Podcasts about kazaks

For two decades, investigative journalist Ethan Gutmann has been researching how the Chinese Communist Party secretly harvests the organs of prisoners of conscience and kills them in the process.He authored the groundbreaking 2014 work “The Slaughter” and, more recently, “The Xinjiang Procedure.”In his latest book, he gathers evidence of how the regime—which has long targeted Falun Gong practitioners for their organs—is now exploiting captive Uyghurs for this same macabre industry.Gutmann traveled to Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, and Turkey to interview dozens of Uyghurs and Kazaks who had managed to escape after being imprisoned in camps in Xinjiang, China, also known as East Turkestan. Many spoke to him at great personal risk to themselves and their loved ones.What they revealed to him was nothing short of horrific.A central witness named “Samal” described working in one of four medical labs located several stories below the concentration camp. One of the clinics—the one she worked in—was used for intestinal removal.“The other three clinics were there to remove organs. You couldn't see them, but occasionally the door would open. You‘d see somebody handling a kidney, a liver, and so forth. Every day that she worked there … there'd be eight or nine bodies. Sometimes it was as many as 20,” Gutmann said.During his research, Gutmann realized a disturbing pattern. Many of those who disappeared in the middle of the night from the camps were typically 28 or 29 years old.He believes the CCP has made this age demographic its primary target for forced organ harvesting.“You are at the peak of your health. At that point, your organs have stopped growing,” Gutmann says.In this episode, he breaks down the devastating evidence he's uncovered—and the failure of Western institutions to address these crimes.The spread of extracorporeal membrane oxygenation (ECMO) technology—which keeps organs oxygenated and viable for many hours—has made the CCP's organ trade even more lucrative than before.“Suddenly,” he told me, “you can pull a lot more organs off a single person and get them to distribute them around. And so the profit margin goes way up on a single human being from $100,000 up to almost a million dollars, if they were selling to foreigners.”Views expressed in this video are opinions of the host and the guest, and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.

ECB Governing Council member Martins Kazaks warned that the pressure on Federal Reserve Chair Jerome Powell could lead to an increase in inflation expectations. The Latvian central banker also said he supports the issuance of joint debt for defense spending in Europe. He spoke to Stephen Carroll and Caroline Hepker on Bloomberg Daybreak Europe.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

APAC stocks eventually traded mostly firmer following the positive Wall Street performance on Friday, albeit participants remain cautious ahead of a risk-packed week that culminates with Friday's US jobs report.US President Trump said he will discuss the looming government shutdown with congressional leaders on Monday and believes Democrats may want to make a deal; he added that if Democrats refuse to make a deal, "the country closes", according to Reuters.The Trump administration is reportedly considering tariffs on foreign electronic devices based on the number of chips in each device, according to Reuters sources.OPEC+ will likely raise oil production quotas by at least 137k bpd at its October 5th meeting, according to Reuters, citing sources.European equity futures are indicative of a firmer cash open with the Euro Stoxx 50 future +0.3% after cash closed +1.0% on Friday.Looking ahead, highlights include Spanish CPI Flash (Sep), EZ Sentiment (Sep). ECB's Cipollone, Muller, Kazaks, Schnabel, Lane, BoE's Ramsden, Fed's Waller, Hammack, Musalem, Williams, Bostic, and UK Chancellor Reeves. Events include Bank of Israel Announcement, Labour Party Conference (29th Sept - 1st Oct). Earnings from Jefferies, Carnival.Read the full report covering Equities, Forex, Fixed Income, Commodites and more on Newsquawk

A firmer start to the week for equities, Euro Stoxx 50 +0.3%, ES +0.5%; focus on a packed labour market agenda for the week and the looming US gov't shutdown.President Trump will be meeting with congressional leaders at 20:00BST/15:00ET; ahead of this, Trump has said if the Democrats refuse to make a deal "the country closes".USD pulling back from last week's data induced gains, JPY leads into a packed week and supported by BoJ's Noguchi. EUR & GBP also firmerFixed benchmarks in the green, Bunds lead after mostly cooler-than-expected Spanish flash figures, Gilts await Chancellor ReevesCrude curtaield by OPEC+ production reports, XAU at another ATH, Copper posting modest gainsLooking ahead, highlights include ECB's Cipollone, Muller, Kazaks, Schnabel, Lane, BoE's Ramsden, Fed's Waller, Hammack, Musalem, Williams, Bostic. Events include Bank of Israel Announcement, Labour Party Conference (29th Sept - 1st Oct). Earnings from Jefferies, Carnival.Click for the Newsquawk Week Ahead.Read the full report covering Equities, Forex, Fixed Income, Commodites and more on Newsquawk

Sibeal Pays A Visit.Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.It is selfish to believe that your family will always love you. At some point you will be asked to earn it{Right where we left off}It was H-hour plus four. A Thai soldier fired another burst from his T A R 21. The other four soldiers around him did the same. They were using an overturned car as cover. He saw movement at a building across the street to his right. He fired off another few rounds. The figure fell to the ground. By hard-earned experience, he realized the enemy soldier had probably dived for cover, not been hit."Time to fall back. One block back," he hoped he didn't sound too shrill. "You two go first," he indicated the two townsfolk. His battalion major had drafted them minutes after the attack began. Any organized supply depot had been an open invitation for an artillery strike, so he had called for civilians to help carry the ammunition loads instead. These two had been attached to his platoon. Now they were with him.They nodded, hefted up the crate of 5.56mm and sprinted toward the rear while his men gave them cover fire. They made it. He named off two of his other men. It was their turn to go. After their sprint to safety, it was time for him and the last two to go. They ran past some terribly close flanking fire, but all made it.This Thai soldier wasn't the squad leader, or even the squad's second in command. He was a lowly Phon Thahan (Private, not 1st Class). Those two men were already dead. No, he was a common soldier who found other men listening to his orders so, by default, he was in command. His initial squad of ten had shrunk down to three. The fourth man had been part of the regimental staff, a driver, sent into the firefight to replace losses. He still could point and shoot, which was all that mattered at the moment.At the next block he found the two civilians. His men dumped their empty clips on them, then positioned themselves for the next enemy rush. The leader of this ad hoc force took the driver over to the far corner of the building they sheltered behind. Too often, going inside buildings was a death trap. The enemy would corner you then call in their artillery."Guard this corner," he told the driver. "I'll be checking up on you." The frightened soldier nodded, then took up his post. Now he had a few seconds to consider his position. He was running out of town to retreat through. Behind him lay open fields. Just then he saw the tale-tell site of a Dragon Anti-Tank missile firing from the next raised roadway to his rear-right.He couldn't see if it hit anything. There was no huge explosion. Still, it indicated that other elements of his battalion were in the fight. From what little briefing he had been given when the attack started, the major had placed his heavy machine guns and recoilless rifles on each flank to stop the enemy's mobile forces from getting around his command and surrounding them.Little did the soldier understand he was involved in a textbook defense by foot-bound infantry versus armored opponents. His two townsmen were busy shoving bullets into the thirty round magazines. His men had already engaged the enemy to the front. Gone were the cries of 'got him'. No one gave a damn anymore. They were too exhausted to care. Now they counted the comrades they had left, not the possible number of enemy out there.Six minutes later he heard the sound of death coming his way."Everyone down," he screamed a second before an artillery round flattened their shelter. For a few moments all he could do was gaze up at the heavens. His body hurt, his ears were ringing and the belief that he could stop now, he had given it his best shot and his part in this battle were over.He pulled himself and examined what he had left. He wasn't hurt if you didn't count the blood coming out his ears. He couldn't say the same for his companions. One of the townsmen had the top of his head torn off, his soulless eyes gazing up to the forever. One of his men had a smoking chunk of meat where his spine should have been. A second one was nursing a bad leg wound.The third soldier? He was already up and firing. The second townsmen was a bit dazed, yet looked like he could carry on. The soldier crouch-ran to check on the driver. He was laying on his belly. For a second he mourned for that fellow then the man got off a burst, then scooted back. He had been 'playing possum' in order to draw some enemy out. He was alive and fighting."We have got to get out of here," he told the man. "Get to the elevated road across the field then provide cover fire for the rest of us." The driver acknowledged the command, fired off one more burst then bolted for the field. The Thai made his way back to his other survivors. He gave them the same order, the civilian first.The wounded man? He couldn't make it with that leg wound and if any of the others carried him they would most likely die too."Cover us as long as you can," he ordered. The wounded shoulder crawled to the corner to relieve the only standing soldier."Go," he ordered that man. Off he sprinted. The leader placed two spare clips next to the wounded man, wished him luck, then it was his turn to sprint to safety. Close to the end, a few bullets hurried him along. He found the others had made it unwounded as well. The townsman was already shoving more bullets into the empty magazines.To his right was the remnants of the squad with the recoilless rifle and a light machine gun. To his left was a group of six Thahan Phran, paramilitary border guards. He rejoined the firing line. The enemy had overrun the buildings closest to them and were faced with the same quandary he had just overcome, the open field. When a man tapped his shoulder he nearly jumped out of his skin.It was his company commander."You've been doing well. I'm placing you in command of this section. We have a Carl Gustav (another version of a recoilless rifle) in the trees over there," the Captain pointed to the right. Hold this position as long as you can. Help is on the way."Before this fight, the soldier had dreaded this officer. He had been so pompous, so spit-and-polished and arrogant. Now he saw different qualities in the man. He was cool under fire, had his mind on the bigger picture of the fight and the discipline he had instilled in his men was paying dividends the private soldier hadn't appreciated at that time."You are Sip Tho (corporal) now," the officer told him. With that declaration, the common foot soldier had inherited 13 more men, the squad of seven to his right and the six Thahan Phran to his left. Combined with his two that made something more like a combat command. The Captain made his way back up the line. The Thai didn't have long to appreciate his promotion. Smoke shells began detonating between his position and the town, obscuring the place."Remember," he shouted. "Short, controlled bursts and only shoot at something that you know is out there!" With that, he had established his command of the situation. Several explosions detonated in the wooded position. Half a minute later, a tank appeared and pumped another H E into the position. In doing so, it exposed its side to Thai's section.The two men manning his Dragon launcher looked his way. It was a shot at a 45 degree angle and any heavy weapons fire would bring about all kinds of hate."Fire," he ordered. The man aiming the device took a few seconds then let loose. The rocket didn't penetrate the side, but it did knock a track out."Now we are going to get it," the Thai mumbled.A few heartbeats later, a larger TOW missile slammed into it from a position to his command's rear. This time the tank blew up. Of equal importance to the soldier's mind, there were men behind him and that could only mean, the second regiment had finally arrived. He was sure he wouldn't be falling back any further, giving the invaders one more inch of sacred Thai soil. It also meant his men would most likely live to see the end of the day. That mattered too.  It was H-hour plus six. Two hour earlier, elements of the Vietnamese People's Army's 314th Mechanized regiment and 206th Tank Regiment with the Mobile battalion of the Laotian 1st Division and the Khanate's Laos Force Command slammed into Khon Kaen. By that time, the small city had already seen its share of hell. Khanate forces had stormed the regional airport with an aerial assault at 4:10 AM that morning.There were no dedicated combat troops in Khon Kaen. It was the HQ for both the Royal Thai 3rd Division and its component 1st regiment. That had resulted in a see-saw battle until the relief force arrived from the north. After that, resistance had collapsed. Over three hundred men surrendered. A hundred miles to the north forces in the town of Udon Thani, battalions of the 1st and 2nd regiments of the 3rd Division were still in combat with Laotian and Vietnamese forces. The final outcome of that battle had yet to be decided.What did matter was that the entire command structure of northeast of Thailand had been neutered. There were five more battalions out there that had no idea what to do next. They suffered from sporadic air attacks, but nothing serious was coming their way.What none of them were aware of was that a Far North Force out of the Laotian highlands had broken a battalion of the Royal Thai's 6th Infantry Division, taken Roi Et and severed the communications between the two formations. At Roi Et, the Khanate armored spearhead had left elements of the 2nd Regiment of Lao's 4th Division to hold the airport and was blazing a trail westward along Highway 23, to the south/rear of those five battalions.South of Roi Et, two other Thai battalions were grudgingly giving ground to a regiment of Vietnam's 305th Division plus the 270th Combat Engineers and 16th Artillery Brigade. What mattered was that those forces were drawing off the efforts of the 6th Divisions to counteract the invasion.The 6th Division had its own litany of woes. It was the subject of a dozen pinpricks. The division's commander had lost contact with the other two divisions under the 2nd Army's command. He had enemy forces to his north around Amnat Charoen, he'd lost contact with this 1st regiment HQ at Roi Et.His second regiment, at Ubon Ratchathani, was heavily engaged with the Alliance's North Force. His 3rd regiment, spread out along the southern approaches to his life line, Highway 24, had discovered small teams of Special Forces at every bridge and crossing, making every attempt at creating a unified front costly and ultimately futile.The 2nd Army's HQ and supply hub were at Nakhon Ratchasima. They were under attack, the airport had fallen and the sole mechanized regiment (minus one battalion) was having a terrible time retaking it. They were presently incapable of coming to his defense, since their third battalion had already been called to the capital to put down unrest/enemy forces.He finally made his decision. The remnants of the 1st regiment were to retire westward over the back roads towards the division headquarters at the Si Sa Ket Railway Station. The second regiment was to hold in place until sunset. Using all of the division's remaining assets, he was going to secure Highway 24 so that his command could retire using that path before they were cut off and defeated one regiment at the time.  It was H-hour plus seven. For one of the drivers in a Khanate Heavy Mountain Supply Zuun, there wasn't much to love about this mission. He was a truck driver with a weapon, not a true foot soldier. He was content with his role in logistics, which was why his current mission scared the crap out of him. He wasn't in an armored vehicle and was accompanied by only one Fast Zuun ~ by its very nature a lightly armored unit. Now he was driving deep into enemy territory with a truckload of Karin freedom fighters, who also were lightly equipped.He had already reached the first goal, the town of San Buri, 270 kilometers behind enemy lines and only 60 kilometers from downtown Bangkok. There was a fear that his own air force would mistake then for an enemy supply column and shoot them up. Then there was the fear that some rear echelon troops would find the convoy suspicious and fill his unarmed vehicle with holes. His luck held, the enemy were looking to the north and east, not at a group of trucks heading south.Soldiers from the rebel faction of the Thai Royal Army were stationed in each vehicle to cover any conversation with the local constabulary that might come up. The cover story was that the unit was driving with a purpose ~ the capital was under attack and they were reinforcements using back roads to avoid airstrikes ~ the phone network was a mess and the fact that the plan was so audacious, the normal police officers didn't feel the need to slow the military trucks down.The last phase was pure madness. They rolled down Road 304 at 80 kph. Every time they approached a checkpoint, the unit's commander called in a hopefully faux airstrike, on both them and the Thai soldiers. That made it plausible for the convoy to race forward as the troops around them were too busy diving for cover to stop them. If anything, the defenders thought those truck drivers were the bravest men they'd ever seen.At the end of the journey, they rolled across the Road 304 Bridge over the Chao Praya River, then dispersed. Each truck disgorged 16 Karin fighters, for a total of 560. To that was added the 100 members of the Fast Zuun and 35 drivers, three Tigr's and 59 combat troops. Miracles of miracles, they found the capital to be in total chaos.  It was H-hour plus 6 and a half. The Turkish Khanate commander of 100 looked south in the direction of In Buri. He was already in the 'spread chaos' phase of his operation. The central part of In Buri was the junction of Highways 11 and 32. Somewhere to the far north, friendly units were fighting their way to him. Forces retreating south, or reinforcements from Bangkok would have to pass through his position. He commandeered some passing civilian vehicles and created barricades on all three sides of the T-cloverleaf.Before long, the ground elements of an Airmobile Zuun had joined him. That allowed him to deploy several two-man observer teams over the surrounding countryside. He left two AFV's on the bridge and camouflaged the others in the best ambush points he could think of. Then, he waited.  It was H-hour plus eight. For Julia Atwood, this was the culmination of twenty-five years working in Asia, covering a host of military conflicts and both natural and man-made humanitarian disasters. She'd gotten a tip two days earlier that Bangkok Thailand was going to be the place to be. Since she wasn't a known anti-government reporter, her entry into the country had been easy enough.She had spent the previous day picking a city guide, luckily finding one she knew well, and looking around for sources of information about 'trouble'. What she found was a quiet city on the edge of an explosion. The police, paramilitary forces and the military had everything battened down tight. At the same time, the population was extremely anxious over the upcoming loyalist offensive against the rebel northwest.The military had clamped down on all information coming out of the prospective war zones while exhorting on all forms of mass media the sacred traditions of Thai national identity and the need for law and order. That made the hairs on the back of Julia's neck tingle. It spoke of an upcoming shit storm. Still, Day One had been a bust. Few people wanted to talk about what was going on; all known opposition leaders were in prison or in exile.She had awakened early in the morning to the sound of heavy weapons fire. She had been in enough war zones to know the difference between grenades exploding, or pistol, assault rifle, machine gun, and tank fire. She was hearing tank fire, which made no sense. The Thai army didn't need to use their tank's big guns to fire at anything the opposition could bring to bear.She slipped out the back of her hotel to avoid any possible police minder, gathered up her guide and went hunting for the story. Twice she barely avoided roving army patrols. What immediately occurred to her was these soldiers didn't seem to know what was going on. They were jumpy (not good) and nervous (great for a story).Her trained ears and years of instinct led her to one of the eyes of the storm. Julia's jaw nearly dropped open. There were Central Asian men riding around in Russian equipment surrounded by throngs of hundreds, possibly thousands, of Thai 'Red Shirt' protestors marching on a police barricade. Several leaders of the movement had bullhorns and were communicating with the police. It was a tense situation.Julia forced her way to the BMP-3M, then shouted up at the commander standing in the copula. She tried Uzbek. The man looked her way."No. I'm Kazak. My Uzbek isn't very good," he replied. Julia's Kazak wasn't the best in the world, but she endeavored to make it work."What are you doing here?""I could ask you the same thing," the man smiled. "We are part of the Alliance effort to bring about democratic change in this country." Julia knew he was spouting the party line."What are you really doing here?" she pressed."I have no idea," he chortled. "I don't speak this language, don't know who these people are and only found out where Thailand was two days ago.""Are there a lot of you here?""Not really.""How did you get here?""We landed at the airport. We are a portion of an airmobile Zuun."Just then one of the protestors tried to get the unit leader's attention. He kept repeating something."He wants you to advance on the police line and look menacing," she translated."Okay," the Khanate officer shrugged. "That I can do."He spoke rapid fire Kazak, which Julia couldn't quite follow. Her ride lurched forward, the crowd parted and she could see the blood drain out of the police commander's face. Without looking her way, the Kazak spoke to Julia."Tell them they have thirty seconds to put down their arms or I'm going to shred the lot of them."Julia thought about it for a second. She was recording this exchange on her camcorder. She knew this was straying dangerously close to becoming a participant, not a reporter. She translated to the Thai young man. He sprinted toward the police and relayed the message. She had no idea what a 100mm fragmentation shell would do, had an idea how bloody a 30mm auto-cannon could get and had great familiarity with the effectiveness of 12.7 & 7.62mm machine guns.The lead protestor had a rapid discussion with the lead policeman, bowing and begging for this situation to be resolved peacefully. The countdown reached eight when the officer indicated his acquiescence. The mob didn't surge forward victoriously. Julia slapped the turret to get the Kazak's attention."You don't need to fire.""I understand that," the man acknowledged. It wasn't over though. Another protestor, a woman, waved for the Kazak's attention. Since she wasn't alone in doing so, the man hadn't noticed her. What she was saying did get Julia's attention."She is saying that tanks are on the way!" she shouted at the man in the copula."Which direction?" he inquired. Julia confirmed the information relayed by the girl, who double checked with the person on the other end of her phone, worked out the terrain in her head, then drew a quick map on her palm."They are coming up the road one block up. They are heading north toward us.""Clear out the crowd," he responded evenly. He once more ordered his unit to action. One of the Tigr's raced forward and disgorged its men close to the next corner then the vehicle withdrew."What do you plan to do?" she asked."Do what I came here to do, kill the enemy.""But they have tanks.""Fortunately I have things that kill tanks," he grinned."Do you mind if I stick around?""It is your life," he shrugged. The BMP moved forward to the point where, with its barrel turned sideways, the vehicle was just short of exposing itself. He was busy talking to someone else.Seconds later, one of the Khanate soldiers at the corner launched a grenade up the street, then two others opened fire with their assault rifles. They ducked back around the corner right as a larger caliber machine gun chewed up the wall as well as the street in front of her. Two other soldiers fired off flares into the sky."You might want to get down," the Kazak advised her. Julia nodded, jumped off and ran to the corner to join the other troopers. She edged around the corner, leading with her camcorder. Sure enough, up the street was an honest-to-God tank, with others behind it. One of the foot-bound Kazaks was busy shouting at the others. Once more, a soldier fired a grenade at the tank, to no visible effect. This time he apparently got the response the Kazaks wanted.The tank's big gun fired. One of the troopers, mindful of Julia, grabbed her as they propelled themselves to the ground. The world exploded. Julia was doing a quick check of her well-being when she heard the BMP race forward, barrel turned perpendicular down the street and then it fired. Julia barely caught it all on her camera. The IFV had fired an anti-tank missile out of its main gun. The oncoming tank was a Ukrainian made T-84 Oplot.It exploded; the turret flying away in a curtain of flame. This time it was the blast that blew Julia to the ground. A Kazak soldier hefted her up and pulled her to safety. He was truly pissed when she dodged back into the danger zone to retrieve her camcorder. She sighed happily when she found it undamaged. The BMP rolled back behind cover."Get down," the Kazak ground pounder growled. "It is about to get a whole lot worse.""How?" she looked at him."Well, now that we have stopped the column from moving," he grinned like a maniac. That wasn't much of an answer. Then she noted all the Kazaks clutching at the concrete sidewalks. She did likewise. Seconds later, she heard the jets. 