The Miscellaneous Works (Democritus Only!)

[The East African Commonwealth]

Zambia United Testing Facility - Outdoor Driving Range
Kasama, Zambia
December 18th, 1130

The rolling hillsides outside Kasama had been busy for the past few months with regular military test, training, and live fire drills as Zambia United furthered the testing of their vehicles and systems to make them combat ready. Today, Zaria was about to add to that bustle as the XCP was driven out to the testing grounds nicknamed 'Long Haul'. As the flatbed truck with the machine attacked neared the training area Zaria could see why. From her seat inside the truck she had a full view of Long Haul and its mile long stretch of ground that had either been flattened, paved, or raised to simulate driving conditions. It wasn't anything special or significant, but for a new machine which had never been tested Long Haul represented the first potential roadblock. Zaria was a little concerned as she would be the one driving the XCP, but she couldn't even compare to Hoko. Hoko had been sweating bullets the entire drive to Long Haul as his mind went through every possible scenario in his head during the journey. As the flatbed came to a halt just outside of the testing ground Hoko took a deep breath before climbing out of the truck.

Zaria jumps out as well and heads over to the XCP, the machine had been outfitted with steel plate treads and a hydro-pneumatic stabilizer system instead of wheels for the full simulation of driving a tank. All of the tanks Zaria had driven prior had bar stabilizers, so she was looking forward to testing not only a new machine but a new suspension. As Zarai begins to untie the straps hold the machine down she calls out, "Straps two and four off!"

On the other side Hoko calls out as well, "Straps one and three untied!"

Zaria jumps up onto the flatbed and climbs up to the top of the XCP, "Alright, I'll take the break off and lets get this show started."

Hoko nods hesitantly, "I'll guild you out, and Sergeant?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't break her on the first test." Hoko says showing a small but nervous smile.

Zaria nods before squeezing into the small drivers seat inside the machine. The space was cramped and sparse with amenities other then a monitor showing fuel levels, speed, and a few other basic readings. The top of the machine still lacked a hatch so it remained open to the air giving Zaria a view of the outside from both it and the small view port in front of her. Zaria straps herself in and turns on the AX Type 3 which roars to life behind her. She grabs a headset below her and adjusts the microphone so it is in front of her mount, "Testing, testing."

"Reading you loud and clear Sergeant." Hoko says through the speaker, "Are are readings checking out?"

Zaria looks on the instruments and on the monitor, "Confirmed. Instruments all in the green and the engine is checking out as well. Loud as hell in here though."

"I'll look into dampening the noise for the next run. Hoko says, "Now go ahead and switch to reverse and back off the flatbed slowly."

"Roger that." Zaria says switching the XCP off its locked breaks to reverse. The system used a ZU Type 10 Transmission that the other ZU machines did which had a manual shift which began to whine when Zaria shifted the vehicle to reverse. Slowly, the XCP worked its way backwards off of the trailer moving at a snail's pace. The large machine rolled off the trailer and landed on the gravel road with a gentle 'thud'.

Through the radio Hoko says, "Perfect, you're clear. Head on over toward the paved segment, we don't want to rush the test."

"Roger." Zaria says again, turning the steering wheel of the XCP toward the asphalt path. The testing of the tank today was going to see how the tank preformed in the three terrain paths and what output the engine would have on each. However, it was mainly to test the temperature stresses on the engine's new systems to utilize more the jet's thust. Zaria lines the XCP up with the stretch of road in front of her and keys her mic, "This is Scrapbox, ready for test one."

She hears a groan over the mic this time, "Please stop calling it that. Prepare to begin the test in 3.......2.......1. Commence test."

Zaria throttles up and the tank begins its first true road test. At first Zaria keeps the machine's speed low at just over 10 kph but as she gets further down the stretch she begins to increase the speed to 20 kph, then to 30, and finally to 40 in the last eight of a mile. She looks at all of the gauges and record the speeds during the test, "Test 1 completed, engine appears stable. Temperature is well below expected levels and suspension system received little variance in the vibration levels."

"I've got the same readings here as well. Everything is looking good, though I have to say I expected the temperature to be much higher as well. Hoko says through the speaker, "Head to the off-road test, conduct speed tests at the same variables."

THe XCP rumbles as it turns toward the part to the left of the paved one. The one was just a simple dirt path that had been flattened. The vehicle comes to a stop, "In position, start the countdown."

"Affirmative. Prepare to begin the test in 3.......2.......1. Commence test."

The vehicle once again pushes forward and Zaria once again Increases the speed by intervals of 10 kph. Again, the temperature variance does not change but Zaria notices that the suspension off-road appears to be far superior then that of a torsion bar. At the end of the test she comes to a halt, "Test complete. Everything still looks the same. Minimal temperature variation."

"Confirmed, but this doesn't make any sense." Hoko says sounding confused, "The temperature should have increased more then that. Try the inclined terrain, that should give us enough of a variation to figure out what may be going on."

In the cockpit Zaria rolls her eyes. The machine had problems on its first test, go figure. She didn't know why Hoko was so surprised. "Roger, lining up for last test."
After another quick turn the XCP lines up in front of the incline test, a series of gentle and rolling simulated hills made of dirt and gravel. "In position, read for test."

"Roger. Begin the test in 3.......2.......1. Commence test."

The tank rolls forward for its final test and the treads begin to climb up the gentle hills. This time the temperature does rise a bit, but still well below Hoko's estimates. Zaria pushes on regardless and continues her incremental increase my 10 kph. The tank's suspension system shows no sign of being burdened either as it negates all but the most intense bumps and absorbs most of the sock going down the hills. At the ends of the test Zaria halts the tank and calls in, "Test comple-"

"What the hell....?"

"Hoko is everything OK?" Zaria asks. All her gauges showed all clear but they could have been faulty.

"Everything is fine, its just these readings make no sense." Hoko says sounding disgruntled, "There should have been a significant temperature increase from the needed heat to power the engine at some point, but there wasn't.

Inside Zaria's mind a light bulb goes on, "So what you are saying is we need to use more power?"

"Essentially yes but-"

Before Hoko can say another word Zaria turns the tank back toward the paved track, "Then lets put Scrapbox through one more test."

Slowly Hoko realizes what she is doing, "You want to do a speed test?! Are you insane! We haven't even done enough data collection to conduct this!"

"Well here is you chance to get the data." Zaria smirks, "Besides, you can't give me the most powerful engine in the EAC and expect me not to push her to the limit." The tank comes to a halt in front of the paved track and Zaria checks her straps to make sure she is fastened to the seat.

"Zaria! I told you not to break anything! This is a one of a kind engine-!"

Before Hoko can talk her out of it, Zaria slams on the throttle and the AX Type 3 lets out a deafening roar behind her. She is pressed into her seat as the machine roars down the stretch like a bullet. The sudden jolt of the machine lurching forward causes the monitor's strap to break and it comes tumbling down, leaving Zaria blind to any idea of how fast she is going. The speed of the XCP began to climb and Zaria saw the end of the track coming faster and faster as the tank began to rumble more and more. Suddenly the tank's throttle disengauges and the breaks slowly apply causing the tank to slow to a stop. "What the hell?!" Zaria says looking around at the gauges trying to figure out what was wrong. She hears a thud on the side of the tank followed by another thud on the top. Moments later Hoko's head appears over the open hatch.

"Are you crazy!" He yells, "Going full throttle with a prototype!"

"Hey, quit your bitching and help me figure out what went wrong here!" Zaria yells back.

"Nothing went wrong." Hoko says "The system locks up if it uses 75% of the output as a safety stetting I build specially because I had a feeling you may do this."

Zaria crosses her arms, "Killjoy."

Hoko shrugs, "Your record speaks for itself. Are you ok?"

"I'm fine." She raises an eyebrow, "More importantly how did scrapbox do?"

"I didn't check because I ran over as soon as you took off." Hoko says bringing up his tablet, "And more importantly stop calling my life's work a-" He stops as he looks at the screen.

"What?" Zaria asks, "Did I break it?"

"This can't be right....the temperatures..." Hoko says in a data trance.

"Egghead. What is wrong." Zarai says snapping him from his trance.

Hoko lowers the tablet, "According to the data you just went 110 kph with stable temperature variable."

The to are quiet as Zaria takes in the info, "Did we....just break the land speed record for a tank....on our first test?"

Dumbfounded Hoko nods, "I think we need to do some more tests."

Zaria grins, "Now you are speaking my language."

[The East African Commonwealth]

Zambia United Testing Facility
Kasama, Zambia
February 11th, 1020

Zaria opened the door to her living quarters and walked out to the hanger with a cup of coffee in her hand. She scans Hanger 6 and sighs as the XCP is still nowhere in sight. "Dammit Hoko, what the hell." she groggily mumbles as she walks over to a small table outside the modified container that had been her home for nearly two months. She and Hoko had run tests for nearly a week straight on the Type 3 Engine and the XCP platform and for that week she had been in heaven. The sheer power of the engine had surpassed both of their expectations and it was only due to the chassis of the vehicle buckling after launching it off a hill at top speed (Something Hoko was still giving her hell for) put the machine back in the hanger for repairs. The XCP was only supposed to be in Hanger 6 for a few days for the repairs, but Hoko had come in one day and said the XCP was going to be out of commission for longer then expected.

That was over a month ago.

Zaria had been passing the time reading up on the Type 3 and the vehicle's operational manual, but a month of just reading with no actual testing was causing her to get uneasy. If this was before she had driven the machine she would have asked for a transfer out of the program and back to Livingstone, but now all she could think about was jumping back in the cockpit of the XCP.

There is a loud clang as the main door of the hanger begins to open, causing Zaria to turn towards the from of the building. The massive trailer they had been using to transport the XCP slowly backed in with what she assumed with the XCP covered in a large tarp. After the truck gets to the center of the hanger it comes to a stop and Hoko jumps out of the driver's seat with a folder in his hand, "Sarge! I've got a surprise for you."

"As long as this surprise has a working Type 3 in it, I will be happy enough." Zaria says unamused taking a sip from her mug.

Hoko smiles, "Oh you have got more then just a working Type 3 in her now." He grabs the tarp and pulls it off the trailer, revealing a very different XCP. Zaria blinks as she looks at the machine in front of her, covered in armor plating, improved tracks, and what appeared to be improved sensors and electronics. She walks over to it and taps her knuckle against the armored hide of the machine, "I'll be damned, is this what you have been doing for a month?"

