The rules of this game are askew I'm thinking that I should eschew The horrific strain On my limited brain Of stanzas enumerate two. :P

So we're tied to AABBA for both stanzas? or can the second stanza be CCDDC?

The Promised Land Fanfic in the Tankiverse by Hippin_in_Hawaii The plane touched down with a jolt, startling Fred from his slumber. “Relajarte, jefe,” came Frank’s voice from the adjacent pod. “Casi estamos en casa.” Dammit. Fred’s sleep-addled brain struggled to process. ‘Relax, cow. Almost we are in house.’ No, that couldn’t be it. ‘Jefe,’ not ‘hembra.’ Silly Spanish J. Ok, twist it around…’Relax, boss. We’re almost home.’ In the nine plus weeks (he’d lost count) since his escape, Fred hadn’t slept in the same spot twice. He had slept on top of cargo pallets under moving blankets; buried in a haystack; in a feather bed on 1,000 count silk sheets (hadn’t that been nice?); in the backseat of a ‘52 Chevy; even in a sleeping bag hanging from a meat hook in a refrigerated rail car. Now, he was in a first-class pod on a commercial airline. They’d shaved his head the first night, but forbade him from shaving his face, half of which had disappeared beneath a bushy tangle of salt-and-pepper beard. He’d been given henna tattoos down both forearms which were only now beginning to fade. Looking in the mirror, he scarcely recognized the man staring back at him, aside from the eyes. And always, every waking moment, the lessons in Spanish. Rarely the same teacher two days in a row. Sometimes no English at all. “Bien,” he responded. “Estoy cansar de viajar.” I’m tired of traveling. “Estoy cansado,” corrected Frank gently, rising to get his carry-on luggage and join the queue creeping towards the exit. “Adjective, not verb.” The heat and humidity hit Fred like a steaming hot towel wrapped around his body. Instantly, he was covered in a sheen of perspiration; his clothing stuck to his skin, and his underwear began creeping uncomfortably upwards. He followed the crowd down the staircase and through the shimmering heat mirage across the tarmac towards the promise of air-conditioning in the terminal. With no checked baggage to claim, the transition through the cool-air comfort was brief, and Fred found himself again standing in the sweltering air, struggling to breathe as they waited for a car. The aging Pontiac which approached offered no signs of relief; the windows were all down, and the driver sported a tank-top shirt and a deep tan which spoke of a native’s comfort. “Bienvenidos, señores,” came a familiar voice from the tawny mustachioed face. Fred held his tongue until he and Frank were inside and the car was rattling up the road. “Al?” “Yep!” chirped the indefatigable voice. “Good to see you, sir!” “Good to be here!” responded Fred. “So, where are we going?” The railroad which had so meticulously smuggled him thus far had been professionally tight-lipped, and Fred had never pushed. If he knew nothing, he couldn’t compromise anything should he be recaptured. Despite the overall inconvenience he’d endured, he wholeheartedly approved of the detail and commitment shown by his rescuers. But if someone as high-profile as Al were willing to appear at a commercial airport, the need for secrecy must be nearly done. “We’ll be driving for a few hours. Don’t worry sir, we’re heading up there,” Al responded, with a gesture out the window at a looming mountain range. “It’ll be much cooler in an hour or so.” “Gods, I hope so,” Fred sighed. “Personally, I’m enjoying a little sunshine!” Al smiled over his shoulder at Fred. “Brings out my Mediterranean ancestry!” The multi-lane highway slowly narrowed as the grade increased; an hour later the urban artery had become a pleasant scenic route. An hour after that, it had become a worrisome winding lane; and an hour later, a tenuous, torturous track. The Pontiac labored on. Fred could tell that Frank shared his apprehension, but since Al seemed completely at ease, Fred forced himself to relax and appreciate the view rather than contemplating a mangled death at the bottom of a cliff. The view was stunning; of that there was no doubt. To one side, the city glittered below them. Beyond that, the sunlight danced on the waves of the ocean. To the other side, the mountains stretched off in the distance, snow-capped peaks disappearing into the clouds. Al turned off the track onto what could generously be called a path. The wheel ruts were filled with crushed gravel; branches and brushes rubbed the sides of the car. More than once, Al braked to allow wildlife to skitter out of the way. “There are seven species of deer here,” said Frank, interrupting the companionable silence in which they had ridden for the last few hours. “At least three different kinds of ram, a couple of goat, and critters I’ve never heard of before. Plus year-round dove and over a dozen types of duck. Good hunting.” “Our lake has the biggest trout you’ve ever seen,” added Al. “We have a lake?” The car pulled up to an old steel gate. “Refugio Nacional. No Entre Sin Permisos De Conservación,” read