'Oh God', she gulped. She'd seen more than her fair share of airstrikes. She had never been this close to one.Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the Thai crowd moving closer."Get down," she screamed in Thai. "Get Down!"Others repeated her warning and the crowed went down to their knees. Then came the thunder. Julia could barely make out the whoosh of missiles before the detonating rockets and missiles shook her world.A stubby-winged jet raced past her vision. The pilot had gotten so damn close to the building tops she could make out every feature of his aircraft. This level of caution where civilians were concerned was surprisingly unlike the Khanate. She tried to stand, but the soldier next to her had wrapped an arm around her."They come in twos," he cautioned her.Sure enough another series of explosions rocked her surroundings. No sooner had she gotten to her feet, the Kazak commander shouted,"They are coming around for another pass, then we go!"A series of passes followed with the jets using auto-cannons on whomever was left out there.Julia pushed away from her guardian and rushed up to the BMP officer."Wait," she called to him. Stunningly, he waited, looking at her. "Let the crowd save the survivors. This is their struggle too.""If the soldiers fire on them there will be little I can do," he responded."Give them a chance."Against all her expectations, he did. The crowd moved to discover the carnage visited on their oppressors, and fellow countrymen.  It was H-hour plus eight. The Thai tank commander was close to the end of his rope. He'd been fighting since sunrise. Defend, attack, withdraw to a defensive position then wait for the order to counterattack. His platoon had dwindled down to his sole surviving tank. His company no longer acted as a separate entity. Now his battalion, barely a company in strength, operated as a fire brigade, shoring up his beleaguered battle group.The last attack, backed by air power, had shattered his unit. He fell back, literally backing into a second story building to avoid the ever-present Alliance attack helicopters. From his vantage point he could see a column of armored vehicles rolling down Highway 11. He was debating which one he would fire on first when he noticed a jeep coming his way. Onboard were three Thai soldiers, rebels.The jeep rolled right up to his hiding spot. The man in the back dismounted and he walked right up to the tank."Can we talk?" the man inquired. The tank commander kept him covered with this machine gun."What do you have to say, traitor?" he barked."I come to request,""We will not surrender," he growled."We are not asking you to surrender," the man corrected him. "We are asking you to let the war pass you by.""Why should I?""If you fight, you will be destroyed. The Thai army will need to rebuild when this is over and we must be strong. If you throw your life away, we will all be weaker."The tank commander had to think that over. If he began firing on that armored column he would be striking a mighty blow for his country. He would also be sentencing him and his men to death."There will be no surrender?""No sir," the man insisted.The rebel soldier made some sense. The Thai military would have to rebuild when this catastrophe was over. He and his men had done their part."We will stay here for a while," the tank commander informed the rebel."Very well," the soldier bowed. He remounted his jeep and drove away."We are going to stay here a while," he addressed his crewmen. "Get a bite to eat and a drink of water."His men hesitated for a moment."Now, while we have the chance."The men hopped to. They had their orders. They would worry about the morality of their actions later.  It was H-hour plus nine. The men in the Royal Thai Army's high command were finally getting ahold of the big picture. The good news was the Third Army's offensive was grinding to a halt along a line stretching along Highway 1 from Tham Pet Tham Tong Forest in the east to Chai Nat on the Chao Praya River in the west. It was accepted as fact that the 3rd Cavalry and 11th Infantry divisions could hold the line.West of the Chao Praya was a chaotic mess of small garrisons involved in raids and counter-raids. It was deemed unlikely the Alliance forces could push forward any further in that direction either. It also meant that they couldn't pull units from that region to reinforce any of their other trouble points and they had a few.That was most of the good news.Another piece of good news was the1st Army's 2nd Infantry Division had stopped the invasion force they were facing only a few kilometers over the frontier in the area of Watthana Nakhon District. As soon as they had gathered the majority of the division together, they would be mounting a counter-offensive with the intention of overwhelming that force and destroying it.After that, it only got worse.In the area of the 2nd Army, the 3rd Infantry Division and the 2nd Cavalry Division had virtually ceased to exist as cohesive forces. Two battalions of the 3rd Division were retreating south into the 6th Division's area. The 2nd Cavalry division had been reduced pre-battle to one mechanized regiment. That regiment was gone and with it, the supply routes for the 2nd Royal Thai Army.Inside that zone, the 6th Infantry Division still existed, but it was in a world of trouble. They had lost control of Highway 24, their primary supply/evacuation route, and were relentlessly being driven out of Ubon Ratchathani. Even with the slowly arriving battalions of the 3rd Division, the 6th could barely muster two combat-effective regiments and those were running short of fuel and ammunition. The 6th had become a static force, too large to be overwhelmed, too immobile to press the enemy out, or save themselves from a slow strangulation. Had they their assigned tank battalion, but they didn't.The 1st Army's 9th Division was in the worst shape. They had gathered into one elliptical shaped perimeter centered on Chanthaburi and were down to four battalions and two tanks. Technically, they had another battalion, except the 1st Army command had ordered that into Bangkok to aid in suppressing the rebel movement. The 9th Division was surrounded, under attack from the land, sea (the Indian Navy had joined the fight) and air. Their commanding general expected to be wiped out before sunset.And Bangkok?It was turning into a typhoon scale disaster. They had finally determined that there were eight small Khanate platoons roaming the city, seemingly at will. The 1st Division had finally located and destroyed one of those, along with a dozen protestors who chose to fight by their side. The others were still at large and causing trouble.That wasn't the worst of it though. The plan had been to pacify outlying neighborhoods and work their way in to the worst areas. That had started out effectively, then suddenly they had lost the northwestern and southeastern sectors. In the northwest, there were Karin fighters killing, or capturing police and paramilitary strongpoints.In the southeast, it was much worse. Unknown armored troops from the 9th Division's rear area had come seeping in along the riverfront. They seemed to be everywhere at once, surprising roadblocks and checkpoints then ambushing the forces sent to restore order. They were a cancer pushing into a city already short on reserves.There were public displays of defiance going out over the international news, surgical air strikes and a growing sense among the rank and file 'Guardians of the Public Order' that they were on the losing side. There were reports of police turning their backs on the unrest, directing traffic and arresting petty criminals instead.The Royal Thai Army in Bangkok still had over 50,000 men under its command. They were sure they were facing less than a thousand hardcore militants, yet they were losing control of the streets. Part of that was caused by the military being tied down to certain strategic areas they had to hold. They had to protect over a dozen buildings and, as they had painfully learned, a platoon wouldn't do.The Government House had been temporarily overrun and Parliament had been shelled. Channel 3 had been hijacked and the forces sent to take it back had been subject to intense helicopter attacks and driven back. They'd killed two such craft, but that only seemed to make the Alliance troops angrier. This was what a death by a thousand cuts felt like. This was worse than bad, because it looked bad on media going out all over the world.  It was H-hour plus twelve. The commander of the MARCOS had finally taken the time to eat. He was in the Maleenont Towers section of Khlong Toei, Bangkok. It had been his masterstroke, seizing the Channel 3 station. He wasn't sure who the eight shady characters who showed up with the VIPs were and he didn't really care. What did matter was while the VIP's fought like wildcats in private they were putting on a unified front while on TV.One of the VIPs was the former civilian Prime Minister of Thailand. The other guys seemed to hate her guts, but were willing to work with her to overthrow the generals. What he did care about was the nearly five hundred men under his command plus a dozen helicopters and jets somewhere above, waiting to swoop in and help when the next government attack materialized.He had to give them this much, the police forces had guts, not a lot of brains, but plenty of guts. Their counter-terrorism unit had known their stuff, but they didn't have any effective anti-tank weapons and he had a half dozen tanks. Whenever the army got feisty, he called up 'Shiva's Fist' ~ his men's joking reference to the Khanate air support. Those bastards not only killed you, they came back around and killed your corpse too.He got a call from the perimeter. Some of those Karin fighters had crossed half the city to join them. The Indian officer had thought that part of the Khanate plan was utter madness, yet here they were, shooting up the place in a manner only highly experienced insurgents could. Those guys didn't even want to hang around. They were asking for more ammo. The locals were giving them all the food and water they needed.At nine, once it was truly dark, the Khanate was promising to drop off a few tons of whatever they need plus some more medivac units. He was down nine men dead and twenty-seven wounded badly enough they need to be removed. The Khanate had lost four times as many. All in all, the overthrow of a military regime was turning out to not be as difficult as he thought it would be. He was waiting to be surprised.  It was H-hour plus fifteen. The fighting had died down and now the main activity was the Thai civic authorities fighting the fires burning in Saraburi. The Khanate Commander of 1000 looked over his shoulder at the burning city. It hadn't been much of a fight, mainly a few rear echelon forces from the Royal Thai 2nd Army and some paramilitaries.He wasn't in the town. The majority of his troopers had already rolled down to the junction of Highways 1 and 33. He had communication with other elements farther west on Highway 32 at Ang Thong and to the northwest at the junction of Highways 1 and 32. The offensive operations was essentially over for his command. That was just as well. He was running low on petrol. He still had plenty of ammunition though.They were sitting on the lifeline for the 1st Army's 3rd Cavalry and 11th Division to the north and the 2nd Division to the east. The 6th Division was too far in his rear to matter and the 9th Division was facing annihilation along the coast. It was very dark now, but the air force was still active. Some pilots were flying their sixteenth mission of the day.For most of the day, the Khanate Air Force had concentrated on his axis of advance and the battle in Bangkok. The Vietnamese Air Force had concentrated on the hapless 9th Division. In reality, the Alliance was almost at the end of its tether.His combined Laos and Far North Task Forces were spent. The North and Cambodian Task Forces had the 6th Division pinned down. The South Task Force had done the same with the 9th. Only the Central Task Force facing the 2nd Division appeared to be in serious trouble.None of those formations were actually near defeat, though many of them wouldn't realize that until morning. Only the 3rd Army's two task force had consisted of more than 5,000 hastily gathered troops and most of those were Cambodians, Laotians and Vietnamese. To that the Khanate had added 50 mobile Zuuns spread over ten task forces and another 50 airmobile, parachute and airlifted units ~ less than ten thousand men and women spread over all fronts.The cold, hard reality for him was that not a single loyalist Thai unit had been destroyed. The 3rd and 9th infantry divisions has been battered, that was true. The majority of their mobile forces, the 2nd and 3rd cavalry divisions, still existed as a potent force. The 11th and 2nd infantry divisions were also out there, but they were all cut off from the capital. And in this elegant global play, the one theater that mattered was Bangkok.In the morning, if they came for him, the loyalist Thai's were going to discover that offense was a lot more painful that defense. Only the 2nd Division bothered him. The forces to the north were too heavily engaged with the rebel Thai 3rd Army to dispatch more than a battalion his way and he would gobble up a battalion.It would be too much to ask the battered Alliance Center Task Force to keep the 2nd Division occupied. From what he had heard, they were on the verge of disintegration after a powerful Loyalist counterattack. He did have patrols on the 304 and 359 Roads in case their commander got creative. What those few men lacked in vehicles, they would compensate for with air power.The Khanate Air Force was a 24/7, all-weather operation. They had lost 40 aircraft to enemy action and a further forty to mechanical malfunction. Losses in helicopters was also high. But there were still enough of both to get the job done. Now all he had to do was wait for the Americans to arrive.  It was H-hour plus seventeen.There were only three major acts left in this macabre play before the eyes of the world. A squadron of 12 Tu-22M bombers found two of the 2nd Division's regiments sneaking to the west. The Thais had done this with as much secrecy as they could. Unfortunately, their move was one of only two option left to the Loyalist Royal Thai Army.Option One, the most likely one, had the 2nd Division attacking the Khanate troops south of Saraburi. It would not only give the 2nd Division freedom of movement, it would establish supply lines to the divisions currently holding the rebel Thai Third Army at bay. It was the predictable choice.The Khanate U A V were out there, scouting for them and when they spotted the three columns using the backroads to approach their attack positions, they relayed that information to a not-so-distant A-50E/I. The squadron of waiting bombers had incredible endurance and had been circling the suspected target area for three hours. They broke up into groups of six then into groups of two. The first two lined up on their targets then unleashed their lethal cargo.Each plane dropped sixty-nine 250 kg bombs. That was138 bombs with a combined explosive power of 75,900 lbs. spread out over three-quarters of a mile. The A-50 assessed the damage for 7 minutes before sending the second set of two in. Another 138 bombs. Another 75,900 lbs. of death. The third group wouldn't be needed. In ten minutes the fighting power of the 2nd Royal Thai Infantry Division had evaporated.Option Two? That called for the 1st Infantry Division, with her added units, to sally forth from Bangkok and rescue the trapped elements of their other divisions. That would have entailed abandoning large areas of the capital to the protestors and the tiny groups of invaders that were helping them. No one thought they would do that and they were right. Had they been wrong, there was another squadron of bombers waiting for them.  It was H-hour plus nineteen. The Thai Phon Thahan-turned-Sip Tho looked out into the darkness. Four hours ago he was anticipating crossing the Cambodian border and burning down their town for a change. Now, now it was wait-and-see. The majority of the division had withdrawn for a long night march to the west. From what he had gathered, the 2nd Army had been pummeled and it was once again the time for the 2nd Division to save the day.He spotted movement in front of him. He glanced over to his 'sniper', a Thahan Phran who was the best shot in his unit and had a taste for the task. The man had the target in his sights."I come to parlay," the voice in the darkness shouted in less than perfect Thai. The Thai soldier had to think what that meant. His instinct was to shoot the man. His training taught him to not make choices above his pay grade."Advance. Don't do anything stupid," he called out. To the man next to him he whispered, "Go get the Captain." The man slunk away. No one alive in the unit stood up to do anything. You even pissed crouched down. The man coming toward him was a Cambodian. It was evident in both his gear and accent. "What do you want?""We want a truce," the man replied. He remained very erect, his hands in the air and only made slow, careful movements."I should shoot you," he growled."That would be unfortunate for both of us. I would, of course, be dead, and my allies would open up with our artillery."The conversation was truncated by the captain's arrival. They went through much of the same routine, absent the 'I should kill you part' and the counter-threat. The captain turned to the Thai soldier."Blindfold and bind this man's hands then take him to the Phan Ek (Colonel). Let him figure this out."Without the soldier saying anything the Captain added, "This could be a ruse. I must stay here. Hurry."He nodded, took a shirt from one of the civilian volunteers, cut it into strips then blindfolded and bound the man."If you so much as sneeze, I'll put a bullet in your head," he warned the man."I understand," the Cambodian replied. The soldier took the Cambodian one block behind the lines, spun the man around several times, then led him toward the command bunker. He spun him around twice more before making his final approach. A wounded junior officer met him at the entrance."Come on," he took custody of the man. Having nothing else to do and not having been ordered to release the prisoner, the soldier followed along.The Regimental Commander had the man un-blindfolded. His hands remained bound."What do your masters want?" the Major snapped."They want a truce," the Cambodian blinked in the sudden bright light."You invaded us without a declaration of war. That makes you criminals, not combatants.""We attacked at the request of the legitimate authority in Thailand, the Commanding General of the Royal Thai Third Army.""Those men are rebels and you will not refer to them as anything but," the Phan Ek insisted."Very well. My Commander wishes to let you know that our mobile hospital has arrived. We wish to exchange prisoners and place our facilities at your disposal as well.""The Royal Thai army will be there soon enough," the Major glowered."Unlikely. Our Khanate allies have informed us that most of your division was destroyed on the road. You have one battered regiment and a handful of tanks. You are not going anywhere."The soldier wanted to slap the smug smile off the man's face."I do not have the authority to hand over prisoners until their status as POWs or criminals has been established," the senior officer countered."If you consider our men criminals, we will treat your men like traitors.""Are you threatening me?""Yes. A fact you should be aware of is that the Khanate has been flying in reinforcements since noon and we have five more armored, mechanized and artillery Zuuns to attack with. Come sunrise, we will be coming at you again unless we have a truce.""Now you are threatening us again," the Phan Ek pointed out."I am explaining the realities of your situation, nothing more," the Cambodian countered. "Our task force commander believes that further violence will be futile. You have done your job and we have done ours.""And your job was to keep us occupied so you could rape and pillage other parts of our country?""No sir. The Alliance forces have been operating under very strict guidelines. The Thai people are our allies and we are a liberating force," the Cambodian replied."You consider this town 'liberated'? You've destroyed it," the Phan Ek noted."It was unfortunate that you chose to fight us here."The Colonel studied the man silently for thirty seconds."I will agree to a two hour truce. That should allow me to contact my superiors for further clarification on my mission. We will hand over any critically injured 'invaders'. You will return any POW's you are holding in exchange.""Agreed," the Cambodian immediately responded."Just like that? It is really within your authority to make such a deal?""As I said earlier Phan Ek, we believe the fighting is over. We don't need your captured men. We would like to see as many as our comrades live as possible. No matter what your commanders say, the fact remains that if you come out of these ruins, you will be slaughtered. You know that. I know that. Peace is the only avenue that leads to any level of success. Today, today, both our forces did what our commanders told us to do. The dying should stop.""Go. The truce will take effect in, fifteen minutes ~ 12:12 am. We will transfer prisoners and wounded at your point of entry. We will both give a warning whistle fifteen, ten, five and one minute before the truce ends at 2:12 am. Do you understand?"The Cambodian repeated the terms of the truce. He was bound up then sent back with the Sip Tho."Do you really think this is the end of the fighting," he asked his blind captive."On the lives of my children I hope so," the man sighed. "I led 88 men into battle this morning and now I'm down to 46 effectives. I have lost too many already for a battle that wasn't in my nation's best interest. I am tired of the killing.""Me too," the Thai said a moment later. After he delivered him to the Captain on the front lines, the man was unbound."Good luck," he found himself saying."Good luck for both of us," the Cambodian gave a weary smile. "May we not meet again.""If I see you again, I will kill you.""I feel the same way," the man chuckled. "We are both soldiers doing what more powerful men have commanded us to do. I don't know about you, but I have had enough." Several Thai soldiers nodded. They had driven the enemy off Thai soil. Continuing the fight didn't seem to have much of a point.  

