Chengyuan? The riots would consume everything an Oikawan hand has ever touched. Mitsurugi would be shaking down Kihara for bus fare after his factories lie in ruin,” he laughed at the thought, which rapidly turned into another violent coughing fit. “Burn.... the report!”

Foreign Minister Dan looked down at the old man, holding his burning cigar, he watched as the President collapsed onto the floor, coughing up bile.
 
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Zhang Bowen International Airport - Tarmac​


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Republic of Jizhou - Yiyuan


April 20, 2010, 6:32 Local Time

The supersonic jet bearing the roundel of the Republic of Jizhou Air Force catapulted into the air behind him, carrying the President as fast as possible to Oikawa. The tall, thin man in a business suit with a stern face had seen the wounded President Zhang to his plane. Still fading in and out of consciousness, Premier Li Yuying had feigned concern for the ancient leader. In truth, Bowen's incapacitation was a blessing to the Premier, now free to govern the country without the old man's constant scrutiny.

In his late 40s, Premier Li considered himself the leader of a critical faction of young, hard-line anti-communist Jizhou politicians. Not to mention the de facto leader of the Republic itself. “Inform the Central News Agency that the President is on his way to Nokanawa,” Li said, straight-faced to the President's pretty, young spokesman, Ge Wenhua, “Make it heart-wrenching. We won't let the communists get away with doing this to Grandpa Zhang.”

Ge pushed her small round glasses back up her nose, “Yes, Premier Li.” She returned to scribbling fiercely on a notepad. “Premier?”

“Yes, Little Ge?” He used a diminutive with her surname, indicating his authority. He watched the jet climb higher into the sky.

“Would you like to make a statement, sir?”

After thinking for several minutes, until the President's plane passed behind the clouds, Li answered, “No. It won't be necessary. Just make sure the Central Daily News puts the article on the front page, preferably close to the announcement about Vangala and the bomb.”

“I'll speak to the layout editor myself, Premier Li.”

The Premier turned back away from the tarmac, heading toward his limousine with his contingent of Republican Guards, “You're a good girl, Little Ge,” he added over his shoulder, “Make sure you get to Nokanawa before the President recovers. Grandpa Zhang will need a spokesman when he wakes up.”

Li didn't wait for her reply before stepping into his limousine, whose door a Republican Guardsman promptly slammed. The Premier was eager to return to the Grand Republican Palace. “Call Jiang in Sri Rama,” the Premier said to his young aide, “It's time to solve both our problems and Sinhai's.”
 
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Nokanawa Imperial Hospital – VIP Services​


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Empire of Oikawa – Nokanawa


April 25, 2010, 12:12 Local Time

Ge Wenhua sat in the hospital's waiting room, looking quite out of place in her Chinese dress. She scribbled away on her note pad, preparing some statements to send to various government agencies back in Jizhou. Officially, Ge was the presidential spokesman, but in truth she was the president's first secretary and handler. Only his chief of security and personal physician spent more time attached to Zhang Bowen than Ge Wenhua.

“Any news?” a fat man in a fashionable tie-vest combo interrupted Ge. The sound of Chinese language was enough to jolt her away from her notepad. She looked up to see Zhang Tianbai, the President's sixty-year-old eldest son.

“Mr. Zhang, I didn't expect to see you back so soon,” she said, standing up with a bow, “And your sisters?”

Tianbai gently pushed her back into her seat and placed himself next to her, “I sent Xiu and Xiao to the pictures. If they spent any more time here weeping, my father would drown. Thank you for staying with him, Little Ge. I don't suppose the surgery has started?”

“Not yet,” she answered, smiling weakly at his weak joke, “Dr. Nakaima wants to have one more consultation with Dr. Yu before he begins.”

“He's been in that bed a week,” Tianbai grumbled, his sunken eyes growing frustrated, “How long does it take for these devils to work up the balls to cut the old man open?” Ge recoiled at his outburst, “Oh, I'm not mad at you, Wenhua. It's just frustrating. I've put a lot of projects on hold to come visit my father,”

“Of course, Mr. Zhang.”

“Not to mention my terrible wife. And please, call me Tianbai. We can be friendly after all this time, Little Ge.”

She nodded, “Of course, Tianbai.”

“Oh, and before I forget, please set me up a meeting with Mitsurugi before we leave Nokanawa. And see if my father can't get an audience with the Emperor.”

Ge was surprised, first that Tianbai would ask her to set up a meeting for him, rather than one of his own secretaries. And second that he was so certain his father would recover, “Tianbai,” she started carefully, “Are you sure it's prudent to arrange a meeting for the President... given the circumstances?”

“He's going to be fine, Little Ge,” Tianbai's scowl returned as he slumped his shoulders, letting his arms hang between his legs, “The best doctors in the world are here. They're just patching up a heart like they have ten thousand times before. Hell, maybe they'll give him a robot heart that'll never stop beating.”

“Of course, Tianbai.”
 
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Zhongbei War Compound – Conference Room​


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Republic of Jizhou - Yiyuan


April 20, 2010, 11:25 Local Time

The tall, thin Premier Li, now dressed in full generalissimo's regalia, stood in the dark room, poring over a well-lit map. Around him were the nation's most important military leaders, including Sky Marshal Huang Qingling of the Air Force and Field Marshal Jin Pufang of the Army. Ding Nan, Captain of the Republican Guard, stood off to the side. She wore her trademark sunglasses, even in this dim environment.

