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The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was wailing, the Ministry of Defense was in shock, and the Information Agency fainted from the reverse coup d’état. Countless people were watching that historic scene.

Six foreign wanted criminals drove a tank (again, I must emphasize it was ‘voluntary donations’) to the capital.

To welcome these unexpected guests (who had never been invited), the mechanized unit of the Federation Army and the Military Police were on full display.

After finishing the evacuation of citizens and non-essential personnel, the diplomats who had been wondering when they could escape this damn town came out to watch.

The streets in front of the Presidential Palace were enveloped in a chilling silence.

Just a single tank and hundreds of Federation soldiers. It was reminiscent of the legendary scene of a general famously known for his long beard venturing through five gates to find his brother.

“…….”

The Federation Army’s chief of staff glared intensely at the rebels. With the steadfast mechanized unit like a comforting bowl of stew and accompanied by shamans, he thought they could definitely win against anyone.

At that moment.

“…Is it true?”

“Ah, I did say so. The Archmage…”

“Hmm….”

The commander, who had been mumbling with the shamans’ side, cleared his throat and opened his mouth wide.

“Everyone, charge!”

Thus, the Federation Army shamans mounted their carpets and charged in unison.

Backwards.

In technical terms, this is called ‘reverse propulsion’, a magic technique passed down since ancient times! (Or maybe not?)

As the shamans charged (backwards), the mechanized unit and Military Police, stationed in front of the Presidential Palace, began to stir stealthily. (??? : Hey, move aside! The tank needs to get through! / ??? : Who parked this truck double? I might just run over it with the tank.)

For three hours, those tirelessly laying concrete and setting up barbed wire charged forth on bulldozers. The infantry stuck closely to the rear of the tanks, marching forward with light-hearted and swift steps.

“…?”

“What… is this.”

At that moment, the watching diplomats and journalists broadcasting the event (who were hiding out of fear of arrest) were left speechless.

Suddenly, the empty road was left with a solitary tank, which swiveled its turret and unexpectedly took a shot straight at the Presidential Palace!

The windows shattered dramatically. Debris such as concrete, glass, and wood fragments rained down into the garden.

The turret belched fire as the tracks crushed the iron gates. Just like the North Vietnamese tanks that wrecked the Presidential Palace in Saigon, or the armored division of that mustachioed guy who stole France in just six weeks.

As the six wanted criminals began their house warming by shooting fireworks (125mm high-explosive shells) to celebrate the birth of the new coup regime—

“Ah, damn it!”

The diplomats watching the situation couldn’t contain their cheers.

—

Episode 19 – HELLDIVERS

“Why does this happen only during my term?”, “No, after 16 years of diplomatic relations…!” With such screams in the background.

The tank, having taken a step back (literally), smashed through the gates of the Presidential Palace and surged straight into the garden.

Trees went crack! Plaster statues crumbled!

Smashing through all sorts of landscaping, the tank marched on and knocked down the front gate with a mighty bang!

“Crack!”

The Federation soldiers tasked with guarding the Presidential Palace screamed and began to flee in all directions as the wanted criminals, armed with iron pipes and a mace, jumped down from the tank.

“Get the manager out here!”

The spy shouted, making the lobby echo with his voice.

With a voice full of rage (and an iron pipe in hand), it was evident he was extremely furious.

As per local customs, hospitality is a way to elevate the host’s honor.

After an exhausting six-hour drive (though the driving was done by the driver), they arrived, only to find the host nowhere in sight!

This was a highly unpleasant act for a guest! It was absolutely despicable, an unforgivable outrage!

Thus, enraged by such poor treatment (though they were never invited), Frederick, wearing the ‘Barbara,’ raised the (pre-prepared) iron pipe and called for the host.

“Kasim! Your son has returned! Bringing democracy to the Jamria Federation!”

“For liberty!”

Camila and Frederick barged into the Presidential Palace, raising a ruckus, completely ignoring the elderly mage’s sigh.

The sight of the guards screaming in terror as they fled painted a picture of cowardice, utterly unmanly.

Bang! Bang! Thud…!

The startled guards were subdued through the dazzling display of their iron pipe skills, and their grim discussions with the Federation Army executives began.

“Where is Kasim?”

“…? We don’t speak your foreign language—”

Could it be? An officer who couldn’t even manage foreign languages! Was that even a valid explanation? Frederick, who had experienced the army multiple times, couldn’t help but feel appalled.

To prepare for the long selection process, he’d studied TOEIC all night, had training to go overseas, and once went through all sorts of troubles just to learn as many foreign languages as possible, and yet here were these Federation Army executives who didn’t even know basic foreign language skills!

“Can it be? This is unbelievable!”

