Soviet Directorate
"I didn't ask for this." Uri rumbled.
The Soviet admiral sat within the high-backed captain's chair of the ship's bridge. Though it was intended for a captain, the admiral had insisted that he captain the flagship of the fleet- the resurrected phoenix known as the Ulyanovsk. It was a supercarrier brought back from centuries before, but the entire design schemata had been entirely rethought. Everything had been rethought with it, even. From the advanced launch catapults designed to put several aircraft into the skies simultaneously, to the complex array of dishes and antennae for coordinating the fleet, to the abundant size and internal capacity of the massive flagship. The fleet around it was impressive enough, with various tender craft, frigates, destroyers, submarines, and other such vessels serving as part of the escort fleet.
The carrier, however, was the pride of the fleet. Over one hundred and fifty thousand tonnes displacement, with sealed compartments, a high-yield fusion reactor, and a whole slew of other features. Even though it carried a nuclear power supply, stealth components had been incorporated into its frame. Electromagnetic launch rails had been inlaid in lieu of the steam catapults that were, in this era, vastly outdated. Most notable, however, were its armaments: In addition to the standard assortment of miniguns and other such armaments intended for fighting off both aircraft and cruise missiles, the massive vessel carried with it a rather impressive armament of railguns. A small bank of the heavy artillery pieces sat attached to the flight tower, each one mounted on an independent swivel yet- at the same time- linked to the same central systems. Small missile silos, each one armed with cruise missile capacity, dotted the side of the runway. Metal domes shined like polished studs through the view screens of the bridge, each one ready top pop open and vomit forward a myriad of missiles at distant targets if required.
Sitting in the swiveling captain's chair, Uri idly tapped away at the padded arms of his chair. The bridge was brightly lit at this time of night, the holographic displays of the officers and personnel on-deck providing an endless stream of information. A central holographic projector, having been built into a sunken pit in the center of the bridge, displayed a hovering blue sphere of the planet Earth. Continents were proudly displayed in shimmering light, various colors representing the numerous powers that now inhabited Earth. Known force dispositions, intelligence levels, technology estimates and suspected research goals. All of this filtered through in stunning detail- which it should have, to be quite honest. The massive quantum computer assembly housed directly below the bridge was almost mandatory for coordinating a fleet like this. He didn't even want to begin to think on what it must have been like to coordinate a naval task force in the 21st century. How did they keep formation without constant satellite surveillance? How did they manage mid-cruise refueling (for the hydrogen-dependent vessels) without constant wireless interaction between the various automated systems?
It was mind boggling, but impressive at the same time. The idea that they had all of this information available, ready to be utilized at any one time. Weapons that could fill the sky with heat and noise and screams. The Directorate truly had become impressive, and Russia- and all other nations that had joined it- was now a global power once more.
"My apologies, Rear Admiral." A smooth, monotone voice replied. It was the ship's onboard AI. Not a true artificial intelligence, however. The limited intellect was rather stunningly apparent in N.A.T.A.S.H.A. It was an AI that required an entire room full of complex fiber optic cables and processor banks that ran into the terabytes of RAM, let alone actual memory for the coding she required, but she was- at the same time- an invaluable asset.
"Display an update to our path. We've been redirected to the southern waters, to rejoin the Task Force Reclamation. Also, bring up displays of current force projections back on the European continent. I want to see just what the Board is thinking with this little strategy of theirs..." He rumbled.
The hologram of the planet shifted, displaying a dotted red line of the fleet's new route. They had been joined by several black ships of the Soviet fleet- carrying contingents of elite heavy infantry, armor, and aircraft modified for the unique conditions they'd be fighting in. If it was one thing that he rather appreciated about Soviet engineering, it was the fact that it was both sturdy and modular, even in this day and age. It was a point of pride, really, that the Directorate could easily integrate and interchange most parts. It presented some unique engineering issues, but- at the same time- it made their military extremely mobile in terms of adapting to new scenarios.
