Few words can truly capture the internal turmoil Allen Harrington feels. His legs feel weak, and his balance is off. He has never flown in any capacity, not on dragons, and certainly not aircraft. The handful of legation members accompanying Harrington also feel the effects as they slowly walk down the ramp of the C-130, hoping they don't show weakness to the Entesian soldiers that escort them.
The baffling mechanical monster the Entesians call an 'aircraft' or 'airplane' somehow proved the base commander's outlandish claims in just a few hours. They flew. They really did. Inside an artificial bird made of metal the Entesians claim they manufactured, Allen Harrington's worldview is shaken to its core. Previous attempts to create flying contraptions have had little to no success, as far as he knew, often failing catastrophically as they were usually enlarged and flimsy kites.
Upon stepping off the plane, the legation members notice that it's colder than what they're used to in Ravenia, despite the clear sunny sky. Harrington looks around to find a wide-open space. Standing at a distance are several soldiers similar to those who came with them on the plane, with green patterns instead of the blue he saw at Joint Base Harper. He also spots the strange vehicles the base commander called 'Humvees'.
Even further in the distance are large structures Harrington assumes are for storage, not knowing they're hangers. Like the C-130 he flew in, other large aircraft are also neatly lined up along with several smaller aircraft. Everything is odd to look at, no matter which direction they turn. No one in the legation can understand what anything is.
"Welcome to Collins Air Force Base and the Federal Republic of Entesia," a feminine but firm voice calls out.
Harrington's attention turns to a large group of people approaching him, and he pauses to analyze them. There are about a dozen identical men wearing black three-piece suits under a topcoat, trilby hats, and dark sunglasses; they are Diplomatic Security Service agents. At the front of the group is a brunette woman with short hair, wearing a similar black suit to the agents. It contrasts the legation members' dark diplomatic uniforms with gold oak leaf embroidery.
"Mister Harrington," the woman says, "how was the flight?"
Harrington briefly stares at the woman without responding before his eyes dart to the men. He's assuming someone with proper authority is either among the men or is yet to come.
"Are you all right?" the woman says, noticing Harrington's confusion.
Harrington looks back at the woman. Under the presumption that social practices are universally observed, the woman has no right to be speaking in this situation. Judging from how she's cut her hair short, she's openly offending the femininity women are expected to uphold. None of the men in the group are saying or doing anything. Instead, they seem to be waiting for his response.
"Am I to disregard my repute by speaking with you? Where is your husband?" Harrington says as he glances over the DSS agents.
The woman remains steadfast, ignoring the offensive remark. Hearing these comments is common, especially for someone like her, and she has grown to have thick skin.
"I think there may be a misunderstanding—"
"I agree. I have come here as an envoy to speak with the Entesian government. Instead, I'm met with a woman, one who dares imitate a man."
Harrington, by now, feels insulted. The other legation members are also confused about why a woman is bluntly interacting with them. Has she no respect for social etiquette? This is a diplomatic mission. A woman has no reason to be here.
"My name is Laura May," she says, unfazed by Harrington's comments. "I happen to be the Secretary of State."
"Secretary of State?" Harrington repeats, unfamiliar with the title.
"It's the equivalent to a head of foreign affairs if that's more familiar. A minister. If you want to speak with the Entesian government, you're speaking with the head of the Department of State right now."
The information is slow to process in Harrington's mind. He repeats her words over and over again. She clearly said she's the head of a government organization in charge of diplomacy. Is that right? Does it mean this woman is a diplomat? That's outrageous; no woman has ever held that amount of power unless they were a royal family member.
Like imposing statues, the DSS agents behind Laura May remain still. The soldiers in the distance, watching the interaction, are clearly on alert. It seems his uncooperative attitude towards a government official has put them on edge.
"Mister Harrington, I will ignore your comments for the time being. Please keep in mind that you stand on our soil. Our cultures may not exactly be compatible. I hope you understand."
Harrington turns back to look at his colleagues. They are equally on edge after what they witnessed. No one knows what to say. He takes a look at the C-130 and the soldiers surrounding it and is reminded that he is far away from the world he knows.
Typically, a diplomat like him wouldn't need to worry about being persecuted, especially considering the country he represents. If anything, people would try to appease him if it meant being on Ravenia's good side. He came to the Entesians, fully expecting he could get his way.