Of course, he also had his share of rough times due to his insufficient local language skills; however, that was not the issue at hand. Because currently, Frederick was in a position to scold the rookie for not knowing the foreign language!

A busy bee has no time to be sad, and a fully grown frog has the right to poke fun at tadpoles! (Or maybe not.)

After tightening the loose screws in the heads of the Federation executives with a monkey wrench, Frederick decided to go find Captain Kasim himself.

Fortunately for him, the host was waiting for his guests not too far away.

“A courtesy car…?”

In the backyard of the Presidential Palace, a familiar scene of the rebel ringleader that the news had shown was busy fiddling with the car, catching the guests’ eye.

Putting in oil, stuffing papers, and packing all sorts of household items into the trunk and seats, he looked just like someone hurriedly getting ready to go out.

The guests’ lids blew off at the shocking demeanor of the host.

What on earth!

The guest visited, and instead of greeting them, he was preparing to leave!

“Such ungraciousness! Extremely rude! An undignified act!”

Akande, a local from the Mauritania Continent who had promised (though never actually asked) an amazing full course of the Jamria Federation to his foreign friends, was furious and smashed a window before dashing out.

Like a tiger, he charged out and slapped the rebel driver’s face, bursting his eardrum, while Lucia lifted the courtesy car and rolled it sideways to protest, and Francesca went even further by tying up Kasim and dragging him before them.

“Ugh, mm…!”

“My dear sir, I warned you six hours ago to run away, yet you’re still lingering here? How infuriating….”

“It seems he never intended to run!”

Camila and Frederick surrounded the host, unleashing a torrent of abusive language. How dare he remain in the capital after being warned to flee? Surely he had no plans of escaping!

For reference, the warning he received stated they had a total of 24 hours to flee, meaning there was still 18 hours left! However, at that moment, those 18 hours and 18 minutes were of no importance.

They had driven for six exhausting hours! And even shot fireworks for him! Yet, this despicable host was busy scheming how to flee rather than welcoming them!

(Of course, had they brought a regular car instead of a tank, party fireworks instead of high-explosive shells, and a gift set of snacks instead of iron pipes, Captain Kasim might have warmly come out to open the gate himself.)

A tyrannical dictator and an inhospitable host—a loathsome human being, it was utterly intolerable!

“It cannot be accepted! An insult, it must be repaid with vengeance!”

Akande, who aimed to showcase an exhilarating full course of the Mauritania Continent, was greatly angered.

Holding two jerry cans full of gasoline, he disappeared inside the Presidential Palace, ready to pour fuel and ignite the palace, a symbol of tyranny, along with its grim history.

They burned it to the ground!

While Akande was diligently setting the Presidential Palace ablaze, Frederick found himself lost in a delightful dilemma.

Military rebellion charges, hurt feelings charges, contempt charges, and a variety of other offenses. All considered, the verdict could only conclude in one way.

Frederick (not the military legal officer) pondered which to choose among a steel pipe, an 8-inch monkey wrench, and a flanged mace (that Lucia would have to lend him). It was quite the contemplation moment.

“Just a moment, everyone.”

The only priest among the six wanted fugitives, Saint Lucia, stepped in to stop Frederick as he was about to pop off the head of the rebellion leader.

“The time we agreed upon was 24 hours. It’s only been 6 or 7 hours so far. We’ve still got around 17 hours left, you know.”

“And so?”

“Isn’t attacking now a bit… cowardly?”

Her words implied that one shouldn’t break the promises they made. Truly a notion from a moral textbook! (After all, promises shouldn’t be broken.)

Even the Archmage began to support the saint’s opinion, leaving the spy who was about to perform “head-splitting surgery” with a groan of despair.

“Can’t we just capture him now and announce it later? Didn’t everyone cram their diaries for school break a week in advance anyway?”

“…I’m not sure how you can compare cracking a person’s head to a school assignment, but I believe the saint’s argument is quite reasonable.”

Right then, as heated discussions (murder planning) were underway about whether to crack the head now or in 17 hours—

“How about we try this?”

Francesca, the wise one from the magical community, cautiously raised her hand to propose an idea.

Everyone smacked their foreheads! They decided to follow her astonishing suggestion.

*

“Come on, do it right, Camila.”

“What do you expect? It’s my first time!”

“Haven’t you ever seen a welding machine? Why are the sparks escaping like a bladder issue in an elderly patient? Give it a good blast! Huh? Blow it out stronger!”

Struggling with the welding mask, Camila fiddled with it until she focused back on her work.

Sparks shot out, and the glowing hot metal oozed down like melted butter.

As Frederick wandered around like a supervisor, giving advice, Camila continued her welding with the electrode here and there.