Hoko nods, "After the initial tests were presented to General Rehishower he had the higher ups in ZU accelerate the project's development and had Scrapbox overhauled."

Zaria lets a small smile out, "Oh so we can call the XCP Scrapbox now?"

He shrugs, "What can I say the name has grown on me." He walks over to the machine and puts his hand on the armor, "However, its also because she is a literal collection of parts. The armor, electronics, and the brand new systems on her are from a dozen other research branches all developing equipment for the Combat Platform Program."

Zaria grins, "Sounds like I have a lot more to break this time around." She looks down the length of the machine and frowns, "Did you do an overhaul on the frame too? She looks much bigger."

"That would be due to the armor, 700 millimeter C-Plating." Hoko says, "The frame was adjusted a little, but we have a ton of area from the armor now."

"700 mil is a lot, why so much?" Zaria asks, "And what's C Plating? Never heard of that."

"Well C-Plating is the first armor developed by ZU after years of studying other tank armors. Unlike other armors which use ceramic layers or rolled steel, C Plating uses a layered plastic-composite plating 3D Printed into a honeycomb patter and placed on top of each other, hence the thickness. On top of that, the honeycombs themselves are filled with a Copper-Steel alloy. I don't fully understand the material science behind it, but apparently when the armor is impacted by a shell or projectile it collapses and takes the brunt of the impact."

"Ah, collapsing plating." Zaria says, "Then its like reactive armor or ceramic plating, a one trick pony. Seems silly for a standard armor."

"That's what I thought too, until I found out why the alloy is included." Hoko says opening the folder in his hand and showing it to Zaria. Inside there were a few technical documents and some pictures of what looked like damaged armor, "This is a picture of the armor after being hit by a 120 millimeter AT Round from a Loyalist."

Zaria grabs the picture and narrows her eyes, "The armor looks surprisingly intact, and I don't see any penetration."

Hoko nods, "The Alloy inside the armor melts under the intense heat and pressure from the shot and forms a 500 millimeter solid piece of metal once the plate is penetrated. It basically builds a second armor plate upon contact!"

"That's insane!" Zaria says impressed, "Why the hell is this not on the UCP? It seems like a game changer, especially with first strikes determining tank combat."

"This is the first prototype of the armor to be mounted on a vehicle. If it preforms well on an operational vehicle then it will be put on our other armor." Hoko beams at the XCP and it dawns on Zaria just how big of a deal this was to him. The engine and machine he spent his life designing had not only been funded and noticed, it was now a priority. That had to mean the world to him.

"Well then what are we waiting for?"

"What?" Hoko says.

Zaria jokingly punches him, "We have an upgraded chassis, a brand new set of armor, and a fixed up engine. What do you think I am talking about!"

Hoko puts a hand up, "One condition, no more jumps."

"Deal, now lets get out there." Zaria says heading for the passenger seat of the truck, "I am about ten seconds from going crazy sitting in this hanger."

Hoko shakes his head and mumbles, "Please stay in one piece this time." As he heads toward the truck to test out the new and improved 'Scrapbox'.

[New Metropolitan France]

Southern Indian Ocean
April 28, 2026.

Project Pelican test

The official story was that the aircraft carrier Richelieu and its escorts were visiting the islands of the French Southern and Antarctic Lands located outside of the Antarctic Circle DMZ. For PR purposes, this was the truth - a helicopter would be taking a crew delegation ashore to the Kerguelen Islands later in the week. However, the Indo-Antarctic Fleet had also been tasked with a classified mission - the test deployment of a Project Pelican prototype.

In the vast and empty expanse of the southern Indian Ocean, there would be no witnesses - other than the fleet's usual AWACs and air patrol compliment, which would remain airborne however not interfere with the test. Three Rafale M jets accompany the Pelican on its mission, while four Petrel VTOL interceptors prepare to launch from the Richelieu's flight-deck.

Staff within the combat information center (CIC) would first notice electronic warfare being employed against them, as their radar systems are interfered with. Following the Confederation's standard defense doctrine, the commanding officer on Richelieu directs them to alternate frequencies; the CIC staff quickly identify three Rafale aircraft approaching. In response, the carrier's Petrels are deployed to intercept them and the fleet's air defense systems come online. However, the Pelican remains undetected at low altitude. The Pelican pilot ignores the noise around him, and closes in on his target. Even as CIC analysts begin to record the likely "kills" between Rafales and Petrels, the Pelican pilot goes through the motions of arming anti-ship ordinance. After reaching its firing range, 300km, he leisurely guides the Pelican to a higher altitude. Had the test been a real combat engagement - envisioned to be a South American carrier fleet - the missiles it could have fired would have allowed the surface ships only seconds to react. The Rafales and Petrel pilots conclude their drills against each other, returning to the Richelieu. The Pelican, meanwhile, is met by a tanker plane and partially refueled midair. The pilot carefully watches a display monitor during the refueling to ensure that the fuel pipeline is secured and then disconnected safely; having achieved this, he returns the Pelican to the carrier. Once the Pelican touches down on the flightdeck, he turns to his right and awaits the appraisal of his supervisors - who are not sitting in a cockpit - nor is the Pelican pilot - but in the Richelieu's CIC.

The French Confederation had certainly learnt the lessons of the Second Fantastic War, even if it had not been a combatant.

[Lusophone]

---

Left Bloc establishment is reaching its boiling point with Tulsi Gama

---

A leak audio recording found Prime Minister Hildred Carodoso suggesting that Tulsi Gama MP was aligned with South American interests and that Sara Palveiro was “grooming” her to break away from the caucus and start an independent party and champion their interests.

In response, Ms. Gama lashed out late in the afternoon with an extraordinary series of tweets in which she called Mrs. Cardoso

the queen of warmongers, embodiment of corruption, and personification of the rot that has sickened the Portuguese left for so long.

Tulsi Gama trashed the Left Bloc in a recent podcast interview as “not the party that is of, by and for the people,” accused President Oluwakemi Taliscas of war crimes and attacked Partido Progressista MPs as puppets.

Her podcast interview earned an attaboy from the CHEGA! leader and former President Sara Palveiro. And some rank-and-file Left Bloc members are at wit's end with the MP.

The question is whether she seriously hopes to change the coalition for the better or if she has another agenda … her attacks on other members and her positions on issues seem very personal, not so much about a set of policies or worldview

said Ricardo Bom MP.

She sort of seems to be filling a pretty strange lane. Is there a part of the party that hates the party?

said Cristo Mundo MP.

it’s a little hard to figure out what itch she’s trying to scratch in the Democratic Party right now.

Gama's presence is becoming a headache for the party as she uses the platform to appeal to isolationists, dissatisfied liberals and even the far-right.

She has views on foreign policy that are so outside the mainstream as to be a real liability to the Left Bloc,

said another liberal MP, who requested anonymity to candidly discuss the party’s issue with Gama.

It is corrosive to have folks on the national stage who represent views that are clearly not right.

Gama's office did not respond to a request for comment.

While Gama isn’t exactly gaining traction in the polls, she does appear to have a loyal following. The vast majority of her support comes from male voters, according to LusoPolls. She’s also more likely to attract support from liberal voters who supported President Sara Palveiro in 2025, according to a November poll.

Given Gama’s obvious play to appear at war with the party establishment, several MPs declined to discuss her — before panning her privately.

Beyond her isolationist foreign policy that appeals to some libertarian-leaning voters, the other notable aspect of Gama is her eagerness to blindside other party members, many of whom are friends with sitting MPs and leaders.

Gama's staying power on the national stage has surprised the bloc, but is emblematic of a broader frustration that there are simply too many voices in the coalition overall.

TAG(S): PORTUGAL, PORTUGUESE REPUBLIC, LUSOPHONE

[Bendicion]

Isolated Dhaka Port yard, Bangladesh
April 30 | 2245


Several men are busy transferring huge crates to a docked fish trawler. Huge overhead floodlights illuminate the port yard as the noise of men, forklifts and trailer trucks ring through the night. As the men laboriously move the crates, other men, armed with assault rifles stand watch on top of 12 feet tall watchtowers equipped with small floodlights of their own.

Suddenly one of the crates falls down from a forklift and crashes on the ground before it can even exit the truck. The crate hits the ground with a huge thud and the container breaks its bottom. The break causes the contents of the crate to sprawl across the ground, making almost everyone working to stop and look. A man from one of the watchtowers, who appears to be in charge, shouts to an armed guard below. The armed guard nods and quickly orders other guards to take into custody the reckless forklift driver. The driver tries to explain and tries to tug himself out from the guards, but he is punched unconscious and dragged to a container van.

The armed guard yells back to the other to clean up the mess and to continue working.

Back to the watchtower, the man in charge appears to make a call.

"...we had a small mishap sir, but we've fixed the problem right away...yes..yes...no the delivery will still be on date...we have talked with the trawler's captain, he says he is good. Okay sir."

The man walks out of the watchtower and talks with a nearby guard.

"Tell Richard we need to finish loading the goods in 30 minutes...", he orders. The guard nods and turns back when the man says some more words.

"And tell him to make sure that driver sleeps soundly tonight, we can't let them locals ringing ears here"

The guard nods and climbs down the tower.

A few minutes later the work at the port is interrupted by the sound of two consecutive gunshots.

Before the sun shines the following day, the port is empty of trucks and men, and the ship is nowhere to be found.

[Bendicion]

Seaside Resort, Bangladesh
May 5 | 1030

The sky was clear blue but for a few clouds that dotted the sky. The sun shone brightly overhead, showering its rays on the several tourists enjoying their stay at one of the luxurious hotel's several exclusive wide infinity pools. Dotting around the pool were several seats with and without umbrellas for the vacation goers, some to avoid the sun's rays and some to enjoy a tan.

One peculiar sight, however, was several black-suited men with sunglasses surrounding a two particular vacation goers, a blonde woman, who appeared to be sleeping with sunglasses on, and a blonde man, who was busy sipping on his drink under the cover of the umbrella. His sipping is abruptly disrupted by a waiter whispering on his ear. He motions for the waiter as he is given by the waiter a satellite phone.

"This ought to be good news Richard", he instantly spoke on the phone without waiting for greeting from the caller. "I don't want another major seatback like last month"

"I came to say that the package has been received by the South Star", Richard replied, "We almost barely got out of Balabac, but Vincent managed to bribe some people to let the package slip"

"Good. Make sure we get the delivery to the southeast, otherwise we will lose millions. Got it?", the man replied to Richard as the blonde woman beside him appeared to be waking up.

