ICNES I: Troubling Future
- Thread starter Icmancin
- Start date
Wubba360
Emperor
I am taking this nation.
Nation Name: South-East Asia Confederation (SEA-CO)
Capital: Tokyo
Ruler: ?/
Government: Federal Republic
Centralization: Tight Federation
Army (Training): 45 Divisions (Better)
Navy (Training): 55 Squadrons (Good)
Air Force (Training): 20 Squadrons (Tolerable)
Income: Growing (+2)
Income Banked:
Industry: 2
Size (points required): Large (4)
Leadership (Military/Civilian): Competent/Competent
Infrastructure: Tolerable
Education: Educated
Living Standards: Normal
Culture: Uberpatriotic
Confidence: Loving
Projects:
Nation Background: In fear of Chinese expansionism, the Asian states formed a powerful union. The Japanese, South Korean and Indonesian militaries were already of strong capabilities but together they formed a force near the level of professionalism of the Canadian and well enough to rival China's. China is not scared of the SEA-CO but rather uneasy of it's potential. SEA-CO is not in any way intimidated by China however.
Nation Name: South-East Asia Confederation (SEA-CO)
Capital: Tokyo
Ruler: ?/
Government: Federal Republic
Centralization: Tight Federation
Army (Training): 45 Divisions (Better)
Navy (Training): 55 Squadrons (Good)
Air Force (Training): 20 Squadrons (Tolerable)
Income: Growing (+2)
Income Banked:
Industry: 2
Size (points required): Large (4)
Leadership (Military/Civilian): Competent/Competent
Infrastructure: Tolerable
Education: Educated
Living Standards: Normal
Culture: Uberpatriotic
Confidence: Loving
Projects:
Nation Background: In fear of Chinese expansionism, the Asian states formed a powerful union. The Japanese, South Korean and Indonesian militaries were already of strong capabilities but together they formed a force near the level of professionalism of the Canadian and well enough to rival China's. China is not scared of the SEA-CO but rather uneasy of it's potential. SEA-CO is not in any way intimidated by China however.
Wubba360
Emperor
To: Republic of India
From: South-east Confederation
We would like to ask for a 5 turn defensive Pact. As well as opening trade between our two nations.
To: Federation of Australia
From: South-east Confederation
We would like to open trade amongst our nations and perhaps have a three year NAP.
From: South-east Confederation
We would like to ask for a 5 turn defensive Pact. As well as opening trade between our two nations.
To: Federation of Australia
From: South-east Confederation
We would like to open trade amongst our nations and perhaps have a three year NAP.
das
Regeneration In Process
South of the half-ruined Palestinian town called Ayn Siniya, four soldiers in the uniforms of the Islamic Army were idly sitting just outside of a bunker with flash-lights, chattering, pretending to be calm and casual on their night-watch... but constantly having to remind themselves and each other that there, indeed, was nothing to worry about, nothing to fear... nothing at all... All that was mere rumours, nothing serious at all, and even if the worst comes to worse... these Israelis, they wouldn't dare ATTACK, right (after all, even I could not completely believe that we actually DARED do this)? Who cares if one of their units has as its motto "Who Dares Wins"[1]?
Or perhaps, I mused, they really were not afraid? As in, not afraid at all, even though this was a dangerous border, even though in the last war the troops stationed here were torn into pieces by missile fire? Ofcourse, since then their defenses became better, much better... That was the problem, really.
No, but surely the Ummists were afraid! I certainly was, because the mission was indeed quite dangerous, or "daring" as Unit Commander Dan Yaalon put it. "Who Dares Wins" is the Unit's motto, after all. The Unit dared in the past, and dared now, and will win, but... not without casualties. An unsettling thought, so I cast it aside for now...
"Wisemann!" - silently shouted (well, almost silently, and it merely had the intonations of a shout, to be precise. Ofcourse, it was so quiet at our position that it seemed like a thunderstorm to me) Yosef - "That's the one, correct?"
He needn't indicate it; all three of us knew perfectly well that the unaesthetic metal construction that was guarded by these (rather careless... or really self-confident? or both?) Islamic soldiers was indeed our target. The Ayn Siniya Bunker, one of the key Ummist fortifications in the "West Bank".
"Fifteen more minutes..." - I whispered, knowing that everybody here, crouching behind a few large stones and rocks, will hear me.
---
I was born in June 16th 2024, to a Brooklyn Jewish couple. Back then, there still was an USA, "united and free", and, as it happened, doomed. My first name was David, my last name - Wise, due to which I was jockingly called "Wisemann" in the Tsahal (though I suppose it really was "Weizmann", after Israel's first president). I was a sole child in my family. Like many other American Jews - in New York, anyway - I was, though aware and proud of myself being Jewish, quite secular, and religious only in name. I was not even circumcised - by then the practice went out of fashion in New York, and my mother was fiercely opposed to any such "mutilation" as she saw it (and as - such is the influence of Western civilization - I still see it now). My education was perfectly secular, as I had already mentioned, and besides some boasting and conversations with my somewhat more pious grandma I was not really too interested in my heritage, nor in Israel for that matter.
Naturally, everything changed in 2044. I was already in the university - the University of the State of New York, ofcourse. Ironically enough, I was studying chemistry, though I only recently realized the irony of it, having read (in one of those new "ha-Zikkaron" ("Remembrance") biographies) that Ha-Nasi was a chemist himself. There I also read that he had problems getting a good education, as in Russia (where he was born) at the time there were many restrictions for Jews, though eventually he like many others moved to Switzerland. By contrary, I had no such problems; for all the many bad things that could be said about USA in its last few days, it remained egalitarian, even if its people haven't. Indeed, it was the racial strife that started the whole thing. Race riots broke out, and soon some fanatics from all the races, religions, ethnicities and political movements were at each other's throats, attacking everybody who got in the way regardless. Oh, sure, before that was a bungled war with China and an international economic collapse, but the true beginning of the troubles came then. On the next day, after months of uneasy silence and weeks of vague threats, Canada declared war. So did Mexico and Russia. The ensuing assault was oft-described; the one episode of importance to me was, ofcourse, the first attack on New York - the missile barrage from the Canadian fleet (I still remember how all panicked when it became apparent that the remaining missiles could not be stopped, and how relieved I felt when, after their impact, it turned out that the Canadians were true to the proliferation agreements after all, and thus only wrecked some skyscrappers). At first, it seemed to me that now, our people will calm down; yet now that order was destroyed by the bombardments, things got even worse. On June 20th - the third day of the war in North America - I got two sudden reminders about my heritage. The first came when a gang of skinheads, now no longer having anything to fear, chased after me, shouting "Jew! Go to Israel!" In the end, they stopped chasing me, but one of them exclaimed something like: "Go to Israel, rat - go away so that we could have a decent fight with 'em Cannucks without yer meddling!" Back then, I was obviously enraged, but knew better than to pick a fight.
