Mission Four Introduction Auxiliary Post - Co-written by me and @QJT
Diamond Island Convention and Exhibition Center, The City of Phnom Penh - 11/11/2022 06:20 UTC+8
The sun had barely escaped the horizon, and already the atmosphere felt warm for November. The monsoon season had recently ended, and the lingering moisture in the air made for a groggy experience. Small regions of dampness littered the tan sidewalk pavement. Still, it was dry enough not to ruin the Thai lead delegate’s 200 USD shoes as he departed his limousine. He took a deep breath and regretted it instantly. A whiff of air so close to a silty river couldn’t be good for his health. He unsheathed a handkerchief and coughed into it as his aides joined him in the flat, barely traversed environment. He wriggled his nose and checked his surroundings.
The Americans were there already. Hardly surprising. They came well prepared, given the massive suitcases they hauled. He wondered exactly what those entailed: espionage equipment, personal computers, priceless document proposals, lunch. Perhaps a little of each. Presently, they yucked it up with the… French? Some manner of Europeans, judging by their accent. He sadly couldn’t learn or distinguish between all of the world’s seven thousand languages. He checked his watch. He’d arrived on time; a half-hour early, in fact. The observers were simply too eager to wait.
He counted his entourage, and the suitcases carried therein. Five (including himself) and six; excellent. He bade his cabbie onward, and the vehicle left to park. One of his subordinates, a rather young lady, waved towards the American delegation. He snapped his fingers at her, and she returned her attention to the group. In the distance, a puerile counterpart would return the gesture, to be corralled by his superior. Both leaders understood well: The delegation acted as one unit on behalf of the nation. Frivolities, however friendly, could distract from their duty. “You have our room number, correct?”
“Yessir, here…” she opened her briefcase, nearly spilling the entire contents by the curb. She rescued a small slip of paper with loose scribblings and held it aloft. “...sir.”
“Excellent. Move our belongings and set up our office; I’ll meet you in the auditorium.” “Sir.” The four underlings on his team jogged off to complete their sacred duty. The Thai delegate blew his nose and stowed away the rag. Their duty was to smooth the process. His duty was to witness the light gray asphalt sea as his allies and adversaries flocked in. They were the first ASEAN nation to show up.
First Relevant Portion (Edited in):
The Philippine Delegation, led by one Emilia Naga, a newcomer to the diplomatic scene whose tall, thin figure looked more like a supermodel than an ambassador, and who opened her ambassadorial car wearing a flashy pink sleeveless dress and gown as a signal of her internal political allegiance (the losing but valiant candidate of the 2022 elections) as she, her aides and guards, watched carefully for any untoward attention. Perceptive enough people would remember that Emilia was a supermodel before becoming an accredited ambassador; Miss Philippines!
Emilia would greet the Thai Ambassador with a courteous, warm nod, before moving to establish her office and make up for lost time. Despite her bravado, she had very low expectations for the meeting; China had attempted to bribe her before and then sent assassins after her when she refused, plus recruited online trolls to start a smear campaign against her. Nevertheless, orders were orders and it’s not as if evacuation routes didn’t exist - She should at least make sure she’s friendly with Task Force Obsidian’s teleportation-capable folk.
The Thai head nodded back. The Republic of the Philippines was always a welcome sight, not exclusively for the warm greetings of such a delegate. Vietnam, whose car presently trailed Emilia’s, had borne the brunt of the engagement, having lost the most casualties. The Vietnamese faces, the battle-hardened stones atypical of such a diplomatic environment, betrayed their dour attitude towards such an endeavor. In contrast, the Philippines through their Noble Arms brigade had earned themselves the flashiest victories; how fitting that a beauty pageant winner would represent the nation. They were a beacon of hope in this unbearably humid environment.