“We pull out all the stops,” The Premier announced, stepping away from the map with finality, “Everything and everyone burns. New slogan: 'Better dead than red.'”

“Hardly new,” Nan sneered from her shadow,

“In any case, that's how we're doing it. When the President returns, his country will be spotless. Purified by fire.” Li came back to the map, pushing some models around, “We're deploying nonlocal High Temperature Units to base in Chongbin, Weining and Tianzhou. They'll run sweeps to Ratomkira, Tenzing and Kokuryuko. Everything that isn't waving a GMD flag burns.”

The generals whispered loudly to one another, expressing their respective concerns and excitements over the plan until finally Sky Marshal Huang spat out her cigar and stepped up, “And I'm guessing the Air Force is leading this little adventure of yours, Yuying? Does Bowen know you're planning to torch half the country?”

Li didn't appreciate the Sky Marshal's tone, he advanced on her menacingly as he spoke, “No, I'm sorry I didn't slap His Excellency out of cardiac arrest to get his permission to fight terrorism,” Huang stood unfazed, not backing down as the Premier approached, “But while he is being treated for this life-threatening condition, I am the commander-in-chief and I will be treated appropriately. Bite your tongue, Qingling.” His face was now only inches from hers, “And show some respect.”

“Her question is valid, though,” the spot-faced Field Marshal Jin noted, “High Temperature Units are gonna need heavy air support. My boys ain't goin' into untouched forests and hills with nothin' but zippos. Flamers are spooky, yeah, but we'll get our asses handed to us without the lovely Sky Marshal's birdies givin' the reds a pounding.” Jin nodded his head to Huang in a show of respect.

“You're right, of course, Field Marshal,” Li answered, stepping away from Huang, “The Air Force will be the point of our spear in this operation. First of all, we'll need spotter planes to confirm our targets. I'm not relying on satellites alone here. Then our bombers soften things up a bit. Get some gunships in there and we're ready for the ground forces to clean everything up. That's what it's about, gentlemen. Cleaning. We're cleaning the country. Spotless.”

The din of discussion picked up again, ending only when Captain Ding pushed away from her wall, “You called me here, Premier. What's the Guard's role in all this?”

Li's eyes lit up with sudden recollection of purpose, “Yes, the Guard's special talents and equipment will be very useful in this campaign. Your role will be important indeed.”
 
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Nokanawa Imperial Hospital – VIP Services​


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Empire of Oikawa – Nokanawa


May 2, 2010, 5:12 Local Time

The old man's face looked even more round and bloated than before as he struggled to eat the mushy gruel being fed to him, “I can eat better than this!” He insisted, “Bring me some diced chicken.”

“Bowen,” the young girl said softly, holding the spoon for Zhang, “Dr. Yu says only hot soups for a while. Besides, diced chicken isn't breakfast food.”

“When Dr. Yu is President, then he can tell me what to eat. Bring me some real food, I'm fully recovered.”

“Dad,” Tianbai, fat and fashionable as ever, placated the old man from the sidelines, “Wenhua just wants to make sure you get back to full strength, and so do I. You want me to get Xiu and Xiao in here?”

“Okay, okay. Those harpies remind me more and more of your mother every day,” The President ate his spoonful of gruel, “But you know as well as I do they won't be awake until ten at best.”

“Then I'm glad you didn't call my bluff,” Tianbai snickered, “Now we need you at full strength. You know Little Ge has been setting up meetings for you. The Emperor Himself will be seeing you soon.”

“Is that right? The Emperor?” Bowen took another bite, spilling some of the gruel onto the hospital sheets,

“Well, I haven't had any final responses from the Oikawan government yet,” Ge said calmingly, fishing for more of the mushy food, “But I'm sure they'll make time for the President soon enough. You're not even out of bed yet, Your Excellency.”

“That's just because you little monsters push me down every time I try to get up. I'm ready to swim back to Jizhou!”

“Just finish your breakfast, Dad,” Tianbai held up his hands, “Tianming is supposed to come visit you today.”

Zhang sat up immediately at the mention of the name, “That wretch? Finally pulled himself off the Makai whores to pay respect to his father? Now I'm definitely going to make sure I'm gone by the time he gets here.”

“Actually, I think he was fighting in the new anti-communist campaign.” There was a clatter as Tianbai finished his sentence. Wenhua had dropped the President's spoon.

“What campaign?” Zhang asked apprehensively,

“Right, you couldn't have known. Li launched a new offensive against the insurgency, blaming the Vanga-”

“Eat!” Wenhua shrieked, “You need to eat, Bowen!”

“Vangala? He went ahead with the Vangalan report?”

“Weeks ago,” Tianbai answered sternly, Bowen's face hardening at the news, “It was publicized the day you came here. How could you not know about it?”

“Oh I know about it,” Bowen shifted, looking to stand up, “I just didn't know that diseased cow's cunt would actually ignore my orders and publicize it.”

“Please, Bowen, stay in bed!” Tears began to flow from Wenhua's eyes as she struggled to keep the President from standing up, “Help me, Tianbai!”

The President's son stood still, watching his father grab his cane and stand up, the tiny Ge Wenhua clinging to him, “Get my changshan, Tianbai. It's time the Republic had her President again.”

“We only have a shirt and pants here, father,” he answered, holding up the more western garments, “Wenhua, dress me. I'm leaving this hospital.”

The President's spokesman and personal assistant dried her eyes and did as she was told. Zhang Bowen could be bedridden no longer.
 
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