But as it happened, I, like the other people still sane in New York, indeed had a very good motivation to go outside. And thankfully, the skinheads did not chase me in an opposite direction. I reached grandma Rivka's house - or, rather, the house of my cousin Isaac, with whom Rivka often stayed when she visited us and her other relatives in New York. Isaac himself was recuperating from his war-wounds suffered at the Gaoshalingcun Beachhead; he kept an automatic rifle at home, just to be sure, and threatened me with it now, before Rivka shouted that it was me. Isaac immediately lowered the rifle and slowly went back inside (he lost a leg, and couldn't afford one of those new-fangled regenerative operations). Rivka and I followed.
After exchanging our mutual and sincere happiness at me succesfully reaching their house, Rivka immediately expalained to me her plan. "Jew! Go to Israel!" I told her about those skinheads. She shrugged and said that they had a point for once - it was too dangerous to stay here. When I reminded her that my parents were still in Seattle, she stared at me... and broke into tears.
I was a complete orphan. I already broke up with my girlfriend, as it happened, and my other friends... the real ones, that is... were either no longer friends, either on the front. Relatives? Um... Rivka, Isaac... that was all of them that I actually cared about, I admitted to Rivka upon her insistant demand.
"You can always go there and return later, when things quiet down." - said Isaac, who clearly had discussed it with Rivka previously.
Stubbornly, I argued with them for almost an hour, not stopping even while we were having some tea. But in the end, I realized that they were stubborn enough to make me do it. At this point, as if to help me make up my mind, distant noise appeared. After a few seconds, I understood that the city was once more under attack.
And so I agreed, bitter about my present life that was suddenly ruined by this new war... and already beginning to vaguely dream about a new life, in Israel, in, it must be said, the first country outside of USA and the EU that I visited. After all, I was still young and curious, and did not know much about Israel. Had I known much, I must admit that I would never have came here, even though in truth, I have not regretted it at all... well, maybe apart from the first few days.
---
The silent vibration of my communicator interrupted my trail of thoughts; in fact, I ordered myself to stop thinking. The past and the future stopped to exist; the Ummist soldiers turned from people to targets. All was as it should be. Who Dares Wins. I accepted the communicator call from Dan Yaalon and, as nobody spoke, turned it off - all was going well, there were no changes in plans or new information of import. Then I nodded to my subordinates - for they were now subordinates, not friends - and they, acknowledging me to be a commanding officer rather than a human being that they called "Wisemann", nodded to me, and without a word, we begun slowly crawling towards the bunker.
Seconds seemed to be minutes, and naturally, minutes went as hours do. Yet we did not lose our orientation in time, or space for that matter, and as we crawled, ignoring the cold air of the Palestinean (but from now on - Israeli) night and the harsh terrain. In our camouflage suits, we were able to move unnoticed. Oh, we could be sighted... but one had to know where to look with the night goggles or heat-seakers (and the Ummist army - most of it, anyway - was notoriously underequipped). There was also the random factor. But... Who Dares Wins. Luck favours the bold.
Finally, we reached a small hill just near the bunker. Five minutes left. We rested for one minute, and studied the enemy position. The soldiers already went back inside, to get some sleep after six hours of night watch. Good. Now was the time. I nodded to the others and, along with Moshe Katzman and Shimon Reuven - from the Sayeret Yahalom [2] - we quietly sneaked towards the bunker, while Yosef Irtzel lied down on the hill and took out his sniper rifle.
And I once more turned off my thoughts, as the culmination drew nearer and nearer....
---
My second life begun on an old Boeing, one of the last planes to fly from American territory, specifically - from Steward International Airport, as grandma Rivka and I had to flee from New York (cousin Isaac, alas, stubbornly and far more succesfully than I resisted Rivka's attempts to evacuate him; when I asked him why did he help Rivka make me go, he explained that I was still young, and could start anew; although technically, he was only eight years older than me, he certainly did seem very old since he came back from China). We scarcely had much of a choice with tickets; the plane was already almost full, and only Rivka's precautions and connections allowed her to get me to the plane. Anyway, we were sitting far from each other. The people on the plane were talking, often in English, some - in Yiddish, which I did not know too well... and a few, in some other, strange language like no other that I even knew of. It was Hebrew, ofcourse.
When we left, the country we were leaving was a one at war, and the destination was a peaceful one; yet by the time the plane reached the Ben-Gurion Airport, Israel was already at war, whereas in America, only logistical problems faced by the Canadians and Mexicans prolonged the struggle of a crushed country. Back then, though... there was no time to think, I was simply not given that time. I found grandma Rivka in the crowded airport itself, but almost immediately we were separated again. Tsahal officers marched in and rounded up all the young men (and women!) that weren't in a particularily bad physical shape, including myself unfortunately, and, confusing us via their bad English, soon had us go to the training camp without any ceremonies.
Thus my life in Israel immediately begun with a first-hand encounter with the greatest distinguishing trait of my new land - the permanent state of war.
---
We got closer and closer to the bunker. Reuven led the way, with a small, portable minesweeper telling us what spots to avoid - though we were, ofcourse, equipped with special "minefield boots" that hid our true weight from them. After Reuven went Katzman, who was carefully carrying the explosive devices. I was last, and was ready to open fire, as was Irtzel from afar.
It was quiet. Frighteningly quiet. I subdued the various urges - to look around, to even raise my head, to check the grenades that I was supposed to throw if we were discovered too early - or too late, for that matter, but for a different purpose. But I did look at the watch as we stopped eight miles away from the bunker.
Two minutes left.
---
Forced conscription of immigrants at sight was not really an Israeli custom, but, as the female Tsahal officers sent to educate us during the training course explained, it was a tough time. The Islamic Umma' was pressing forth, half the small country was already overran. All the human resources that could be found needed to be used. The goal was the preservation of Israel; and that goal was a holy one in this country, much more holy than President Walsh's holy goal of spreading democracy or the Saudi king's holy war on Israel, both of which, by the way, had failed.