He glanced over the new display. It was a projected political map, and one that had some rather interesting implications if successful.
"Clever." He rumbled, "If it works."
The People's States of America
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The Soviet Directorate's diplomat would respond in a timely manner, primarily relying upon a satellite-bounced communication. Not the fastest method of transmission, but the holographic projection of the man seemed happy enough to be talking face-to-face. Though the Directorate had remained fairly isolated up to this point, its technology was apparently not lacking. The hologram of the man's head showed a smiling, middle-aged member of the political officer corps, a Commissar. His distinctive cap, having been resurrected from a bygone area, jutted proudly from his disembodied head as he spoke. A full-body hologram over satellite feeds would have been a waste of bandwidth after all. He spoke rather fluent English, the hint of a Russian accent barely noticeable. He appeared to be a man of high education, not to mention linguistic ability.
"Greetings, President Crowe! You have perked out interest with your mention of social and economic agreements. I have received special dispensation from the Board to discuss with you your, ah, open-ended offers! We have a number of potential cargo ships available and ready to set sail to your waters, but we must admit a certain... curiosity to your ideas for social progress. We have a billion rubles [1 Economy] we are willing to immediately invest in a trade route, provided you are willing to reciprocate, but we must- of course- outline the terms of this agreement and the rules therein!"
The New Roman Empire, Britain, Carthaginian Empire, Republic of Gaul
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The representative of the Directorate for this discussion, a holographic projection of the current Chairman of the Board of the Directorate, would be telecasted via satellite as a representative for discussion to all parties. If holographic technology were not available to a particular member of the discussion, then a simple radio broadcast would be given.
The Director would appear as a man in his later years in life. With graying hair and sharp green eyes, he'd appear reclined in a swivel chair, to the backdrop of a rather large office. Sitting behind a desk, he'd have his hands folded together on a computerized office table of polished mahogany. A modern luxury, and something one wouldn't have expected of the Russia a century past. But Russia was a very different place now- and the same could be said of its territories.
"The Soviet Directorate has come to a consensus in agreeing to this arrangement. A mutual alliance and defensive pact for our interests. We will respect Britain's request for protectorate status of the Benelaux Republic. In return, we would request similar protection status for the nations of the African subcontinent. If this is favorable, then we would be glad to put forward an interest in establishing trade routes with the other powers of this pact. Any further points of debate?" He asked, smiling. He seemed to have little to no accent, though- if the information distributed about him was correct- he was a man who had attained not only a long-standing military and astronautical career, but also possessed a number of doctorates and PhDs from Soviet universities. A man that, apparently, seemed almost bred from birth to be a leader.
Project Earth
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A Soviet diplomatic envoy, one of the higher-ranking members of the Commissariat, would attempt to make landfall with a small contingent of handlers, workers, a few security personnel, and a number of supplies aboard a vessel that could best be described as an 'armed yacht'. A rather sleek ship, with a matte black paint job that seemed designed for absorbing radar signals and minimizing its sonic profile. The railguns mounted both to the bow and aft of the ship, however, attested to its capabilities to defend itself from any pirate forces that may have otherwise tried to molest the lone vessel.
Emerging from the ship, the diplomat- a rather young man of bright green eyes and dark brown hair, with a long and lanky body- would signal for permission to land from afar. His message rather clear and straightforward,
"Greetings, members of Project Earth! I have been dispatched quite some distance, in the interest of helping establish a diplomatic embassy here in your nation, as well as to help smooth over the process of helping create a peaceful, unified, and allied African peoples!" He remarked, "You are free to turn down the offer of opening direct diplomatic embassies, but I have also been charged with offering the possibility of opening trade routes as well! Would you be interested in such offers?" He suggested, smiling broadly.
The African Cradle
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The reply would be given via a secure radio transmission, the Soviet diplomat on the other end of the line sounding rather cheery, as matched by the telepresence video of the smiling and thin-faced young man,
"Of course! Of course. Plans for the unification of Africa are going along swimmingly. In a short amount of time, we may yet be able to create a rather potent economic bloc from which to fuel individual projects!"