the sign. Al handed a key to Frank, who got out and opened the rusty padlock, allowing the gate to swing open. He waited for the Pontiac to pull through before closing the gate and locking it behind them. “Georgie set up a conservancy foundation, and used that title to lease this protected land from the government. Ostensibly, we’re here as stewards of the park, and protectors of the endangered species known to live here.” Al smiled. “As if we’re any less endangered ourselves!” “How large is our protectorate?” asked Fred. “One hundred thousand hectares,” answered Al. “Excluding the lake.” “And the lake?” “Another thirty-five thousand.” Fred’s head swam. He could easily list ten countries smaller than that, a couple of which he had been responsible for invading. “How many of us are here?” “Several hundred so far. You probably know most of their names. We’re the people who were too well-known to disappear back home, too involved in the war to escape being branded as war criminals. Pretty much anyone who could stay home, did, with a couple of exceptions.” “And Nienna?” “Still at home, running the country. She did send Nester on a worldwide goodwill tour. As he passed through, he left her bottle with us as her promise. It’ll be a while, though. I expect they’ll keep re-electing her until the end of time.” Al pulled up to a large log-cabin styled building. “This is the lodge.” Fred savored the fresh, crisp mountain air. November was a spring month, heading into summer in this hemisphere. The weather this high up was far preferable to the humid mess far below. “I bet it gets chilly up here in winter,” he observed. Al nodded, holding the door open. “You could say that. We drove trucks out on the lake. It was made by glaciers, and to glacier it returns!” Inside, the lodge was expansive, far larger than Fred would have guessed from its rustic exterior. The engineering was modern and solid. He guessed that it could hold a thousand people, although the chairs and tables distributed around the spacious hall were more suited to a hundred or so. On one end, a huge hearth dominated the wall, with a comically small fire burning in its depths. The second wall was largely glass, facing out to the lake and the beautiful vista surrounding it. Opposite that, the other long wall was decorated with photographs, except in the center where a modest-sized trophy case stood. Curious, Fred walked up to it. Inside were numerous bottles of Hederson’s Special Reserve, perhaps twenty in all. “We gathered every bottle we could,” said Al. “For special decision making only.” In the middle of the case was a five-tiered shelf. Fred and Georgina’s nearly-empty bottles occupied the lowest two shelves; Nienna’s half-full bottle sat on the third. Phil’s bottle was on the fourth, although at best it held only a few drops; and the top shelf was empty except for a small portrait of Chip. Fred took a moment to swallow the lump in his throat before turning around. “This is really impressive. But where is everybody?” Al shrugged. “Georgie made it quite clear that you were hers and hers alone for the first twenty-four hours. Everyone else is either hiding in their cabins or out being productive. We’ve got quite the hootenanny planned for tomorrow!” He frowned as he looked around. “Although I rather expected her to be here by now. Well, I guess we’ll continue the tour.” The three of them walked out the side door into the forest. Down a short path stood an old barn. “This was an original structure from, well, someone else. It seemed appropriate for what we put in there, though.” Al and Frank dramatically pulled open the giant double doors. Inside, spread out on a blanket, lay Georgie, completely nude. Fred didn’t notice Al and Frank leaving; he didn’t hear the doors close behind him. He didn’t process much at all aside from the feel of his love in his arms, the smell of her body in his nostrils, the sound of her voice in his ears. There was holding, there were tears; eventually, there was lovemaking. It was a couple of hours before Fred even noticed the tank in the barn. “Isn’t it beautiful?” asked Georgina. “A relic from the second world war. We found it in a scrapyard outside of town. Gods only know how it got down here.” It was a rust bucket. Only in overall shape did it still look like a tank. The treads were fused solid; half the barrel was missing. Clearly animals had been nesting inside the turret; straw poked out of the openings where bulletproof glass had once fit. To Fred, it was the second most beautiful thing in the barn. “You got me a tank!” he gasped as he held Georgie tight. “It’ll take us ten years to get her running.” “We’ve got time,” she whispered in his ear. “We’ve got time.” Then she pulled herself away from him, started putting on her clothes. “Speaking of which, I set up a little campground down by the lake. I thought we’d go out tonight and see if the Leonids have started.” Fred frowned. “I’m not sure they’re visible from the southern hemisphere.” “Does it really matter?” she asked. No. No it didn’t.