"Yes Sir", Richard replied before the man hung up and just before the blonde woman sat up on her seat.

"Gerald, who was that?", the blonde woman looked at Gerald as she reached out for her drink placed on a nearby table between the two of them.

"It was just business honey. My agent just called me that the stockmarket hit a new high.", Gerald tried to explain while at the same time giving the satellite phone to a nearby guard.

"Oh okay", the blonde woman gave a smile, "Thanks again for bringing me along here Gerald. i couldn't imagine leaving Australia to go vacation abroad"

"There's nothing to thank me for Katrina", Gerald smiled back, "I'm just happy you're here with me"

The couple toasted their glasses as they looked across the busy pool under the midday summer sun.

------------------------------

[Bendicion]

125kms off the coast of Bengal
Sports cruiser motor yacht Sapphire Isle
0330

The sky was still dark as Gerald went up to scan the horizon with his binoculars. Wearing only a white undershirt and brown shorts made him shudder as the breeze picked up the pace. The Sapphire Isle rocked about the waves as signs of the sun were still far.

As Gerald moved from east to south, he caught glimpse of what he'd been expecting for. A fishing trawler, almost 3x the size of his motor yacht. Looking through his binoculars he could make out several men on the trawler's bridge. He grabs his satellite phone from his pocket and dials a number.

"How long till you get the package to the mainland?", he directly asked.

A man's voice crackled over the phone, it was Richard's voice. "8 to 10 hours, we're going at max 9 knots already."

"You gotta get that package in fast", Gerald replied, "the Bengali's are taking notes of everyone-including foreigners"

"Dont worry, local gangs and suppliers are making it harder to trace to us", Richard's voice over the radio became clearer as the trawler, around 10kms from the yacht, passed slowly towards the Bengal coast. "And we have several officials on the payroll through some deals with a couple accomplices".

"Dont take any chances", Gerald replied, "This last shipment is going to give us boatloads of cash. Bengal was the cheapest route out of there while it lasted, now we're going to deal again with those wretched Burmese traffickers", he paused, "Do your job, and you'll enjoy your part back home".

"I doubt that", Richard's voice slowly became crackled as the trawler slowly drifted into the horizon."But I hope I can".

The sea rocked the yacht once more as Gerald watched the yacht slowly disappear on the horizon.

"You better hope. That's $250M we're talking about..", Gerald whispered as he went back down inside the yacht.

[Orostan]

Antofagasta

The grey government issue sedan moved along the highway with the other cars leaving the city's airport. Nicolás Montenegro, the driver of the car, was on his way home to see his family before he caught a flight to Santiago the next morning. His smart phone on the dashboard lit up and vibrated for a moment with some twitter notification. Nicolás kept his eyes on the road as he took an exit off of the highway and onto an arterial road. Soon after turning onto that road his car approached an intersection and stopped for the red light. Nicolás took a water bottle from its place in the cup holder and took a drink as an almost imperceptible click came from under his seat. Nicolás didn't notice the click though as he waited for the light to turn green. He could have swore that the lights lingered on red only when he was around. Then the light went green finally and he got the car moving forwards again. Another soft click came from beneath his seat, but he didn't notice that one either.

The car kept going down the road, turning at intersections and circling around roundabouts. Finally entering a low density residential area late into the day Nicolás looked around for a parking spot. Nicolás found one only a block away from his house. Despite his high profile job at the CSN he only boasted a very middle class detached house in the suburbs of an industrial city. As Nicolás stopped his car, another click came from beneath his seat. He noticed the sound this time but gave no attention to it. Probably the gears moving around or something. On the walk home Nicolás read a news story about himself in Clarín Politics. Greeted at the door by his loving family, Nicolás was unaware that a bomb was counting down under his car.

[Bendicion]

20kms South of Chuksar Island
Fishing Trawler Reg No.:220-JHO88-AUS23
1230

The sun was already high up in the sky as the fishing trawler stopped just within a distance from Chuksar Island, one of the many dotting rings of islands in the southern portion of Bengal. The island was also close to the popular resort towns of Fraserganj and Bakkhali, which housed thousands of foreign residents and several large entertainment areas.

Several of the 30 armed men onboard had already come out to scan the horizon as well as spot any activity out of the ordinary. Richard himself was sitting on the bridge, a fan cooling him off from the hot Bengal air. The ship's captain, a middle-aged man with a bushy brown beard, was busy inspecting a map of the area with one of his men.

Suddenly one of the men outside shouted. Richard hastily went up from where he sat and went out of the bridge to find what was happening.

"What's going on?", he asked one of the nearby armed men.

"One of the men spotted one of the smuggler's speed boats coming from the north", the man replied. A lone gunshot blasted in the air as Richard and the man ended their conversation.

"What in the hell??!", Richard thought

Richard quickly searched for his satellite phone from his pockets. He quickly dialed a course of numbers and waited for an answer.

"Aye Amigo!", a man with a heavy Bengali slang answered the phone. "Do not shoot. We are from the Southern White Flower Mob. We're here for the order."

Richard shouted to his men not to shoot as the speedboat quickly closed its distance with the group. Soon enough over the distance, several other speedboats emerged from the nearby island en route to the ship.

The first speedboat finally touched the side of the trawler, onboard was a crew of three Bengali men, one of which was holding a satellite phone and a nice green cap with a few yellow words saying "Socceroos Fan" on the front. Richard greeted him.

"It seems we almost placed you underwater", Richard remarked as the man gave a smirk. "Next time, use the code we handed to you with a flashlight"

The man nodded as Richard led him towards a hatch on the main deck along with 2 of his men.

"Open the hatch", he ordered his men. The men complied and slowly lifted the sealed hatch door. Inside were several brown boxes, a few large crates and a number of suitcases. The eyes of the man with the green cap quickly widened. He turned to Richard.

"We will load the cargo on to your boats, and we will get our payment as planned", Richard eyed him.

"Yes yes, we have money with us", the man replied in his thick accent. "Come", he said as they went back to the side of the ship where the arriving speedboats were concentrating. The man shouted to one of his men below at the speedboats, who then quickly went to open a nearby storage unit on the speedboat and proceeded to take a large briefcase.

The man passed the briefcase to one of the guards who then passed it to the man with the green cap.

"Here is money. Two-hundred and fifty million francs", the man opened the briefcase to the awe of the nearby armed men. Richard, however, was not amused.

"We need one more thing", Richard demanded, "We need your boss to help us get false identities"

"No. Two hundred fifty million will be transferred to boss account", the man replied, seemingly confused about what Richard was asking him.

"No! We need your boss to help plant some identity cards for our sleepers", Richard demanded again.

The man nodded and gave the briefcase to Richard.

Richard recollected his thoughts and quickly ordered the cargo of his ship loaded on the speedboats, of which there were at least 10 waiting on the side of the trawler.

After a few hours, the operation was finished and the smugglers' speed boats were heading their way back to Chuksar Island, some going to the nearby tourist town itself.

"What do you want to do now boss?", one of the armed men asked Richard as he stood on the side of the main deck looking towards the slowly disappearing speedboats.

"We head for Myanmar"

[Bengal and Assam]

3rd SWAT Division Paddy Wagon,Southern Shirohana District, Funamori City

“All right folks” said a fully geared figure sitting right next to the back doors of the van
“We have seen lots of movement around the main den of the Southern White Flower Yakuza mob lately, and our friends in Undercover tell us that something big is going down. Something involving a shit ton of boxes, getting rid of a dead body and fishing boats. That dead body in particular washed up to the Waterfront, with the description being an exact match to what our Undercover operatives in the mob tells us. Today, with this evidence at hand we are apprehending these lowlifes, and are sending them to jail. And hopefully, with further evidence, we are going to send them there for a long time.
This is a perfect opportunity, as the Southern White Flowers Red Poles(<Head Honchos) are meeting today . We are going to grab a huge haul of fish today. Hopefully, the entire pack. Everyone, GEAR UP!”

Aftermath of raid…
Lots of low level gang members and a gang leader dead. Mob head and many others captured alive

OOC: I am a bit busy, so I couldn't write up the gunfight scene. Sorry

“We turned the place upside down didn’t we, Captain Chow?” said Lt. Yamagawa

“Yeah. We did, now forensics are gonna come in, and look for dirt on these cunts.” said Chow as he looked around, a notebook caught his eye. “Ayy...Speak of the devil.”, said he as he picked up the book tilted as “Ledger” on the cover.

“I know it ain’t our business. But lets open it, and see what they have been up to.”

“I would’ve done it if you didn’t tell me anyway Yamagawa” said Chow as he was going through the pages, looking for the latest entry. “Fuck me… These dickheads just gave 250 million Francs just yesterday. From someone called Richard The Gailou, Richard the Foreigner, not from around here.”

“Southern Shirohana’s gone international now, innit? I wonder what they got in return. Drugs, women?”

“We will find out soon. These cunts just look tough on the outside, after a few punches, they will spill the beans easily. We caught 6 of em, atleast one of them will rat out the others. They got paid 250 mil, must've been some kidnapped white women. We should put a word out to the Coast Guard. Such transactions mostly take place on boats, atleast that's how it happens in our neighbouring Raj according to the boys there.”

[The East African Commonwealth]

Zambia United Testing Facility
Kasama, Zambia
July 28th, 0910

The Zambia United Testing Ground had been seeing round the clock use ever since they were opened at the end of 2023. Tank treads and armored vehicle tracks littered the entire facility along with the sounds of welding, screw-guns, and heavy equipment being moved. To General Rehishower it almost sounded like music. As the general walked toward the testing ground flanked by an aid, a Lieutenant Christian Dale, he took in the sounds and only hoped that all the effort these engineers and drivers were putting into the Combat Platform Project would produce some noteworthy machines. However, armies cannot live on hope alone. Normally Rehisower's visits to the facility were to check on a few test beds, look at suggested programs, or just catching up with Dr. Walters who he developed a unique friendship with. However, this visit was one he was not looking forward to. With the military receiving major budget cuts, Rehishower had notified Dr. Walters that all of ZU's government funded projects would be required to do a live demonstration before him and three other members of the recently establish Production Oversight Committee to determine what programs would have their funding pulled.