Diplomatic Hell Hole.Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels."Are we in the right place?" the stranger worried."I'm afraid so. Anais, you need to leave.""Not until you tell me what is going on here," she sizzled."She's not here to have sex, if that's what you worried about," I retorted. "Wait, are you here to have sex with me?""I barely know you.""That rarely stops me," I muttered."He's a master of bedroom antics," Pamela praised me. "He's pretty much at a loss at doing anything else.""Thanks Grandma," I griped."Your welcome, Grandson.""We, are here to meet someone," the stranger hedged."You came to the right place," Pamela preempted me. "He's definitely someone.""Fine, redo. I'm Cáel Nyilas," (deep breathe), "NOHIO, HCIESI-NDI, U HAUL, Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege plus a bunch of other honorifics that have yet to be confirmed. I am single-handedly bringing back medievalism to the center of Europe and the Near East. The woman to my left is Pamela Pale, and she really is my bodyguard. The woman to my right is Sgt. Anais Saint-Amour, RCMP, my ex-lover and the person that needs to leave   right now.""I'm not sure I should leave at this moment," Anais shifted possessively. I had to recall earlier this morning, the part where we'd broken up by mutual consent. Yep. That had really happened. I had thought I was whittling down my current list of paramours. Why do the Goddesses hate me so?"Told you, she can't give up that cock," Pamela whispered."As you can see, I have limited control of my life," I told the strange woman. "I know you are here to meet somebody who isn't me. Now you know who I am. Who are you and your companions?""I'm Ms. Quincy.""Sorry; I'm on a first name basis with everyone I meet," I interrupted."What's your rank, Honey?" Pamela added."What makes you think,?""She doesn't think. That's what makes her so dangerous." I explained."Hey now," Pamela faux-complained."Okay. She's a fledgling telepath, or medium," I shrugged."Captain, Zelda Quincy.""In case you are mesmerized by her tits," Pamela tapped me, "she's packing some serious hardware.""One of those personal defense gizmos?" I leaned Pamela's way."Close, but no cigar. She's my kind of girl, big 'bang-bang', back-up at the small of her back and knife in her boot.""What!" Zelda gulped."She's his knife-fighting instructor," Anais answered drolly."Are you Special Forces?" Zelda regarded my mentor."Nah, I got kicked out for a consistent failure to observe even the loosest Rules Of Engagement. I'm a free-spirit.""Oh, you're a sniper," Zelda nodded."I like this one," Pamela smiled."Ah, thank you." Then, over her shoulder, "I think we are in the right place." Zelda entered the room, followed by a Hispanic panther of a man (kind of like a tanned, slightly shorter Chaz without the cool accent) wearing a long coat, and a Subcontinent-cast woman who looked at everyone as if she expected us to sprout fangs, or start quoting the Koran any second now. She obviously was a brain seconded to this mission very much against her will.The fourth person had that cagey 'when my lips move, I'm lying' look while seemingly unhappy with her current assignment. The heavy implication was that the lady was a career diplomat. Considering our current company and who we were talking to, she was State Department. She was in her late 30's or early 40's and giving off the sensation she had devoted so much to her career that she was starting to wonder if that was all that life had to offer.The fifth member was a military man clearly uncomfortable about what he was doing here, thus not a spook. His off-the-rack suit wasn't terrible, so he expected to socialize somewhat while performing his duties. He also looked like a man who expected other people to speak half-truths and obfuscated lies as easily as they breathed. Numbers three, four and five were dressed for the weather and unarmed.All of this meant they were good at what they did, though they probably didn't know the particulars of what was expected of them. They had their marching orders. Those orders were about to be made irrelevant in the company they would be keeping. The latter weren't the 'doing it by rote' kind of people they would normally be dealing with."I bet you she's a doctor," I murmured to Pamela, "she's with State and he's some sort of Foreign Service type.""I bet the first guy is Air Force," she countered."Like one of those Para-rescue guys?""No. More like one of those Battlefield Air Operations guys, I'm guessing," she corrected me."That guy?" I nodded to the final guy. "Pentagon wonk?""More likely he's one of those embassy guys. I'm going to take an educated leap here, Office of Military Cooperation, Mongolia?""That is pretty clever of you. Kazakhstan. Major Justin Colbert.""I bet some people in the White House, Pentagon and Langley are disappointed with you right now," I reasoned. His jaw grew tight."Don't worry, Major," Pamela grinned. "We consider that a good thing. We don't like the people in charge and have a low opinion of their opinion on just about everything, including their habit of blaming the blameless for their government's fuck ups.""Who are these people?" the first man whispered to Quincy."She's a telepath." That was Zelda"She's a psychic-medium." That was Anais."She can see through time." That was me. "Nice to meet you. Who are you?""Chris Diaz. Lieutenant Colonel, USAF.""Dr. Saira Yamin," the second woman introduced herself. "Asia Pacific Center for Security Studies. Are you the man from Johnston Island?""Why yes, yes I am," I beamed."The APCSS is in Waikiki, Hawaii," Pamela educated me. "Your arrival probably cost her some prime surfing time.""I was more interested in the fact that he survived a plane crash in a Category Four Cyclone," she admitted."Mother Nature hates me. No matter how hard I try, she refuses to kill me," I confessed. "My suffering is an endless source of amusement to that bitch.""That, that wasn't the helpful answer I was looking for," she stammered."So, Lt. Colonel Chris Diaz, you must be with JSOC, I have a deep and abiding respect for you guys. If you need something, just ask," I greeted him. "Captain Zelda, you are not with JSOC.""She's with the DCS ~ that is the Defense Clandestine Service," Pamela kept going. "Zelda, you love being in your uniform, you're proud, yet happy with the concept of dying in an unmarked grave for Constitution and Country. You are too old to have been in the first female class at Ranger School, so that means no 'in the field' JSOC for you. You've gotten around that stone wall by joining the US Defense Department's own little pack of killers.""Also, you felt it was necessary to bring a Benelli M4-11707. That's a close-in action shotgun, but a bit over-kill considering the paper-thin walls in this building. That tells me you are used to being in the kinds of places where such a tool is a necessity. Or in other words, since you think you are meeting a band of terrorists, you brought along your favorite toy.""Your personal weapon is a SIG Sauer P229R DAK in .357 which is a new weapon still under trial by the US Army and Air Force. Your boot dagger is ceramic so it will pass a cursory exam, or scan. You hate the idea of being trapped on a public aircraft weaponless. You have also given up killing power for a proper balance for throwing. I like a forward-thinking gal.""Air Force ~ you've recently come back from Asia, most likely Tibet. It shows in your breathing brought about by a close call with Altitude Sickness. The only reason for an Air Force guy to be here is because he's familiar with the Khanate military and you are not US Army, or Marine Corp Special Forces. I know the type.""You went with the MP5K in the standard 9mm, so you are more interested in sending bullets down range than looking into someone's face as you kill them. You may be a 'light' Colonel, which means you are almost somebody. What your higher-ups haven't appreciated is that our guests will respect you because they are like that ~ remembering past friends and comrades in arms. Of greater importance, you have Cáel's gratitude which will count for more than you currently believe."I pledged then and there to be as good as Pamela at determining that kind of stuff before I died. She had assured me it was as much a matter of psychology as eagle-eyed perception. People were often a type that gravitated to various forms of destruction, be they old school, or going for the latest gadget."I told you all that firepower was excessive," State softly chastised her associates (what they really were, not the underlings she saw them as)."So, you appeared to have forgotten to tell us your name," I regarded the State lass."Nisha Desai Biswal. I'm with the government.""Oh, Assistant Secretary of State for South and Central Asian Affairs, I've examined your website," I told her. It clearly pissed her off somewhat that I so swiftly disregarded her crude attempt at subtle manipulation."Hey. I've got some real enemies at State, so it pays to know who might be the next suit trying to cock me over," I explained. I had to prioritize. It would take some serious effort to convince Zelda to have a MFF three-way straight out the gate and she was definitely the hotter number."Major, you came here unarmed," Pamela noted. "That won't do. They expect you to be armed because you are a warrior, damn it. Cáel get him one of your Glock 22's.""Gotcha," I nodded. I went to my room, tipped away the false back to my closet (that Havenstone had installed recently so Odette wouldn't accidently fire off one of my weapons) and retrieved one of my spare Glocks, but not the one with the laser sight. Such over-the-top fancy gear would be inappropriate. I only gave him one mag. If he couldn't get the job done with 15 rounds, he wouldn't have a chance to reload.Mind you, I took two in a twin-rig shoulder holster and four 22 round magazines, because I tend to shoot two-handed which doesn't exactly give you a bullseye every time. I returned to our crowded living room, handed the Major his weaponry, and then directed the US group to the far side of the room (towards Timothy's bedroom. Saira and Nisha took the couch.Because this tiny space wasn't crowded enough, there was a knock at the door. I checked. It was Juanita, oh yeah, my real bodyguard."Listen up everybody," I announced to the room. "This is my other bodyguard, my official one. Her names is Juanita Leya Antonio Garza, she's from the Dominican Republic via Buenos Aires and she is armed, so don't freak out." I opened the door."What is going on?" Juanita hissed."I'm having a private meeting with a few heavily armed friends. The other side to this party hasn't arrived yet. Why don't you come in?" She came in."Why didn't you warn me?" she whispered her complaint."Long night, worse wake-up, needed to do some soul-searching. Pamela was looking after me, then this came up and I forgot. I apologize," I lowered my head in shame. Juanita was only trying to do the job she'd been entrusted with and by not thinking of her, I was making that so much harder.I made the introductions, first names only."Juanita, Anais, Pamela; please slip into the kitchenette," I suggested.Anais "Why?"Juanita "Where are you going to be?"Pamela "Sure. I'm starving. I'm going to raid the fridge.""Anais, because I need my faction in one place. Juanita, I will be refereeing this meeting, so I will have to remain in the living room, roughly six feet from you." It was really a small apartment. "Pamela, if it is edible, it isn't mine and you'll have to replace it."Great Caesar's Ghost! No wonder Big Wigs had their personal assistants handle this pre-meeting crap. I was on my last two fucking nerves and one of those was already stressed and tender. And the real reason for being here hadn't even arrived yet."Why am I in your faction?" Anais mulled over threateningly."Because you haven't walked out that door. There are going to be three sides to this meeting, not three plus Anais. That is the way it is going to be. Now, are you going to behave, or are Juanita and Pamela going to toss you out?""You are threatening me!""Finally catching on to that, aren't you, Sweetie?" Pamela chimed in."I'm only staying because I believe you are in trouble," Anais grumped."Why is she (Anais) here?" Nisha inquired heatedly. "This is supposed to be a very, very private encounter.""I know Anais. I don't know you. I trust Anais with my well-being despite the fact she has numerous reasons to distrust me. She's staying because she is a straight arrow. That's good enough for me.""But is she going to keep her mouth shut about what happens here today?" Nisha pressed."Anais, this is a clandestine meeting that isn't going to be recorded by anybody so, barring a crime being committed, you can never discuss this with anyone who isn't already in the room. Agreed?"Pause."I agree," she nodded. I really was going to have to fuck her again. Not today. Well, maybe not today; I had to keep my options open. Her investigator mind was going into overdrive. Give it a week and she'd be knocking on my door late one night. Inquisitive, truth-hungry dames are like that, trust me. Then it would be 'bask in my genius' sex. It had been a while since I'd experienced that, with Lady Yum-Yum.There was another knock at the door. I checked before Juanita could do the checking for me, in case someone was going to shoot me through the door. Fuck it. I was going to talk to Timothy about moving. Him, me and Odette. I couldn't give those two up. It was Kazak bookends. I opened up and invited them in. It turned out they had names besides Bookends #1 and #2, Nuro and Roman.Nuro (I think) checked out the rooms while Roman (I was pretty sure) kept an eye on my guests. I made introductions, first names only and specifying who was with who. Technically, they could trust my side because I was the Great Khan's brother and thus my servants were his servants. Technically.Iskender came next followed by OT. A woman I didn't know (sadly, not OT's daughter) came in behind him while the other two quintuplets stayed in the hallway. Iskender and I hugged."Ulı Khaan s yikti ağası," he smiled. That was 'Prince-something'. My Kazak was a bit rusty. He then whispered into my ear. "OT bows to you first. His title is Hongtaiji." What?"Ulı Khaan s yikti ağası," OT bowed."Hongtaiji Oyuun T m rbaatar," I bowed back. I remembered I had to rise first. It was an etiquette thing. In retrospect, Iskender had stretched the bounds of tradition by hugging me, his titular superior. "Welcome to my humble abode.""I thank you for your hospitality," he 'grinned'. His face wasn't made for that gesture so that faint gesture came across as rather unnatural.My mind finally finished translating what Iskender and OT had called me. It wasn't 'prince'. It was 'beloved brother of the Great Khan'. Mother fucker!"Wait," Justin, the military attach  guy muttered, "we are here to meet this guy?" indicating me."What do you mean?" Saira questioned."The title Mr. Nyilas was identified with means 'beloved brother of the Great Khaan'," he explained. "The Kazakhs don't go tossing honorifics like that around. This guy," again pointing at me, "is a really important somebody.""Thanks for dropping this grenade in my lap, OT," I joked. "I'll get you for this, and your little yak too.""Odette is going to be so miffed that she missed this," Pamela chuckled."Mr. Nyilas," Zelda began."Please, call me Cáel. It is how I roll.""Cáel, can I ask you a stupid question?""Go right ahead," Pamela snorted. "Cáel does stupid real well. It is a critical part of his skill set. It makes him adorable instead of annoying. Trust me, you'll learn that soon enough."Too much 'trust me' was flying around in a room where nobody trusted anybody."Thanks for that encouragement, Teach," I grumbled. "Ask away, Captain Zelda.""Why are you playing this game with us?""I wasn't. Until thirty seconds ago I was sure I was here totally as a spectator," I gripped. "My buddy," the word dripped with sarcasm, "Temujin likes dumping these kinds of surprises on me.""Did you mean what Ms. Pale said about you feeling you owed me?" Chris asked."Absolutely.""We need help defusing this Thailand crisis before a shooting war begins.""What do you suggest?""We want the Khanate to back down," Chris stated firmly."I thought we had agreed that I would spearhead this delegation," Nisha reminded Chris."I think the situation had evolved and we need a different approach," Chris insisted."You should listen to the Lieutenant Colonel," I advised. "He knows a whole lot more about what is going on than you do.""Why don't you explain it to us?" she began her weevil-ling."You are engaging in linguistic niceties with men who have bled together, Ms. Biswal," I instructed. "Not that Chris and I have bled on the same battlefield, we have shed blood in the same cause; and that cause has been bringing our two nations, the Khanate and the US, together. The Khanate owes Chris for his efforts on our behalf and we pay our debts.""How so?" Nisha asked."National Security stuff," I evaded. "If you don't know, you shouldn't know and you probably don't want to know. Suffice it to say, the Khanate is willing to listen to Lt. Colonel Diaz's request as a friend.""But he doesn't speak for the United States Government," she corrected."Why not?" I riposted. "He's dealt with the Khanate longer than you have. He has a clue about the mindset of their rank and file.""But does he know their leadership?" she persisted."I don't know. Chris, do you think you have a handle on me?""Are you really capable of talking for the Khanate government?" Nisha preempted Chris. What she left unsaid was 'are you culpable in their atrocities?'"Let's find out," I then looked over my shoulder. "Hongtaiji Oyuun T m rbaatar, will my words and wishes reach my brother's ear?""That is why I am here," he replied."Don't you have the authority to speak for your leader?" she grilled OT. Nisha was relentless trying to stay in the limelight. "Aren't you a diplomat?""There is no need to insult the man," Pamela snidely commented."I am one of many voices that provide information to the Great Khan. I am not his brother. Cáel Nyilas is and has already proved his familial affection by proposing Operation Funhouse and brought whole nations as gifts," OT schooled her. "He is gifted with both tactical and strategic insight as well as sharing the Great Khan's love for his people and his hopes for their eventual freedom.""I didn't think you were a soldier," Zelda looked me over."Oh no," I wove off that insinuation. "I've never been a real soldier and am unworthy of that distinction. I know quite a few who have earned that title and they scare the crap out of me. I mean, they go looking for trouble. In my case, trouble comes looking for me. I'm damn lucky to still be alive and that's the damn truth.""Bullshit," Pamela coughed."What was that, Artemisia?" I winked at her."Bitch," she laughed "My men have become women, and my women men. At least you didn't call me Cassandra.""Well, she's Greek (a deadly insult to all Amazons), but you could be her Evil Twin because everyone believes whatever you say.""Can we get down to business?" Chris inquired."Damn," Pamela shook her head. "They haven't been paying attention.""What does that mean?" Zelda griped."Iskender, you know what I'm talking about, don't you?" I asked."Not a clue, Exalted One," he stood there like a stone statue. Note, the Khanate contingent really were standing there like the Altai Mountains, doing nothing. You had to carefully examine them to see that they did indeed breathe and blink."Use small words," Pamela advised."You really are a rude misanthrope," Anais told Pamela."Do you know what's going on?" Pamela volleyed."No.""Then sit back and watch how the madness works," she snickered. "It is all you, Cáel.""Okay. One; how did Artemisia escape the battle of Salamis?" I began. Nothing."Oh," Justin nodded. "She rammed an allied ship to make the pursuing Athenians think she was an ally. What does that have to do with our current predicament?""Achieve your ends by using violence as a distraction," I sighed. "The Khanate will invade Thailand in," I looked to OT, "tomorrow?" He nodded."How does that help us?" Nisha complained."Second example, Cassandra. She saw the truth through all illusions and falsehoods and no one believed her. Now, reverse that."Pause."We are waiting," Saira finally joined the conversation. I could hear those little microprocessors inside her noggin firing electrons at light speed."We fight a phony war. The Khanate and their buddies invade in a lightning campaign that appears to be successful. Shit like attacking the opposition where they ain't. Things that look epic on CNN where some retired colonel, no offense...""None taken," Chris responded."Where some colonel talks about seizing resources, severed supply lines and encirclement. We, the Khanate, bomb shit like bridges and supply dumps, things with no civilians to get killed. On the downside, to make this work the Khanate needs to put some level of force into Bangkok.""That will get civilians killed," Nisha reminded me, unnecessarily."Civilians are getting killed right now by their own government. This time they will get a chance to strike back," I stated firmly. "The Thai protestors aren't cowards. They are just grossly outgunned. We can change that.""How does that help the United States?" Nisha