Ok, that's not a limerick.

Why only YouTube? Why aren't other video sharing platforms, such as Vimeo or Frame.io or takeyourpick allowed?

I think that, as used here, they are referring to a fairly recent usage of the term. Basically it means you need long lines and short lines. Historically... well, you can research how the Greeks used the term, but it isn't particularly helpful to the limerick. Let's look at an example: 1. There was an Old Man with a beard 2. Who said, 'It is just as I feared! 3. Two Owls and a Hen, 4. Four Larks and a Wren, 5. Have all built their nests in my beard! Notice that lines 3 & 4 are noticeably shorter than the other lines. 1,2,& 5 are each 8 syllables while 3 & 4 are each 5 syllables. Thus, the long lines are one strophe, and the short lines are a second strophe. Were you to add additional lines of a different length, perhaps 11 syllables, you would introduce a 3rd strophe.

THanks for the compliment! What was Write for Tanki? I must have missed that. Again, thanks for the kind words! ANd, you're welcome! I hope you enjoy your foray into VOnnegut's works!

Thanks! It actually is the tail of the Coup section.

Miracle Fanfic in the Tankiverse by Hippin_in_Hawaii Clandestine meetings are typically held in a clandestine fashion. The location selected is far off the beaten path; the hour is late. If it can be arranged, the weather is inclement. And the participants arrive at staggered intervals, each wearing clothing designed to be unobtrusive. Fred called his top-secret conspirators together in his conference tent, smack in the middle of his temporary headquarters in People’s Plaza, at 09:00. Al was the first to arrive. He took the seat nearest the coffee urn. Georgina came next with Phil right behind her. She and Fred shared a lengthy embrace as Phil sat beside Al. While they were still hugging, Liza came in. Nester was last, taking a random seat on the less-crowded side of the table. After a few moments of silence, someone cleared their throat theatrically. Fred and Georgina reluctantly released each other and took adjacent seats. Her hand slipped into his under the table. Fred looked around the table. “My friends,” he said, “it is so good to see you. We’re here today to lay the groundwork for our tomorrow. Not the Federated States’ tomorrow, not the peoples’ tomorrow, but ours. “As a quick overview, things are progressing well. The May 15 ceasefire was honored by both the Coalition and the Alliance. It fell apart two days later, but we tried again on May 21. As you know, that one has held, and in the days since, we’ve been honoring our word and beginning a staged withdrawal from our leading positions. “Although we have yet to establish formal communications with any of the opposing forces, I choose to be hopeful. And I remain optimistic that we will be able both to complete our withdrawal and reinstitute an elected government within our one-year goal.” At this, a couple of snorts were heard. Fred smiled. “I know, most of you find it an aggressive timeline. Since when has that stopped us?” This earned a generous round of laughs as each person reflected on their own particular memory of a seemingly-unwinnable race against the clock. “So, in slightly less than a year, I will be surrendering myself to one of those we now call enemy.” He nodded as everybody shifted in their seats. “I know, I know, no one at this table thinks it’s a good idea. Myself included. I just don’t see buying a lasting peace any other way. So, this is the way it’s going to be. Go.” Albert was the first to speak. “It has to be to either the Coalition or the Alliance. They won’t accept you surrendering to one of the smaller independent nations.” “The Alliance has the stronger claim,” said Nester, “since our initial invasion was against them.” “They also have the death penalty!” exclaimed Georgina. “And that is not, I repeat, NOT going to happen!” Heads bobbed around the table. “Ok,” said Fred. “Coalition it is. Then what happens? I assume a show trial followed by imprisonment.” “Luemberg,” added Nester. “They’ll want you in that high-profile dungeon, want the world to see you caged.” “Luemberg seems likely,” agreed Phil. “That, or some black hole which doesn’t officially exist.” Fred felt Georgina’s grip tightening. He patted her hand with a reassurance he didn’t feel. “You know that trial will just be a show, right?” asked