As the General and Lt. Dale came to the elevated concrete viewing platform for the testing ground Rehishower saw Dr. Walters waving him down from the stairs of the structure. Smiling Rehishower calls out, "Doctor! A pleasure as always to be here....just wish it was under better circumstances." He walks over and shakes Walters hand.

The Doctor nods, "As do I General, while I know that ZU will still be holding onto some of its contracts, it will be difficult to reduce our staffing numbers. Many of the engineers here are classmates from my college days." He motions toward the stairwell, "The other three members of the POC are already here, and I know how military types hate to wait around here."

Rehishower smirks at the jab, knowing his impatience had been a thorn in the Doctor's side for a while. Dale, Walters, and Rehishower make their way up the platform and take a seat at the top. There are six other people there, all in military uniforms. Rehishower did not know anyone personally on the POC minus one of the aids who had served under him for three months. To him that was an issue. None of the other three members of the POC knew anything about ZU's prototypes other then what they had read in reports. Rehishower had nurtured the entire program and he had an intimate knowledge of every project. If it had been up to him, Rehishower himself would have had the final say, but the top brass had demanded that there be other opinions present. Now he was going to have to fight to try and ensure he could keep as much of the Combat Platform Project intact as possible.

Dr. Walters walks in front of the assembled POC and clears his throat, "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Zambia United's Testing ground. We shall now be presenting our prototype weapons for your review to determine the status of our programs and their continued funding. If at any point you have questions for our programs or the prototypes I will call our crews to stay after the demonstration for you to interview the crews and examine our machines. For that reason I will ask you to hold your requests or questions until the end of each demonstration. Our first prototype for review is the UV-001, a light utility vehicle that is equipped with...."

As the boxy four by four rolled onto the field from a large hanger to the left of the viewing platform Rehishower began to go over the programs under his authority in his head. The UCP and LCP programs were already secured due to them entering mass production and the EAC's upgrading policy on older equipment. This thought eased two of his biggest concerns. The UCP SPG variant was one of the programs on the chopping block so he was concerned about that as well. Rehishower is temporarily snapped out of his train of through as there is a series of claps signaling the end of the first demonstration. He claps as well and falls back to his thoughts as the second demonstration begins on the UCP Mortar System, a program that would be continued since the EAC had no mortar systems. Normally, Rehishower would pay close attention to the tests, but he knew what programs were essential and which were not. He knew what he was going to fight to keep and what he was going to left get defunded. Walters likely knew as well, but he would never say so to give his staff a chance to prove themselves.

As the demonstrations continued there was some mild applause and murmuring from the assembled officers. Some were having their aids take notes and record the demonstrations for later review. Some were a bit more blatant about their opinions on some of the machines either rolling their eyes or shaking their heads at the end of a few demonstrations. About an hour into the display Walters abruptly coughs and looks at Rehishower raising an eyebrow. The General is taken out of his thoughts and he looks at the Doctor, a little confused.

"Zambia United's last prototype for review is the Experimental Combat Platform Prototype which is a combination of some of our newest technologies and is built with lessons from the UCP, LCP, and our operations of the G-27 from Canada."

Rehishower realized why Walters had called for his attention, the XCP was on of the programs on the chopping block and a program of particular interest to him. He leans forward and looks at Dale, "Lieutenant, I want you to record this demonstration and take note of any combat abilities this machine shows. Take extensive notes here.

Dale, who had been sitting quietly next to the General for the entire demonstration nods, "Yes Sir. Is there anything particular you want me taking a note of."

Rehishower nods, "Everything son, you fill that notepad up if you need to."

The ground rumbles a bit as a large shape appears from the hanger. Rehishower leans forward along with the other officers to get a view of the machine. Last time Rehishower had seen the XCP it was in February right after it had received the new C-Plating and Hoko had made Adjustments to the Type 3 Engine. It was little more then a armored box then. Not anymore. What slowly drove out of the hanger was a massive tank unlike anything he had ever seen. The machine's armor was visibly massive even from the viewing platform and most of the treads were covered with an armored belt. The profile was also huge, standing nearly four meters tall much higher then any of its counterparts. But that was not the part that caught everyone's attention, it was the twin barrels mounted on the turret. The LCP and UCP mounted twin guns as well, but they were shorter and usually had a lower range to decrease weight and increase ammo capacity. The XCP's guns were true tank barrels, two massive 120mm long barrels with muzzles breaks at the tips. Where the UCP had looked unique and had brought a new concept, this machine had brought the concept to life in a way that Rehishower didn't consider possible.

One of the officers, a Major chuckles mumbling, "Look at that, ZU's building targets for us now." A few other chuckles next to the officer and causes Walters to interject, "Excuse me Major Kusa, did you say something?"

"Respectfully Doctor, this tank may look intimidating but its a massive target." The Major says shrugging, "Its profile is too big and in tank combat whoever is spotted first loses. Further the unit cost and operational cost is likely high due to the size."

Another officer, this one a two star general, interjects as well, "Lets not count the fact I only see two hatches on the machine. Crew suitability is a paramount concern to the military and this machine will not fit it."

Rehishower raises an eyebrow and looks at the XCP. Sure enough there were only two visible hatches, one in the middle toward the front of the hull and one on top of the turret. Before Rehishower or the other officers can say anything else Walters raises a hand requesting silence.

"Ladies and Gentlemen I appreciate your concerns, but as I said at the start of our demonstrations please hold all questions until the end of the demonstration. However, I will admit that upon the weapons first few tests I was skeptical and outright against it, however, I request that you see the XCP's abilities demonstrated before making a final judgment."

While there is some mumbling among the officers they withhold their other questions and criticisms for the time being. The response was what Rehishower had been afraid of. The tank was too big for anyone with a traditional mindset and this crew survivability factor was going to be a major negative when it came to renewing the program. The General takes a deep breath in as the hopes for the program were now in the hands of the XCP's crew and its mechanic.

The XCP slowly makes its way in front of the platform and stops. The turret slowly rotates and its two guns begin to move independently. This was an improvement over the UCP which had both its guns locked on the same target. The right gun depresses well past 10 degrees while the left gun rose to over 40 degrees, exceptional for a vehicle of its size. As the turret reached the 180 point of its turn the speed of the turn suddenly hastened as did the guns rate of elevation and depression turning back to its original position in seconds. While the turret was impressive, Rehishower knows that it will not be enough to sell the rest of the POC. The tank begins to swivel toward the rest of the testing ground and stop once it is perpendicular to the field. Then the Type 3 Engine roars and the tank catapults itself forward, sending a plume of dust up in its wake. Rehishower grins, that was what he was here to see. As the XCP presses forward its turret begins to traverse and its guns elevate and depress, conducting a full high speed 360 while the machine is operating at high speeds and conducting maneuvers. As the machine begins to reach the end of the track a series of targets rise up on the left side of the field of varying sizes and distances from the track.

Walters calls out to officers, "I would cover your ears, it's about to get loud."

On cue there is a roar as the XCP's 120mm guns fire a joined salvo at the targets followed by each gun firing independently at the next target while the tank is still moving. The last series of targets are shot at with the guns being fired at different angles. Nine out of the twelve targets have 120mm shell holes in them while the remaining three have holes in the ground within a ten foot radius of the target. The XCP then preforms a hard left turn and heads to the center of the field, its guns returning to a joint elevation as they do so. They fire another joint round, this time into the ground in front of the tank. Rehishower was unfamiliar with the rounds as the resulting explosion was much larger then a conventional HE round creating a large crater in front of the tank. The XCP drives directly into the crater, getting airborne for a split second before coming to a stop and rotating its turret once more.

Inside Rehishower's head something clicks, "I'll be damned...."

"Sir?" Dale asks.

"Hoko is using some old tactics, but in a way that's brilliant." Rehishower says, "He's using the guns to dig himself a bunker like to Soviet's did in the Second World War at Kursk to hide the hull and only let the turret stick out. It made the tanks basically bunkers. He's using the added power and size to his advantage...."

The XCP quickly climbs out of the crater it had just dug for itself and parks itself in front of it. Walters turns to the assembled staff, "This final demonstration has already been attempted prior to this display, please be aware of this while viewing this final portion."

Before anyone can ask what the Doctor means, three G-27s and a UCP-1 roll out from the hanger and head toward the XCP, taking positions on each side of the machine. Rehishower's eyes widen, "They're not about to-"

Before he can continue all four tanks surrounding the XCP roar our a volley of shells that impact the prototype machine. The different styles of explosion showing that multiple round types were likely in use as they impact the machine. A smoke cloud covers the XCP and Rehishower shoots up out of his seat along with the other members of the POC.

"WALTERS!?!" Rehishower yells, "WHAT THE HELL-!"

"Wait a moment general," Walters says stopping him, "Have a little faith."

As if on cue the XCP rolls out of the smoke cloud back toward the viewing platform to the surprise of all. Some of the armor had been scorched, but none of it was shattered or cracked like traditional ceramics would be. Massive indentations covered parts of the armor that looked like someone had taken an ice cream scooper and removed a chunk of the plating. The machine comes to a stop in front of the platform, a bit battered, but fully operational. The POC members, including Rehishower, stand in shock. Walters turns to the officers, "Shall I request the crew to stay?"

There is a unanimous 'YES' from the officers as they make their way to the stairs to get a closer look at the XCP. Rehishower stays on the platform shaking his head in disbelief, "I know the C-Plating was supposed to be durable, but I never believed...."

"Never believed it would work?" Walters finishes for him, "Me too if I am being honest. Makes first contact no longer the deciding factor of battle for this model."

The general crosses his arms as he looks at the tank, "I'll be damned. I knew that Hoko was brilliant and that you helped with this, but this is beyond anything I expected. I don't think the program is going to be cut judging by the reactions of the rest of the POC. Though there may still be some complaints about the size and the crew hatches."

Dr. Walters shrugs, "Sadly the size is mostly due to how thick the C-Plating is, so I can't help you there. Though I don't think two crew members need three hatches."

"Wait," Rehishower says looking at the Doctor, "Two crew members?"

"Well there is a support crew for maintenance and supply ops, but yes the XCP itself only has two crew, a gunner and a driver." Walter says, "The plan is to have the commander remotely advise and order the crew and should the comms go down the gunner would be in command."

Rehishower whistles, "That's a little out there....and risky. I'm not sure how I feel about that part."