queried."The US gets to come in and save the day," I sighed. "The US can t get there until the day after, so you don't look bad about letting the first 24 hours of brutality happen.""Oh," Zelda blinked."The US gets to end the fighting that the Khanate has no desire to continue. The US brings peace, while whomever takes over owes the Khanate. Both sides look good. Both sides claim victory. The President gets a second Nobel Peace Prize (psychic, aren't I?). The US gathers some regional allies like Malaysia, the ROC and the Philippines along with our Marines to ensure free and fair elections. The Khanate isn't seen to be backing down against the Titan of Western Civilization. They are working with them to bring about a better world.""Win-win," Saira nodded in agreement."The Khanate is still an autocratic tyranny," Nisha commented."As opposed to the People's Republic's oligarchical tyranny?" Chris countered."Agreed," Saira said. "I now think we should work with the Khanate to bring stability to Central Asia which which was impossible while those member nations were being squeezed between Russia, Europe, China and India.""What are you a doctor of?" I asked."I specialize in 'failed states', among other things," Saira grinned."This could still turn into one bloody cluster-fuck," Zelda mused."My peopled don't have the resources to devastate Thailand," OT finally spoke. "If you, the US, agrees to intervene on our timetable, you will have our thanks, off the record, of course.""How do we know this isn't some ruse to allow the Khanate to overthrow Thailand's existing government?" Justin questioned."You have my word," I replied. No one said anything for several heartbeats."Really?" Nisha balked."Mr. Nyilas, Cáel, do you give me the Great Khan's word?" Chris studied me intently."Without reservation," I answered. "For what you have done for us and more, the Great Khan will honor this deal. We and the Thai's will do the bleeding. You will get your accolades. We avoid a pointless clashing of forces, which is why we are all here today.""I will give you my written recommendation in a few hours," Saira told Nisha.Chris stepped forward to shake my hand. He was an alpha-type alright. I gave as good as I got. His eyes bore into mine, looking for a faltering of will."What did you do in Romania?""I got a lot of good men killed.""Okay.""Okay?" Nisha squawked. "A handshake, a pat on the back and the deals done? Since when did our democratic republic do business this way? He admitted he got men killed in Romania. What is to say this won't be Romania writ large?""Ms. Biswal, he told the truth. He got good men killed and he isn't happy about it. I would be worried if he claimed one bit of glory from that episode. He didn't.""Nisha," I took a deep breathe, "When you unleash men with weapons, nothing is assured. Maybe the Thai government will see the hate coming their way and back down. Maybe the people will resist the intrusion. Maybe the Khanate's forces will get slaughtered at the starting line. It isn't like they have enough time to deploy enough forces to win a protracted war.""What happens if the Khanate decides it won't go?" she continued."Then they get destroyed on the ground in a war of attrition," Chris answered for me. "He's right. They can't bring enough in the time allotted to completely overwhelm the roughly 120,000 members of the Royal Thai Army that have remained loyal to the regime.""In three days they will be out of fuel, shells, rockets and bullets. It is logistics, Ms. Biswal," Zelda piled it on. "The Khanate war-fighting systems are not NATO compatible. That means they can't simply capture more material as they penetrate the frontiers. If they overstay their welcome, we can launch missile strikes against their fuel depots. The combat devolves back to World War I and that's a style of war they can't afford to fight.""What about stopping the Khanate from invading in the first place?" Nisha wouldn't give up."Had the US acknowledged the Khanate, none of this would have happened, Ms. Biswal," I became snappish. "Neither superpower talked to the other until other commitments had been made.""If you think you can come in and start dictating Khanate policy, you are dreadfully mistaken. The US doesn't have the power, or the resolve," I glared at her. "Don't try convincing the Khanate that isn't the case. We know better.""You don't know what the US is capable of," she snapped back."Abandoning Iraq with a fractured pseudo-democratic process? Abandoning Afghanistan without destroying the Taliban? The Syrian Civil War? The Donbass Crisis? The collapse of Libya? Boko Haram? Somalia? Yemen? Exactly how has the US's power and resolve solved any of those issues?" I countered."Ms. Biswal," OT spoke again. "We are willing to create a desert and call it 'Peace'. Our enemies know that. Your unwillingness to do so is neither a strength nor a weakness. It is a hallmark of your society in the same way that 'Total War' is a hallmark of ours. We are more than willing to leave you to manage the Peace. Let us manage the War against the forces opposed to civilized discourse.""As ugly and disagreeable as it is, we are willing to keep creating pyramids of skulls on every street corner until either they learn their lesson, or we kill them all. Let us do that and you will have your global stability and reap the economic benefits and accolades of Pax Americana. We are not your enemy. We are precisely the ally you need to keep the peace and we will do that, if you let us.""To allow barbarism is to become barbarians," Saira mused."That is complete fiction," I scoffed. "The United States didn't become communist because it allied with the Soviet Union in World War II. Truman didn't become Stalin. The enemy of my enemy is my friend is older than recorded history.""It is the Carrot and the Stick on a Global basis," Justin agreed. "Listen to the gentle words of the West, or you will end up feeling the wrath of the East.""As long as the Khanate accepts the limitations of is role," Saira added, "this might work. Please understand there will be factions in the Western Democracies who will not accept that status quo. It is not in the nature of our societies to stifle dissent.""Is it possible to get any political concessions from the Khanate's leadership?" Justin requested. "A pledge to hold some level of democratic elections? A Constitution with some strong provisions to protect individual rights and liberties would be nice.""Justin, in case your bosses missed it, the Khanate is still at a state of war with the PRC," I shook my head. "With their limited experience with democratic government throughout most of the Khanate's territories, that would be madness.""With limited concessions to the Imperial State, we have not interfered with the politics of Albania, Armenia, Georgia and Turkey. We are never going to become a Western-style democracy. We have had limited rule by consensus long before White Men arrived in the Western Hemisphere," OT informed them."Discounting the Irish Monks, Vikings and Knights Templar," Pamela interjected."If you say so," OT gave a minuscule bow to Pamela. "Long before your nation was anything more than the scribbled history of a long-faded Greek city-state, we had meritocracies, oligarchies of senior statesmen & warriors, thinkers and religious leaders, and we had codified judicial moral equality into the political arena. We have a far superior record of religious and minority freedom, of genuine multi-culturalism plus a deeper understanding of the arts and crafts as a means of uniting disparate peoples. We find your claims of cultural superiority to be childish.""Oh, snap," I snickered. "You get'em, OT.""I bet the boys in Foggy Bottom felt that pimp-slap," Pamela agreed."I bet the bronzed skull of some Harvard dean just fell off its pedestal.""They are called 'busts'," Anais groaned. "With a name like that, how could you forget it?""So true," I concurred. "All this responsibility must have clouded my normally hedonistic vocabulary.""That doesn't change the fact that you have employed biological warfare and genocide in this current day and age," Justin pointed out."Tell that to our Native Americans," I snorted. "They are easy to find. They live in trailer parks in whatever blasted Hell Hole we stuck them in, or in their casinos where they are buying back their country, one rube at a time. Ask them if they've gotten over it.""We don't claim to be perfect," Justin insisted."No, we merely claim to have the only correct form of government, economic policy and schools of philosophical, political, scientific and educational thought," I pointed out."We definitely should revive ethical utilitarianism," Pamela slapped a fist into her palm. "Oh, and the guillotine. Work houses for orphans and grist mills for the disabled, and A Modest Proposal for those chronically unemployed and terminally homeless, yes, and,""Pamela, what is it with you today?" I snickered."It is nearly sunset,""Ah, and you haven't killed anyone yet.""You know how cranky I get when I don't get my daily dose of homicide.""Are you two done?" Anais frowned. She did that a lot around me."And you don't hand out Mini-Uzi's to your preschoolers," Pamela glowered. "What is wrong with you people?"Pause, waiting for that punch line that was never coming. See, it was more difficult to sense Pamela was an immediate threat to your health if you thought she was completely off her rocker."Hmm, well, on that note, ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have a deal. Chris and Justin, I will leave you with my loyal Iskender to work out the gory details. Who wants to grab dinner?" I inquired."Are you serious?" Nashi gasped."Oh yeah. I had the Russian invasion of Manchuria figured out in this amount of time and Manchuria is way bigger than Thailand." Was it? I didn't know. Geography was not one of those subjects which gets you laid."What do you have in mind?" Zelda inquired."Whatever you want."{1 am, Sunday, August 31st ~ 8 Days to go}"How did I end up in bed with you?" Zelda sighed happily, her body splayed halfway over mine and her head resting on my chest, listening to my heartbeat."You aren't the first girl to ask me that question."On the other side, Anais moaned in her sleep. Yeah, she was over me. Abso-fucking-lutely. If you recall, she'd try anything once. I convinced her the military babes were totally different than that Goth chick we'd blown the mind of back in Montreal.Zelda was with me because I had caught her in a lie. She claimed to be a lesbian when I first hit on her. She was adamant. I destroyed her with incontrovertible evidence.A) She hadn't scoped out Anais when she came in. A glance didn't count and Anais oozed sexy when she was angry, which was most of the time.B) She hadn't scoped out Juanita's figure when said worthy went to the kitchenette. I look for such things and Juanita has thighs to die for.C) When I told her she had a wicked sense of humor, she blushed. Honestly, lesbians rarely care about strange men complimenting their personalities.D) Then I double-downed by asking her if she preferred a shower, or bath. She said shower (because that's the butch thing to say). When I asked her 'when was the last time she'd had a bubble bath', she blushed again. Lesbians don't like it when a man imagines them naked. Straight chicks, unless you are a creepy, stalker guy, like it when men fantasize about them swathed in bubbles, thus semi-clothed, thus not creepy.E) In a final and fatal act of evasion, she asked a grumpy Anais what she liked about me. Anais was blunt."He can fucking hammer you all night, sneak in a romantic quickie in the shower, cook you a delicious breakfast then give you another round of mind-numbing intercourse up against the wall before you have to go to work. And still find the time and energy to fuck your neighbor."Woot!"So, this happens to you often?" she mused, it was a trap. She really wanted to know if I was an egotistical scumbag who took advantage of every woman I came across. At the same time, she wanted to know if I considered her a 'whoe' ~ a woman who gives up the goodies for free."Do you mean 'am I taking advantage of you'?" I replied."That is not what I asked," she persisted. That meant 'yes'."Let me see," I laid back and looked up at the ceiling. "I have a fiancée, six women I am close enough to to spend quality time with, a fuck-buddy who is a sweet girl and trusts me too much and a passel of ex-girlfriends who have found my infidelity to be reprehensible.""Six women?" she frowned."Four co-workers (Rhada, Oneida, Yasmin and Buffy), the girlfriend of a co-worker who dumped her in a very public fashion (Brooke) and that woman's friend (Libra). She was the wing-chick who was stuck with me on a quadruple-date and was underwhelmed with me when we first met."I didn't count my 'hook-ups' and I wasn't sure how to qualify Nicole."Ex's?""'No' is not a word in common usage in my vocabulary. I've dated a best friend's girl, a mother, sister and aunt of the same girlfriend, basically, I'm either highly immoral, incredibly loose, or a letch.""Don't you take responsibility for any of those, relationships?""Hell yeah," I tilted her chin up so that we could make eye-contact. "I've never blamed a woman for taking out her frustrations on my flesh, ran away from a screaming fit (Big Lie!), or blamed them for any failing in our relationship. It is always my fault because I can't stay loyal.""That's depressing," Zelda moped."Don't get me wrong. I don't find fault in any of the women I have spent time with. That is my problem, I find women fascinating; never boring, or bland. Quite frankly, it is a gift that I don't regret having. I may be a fuck-up, but I'm a fuck-up who will give you the very best attention.""Full of yourself, much?" her attitude shifted. I had short-circuited her fears; I was a cheater, I confessed to it without shame because I was inexorably drawn to her beauty, personality and charm. With Anais around, I couldn't claim to be solely enchanted with Zelda, so I had to think quickly on my feet. After all, Zelda was energetic and had great stamina."I promised you pleasure," I countered. "Did I deliver?""Yes, you are full of yourself," she slapped my stomach. I wasn't full of myself. I was a confident sex machine."Thank you.""Huh?""Wonderful sex, taking a chance with me, agreeing to a three-way, being awake after," I looked at the bed-table clock, "six hours.""I run five miles a day," she bragged."I try to have ten hours of sex a day," I teased. Zelda slapped my stomach again. Anais stirred."Do any women like you, for any reason beyond your cock?""I'm considered loyal where sex is not concerned, reliable and brave," I offered."What happened in Romania?""Have you ever been in combat?""I've been in violent confrontations, but not a true firefight," she admitted."Hmm,""Is it something that you can't relate?" she asked."No. You are a soldier so you probably know more about combat than I do. It was, not chaotic at all. I never lost perspective of what was going on despite the bullets flying around. The Romanian Captain in charge knew his stuff, directed his company well and all I had to do was figure out where the terrorist leader was.""What happened?" she perked up."I am here talking with you and he's in a morgue in Bucharest.""Oh," She wanted more."I have to live with the knowledge that I set all of that in motion, Zelda. I convinced the Romanians that they had to confront that terror group before they moved on to their next target, me.""I knew they would come after me and my friends, no matter where we were. Which would have ended up as a blood bath in some urban center. So I felt compelled to strike first. Based on information I provided, the Romanian Army sent two battalions, the 22nd and 24th, of the 6th Mountain Troops Brigade into battle.""It was a massacre," I remembered sadly."But you won," she tried to comfort me."Of the four companies involved in the battle, the Romanians suffered nearly two hundred dead and wounded. I hardly consider it anything other than a massacre. Yes, we won. Only three of the terrorists escaped. Their leader died. I don't think I've ever felt so hollow in my life," I finished."Forty percent losses, that is horrific," she crawled on top of me."The kicker is the Romanians sent some men of the 24th to hunt me down when I was kidnapped. A squad was in the group that rescued me and my companion from Johnston Island. I thought they would never want to deal with me ever again.""Don't be so hard on yourself. If they thought well enough of you to send their men out to rescue you, then you must have done right by them.""Chaz said something like that too," I felt sheepish and sleepy."Chaz? Who is she?"Honest to God, one day I want to find a girl who thinks I'm talking about another girl and asks if we can have a three-way, instead of trying to compare herself to this unknown person. Wait... I already had someone like that. Her name was Odette."Chaz is Color Sergeant Charles 'Chaz' Tomorrow of Her Majesty's SSR," I corrected her assumption."SSR? Those are some tough people. How do you know him?""Black Bag directives from the National Security Council, sworn to secrecy upon penalty of death, pinky-promise kind of stuff," I grinned. Maybe I wasn't all that sleepy after all."You really are a Man of Mystery," Zelda purred. She had truly exceptional stamina. "Maybe I can convince you to talk.""Maybe I can find another use for my tongue," I countered and off we went. Somewhere along the process, Anais woke up and joined in.It wasn't all fun and games. Anais' parting words were "You are a pig," then she sauntered out of my room and out of my life. Had she remembered to take her Serge with her, I would have bought the act. As it was,"Is she always so volatile?" Zelda remarked."Volatile? That's not her being volatile. That's Anais being affectionate. Volatile usually is accompanied by thrown objects and bodily harm," I sighed happily. Meeting her one more time couldn't be all that bad, could it? Zelda looked hungry so I shoved that thought to the back of my mind and got to work.That was the highlight of my Sunday. Zelda had to fly back to Washington D.C. and I had to go to work with JIKIT. It seemed that the Khanate and the US military were heading for a showdown. I unloaded all my Saturday's activities to the team and we got to work, no recriminations. I was the Khan's spiritual brother and sometimes that meant I had to do him favors.I asked Addison when she thought he would return the favor. She laughed, then smiled and told me that wasn't how it worked. He was a world leader now and I was merely his kooky kinsman that he would keep throwing problems at until one day I broke. Then it would be some other poor saps turn.Then she told me she was kidding and clearly the Great Khan thought the world of me. I chose to believe the second lie because it made me feel better, and it was promising to be a long weekend/start of the week.Note: Geopolitical DevelopmentsWhat follows are snippets of the Battle for Thailand that takes place late in the night of September 1stand continued into the early morning of September 3rd. If this does not interest you, you can rejoin Cáel's exploits in four pages)On the eve of battle, the Royal Thai High Command had decided to strip all but one armored unit from the 2nd Army in order to give the First Army's offensive against the rebels more of a punch. It's decision to strip the tank battalions from both their infantry divisions as well as the armored and one of the two mechanized regiments would prove to be disastrous. It was as if the leadership of the Royal Thai military were idiots.The least economically valuable part of the country was the northeast which the 2nd Army warded. They had severely underestimated the airlift capacity of the Khanate as well as the willingness of Laos and Cambodia to both use their armed forces in an invasion as well as their willingness to let Vietnamese troops cross their countries.That thinking had led the Thai military to adopt a 'forward defense' strategy, the desire to fight the enemy at the borders, as opposed to having stronger formations deeper within the country. Considering the relative weakness of the Cambodian and Laotian militaries, that policy had made sense:- The baseline Laotian and Cambodian tank was the T-54/55, a 1950's Soviet relic. The normal anti-tank capabilities in all Thai infantry formations was more than equal to such a threat.