One of the Vietnamese, a rather pudgy individual, had trouble escaping his seat and opening his door. He held up a couple of his comrades in the attempt. The Thai delegate negotiated on behalf of his nation, but ASEAN acted as a pact. Best to display friendship. He strode up to the vehicle, opened the door, and extended a hand. The slack-jawed doughboy glanced up at his colleague, half contemplating whether he ought to accept the gesture. “You look like Ambassador Bunmak,” he spoke through a thick accent. He clearly knew only a handful of English words.
“It’s an honor to meet you in person, General Pham. May I help you out?”
The military man deflated in a great exhale before accepting the offer. “Help me up.”
A high-pitched honking interrupted Bunmak’s train of thought, and he looked behind the Vietnamese vehicle. The Chinese were here. They arrived in modest vehicles, especially relative to the Thai limousine and… whatever the Filipinos showed up in, but they came in numbers. The entire curb was flooded in black economy cars, blocking the Vietnamese cabbie from escaping. Men in sharp suits poured out. Bunmak had difficulty counting them all, but they appeared a couple, maybe three dozen in total. They coagulated into a well oiled machine, squads of three and four dispersing every which way upon orders from their superior: a bespectacled middle aged gentleman with a square face and a rectangular build. Once Pham was pulled outside the car, the two leaders couldn’t help but gawk at the seemingly organic efficiency, compared to the hoi polloi they witnessed with the cars.
“What do you think their orders are?” the general polled.
“Save face,” the ambassador replied. “Patch relations just enough to continue the game.”
“Bọn khốn Trung Quốc,” the general muttered.
A young firebrand spotted the two gentlemen, making one step towards them and shouting across the pavement: “你是在看三小?” The Thai delegate didn't understand, but he presumed it meant ill intent or offense and so looked away. The Vietnamese were all assembled. The Indonesians and Malaysians were close behind, waiting to park and disembark once the portable traffic jam was finally cleared. He faced the hall entrance. “We’d best make our way. The opening ceremony is a few minutes away.”
In his periphery, he spotted the very same PRC coordinator beside him, making a brief bow. His light gray suit fit him well. “Please forgive my student,” he asked. “He has much to learn about diplomacy. I am Huang Zhang, head diplomat for this endeavor. I look forward to good relations between us, personally if not professionally.” China sent their best, it appeared.
Bunmak felt such a metaphorical aura from his Vietnamese ally that he instinctively placed a firm hand on Pham’s shoulder to prevent him from throwing punches. He must have been mistaken, because Pham bowed in return, with such an angelic voice that Bunmak thought his eyes tricked him: “常在河边走, 哪能不湿鞋.” Pristine pronunciation at that.
“你懂中文嗎!” Huang’s face lit up. “你的中文很好.”
“知己知彼, 百战不殆.”
Clearly out of his league, Bunmak took his leave with a slight nod of acknowledgment and left to join his peers in the auditorium. The two heads of state chattered in the background as the Vietnamese delegation oddly followed him inside. Hopefully, he could attend the conference’s opening statements on time.
Relevant Portion
In the meantime, Emilia Naga had heard about how Huo Ren of the PRC’s ‘Zodiac’ had openly provoked a confrontation with Task Force Obsidian, with rumors that he had brought a not-so-covert member of the Downward Descent inside the building. To be honest, this was a sign that the Chinese did not intend to negotiate in good faith and that the ASEAN delegates should begin putting plans to evacuate into action. But it would be rude to their Cambodian hosts if they broke off negotiations, so she would have to move on her own once in her office.
From a PDA that was issued by a US-linked contractor for the Philippine Government of National Salvation, she sent a text to Myron Makraig of Task Force Obsidian through an encrypted National Intelligence Coordinating Agency (NICA) channel, saying, Tell me everything.
The response was, Not much to tell; Huo Ren came, brought an Avatar of Superbia disguised as a Russian observer to threaten us, and left. Or was it an official Russian observer who is also an Avatar of Superbia? They want some of our members as ‘prisoners’ for purposes best not said in polite company. Either way, we should put all eyes on him and our hosts and wait for solid proof.
