The Bozeman Daily Chronicle.

Having grown rather…disillusioned with the political slant my local newspaper takes in even its news pieces, I have recently begun to read The Bozeman Daily Chronicle, as a means of researching one of the Fracture War’s “Protagonist Cities,” and I have recently fallen in love with the Police Reports section.

Most of the Police Reports in the KC Star, especially for my area, are rather mundane (It’s a common joke that the city cops are the best equipped because they never have to actually spend money DOING anything besides ticketing High School Students). However, Bozeman’s police reports are both unusual (instances of gunshot calls during Hunting Season seem oddly common given the area),a nd well written. My favorite so far, has to be the one from August 25, 2009, for reasons I really can’t explain, but will become evident upon reading the blog entry.

Anyways, both the blog archiving the Police Reports, and the Newspaper’s Website itself, will be posted in the links section.  I hope you find them as funny as I do.

Nova Caput Mundi Chapter 1

YMCA of Greater New York, Staten Island Broadway Center

Staten Island, New York

Monday, 2010-05-10

0700 Hours Romeo

Intelligence Specialist Third Class Kell Anderson stripped off his white t-shirt to reveal the Coast Guard Issued suit as he stood on the edge of the pool.  Unlike most young men in the Coast Guard, Kell Anderson wore a shorty wetsuit, marked with the Coast Guard logo above his left breast.  No one knew why he wore that suit, though many believed that the Arabic stitching running around the Coast Guard logo, reading “Sow the lightning, reap the thunder,” meant that he was a devout muslim, following sharia law in regards to modesty.  Jason could attest that Kell had never removed his shirt in Basic where anyone else could see him, and only those who had access to his medical files could see the pictures of the scarring running up the left side of his body.

Kell was, in fact, a devout catholic, and had chosen to have it sewn in Sorani because he found the Arabic Script beautiful.  The same with the Chinese Characters running down the spine of his suit.  As someone who could speak both languages – as well as Gaelic, Modern Hebrew, Japanese, and a smattering of Russian, among others – he often used them for religous or personal effects.

Diving into the pool, he swam strong laps through the Olympic size pool in Staten Island.  He pulled himself though the water with strong and sure strokes, breathing every four strokes as he pulled himself through the water in a steady crawl, letting the water flowing past his body wipe away the recurring nightmare visions that still reminded him of the events he had foreseen, and been able to stop, in Beijing during the 2008 Olympic Opening Ceremony.  Visions of a young woman whom he would love and then lose to the wars he was so certain where coming.  Visions and dreams that woke him up at night, out of breathe and drenched in a cold sweat.

Pulling himself out of the water an hour and a half later, he winced slightly as he moved his sore back wrong, drawing a curious reaction from the others in the pool early that morning.  Fixing up his face, returning it to the studied mask of nonchalance and boredom he normally wore, he gathered up his shirt and towel, and walked into the locker room of the gym.

A few minutes later, he exited the YMCA in his almost trademark gray faux-military jacket, complete with shoulderboards and mandarin collar, black t-shirt with the United States Coast Guard Training Center Yorktown logo, and a pair of dark blue jeans.  A silver crucifix hung around his neck, with a USCG Logo/Medal of St. Michael hanging on a separate silver chain below the crucifix, and a black and silver rosary wrapped around his belt loop and stored in his pocket.

The crucifix was a gift from an ex-girlfriend, one he had kept despite the emotional trauma of the breakup, as a memory of the good times they had together.  That it had been bought at the Vatican and blessed by the Pope didn’t hurt the matter any.

He didn’t have to work today, or so he thought, until his phone began to ring.  Pulling it out, he frowned at the phone.  On the BlackBerry’s screen, an image of the United States Coast Guard logo had popped up, and it was displaying the numbers from Kell Anderson’s boss, Lieutenant Kind’s personal phone at the Coast Guard Station at Fort Wadsworth.

Putting his phone up to his ear, Kell answered, “Petty Officer Anderson.”