However, Harrington quickly acknowledges the situation. He will just have to trust what the woman says. These Entesians are beyond what anyone expected; they own ironclads, invented flying contraptions, created horse-less vehicles, and wield firearms. He knows nearly nothing about Entesia, but if what he's witnessed so far means anything, it's that he can't rely on assumptions and expectations.
"Very well, I apologize for my ignorance," Harrington finally says after a pause, and he bows to Laura.
"We can simply shake hands," she holds out her hand while Harrington shakes it. "If you could follow me, Mister Harrington, I'll take you to the Federal Palace. Only you may come. The rest will need to stay here."
Harrington agrees and is led to a motorcade of black 1963 Lincoln Continentals. A limousine version is mixed in, to transport the Secretary of State and foreign diplomat. For Harrington, it is yet another marvel. Much like the Humvees, they look to be some form of carriage powered by either mechanical or magical means. The only explanation he could get from the soldiers is that they function with an engine, making him think that the Entesians developed miniaturized steam engines.
When the motorcade gets underway, Harrington's interest piques, eager to know what this country has to offer.
.
.
Everything so far has been unexpected. Minutes after exiting the air force base, the motorcade drives through the massive city of Wesking. Comfortably sitting inside the bizarre but luxurious vehicle, Harrington's attention is taken by the city itself. He's glued to the window, observing the otherworldly streets.
The streets are broader than those in Grasrift—the Ravenian capital—and they are made of a black material: asphalt. It's amazing how smooth the ride is despite the high speeds that the vehicle is somehow able to reach. It's utterly different from the streets of Grasrift, which are paved with setts. Traveling alongside the otherworldly metal vehicles are familiar horse-drawn carriages, wagons, and coaches, driving in their own dedicated lane.
As for the architecture, it's one of the few things that gives Harrington a feeling of home. It's a jungle of concrete, stone, and brick buildings. Entesia makes extensive use of 19th and early 20th-century architecture. Dense residential, industrial, and commercial areas are built using a variety of Queen Anne, Georgian, Beaux-Arts, Federal, and Chicago school architectures. They dominate every street that the motorcade travels through. It's all fascinatingly similar to how Ravenia constructs their buildings, but cleaner and at a larger scale. Buildings here are larger and taller than anything in Ravenia. Interestingly, the neoclassical monuments and government buildings are similar to what Harrington would consider old, outdated, or even ancient.
"Eye-catching, isn't it?"
Harrington turns his head to Laura May, who sits in the seat directly facing him. Beside him and Laura are DSS agents.
"Indeed. Your city is very peculiar and unique. It's unlike anything I've seen before. Yet, there is also plenty of familiarities."
"I'll take that as a compliment. We are very proud of our country, as you can imagine."
It's still a strange feeling for Harrington to speak with Laura. The fact that she's a woman can't escape his mind, and he has trouble accepting her high status. He turns to look at the DSS agents, who remain neutral and without emotion. They haven't spoken or even made facial expressions. He can't even see their eyes through their sunglasses, which only makes him nervous.
While observing, Harrington also pays attention to their black attire. The three-piece suits and trilby hats are extraordinarily similar to recent men's fashion trends in Ravenia. He even recognizes the chains of pocket watches hanging from their waistcoats.
Looking at Laura's clothes, it becomes less familiar. It's some sort of version of a man's suit, which would be unthinkable in Ravenia. Dresses are the standard for women, and any amount of skin showing below the abdomen would be met with ridicule and scrutiny. The pencil skirt Laura wears would basically be considered a sin in Ravenia since it reveals her legs. The one thing he recognizes is the black stockings she wears, which are wildly popular in Ravenia. But by not having a dress conceal what is considered undergarments, Laura breaks another rule that would otherwise damage her reputation in Ravenia.
"Am I that interesting to look at?" Laura suddenly questions.
"I simply have not met someone such as yourself. Your appearance is… well, unorthodox."
"I wonder what an orthodox appearance would look like," Laura replies. "It's clear you're uncomfortable with me. Could you explain why that is?"
"It's a universal belief that women belong to the domestic sphere, too weak and delicate for anything else. They are pure. They are only expected to marry, raise children, and support the husband. "
"You don't believe a woman is as capable as a man?"