The Doctor nods, "I had a feeling you would be conflicted. This machine is a massive step forward in many ways, but I do think Hoko maybe should have kept room for the commander. he may change that for the mass production model. Speaking of...."

Rehishower nods, "Hoko will get his funding for the mass production model, but it needs to be an affordable cost. I see a lot of expensive tech on that machine and that means higher costs, something we can't deal with right now."

"About that." Walters grabs a file folder from under his lab coat and gives it to Rehishower, "Hoko wanted me to give this to you, should help ease your mind on the costs and operations as well as a couple of ideas for both the mass production and custom designs."

"Custom designs? Well I'll look it over, but I can't promise that kid anything, even if he is the best damn engineer on your team." The Doctor raises an eyebrow. Rehishower sighs, "Excluding you, you old bag."

Walters Smiles, the first time Rehishower had ever seen the stoic man do so. "Glad you recognize true talent. I am going make sure our hot blooded driver doesn't get ahead of herself, I'll let you look that over." The Doctor walks toward the stair and begins to head toward the XCP, leaving Rehishower alone on the platform. The general looks at the file and opens it up and begins to read.

'Mark 1 Titan Heavy Combat Platform - Mass Production Model'

The general smirks reading the name then stops at the next line of text.

"The hell is the Scrapbox?"

[Lusophone]

---

Tulsi Gama wants Portugal to scrap the Euro, leave DEU

---

What is at stake in this election is our continuity as a free nation, our existence as a people,

Tulsi Gama, the leader of Alternative for Portugal, told cheering supporters at a campaign rally.

Our country, our politics, our quality of life is in decline because we have been dispossessed of our patriotism. We are suffering in silence and not being allowed to love our country … The divide is not longer between the left and the right, but between the Portugal and the DEU.

said Gama speaking before party militants.

Gama's speech unveiled Alternative for Portugal's election campaign platform. Published on Sunday, the document, notably short on macro-economic and practical detail, pledges to not follow through with Portugal's Euro plans and to hold a referendum on Portugal’s DEU membership.

A Gama presidency would work to tax imports and foreigners’ job contracts, lower the retirement age, raise welfare benefits and cut income tax while curbing migration, slashing crime rates, expelling illegal migrants and hiring 15,000 new police officers.

The Alternative for Portugal leader also took swipe at her “the cash-rich right and the cash-rich left” rivals without mentioning them by name, declaring that she was “only the candidate of the people”.

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TAG(S): PORTUGAL, PORTUGUESE REPUBLIC, LUSOPHONE

[Bendicion]

Yangoon, Myanmar
2036
Black Nissan Sedan


The black Nissan sedan stopped across the street of a three-story warehouse at the edge of the Sittang River, the warehouse appeared abandoned except for a couple of hooded figures that entered and exited the buidling every few minutes. The street where the building was situated on itself hosted a few pimps quietly watching over their girls as cars occasionally passed by the dark lit road.

The four men in the car silently waited, except for the man in the front passenger seat, he was busy scanning for something or someone. Richard, seating in the back middle seat silently watched as cars in front of them picked up women and went off. He glanced at his watch.

"It's almost 9 o'clock", he thought to himself before looking again to what was happening in front of the car.

As the men waited and waited the sounds of cars passing by and groups of homebound working men slowly gave way to an eerie silence, albeit except for the occasional dog barkings in the distance.

The man in the passenger seat silently opened his window and gave out a complex whistle. Silence. He whistled again. Still silence. Richard slowly placed his right arm into his coat, pulling out an M1911 pistol in anticipation.

Suddenly a whistle rang out. Then another. Then another one. At the end of the third whistle, the second-floor windows of the warehouse suddenly lighted and the ground floor door opened, out came three hooded figures with rifles at hand.

At the sight of the armed men, the men inside the car quickly drew out their own hidden coat pistols.

"Easy!", the man in the front seat exclaimed as he slowly opened the passenger door. "Don't do anything, I'll handle this". He slowly exited the door, with arms raised. The armed men quickly pointed their nozzles at him and started saying orders in what appeared to be Burmese language.

"No shoot!", the man exclaimed at the armed masked men as he slowly placed his right arm into his coat. As he did so one of the armed men shouted, motioning for him to stop.

"It's okay, it's okay", the man replied as he slowly pulled out a towel with his right hand while using his left arm to motion the armed men to calm down. "I am a friend, friend". He said as he slowly unraveled the towel, revealing a symbol of a flower in red ink.

One of the armed men slowly took away the towel and gave it to one of his companions who carefully examined it.

"Tell Mr. Sein, Erickson is here with the Australian ring", Erickson told the armed men again while raising his two arms.

One of the armed men nodded like he understood what Erickson meant and ordered his other companions to lower their weapons. He approached Erickson.

"White man follow me", the Burmese man said as he motioned for Erickson to go with him into the building.

"Yes, yes thank you", he replied as he went back to the car where Richard and his men were waiting. "All's good, he's asking us to go inside to meet Sein", he tells Richard as they exit the car, pistols back inside their coats.

"Good. You Americans sure have tough guts", Richard remarked at Erickson before pushing a bundle of money to Erickson's chest. "Downpayment for your help. The rest you'll get if we get out of here with a good deal"

"Bu-but,but", Erickson stammered.

"No buts, focus on the deal", Richard eyed him. "If we don't get out of here alive, you wont as well"

"Yes Richard", Erickson looked down, stashing the money on his pocket.

"White man follow now!", the Burmese man shouted back at them from the entrance door.

By now, the street was now showing signs of activity, several more armed militia came out of nearby buildings and started eyeing Richard, Erickson and the rest of the gang.

"Better hurry lads", Richard muttered to Erickson and his men, "It seems our host doesn't have a lot of time"

The group enters the warehouse as the third-floor lights light up showing shadows of female figures dancing.

[Lusophone]

---

3 key policies from Joao Barcelos' platform

---

Joao Barcelos launched his election platform with the slogan "Our Best Days Still Lie Ahead." It sets out his priorities should he win the election.

What were the key promises out of 60 pages that the Conservadores candidate hopes would grab the public's attention? Here are 3 key policies.

1. Increase the number of nurses by 50,000
At present, there are just under 300,000 full-time equivalent posts. Barcelos wants to train more nurses by reintroducing maintenance grants of between $6000 and $9000 a year for students. The scrapping of these grants in 2020 by former President Sara Palveiro (CHEGA!) were controversial and was followed by a fall in applicants. So, it is something of a U-turn.

However, the policy will not involve a return to the pre-2019 policy of free tuition for nursing students. The 50,000 figure is reached by including foreign recruitment and policies for better retention of nurses. The Left Bloc promised to recruit 24,000 nurses - based on higher numbers in training - and introduce free tuition fees and maintenance grants.

2. No income tax, VAT or National Insurance rises
There were no rabbits out of the hat, no huge tax cuts, or rises, and no big ticket new spending item. By design, the tax and spend numbers were smaller than those of the Hyper Federalists and CHEGA! and, especially, the Left Bloc.

But, the former Prime Minister promises to keep a tight ship. There will be a little bit more spending and a bit more tax too. But it amounts to less than 1% of the size of the economy. The big picture is several billion a year of extra spending, but not several tens of billions.

3. Raise pensions by at least 2.5% per year
Barcelos wants to introduce a "triple lock" to the state pension and increase it by the CPI measure of inflation, wage growth or 2.5% each year - whichever is the highest. Critics say that keeping it in place is unaffordable and that it doesn't help the poorest and oldest pensioners who are on the old state pension.

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TAG(S): PORTUGAL, PORTUGUESE REPUBLIC, LUSOPHONE

[Lendenburgh]

Helsinki Enquirer Offices, Helsinki, Finland
10:05 AM EEDT, August 16, 2026
The bright Finnish summer was coming to a close, with balmy, mosquito laden air wafting in through the window of the small room in the newspaper's offices. Monica sighed, again, as she looked down at the fifteen boxes of papers just delivered. She and Erik would have to go through each financial document carefully, as their boss insisted that something big was happening at Statoil.

"Why don't I start with the oldest papers, you go for the most recent, and we'll meet in the middle?" Erik said, with the same bored look in his eyes that Monica felt.

"Sure... I just don't understand what we could possibly find in these statements that a government oversight agency, and probably a million other people, wouldn't have caught before we even requested they be delivered to us! I mean, these things go back nearly a decade." With an eye roll, she picked up the box labeled 'RK 2020 - JAN1-DEC31'.

Sliding the cardboard lid off, Monica began a few different piles of paper- one for the year end statement, one for all the operational expense documents, and miscellaneous memos that had been grouped in with the financials. Throwing one after the other, every one of the reports seemed fairly normal. Just numbers on a page, adding up to the column end, nothing special. She almost wanted to bang her head against the table in frustration, but Erik let out a chuckle.

"What?" she snapped.

"Nothing, it's just that I don't know what you expected investigative journalism to be like, if not going through old papers constant--" Monica was about to give him what-for, but the smile abruptly fell of Erik's face as his sentence trailed off. He was holding a memo marked with "Konfidentiell" at the top in red ink. "M-Monica? I don't think we were supposed to get this one..."

Statoil Headquarters, Stavanger, State of Kalmar
10:30 AM CEDT, August 16, 2026
Freyj Poulsen was sitting at his desk, overlooking the harbor of Stavanger, which currently had two of his ships bringing in a load of crude oil from the fields off the coast. It was a good life to be living, as the CEO of one of the largest, most valuable energy companies in the world, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something that day would go wrong. Perhaps his wife would get on his case for having left the back door unlocked on his way to work that morning, but it felt bigger than that. Could he have forgotten one of his kids' football games? No, they were all in his calendar. Surely he was just being anxious for no reason.

Pulling the ottoman away from the leather recliner in the corner of his office, he dropped himself into a chair and let out a yawn. A soft ring came from the speaker by the door, indicating that someone was at his office door. An urgent knock followed.

"Yes, yes, do come in," Freyj beckoned, expecting his secretary to pop his head through the doorway.

The head of accounting, instead, walked through the door, looking nothing short of terrified. "Mr. Poulsen... I'm afraid we have a situation with a request for public information that a small Helsinki newspaper made about a week ago," She looked to be close to breaking out in a cold sweat, obviously this could not be good.