-Neither country had an air force worth worrying about.In contrast, the Khanate's primary tanks, the T-90SM and T-95 were resistant to most of what the Thai Army could throw at them, at least from the front. The seven hundred combat aircraft the Khanate and the Vietnamese were able to field was an equal catastrophe for the Thais. It greatly compensated for the relative small numbers of invaders.Finally, there was a fundamental misunderstanding of what the Alliance's goals were. Military logic dictated the destruction of Thailand's mobile force followed by the capture of Bangkok. As long as the Thai regime held the capital, it would remain the legitimate power in the country.Due to the altering political landscape, the Alliance's only option was to make the government 'look bad'. The loss of peripheral provinces, while of negligible immediate strategic value, looked great on the maps the world-wide media would be showing to their audiences. It would appear that the Thai army had failed to defend their country. That would (hopefully) make the Thai Third Army look like the legitimate authority in Thailand.That was the plan anyway, and you know what they say about battle plans and the enemy, right? H-hour was 4 am, September 1st.The commander of the Zuun stood up and waited to be recognized. The staff officer from the Yunnan Command pointed at him."Sir, why are we doing this? I am not afraid to fight for the Great Khan, but this action seems to be suicidal. We will be far behind enemy's lines while our offensive force will be grossly under-equipped.""You will have to rely on our ability to supply you by air.""We only have supplies for two days of operations. What happens then?""We rely on the Americans to come and save us," the senior officer responded bitterly."Allah save us from allies," the young commander muttered. What else could he do?He was part of the 2nd Mountain Sultan Mehmet Tumen which had just arrived in Yunnan to replace the exhausted 1st Mountain Abu al-Ghazi Bahadur Tumen. His men were from Turkey, inexperienced in combat and using new equipment they were not familiar with. They would be working with a unit he had never worked with before, the 1st Airmobile Tauekel Khan Tumen, Kazaks, who would be seizing the small airport his men needed to land in.From there, they were to 'run amok'. That was the technical term for racing south down a highway in Central Thailand, attacking the headquarters of the 3rd Cavalry Division, an armored unit. Once that was accomplished, they were to attack the local police precinct. Provided they were still alive after that, they were to return to the air strip to resupply then they were to 'spread chaos' until they were finally hunted down by the vastly larger Thai division his 100 men would be fighting.Of course, there was the plan for the rebel Royal Thai Third Army to force their way through the larger frontline forces of the loyalist Royal Thai First Army and come to his rescue. How would the Thai troops respond when ordered to fight their fellow Thais? No one was sure. If there was any hope in this mission, it was the knowledge that several other Zuuns had the exact same mission in other areas of Thailand.  It was H-hour minus twenty-two.It was 11 o'clock in the evening when the general in charge of the Royal Thai 9th Infantry Division was woken up. The Marines were leaving. That was correct; the three Royal Thai regiments were heading west to Sattahip Naval Base, because they had been ordered to by the Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Thai Navy. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize why this was going on.Seven hours earlier, the Royal Thai Army had seized all the Air Force bases in the 1st and 2nd Army districts as well as ordering the 4th Army to do the same thing (The Royal Thai Air Force had been trying to remain neutral in the upcoming civil war).Undoubtedly the navy had decided to make their assets less 'hijack-able'. A few phone calls later confirmed that most of the Navy had set sail for parts unknown and the naval air units at Ban Sattahip Air Base (U-Tapao International Airport) had also departed either out to sea, or to ports and bases in the South.He made a personal appeal to the commander of Marine Forces to no avail. They wanted no part of the upcoming struggle and advised the general to do the same. The general had other problems. The Royal Thai Marines were the frontline forces facing the southern border with Cambodia. He quickly reorganized his regiments, sending them to take the old Marine strongpoints to await further orders. Stopping the Marines never entered his mind.That was a bloodletting he wanted no part of. The last thing he did was inform his superiors, thus avoiding any stupid orders to the contrary. Suddenly the nebulous movements along the Cambodian border developed a haunting significance. He wondered how much longer he had before something happened.  It was H-hour minus five.At midnight a loyalist commander of a company of mechanized infantry in the 2nd Cavalry's 11th Battle Group (named after their axis of advance, Highway 11) decided to send a motorized section of his command forward to the advance position his battalion was to occupy come sunrise. Either later in the day, or tomorrow morning, the forces loyal to the regime would launch a coordinated assault against the rebels main supply center at Phitsanulok.He had a cot set up in his communications hut and had just nodded off when the radio squawked to life. His lieutenant in charge of the advance made a hurried report. They had encountered serious opposition in a confusing night action, then he went silent. The captain immediately swung into action. He put the rest of his men on alert, then contacted the neighboring Tank Battalion. He needed some armored support. He made a similar call to the attached artillery component.The Tank Battalions night officer quickly put a platoon of light tanks at his disposal. The artillery were ready for any fire mission he sent their way. Before the armor could arrive, the company commander found himself being called to the carpet by the Duty Officer at the 3rd Cavalry (two regiments of the 2nd Cav. had been attached to the 3rd's command) over his 'offensive' action and the relief mission was called off. What had happened to the patrol of 20 Royal Thai soldiers? He was ordered to wait until sunrise to find out.Little did anyone know, these were the first combat casualties of the upcoming rebel offensive. His patrol had stumbled across a battalion of mechanized troops arriving at their jump off point for the attack that was less than six hours from beginning. Neither the commander of the 11th Battle Group, the 3rd Cavalry Division, or First Army was informed that the enemy had already advanced twenty kilometers south of where they were supposed to be.  

Nuevo episodio en la guerra comercial entre EEUU y Europa.. ahora el presidente Trump carga contra el vino y las bebidas alcohólicas de la UE si Bruselas no retira el arancel al whisky estadounidense. El vino y el mosto es el segundo producto más exportado desde España a EEUU del sector agroalimentario y pesquero, solo por detrás del aceite de oliva. En 2023, las exportaciones de vino a EEUU tuvieron un valor de 313 millones de euros. El instituto económico IfW de Alemania eleva el crecimiento de Alemania para 2026 anticipando el impulso del gasto público que promueve Friedrich Merz. Según el Instituto, el PIB del próximo año probablemente aumentará un 1,5% frente al pronóstico de diciembre del 0,9%. Sin embargo advierte de que no pueden esperar un 2025 pletórico pues el gasto público tendrá un efecto retardado. El miembro del consejo del BCE, Martin Kazaks, avisa de que es muy pronto para cantar victoria frente a la inflación. En una entrevista, Kazaks pide un periodo de calma en el banco mientras estudian la posibilidad de un repunte de los precios. Hablaremos con Francisco de Asís, CEO de Buzz Motos, de las motos eléctricas. Y los temas de la actualidad los debatiremos en la Tertulia de Cierre de Mercados con Jaime Gil Delgado, consultor independiente, y José Ignacio Gutiérrez, de la Confederación de Cuadros y Profesionales.

European indices lower whilst US futures are modestly higher ahead of US NFP.USD misery continues as DXY dips to 103.60 as EUR's rally extends into Friday's trade.Bunds bounce off worst but remain over 300 ticks lower WTD, USTs await Payrolls & Powell.Crude firmer with gas inflating on damaged Ukrainian infrastructure.Looking ahead, US NFP, Canadian Jobs, White House Crypto Summit, Speakers including Fed's Powell, Bostic, Bowman, Williams, Kugler & ECB's Kazaks, Centeno.Read the full report covering Equities, Forex, Fixed Income, Commodites and more on Newsquawk

Putting lives back together after the battle.By FinalStand. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.Either you embrace Change and are destroyed by it, or you resist Change and are overwhelmed by it. What is your choice? (The Politics of 'Not' Being Dead)The rest of the trip was made in silence. They dropped us off at the edge of Miercurea Ciuc, home base of the 61st Mountain Troops Brigade, of Professor Loma and from whence all this craziness had originated. The meeting was already awkward before I arrived. It only got worse. Where to begin? Well, Russia, the United States, the UK, Romania, Hungary and Ireland were now all interested parties. And I had gained two personal distinctions:1.) Not only was I now heralded (and not really joking anymore) by some sources as Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege, I was thereby re-awakening old nationalistic and territorial fears. Hungary didn't want a Prince, yet they did have an anemic Monarchist party. I might not be a Hapsburg (the last royal house of Hungary), but I could possibly be misconstrued as a long-lost Árpád scion (first King and founder of the Hungarian state), which would be even better.A crisis was looming in my ancestral crucible. It seems I already had a webpage in Budapest and six hundred "friends" within 24 hours. Worse, they had some pictures of me. Besides being 'of regal bearing' in the descriptions, I was sexy-hot and a soldier of fortune, a modern day 'Wild Geese, (Goose?)' who was wanted for questioning in a, or perhaps multiple, murder(s) involving either a duel over a woman's honor or killing a dozen armed gangsters who prayed on young innocents newly arrived to the big city.I wasn't alone. My trusty companion was A.) an ascetic Jedi Mistress (my own, personal Yoda), B.) an ancient witch schooled in the necromantic arts (apparently the reason I couldn't die), or C.) a Cold-War Era SMERSH (too much James Bond) assassin repaying an old debt to the descendent of an anti-communist partisan she'd killed years ago, eerily close to the truth for once. That, plus the TEK investigation, were Hungary's main points of concern involving me.2.) I was now a person involved in significant events for half a dozen nations on the world scene.Let's start with Romania. Okay, foremost, I was responsible for the single deadliest day in modern (post-WWII) Romanian Land Forces history. There was no covering this up. Close to one hundred men and women had died in combat, and then you added the forty-some dead Amazons, many of them apparently tortured, and this was a political and public relations nightmare.No one doubted their troops behaved heroically. That wasn't the problem. The political conundrum was how could they explain Ajax and his fifty seasoned killers penetrating into central Romania with no one being aware of the danger? A few politicians wanted to blame Székely nationalists (by that, they meant the ethnic minority who 'vaguely' wanted Transylvania to rejoin Hungary), except they had me, the Hungarian Prince, leading the charge.Life would have been so much easier for them if I had died. Yes, I could read the minds of those politicians. Screw a girl, then her younger sister, and then his wife, who all say they love me, and you'll recognized the emotional intent a father directs your way. (I'd only done that once, and once was enough.) I was getting that vibe again.Unfortunately for them, I wasn't dead and three big time foreign governments (and Ireland) seemed really curious about me, my performance and my mortality. So dragging me out back for a firing squad wasn't going to happen. Riki Martin of the US State Department was there and she told me a representative of the US Military Mission was on his way up to debrief me. Russia's sexy military attaché was still on site and looking happy for some reason. Flaviu, who had some experience with me, was soon to be gone; replaced by some person who had some serious lettuce before his actual name and didn't know me from didly. Not good.The UK had one of their diplomats coming up as well, just so I didn't get lonely. They weren't driving up with the Irishman, or the American. No one considers their carbon footprint in a crisis, I swear. But wait! It gets better. My Romanian Special Force dudes had brought the rest of their company (around a hundred new buddies) with them, they seriously didn't want me to get homesick and wander off (because, you know, I liked living and freedom).The Romanian army shouldn't have worried. It seemed that there were some US Army Rangers with NATO in Kosovo, Albania, or Bosnia and Uncle Sam was expressing a desire for them to 'stop by'. Maybe they could share their C-130 with the British paratroopers who were equally concerned about my well-being. I just hoped everyone was going to play nice when the Spetsnaz arrived. Putin was suddenly (and surprisingly to me, anyway) my new pal. I had a feeling I'd soon be discovering my secret Russian heritage if I wasn't careful. I was thinking maybe I could squeeze an Order of Lenin, or a Hero of the Soviet Union out of him. I heard they both looked nice, were obsolete and came without an actual pension.If Katrina wouldn't let me write off this calamity as PTO, I was going to be irate. I was on the verge of having a large family to support after all, unless you considered me marrying a billionaire's heiress to be compensation enough. The only group involved who weren't trying to actually see me was the Khanate.Temujin most likely had some shamanistic mojo that would let him know if I croaked. That bit smacked of paganism, so it was kept under wraps because he had to appear dutifully Islamic for the masses. Still, some koumiss would have been nice. Heck, right then I could have gone for an 'atta boy', perhaps even a 'two thumbs up'.Oh yeah; the general of the 4th Romanian Division wanted me to stop by when I had the chance (if I didn't, he'd send men to kill me, or so it was insinuated). The 61st Mountain Troops was part of his division's combat command and if the General Staff went looking for someone to crucify, he was making damn sure it wasn't going to be him.It occurred to me that I could send a handsome-looking Spetsnaz (if there was such a thing) to go in my place. They were brother Slavs, right? I was sure that between the 'Fall of the Berlin Wall', Moldavian Independence and Romania joining NATO, they would have much to discuss. Out of the blue, Pamela smacked me on the back of my head, Jethro Gibbs' style. My 'more-evil Russian doppelganger' idea must have been poorly thought out.Before I could implement that silliness, or trigger the big brouhaha, there was a preamble: I had three compatriots. Of greater importance, I had three heavily armed/gravely-serious bodyguards who wouldn't surrender their weapons and/or abandon me. So I thought "play nice" thoughts to myself.Diplomacy, sovereignty and legality all reared their ugly heads. I wasn't really an Irish diplomat. My paperwork was still valid, but the Romanian government hadn't permitted my entry into their country under the standard diplomatic protocols. Ireland wanted to talk to me about that, why was I running around armed and killing people in two Central European countries? I was acting more like an Irish adventurer from the 17th century, than a genteel civil servant from the 21st.Then there was the niggling little complication that involved me, my friends and our criminal possession of military-grade hardware. Chaz had the dubious excuse of being an official British government agent on assignment. That meant he could hope for a prisoner exchange within the next decade. Rachel and Pamela were private citizens with painfully sketchy proofs of US citizenship.When the Romanian legal system finished buggering them, it would be off to Hungry and its serious inquiry into all the dead bodies we'd left in our wake. Who was I kidding? What I was really worrying about was how many members of the Romanian penal system would die when they escaped. Their flimsy identities gave no clue to how dangerous they actually were. Hell, they'd beat me home.I had the added difficulty of Ireland and their questions about who the fuck I was and why I had their gold filigree on something I didn't deserve sitting snugly in my back pocket.So first off, this new band of 'Eagles' wanted to disarm and separate us."Don't insult me," I scoffed. "I am your Prince. Don't make me explain it to your widow.""I'm not married," the Lieutenant snarled back, daring me."Well, rush out and marry somebody. I haven't got all day. We don't want me to be caught in an idle boast now do we?" I grinned. Verbal sparring apparently wasn't in his repertoire."What?""Shut the fuck up, Carl," Chaz blithely inserted himself into the conversation."But you don't even speak Romanian," I countered. "How do you even know what I said?" The Romanians didn't know English, but they knew Carl. The tension between us ebbed."By the expression on the officer's face, Hercege," he winked. "It's universal to the brotherhood.""Who is he with?" The officer questioned me."You and he are the same," I answered."You cannot go any farther armed," he returned to his mission parameters."I don't envy you going in and telling the Colonel to come out here, but so be it," I held my ground."We could kill you and take them off your corpses," he studied my reaction."You are the second handsome man to tell me that today," I shook my head. "I'll tell you what I told him: 'you sure are cute, just not my type'." Pause then laughter."You are a madman," the lieutenant snorted. "I'll go talk to the Colonel."I was a jerk, loved maidens and was a master of bullshit. Did that make me a modern day Minotaur? The lieutenant came back out, then ushered me inside; Riki had to wait for the moment. He motioned my team come along. In the staff room of the 61st were a handful of officers and several suits."Mr. Nyilas," the Colonel gazed upon me. "I don't know what to make of you.""You and my Mother both," I mumbled. Despite the somber atmosphere, a few of the men and women let their moods lighten. They didn't hold my levity against me. I'd been there, on the battlefield and if humor was how I dealt with the experience, so be it."Ha," the greying man mused. "It is wholly my fault that I disregard most of the information you supplied my staff. You were unerringly accurate in your assessment of our enemy's capabilities. I know my men and I know how good they are. Veteran commanders can barely describe what my troops endured. You warned us and I didn't believe you. I was wrong and my men died because of it," he sighed."Sir, I do not believe you could have done anything else and succeeded," I interrupted."Succeeded? Is this what you consider success?" he hardened."Absolutely, Sir. Had you been slower to respond, those men would have most likely come here, to Miercurea Ciuc, and you would have fought the same battle, except your civilians would have been caught in the mix," I lied.If Ajax had escaped he'd have hunted me down. The location would have been irrelevant to him. How he knew where to be was a question for later and something to be presented to smarter, more experienced minds."Perhaps," he allowed. "They were heading north when we encountered them.The Alal in me was going back over the plan. It had been sound."Sir, you had every reason to doubt my military experience and to believe I exaggerated the threat. I was right and I take no joy in that, nor do I think anyone can hold your decisions against you," I stated.Now he gave a bitter laugh. Yes, they could hold all the deaths against him."We both know your men and women didn't die for their country, they killed for it. Quite frankly, I believe they killed some of the most vicious creatures to ever walk the face of the Earth. Fuck them for taking so many of us. Pile their bodies up and burn them," I suggested."They deserve no more Romanian soil than a spot to inter their ashes," I concluded."You do not sound like any diplomat I've ever met," the Colonel regained his gruff exterior."I'm not. I'm a fraud. I know as much about Ireland as I do about being a prince," I confessed. "That said, I didn't come here to kill anyone. I came to save lives.""How has that worked out for you?" a sitting woman in a suit questioned, in Romanian. She was slender, waspish and didn't sound comfortable speaking English, though she knew enough to get by."I am not a fortune-teller. I don't know how this is going to work out," I said."That's not what I asked," she prodded."Yes it was," I corrected her. "You wanted to know if I thought the price of your dead countrymen was worth the life of me, my friends and the lives of your countrymen I came to save. I can't measure the promise of those lives against the loss of all the dead. Don't play games with me. I'm have a degree in Philosophy and I eat morally ambiguous people like you for lunch."Pamela laughed aloud and lively."Kimberly and Katrina would be so proud of you right now," she chortled."I don't think you grasp the deep pit your find yourself in, Friend" the suit stayed chillingly calm."Oh, I think we all know we both screwed the pooch big time," I smirked. "The difference is me and mine are all happy to be alive after two of the most trying, fun-filled days of our lives. You want to throw us in prison. The Hungarians want to throw us in prison. I'm sure if I get back to the States, they will want to put us in prison too. Have I missed anyone?""I'm glad you will confess. It will make it easier on us," she grinned like sexy