But back then, I was rather less enthusiastic. I protested that I was a pacifist, that this wasn't my war, that this is a violation of my rights; to no avail. This stuff, explained the head of the Lod Training Camp, was just great and fine, and usually, ofcourse, it would have all been taken into consideration. But in the present circumstances, "alas". Grandma Rivka was theoretically allowed to visit me, but I was quite bitter, at her as well as at the Israelis, and did not want to see her.
I was not the only one who protested the way we were being treated, but all eventually gave in and joined the training program. Deciding that there was no point in resisting it, I commited myself fully to the training, and soon, much to my own surprise, excelled. And as the military training was alternated with political education - simply put, propaganda - I, despite my skepticism, became quite impressed by the way Israel stood out against so many enemies, and became eager to fight, as did the rest of us. And after a month - earlier than the Israeli government and military would have wanted, but they had no choice as it happened - several divisions of "alim hadashim" ("new immigrants") were formed and immediately sent to the front. This time, I did see Rivka as she came to visit me; we reconciled, and I promised to survive this. And by accident, I kept that promise.
The Ummist armies were advancing towards Tel Aviv. One of their invasions came through the Gaza Sector, but - again, quite ironically - it was stopped by the arrival of Canadian forces. Canada was now a superpower, and wanted to safeguard its commercial interests in Israel, or somesuch - I really doubt that they intervenned to "defend democracy" just after destroying the last nation that went around with the same concept used as a wholesome ideology. Anyway, the Canadian air force helped the Israelis... helped us crush the enemy prong. In the north, the enemy army was mauled over in the urban fighting in Haifa and Nazareth, the break-through in between resulting in the pocketing of a large Ummist army. But the eastern offensive went on, having already captured Jerusalem. And as it happened, this force was going to attack straight through the towns of Ramla... and Lod. We scarcely needed to be redeployed to face the enemy - the enemy was going to face us himself. I was in the 3rd Ale Hadash division, it guarded Lod itself, and saw action after the 2nd division was annihilated by overwhelming enemy forces.
My first battle... don't know how to describe it. I expected hell. What happened wasn't really hell, it wasn't heaven neither, nor was it a madhouse or any other allegory. A battle is a battle, and my first battle, too, was a battle. We dug in and barricaded the streets, and fired at distant enemies, dodging their own fire as they closer and closer, and praying - indeed, in some cases for the first time in our lives - for survival, for the shells and the bombs to miss, even if meant the deaths of our comrades. The enemies charged at us, screaming their fierce battle-cries, and we screamed too, and I screamed, and I hid in a ruined building with some soldier whose name I did not even know, and never did learn, though I suspect - based on the reports I later read - that he was one Artur Gunzburg, from Russia. With that fellow, though, we held out there for long, we both had no training nor experience, yet fought on and on, and later, though that other soldier (Artur Gunzburg?) died, I, wounded, remained alive and kept shooting, until as quickly as they came, our enemies felt back, routing under the blows of the IDF's main force. The 3rd Ale Hadash division held out. One-fourth of it, anyway.
That was my baptism (ironic as it is to use that term in a Jewish country) by fire. After it, after I spilt blood on this land, I felt that I could no longer leave it, even though the Canadian government already restored order and begun inviting former American citizens to come back, promising them all sorts of enticements and incentives. I belonged here now. And furthermore, despite grandma Rivka's consternation... I felt that I could no longer leave the Tsahal neither.
---
Reuven and Katzman were quickly, but not hastily setting up the explosives near the bunker. Meanwhile, I was sitting behind them with closed eyes. I was all ears now, and soon, I heard some noise, and felt with all of my body that the Ummists were probably suspecting something. Let all be as it should, I thought. And aimed at the bunker's entry.
One minute. Who will be faster in this race against time?
---
After that, well... I suppose that I could not shrug off my fate as completely normal, but for me, things have normalized. The war ended, and the army demobilizied, but we all, ofcourse, remained in the reserves. I settled down in Jaffa, which, having been destroyed during the war, was now rebuilt to be as modern as the rest of Tel Aviv, if not moreso. Rivka lived there too... while she remained alive. The stress of the events in Israel weakened her, and suddenly, she aged as fast as cousin Isaac, from whom, it must be said, we got letters occasionally. He survived and got a new work, as New York was rebuilding, this time - as a Canadian city, but that wasn't too bad. All I knew is that New York was different, and I was different, and also that I - though still not very religious, not even circumcised or even capable to speak in Hebrew passably - was an Israeli. An Israeli soldier
Anyway, grandma Rivka died. Though in her last few days she became a quiet, passive woman much unlike her old lively self, she allowed herself an ironic comment before death: "How many of us Wises have wished to die in the Holy Land... and I didn't even have to wish it, I simply had no choice!" Neither do I have a choice, in truth. After her death, there was nothing holding me back and I volunteered to join the army on a more permanent basis.
And then there were border conflicts and maneuvers, and vigorous, harsh training, and secret observation and study of our activity... and one day, I was, after a particularily succesful desert scouting/raiding training maneuver, approached by a tall man straight from the Nazi propaganda posters, except he was, despite his fair hair, Jewish. He had an impeccable English, though by then my Hebrew was much better than earlier. Still, he talked to me in English, and intrigued me with a proposal to join "the Unit". Or, as it was better known, "Sayeret Matkal". And I agreed.
And here I am now, at the beginning of a new war.
---
And then, the culmination comes.
And here I am now, at the beginning of a new war, with only seconds left until it becomes known if it is won or lost.
Fifty seconds - the last of the explosives are in place, Katzman and Reuven are falling back, and the air is filled with tension.
Forty seconds - they already fall back far enough, and slowly I begin to retreat, keeping my aim at the metal hatch in the bunker that starts opening up.
Thirty seconds - no, I do not pray to God, I know that all will be as He desires regardless of our prayers, and that if He does not exist then it is even more pointless to pray. Instead, I take a better aim, while still retreating, and as the first Ummist comes out (and is it just me, or is he scared at last?) and fire at him, and the hatch promptly falls as he goes limp.
Twenty seconds, the hatch begins to open again, there are wild shouts - curses and orders, but its too far to make out what exactly our enemies are saying, and it doesn't really matter in truth - and at this point behind me I could hear quite clearly, perhaps because of my anticipation, that buttons are being clicked.
Ten seconds, we are trading bullets with the Ummists, but ahead of me an explosion conceals all, suddenly making the sun rise prematurely - and, as if realizing the mis-timing and mis-placing, retreat, leaving behind itself half a bunker and pieces of corpses.