A reminder that they didn’t have any. Then, Myron continued, I don’t like the looks of this; we’re going to have to cut our losses if this turns into a disaster. Cambodia has a strong history with Vietnam and Thailand and we don’t need spies in Cambodia’s Parliament to see that China is leveraging that behind the scenes. Double-check that PDA for spyware; by the way - The wider the circle of people we trust, the worse things are.
In the meantime, the other delegates were receiving news updates on how the war was going in the rest of ASEAN; the active fronts were stabilizing in Vietnam, while in the Philippines, the Danggal Clan’s surrender had brought many cities held by hostile political families back to the fold.
Myanmar was a mess, but the National Unity Government and the various Ethnic Armed Organizations were gaining ground rapidly; overrunning a chain of townships and bases held by the Military Junta, China’s ally. PRC forces have halted operations in Laos’ north in response to news of a truce, while the naval front was a chaotic mess of raids and counter-raids.
In the ‘Parallel Special Military Operation’ declared by Russia at the same time the ASEAN War started, the Russians were forced out from the city of Kherson in the Ukraine and the western third of the province.
While in Iran, which was closely allied with China and Russia, protesters were being suppressed; the authorities’ efforts were not helped by the fact that many of the dissidents had manifested Noble Arms during their resistance. Nevertheless, the balance of power was still held by the Iranian Government and that was not likely to change.
The various delegates and observers had plenty to react to…
Bunmak’s desk’s condition was far from the propriety he expected, the dignity he instilled onto his aides and apprentices. They were chatting beside each other, checking their phones and speaking in hushed, hurried tones. He approached the aide in charge of setting up his personal office and, despite being shorter than her, nonetheless maintained a looming presence. “Is there anything I should know about?”
She was startled, and jolted into compliance. “Ukraine just took Kherson,” she replied. A cocked eyebrow pressed her to explain herself further. “W-we thought it’d be a good opportunity to check on other world news. Iran, Burma, the Philippines… Vietnam has reached a standstill.” “Positive, negative? Is it urgent?”
“Just, um, mostly positive news. Nothing immediate,” she stammered.
“Very well. Keep me posted if it requires action at the negotiating table.”
He glanced over to the PRC delegation, who had an equal and opposite reaction to world happenings. Youth and their phones, eh? Huang emerged through them to check his desk layout at the last minute. He cracked open a plastic bottle of water and took a brief sip. He noticed Bunmak almost immediately. He held his bottle aloft as he would a wine glass. Whether it bade good luck or a professional courtesy, Bunmak nodded in return. The gavel sounded.
Relevant Portion
The roads outside the facility were now (finally) clear of cars; they’d parked in local lots or retreated to their hotels and embassies of origin. No longer at risk of inconveniencing the dignitaries, the Cambodian military could finally set up a perimeter worthy of respect. The event had a spattering of security personnel around the site, but respectable events required something more. Several eight-wheeled BTR-60s pulled up along the curbside, forming a defensive line around the facility. Infantry casually helped each other out of the vehicle; the force was a couple hundred in total. Late security reinforcement was better than none at all.
His aides joined the river of excess personnel swept towards the recesses of the auditorium. The ambassador, often uncomfortable with such necessities of hierarchy, unceremoniously took his seat. The moderator stood up and leaned into his microphone. Bunmak couldn’t quite remember a Turkish accent from his storied career, but Soner Tilki reminded him: “I open this session at 8:34 AM. Mark the time.” He exhaled in preparation for a long day. “Greetings, one and all. There is a lot of tension in the room today, but I hope we can treat each other as professionals.”
It was decided that a representative of a neutral country like the Republic of Turkey would sate both sides’ demand for impartiality. The Turks very apparently respected the gravity of the situation. From the corner of his eye, Bunmak spotted Pham collecting a handful of index cards. Bunmak checked his own desk; the just-in-case speech he’d written lay squarely in the middle, just as he requested. He delicately picked it up as Soner raised his gavel again. “At this time, the dais will open the floor for opening remarks and proposals.” The comforting sound of wood striking wood soothed the auditorium.