Freyj stood up, and walked back to his desk, opening the top drawer to find his agenda for last week. "I remember that... I signed off on the request, yes? Just the general financial statements going six, seven years back, and... that seems to be about it. What's the issue with them? The Finns not satisfied with the truth anymore?" The smile he gave was hopeful, almost a silent prayer that a couple nosey reporters hadn't gotten their hands on something.

"Well, sir, the situation seems to be..." She hesitated, "I'll just say that someone from our accounting department seems to have accidentally left a classified memo from Stockholm in the boxes we shipped over there."

"From when? What memo?" Freyj shot up from his chair.

"2020, July, when they first contact us about the- uh, the payments to the PM's office." She seemed to shrink back towards the door.

The CEO's face grew redder and redder, but in a calmly threatening voice he simply said, "Get Batra on the line right now. If I'm going down, I'm taking his whole damn party with me!" With that, the head of accounting scurried out of the office, and his secretary could be heard outside the door, already dialing up the Prime Minister's office.

Helsinki Enquirer Offices, Helsinki, Finland
11:48 PM EEDT, August 16, 2026
Monica and Erik couldn't stop staring at the memo. They were just standing over the table, looking at it like some zoo animal. It was unbelievable. One document, which fully outlined how the state's own oil company was funneling money into the Prime Minister's pocket through an environmental project called the "Sarek Initiative"

"Why, of all the things on this green Earth, did they choose the Sarek Initiative as their cover?" Monica asked herself. She supposed it was well disguised in the massive payments made for the construction of hydroelectric facilities, and that nobody would really raise a question if a dam-building project was delayed for a few months, or even years. Breaking the silence that had held the room for the last few minutes, she said "We have to go public with this. People need to know if there's corruption, and it's this widespread!"

"The real question is, how did the boss know? I mean, what, he goes to Stockholm for a few days, gets a gut feeling, and then uncover's the Federation's biggest scandal since who knows when?" Erik replied, obviously a little skeptical at the information they had just uncovered.

"I don't really think it matters, we should just call him." Her hand moved over to her cell phone, scrolling through her contacts and dialing their boss. Even if it wasn't under the best circumstances, this was going to be the best damn exposé of her career.

[Lusophone]

---

Tulsi Gama sues Borut Pahor for $50 million, claims defamation over Rai News remark

---

Alternative for Portugal presidential candidate Tulsi Gama filed a defamation lawsuit Wednesday against Borut Pahor seeking $50 million in damages, claiming the Italian Prime Minister actively is "carelessly and recklessly impugning" her reputation when he suggested to Portuguese voters not to elect her President.

The lawsuit, filed in Italy, says it aims to hold Pahor accountable for "election interference" and "distorting the truth in the middle of a critical Presidential election." It also says Gama is suffering an active economic loss to be proven at trial.

Gama first hit back at Pahor's comments in an interview with Puertollanoan news outlet TeleSUR. Gama is unavailable for comment about the suit, according to her law firm.

Although MP Gama's presidential campaign continues to gain momentum, she has seen her political and personal reputation smeared and her candidacy intentionally damaged by Pahor's malicious and demonstrably false remarks

a partner at Gama's law firm said in a statement.

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---

---

Invovled countries through location: Portugal, Italy
RL Date: 29 April 2020
IC Date: 17 August 2026

TAG(S): PORTUGAL, PORTUGUESE REPUBLIC, LUSOPHONE

[Anxiety Cafe]

Involved Countries Through Location: San Martinia
RL Date: May 2, 2020
Democritus Date: August 10, 2026

Nahuel Muñoz tried to ignore the feeling of eyes on his back, but it seemed to get more difficult with each passing second. The man sitting across the aisle from him had been staring ever since Nahuel had boarded the bus, as if unaware of how rude he was being. He wasn't the only one paying close attention, though. Nahuel had counted at least three other passengers who threw glances his way, and two more had blocked the empty seats next to them as he walked by.

None of this was new to him; Nahuel was Mapuche, and he was very proud of it. Others, however, saw him differently because of it. Many were quick to assume he was a thief, aiming to reach his fingers for their wallets. Some were simply racist to the bone; they didn't want to share a bus with a "savage," now did they? Even in Temuco, San Martinia's supposedly most Mapuche-friendly city, such prejudices were common.

Most of the time, Nahuel didn't mind it. He enjoyed defying their expectations while still maintaining his identity. He was a law student at the University of the Frontier, studying in the hopes of improving the lives of his community in Wallmapu. Being a university student was tough, but a Mapuche one was even worse. All the professors assumed his education was subpar, while some students felt he was prone to cheating. Still, he had made some friends, thanks to the Mapuche student organization, which was why he was even on the bus in the first place.

Having just finished his last class of the day, he was on the way to attend Temuco's environmental protest. The protests had dominated the national headlines for days, and in Temuco it was no different. People estimated thousands would attend, and looking out the window, Nahuel was sure the estimates had been far too low. And Nahuel sure wasn't going to miss out. Besides, he truly believed in the protests. San Martinia needed to take a bigger step towards protecting the environment, living sustainably, as the Mapuche had done for centuries.

As he felt the eyes of the man fall on him once again, Nahuel sighed loudly. All he wanted at the moment was for the bus ride to be over, but the normal 10-minute route had already lasted over three times that due to the chaos of the protests. Pulling out his phone, Nahuel began typing a message to his friends: Hang on, almost there. Then he put his phone down, turned to his side, and stared back at the man across the aisle.

[Greater Persian State]

Invovled Countries Through Location: Just me
RL Date: 5/3/20
Democritus Date: 8/21/26

The hot sun had shone upon the center of the earth, here in Persia for thousands of years. That was no less true today. At the Tehran Imperial Country Club (named simply for is Achaemenid theme) had become a favorite of the political elite, even on such days like today when the temperature reached 85 degrees and it felt hotter. One of Davud Akbar's pet projects had been introducing tennis on a large scale to Persia. There had been trouble with it, been eventually it had gained momentum, with Mansour Bahrami's (Iranian tennis entertainer) help the sport had finally gotten off the ground. So here at the club on the red clay courts there was Davud Akbar. In all white tennis clothing he slid across the red clay to return a shot from Prime Minister Shahram Khoroushi. Despite Davud Akbar's age, (he was now in his mid 60s) he continued to excel for his age group. The younger Khoroushi, a decent player himself, was losing. The court was by a small country club house with your typical amenities, a couch, television, fridge, AC, and so on. With the addition of the Achmaemenid decor and several armed guards.

Davud Akbar had invited the Prime Minister to play, and now he was beating him. Akbar fired a strong forehand over the net, and with a limp movement Khoroushi hit it into the bottom of the net. Game, set, match. Both men went inside. Akbar sat down and turned on the news, the Persia Firsters were gaining momentum with a nationalist and protectionist message, and were holding another big rally.

"Turn that s*** off, all they do is give them more airtime." said Shahram as he took a water bottle out of the fridge.

Akbar chuckled and replied, "you should have brought the press here and they'd be talking to us!"

"Who wants to talk to those idiots when you don't have to." Shahram sat down and refreshed himself. Akbar took a beer (domestic beer production was another pet project of the former Prime Minister) and refreshed himself. They sat for a second regaining their breath. Shahram took out his cell phone and messaged his Press Secretary. He'd be holding an impromptu press conference when he got back to the residence, just so they wouldn't be broadcasting whatever bile was spilling out of Jalili's mouth about "European economic imperialism." "Did you just invite me for tennis?" Akbar sipped his beer and then finally replied,

"Well did you not enjoy the tennis? I did?" Shahram look at him skeptically. Akbar relented, "Well aside from the singles play I thought there could be some time to discuss politics."

"Politics? Well politics has been less than stellar."

"How so? You pulled off a media coup with your faith conferences, I hear there will be on in Jerusalem." Davud sipped his beer, "all the opium of the masses together." He muttered and laughed to himself.

"You old Marxist." Shahram laughed with Akbar.

"You know I'm not a Marxist, I've become another liberal!" Akbar laughed as he sipped again from his beer. But Shahram was quicker to stop laughing.

"It was hardly a media coup Davud. You know what you did." Akbar sipped again.

"Did what, you invited me to open the ceremonies?"

Shahram's tone sharpened. "Yes, not upstage the entire affair and make it another one of your demonstrations of power."

Davud's brow furrowed. "I gave a speech Shahram." Shahram shook his head.

"You led everything, you organized everything, you ran all the votes and arranged the entire thing from start to finish. You made sure the photos in the papers and on the television was you and faith leaders, I, I, was an afterthought."

Davud waved his hand. "Oh don't be a narcissist for photos in the paper." Shahram was now angry.

"I am the Prime Minister! I cannot be an afterthought!" There was a pause. "The country cannot be governed by an afterthought!" There was another pause. "You cannot appear at every major function, that is my job, I lead this country's government." Akbar sipped his beer and finally spoke.

"I have a duty to the country, I have a calling to the people and that includes peace and respect and pluralism for the many religious faiths-"

Shahram interrupted. "I am the Prime Minister, that is my job." Davud sipped his beer again.

"The more you say 'I am the Prime Minister' the less you sound like one." There was another pause. Khoroushi caught something out of the corner of his eye. A man with a camera who promptly ran.

"Did you invite press?" asked an annoyed Prime Minister Khoroushi.

"No, did you?" asked Akbar.

"No." Khoroushi leaned back into his chair, and then got up and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

[Lendenburgh]

September 5, 2026
Intersection of Rörrstrandsgatan and Drejargatan, Vasastan Neighborhood, Stockholm
12:03 PM

"Commandante has ordered us to start closing in the cordon, you guys ready to squeeze them together?" The Italian word sounded mangled through the Norwegian lieutenant's accent.

Friedrich looked out over the crowd of protestors, most of whom were just recycling the same chants from the previous week's protests, but smoke hung heavy in the air. If they hadn't been chanting, the sound of glass from smashed storefronts being crushed under the crowd's feet would have echoed off the buildings flanking Rörrstrandsgatan. Aside from the chaos, the scene of Karlberg Palace and the plastered buildings reminded him of his childhood home in Vienna. He would give just about anything to be sitting at the table with his mother, eating rabbit stew, instead of reigning in violent protestors with whom he honestly sympathized.

Snapping out of his daydream, he nodded an affirmative to the lieutenant, and prepped his riot shield to advance into the crowd.

The lieutenant spoke to all of the officers forming a line blocking the street, "Our orders are to separate them from the rest of the protestors in the city, round up the vandals, and let all of the peaceful protestors go free. We are not authorized to use excessive force."