Five seconds. We are still being fired at. Remaining Ummist soldiers rush out, they shout like crazy and fire, and throw grenades, and I feel the impact of several bullets into my armoured vest and unarmoured parts of the face, and fragments of a grenade tear into me as well, and have just enough time to throw one frag-grenade, and pray - finally pray, as I no longer had anything else left to do - that it is not wasted, as the one thing I hate is wasted ammunition.
---
Far away, the sun was rising, and Israeli forces encamped half a mile to the south of Ayn Siniya, having been woken up a few minutes ago, charged at the surviving confused Arab defenders, and though I died before I saw the battle begin, I already felt that we have triumphed. My life was not thrown away for naught, and I died gladly in the Holy Land, going to eternal sleep with the feeling of a job well done.
---
[1] The motto of, amongst other things, Sayeret Matkal - the "General Staff Reconaissance unit", or just "the Unit" for friends.
[2] "Special Operations Engineering Squad".
Or perhaps, I mused, they really were not afraid? As in, not afraid at all, even though this was a dangerous border, even though in the last war the troops stationed here were torn into pieces by missile fire? Ofcourse, since then their defenses became better, much better... That was the problem, really.
No, but surely the Ummists were afraid! I certainly was, because the mission was indeed quite dangerous, or "daring" as Unit Commander Dan Yaalon put it. "Who Dares Wins" is the Unit's motto, after all. The Unit dared in the past, and dared now, and will win, but... not without casualties. An unsettling thought, so I cast it aside for now...
"Wisemann!" - silently shouted (well, almost silently, and it merely had the intonations of a shout, to be precise. Ofcourse, it was so quiet at our position that it seemed like a thunderstorm to me) Yosef - "That's the one, correct?"
He needn't indicate it; all three of us knew perfectly well that the unaesthetic metal construction that was guarded by these (rather careless... or really self-confident? or both?) Islamic soldiers was indeed our target. The Ayn Siniya Bunker, one of the key Ummist fortifications in the "West Bank".
"Fifteen more minutes..." - I whispered, knowing that everybody here, crouching behind a few large stones and rocks, will hear me.
---
I was born in June 16th 2024, to a Brooklyn Jewish couple. Back then, there still was an USA, "united and free", and, as it happened, doomed. My first name was David, my last name - Wise, due to which I was jockingly called "Wisemann" in the Tsahal (though I suppose it really was "Weizmann", after Israel's first president). I was a sole child in my family. Like many other American Jews - in New York, anyway - I was, though aware and proud of myself being Jewish, quite secular, and religious only in name. I was not even circumcised - by then the practice went out of fashion in New York, and my mother was fiercely opposed to any such "mutilation" as she saw it (and as - such is the influence of Western civilization - I still see it now). My education was perfectly secular, as I had already mentioned, and besides some boasting and conversations with my somewhat more pious grandma I was not really too interested in my heritage, nor in Israel for that matter.
Naturally, everything changed in 2044. I was already in the university - the University of the State of New York, ofcourse. Ironically enough, I was studying chemistry, though I only recently realized the irony of it, having read (in one of those new "ha-Zikkaron" ("Remembrance") biographies) that Ha-Nasi was a chemist himself. There I also read that he had problems getting a good education, as in Russia (where he was born) at the time there were many restrictions for Jews, though eventually he like many others moved to Switzerland. By contrary, I had no such problems; for all the many bad things that could be said about USA in its last few days, it remained egalitarian, even if its people haven't. Indeed, it was the racial strife that started the whole thing. Race riots broke out, and soon some fanatics from all the races, religions, ethnicities and political movements were at each other's throats, attacking everybody who got in the way regardless. Oh, sure, before that was a bungled war with China and an international economic collapse, but the true beginning of the troubles came then. On the next day, after months of uneasy silence and weeks of vague threats, Canada declared war. So did Mexico and Russia. The ensuing assault was oft-described; the one episode of importance to me was, ofcourse, the first attack on New York - the missile barrage from the Canadian fleet (I still remember how all panicked when it became apparent that the remaining missiles could not be stopped, and how relieved I felt when, after their impact, it turned out that the Canadians were true to the proliferation agreements after all, and thus only wrecked some skyscrappers). At first, it seemed to me that now, our people will calm down; yet now that order was destroyed by the bombardments, things got even worse. On June 20th - the third day of the war in North America - I got two sudden reminders about my heritage. The first came when a gang of skinheads, now no longer having anything to fear, chased after me, shouting "Jew! Go to Israel!" In the end, they stopped chasing me, but one of them exclaimed something like: "Go to Israel, rat - go away so that we could have a decent fight with 'em Cannucks without yer meddling!" Back then, I was obviously enraged, but knew better than to pick a fight.
But as it happened, I, like the other people still sane in New York, indeed had a very good motivation to go outside. And thankfully, the skinheads did not chase me in an opposite direction. I reached grandma Rivka's house - or, rather, the house of my cousin Isaac, with whom Rivka often stayed when she visited us and her other relatives in New York. Isaac himself was recuperating from his war-wounds suffered at the Gaoshalingcun Beachhead; he kept an automatic rifle at home, just to be sure, and threatened me with it now, before Rivka shouted that it was me. Isaac immediately lowered the rifle and slowly went back inside (he lost a leg, and couldn't afford one of those new-fangled regenerative operations). Rivka and I followed.
After exchanging our mutual and sincere happiness at me succesfully reaching their house, Rivka immediately expalained to me her plan. "Jew! Go to Israel!" I told her about those skinheads. She shrugged and said that they had a point for once - it was too dangerous to stay here. When I reminded her that my parents were still in Seattle, she stared at me... and broke into tears.
I was a complete orphan. I already broke up with my girlfriend, as it happened, and my other friends... the real ones, that is... were either no longer friends, either on the front. Relatives? Um... Rivka, Isaac... that was all of them that I actually cared about, I admitted to Rivka upon her insistant demand.
"You can always go there and return later, when things quiet down." - said Isaac, who clearly had discussed it with Rivka previously.
Stubbornly, I argued with them for almost an hour, not stopping even while we were having some tea. But in the end, I realized that they were stubborn enough to make me do it. At this point, as if to help me make up my mind, distant noise appeared. After a few seconds, I understood that the city was once more under attack.