It’s generally disrespectful to raise attention before attention is requested, and disrespect is rewarded in kind. Even so, there were benefits to being the first to speak. As Bunmak gripped his seat to stand up, before General Pham even knew what happened, Huang had already shot up. It was theoretically possible to stand up that fast without jumping the gavel, and no one would shame him for being a few milliseconds early. Nonetheless, it was clear Huang had his marching orders and the adroitness to carry them out. Everyone else was just slow. “The dais recognizes the People’s Republic of China,” Tilki announced.
“Yes, sir.” Huang bowed slightly in acknowledgment, then raised a thin manila folder. “The People’s Republic of China wishes to introduce a proposal for the ethical treatment of prisoners, and we request in its discussion a four-minute speaking interval for member nations.” Tilki outstretched his hand to receive it. Huang strutted up to the podium with bridled energy and placed it with a feather’s grace. “Physical copies are available, and it has been uploaded for the delegates here, should they choose to utilize their laptops or phones.”
Four minutes was an abnormally long speaking time for representatives, and Bunmak certainly didn’t expect the PRC to jump into such a recently touchy subject so wantonly. Were they going to grandstand… against the Philippines? Surely not after the recent news of their own scandal. Tilki pulled out his reading glasses and murmured through the clauses. “Access to reading materials in their own language… Freedom from cruel and unusual punishment… Denounces malicious actors who harshly treat the soldiers of their geopolitical adversaries…” Soner raised his eyebrows. “Demand immediate release of prisoners from nations who cannot comply.” He set down the folder. “Very well. Draft accepted. Do you wish to speak first?”
“China wishes to waive that right,” Huang stated.
Soner Tilki looked out over the audience. “Any further proposals, or comments on the current draft?”
Emilia Naga rose from her seat and responded, “The Philippines wishes to note that any lapses in its treatment of PoWs are because of the number of them and the logistics of keeping them all fed, sheltered, and kept away from baying mobs who want to conduct reprisals for Chinese actions against civilian and soldier alike. What China describes has not been applied to its prisoners taken from ASEAN countries, prisoners not just taken from military combatants but also civilian populations in its campaign of what can be said to be terroristic violence. Thus, the Philippines wishes to submit a counter-proposal establishing an Independent Commission to monitor both sides’ treatment of captives, as well as establishing funding for adequate shelter, food, and other marks of humane treatment for Prisoners of War.”
She paused, then continued, “Does anyone else wish to comment on this matter?”
Tilki looked downwards, and the glow of a computer screen reflected off his glasses. He clicked his mouse a few times before concluding a course of action. “Yes, the dais receives your proposal, and it appears to be in conflict. We will now conduct a - The dais recognizes the People’s Republic of China.” Tilki must have had lightning-fast reflexes, because not even Bunmak noticed Huang call for attention.
Huang stood up promptly. “We thank the Philippines for keeping our soldiers away from their ‘baying mobs.’ We’ve likewise separated them from our own citizens. We hope to grant prisoners of war dignity beyond merciless death by mob. The rights we propose are critical for the well-being of our Chinese citizens, and we have no intention to compromise them. The draft before you is a last, best, and final offer regarding that subject, and we hope that the Philippines will see the reason in respecting prisoners of war thusly. I yield my time.” He sat gently down. Bunmak raised his hand, slowly. “The dais recognizes the Kingdom of Thailand,” spoke the moderator.
Bunmak used the desk for leverage as he stood up. “I- sorry, the Kingdom of Thailand- believes, whatever our intentions, we can make real progress if we don’t talk past each other. Now, we haven’t had the opportunity to see the offering of the People’s Republic of China. We’re certain that after looking at it, we can compile the rights outlined in both drafts into something all parties can accept. We request a recess until noon to properly give each draft the time it deserves.”
Tilki surveyed the crowd. “Any objections?” One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. “Seeing none, the request is granted. We shall reconvene at noon.” The gavel slammed down.
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