“Anderson, I need you to come in today after all.  Special Agent DeLaine requested you personally for an investigation.  Seems you made quite the impression on him at the last Counter-Terrorism seminar, and he needs your expertise with a case he is working on.”

“Wilco Lieutenant.  Please inform Special Agent DeLaine that my ETA at 26 Federal Plaza is 120 minutes.  Over.”

“Roger that Anderson.  I will have the files sent to your inbox within 30 minutes. Lieutenant Kind out.”

Ending the call, Kell let out a fervent “Frak.” Exchanging his  BlackBerry for his iPod Touch, he activated the remot activation app, and typed in the password Denali, he started the black four door Jeep Wrangler and unlocked the doors.  Sliding in, he pulled out of the YMCA Parking Lot, and made his way home to the mid-sized apartment in Pleasant Plains.

As Kell changed into his Tropical Blue Long uniform, the file from Lieutenant Kind arrived.  Activating his computer’s Text-to-Voice module, he listened as Special Agent DeLaine explained the situation.  It seemed that the NYPD had gotten word of a forgery operation in Queens, one affiliated with Jamaat al-Muslimeen.  Swearing at the luck, Kell hurried to finish dressing, and ran to his Jeep, desperate to arrive at the FBI Office as soon as possible.  Things where about to turn ugly, and Kell was one of the few people qualified to handle the situation.

Nova Caput Mundi – Chapter 4: Red Dawn

Kell stepped out of the interrogation room, wiping off the blade of his knife off on a scrap of cloth before sheathing his blade.

“Can I get a band-aid?” he asked, looking at the blood trickling down his thumb.

His thumb was bleeding from a deep cut, where he had sliced it open in an effort to scare Jamaal into talking about why he was making the fake passports, and who he was making them for.

It had worked like a charm, and he hadn’t ever had to touch Jamaal.

“Here,” Seaman Apprentice Jason Beck said, as he handed the Band-Aid to his mentor.

“Where did you learn that?” he asked.

“I watch too much Burn Notice. Cut your target with a knife, he tells you whatever you want to hear. Cut yourself with a knife, and he wonders what you will do to him, and tells you the truth. Works every time.”

“Still,” the young, non-descript Coast Guard Intel Specialist asked, “How are you gonna find our target. That is a big ocean out there.”

“Easy.” Kell replied as he opened his phone and called one of the numbers on his speed dial.

“Stan. Kell. I need your help with something.”

“Sure Kell, what do you need?”

“I need you to look over some satellite data for me. We have a Ghost Ship.”

“Location?”

“Atlantic Ocean. Left Lagos, Nigeria for New York City a couple months ago. It should be arriving in US Territorial Waters soon.”

“Anything more?” Stan asked, dubious.

“Yeah, I think it might be heading toward Trinidad before heading towards New York, more then likely to pick up some passengers at Port-of-Spain. Oh, and Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s UBL LNG.”

Stan began to swear at that, turning the air blue and earning Kell interested looks from other members of the New York City Office of the FBI, as the sounds of the swearing escaped the speaker of his phone. Jason looked at him, curious.

“It’s a bin Laden Liquid Natural Gas Tanker. One of the ones that al-Qaeda affiliates pinched in the Straights of Malacca last year. If she is still even half full of LNG, the explosion will be as big as that Father of All Bombs the Russians detonated back in oh seven.”

One of the EOD Techs with the NYPD Bomb Disposal Unit walked over then, and filled in for Jason as Kell turned back to give Latitude and Longitude information to his friend at the NGA.

“You know how a Thermobaric weapon works?” Jason just shook his head. They hadn’t taught him about those in A School.

“It’s a two stage weapon. First blast disperses the fuel into the air. The second blast ignites the cloud of fuel and air. The resulting shockwave will either kill you outright or rip your lungs out of your chest. This isn’t a concentrated weapon either. If this detonates in the port, we are going to see damage all across the city. Major damage. Worse then 9/11 or the Carnival Liberty. Much worse.”