And so I agreed, bitter about my present life that was suddenly ruined by this new war... and already beginning to vaguely dream about a new life, in Israel, in, it must be said, the first country outside of USA and the EU that I visited. After all, I was still young and curious, and did not know much about Israel. Had I known much, I must admit that I would never have came here, even though in truth, I have not regretted it at all... well, maybe apart from the first few days.
---
The silent vibration of my communicator interrupted my trail of thoughts; in fact, I ordered myself to stop thinking. The past and the future stopped to exist; the Ummist soldiers turned from people to targets. All was as it should be. Who Dares Wins. I accepted the communicator call from Dan Yaalon and, as nobody spoke, turned it off - all was going well, there were no changes in plans or new information of import. Then I nodded to my subordinates - for they were now subordinates, not friends - and they, acknowledging me to be a commanding officer rather than a human being that they called "Wisemann", nodded to me, and without a word, we begun slowly crawling towards the bunker.
Seconds seemed to be minutes, and naturally, minutes went as hours do. Yet we did not lose our orientation in time, or space for that matter, and as we crawled, ignoring the cold air of the Palestinean (but from now on - Israeli) night and the harsh terrain. In our camouflage suits, we were able to move unnoticed. Oh, we could be sighted... but one had to know where to look with the night goggles or heat-seakers (and the Ummist army - most of it, anyway - was notoriously underequipped). There was also the random factor. But... Who Dares Wins. Luck favours the bold.
Finally, we reached a small hill just near the bunker. Five minutes left. We rested for one minute, and studied the enemy position. The soldiers already went back inside, to get some sleep after six hours of night watch. Good. Now was the time. I nodded to the others and, along with Moshe Katzman and Shimon Reuven - from the Sayeret Yahalom [2] - we quietly sneaked towards the bunker, while Yosef Irtzel lied down on the hill and took out his sniper rifle.
And I once more turned off my thoughts, as the culmination drew nearer and nearer....
---
My second life begun on an old Boeing, one of the last planes to fly from American territory, specifically - from Steward International Airport, as grandma Rivka and I had to flee from New York (cousin Isaac, alas, stubbornly and far more succesfully than I resisted Rivka's attempts to evacuate him; when I asked him why did he help Rivka make me go, he explained that I was still young, and could start anew; although technically, he was only eight years older than me, he certainly did seem very old since he came back from China). We scarcely had much of a choice with tickets; the plane was already almost full, and only Rivka's precautions and connections allowed her to get me to the plane. Anyway, we were sitting far from each other. The people on the plane were talking, often in English, some - in Yiddish, which I did not know too well... and a few, in some other, strange language like no other that I even knew of. It was Hebrew, ofcourse.
When we left, the country we were leaving was a one at war, and the destination was a peaceful one; yet by the time the plane reached the Ben-Gurion Airport, Israel was already at war, whereas in America, only logistical problems faced by the Canadians and Mexicans prolonged the struggle of a crushed country. Back then, though... there was no time to think, I was simply not given that time. I found grandma Rivka in the crowded airport itself, but almost immediately we were separated again. Tsahal officers marched in and rounded up all the young men (and women!) that weren't in a particularily bad physical shape, including myself unfortunately, and, confusing us via their bad English, soon had us go to the training camp without any ceremonies.
Thus my life in Israel immediately begun with a first-hand encounter with the greatest distinguishing trait of my new land - the permanent state of war.
---
We got closer and closer to the bunker. Reuven led the way, with a small, portable minesweeper telling us what spots to avoid - though we were, ofcourse, equipped with special "minefield boots" that hid our true weight from them. After Reuven went Katzman, who was carefully carrying the explosive devices. I was last, and was ready to open fire, as was Irtzel from afar.
It was quiet. Frighteningly quiet. I subdued the various urges - to look around, to even raise my head, to check the grenades that I was supposed to throw if we were discovered too early - or too late, for that matter, but for a different purpose. But I did look at the watch as we stopped eight miles away from the bunker.
Two minutes left.
---
Forced conscription of immigrants at sight was not really an Israeli custom, but, as the female Tsahal officers sent to educate us during the training course explained, it was a tough time. The Islamic Umma' was pressing forth, half the small country was already overran. All the human resources that could be found needed to be used. The goal was the preservation of Israel; and that goal was a holy one in this country, much more holy than President Walsh's holy goal of spreading democracy or the Saudi king's holy war on Israel, both of which, by the way, had failed.
But back then, I was rather less enthusiastic. I protested that I was a pacifist, that this wasn't my war, that this is a violation of my rights; to no avail. This stuff, explained the head of the Lod Training Camp, was just great and fine, and usually, ofcourse, it would have all been taken into consideration. But in the present circumstances, "alas". Grandma Rivka was theoretically allowed to visit me, but I was quite bitter, at her as well as at the Israelis, and did not want to see her.
I was not the only one who protested the way we were being treated, but all eventually gave in and joined the training program. Deciding that there was no point in resisting it, I commited myself fully to the training, and soon, much to my own surprise, excelled. And as the military training was alternated with political education - simply put, propaganda - I, despite my skepticism, became quite impressed by the way Israel stood out against so many enemies, and became eager to fight, as did the rest of us. And after a month - earlier than the Israeli government and military would have wanted, but they had no choice as it happened - several divisions of "alim hadashim" ("new immigrants") were formed and immediately sent to the front. This time, I did see Rivka as she came to visit me; we reconciled, and I promised to survive this. And by accident, I kept that promise.
The Ummist armies were advancing towards Tel Aviv. One of their invasions came through the Gaza Sector, but - again, quite ironically - it was stopped by the arrival of Canadian forces. Canada was now a superpower, and wanted to safeguard its commercial interests in Israel, or somesuch - I really doubt that they intervenned to "defend democracy" just after destroying the last nation that went around with the same concept used as a wholesome ideology. Anyway, the Canadian air force helped the Israelis... helped us crush the enemy prong. In the north, the enemy army was mauled over in the urban fighting in Haifa and Nazareth, the break-through in between resulting in the pocketing of a large Ummist army. But the eastern offensive went on, having already captured Jerusalem. And as it happened, this force was going to attack straight through the towns of Ramla... and Lod. We scarcely needed to be redeployed to face the enemy - the enemy was going to face us himself. I was in the 3rd Ale Hadash division, it guarded Lod itself, and saw action after the 2nd division was annihilated by overwhelming enemy forces.