"No, a woman's beauty and elegance would otherwise be destroyed, and therefore make them undesirable."
Laura smirks. "So I'm not beautiful because I'm a diplomat?"
Harrington pauses. He didn't realize how insulting it sounded, but he can not agree that she isn't beautiful despite her radical appearance.
"I wouldn't necessarily agree with that. This is the first time I have met a woman entrusted with such responsibility. How did you acquire the position as head of diplomacy?"
"I was appointed to the position of Secretary, nominated by the President himself."
"To be nominated by your leader, you would have to be his wife or a family member. Am I correct in that assumption?"
"No," Laura chuckles. "Neither of us is married, and we have no family connection to each other. I'm simply the person he thought was best qualified."
"Could you be a bluestocking? You must have extensive education, I assume. Far more than would otherwise be acceptable in my country."
The two diplomats talk about each other's country and their differences for the remainder of the ride. Since Entesia has already dealt with countries that uphold older thinking, Ravenian culture doesn't surprise Laura too much. It's roughly along the lines of expectation, but they also seem to be modern in other aspects. In contrast, Entesia is the only country Harrington has heard of with such a radical and unthinkably different culture. Added to the fact that they invented advanced vehicles, developed aircraft, and built their own ironclad warships, Harrington starts to seriously question who the Entesians really are.
.
.
Inside the Federal Palace, Dennis Wilson sits at his desk in his office. He's reviewing reports on the country's current status before deciding what direction his administration will take.
Now that Entesia's role in the Alitic Conquest has been upgraded from covertly supporting the defenders to ensuring the Alitic Alliance's defeat, Dennis has to ensure the Entesian war machine is up for the task. This can be a problem because much of Entesia's advanced military equipment relies on American imports coming through the portal. Unless Dennis is willing to deploy thousands of infantrymen as expendable shock troops in large-scale assaults, the military faces quick depletion of guided munitions in every branch, forcing them to resort to more primitive combat strategies.
The first report details the economy. Entesia is mainly self-sufficient and can rely on domestic industries to produce nearly everything it needs, minus advanced military equipment. The areas it falls short of are rarer metals required for more advanced goods. Metals and minerals such as titanium, molybdenite, wolframite, bauxite, chromite, and other ores needed for various alloys are mostly imported since Entesia has small natural reserves.
One issue is that many of these metals, minerals, and ores are largely unknown to the primitive industrial and chemical world outside of Entesia. Foreign mines charge higher prices to extract rocks that only one country is interested in, but the revenue generated by exporting goods only Entesia can produce is more than enough to make up for it. Another issue is that if the Alitic Alliance gains too much ground, they threaten the countries that supply Entesia with these materials, effectively endangering the metallurgical sector.
The next report details the socio-political atmosphere of Entesia. Dennis is particularly interested in this aspect since it helps Dennis gauge what actions would be supported, tolerated, or rejected. At the moment, the Entesian people show strong sympathy to the people affected by the Alitic Conquest, but they offer little support to the idea of sending military forces. They have grown pacifistic over the years, especially since traumatic memories of war still linger. If Dennis is to ramp up military aid, he will have to tell the people and hope for the best. Congress would particularly be difficult to deal with because while undercover American officers are the majority in the Senate, they are outnumbered in the House of Representatives.
As Dennis reads the reports, his Chief of Staff enters the office.
"Dennis. Laura and the Ravenian envoy are here."
"All right." Dennis stands up and adjusts his clothes. "Let's go."
At the entrance of the Federal Palace, the motorcade has stopped, and the passengers have exited. Secret Service agents take over as the DSS agents remain with the motorcade. Allen Harrington and Laura May are escorted through the Federal Palace, with few people knowing who he is.
There are no cameras, no reporters, no media, the public has no idea that a foreign official is visiting their President. Not that it's actively being kept a secret, it's just that no announcement was made because the visit is too abrupt and sudden.
As Harrington is led into the diplomatic reception room, he eagerly observes everything he can. Everything is immaculate, clean, and fancy, but it lacks the usual signs of wealth. Instead of polished gold and silver blanketing everything, it's polished stone and wood. It's not as luxurious and lavishly decorated as the Emperor's palace, but it's still admirable.
Once everyone is in the diplomatic reception room, President Wilson welcomes Harrington to the Federal Palace. They greet and shake hands.