Liza. “I doubt it will last a week. They’ll make a big deal about swift justice for the victims of the war and sweep you off to prison. You’ll be headline news for a few weeks, and then, nothing.” Fred nodded. “Seems likely enough. So, this is our first contingency; I’m imprisoned in Luemberg. It seems the most likely outcome. What do we know?” “Luemberg has been in continuous operation as a maximum security prison for nearly two hundred years,” chirped Al. “Originally a mountain keep, it’s been renovated several times. Some of the original construction is still in place, mostly for administrative and support functions, but one wing is still standing. The majority was constructed after the second world war, and the newest wing is roughly twenty years old. The Coalition claims it is one of the most technologically advanced prisons on the planet.” Liza whistled. “Where’d you get all of that?” Al shrugged. “They have a website.” A round of chuckles filled the room. “Right, so, high on the list of priorities is to get some more information about Luemberg, information that doesn’t come from a propaganda-laden website. But Luemberg is only half of the equation,” sighed Fred. Nester nodded. “You’ve got to disappear. Completely. And we’ve got to make sure that no ties to the Federated States are ever discovered.” He paused. “I’m sorry, Fred, but you can’t ever come home.” Fred nodded, his grip tightening on Georgina’s hand. “That’s a given.” He turned to face Georgina. “Georgie, this is all you. You pick your team and you go. Soon. Find us a new home and make it safe.” There were tears streaming down Georgina’s face. She smiled and nodded, but didn’t speak. Fred turned back to the table. “Once…” His voice cracked, and he faltered. The room waited as he gathered his composure. “After Georgie and her team are gone,” he continued, his voice low, “we’ll try to keep up the appearance of her still being in place. Once people begin to notice her absence, we’ll deny it. Then we’ll plant some rumors that she defected, that she cut a deal with the Alliance and slipped away.” Nester nodded. “Sorry, Georgie. If you’re still here when we surrender, there’s no way you don’t get arrested. If you disappear too late in the game, you’ll be a hunted war criminal. We’ve got to get you under the radar as far as possible, as soon as possible. And to do that, you’ve got to be a coward.” “I know my job,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears running down her face. “Phil?” “Of course,” he answered simply. “I’ll start picking my team. We’ll be ready to leave in two weeks.” She looked at Fred. “You had better make some time for me, love. It’s going to be a while.” “Of course, love,” he answered. No one interrupted the tender gaze. Eventually they both turned back to the table. “I’ll need to do some time,” Fred resumed. “The world needs to see me caged, as Nester said. And they’ll want to know I’m suffering. We’ll need to wait until I’m old news.” Al nodded. “It would be great if you could get word to us, maybe even send us some useful intel.” “As if we’ll get that lucky,” scoffed Fred. “Still, I’ll be watching for any chance. Maybe I can raise messenger pigeons on the roof!” “Let’s use your sentencing date as the reference point,” suggested Liza. “How long is long enough?” “Two years?” asked Nester. Georgina gasped and turned to glare. “Um, maybe eighteen months, then?” he quickly amended. Fred squeezed Georgina’s hand. “I think it certainly needs to be over a year. Barring the incredibly unlikely chance that I can actually communicate from the inside, let’s go with eighteen months.” Glances were shared all around the table. The silence was thick. Nester finally stood. “You all understand why Nienna can’t be here. And why her involvement isn’t possible. But she asked me to send you her love, her silence, and her promise to join you all in the Promised Land, once the country is safe and secure.” Fred nodded. “We’ve all got a lot of planning to do. We’ve got almost a year. Let’s make the most of it.” “Hey,” inserted Al, “we need an operation name.” “No,” contradicted Georgina, “we need a miracle.” “Miracle it is!” said Al. Fred and Georgie sat and held hands as everyone else filed out. “The viewing conditions aren’t that great,” began Fred, “but the Eta Aquarids are happening just now. Feel like spending the night on the roof with me?”