My first battle... don't know how to describe it. I expected hell. What happened wasn't really hell, it wasn't heaven neither, nor was it a madhouse or any other allegory. A battle is a battle, and my first battle, too, was a battle. We dug in and barricaded the streets, and fired at distant enemies, dodging their own fire as they closer and closer, and praying - indeed, in some cases for the first time in our lives - for survival, for the shells and the bombs to miss, even if meant the deaths of our comrades. The enemies charged at us, screaming their fierce battle-cries, and we screamed too, and I screamed, and I hid in a ruined building with some soldier whose name I did not even know, and never did learn, though I suspect - based on the reports I later read - that he was one Artur Gunzburg, from Russia. With that fellow, though, we held out there for long, we both had no training nor experience, yet fought on and on, and later, though that other soldier (Artur Gunzburg?) died, I, wounded, remained alive and kept shooting, until as quickly as they came, our enemies felt back, routing under the blows of the IDF's main force. The 3rd Ale Hadash division held out. One-fourth of it, anyway.
That was my baptism (ironic as it is to use that term in a Jewish country) by fire. After it, after I spilt blood on this land, I felt that I could no longer leave it, even though the Canadian government already restored order and begun inviting former American citizens to come back, promising them all sorts of enticements and incentives. I belonged here now. And furthermore, despite grandma Rivka's consternation... I felt that I could no longer leave the Tsahal neither.
---
Reuven and Katzman were quickly, but not hastily setting up the explosives near the bunker. Meanwhile, I was sitting behind them with closed eyes. I was all ears now, and soon, I heard some noise, and felt with all of my body that the Ummists were probably suspecting something. Let all be as it should, I thought. And aimed at the bunker's entry.
One minute. Who will be faster in this race against time?
---
After that, well... I suppose that I could not shrug off my fate as completely normal, but for me, things have normalized. The war ended, and the army demobilizied, but we all, ofcourse, remained in the reserves. I settled down in Jaffa, which, having been destroyed during the war, was now rebuilt to be as modern as the rest of Tel Aviv, if not moreso. Rivka lived there too... while she remained alive. The stress of the events in Israel weakened her, and suddenly, she aged as fast as cousin Isaac, from whom, it must be said, we got letters occasionally. He survived and got a new work, as New York was rebuilding, this time - as a Canadian city, but that wasn't too bad. All I knew is that New York was different, and I was different, and also that I - though still not very religious, not even circumcised or even capable to speak in Hebrew passably - was an Israeli. An Israeli soldier
Anyway, grandma Rivka died. Though in her last few days she became a quiet, passive woman much unlike her old lively self, she allowed herself an ironic comment before death: "How many of us Wises have wished to die in the Holy Land... and I didn't even have to wish it, I simply had no choice!" Neither do I have a choice, in truth. After her death, there was nothing holding me back and I volunteered to join the army on a more permanent basis.
And then there were border conflicts and maneuvers, and vigorous, harsh training, and secret observation and study of our activity... and one day, I was, after a particularily succesful desert scouting/raiding training maneuver, approached by a tall man straight from the Nazi propaganda posters, except he was, despite his fair hair, Jewish. He had an impeccable English, though by then my Hebrew was much better than earlier. Still, he talked to me in English, and intrigued me with a proposal to join "the Unit". Or, as it was better known, "Sayeret Matkal". And I agreed.
And here I am now, at the beginning of a new war.
---
And then, the culmination comes.
And here I am now, at the beginning of a new war, with only seconds left until it becomes known if it is won or lost.
Fifty seconds - the last of the explosives are in place, Katzman and Reuven are falling back, and the air is filled with tension.
Forty seconds - they already fall back far enough, and slowly I begin to retreat, keeping my aim at the metal hatch in the bunker that starts opening up.
Thirty seconds - no, I do not pray to God, I know that all will be as He desires regardless of our prayers, and that if He does not exist then it is even more pointless to pray. Instead, I take a better aim, while still retreating, and as the first Ummist comes out (and is it just me, or is he scared at last?) and fire at him, and the hatch promptly falls as he goes limp.
Twenty seconds, the hatch begins to open again, there are wild shouts - curses and orders, but its too far to make out what exactly our enemies are saying, and it doesn't really matter in truth - and at this point behind me I could hear quite clearly, perhaps because of my anticipation, that buttons are being clicked.
Ten seconds, we are trading bullets with the Ummists, but ahead of me an explosion conceals all, suddenly making the sun rise prematurely - and, as if realizing the mis-timing and mis-placing, retreat, leaving behind itself half a bunker and pieces of corpses.
Five seconds. We are still being fired at. Remaining Ummist soldiers rush out, they shout like crazy and fire, and throw grenades, and I feel the impact of several bullets into my armoured vest and unarmoured parts of the face, and fragments of a grenade tear into me as well, and have just enough time to throw one frag-grenade, and pray - finally pray, as I no longer had anything else left to do - that it is not wasted, as the one thing I hate is wasted ammunition.
---
Far away, the sun was rising, and Israeli forces encamped half a mile to the south of Ayn Siniya, having been woken up a few minutes ago, charged at the surviving confused Arab defenders, and though I died before I saw the battle begin, I already felt that we have triumphed. My life was not thrown away for naught, and I died gladly in the Holy Land, going to eternal sleep with the feeling of a job well done.
---
[1] The motto of, amongst other things, Sayeret Matkal - the "General Staff Reconaissance unit", or just "the Unit" for friends.
[2] "Special Operations Engineering Squad".
Kentharu
Zebra Commander
holy crap! god just spoke to me *stares at the story
das
Regeneration In Process
Thank you, thank you. Just realized, btw, that this seems to be the first story in this thread - hopefully that will change, and not just because I'm already working on the next one.
Icmancin
WSNR Pte
@All ~Darkening~ is gone so the Umma is NPC right now.
To: Israel, Central African Rebels
From: The Holy Lands of Allah, the Umma
We will not give in. We are sons of Allah and we will defeat you heretics and devil worshippers!
To: Israel, Central African Rebels
From: The Holy Lands of Allah, the Umma
We will not give in. We are sons of Allah and we will defeat you heretics and devil worshippers!
Kentharu
Zebra Commander
when are orders due?
das
Regeneration In Process
"I am the soul, heart, brain and future of Israel." - ha-nasi Aleksandr Levitzky.
---
"Rubbish!" - shouted Yosef Mendel, tossing aside the newspaper - "He never said that!"
"How do you know?" - challenged Aaron Barak, who was sitting next to him in the outpost.