Immediately striking Harrington is his appearance. Like the DSS and Secret Service agents, he wears a gray three-piece suit. Rather bland for a leader, but still stylish to an extent in Harrington's mind. There are no gray hairs in his combed curly hair and heavy stubble. He looks young, which is something he also noticed about Laura. Harrington is visibly the oldest person in the room, yet, he's the one who bows.
"So I hear you sailed halfway across the world to meet me," Wilson says as everyone sits on two couches facing each other.
"I did, your highness."
"Oh, I'm not a noble. No one is. You can just call me Mister President or President Wilson."
"Entesia has no nobility?" Harrington asks, shocked at this revelation. Every country he has known has had some form of nobility in some form or another.
Laura crosses her legs and says, "No nobility, no royalty, no houses, no clans, we have none of that. Everyone is as equal a citizen as the person they stand next to."
"R-really? Yes, I sailed across the ocean to meet you. My government wishes for cooperation."
"The Ravenian Empire, correct?"
"Correct."
"Okay. I don't suppose you sought us out at random, did you?" Dennis asks.
"I think we both know why. Members of our Security Service serving in the Kingdom of Scorcia came into contact with your people. A five-man group who call themselves 'Ringleader'."
"Yeah, I remember. They are a research group we sent to learn about the other side of the world."
"Research? That's odd. Our agents claim that they exhibit skills in espionage and warfare. Regardless, a few things caught our attention. Our previous assumption was that the Venesians were the only ones capable of crossing the treacherous oceans separating our worlds. Naturally, it was intriguing to discover people from the new world infiltrate the old world so quickly."
"So we're the new world, huh?" Wilson smiles. "Rather confusing for us since we've been living here already."
"We mean no offense," Harrington briefly glances at Laura, "but we consider ourselves superior civilizations, exploring uncivilized lands. However, I would personally claim your country is an exception."
"Thank you, I think. I suppose history depends on whose point of view it's written in."
"Very insightful," Harrington comments. "Well, another thing that intrigued us was Ardai Industries. The corporation your people founded."
"What about it?" Wilson asks, wary about the project's sensitivity.
"It seems that they have single-handedly revolutionized the Scorcian Kingdom's industrial and academic sectors through their scientific breakthroughs. At first, we believed they stole their knowledge from one of the Great Powers until we realized they made advances in chemistry, physics, and mathematics which even stumped our most esteemed scholars."
"Well, they didn't steal anything," Dennis explains. "In the time you've been here, I think you've seen how developed we may be."
"Quite. What I've seen is nothing less than incredible."
"So then, what exactly do you want from us?" Dennis asks, trying to get to the point of discussion.
"We are facing a crisis. Our utmost priority is the Venesian Empire. Are you aware of the formation of the Alitic Alliance?"
"It's an alliance between the Venesian Empire and several allies."
"You should also be aware of their attempt to conquer the new world."
"It's the only thing people talk about these days. It's confined to eastern Weslec, the continent south of us. I hear a few kingdoms have already fallen while others are on the verge of capitulating. It's chaos as far as we know."
"It sounds like they are succeeding. You high—er, Mister President, my country wishes to stop them from conquering the new world, but we can not risk going to war. We propose cooperation: we aid the new world to resist the Alitic Alliance."
Dennis and Laura glance at each other, slightly amused at the offer.
"We don't particularly want to go to war either," Dennis says, "and their invasions are far from our shores. What if I say we're unwilling? What if I say no?"
"War will, unfortunately, reach your shores eventually. The Venesians are ruthless and powerful."
"We'll be fine," Dennis interrupts, "we are capable of defending ourselves. We have firearms, aircraft, and highly mobile vehicles, as you've seen in your short time here."
"I believe you are severely underestimating the Venesian Empire," Harrington emphasizes his concern. "They are the largest, most populous, most advanced, and wealthiest country in the world. They alone can match the combined military strength of the other Great Powers. Supplement the Alitic Alliance, and we fear they may be hopelessly unstoppable."
The invasions are enough of a headache for Dennis, but they haven't shown themselves to be too overwhelmingly powerful for a possible counterattack. Nonetheless, it's confusing to see how much Harrington emphasizes the threat, despite seeing how advanced Entesia is. Are the Venesians hiding more behind the scenes?