weasel."Wait," Rachel put a restraining arm on me. "I've wanted to say this for some time." To the weasel, "Blow it out your ass, dipshit.""Rachel, you don't know what she said," Pamela faux-gasped."I don't know the words, but I know what he meant," Rachel glowered. She missed Charlotte so much, she was willing to court pain and death. "I want to go back in time and slap her mother repeatedly for not strangling her in the crib. Is that succinct enough?""I apologize for ever meeting you, Rachel. I've brought you to a bad end," I gave her a tender look."It's okay. I never thought I'd live long enough to sleep with you anyway," she smiled back.Phifft, sigh. It was so sad that I recognized the sound of a low-caliber, silenced round."Listen up, dipshit," Pamela snickered. "Good one, Rachel. If you don't believe the next one is going through your skull, you clearly haven't been listening to us. You are fucking with the wrong monkeys. You have this bizarre idea that if I kill you, your government won't replace your worthless, bullet-riddled hide with someone we find more agreeable. My grandson sent in motion a half million combatants a few hours ago, he nearly died leading your soldiers against your nation's enemies and you want him to kiss your shoes as if you matter at all in the grand scheme of things?" she snarled. "Think again."No one was moving because Pamela had her silenced 22 Beretta out and pointed at Weasel's head. The SF's were caught flat-footed, as was everyone else. No guards came rushing in because the closed doors further muffled the sound. "I think this is a good time for us to get a drink," Chaz advised as he slowly reached out and lowered Pamela's gun hand.It was Pamela's gunboat diplomacy yet again. She hadn't meant to kill the women. Hell, she'd been a random target of opportunity. What Pamela had done was clear up the doubts in the room. Everyone on the staff could self-consciously let themselves off the hook for not being in the front lines, risking themselves with their comrades. Thanks to Pamela, they too had confronted violence.'Crazy' Grandma had fired off her piece and everyone sighed with relief when Chaz got her to lower it. I was pretty sure Chaz was in on this dangerous game. It resided with the Colonel as to how to resolve this hiccup in our dispute."Mr. Nyilas, why don't we take a walk outside, just the two of us?" he 'requested'.I nodded because I'm not always as dumb as I look. He was letting my people off with incredible temperance and I could honorably send them away. They'd scoped out the scene and believed I'd be safe enough. He, in turn, had an excuse to take a step away from his political watchdogs."I think that is for the best," I nodded. "Do you want me to leave my guns behind?""No, Mr. Nyilas, we might run into trouble out there and one of my Captains has suggested you are a man who can take care of himself," he replied. That was very nice of him indeed. If I did do something stupid, he had a ton of troops about who would make my regrets rather temporary. I decided to behave as if I had a passing acquaintance with sanity.His first questions were about the fighting at the ruins. I peppered our exchange with my interest in what had happened to the advance force of the 22nd. It was bleak news, yet the Colonel felt a sense of relief. He was coming to accept the lethality of his enemies, which in turn, led to an understanding, if not acceptance, of the carnage his men had been subjected to.He was in a cycle of context, grief, context. He'd gambled on me and men died. Once the battle was joined though, his soldiers had done precisely the right thing under considerable stress. He could be proud without dishonoring the dead. Only Pamela and I had engaged Ajax earlier. Only I had talked with the man.The Colonel had to look into my eyes to get the spark that led to understanding the mind and ruthlessness of his opponent. The name 'Ajax' never came up. That was more than a rational mind could accept at the moment. He knew his men had fought and killed the best and that helped him cope a tiny bit. Our interview ended when the first of the unwanted guests arrived.Only when I walked inside did it occur to me that this had been my first soldier to soldier chat. We had respected one another and discussed matters like men who knew the score. That was depressing in its own right. It was well passed nightfall when we went back inside. In our absence, Riki had started to redeem my existence. My salvation lay in Romantic Americana Symbolism.Translation: I was a Horatio Alger, a working class kid raised by a widower father, who earned a scholarship to a quiet New England college, graduated near the top of my class and gotten an excellent job (salary and benefits not disclosed). That was the was the first part of the Americana, proof positive that America was still the land of opportunity and a place where poor children could still reach the highest levels of society (umm, okay?).The second Americana Part: my Father had been murdered in a case of mistaken identity. Those heavily-armed foreign corporate/rogue governmental-sponsored terrorist mercenaries (their exact origin was shrouded in double-dealing misinformation) had ruthlessly murdered my Pa to cover up their error. Like any true Son of the American Dream, I had sworn vengeance.The Symbolic Part: My compassionate, understanding government (the good governmental servants of Republican Democracy, not the bad, hires the covert, secret, black-bag, unaccountable private contractors/ pawns of the Wall Street Elite bureaucrats) allowed me to participate in a multi-national taskforce. These selfless guardians of the freedom had formed a coalition which had hunted down the villains.With the priceless assistance of two Central European countries, who currently had to remain nameless (cough: Hungary and Romania), we'd achieved a final, violent confrontation in which my allies and I had emerged bloody, scarred, yet victorious. Once more, free men and women had answered the call of duty and some had made the ultimate sacrifice.See, I had a good government that cared enough about me to let me become a gun-toting menace to the civilized world. Like a Hollywood Western hero of the 1950's, 60's and 70's, I had taken personal revenge against the forces of wickedness, exit the railroad tycoons and cattle barons, enter the shadowy world of private security forces and uncontrolled corporate capitalism.

Trump announced he is to charge Mexico and Canada a 25% tariff on all products and will charge China 'an additional 10% Tariff, above any additional Tariffs'.European bourses in the red on the above, US futures initially pressured but have since made their way back to unchanged/marginally firmerUSD began on the back foot but has since retreated markedly, JPY outperforms while CAD is the G10 laggardFixed benchmarks in the red pulling back from Monday's gains though did see a shortlived move higher on the tariff announcementCrude firmer but action modest after recent ceasefire related pressure; Israel's Cabinet set to meet at 15:30GMT/10:30EST to discuss thisLooking ahead, highlights include US Building Permits (R), Consumer Confidence, Richmond Fed, FOMC Minutes, Speakers including ECB's Muller, Kazaks, Centeno, BoE's Pill & BoC's Mendes, Supply from the US, Earnings from Abercrombie, Kohl's, Best Buy, Analog Devices, Dell, CrowdStrike & HPEClick for the Newsquawk Week Ahead.Read the full report covering Equities, Forex, Fixed Income, Commodites and more on Newsquawk

Promises To Keep. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. Note to readers: There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. My apologies to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works. “Never judge a friend by what they give, but of how much of themselves they give.” (From the floor of Katrina's office) First thoughts,  I was on the floor where I had fallen, surrounded and being manhandled in the tenderest way. That was a romantic means of relating to my mummification. Those little Band-Aids that had been applied when I woke up from my coma had failed the 'Cáel is a Smeckle-head' test. All the crud they had pumped into my system and amperage they had channeled through my muscles was not the same as eating and exercise. Having a sexual romp with two ladies? My Goddess made plans for my body that my caloric bank account couldn't afford, thus me passing out. Unlike my time with Miyako and Estere, I had a feeling my two sofa-buddies were ovulating. Fatherhood was on the way. How my infant would survive the continuous poisonous assault on the augur's lymphatic system was beyond me. Her guardian, let's just say I dealt with sneaky bitches/Dot on a regular basis and leave it at that. "He is awake," Tadêfi alerted the room. "You must leave so I can deliver my message to him in the privacy he requested." "I am almost done," a different Amazon voice stated. She was the medico dealing with my wounds. By the aroma, she had slathered on two coats of the healing goo that was becoming as comfortable to my nostrils as my soap-on-a-rope. A few more rounds of adhesive tape and the exodus from the room began. I hadn't opened my eyes because I was unprepared for the looks of anger, disappointment and concern surely leveled my way. The door shut and my eyes opened. "The Conqueror, the Champion, the Friendless and the Foe have all escaped the Land of the Endless Black Sands and returned to the Sunlit Realm," Tadêfi whispered upon my lips. Huh? That was it? Seriously, four freaking titles without, And here came the rest, faces. Faces with eyes and eyes with a purpose. Names, not names I wanted to hear at the moment. Bad fucking news all around. It couldn't be something helpful like the identity of the next High Priestess, No, that would be good fucking news. Okay, time to turn this frown upside down. I could make this work for me. How, I wasn't sure. "Thank you," I responded to Tadêfi's plea of understanding. Outside of having impregnating sex with me, the Sex-Master, Timothy was going to Nerf-shoot me for that, she'd endured spiritual, mental and physical grief and torment to be with me here today. She waited, kneeling beside my head. "Kiss me," I requested. It was a moist act, full of compassion and understanding. I racked my mind for the names and their importance. "Who was Shammuramat?" "I don't know, but this helps, right?" Tadêfi expressed her need to make the reward for the sacrifices to make sense. Five dead sister-augurs. They had to find that son-of-a-bitch! "Tadêfi, we are back in the fight," I grinned. "You and your sisters have given the Host a mighty weapon in the upcoming struggle." I knew that to be true because I knew who and where the Conqueror was, I knew he wasn't ready to be revealed, his enemies were closing in and he was ignorant of that fact. I was going to have to rain on his parade to save his life. The five augurs hadn't died futilely. The Weave of Fate had shielded the man and it took the augers' fanatical devotion to cut the threads and expose the truth the Host needed most. The Champion, hell, I knew who he was. I chuckled. Tadêfi was confused. The Champion was coming to kill me, me and a bunch of other Amazons, because blood feuds tend to run both ways. The Foe. He was easy enough. Granddad. The Bastard just wouldn't stay dead. I had a clue to what was going on now. I wasn't sure how useful that knowledge would be. Still, knowledge is knowledge. That thing crawling around inside my brain? No help there. That left Shammuramat. That name was familiar. Even when I finally placed it, I didn't understand her role in things. Why her? "Krasimira," I called out. I struggled to sit up and with Tadêfi's help, I did so. The Keeper and two guardians entered as well. One, Sikia, hovered over her companion/augur. "What is the link between Shammuramat and the Host?" I inquired. I saw no recognition in the Keeper's eyes. "She was the first ever "independent" queen of a nation-state, Assyria." Krasimira sat on the sofa and retrieved her tablet from inside her robes. She began working with the electronic history of the Amazon race. "9th Century BCE," I added. Slowly others migrated back into the room. Buffy, Katrina (not good and not happy), Elsa (really not good) and Desiree. Pamela leaned against the door sill, neither in nor out. Katrina sat behind her desk. The phone came out and whispered conversations began in earnest. I had shoved us straight into a war which looked like a free for all at the moment. No one trusted anyone. No one could afford to. I had to change that. The only saving grace was that it appeared no Secret Society had planned for the Protocols to abruptly end a week and a half ago. "Ah, I found it," Krasimira spoke up. Because I'm me, it was at that moment I finally realized that someone had put me in my biking shorts in an effort to provide me a modicum of modesty, with the benefit of blood being smeared on the inside. "She abandoned the Host, she was put under a death sentence for killing her twin sister who was chosen to lead House Anat over her." "Anat?" I queried. "The other dead First House," Krasimira sighed. "They were renowned for their berserkers. Some would drape themselves in the entrails of their enemies in the midst of battle to increase their ferocious appearance." "Oh, how sweet, what was Ishara known for?" I was surprised I'd never asked. "Ishara were the emissaries of the Host," Krasimira informed me. With the Amazon practice of killing embassies sent their way, the extinction of my house made much more sense. "What does this mean?" Desiree took charge of matters since Katrina was still busy on the phone. In a few short weeks, Desiree's prestige had definitely increased. Katrina was her sister in more than name now. "Where to begin,  Fine, why don't we refer to the Mycenaeans by their proper Amazon name?" Everyone but Buffy was glancing about nervously. "You used the name, didn't you?" Elsa rubbed the bridge of her nose, dreading the response. "Yes, " I answered. "Because no one warns him of shit," Pamela huffed. "You assume an Amazon education with no basis in reality. You act like he grew up with our fairy tales and phantasmal histories. Everyone in this room, but Buffy," she acknowledge my First, "knew he spoke our language and the accompanying risk. Still, no one warned him." "You didn't warn him," Desiree skewered Pamela with a glance. "Not my job, Buttons," Pamela chuckled. "I relish the rest of you being made to look like idiots too much to be useful to Cáel unless it really matters. So he invoked an ancient malediction. What is the worst that could happen?" "I'm going to make a huge deductive leap, am I the reason the Achaean hero Ajax and his boys are back from the dead and coming after us for some Ako-level vengeance?" I groaned. (That's the 47 Ronin for us Westerners) Silence. "That's not your fault, Sport," Pamela snorted. "Mano-man, was I a dumbass for doing nothing. I'll take the blame for that one ladies. Damn Cáel, you would have to pick the Unconquered One, wouldn't you?" "Who is this guy and why does he hate us?" Buffy interjected. Pause. "Our ancestors poisoned his wine so that, in his angry haze, he mistook his own men for his enemies and slaughtered them all, back during the Trojan War. Afterwards, he committed suicide in anguish over his crime, Death opened his eyes at the last, he saw our treachery and managed to curse us as he died," Krasimira informed the lot of us. "And my using that word brought him back? That sounds, weak," I grunted. "The word would not have been enough," Tadêfi comforted me. "There must have been some sort of rift in the curtain of Reality that allowed the others to slip through. I don't understand how, oh no," she gasped as the pieces came together. "I'm willing to believe that was the price of doing business," I petted Tadêfi's cheek. "Please enlighten us," Elsa grumbled. "I need to find the Earth  and  Sky ambassador and set up a new meeting. Using what Tadêfi has gifted me with and the sacrifice of her fellow augurs, I can secure an alliance for us if only I can make up for the whole stunt Troika played," I grinned. "Any ideas?" "We could call them," Pamela produced my phone. "Seems some lady named Hana Sulkanen has been trying for days to get in touch with you. She hunted down the owner of the necklace, they talked about your current physical state, courtesy of Odette, and the owner of the necklace has expressed a continued interest in meeting you, and only you. It would appear that they really don't trust the rest of our merry little band since your first disappearance." Hana, and here I had killed her step-brother, the one she despised. An unexpected benefit of civil discourse, my People's chance of survival had doubled. Pamela lobbed my phone and I caught it. "What of the other two?" Tadêfi pushed down on my euphoria. "Was the Foe dead as well?" A quick look at Pamela told me she knew the answer to that. "The Foe is complicated," I lied. "His return was an inevitability, so we count that as a draw. The Champion, bad news. Let's put Shammy in the 'maybe' column and the Conqueror is a win for our side." A Berserker Queen, fresh from the Underworld, who we were honor-bound to kill,  or the 'other lost heir to a dead House' that was going to make us cobble together some nonsense to bring her back into the fold. If I wasn't the male leader of a spiritually significant All-Girls social club/paramilitary outfit, I might have been daunted by my prospects of achieving the latter. "The thing going on inside your head?" Elsa asked. That explained her presence. My mental capacity was still suspect. Was I still me? Could I flip out with no warning? "It is still there. I still have no idea what happened to me, or what the results might be. This means I'm going into battle wounded and that's that," I stated. "Are you acting in the best interest of the Host," Elsa studied me. "I am not sure," I confessed after half a minute's introspection. "So many of you are fuck-nuts; I'm not sure what acting responsible is for this set," I added jokingly. "As it stand, you lack the authority to pass judgment on me, Elsa. I promise you that if I feel I'm losing control, I will turn myself in." "Saint Marie would feel better if you stayed here," Elsa insisted. "Is the SD declaring war on House Ishara?" Buffy rose to the challenge. "We (by that she meant my fellow Isharans) have discussed the matter and talked to our best neuroscientist. She cannot definitively tell us Cáel isn't Cáel, so there is no reason to constrain him." Whoa. In our best prospect's educated opinion I was not-not me. Legions of English teachers weren't going to like that. "I have the answer for that," Katrina spoke up. "I owe Cáel and I would pay that debt now. He expressed a desire to see my niece, Aya. Do you still wish that Cáel Ishara?" "More than ever, but the Council is meeting," I sighed. "Buffy is your (dead word spoken), your apprentice," Katrina suggested. "Appoint someone to stand with her." That was more than good advice. Buffy was a woman and, to those who knew of her, as fierce an Amazon as ever lived. That was what Katrina was telling me without telling me. "I choose Daphne Pile, if she will accept, to stand by Buffy's side," I announced. Buffy would need someone who was passionate for my cause and who spoke Old Kingdom Hittite. Buffy still didn't, and the chance of the Council speaking English on her behalf was non-existent. "That is Daphne of House Cotyttia," Pamela corrected me. Who Cotyttia was? I had no idea. I was stupid to think Daphne's actual Amazon surname was Pile. Daphne wasn't even around. Executive Services was functioning fine without me and that meant Daphne had a work queue. "The Thracian Goddess of Sex, Orgies, War and Slaughter," Krasimira gracefully filled in my ignorance. Another whoa, why wasn't she my matron goddess? Tadêfi hauled off and slapped me. The action seemed to take everyone, Tadêfi included, by surprise. "I don't know why I did that," Tadêfi wailed out in despair. I did. It didn't take telepathy to figure out what I had been thinking. To prove my point, Pamela laughed. I cupped Tadêfi's jaw. "Worry not," I cooed. "I had that coming, Dot Ishara," I dodged another one, "isn't happy with me right now." Recall, Tadêfi was hooked up to an old-fashioned party line with the Beyond. "Animaniacs," Pamela snorted. "I so love you. It is my deep and abiding pleasure to have you as my Grandson." "I'm not your grandson," I countered. "Well, I say you are. Now be quiet and accept the shame," Pamela's eyes danced with amusement. "That makes me, Daphne and Brielle incest," I pointed out. "Amazons don't have an incest taboo," Pamela retorted. Duh. They are all women, no chance of seven fingered, Cyclops babies. "Ah, women, misunderstanding and pain, Buffy, would you check out Quebec and see if I'm still wanted in that province for bestiality. It could be important later," I commanded. "Bestiality?" only one woman failed to mutter, sputter or exclaimed. "The complainant in question is not that pissed at you anymore," Katrina's rolodex mind kicked in. "I believe she expressed a desire to question you about some missing accoutrements though." My splitting headache meant I had to think about that, ah yes, her dress uniform. It was/had been Canada Day, thus her having an official function and thus me cheating with the girl from across the hall in the Mountie's bed. I'm an idiot alright and my ability to keep an eye on the clock needs improvement. My last image of her, frothing at the mouth (she was a tad more possessive than I had anticipated) as she screamed out insults in Quebecois French concerning my lineage, personality failings and the treasured parts of my anatomy. She punctuated various parts of that deranged episode by hurling articles of her clothing over the border at me as I turned (once I had good Ole US soil/pavement under my feet) and tried to get us back together. Yes, I had them, just not in my Box of Failed Romances. Acting on hopes of reconciliation, I had the uniform dry cleaned, placed in a dress bag, and the boots polished; both currently occupying space in my closet. At least the Alburgh-Noyan Crossing guards (it is a dual Canadian-American post) appreciated me evading/begging forgiveness long enough for them to see her in only her bra and panties. I imagine they didn't normally get much excitement there. "Katrina, " I began. "Yes, Maya forgives you too, though she scored an 'At Risk' for reliability. Anais sounded genuine," Katrina related. Anais was the Mountie. Maya was the Guyane Française university student from across the hall, the one I was caught cheating with. I had told her I was Anais's brother. Maya was also a super-exceptional cook. "Cáel Ishara, who are these women we are talking about?" Sikia demanded. 