“Okay, Stan, let me know when you find it. Kell out.”

“The NGA is looking, but let’s get the team ready.”

Turning, Kell called out, “Special Agent DeLaine, let’s start prepping. It should be arriving within a week or so!”

DeLaine blanched and nodded. Acknowledging that Kell now had jurisdiction over the situation. They had less then a week to contain this situation.

As Kell walked towards the briefing room, his phone rang.

“Petty Officer Anderson.”

“Kell, your Ghost Ship is a day away from New York. I am routing the information to the USCGC Dallas. Should I tell them to expect you?”

“Yeah, let them know I am coming to brief them on the situation.”

Schedule Shift and Cerebus Syndrome

Sorry about the lack of a post today for Audemus Jura Nostra Defendere, but I discovered that it is a rather difficult story to write, and though I know Savid very well, I know him as the head of a pair of major Private Security Contractors and personal bodyguard of his good friend Samuel Anderson, not as the 1980’s Guerilla Leader trying to fight Saddam Hussein, the Ayatollah Ruhollah Mousavi Khomeini and the Iranian Revolutionary Guard, the Kurdish Democratic Party, and the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan.

As such, the story shall shift to a MONTHLY update format to allow me to get a better handle on who he once was and how I am going to handle the Halabja Poison Gas Attrocity in story in a way that will not turn off opponents of the Iraq War.

I am planning on writing that story for chapter three, and thus warn you now that the story will not be for the faint of heart, and will show, in full grisly detail, the effects of these chemical weapons on the populace of the city of Halabja.

I promise you here and now, that I will do my best to keep politics out of these stories, and to let the stories tell themselves.  The story of Halabja will be different.  The story of Halabja is but one in a long number of abuses conducted by the man known as “Chemical Ali,” a man who has yet to be punished for his crimes of humanity.

The story of Halabja, told from the point of view of a victim of the attack, will explain WHY I support the Iraq War.

Si Vis Pacem – Chapter 3: It Shall Be Done

Liu San stood on the docks of the port of Guangzhou, binoculars to his eyes as he watched the fighters of the Taiwanese Air Force flying along the border, daring the PRC to shoot them down.  A state of war had been in effect for a week and a half, but nothing more than a continuous desultory exchange of Counter-Battery Artillery Fire, and an extended posturing by the People’s Liberation Navy and the Republic of China Navy, existed to prove as such.

But for Liu San, that was all he needed.  Liu San was a citizen of Taiwan who had been pretending to be a political exile and refugee living in China.  Somehow, under the radar, Liu San had been gathering an army of disgruntled Pro-Democracy and Anti-Socialist persons.  There where a limited number of Overtly Pro-Capitalist citizens outside the Special Economic Zones, though the number of “Double-Thinkers,” people who sang the party line in public but voiced doubts and objections in private, had been growing.

The inability by the government to create the one hundred and twenty five million new jobs a year for the last few years to prevent economic collapse.  It had come close enough to fudge the numbers, but as Liu San knew, these problems would not exist in a Capitalist Economy.

Oh, he knew that Capitalism wasn’t perfect, and that no matter what there would be a certain number of unemployed and homeless, but at least under Capitalism there was more freedom then under the current tyrannical regime of the Chinese Communists.

So, he had started an underground army, composed mainly of thugs and toughs and college students and dissidents from the military, which was armed and ready to begin a revolution in South China.  All they needed was the signal.

As a Chinese Shenyang J-11, based on the Sukhoi SU-27 Flanker, passed into Taiwanese Air Space, Liu San watched for the fight to begin.

It was brief, as an AIDC K-CK-1 Ching-kuo knocked the fighter out of the sky, and a small flight of F-16 Fighting Falcons penetrated the airspace of China, and hit the Army Base near Guangzhou with Maverick Air-to-Ground Missiles.