"All right. Let's say we cooperate. What now?"
"We'll invest heavily in your country. We'll supply you with our latest weapons to fight the Venesians."
"So you want us to fight a proxy war?" Dennis smiles and scratches his head. This is a hilarious proposal for him and Laura. It's as if these countries are imitating the Cold War.
"The Venesians suffer a devastating defeat and become weakened, the new world ensures their defense, and your country thrives from our investments. I do not see how anyone can reject our offer," Harrington says.
Dennis briefly thinks about the offer. It's hardly beneficial. All Entesia gains is a new trading partner. While repelling the invasions is a common goal, receiving arms is laughable, but Harrington still seems to believe Entesia lacks the necessary firepower. Perhaps it's because he doesn't know what Entesia is truly capable of. What's he's seen up to this point is nothing to what Entesia can really do.
"As much as I hate to say this," Harrington says abruptly, "if we can not reach an agreement, we have no obligation to keep your research group a secret."
Dennis' eyes dart to Harrington and then to Laura. Both completely forgot Harrington is aware of that piece of highly classified information. They just got blackmailed in the least expected way. Dennis' mind briefly scrambles to try and find a solution but can't find any. Would they really compromise Ringleader? Even if it's a bluff, Dennis can't risk it.
"If the Alitic Alliance knows your country both crossed the ocean and infiltrated their vassal, who knows how the war will shift. We don't need to know the extent of their research, but we can help keep them secret and safe," Harrington comments.
"So this is how you negotiate?" Dennis raises his eyebrow.
"Only when the stakes are this high."
"Those five men are civilian researchers," Laura reiterates, "they have nothing to do with politics."
"Then why the cloak and dagger?"
"For the same reasons you just mentioned."
"Miss May, all I know for sure is that we have a common enemy. You have nothing to lose by working with us," Harrington tries to pressure Laura.
"All right, Mister Harrington," Laura says firmly, "we'll play your way. But if we are going to cooperate, then we have a few conditions."
Harrington turns to Dennis to see if he approves of Laura's negotiation. Dennis smiles, nods, and lets Laura speak unrestrainedly. "If it's within reason, you can ask for whatever you need," Harrington answers.
.
.
It's snowing. It's night. A single source of light travels through the snow-covered forest.
Under the black sky, a lone black semi-trailer truck drives along a highway, bending and curving around the endless hills. Headlight beams brightly illuminate the roads and trees. It's been many hours since it left the last town and is traveling on a highway that doesn't officially exist.
Many miles later, the big rig roars from jake braking, slowing down as it approaches a patch of civilization in the middle of nowhere. It passes by a wooden sign on the side of the road that says 'Welcome to Paradise', only visible when the headlights briefly shine over it.
In a northeastern region of Entesia, at over five thousand feet in altitude, the truck has arrived at a town that, like the highway, doesn't exist on any public map. It fits snugly between three large hills, situated at the base of a nearby mountain.
The endless trees are replaced by buildings no more than a few stories tall. The town looks like an old boom town in decline. As if built during a gold rush, it's a peek into the distant past. The buildings are built with red brick and wood, a cozy contrast with the falling snow. Streetlamps line the sidewalks to illuminate the town, making the town a small beacon of light in a land of cold darkness.
The truck enters an empty parking lot, with space to accommodate the semi-truck. Having completed the day-long drive, the driver will get some sleep. When the sun comes, he'll complete his delivery of supplies to the town, then pick up a special cargo he was hired to transport. He may even spend some time indulging in all the foods only found in this town. After all, he isn't paying. The military is.
Little does the driver know of the sheer importance of this small town. Its very existence is directly connected to the country's success. The nation's foreign policy can depend on this small and isolated town.
The next day, the sky is consumed with clouds. It has stopped snowing, but it's cold and hazy. The sun can't be seen in the gray sky. At the base of a mountain, nearby the town of Paradise, lives a lonely ranch covered in snow. The wide-open landscape is surrounded by a fence, where farmers attend to groups of horses, sheep, goats, and cattle to make sure they survive the weather. There are several residential buildings among the barns, stables, garages, and storehouses where the main house is large enough to be a mansion.
The main house's large double doors open and reveal a cozy, well-lit interior. Several people walk around the lobby from within, some wearing light clothes and others wearing multiple layers, preparing to brave the outdoors.