'We', that didn't take long. We were now a 'we', which in Amazon meant 'male, you're my property'. "I have a sideline job as an Amway distributor," I replied. "I give crappy customer service." "You give awesome customer service," Katrina riposted. "That's the problem." "Sikia, you are not the first Amazon Cáel has stuck his dick into. You are probably not the tenth," Elsa dripped with frustration. Quick count: Rhada, Buffy, Oneida and Gael, I was only going to count the penile-vaginal penetrations. "They are only numbers five and six, thank you very much," I defended myself. "So much for your 'intern, no sex' policy," Desiree muttered. "Cut me some slack, I work with stone-cold, Olympic level athlete foxes 24/7," I griped. "I am a sexual being too, I have needs." "What about the 'End of Internship' hunting shindig?" Desiree pulled a flawless 'Katrina'. "Oh, it is still on. With my 'do or die' learning curve, it is going to be so much more fun," I grinned. "And, okay, no more Amazon sex until then, sorry Rachel." "Except for house members," Buffy insisted. "No exceptions," Elsa demanded. "I'll keep an eye on him," Pamela resolved the issue. "No more Amazon boinking for him." She was such a liar. She was also a highly accomplished liar because everyone bought it. On with my life. Stage one: exit Katrina's office. Done deal, no problems. Stage two: set up meeting with the Earth  and  Sky. They wanted to meet on their ground. Since I was the uncertain factor in these negotiations, I agreed. I was bringing one, Pamela raised four fingers, four people with me. Who? Outside of Pamela, I had no idea. Stage three: going to medical and putting on my business suit, it was a new one and very, very nice. I was moving up into serious majestic magnate territory. I also picked up buddy number two, FBI Special Agent Virginia Maddox. Why had I chosen a federal agent to accompany me to a meeting between two secret societies? I hadn't a clue. Sometimes you have to roll with these things. In the lobby, I picked up number three, Delilah, Mom's MI-6 operative/baby-sitter. Compassionate, caring people were surrounding me all the time. It gave me this sensation of a 'down home' environment no matter where I went, if down home was Gaza, or Donetsk. I think my entourage/lifestyle observation teams had grown to encompass six cars. I was in no condition for riding my bike, so that recourse was denied me. Taxi? One, most were hard-working stiffs like my family who didn't deserve to be caught in a noontime, drive-by assassination attempt. Besides, with my luck I'd meet the guy from Qatar again, the one with the sister with cute eyes. That reminded me, I gave Nicole a call. "How are you doing?" she quickly inquired. "Good," I lied to a past master of shattering perjury. Pause. "I'm surrounded by girls with guns, tailed by your clients, some part of a Federal Task force and some people who I don't know yet. Hold on." I put my hand over my phone. "Delilah, are you packing heat?" I asked softly. She opened her jacket revealing paired revolvers in shoulder holsters. I didn't recognize them so the Brit gave me the 4-1-1. "Ruger Alaskans," she grinned. Bing! Now I recalled them. The girl who taught me to shoot once read some reviews of that beast on her laptop while I gave her a slow, passionate screw from behind. She became all hot and bothered, wiggling, squirming and generally having a grandiose time with my cock deep within. I repeat, this girl really loved guns, a huge cerebral G-spot for her. Oh yeah, the Ruger Alaskan is what you get if you are worried about Grizzly bears popping their heads through the tent flaps late at night. Delilah was probably packing 4 80's. Her guns would turn 250 kilograms of pissed off ursine into an excellent throw-rug in about two shots. In an urban environment,  well, maybe she thought the New York Giants were actually giants, or something like that. Two were overkill, unless you expected someone needing to borrow one. "Just checked. I remain the only one unarmed in my personal carnival of carnage, " my words trailed up to an unintelligible mumble. I was mumbling because suddenly four handguns were casually offered up for my use (Tiger Lily was holding one over her shoulder as she drove), in the same way you'd offer up some Nicorette to a man jonesing for a smoke. Rachel was kind enough to hand me my familiar Glock-22 and Ruger 38 caliber with their accompanying holsters. Two spare clips followed, then I stashed the lot. I scratched my calf. It took me a second to realize I was reaching for my pistol. No, not the one at my hip, or my ankle, but the one, in my boot? "Now that you've been handed firearms of dubious origin, can I get back to questioning you," the FBI agent intruded upon my ruminations. "We were discussing that list of people that are visiting a morgue instead of a court room. What can you tell me?" "Bye Nicole. Miss you. Being interrogated by a blonde FBI lady with a whips scar on her eyebrow and eyes that could scare a badger back into its hole. Later," I cut of my lawyer's fierce demand that I keep my mouth shut. "Nothing useful that wouldn't implicate myself and others in a criminal conspiracy," I answered her. "There is no way I'd name anyone else I suspect of involvement. I feel no guilt over what has happened, so no remorseful confession, and that is based on my belief that cosmic justice has been achieved." "You can't create lists of people for execution," Maddox persisted. "That negates the whole justice system and the principle of innocent until proven guilty." Wow! Except for the two of us, every other person in the car snorted their derision of Maddox's presumptive naiveté. "Do you even believe the tripe spilling from your pie-hole?" Delilah mocked Maddox. "I'm in law enforcement. That means I enforce the laws, not interpret them, or choose which ones I want to obey and which ones to ignore," Virginia fought back. "Love, that's crap and you know it. You are an agent of the US government. You bomb, drone-strike, overthrow lawfully elected governments and assassinate in your nation's best interests," Delilah countered. "You selectively enforce your Constitution when it suits you." "I'm law enforcement, not the military or foreign affairs. Know the difference," Maddox glared. "The pay master is the same,  you willingly collect your thirty pieces of silver; get off your high horse because you are in the shat now, Agent Maddox. I haven't known this crowd an hour and I know for a fact that you are the only US citizen onboard," Delilah chortled. "I don't know their bleeding nationality, but I doubt it is on the UN Charter." Maddox turned to me. "That was succinct and rather accurate," I murmured. "Special Agent Maddox, I have the sneaking suspicion that you are with us because FP (federal prosecutor) Castello feels you can handle this, Umm, unusual set of circumstance. I promise you this, it is going to get worse." "Why don't we test this quaint theory?" FBI Lass challenged us. "Jail, bail, and I'm waking up in Rio de Janeiro in two days," I sighed. "I have a few thousand in the bank, live in a hole and own my father's home, when it clears probate. Only you know I'm flight risk. A dozen people will vouch/lie about my character and that's that. All you've succeeding in doing is making enemies when you need friends." "There is still a matter of multiple people dead under suspicious circumstance," she said. "Imagine for a second that Cáel admits to creating a hit list," Pamela began. "He would never give up the names of the other people involved. He didn't kill anyone, or say 'kill them'. Now what? You still have an abysmal case to put before a judge. Add to that, the mitigating factor of a raped girl. You get to break her down until she's a cooperating witness because she's the only one who can provide you with Cáel's motive," my mentor continued. "Good for you and your team. She gets to betray the man who tried to save her. Cáel promised horrific retribution if any of those in the now-dead crowd hurt her. That is rather unlike him, he normally forgives when given the least excuse. I don't give a damn about women's rights, or the rights of rape victims. I really could give a shit about human rights for that matter. Wronging me is the surest way to early retirement. It is not a matter of strong versus weak, or right versus wrong. What matters to me is who I can trust. I don't know you, thus I don't trust you. I trust your government to be so much chicken shit. I base this on the lack of public torture and execution. I want the families of dying criminals paraded in front of those cock-suckers before the condemned finally perish in agony. I want to see thieves get their forearms hacked off, trial by combat, and respect for your elders. I want to see public officials being sacrificed upon the altar of Jehovah when they leave office. I want to see a system of justice with a soul, not law books thicker than an aircraft carrier's hull. A government 'of the People, by the People, for the People' should be the sole guiding force for your culture and we both know that's never going to happen. I admire your soldiers; not because they are brave and combat effective, they are. I admire them because they are fighting and dying for elected officials and a population that can't locate Afghanistan, or Iraq on a map, can't tell the difference between a Sikh and a Muslim, and thinks 'Pashtun' is an exotic piece of furniture. I admire them because they are better human beings despite you, not because of you," Pamela was coming to her crescendo. "Basically you people, by that I mean most of the human race, are dangerous in your idiocy, arrogance and pride in your ignorance. Not one of you should be allowed to use weapons, or play with fire. For you, unrestricted voting is a crime right up there with inventing, disease prevention, bilingualism and anything that perpetuates your educational system." "Lady, why are you so angry with the world?" Maddox studied Pamela intensely. I wished her luck with divining and then unwrapping that lady's mind. "I hold dear to my heart anyone's hunger to learn, honesty when it hurts and love no matter what the cost, so I find myself alone most of the time," Pamela grinned. "Above even those, I adore humor in the face of ridicule, condemnation and adversity. You can dodge bullets and parry knives. Humor always strikes home," she finished. "It is the perfect weapon." "Liar," I smiled. "You like high performance automobiles too." Did she? I didn't know. "Only with a 2X4 pressing the accelerator as it races toward the lip of a canyon," Pamela bantered back, "with Ursula K. Le Guin strapped in the back seat." "Who?" I inquired. "She's an author. I take exception to some of her work and unwillingness to appreciate the fusion of exceptional feminine characteristics with power positions," Pamela answered. "And your critique of her life's work is an exploding car at the bottom of a cliff?" I smiled. "Starting uncontrolled wildfires and littering, two of my favorite activities," she laughed. "I'll stick with blondes and brunettes, and red- and raven-haired, bald has its own appeal, green and purple have their own kink going on, " I joked. "Wait! We were talking about people being murdered and you two are cracking jokes?" Maddox rumbled. "I had a dream about tying them together with nylon cord and tossing them off the back ramp of a transport aircraft, and watching them fall, and fall," Rachel sighed dreamily. "Atta girl," I play-punched Rachel's shoulder. "What is your part in all of this?" Maddox turned to Rachel. "I'm the head of his bodyguard detail," Rachel gave her confession of the damned. "And you want to kill him, " Virginia struggled to keep up. "Given time, you will too," Rachel promised. "According to his pre-employment records, only one woman he's had a sexual relationship with hasn't wanted to at least hurt him," glaring at me, "badly." "The nun doesn't want me dead!" I vocally protested. "It is so wrong that you are proud that of over 200 women you've slept with, TWO have not, at some point in knowing you, wanted to maul you and one of those is in the 'forgiving' business," Rachel chastised me. Virginia had an answer for my madness. Her phone came out and she hit speed-dial, work. "Ms. Castello, this is Special Agent Maddox, do you have a moment?" Virginia calmly asked when she finally wrangled my current-favorite fed's attention. "You do now? Thank you. I'd like to know what the fuck have you done to me? This assignment is nuts. Either I'm part of some elaborate prank, or I'm in an S U V with escapees from the looney bin." Ten seconds later Maddox gave me the phone. "Stop it. I've upheld my end of the bargain, so behave," Javiera ordered. Man, she'd shot me straight to the core and we hadn't even slept together yet. Clever, clever girl. "Yes Ma'am," I swore. "I'll do my best to buffer Special Agent Maddox from the truth." "I'll have to accept that," Javiera conceded. "Give Maddox the phone back." A brief conversation later and Maddox was no better off than when she started. Thankfully we parked in front of the Kazakhstan Consulate in New York, giving us all an excuse to face facts. Maddox was feeling compelled to ask questions she didn't want the answers to, and that we didn't want to answer. Saved by work. "Kazakhstan Consulate? Why are we here?" both Virginia and Rachel asked. "Oh! This is going to be good," Pamela leaned forward excitedly. "Change the course of human history," I answered with a great deal of confidence I didn't feel. See, I had knowledge critical to the Earth  and  Sky. That knowledge was also something they wanted kept compartmentalized, so they might take exception to it being possessed by an outsider. Oh,  so that's why Pamela earlier insisted on four ladies being with me, so we could shoot our way out if things turned ugly. I hugged my mentor. "Thank you, Pamela." "You are coming along nicely, Mr. Potter," Pamela patted my cheek. "Your praise leaves me suspicious, Professor Snape. Besides, if I'm going to die, it helps me to know you'll go first ." "That was uncalled for," Pamela chided me. It was the 'Snape' role she rejected. "Snape gave up his life for Harry, Dumbledore died for Draco," I countered. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," Pamela shone with joy and pride. "You act like I have a choice," I sighed. "Touché," Pamela nodded. "I see what you mean about these two," Maddox addressed Rachel. "Oh my God," Delilah laughed. "You wove Harry Potter into a life and death conversation and it made sense. I am probably going to die, but I'll die knowing I have lived." "Not you too?" Maddox glared at Delilah. Rachel just shook her head. We exited the car, settled ourselves out. Rachel took point, Delilah took one flank while Pamela took the other. By happenstance, I ended up in the middle, yeah right, with Virginia covering my back. "You stay here," Pamela put a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "You'll need to lead the team in if someone 'pumps up the volume'." Interesting euphemism for 'when people start killing people'. "What are we doing today?" Miyako 'appeared'. She'd been walking down the sidewalk toward us, the Kazak Consulate was a townhouse, but her presence hadn't registered. "I require your pledge of silence on what is to transpire. No death is intended," I stated calmly to Miyako. "I didn't know you were versed in ninja contracts, much less spoke Japanese?" Miyako responded. Blink. "I didn't know I spoke it either, " I mumbled. "No sweat," Pamela tried to hustle us along. "He's a quick study." Yeah. I didn't feel it apropos to point out I hadn't heard myself speaking Japanese, or understood that my words had some secret meaning. "How important is this to my people?" Miyako asked. Now that I was paying attention to it, I could make out that she was speaking in her native tongue. "If they don't think we can be trusted to not speak of what is to transpire for a week, they are going to kill us," I related my suspicions. "My mind and heart are joined in this decision." "I give you my pledge," Miyako nodded. She looped her arm in mine. "Does anyone care to enlighten me?" Maddox prodded. Whoa. It seemed that, beside me and Miyako, only Pamela spoke Japanese. "Special Agent Maddox, no matter what, don't give up your gun, when we say run, run, and shoot to kill because they will be trying to kill us," I informed her. "Does the term 'extraterritoriality' mean anything to anyone here?" Maddox snapped. Her nervousness was totally understandable. I stopped at the top of the steps, looking over my shoulder. I nodded. Pamela, Delilah and Miyako nodded as well. "Hold on, I can't believe I'm saying this. Does anyone have a back-up I can use?" Maddox groaned. Rachel quick-stepped forward and handed over a 22 automatic pistol then a spare clip with a smooth, practiced motion that suggested that SD swapped weapons all the time. Maddox didn't miss the casualness of the gesture. The firearm and magazine disappeared. "Fine, we will never discuss the laws we just butchered, ever, and if I die and any of you make it out alive, I will seek revenge at whatever cost FROM WHEREVER I AM," FBI girl growled. "One of us," Pamela smirked at me as I touched the doorbell. It opened promptly. We weren't on a crowded street, we were on their stoop and a security camera was pointed right at us. We were invited in and two rather Caucasian-looking gentlemen (Kazaks are a mixed bag of Turks and Cumans) were waiting with the doorman. They looked tough in that they took personality lessons from saddle leather. "You will place your weapons there," the more charismatic of the two spoke up. He was pointing to a side table that looked large enough for the task. "No," was the most courteous response I could muster. He didn't look surprised. He didn't look much like he was breathing, or blinking either. "Go," he pointed to the door. I looked to Pamela. "Well, that didn't take long," I grinned. I felt out the necklace under my shirt and pulled it over my head. "Please return this to its owner in the spirit it was given." He took it. The doorman opened the door and out we went. Rachel was back in our GL550, using the door as possible cover. She said we could take our seats and away we rolled. Maddox looked apoplectic. She had prepared herself for the Wild, Wild West, not a doe-see-doe at the door. In her mind, I had wound her up for nothing. My phone rang. "Cáel Ishara, there seems to have been a diplomatic miscommunication," a male native Turkish-speaker said in heavily accented English. "The person you are meeting must be approached in the spirit of peace." "No, I understood you perfectly," I assured him. "We aren't the Brownies, or the Girl Scouts, Buddy. I don't know, or trust you and you don't know, or trust me, yet. I will compromise though. I will respect your traditions. I will enter your home unarmed. In turn, everyone in the building will line up outside on the street except for the person I'm supposed to meet. Is that acceptable?" Pause. "Do you hate these people, or like them?" Maddox grumbled. "With you, I can't quite tell." "That would not be acceptable," the man finally responded. "Perhaps an alternative. You come in, alone yet armed." "Nope. Due to the efforts of people far smarter than me, I know pretty much who I am meeting, so I am either very rude, insane, or bear a message that is worth my life," I countered. "Your personal safety is guaranteed," was the counter-offer. "That is a false promise, not because you lack honor, or respect for me, but because you are from a wise and noble lineage with a historical propensity of cutting to the heart of any problem." By that, I meant they'd cut my heart out. "What I expect is for every one of you to hold the future of the Earth  and  Sky above any such concepts as personal promises, hospitality, and honor. I am even putting my faith in your