“Gaaah! My back-!”

The ringleader of the rebels let out a cheer upon witnessing the overwhelming flames akin to a superheated furnace.

The sparks hitting his skin looked pretty, making his feet unable to stay still for even a second.

While Captain Kasim was joyfully tapping away, Frederick was sipping his coffee under the welding mask and suddenly kicked a steel frame with a shout.

“Come on! You know we’re letting you out in 15 hours, and you can’t control yourselves. Camila!”

“Yes.”

“Hurry up and finish the welding so we can head in. Enough of roasting ourselves under this blazing sun, let’s get some sleep.”

Camila smiled and focused back on the welding!

As if all kinds of inventions were born from the hands of soldiers with insignias bent like seagulls.

Dozens of iron single-family houses were instantly being constructed for Captain Kasim and the rebels’ ringleaders! (A thing known as Cage in civilian talk.)

“Kiik!”

“Ahh! My eyes!”

“Hey, this is illegal confinement!”

The rebellious ringleaders, thrilled to achieve their dreams of home ownership, screamed with joy—and to add to that, their eyes were bright red and teary!

What an occasion!

In just 5 hours, a monumental feat had been achieved—the free housing supply that the Jamria Federation government had failed to deliver for decades was realized by a foreign charity worker! (But it was to be dismantled within 24 hours.)

*

The long 6 hours of Delivery of Democracy had come to a close.

This was more precise and swift than Hitler’s 6-week Paris trip, North Vietnam’s government’s 20-year Saigon trip, and the fun-loving American presidential duo’s Iraq trip.

With the notification of swift, accurate delivery, the ecstatic local residents poured into the streets to cheer. They launched fireworks into the sky (live ammo), danced with police and military (reverse beatings), and visited neighbors with exuberant warmth (searching for collaborators).

Ministers from the federal government who had been imprisoned at the nearby military facility were freed. Also liberated were the parliament members who resisted and the generals who had been dragged into military prisons for opposing the coup.

“…Looks like Kasim got knocked out after all. So, who took over the Presidential Palace this time?”

“Uh, General, it seems… foreign fugitives dragged a tank across the Presidential Palace.”

Having suffered hardships all week, the officials could only display a collective ‘?’. They already knew that that maniac Kasim had issued a bounty on foreigners. An announcement had been made barely two days after the coup’s success.

But what happened that those foreigners ousted the rebel leader?

Did Abas get involved? Or was it the Kien Empire?

Perhaps the Archmage handled it.

But why did it all happen in just 6 hours?

Heard it was stolen tanks.

Stolen tanks? Why?

Oh man, this country is in absolute chaos…

So… what do we do now? and so forth.

Struggling to gather their wits, the officials hurriedly flocked to the capital. They felt compelled to see what had transpired with their own eyes.

And what awaited them was the scenery of the capital of the Jamria Federation, Umsalga:

“…Kiik!”

“Ahhh!”

“Alroka…!”

The former president, trapped in a metal cage set up in the backyard, was being roasted golden on an electric grill, shrieking like the rebels.

-Fwhoosh…!

-Crackling…!

This was the view of the burning Presidential Palace.

As the dazed officials stood speechless, tears of emotion (not really) began to flow.

The stunning dance of flames resembled a spectacular natural wonder, and the colorful embers flying up painted the sky like blooming plum blossoms.

Ah, so this is what the corrupted politicians (known in Korean history as “Songgang Jeongcheol”) experience after getting drunk and banished to the land of the afterlife.

Frederick, who had funneled magic through a steel pipe into the pool, cooking Jamria-style electric fried chicken, pulled out a cigarette and sighed in admiration.

“I had no idea Jamria had such a beautiful culture of sparklers.”

The ungrateful homeowners and rebellious leaders were being roasted golden, while the history of tyranny went up in flames inside a bottle of gasoline.

“…Oh God.”

One bureaucrat, gazing at the roasting Presidential Palace, closed his trembling eyelids and fell into quiet admiration.

Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!

The tears of emotion (definitely not) streaming down his face brought a lump to the throat causing Camila to cover her mouth in astonishment and the Duke to mumble curses while covering his face.

The six wanted criminals drove a tank to the hotel.

Leaving behind the hottest (fire) and noisiest (the sounds of citizens shooting into the sky) night sky of Umsalga,

The six hours of “Delivery of Democracy” was successfully completed in a peaceful and proper manner.

It was the moment when the dictatorial regime, which had tormented the Jamria Federation for a whole week, was utterly obliterated!

*

“Colonel Frederick Nostrim. You are hereby dismissed from your post as Defense Attaché.”

“…Huh?”

And my career as an attaché has also come to an end.

 

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