Nods and yessirs went down the line, and the shielded police began to advance on the crowd. Almost immediately, the atmosphere of the protestors changed. A kid in a black hoodie charged up to Friedrich, banging a rock against his shield and yelled "Go to hell, bastard!"

Almost as soon as the advance started, it ground to a halt. He could almost feel the gritting of the lieutenant's teeth, despite the fact they were concealed behind a helmet. A rock hit his helmet, as he was pushed back from the line by the force of three people pushing up against him.

North Side of Vasatan, Stockholm
12:35 PM
Holding her sign up high, Gemma could feel the police pressing against the ranks of protestors before she could see them actually moving. All around her, people surged forward, invigorated by the police advance. She could hear the smashing of another store window behind her.

Not wanting to get involved in a riot, she tried to turn around, only to be forced back in the direction of the police by the momentum of people surging to meet their advance. She looked up at the smoke filled sky, a riot was not what she signed up for.

Another crash rang out, but this time it was followed by the roaring of a flame. She looked at the police line, hastily falling back. Black smoke poured out from just behind them, and as they retreated, a large flame rose up from the street. Molotov cocktails? Min Gud, she thought to herself, this is only going downhill from here.

Rörrstrandsgatan, South side of Vasastan
12:49 PM
Friedrich and his squadron had only made it about ten meters past the intersection up the street, and the crowd was becoming more dangerous by the minute. A radio call rang out of the Lieutenant's lapel, only barely audible over the sound of the crowd.

"Eld av... en molotov-" Is all he could make out from the radio.

Someone down the line, one of the officers shouted "Gun!"

Crack

Friedrich froze where he stood.

Crack

The crowd started scrambling away from the police line, turning on a dime and sprinting away as screams filled the air.

People fell to the ground, and were trampled, unable to get up in the absolute madness.

"Friedrich, shoot goddamnit!" His lieutenant shouted. He raised his semi-automat up, and pulled the trigger.

[Lendenburgh]

Svintsovka Aerodrome, 25km North of Saratov, Volga German Worker's Commune
April 16, 1921

For nearly a year now, the top engineers in German Aerospace had been settling in to their home-away-from-home. To many of their surprises, the town of Saratov, with nearly half a million Germans, was not all that different from home. Though the climate was not as agreeable, nor the borscht as good as their goulash, the Messerschmitt/Junkers facility deep inside of the Soviet Union had become a little piece of Germany in their hearts. There was much pride to be had over the work they had done there as well, though the engineers may have preferred the fruits of their labor be tested by the Luftwaffe before the Soviet airforce, the freedom to engineer with nearly limitless resources for a conflict that was not your own was fairly refreshing. Rather than going to bed at night worrying if their planes would be good enough to save their homeland, or if they had killed any innocent folk, the engineers in Saratov were more than content with their experiments being used against the Poles.

Standing against the wide skies of the open steppes was the world's first prototype of a twin engined, monowing, heavy-fighter. It would never enter production, maybe, but it represented a huge leap forward for the engineers.

From these prototypes, already two concepts have been developed, from Messerschmitt and Dornier, representing an entirely new class of heavy fighter to be deemed the zerstörer. Using brand new engines from BMW, if these planes were to enter production, they would be longer range, more heavily armored, and more heavily armed than any other plane in the sky today. Of course, using cutting edge technology and stretching modern materials to their absolute limits, each unit comes at immense cost, with maintenance figures only to be guessed at.
==

Nonetheless, the engineers were able to synthesize the most achievable developments into the new Fokker D.IX fighter. Based off the predecessor, largely considered to be the most capable fighter in the world, the new model will replace the rotary engine with a BMW IVa engine, providing a horsepower and range boost, and additional struts as well as metal reinforcement have been added to the wings to fix the plane's infamous 'flying razor' issues.

Outfitted with two, forward-fixed, and synchronized MG-13's, when the plane enters production in a few months, it will be able to handily deal with the Great War planes of Britain and France.

The plans for the planes, as well as all of the engineer's notes on the performance of German aircraft for the Soviets would be smuggled back to Germany via submarine from Murmansk. So far from the eyes of the League, it was doubtful anyone except German high command and the Soviets would know of these developments... that is, until they were faced with these weapons in combat.

[Orostan]

1948 - South Russia

Ivan looked over to his comrade in the trench next to him, who was very carefully peering over its top. The two of them had been in worse situations, but none quite as dire as this.

"Sergei do you see anything good?" he asked him.

He shook his head. "Just enemy tanks and men."

"It is like Poltava then." Ivan suggested.

Sergei came down from the trench. An artillery shell exploded somewhere above the trench, the two men only being slightly startled by the explosion and the shower of dirt.

"In Poltava we had a way out. There is no way out this time my friend." said Sergei who had picked up his rifle from where it had been leaned against the trench's wall.

"Perhaps." Ivan picked up his own rifle and began counting the number of rounds he could dig out of his pockets. Ivan and Sergei had been at what seemed like a hundred different battles over the last seven years. Ivan and Sergei had fought against Poles at Kharkov in the early days of the war (twice, in fact) after being called up from reserves. They had fought in skirmishes on the road to Moscow after that and when the west was thrown back they were transferred to Stalingrad. It was at Stalingrad the war for them turned into something much more personal than the typical loud bangs and explosions that characterized modern war. That day a German force had tried to storm a defended position outside the town and for the first time the two men had to kill close enough to see their enemies faces. It was not a pleasant experience though neither lost that much sleep over it. It had been Ivan and Sergei or Hans and Gunther, and both would choose themselves over some poor German youth when put against them in the narrow corridors of an old housing block. Along the way they'd been promoted a few times and led a few men in this attack or that defense through this and that fight. None of those men were around to stand with them now though. It was just Ivan and Sergei in a trench.

Another blast from an artillery shell shook the trench.

"Do you think the war will be won without us?" asked Sergei as Ivan took a look over the trench at the oncoming enemy.

"Eh. I never think that far ahead. That's someone else's job." said Ivan as he ducked back into the trench. A shower of machine gun fire passed through the space where Ivan's head was a moment ago.

"We could always live to fight another day." As Sergei said that there was shouting in russian and polish in a nearby trench. It was followed quickly by gunfire.

"Sergei we are two men in a trench. Men are only taken prisoners when they surrender in large numbers. We will die no matter what. Do we have any grenades left?"

Sergei glanced around the wet and disgusting trench and overturned a few boxes. While he was doing this Ivan put his rifle on the top of the trench and began taking shots, taking cover to reload each time. Sergei followed him after finding no grenades anywhere. Soon though the return fire was overwhelming and the trench began to be struck by tank shells, the projectiles forcing both men to take cover. It was too intense to stick their heads out without being killed so instead the two men stood back to back on the floor of the trench.

"It was good to know you Ivan" said Sergei as the voices of polish soldiers could be heard nearby.

"It was good to know you as well."

The sound of boots stepping over the muddy dirt was clearly audible just as the first Poles threw themselves into the trench.

[Nowa Polonie]

Altitude 11,200m, 3.8km from Kronstadt Naval Base, Kotlin Island, aboard the Królowa Mazowsza (The Queen of Masovia)



''3 Hours since previous attack - target location: Pskov.''

The thought bounced around in the pilot's head. The British had done the courtesy - it had been two months since the Soviets had broken the Siege of Leningrad, and overran Narva. Two weeks since they had laid siege of Riga, yesterday he had heard rumours they had renewed an offensive on Kiev.

''Nothing else to be done.''

Thought the co-pilot, sitting next to him - he himself, a British-born Pole, who had volunteered from the RAF for the purpose of assisting the Poles in the use of the Electric Canberra jet bomber which had been provided to them so generously to allow them the best possible chance to deploy their own weapon, which had been created by their own nuclear scientists in Lwiw - though the Brits and the French had dropped two already, and were developing more, while the Poles had only a single weapon - for now.

''So we make it count.''

The bombardier had Kronstadt in his sights - Leningrad was too big a target; the destruction of such a major civilian centre, at the heart of Russian history, would turn the war into one of annihiliation, with neither side stopping until it marched over the corpse of the other. Kronstadt was close enough to send the message to the Reds that the war would end on Allied terms, or it would end with Soviet destruction.

As the bomb-sight drifted lazily over the small island below, cutting past clouds until its eye landed on its target, the bomb-bay doors swung open, and time froze as all three men perceived the jerk of the plane, and knew that the weapon was now hurtling towards its target.

Fifteen seconds - Twenty - Twenty five - A minute and thirteen seconds in total passed, before they felt the detonation run like a shudder through the plane - brief turbulence. But it was not this that frightened the three men aboard the plane, as all three looked upon the great, growing cloud erupting towards the Heavens, rising, rising towards their aircraft. They were not alone - across the Bay of Finland, the city of Leningrad looked on, feeling their city itself shudder as beyond the horizon, they saw the Doom of Kronstadt.

If they had stood tens of thousands of feet below, they would see a ball of total destruction, nearly two miles in diameter, erasing what had once been Kronstadt - for a further six miles, practically covering the entire island, fires would rage across its forests, the smoke of the blaze joining the great mushroom monstrosity that rose ominously above the sea.

In Pskov and Kursk, both of which had suffered a similar fate, both cities suffered immensely - but Kronstadt, though fewer died, suffered in its totality - twenty thousand souls perhaps on the island, twenty thousand souls snuffed out. Twenty thousand to create a desert, and to call it peace.

[The Pacific Federation]

Hobart, Australasia
January 3rd, 1990 - 12:30 LT

Commander Scott Fletcher had never been one for working outside of the military. Civilians had a tendency to always cause chaos and headaches that impeded his work in the Navy. This made his current assignment all the more unbearable. He looks at his marching order once more before looking up at the building in front of him with distain. The Australasian Antarctic Division's Headquarters seemed to be more of a museum then an active government facility. The white building had statues and plaques surrounding it with a few tour groups walking through its doors. A few tourist gave a curious look to the broad shouldered Australian standing in his Navy dress uniform, but no one said anything. Fletcher ignored the curious onlookers and begrudgingly walked into the building's front doors, passing another group of tourist giving him a few quick glances. As he walks up to the front desk to ask for directions, he sees a woman in a lab-coat arguing with the secretary siting at the desk. Judging by hear appearance, she looks like of Tonga decent and her tone and irritated body language seems to back that up.