EIA officer George O'Neal, a middle-aged man, buttons up his dark trench coat as other people exit the house. He's preparing to oversee the delivery of top-secret cargo. As O'Neal walks outside into the cold, he puts on a cowboy hat and looks around the ranch. Vapor appears in front of his face with every breath.
With mountains behind the small pocket of civilization, the entire ranch is at a slight incline. At the higher altitude, O'Neal has a good view of a large snow-covered valley between the ranch and mountains in the far distance. There is a relatively flat stretch of land in the valley where a runway is clearly visible in an empty patch of forest—Ingram Air Force Base. A distant roar is barely heard, and O'Neal can see a jet taking off, likely to conduct a routine patrol around the airspace.
O'Neal turns to walk around the main house to the rear, passing several armed people in combat gear and black berets who patrol the ranch. A road leads from the ranch to the mountain, where another facility is built inside. More armed guards guard the entrance to a tunnel; this is the home to Entesia's portal connecting to Earth. The Pixie Ring lies just a short distance inside.
O'Neal waits for several minutes before reaching into his pocket to take out a pocket watch. At any moment, a delivery from the other side should be arriving. It's always exciting to see what comes through the tunnel, despite the cargo usually being the same.
"Almost time?" A CIA officer approaches behind O'Neal, similarly dressed to resist the weather.
"Just about," O'Neal responds.
"It still amazes me what's hiding in there."
"I wonder if the weather is any better. I'd love to visit sometime."
"Weather should be about the same. As for a visit, maybe someday George," the CIA officer pats O'Neal's shoulder.
It's a great deal of responsibility for O'Neal even to be here, considering he's not an American. George O'Neal is a native Entesian, one of several authorized to know about the United States and the portal. Through years of service and loyalty, he learned the truth behind his country. Even though it was a paralyzing shock to discover a secret of such magnitude, it somehow made sense.
Luckily for O'Neal, the surprise didn't create any compromising side effects, and he accepted the revelation with ease. Like most citizens, he grew up with a strong sense of patriotism after learning how utterly unique Entesia is. Compared to foreign kingdoms, Entesia is free of monsters, it's free of diseases, it's free of famine, and the overall quality of life is exponentially higher. It's simply a different world. The sheer difference in culture means O'Neal couldn't ever think about turning his back on such a developed civilization.
Although he sees the Americans as allies, O'Neal wasn't always so friendly despite his loyalty. Initially, he saw them as suspicious outsiders, foreigners who selfishly influenced his beloved country. It quickly changed after seeing how nearly identical the countries and cultures are and how the United States created the only modern society among feudal civilizations. Strangely, he even feels indebted. If it weren't for the Americans, he would likely be trying to survive in muddy streets, wearing rags in a poor rural village of an agricultural kingdom.
Finally, O'Neal can see headlights coming from the tunnel followed by the sound of engines. Several M1083 trucks following a Humvee emerge from the tunnel, hauling crates. The small convoy parks next to the main house as several people appear to inspect the containers on the trucks.
O'Neal approaches and is handed a clipboard to confirm the cargo. Most of the load is the usual materials and electronics imported from the United States, but he also notices various new items mixed in. Some of them are civilian items, which is highly unusual.
"Hey, what are these?" O'Neal asks his American counterpart, pointing at the clipboard.
"Oh, the last truck carries a custom order. You can cross it off the list. It's getting airlifted."
"Airlifted? Who ordered it?" O'Neal asks.
"No idea. Someone important, probably."
Though custom orders are not unheard of, they are scarce. It's usually homesick American officers requesting books, foods, clothes, or anything from the United States. The strange thing is that they are never airlifted to their destination because there is never a rush to do so.
Once everything is set, O'Neal and several other EIA officers join the convoy. American airmen are scattered throughout the ranch, looking out for anything suspicious. When the ground rumbles from all the engines, the convoy gets underway. They drive downhill towards the ranch entrance, where the wooden fence makes a clear border with the forest. At the T intersection, all vehicles turn left except the last truck. The last truck turns right, heading towards the valley where the air force base lies. With one truck less, the convoy quickly approaches the lonely town of Paradise.