willingness to put the survival of the Earth  and  Sky over your own well-being," I riposted. "If the message is so crucial, you should be willing to come alone," back at me. "It isn't important to me," I stated. "Listen, a war is about to break out. Unless we both want to be found all alone in the outhouse masturbating when the headsman comes, one of us has to blink. Today, it is you. Tomorrow you may be able to return the favor and mess with my head." Pause. "Your koumiss is getting warm." "We'll be right there. We apologize for the delay. Traffic is murder these days, or a close facsimile thereof," I gave a little back in the humility department. "Tiger Lily, " "On it, Ishara, Wakko Ishara. I've been circling the block," Tiger Lily had anticipated my antics. Sure, I acted like I had no game plan, but I never wasted people's time. Maybe if I developed an actual game plan I could do even better. "Wakko Ishara?" it was Delilah's and Maddox's turn to share a 'what the?' moment. "May I explain the sacred names?" Rachel requested of me. "I have a feeling these two might become a fixture." "By all means, Rachel. Our trust runs deep," I trusted Rachel with more than my life; I trusted her with my future. "Wakko, as in you're the nutty one?" Delilah made a stab at our arcane nomenclature. If you use small words does that make it gnomenclature? Pamela winked at me, psychic twin grandmother powers activate! "We need complementary rings," Pamela remarked. Sweet! "Cáel Ishara is differentiated as Wakko Ishara, Ishara, first of House Ishara, is Yakko Ishara, and, " Rachel began. "The Animaniacs? Your code names are the Warner Brothers and their sister Dot?" Maddox gasped. "You are beyond nuts." "And the Goddess Ishara is named, by House Ishara and House Ishara alone," Rachel made some warding appeal against divine punishment, "as Dot Ishara." Maddox's face shown with disbelief. "Following Cáel Ishara into battle has been one of my greatest pleasures," Rachel stared at Maddox. "I never knew insanity could be so liberating, or that laughing at death could be such an aphrodisiac." "When did you two go into battle?" Delilah wondered. "In a morgue, fighting to retrieve the body of his fallen father so that our enemies could not desecrate it," Rachel explained. Ah, the walls of Troy, fighting over the spoils of the dead. "You mean when I face-planted?" I grinned at Rachel. "Even without a weapon, your instincts were good, forcing our enemy to commit to multiple angles of coverage even though your efforts were foiled by a footing failure. Your rushing their leader was even more heroic in that you were unarmed and using your body as a decoy, knowing your enemy's superior skill would stop him from shooting you," Rachel smiled my way, sex. "Let me get this straight," Miyako finally spoke up. "You charged an enemy unarmed then stumbled and failed. They were armed?" "Yes, with a 3 57 Magnum revolver and a 10 gauge sawed-off automatic shotgun, in tight confines and close range, oh, and no cover." Maddox replied, then to me, "I read the report." "Then you repeated the action a few minutes," Miyako. "Less than a minute later," Maddox clarified. "A minute later, wow! You are as fearless as we've heard. Please don't die before we have a baby," Miyako gave me a quick hug. If you cover a zeppelin with uranium paint, can it still fly, or does it sink to the center of the Earth? Ninja babies, We had returned to the stairs at the Consulate. This time the door swung open upon our approach. "Is there some drug you are all taking to bask in this shared fantasy life?" Maddox mumbled. "One of us," Pamela retorted. "One of us." "One of us," I joined in. It helped cut the tension. The bodyguards were present right where we'd them last time. They ushered us up the stairs to a second floor sitting room that ate up half the floor. There were two men there; radiating that subtle assurance that a half-dozen killers were close by. The man standing was Iskender, the E and S emissary from Dad's funeral. I broke all decorum, strode to the man, locked arms, hugged him tight and patted him on the back. "Thank the spirits you are here," I whispered, "all this lack of dick is making me a bit stir-crazy." "Ah, yes, it is good to see you again too," Iskender imparted as we broke our embrace. His boss, the guy on the sofa, shot me and my Kyrgyz buddy a sharp look. The Main Man was clearly Mongolian and must have thought blank, white walls exhibited too much empathy. "Koumiss," the boss offered. I sipped it from a simple, yet regal drinking mug that probably hit the kiln 200 years ago. "Mare, or yak?" I inquired as I handed the cup around. Iskender came first, but it was clearly my intention that we all partake. It was more a matter of the host's pledge of sanctuary than me wanting to share the koumiss. It tasted like thin, lightly chilled, bitter beer with a vanilla-almond milk shake-chaser. "Mare, of course. Please sit," he offered. He defined the suggestion by slipping off the sofa onto the layered carpet rug. He was semi-reclined, so we followed suit. "We should pray for the protection of the spirits," was the suggestion that wasn't a suggestion. It was his itinerary. He clapped his hands and from beyond a curtained partition came this really sensual Mongolian chick carrying a large brass bowl. She flicked her eyes at me and an instant connection was formed. She liked to bark like a dog under the full moon, okay, I'm not sure where that came from. "Nice woman," I told the leader. "She looks like she has seen many winters." Whoa! Where the fuck did that come from? I got a shocked reaction from Iskender. The Leader looked pissed, if a flake of paint on the white wall indicated anger. The girl blushed like what I said was an incredible turn on. "She is my daughter," the Leader pointed out. Way past swallowing my foot. My ankle was tasty. "My name is Oyuun Tömörbaatar. My faithful Iskender, you know. This is my daughter T. Sarangerel. She is studying at N Y U and is not entertaining marriage proposals at this time," he slapped down his boundaries. Somehow 'I only want to sleep with her' didn't sound like the right response. Wait! Saying his 'daughter had many winters' was a marriage bargaining opening move. What the fuck! "What I meant was that surely many men have died trying to come before you," I back-pedaled. More happy looks from the daughter. More paint peeling from the dad. Pamela made sure more koumiss was going around. Getting drunk could hardly hurt at this juncture. Sarangeral placed the bowl between us. It was filled with clear, cold water undoubtedly collected from a mountain-fed glacier. "Let us cleanse our hands in the water so that we may speak with clarity," O. Tömörbaatar said. We dipped our fingers and, for a second, I saw him. Not 'O', but HIM. "It is good to finally meet you Ferko Ishara Cáel Nyilas," the man said. My Spidey senses told me he was feeling less 'good' about this meeting every second. "How can your people and mine better get along?" 'Let me impregnate your daughter', would probably get my skull split open. "No time for that," I replied. "I know where HE is. The Seven Pillars have found a way to search the Weave and are closing in. You must act with haste." Whether it was disbelief, or old schooled Ku Chun in the art of gambling, the older man gave no outward reaction. "Where is he?" O. Tömörbaatar asked in a gentle tone. "I can do you one better," I steeled myself for the unknown forces I was invoking. I put my hands on the bowl's lip and looked in. Several seconds later, he did as well. For a moment, nothing. It was like a ripple in reverse. The first earth tremor I barely noticed. The ripples grew and grew until I felt the whole row of townhouses would come crashing down. Wind snapped the locks on the windows, flinging them wide open and tearing at the curtains like streamers in a hurricane. Then we saw HIM clearly. HE stopped driving this old, beat-up Peugeot and was pulling to the side of a desolate stretch of highway. HE could sense something yet couldn't pinpoint the source of his unease. We definitely got the impression this wasn't his first taste of this experience, the Seven Pillars. He was young, maybe my age. He looked like an educated man turned vagabond/boundless traveler. HIS eyes, his eyes had a depth that were a microcosm of what I'd glimpsed in Ishara, Dot Ishara's unshielded glance when we first met. All lingering doubts vanished in my mind. "I know that place," O T muttered, his eyes fixated on the only feature in the vacant expanse, a road sign, in Chinese. Yikes. "I know that place." The image faded. Our meeting venue was intact. Whatever I felt transpire, I had shared with O. Tömörbaatar alone. "You have work to do," I stated as I cleared my throat. "I will leave you to it." I stood. "What do you wish for this gift?" O T reached out and touched my sleeve. "When the time comes, maybe you can help us," I replied. "A man who asks for nothing can expect anything," O T smiled for the first time. "Go." I did not take a fear-free breath until the cars started up and we pulled away. He'd let us live. Even with that priceless piece of magical insight, he'd let us live. "I'm still stunned we got out alive," I sighed. "I wasn't really sure he'd take the news as well as he did." No one said anything for a minute. "Why would he have killed us?" Delilah inquired. "You, I understand. I don't know what you communicated to that young lady, but the old guy wasn't happy about it. He was going to kill us over that?" Pause. "What did the rest of you see and hear?" I looked around the cabin. Pamela appeared worried. "I didn't know you spoke Chagatai," Miyako smiled at me. "You are full of surprise. I only caught a word, or two, and none of it made sense." "MRI," I groaned. "Magnetoencephalography," Pamela said in the same breath. "Mine is better, Boyo." "What is going on?" Rachel upped her alertness level. "We need to take Cáel to a hospital that has a Magnetoencephalography device," Pamela insisted. "He's spontaneously speaking languages he didn't know moments earlier, " Maddox put things together first. The rest nodded at her assessment. "We'll need to have his records from Havenstone sent over as a baseline." Poor Virginia, the absurdity of my life was sucking her in. "I'll call Katrina," Rachel informed us. I was a mental case once more. At least my input was still being solicited. "How many guns do you have on you?" Pamela zinged me. The answer was obvious, two. My Glock and my back-up. That didn't seem right. "Ah, two?" I responded. "Yeah, something is happening to your muscle memory as well," Pamela shook her head. "What exactly does that mean, and what's wrong with Cáel's brain?" Delilah studied the group. "It means he could spontaneously pull out his gun and start shooting us?" Pamela confessed her uncertainty. "I don't know. We'd better figure out which impulses are his guiding light right now before that happens." "I don't even know how to begin reporting this," Maddox muttered. "Cheer up. Our Cáel is still currently in charge. Did you appreciate how he lured in that young Mongolian girl? That's classic Cáel," Pamela comforted the crowd. I was saved from a straightjacket because I was a 'Playa'. (Meadowlands Medical Center in far off New Jersey) I'm not political. For me, that means I am completely and utterly dedicated to whatever doctrine that the cutest political campaigner in front of me endorses. Fifteen minutes on the internet and you can fake it like a pro. Be careful to be with the winning team when the results come in. Nothing makes a political chick go wild like sneaking into the candidate's office and screwing her on the newly elected/re-elected figure's desk. Let her scream out her idol's name. Odds are neither of you will be welcomed back afterwards anyway. Why politics now? Javiera called some people. I had a sneaking suspicion that someone I knew and trusted got in touch with my 'Aunts' as well. All I knew for sure was the Hospital's Administrator's phone began ringing off the hook and I'd become the hospital's number one priority. The hospital staff was visibly irritated with the clout raining down on their heads for about an hour. Once they digested my Havenstone records, all of that changed. Holy 'Published in The New England Journal of Medicine', someone had drilled a micro-surgical hole in my skull in the middle of a wrestling match with no resulting cerebral scarring. THEN this unknown device shot into my skull with pinpoint accuracy and pumped a ghastly amount of energy into my cerebrum. They were fascinated. They were so fascinated I heard two medical technicians mutter about where the Zombie Survival Guide could be found. They triple checked my vital signs, again. I was still as much alive as when I checked myself in. There was a rumor that a fire ax disappeared from a stairwell close by, but not one confessed to the deed. I was speaking in languages I had no reason to know? They were surprised I could contain my mouth drool. It was somewhat disheartening to hear three seasoned physicians discuss what probable scenarios could explain me still being in a non-vegetative state,  or alive for that matter. Some poor nurse had to ask. "Do you feel an unnatural, interest in human brains?" she whispered when she though no one was close by. "I'm not sure what you mean," I whispered back. "I always respect a woman's intelligence. Sex is a cerebral passion. What's the point if you can't communicate with your partner?" Pamela slapped me upside my head. That disturbed just about everybody else in the vicinity and my mentor was promptly exiled from the room. I was curious about what havoc she was perpetrating on this establishment. My condition had gotten her past all the heavy security and I knew without seeing that someone high ranking had misplaced their ID badge. Maybe Pamela was the love-child of Batman and Cat woman. Before you think that's comic fanboy talk, recall what my life was like at that moment. Tests ensued. The staff decided that Havenstone employed a bunch of quacks and snake charmers. Two hours later, they found out they were wrong. Larger battery of tests, same results. I was the second coming of Christ, back from the dead, or a zombie living in a convincing state of denial. Some folks wouldn't let that go. Pamela had proved to be prophetic. Her pet gizmo finally provided a new picture of what my neural pathways were up to. If there is any doubt, 'I've never seen that before' is not what you want to hear one of North America's experts in the field of neuroscience say. The first educated opinion was that I suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy, that meant I was hit in the head a lot. Normally that diagnosis comes in the midst of an autopsy. I was having paralytic seizures. They had me juggle a squeeze-ball, then two and finally three. My perfect performance frustrated them. Women find relatively simple carnival tricks to be seductive. Pluck a card from a girl's bra gets you both to some dark corner, hungrily looking for the rest of the deck, I speak from experience. Next up at bat: 'I was possessed', I shit you not. Holistic medicine was right on board with the team. Was I influenced by a supernatural power? Yes I was. So claimed the majority of people on Earth. Did I receive specific instructions? Yes, and so did practitioners of Voodoo/Vodun on three continents. I added that I attempted to evade said instructions when I could. Did I have 'evil' impulses to hurt myself, or others? Huh? For starters, my matron goddess was more of a 'fucker' than a 'fighter' and her instructions were always suitably vague, the same way a Philosophy professor would give you a ten word pointless sentence on Friday and expect you to have a 250 page doctrine on Monday morning. That hit home. Too many normally smart people take a philosophy class in college hoping for an easy-A. Some teachers love dissolving those delusion, sitting back and watching your hopes and dreams of task-free weekends go down the drain. The more obscure the discipline, the more perverse the desire. That is why you always pick a teacher of the opposite gender (if in doubt, use a gay/lesbian test) and keep 'sex for grades' on the menu. Was I suffering from optical illusions, or phantom noises? Straight to the point, yes, I saw and talked with ghosts. So did the Long Island Medium, the casts of Ghost Hunters, Paranormal Witness plus George Anderson and Chip Coffey. To my credit, I didn't do it for profit, or in order to influence people. Was I seeing ghosts now? I was in hospital, so odds weren't bad. I had every non-ghost raise their left hand. No ghosts. Was my paranormal dementia pre- or post-brain trauma? Did seeing a college student being called before his class and successfully accused of plagiarism on his senior thesis, turning him into one of the Restless Dead count? No? My 'disputed' abilities were all post-college employment, thank you very much. Did the ghosts possess me/tell me to do things? I was not possessed and, discounting sexual bondage and my current work venue, had never been possessed. From my limited exposure, ghosts wanted to not be alone in the afterlife, to be guided to a final resting place with others of their kind/family/friends. None had taught me languages, asked me to steal something, or kill anyone. Had any done so, I would have denied them. Such actions were immoral and I could still freely differentiate between right and wrong. I preferred to commit wrong on my own initiative and making me do good was a chore most sane people abandoned after a few days. I took a Rorschach test. The results were predictable because I had taken old 'R' several times before. Just like every other time, I'd mixed up sexual innuendo with a psychological test to seduce the test-giver,  everything reminded me of intercourse. I changed it up with this girl. I gave her numbers. Sometime after I was long gone, they were going to figure out the ink blots were numbered after whichever erotic positions from the Kama Sutra I was reminded of at the time. I knew that wasn't being helpful and I was certain I wasn't a brain specialist. I also knew Rorschach wasn't the key to solving my woes. Final remaining hypothesis, I was utilizing 30 % of my brain capacity with three independent patterns emerging, not the usual 5 %. For that to work, my brain had to be oozing out my ears because brains generate a terrific amount of heat. My temperature was a steady 37.3 C (99 F) and my ear channels were free of obstruction. Hey man, cleaning your ears is quick and easy. Don't risk turning off a date with misfortunately located ear-hair and wax. How was my brain shedding the heat? Their solution, let's do a Spinal Tap. No way. I'd seen that band and they were all extremely fucked up, even for old guys. I wasn't going down that road. They insisted. I suggested that I consent to the procedure with the condition that I received no pain killers/sedatives of any kind and I got to grab and hold onto the testicles of my two, current, least favorite doctors. When they realized I was deadly serious and immovable on the issue, they came up with a new plan, no Spinal Tap. Gutless sissies. Into this vacuum of information, a brainstorm emerged (besides my inexplicable one). They would talk to me, no more interrogations, an actual verbal exchange. They couldn't come over and start flapping their gums like some punk rock band with no talent. They were suddenly worried about 'concerning' me and 'agitating my unstable state'. I pray to Goddess Ishara that one day soon they play back the tapes of their early hours working on me and pay close attention to my facial expressions of shock, horror, fear and depression as they clearly and openly talked about me as if I was the Fiji Mermaid. But hey, a few of them were kinda cute, so in the final analysis all that emotional trauma worked its way out. Hospital highlights: (Understand, I was lying on a table while various specialists prodded and talked about me as if I wasn't there. To strike back at reality, I throbbed my penis every time this cute Parasitologist looked at it. Finally ) Female Chief of Neurosurgery: "Did anyone think to study changes in is body's nervous system?" (Guilty looks all around) Neuro Surgeon: "What are all these needle marks?" Havenstone Medico, "Those are muscle stimuli insertion sites. They kept his musculature from atrophying while he was in a coma." Neuro Surgeon: "Let me get this straight. This man had a lightning bolt go off in his head and part of your healthcare regimen was to run a constant current of electricity throughout the rest of his body." (Scathing looks at the Medico from everyone else, jackals) HM: "He has retained excellent muscle tone." Neuro Surgeon: "Have you even taken the Hippocratic Oath?" HM: (offended) "Of course not, he's Greek." Neuro Surgeon: "What does my patient being Greek have to do with anything?" HM: "Not him (pointing at me). Hippocrates, he was a Greek. Cáel is Magyar/Irish Gaelic." Neuro Surgeon: "Helpful, that's not. He seems to have a great deal of bruises and scarring, some of it certainly received over an extensive period of time. Is this your work?" HM: (in a positive note) "No. It has not been my pleasure to spar with Cáel yet." Neuro Surgeon: "Isn't he a bit, big for you?" &

Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..