"Yes - he could've said it to his cat or something!" - laughed Menakhem Orpaz, and added in a grave, serious voice - "Behemoth! I am the soul, heart, brain and future of Israel!" - and then, in a whiny voice - "Meow!" And then he started laughing against and Mendel joined it. Barak didn't supress his smirk, but still shook his his head disapprovingly.
"Come on, who knows what he can say..." - he then started, but interrupted by Orpaz.
"The Great Nephew knows!" - Menakhem exclaimed, and looked at me expectingly. I tried to shrug it aside, but as he continued looking I decided that I migth as well join the conversation, as I had nothing else to do. The Ummist positions were too far for me to sight from here, even with the new binoculars. As for the notepad... nah. It'll wait.
"Its not like I live with him or something." - I said - "For all I know, he might say that to Behemoth!"
"What a strange name for a cat, anyway..." - Barak said, but this time I interrupted him.
"Its from a book." At that, Barak and the others simply nodded. Somehow I got the reputation of not just the nephew of the President, but also of being the most well-read man this side of the Negev. I did not choose to lecture them about what book exactly, as I had learned by now that it would be a waste of air, and as thankfully, there was no khamsin yet it was morally wrong to do so. Instead, we continued to waste air on politics.
"Its an extremelly stupid thing to say, you understand..." - said Mendel - "And ha-nasi isn't stupid!"
"Is he?" - asked Barak, but shut up under our glances. His liberal views were not shared in this outpost at all.
"I really doubt that he said it, too." - I spoke up - "Its the newspapers, as usual - one newspaper, without giving any names, says that its idol - without names, again - is the soul, heart and so forth, another one, an opposition one, says that he said himself, and the yellow press picks up the story."
"Bloody newspapers." - Mendel spat at the one that he threw away - "Your uncle is being too nice to them, he should have them censored."
"There you go again..." - muttered Barak.
"Why censor them? Not like anybody who still reads them agrees with them now. The time of newspapers is over." - I said.
"Yori, we didn't even get drunk yet and you already start philosophizing!" - said Moshe Barak, Aaron's brother who now joined us.
"Prophesizing." - I corrected him - "The newspapers are dead, anyway. Now that the Internet is being restored, they will be simply overwhelmed by the blogs and live journals. They almost were before WWIII."
"Who told you that?" - inquired Aaron Barak.
"My... uncle." - in truth, we did speak with him about it once, but I lived with my father till' his death, and after that lived on my own, and did not at all meet with my powerful uncle all that often.
The conversation gradually quieted down as the evening approached, so I took out my notepad and begun writing.
---
"My uncle of most honest rules, when he became seriously ill... No. My uncle Aleksandr Levitsky, though not particularily healthy, was not seriously ill neither; at least, the last time I saw him he wasn't. There are some rumours in the yellow press, but nobody believes even the serious newspapers nowaday... I suppose that the newspapers will soon be displaced anyway by the blogs and suchlike. I digress.
My uncle, however, did act upon most honest rules. He was an ideal president in that he considered himself a servant of the state; and like a zealous servant, he not only bent over backwards to help his master Israel, but also made everybody else bend over... or be removed from the Duty of serving the state. That, at least, is one of my theories about him... but it certainly is more plausible than this "soul, heart, brain, future" thing. Whoever invented it did not know my uncle at all - even I knew that he, if anything, was overtly altruistic and sincere, always working for the state, even at night, when if he didn't work with papers then he, at least, burdened himself with thinking and thinking, and trying to find a way out of every little dilemma."
---
I stopped, trying to remember some examples. The non-classified ones, ofcourse... though it really did not matter too much, I didn't know anything about the REALLY important things. Finally, I wrote something about that one time when he for weeks (with interruptions, ofcourse, but that's not the point) struggeld with the local buerocracy in Hadera, forcing through a construction of an orphanage for the children of veterans and the granting of a villa to a war-widow and her two children. Very touching story, though I am sure that he had no time for that since the war begun.
Though I was sitting against one of the outpost's walls, Menakhem Orpaz inevitably noticed me and asked me about what I was writing. About time, too...
"Just some notes - I plan to write a book about my uncle one day. I'm sure it could be interesting..."
"Yes, yes it would..." - agreed Menakhem - "If you need any help..."
"What do you mean?" - I asked, somewhat surprised.
"I was with him there, you know." - he said, and I realized by his tone that he was talking about Jerusalem. The arrest of the Knesset. I was there too, though in another unit... but that was irrelevant.
"Jerusalem, Purim?" - I clarified.
"Yes. Were you there?" - asked Menakhem.
"No." - I lied - "But I've heard much."
"Everybody heard much about that." - smirked Menakhem - "From ha-nasi as well." - he added, pre-empting my retort just as I begun to open my mouth.
"Not everybody heard about it from my uncle informally, though."
"Fair enough. What did he say?"
"He said that he was afraid."
"Eh?" - asked Menakhem - "Certainly didn't look like it. What was there to be afraid of?"
"He was afraid that things will go violently."
"They did..."
"I mean, really violently, as in actual bloodshed." - I sighed, for the dramaticism of it - "Thankfully, it was avoided."
"Indeed, indeed..." - said the commando (for indeed, Menahem Orpaz was a commando, and an experienced one at that unlike the other ones here).
"What's up?" - we were interrupted by Mendel - "Anyway, Castro wants everybody to go to the briefing room, something has come up apparently."
Menakhem and I nodded, and as Mendel turned around to walk towards the outpost HQ Menakhem followed him. I took out my other notebook, and quickly scribbled there on the move (in English - it was faster that way) before anybody notice me: "C-o unsuspicious?". Honestly, I was not too sure about him, nor about any of them if it comes to that...
To be continued.
---
"Rubbish!" - shouted Yosef Mendel, tossing aside the newspaper - "He never said that!"
"How do you know?" - challenged Aaron Barak, who was sitting next to him in the outpost.
"Yes - he could've said it to his cat or something!" - laughed Menakhem Orpaz, and added in a grave, serious voice - "Behemoth! I am the soul, heart, brain and future of Israel!" - and then, in a whiny voice - "Meow!" And then he started laughing against and Mendel joined it. Barak didn't supress his smirk, but still shook his his head disapprovingly.
"Come on, who knows what he can say..." - he then started, but interrupted by Orpaz.
"The Great Nephew knows!" - Menakhem exclaimed, and looked at me expectingly. I tried to shrug it aside, but as he continued looking I decided that I migth as well join the conversation, as I had nothing else to do. The Ummist positions were too far for me to sight from here, even with the new binoculars. As for the notepad... nah. It'll wait.