As soon as the missiles where away, Liu San hopped into a waiting EQ5021 Mini Van.  Grabbing the radio, he stated, “Climb Mount Nitaka.”  A hail of single clicks answered as cells across the city confirmed their readiness.  As he listened to the answering hail, Liu San pulled a Norinco Type 86S Bullpup Assault Rifle, and worked the charging handle, ready for the Second Chinese Civil War to begin.

Nova Caput Mundi – Chapter 3: No Knocking Required

With the pounding of feet on worn wood, the SWAT Team stormed up the apartment building to the sixth floor.  There were twelve people in the swat team all told, five of them armed with silenced M4 Carbines, five of them armed with MP5SD6’s, one armed with a CornerShot Automatic Pistol Rifle, and one with an Atchison Assault 12 Automatic Shotgun.

Kell, armed with that shotgun, stormed up the stairs just behind the point man, whose eyes were locked on the video display of the CornerShot in his hands.  At each landing of the stairs, he ratcheted the angle 60 degrees, rounded the corner, and snapped the weapon back to its straight setting before doing so again at the next level, in a single, smooth motion.

Once at the sixth floor, they made their way to apartment 6H, where they slowed, and the man with the CornerShot, an Agent Sinclair, pulled out a fiber optic camera, and threaded it under the door.  As the man behind Sinclair, Kell looked over his shoulder, and watched the fiber optic camera sweep the room.

A single man, tentatively identified as the target, was working at an artist’s bench with his back to the door, a multitude of lights and magnification hanging from the far edge of the desk.  Kell jumped as the phone in the room rang.

The subject started, and glowered at the phone on the wall into what the building blueprints indicated was the kitchen.  The man stood, and answered the phone.

“Jamaal,” the man answered simply, identifying the target positively.

Kell and Sinclair couldn’t hear exactly what was being said.  But from the way Jamaal looked at the door, Kell was able to guess what he was being told.  Swearing under his breathe, Kell cursed every “Good Eye” in the world, and motioned for the man armed with the Pneumatic Ram to come to the fore.

The battering ram was a simple piston full of compressed air, with a pointed wedge on the front, and an impact trigger.  As he swung the ram, a single shot pierced the wood door, as a pair of bullets pierced the wall just above Agent Sinclair.

The ram connected with a powerful “Whomp” and the door crashed inwards off of its hinges.  Inside, Jamaal fired off the rest of the rounds in his pistol as he dove into the kitchen.  Kell rushed in, AA-12 Shotgun leveled and ready.

He swore up a storm as Jamaal rose back up, shotgun in hand, and began to fire and pump at random, keeping his head below the level of the counters.  Agent Sinclair tossed a Flashbang into the Kitchen, and the team rushed in to find Jamaal on the ground, dazed, from where he had hit his head on the countertop under which he was taking cover.

He was taken into custody, and escorted down to a waiting ambulance, where he would be taken to a nearby hospital, and interrogated to try and uncover what exactly Jamaat Al-Muslimeen had in mind that required over three dozen forged passports.

Audemes Jura Nostra Defendere – Chapter 1: We dare to defend our rights

August 1979

With a burst of gunfire, the routine patrol around the small village where Savid Hakim’s cell of the peshmegra lived turned from another boring patrol into fifteen minutes of hell.  Savid had been walking point, his AK-47 Battle Rifle, chosen for the heavier rounds, armed and ready as he did so.  No one had expected the Liberal Patriotic Union of Kurdistan to strike now, as the civil war was winding down, and Savid Hakim’s cell had grown lax in their security.

Savid hit the ground as the sound of a pair of RPD Machine Guns opened up on the small, twelve-man patrol.  Soon AK-74 Assault Rifles opened up as well, killing the one of the cell’s three grenadiers instantly.

One of Savid’s buddies, a young man by the name of Aram Nagi, grabbed the fallen Grenadier’s rifle, and launched the GP-25 Grenade Launcher up and into the nest the LPU Fighters had built for the RPD Machine Guns.  The grenade flew straight and true, smashing into the nest and slumping the Machine Gunner over his weapon.