A lot can be said about this particular unknown area and its short but fascinating history. The town of Paradise and Paradise Ranch is named after the infamous Groom Lake facility in Area 51. The ranch, in particular, is the only property in Adon that the United States directly administers. It's considered an extension of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, and the ranch is staffed mainly by the CIA, Entesian EIA, US Air Force and Air Force Security Forces, and a few members of the US Army, US Navy, and US Marine Corps.
Similarly, the airbase, called Ingram Air Force Base, is owned and operated by the Entesian Air Force, but it also permits American pilots to utilize it with permission. Despite the permanent relationship between America and Entesia, differences in interests and opposing opinions also exist that sometimes force both countries to sit at the negotiating table. And it all started with an agreement made long ago.
When the world held its breath during the Cuban missile crisis, all that mattered was surviving the apocalypse. Adon was just a little science experiment up until then. Truman ignored it, Eisenhower explored it, but Kennedy sought to control it. Plans to create a puppet country were born. However, only Johnson could complete the project.
At its founding, the man elected to lead Entesia as its first president became disillusioned with the United States after witnessing firsthand the utter chaos he helped create. He never wanted to manufacture unnecessary destruction again, but he knew orders from the other side would guarantee it. As president of Entesia, he had the power to do something about it, and so he did.
Both presidents made an agreement, which outlines the separation of power, authority, and allegiance. The Entesian federal government functions outside of absolute American control in which the United States can only suggest and request but never command. American officers serving as Entesian officials are given autonomy and take oaths to serve in Entesia's interests as a priority. Unless Continuity of Operations plans are activated, the United States has little power to do anything without Entesia's knowledge and approval. Even the CIA-led Rothester Plan only exists with the Entesian President's permission and military support.
Consequently, the agreement also severely limits what technological support Entesia can receive. No American officer is allowed to push civilian technology past the first administration's initial buildup, and the Entesian military has to rely on native defense contractors, effectively dictating how the military operates. It was only during the Reagan era that the agreement was amended, in which the Entesian government could sponsor advanced military projects only if the United States controlled the flow of technologies that native defense contractors had yet to invent.
The cargo in convoy includes advanced materials such as carbon fiber, alloys using rare earth elements or other difficult metals, goods such as batteries, but most of all, the convoy carries electronics. The United States is the sole supplier of microprocessors. The most advanced weaponry Entesia possesses, primarily guidance systems and digital electronics, relies on computational systems and software that hasn't been invented yet. The semiconductor industry in Entesia simply doesn't exist. Missiles, guided bombs, communications, and radars all rely on the flow of American chips.
This is the biggest weakness the Entesian military has and why President Wilson hesitates to launch a major offensive in Weslec. If the mainland is invaded, the defense could cost Entesia nearly its entire military. All guided munitions, most aircraft, most warships, and some land vehicles use microprocessors, and replacing or repairing any lost or damaged during combat is bottlenecked by the portal's size and the United States' willingness to flood Cheyenne Mountain with suspicious activity.
The black semi-trailer truck waits in an empty parking lot somewhere in town. The driver drinks hot coffee he bought from a nearby cafe. He watches occasional classic cars slowly drive through the streets, but he pays more attention to the pedestrians braving the cold. Everyone has their hands in their coats and wearing fur hats, walking towards whatever their destination may be.
Most residents work for the government in one form or another. The airmen who work at the nearby Ingram AFB live here, some with their families. Everyone else works to supply amenities and services to the town and the air force base. Only those who work in the Ranch know of the portal, while everyone else assumes it's a simple government-operated ranch. Everyone understands the region's security, and no one asks questions they know they won't get answers to.
After a while of waiting, the trucker finally sees the military convoy that he's been waiting on. The Humvee and M1083 trucks enter the parking lot. He's seen images of the Humvees on newspapers before, but he's never seen the truck. Armed soldiers get out to surround his semi-truck while locals continue on their day as if nothing is happening. Living near an air force base means frequent military appearances in town; everyone is used to it.
"Hey, you're our driver?" George O'Neal gets out of the Humvee and greets the truck driver.
"Yes, sir, I am. Transporting to a freight train station in the nearest city. Is this the cargo?"
"That's right," O'Neal says as his fellow officers and airmen load the crates into the trailer. "We'll have an escort car trail behind you when you leave."
"An escort, huh? What's in the crates?"
"Government property. Just deliver it as agreed."