The Grim
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The Soviet Directorate's ambassador, a rather gaunt-faced young man that had obtained his position through a mixture of political experience (Primarily activism in his city's social blocs) and scientific know-how, would give a rather weak smile at that. Unleashing experimental creatures in the middle of the motherland, and letting them go free?
"I'm afraid we do not have any vested interest in such an offer." He put politely, smiling faintly as the holographic representation of him flickered. Transmitted via precious satellite bandwidth, the young man was- in actuality- present back in the motherland. Very few set foot outside of it without extremely special circumstance, and he seemed more than happy to reside within his office rather than whatever the Grim considered 'comfortable'. Likely something squishy.
"Without any knowledge of this creature, or at the very least a complete information transcript of what it is, how it's produced, so-on, so-forth, we cannot approve the release of something potentially catastrophic to the recovering wildlife and plants in the Chernobyl area. Only recently have we begun repopulation efforts, with long-term radiation effects having been mostly dissipated or otherwise negated!"
Cisleithania
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The Cisleithanian border would find itself graced by the presence of a small, armed and armored convoy. Four fortified limousines, with a small compliment of the Directorate's more talented Spetsnaz infantry, would attempt to approach the border crossing between the two nations. Provided the diplomats therein were allowed both entry and the ability to speak with a representative, or some other form of authority, the Directorate ambassador- a woman that, though rather petite of frame, bore the medals and eyes of a trained killer- would get right to business.
"Greetings. Whilst we understand that there have been cool relations between our two powers, we have a vested interest in improving those relations. Notably, we would like to extend the offer of establishing trade routes between our nations, as well as- potentially- producing a protectorate status for your peoples. The Directorate only has an interest in spreading the high quality of living underneath our government, and helping spread it unto others."
Balkan League
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The Balkan League would be met by a somewhat lukewarm reception, directly situated at the demilitarized zone that the Soviets had hastily established between the primary border crossing. A military post had been established in addition to the standard border patrol crossing- a fortified base complete with artillery positions that ranged to the very edge of their borders, as well as suitable entrenchments and pillboxes to hold back any dedicated invasions until further reinforcements could be dispatched from Perm or any other Soviet city.
The diplomatic negotiations would be opened a bit more... peacefully, albeit with a tenseness as the diplomat the Directorate puts forth- a rather young and lively-looking man- hailed from his end of the demilitarized zone between the two powers. Escorted by a pair of power-armored Soviet infantry, carrying high-end laslock rifles, the man had a bit of a spring in his step as he'd approach the edges of the Directorate's defensive curtain.
"Hail!" He'd greet, snapping off a sharp salute, "I come under the direction of the provosts in Moscow! I have been charged with the task of attempting to reduce hostilities between our two powers, and attempting to foster some warmth between our now-cold powers! What say you?"
Princely Union of Gujara-Rajasthan
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A Soviet radio transmission would be sent directly to the capital of the Union forces. Apparently, the Directorate had an interest in opening communications! Accompanied by a telepresence video, it depicted the smiling face of the Director of Peace, a rather ruddy-faced man with a long, flowing handlebar mustache and a peaked cap. His gloved hands were folded together on the desk before him, and several screens- blacked out with the sickle and hammer of the Directorate- were visible behind him.
"Greetings, mighty King of India!" He told him kindly. Though the Gujara-Rajasthan union did not yet control India, it seems their efforts to do so were not unknown, "The Soviet Directorate has a desire to open more intimate relations between our two powers. Though your empire has faced some difficulty in securing the Indian provinces, we wish to provide a measure of support to your regime. All in the name of mutual prosperity, of course. Would you be interested, perchance, in accepting a... diplomatic presence, to smooth over your unification of your homelands?" He asked, smiling from ear to ear.