The squad leader, Aslan Havid, pulled a Kudu horn, designed similar to the Jewish Shofar, which was hanging around his neck, and blew into it, sending a clear call across the hills.  The sound was immediately repeated by the other two Squad Leaders in the cell, as their men came charging out to meet their embattled comrades.

As he did so, bullets slammed into him, knocking him to the ground, and knocking the horn out of his hands.  Savid turned and killed the man who killed Aslan, slamming round after round of 7.62mmR ammunition into the man’s body.

Another member of the Azad Gel pulled the pin on an F1 Grenade and tossed it into the nest of the second machine gun, shouting “Frag Out!” in Sorani as he did so.  That knocked out the second machine gun nest, and finally broke the morale of the small group of Socialists.

As the second squad arrived to reinforce the first, the third pursued the socialists out another few miles, before turning back and helping carry the dead and wounded back to the village.

As the peshmerga returned to their village, a great wailing rose from the wives and children of the injured and dead, including that of Aslan’s wife, Gona, and his son, Adem.  Savid spent some time speaking with them over the next few hours, as more and more of the KDP aligned peshmegra cell gathered around the home of their former commander.

“Savid, I have their leader, he is alive,” Aram whispered in Savid’s ear, motioning towards the door.

Savid nodded, and excused himself from the meeting with the widowed mother, and made his way to the armory where the prisoner was being stored.

“How did you find us?” Savid asked in his own Germiyani accent, a sharp edged knife in his hand.

“I will tell you nothing,” the LPU leader proclaimed, spitting at Savid as he struggled to break free of his restraints.

“Yes, you will,” Savid responded, as he cut his thumb with the sharp edged blade, bleeding all over the gift from Aslan.

A minute later, he walked out of the room and looked around the gathered crowd.  “We have been betrayed.  The leadership of the Kurdish Democratic Party gave away our position because we where becoming too capitalist, too western for their tastes.  The Kurdish Democratic Party view us a threat to their balancing act between the Republican and Socialist groups within the Kurdish people.  They seem to think that we shall bring the Iraqi government down on all of our heads.  Well if they wish to be rid of us, then I saw let them come.  We are no longer bound to the KDP or the LPU, we shall be our own men.  We shall be Free Men!”

Savid led the chant of “Free Men!” for almost an hour.  By the end of the day, banners bearing the words “Azad Gel,” the Kurdish word for Free Men, Arabic where flying from the mosque at the center of the small village.

Savid Hakim nodded as he looked over the celebrating people.  They would be the start of his plans to bring true freedom and hope to the people of Iraq.

A clearing throat behind his back made Savid smile.  Turning, he saw Malachi Sokolsky, an Agent of Mossad, standing behind him in the shadows.

“Not bad for a nineteen year old.” Sokolsky said.

“I need to work on the speech.  It felt stilted.”

“It was your first time, don’t worry about it.  Glad you could use that incident to your advantage, I thought Israel would lose their only allies in this sorry-ass country.”

“No, we will stand with Israel, and we will not die.  When can you begin arms shipments?”

“Soon.  The director thinks he can get a crate of rifles and five crates of ammunition here within a month.  It will have to come overland of course.”

“Of course, and Syria is stepping up border patrols.”

“Yes they are.” Sokolsky frowned at that.  “Have you heard anything about the construction down at Osirak?”

“No, nothing yet, but I will let you know if I do.”

Si Vis Pacem – Chapter 2: Let it be done!

Vincent Shaw rushed into the situation room in the Presidential Office Building in the Zhongzheng District of Taipei.  Overhead, he could hear the sound of a number of AIDC Ching-Kuo Fighters flying Combat Air Patrol over the city.