The secretary holds up her hands as if trying to placate the woman, "Look Professor, I told you that the Director has a full booking for today. If you want to meet with him you can schedule-"

The Tongan woman cuts her off, "Namu ta'e! You tell Malcolm to get his ass out here now and explain to me what this joint operational shit is."

The secretary winces as she curses and looks around to see if any of the tour groups were within earshot. Luckily, none were, but the moment she sees Fletcher her eyes go wide and she stammers, "Oh, well Professor I will try and see if we can....accommodate...your request with-"

The woman turns around and looks at Fletcher, becoming visibly more irritated the moment she sees the uniform. "Speak of the devil." She directs her attention toward Fletcher, "I assume you are Commander Fletcher?"

"That is correct." Fletcher says, "I am sorry to interrupt but I have orders to report to the Director of the Division."

The woman turns back to the secretary, ignoring the Commander, "Oh so the Director can make time for our lapdog but not for his Chief Scientist?" Before the secretary can respond the professor angrily walks away from the desk saying, "Welcome to the Division Lemu" as she brushes past Fletcher. Fletcher says nothing in return and gives her a passing glace as the woman exists the building. The secretary is beat red and looks at Fletcher, "I am so sorry commander, Professor Palu has been...unhappy with the military's inclusion in the JRB Program."

"I could see that." Fletcher said. He had a feeling it was not the last time he and the Professor would be meeting. "Ma'am, Commander Fletcher reporting as ordered. I am here for my 12:45 meeting with Director Harris."

The secretary nods, seeing that the Commander is not one for conversation. She presses a button on the front desk next to a microphone, "Sir, Commander Fletcher is here." A moment later there is a bit of static from a speaker, "Very good, send him in Elise."

The secretary, now identified as Elise, stands up and opens a door to the left of the desk, "The director is through here, please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you. And I apologize for your....unfortunate introduction to the Division."

Fletcher walks by her simply nodding in acknowledgement. Moments later the door closes as he enters the office. A heavyset Australian man in a suit and tie is sitting behind a desk filling out paperwork. Glancing up he grins, "Ah Commander, welcome to the Australasian Antarctic Division! So glad to have you aboard!" He stands up and shakes Fletcher's hand as he walks toward the desk. "Please sit, I assume you have read your orders fully?"

Fletcher sits in a chair in front of the desk and looks at Director Harris, "Yes sir."

Harris sits for a moment in an awkward silence staring at the Commander. After a few seconds he raises an eyebrow, "And?"

"And what sir?"

Harris sighs, "Commander, have you stepped foot on Antarctica before?"

"No sir."

"And you have no questions?" Harris says, "No concerns, no issues, not even an iota of curiosity about the location you are deploying to?"

Fletcher simply says "No sir." once more leaving Harris to sigh again. "Commander, this is not the military. This is a civilian government branch that operates in the most hostile environment on the planet. It is one of the most difficult jobs and due to this I need to get to know every single individual I send down to that frozen wasteland to see if they are capable of handling it both physically and mentally. Physically, you are more than capable Commander, but I need to know what makes you tick."

"All of my prior missions are on record sir as well as my medical papers." Fletcher states calmly, "I believe those should speak to my mental state."

"That's not what I meant." Harris says taking off his glasses and placing them on the desk, "I am aware of your record, the Navy sent it over following them assigning you to the Joint Research Base Program. Your three tours across the Southern Ocean and Indian Ocean all reflected very highly of your ability at sea and your land assignments speak highly of your competence. However, this is an assignment well outside your normal working environment. I need to know your honest and forthright thoughts on this assignment."

Fletcher hesitates for a moment, "Sir, it would probably be best for me to keep those opinions to myself."

Harris extends his hand toward Fletcher, "Then all the more reason to tell me Commander, please speak your mind."

"Very well Sir. In short I think this assignment is a an error."

Harris blinks, "An error?"

"Yes sir." Fletcher continues, "I am first and foremost and Navy Officer. My place is at sea or in port ensuring our nation's defense needs are met. My assignment to a research outpost in Antarctica does not help further that goal, especially since the continent is a non-combat zone. Having a military officer in a region without combat is counter intuitive."

"Ah you feel this mission is one without an objective, no enemy to fight or people to protect." Harris says, "And I am assuming that babysitting a bunch of scientists does not qualify as proper mission either."

Fletcher slowly nods, "That is correct, at least in my view sir. I can be of better service to the Navy elsewhere."

Harris nods, "I can understand that, however, you do have an enemy in this mission. There is indeed a foe to fight."

"Sir?"

Harris pulls out a map of Antarctica from a stack of papers and points to it, "This is what you are fighting, the very forces of nature itself. These unstoppable immovable forces have to be kept in check or everyone under your command will surly perish. Further, you are on your own without supplies, an easy escape, or help from the rest of the nation. You are on the edge of a frontier which many have been defeated by." Harris rolls the map up, "Sure you will have scientists and civilians to look after but you will not find a more challenging foe than the Antarctic tundra."

"You could be right sir." Fletcher says, "However, I stand by my prior statement."

"As is your right." Harris says, "This mission is set to last for five years and you have been assigned to it for all five of those years. However, should this truly not be the course of action you wish to take I will be open to you transferring to another unit within a year. Antarctica is not a place where we can simply force someone to stay and I am sure there are others who would be willing to take your place. But, the Navy recommended you above all of the other potential candidates. I want to see at the very least what you can do and what you are capable in the Division before I sign off a transfer request. Are we understood?"

"I will continue to follow my standing orders until told otherwise sir." Fletcher says, "Regardless of my feelings toward this mission I will do all I can to ensure its success sir."

"I am glad to hear it." Harris says pulling out a folder, "Here is the list of the personnel who will be assigned to you during this mission. Some are military, some are from the Division, and we have some additional personnel who we are outsourcing from the University of Tasmania and the Tasman Polar Network. In total you will be responsible for 12 Military personnel, 15 Division personnel, and 14 civilians. This means you will be responsible for 41 people during this mission. Their safety and well being are paramount above all else."

Fletcher takes the file from Harris and opens it. He raises an eyebrow at the first name on the Division's list of personnel, "Sir, Professor Salote Palu will be your point of contact during this mission?"

Harris laughs a little, "As yes, Salote is what we here refer to as an acquired taste. I could hear her through the door before and apologize for the commotion from her. Until the government stepped in to put you in command, she was slated to lead the mission. I will be doing damage control on that for a while."

Fletcher looks up from the file, "Will she be an issue sir?"

"Oh heavens no!" Harris says, "She is stubborn and a bit colorful with her native tongue but she has been waiting for this mission her whole life. She will likley be the biggest thorn in your side while down there but she is by far the most capable scientist that we have."

Fletcher nods closing the file, "Understood sir."

Harris nods in return, "Well with all that being said I think you have everything you need. Review the file on the RV Aurora Australis as well as while you are onboard you are the ranking officer for the mission. Additionally, the habitation modules and power stations should be set up by the time you arrive so all you have to do is move in. January 12th is your departure date." Harris stands up, "Now I do have one last thing to give you."

Harris turns around and pulls out a circular patch from a bag behind him. The patch has a gold fringed border with a map of Antarctica overlayed with the Australasian flag imposed over top of it. On the top of the patch read "Venture Where No One Dares" and on the bottom the words "Ross 5".

"Welcome to the Ross 5 Mission Commander."

[Orostan]

KGB Far Eastern military headquarters - Harbin, North China SSR

The KGB's building in Harbin takes the shape of a typical stalinist neoclassical public building on the outside, but on the inside is far different. The exterior rooms are normal and mostly for show. The interior of the building however is ringed by a concrete wall, a meter thick. Past that point the building becomes a bunker built to take a nuclear blast and ensure the extremely valuable facilities inside survive. Vladimir Putin is an analyst there, and reports to a man named Jia Chunwang, a Chinese officer of the KGB who is in charge of the entire eastern division of the KGB. He is presently trying to explain something very difficult to Mr. Jia over a wood table in Jia's office, which does its best to pretend it is not in a bunker.

"What do you mean they sent it unencrypted?"

Putin felt as though he was repeating himself.. "I mean the message was not subject to any encryption at all."

"So it's a fake?" asked Jia.

"No, they did exactly as they said they'd do in the message."

Jia frowned, and Putin took the hint. "I mean, the message was accurate. It looks legitimate."

"And?"

Putin had already handed Jia all the paperwork. He didn't know what Jia wanted. "And what, sir?"

"Was it signed?"

"No, no it wasn't signed. It was just a normal message."

Jia studied the analyst. "It was just a normal message. A normal message, broadcasted so everyone could see it, during a sensitive diplomatic negotiation?"

Putin nodded.

Jia put his hands together and put on a pensive expression. "So it's a plot."

Putin repeated Jia's word. "Plot."

Jia nodded. "A plot."

Putin was curious. "A plot for what, sir?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know."

Jia pointed at Putin with his index finger. "But I know it's a plot. Probably the british. Go have that guy we talked about yesterday killed. That will send a message."

"Yes sir."

Putin stood up, saluted, and then left the room to go kill some poor british man.

[Nowa Polonie]

Khodosivka, Kiev, Ukrainian Federative Republic, Promethean Polish Republic



The round gave a satisfactory *clack* as it slotted into the magazine; Igor sat on the chair, staring obsessively at it. His friend Dmitry sat across the barren kitchen, pistol in hand.

''They're coming for us... Sh*t... SH*T!''

He rose from his chair, his eyes scanning the room searching - for nothing in particular, but panic had seized him; the black and red flag festooned across the wall, the cause they had taken up against the Polish, the cause they had shot and killed their own countrymen for, the cause, that unknown or perhaps known to them, was sponsored by the Soviets, to the end of fracturing their rival.

It mattered not now - a post-office, harsh words, several shots. The money sat on the table, unmarked, yet tainted by blood. Outside they heard the screech of heavy brakes, and men in heavy boots moving across concrete. Igor met the sound with shots, shattering the glass of the window and sending bulllets across the front garden, sending men spreading across the streets, and civilians hurtling for cover.

A tear-gas grenade flies through the now-empty kitchen window-pane, filling the room with noxious white smoke. As both men choke, trying to cover their noses with their collers, heavy boots break down the front door, and moments later, a spray of lead is sent from the hallway into the kitchen, killing both men inside, as moments later, armed members of the Milicja enter the kitchen, confirming both terrorists to be dead.