"Its not like I live with him or something." - I said - "For all I know, he might say that to Behemoth!"
"What a strange name for a cat, anyway..." - Barak said, but this time I interrupted him.
"Its from a book." At that, Barak and the others simply nodded. Somehow I got the reputation of not just the nephew of the President, but also of being the most well-read man this side of the Negev. I did not choose to lecture them about what book exactly, as I had learned by now that it would be a waste of air, and as thankfully, there was no khamsin yet it was morally wrong to do so. Instead, we continued to waste air on politics.
"Its an extremelly stupid thing to say, you understand..." - said Mendel - "And ha-nasi isn't stupid!"
"Is he?" - asked Barak, but shut up under our glances. His liberal views were not shared in this outpost at all.
"I really doubt that he said it, too." - I spoke up - "Its the newspapers, as usual - one newspaper, without giving any names, says that its idol - without names, again - is the soul, heart and so forth, another one, an opposition one, says that he said himself, and the yellow press picks up the story."
"Bloody newspapers." - Mendel spat at the one that he threw away - "Your uncle is being too nice to them, he should have them censored."
"There you go again..." - muttered Barak.
"Why censor them? Not like anybody who still reads them agrees with them now. The time of newspapers is over." - I said.
"Yori, we didn't even get drunk yet and you already start philosophizing!" - said Moshe Barak, Aaron's brother who now joined us.
"Prophesizing." - I corrected him - "The newspapers are dead, anyway. Now that the Internet is being restored, they will be simply overwhelmed by the blogs and live journals. They almost were before WWIII."
"Who told you that?" - inquired Aaron Barak.
"My... uncle." - in truth, we did speak with him about it once, but I lived with my father till' his death, and after that lived on my own, and did not at all meet with my powerful uncle all that often.
The conversation gradually quieted down as the evening approached, so I took out my notepad and begun writing.
---
"My uncle of most honest rules, when he became seriously ill... No. My uncle Aleksandr Levitsky, though not particularily healthy, was not seriously ill neither; at least, the last time I saw him he wasn't. There are some rumours in the yellow press, but nobody believes even the serious newspapers nowaday... I suppose that the newspapers will soon be displaced anyway by the blogs and suchlike. I digress.
My uncle, however, did act upon most honest rules. He was an ideal president in that he considered himself a servant of the state; and like a zealous servant, he not only bent over backwards to help his master Israel, but also made everybody else bend over... or be removed from the Duty of serving the state. That, at least, is one of my theories about him... but it certainly is more plausible than this "soul, heart, brain, future" thing. Whoever invented it did not know my uncle at all - even I knew that he, if anything, was overtly altruistic and sincere, always working for the state, even at night, when if he didn't work with papers then he, at least, burdened himself with thinking and thinking, and trying to find a way out of every little dilemma."
---
I stopped, trying to remember some examples. The non-classified ones, ofcourse... though it really did not matter too much, I didn't know anything about the REALLY important things. Finally, I wrote something about that one time when he for weeks (with interruptions, ofcourse, but that's not the point) struggeld with the local buerocracy in Hadera, forcing through a construction of an orphanage for the children of veterans and the granting of a villa to a war-widow and her two children. Very touching story, though I am sure that he had no time for that since the war begun.
Though I was sitting against one of the outpost's walls, Menakhem Orpaz inevitably noticed me and asked me about what I was writing. About time, too...
"Just some notes - I plan to write a book about my uncle one day. I'm sure it could be interesting..."
"Yes, yes it would..." - agreed Menakhem - "If you need any help..."
"What do you mean?" - I asked, somewhat surprised.
"I was with him there, you know." - he said, and I realized by his tone that he was talking about Jerusalem. The arrest of the Knesset. I was there too, though in another unit... but that was irrelevant.
"Jerusalem, Purim?" - I clarified.
"Yes. Were you there?" - asked Menakhem.
"No." - I lied - "But I've heard much."
"Everybody heard much about that." - smirked Menakhem - "From ha-nasi as well." - he added, pre-empting my retort just as I begun to open my mouth.
"Not everybody heard about it from my uncle informally, though."
"Fair enough. What did he say?"
"He said that he was afraid."
"Eh?" - asked Menakhem - "Certainly didn't look like it. What was there to be afraid of?"
"He was afraid that things will go violently."
"They did..."
"I mean, really violently, as in actual bloodshed." - I sighed, for the dramaticism of it - "Thankfully, it was avoided."
"Indeed, indeed..." - said the commando (for indeed, Menahem Orpaz was a commando, and an experienced one at that unlike the other ones here).
"What's up?" - we were interrupted by Mendel - "Anyway, Castro wants everybody to go to the briefing room, something has come up apparently."
Menakhem and I nodded, and as Mendel turned around to walk towards the outpost HQ Menakhem followed him. I took out my other notebook, and quickly scribbled there on the move (in English - it was faster that way) before anybody notice me: "C-o unsuspicious?". Honestly, I was not too sure about him, nor about any of them if it comes to that...
To be continued.
das
Regeneration In Process
From: State of Israel
To: The World
We have evidence of atrocities commited by the Umma' against the English language:
To: The World
We have evidence of atrocities commited by the Umma' against the English language:
das
Regeneration In Process
Btw, sent two PMs of orders.
Disenfrancised
Beep Beep
lurker's comment:Lord_Iggy said:I feel like such an underachiever.
Nah your orders whilst approximately 1/8 the length of das's, still contain about only 1/4 the information - congratulations on your efficency and readability! Unless your talking about the stories in which case...yes you are
.
das
Regeneration In Process
Meh, you're just in peace. Just wait until you get a life-or-death struggle (tm), and then we'll compare the order sizes.
Icmancin
WSNR Pte
@das Sometimes type too fast.... most of the time.
@All Read the rules for the order times. I'm not busy this Saturday so the update should be on schedule and not early.
@All Read the rules for the order times. I'm not busy this Saturday so the update should be on schedule and not early.
Wubba360
Emperor
Icmancin could you answer my diplo please
Icmancin
WSNR Pte
To: SEA-CO
From: India
We agree, we must stand together in this time of need. Would you propose a name for this alliance?
To: SEA-Co
From: Australasia
It is not in our best interests at the moment. Perhaps in the near future.
From: India
We agree, we must stand together in this time of need. Would you propose a name for this alliance?
To: SEA-Co
From: Australasia
It is not in our best interests at the moment. Perhaps in the near future.