Nodding, Shaw approved of the aircraft flying overhead.  It had been his first order, besides placing the Air and Missile Defense Forces on alert, when the Minister of National Defense, Chen Chao-min, had called with the situation.  As he entered the office building, a Clouded Leopard Armoured Vehicle arrived, and deployed Military Police around the entrance to the office building.

A number of staffers and low level military officers arrived around him, all jockeying for his attention as they tried to inform him of what was happening.  The primary comment from all was that no launches had been detected.  The Minister of Foreign Affairs confirmed that as of yet, no terrorist group had claimed responsibility, but that a number of groups in the People’s Republic were suggesting that the “Taiwan Authority” had somehow pulled off the attack.

Including one of the surviving members of the National People’s Congress, Sun Tzu-Chai, who was the first in the line of succession of those who remained after the nuclear bomb had detonated.

Having been granted emergency powers, he ordered the artillery brigades along the coast opposite Taiwan to open fire into the sea to warn Taipei that the People’s Republic was not going to go lightly.

Vincent Shaw began to swear in three languages as he walked into the situation room.

“I want a rotating over watch above the Islands at all times.  Make sure the Sky Bow Missile Batteries are armed and ready.”

Turning to his Minister of Foreign Affairs, he asked, “What is the rest of the world saying?”

Checking his notes, Minister Jun Qin responded, “The United States is currently disorganized.  It seems that President Bush and his father, and their wives, where on scene.”

A collective gasp went up from the assembled ministers.  The confirmation of their worst fears was something they where trying to wrap their heads around.  The United States and Japan where the only real allies that Taiwan had, and President Bush had helped to tighten the relationship.

“Secretary of Defense Gibbs confirmed, adamantly, that the US was not responsible.  Secretary of State Rice has been silent, and Vice-President Cheney is in the bunker.”

Flipping his pages, Qin frowned at the information on the page, “Russia has offered rather half-heartedly condolences.  But it seems that Putin has his eyes elsewhere.  Information indicates that Russia has now ‘Officially’ begun their invasion of Georgia.”

“I thought he was supposed to be at the ceremony,” the Minister of Information asked, flipping through her information for verification.

“Nope, seems that he came down with something yesterday and had to head home early,” the Minister of Foreign Affairs responded.

“Seems damn convenient to me…” the Minister of Defense growled.

Shaw was about to interject, when an aide entered and whispered into the Defense Minister’s ear.  They conversed for a solid minute, with the Minister’s face running a gamut of emotions and expressions throughout the conversation.

“Mr. President, Tzu-Chai has been officially named President, and he has declared war.”

Nova Caput Mundi – Chapter 2: East Wind

Ackeem Mujahid sat in the small apartment in the Hollis Neighborhood of Queens.  He had once been named Jamaal Jackson, until he had converted to Islam in Gowanda Correctional Facility, when he met with a young man by the name of Kareem Ibrahim, a member of Jamaat Al-Muslimeen who had been arrested in connection with the 2007 JFK Terror Plot.

Jamaal had been arrested for Identity Theft and Forgery, and had sought out Kareem for protection, and quickly entered into the fold with a number of other terrorists, including members of the Lackawana Six who had tried to sell information on a Nuclear power Plant near Eerie, New York.

When a Wahhabist Muslim Preacher visited the jail, the Jamaal had fallen in, and within a week, began to call himself Ackeem Mujahid.  Kareem had told him the name was well chosen.  Within a month, Ackeem was a member of Jamaat Al-Muslimeen.

When he was released on parole, Ackeem had filed a petition to allow himself to move to New York City.  To start a new life he had claimed.  He had a cousin in Queens, New York, he claimed.  The judge had granted the request, and ordered that the New York State Police escort him to the local precinct near Hollis, Queens.

Kareem was still managing to get orders out to Ackeem, orders to forge US and Nigerian Passports.  The Nigerian ones would be relatively easy, there was little in the way of Counterfeit protections in the Nigerian Passports, but while they would be useful for movements around Africa to obtain the materials, they wouldn’t help people to get into the United States.