Nope. This is Tanki Newspaper. If you're looking for Tanki, you should see lots more tanks and explosions! Oddly, there are people here who enjoy communicating, in English and other languages. And we enjoy being challenged. You're certainly welcome to not participate, but please, don't try to ruin it for the rest of us, ok? Personally, I wish they would just shut down the game, and focus on the writing! ;)

I really wanted it to be more news-papery looking, but at the end of the day, I'm not willing to dump a lot of time into the graphic aspect of it. Not really my strength. Maybe I can get someone here to do that for me before I publish the novelization! This was installment 31... you have a little catching up to do!

Best name ever to come out of a random name generator!

The Fox and the Grapes as Kurt Vonnegut may have told it By Hippin_In_Hawaii Chapter 1 There was this fox, walking down a path, and he came across a fine bunch of grapes hanging from a tree branch. Chapter 2 No, grapes don’t hang from tree branches. I am aware of this. Nor do foxes, as a rule, enjoy eating grapes. I am also aware of this. Sometimes it is simply necessary to contrive unlikely things in order to illustrate a point. Chapter 3 The fox thought to himself “Those grapes look delicious!” and, so thinking, leapt into the air, hoping to grab them in his teeth. Chapter 4 I am, of course, seriously anthropomorphizing the fox’s behavior. Our science, as advanced as we think it, has yet to develop to the point where we can read the thoughts of a fox. Even that statement contains the fallacy of assuming foxes have what we would recognize as thoughts. We can observe the behavior and infer our own motivations, which is what I have done. To wit: the fox jumped towards the grapes; I tell you that it was because they looked delicious. Chapter 5 It doesn’t actually matter that the fox is male. Chapter 6 His first jump fell far short of reaching the grapes. The fox backed up the trail a ways and took a running jump. This got him a little closer to the grapes, but not close enough. So, he went even farther away and ran up with all of his might. Legs pumping, teeth gritted in determination, eyes focused on the prize, he hurled himself into the air with every last scrap of energy. Still, he did not reach the grapes. Chapter 7 Foxes are known to be both intelligent and persistent at solving problems where food is involved. Any farmer who has tried to keep foxes out of a chicken coop knows this. Chapter 8 The fox regarded the grapes, then looked around at his surroundings. The path he was on was well-cultivated, commonly used by the local vineyard owner as he moved between fields. This particular bunch of grapes belonged to a runaway vine that had snaked out from a trellis in the adjacent field. The fox poked his head through the hedge which separated the path from the field. There, he saw row after row of arbors, each groaning under the weight of succulent, delicious grapes. Chapter 9 Aesop’s fox, having failed at reaching the grapes after trying only one method, walks away. He tells himself that the grapes are probably sour and not worth his effort. Aesop clearly never met a fox. Having given the fox the unlikely desire for grapes, and likewise the ability to think in astonishingly human-like terms, he also strips the fox of its intelligence and perseverance. These things he does in order to fabricate a moral; namely, that some good things require effort. I think his story is a terrible example of this moral. However, as I approve of the moral, I’ve given the fox more realistic behaviors. Chapter 10 The fox wandered up and down the rows of grapes, nibbling and sampling from bunches left and right. Once he had eaten his fill, he settled down underneath a particularly succulent row of grapes for a nap, expecting to resume his grazing after a light snooze. At which point the farmer came along and shot him. Chapter 11 While I do want to extoll the values of hard work, intelligence, and perseverance, I do not want to appear to endorse either thievery or gluttony. Morals are rarely simple things. Even the most basic “thou shalt not” can be full of subtext. I suppose, were this story to have a moral, it is that the fox would have been best served by starting his own vineyard if he wanted grapes. Chapter 12 Aesop perverted the nature of foxes terribly in order to make his simplistic point. I have further perverted the nature of Aesop’s fox, and in doing so, have muddied the waters even more. Foxes are clever, resourceful, and above all, wild. It would be a complacent fox indeed who would stroll carelessly through a cultivated field, much less take a nap in one. Foxes avoid man, and with good cause. Foxes are indifferent to grapes. Neither Aesop nor I have done you any favors in attempting to use foxes and grapes as a basis for a lesson in morality. Chapter 13 If push came to shove, I suppose you could extract something useful. If you are a fox and reading this, you can rest assured that we, humankind, have greatly underestimated your cognitive abilities. If you are a human reading this, you can probably safely assume that fables are not valuable for learning morality.