Nigeria was a Terrorist Watch List nation now, so extra scrutiny would be placed on anyone with a Nigerian Passport.  Which meant that Jamaat Al-Muslimeen needed American Passports.  Which meant Ackeem needed to outsource the RFID programming.

That had been what gave him away.  The Programmer had recognized the a few of the names being used as those belonging to a couple friends of his who had died a week ago in a car accident.  He had tipped off the NYPD, who had in turn tipped off the FBI.  When the name had been connected to a member of Jamaat Al-Muslimeen, Kell Anderson had been called up from Staten Island to brief the FBI Counter-Terrorism Squad and take part in the snatch-and-grab.

So, Kell sat in the back of an armored truck, his personal Atchison Assault 12 Shotgun in hand, dressed in SWAT gear.  The truck was parked a couple blocks away from the apartment building, as the team waited for a Judge to finalize the Arrest Warrant.

“Federal-Six, this is dispatch, you are approved.”

The FBI SWAT leader nodded, “Copy that Dispatch, Federal-Six en route.”

The driver of the SWAT Truck hit the lights and sirens, and the truck roared to the apartment building.  Once there, Kell and the others barged out, and into the building, with Kell and his automatic shotgun in the lead.

Si vis Pacem – Chapter 1: Those Who Wish to Secure Peace…

Vincent Shaw was a rather unhappy man.  Despite his rather angry attempts to convince the President otherwise, the President of the Republic of China was going to Beijing for the Olympics.  Vincent Shaw was a reluctant member of the Pan-Blue Coalition, and had been named the Vice-Presidential Candidate as a way to attract moderates and separatists away from the Pan-Green Coalition.  Vincent Shaw was a member of the New Party, and had been chosen by the Kuomintang as a recognition that the Anti-Communist Nationalists where growing in power in the Pan-Blue Coalition.

However, no one knew just how Anti-Communist Vincent Shaw actually was, and it had come as a shock to the President when his Vice-President said that any trip to the People’s Republic would be used to re-enforce the legitimacy of the PRC.  The President had ignored him, and gone anyway, leaving Shaw at home in Taipei.

And home was where he sat, his feet up in his easy chair, his wife and son sitting on the couch to his right, as his daughter got ready for a date with a boy from her High School.  She wasn’t very interested in the Olympics, and had for the most part ignored them.  Shaw wished he could have, but he needed to watch them, and he hoped that the Taiwanese team, operating under the name Chinese Taipei as a slap against them, would humble the Communists whenever they showed.

Taiwan had their hopes riding on Chu Mu-yen and Sung Yu-chi in the Taekwondo events, and with the Taiwanese Baseball team.

As the Opening Ceremony began, Shaw found himself falling asleep in his chair.  He had had a long day in the Legislative Yuan, including a brief scuffle between a number of People First Party and Democratic Progressive Party legislators that required the use of the Legislative Yuan Police to end the brawl.

As he slept, he dreamt to the sounds of drums and singing, until his wife woke him for the torch lighting ceremony.  As he watched Li Ning running along the walls, supported by wires as an LED Scroll rolled out before him, Shaw realized something was wrong.  The Cauldron seemed wrong.  He couldn’t describe what about it didn’t seem right, but in his gut, he knew something was wrong.

It hit him as Li Ning lit the cauldron.  The Cauldron didn’t resemble what he had seen in the press earlier.  He knew that some change had been made to it, an excuse of woodpeckers had been floated, and that repairs had been needed to prevent an accident.

For some reason, Shaw wasn’t buying it.  When his screen went blank as the cauldron was lit, Shaw shot a dirty look, wondering where his son had learned those words.

“Shui, we do not use those words in this house.”

His son looked ashamed, so Shaw didn’t push it.  Changing channels, Shaw finally found a confused news station, FTV News.  They reported on a major explosion in Beijing, with a blast of brightest light and a crash of loudest thunder…