The thing I try to keep in mind is that the mods and helpers are all volunteers, with lives and happenings of their own. I've had articles that were published in just one day; I've had it take over a week. It's frustrating, there's no denying that, but at the end of the day, we're all just people doing the best we can!

Breaking News Fanfic in the Tankiverse by Hippin_in_Hawaii Saturday, August 14 Coalition authorities confirmed today that the war criminal commonly known as General Fred has escaped. Details are few at this time, but it seems that the secure facility in Luemberg has been experiencing intermittent problems with its electrical supply for several weeks due to a landslide damaging a transmission line. The facility was operating on its backup generator, which failed early Friday morning, forcing the operation to switch to emergency battery backups. By late that night, neither regular service nor the generator had been restored, and battery system was depleted, disabling the majority of the facility’s security systems. Warden Nathaniel Jenkis authorized the transfer of numerous high-profile prisoners to the facility’s older southwest wing. The southwest wing is largely unused because of its age; renovating it with contemporary security systems was deemed impractical. Since the older physical security measures were still in place, the southwest wing was deemed more secure during the power interruption. General Fred was amongst the prisoners transferred there. An attack commenced in the early hours of the morning. Approximately one-third of the security forces who were assigned the overnight shift failed to report for duty; the remaining guards were quickly overwhelmed by an unidentified assault team. There is currently no word on how many casualties resulted. Neither Warden Jenkis nor Coalition press liaison Kalliope Arundhati have issued any further statement. The Leadership of the Federated States was quick to distance itself from the situation. A brief statement from Leader Muñoz asserted that the Federated States had no involvement in the escape and would not offer safe haven to the escapee. She also cautioned the Coalition against sending forces into Federated States territory to search, citing the autonomy restrictions in the recently-signed treaty. General Fred surrendered himself to Coalition forces approximately thirteen months ago. A high ranking military officer in the Federated States during their War of Aggression, General Fred took advantage of his position as head of the armoured forces to stage a coup, deposing the country’s rightful leaders. He then used a campaign of social media to announce his intention to surrender. Laying out a one-year strategy, he withdrew the Federated States forces back to their original borders. During this time, extensive negotiations were conducted, in which General Fred handed over numerous war criminals and classified documents to the allied forces. He organized an emergency election, ultimately surrendering power to the Federated States new government before surrendering himself to Coalition forces. Opinion on his actions, both during the war and during the coup, vary widely. However, his trial in Coalition court lasted only four days before yielding a sentence of life in prison with no possibility of parole. He was also tried in absentia by the Alliance legal system, where he received another life sentence. The Coalition has set up an online tip system. Anyone with information about the former general or the escape is asked to visit warcriminals.col/generalfred or email tips@warcriminals.col.

I've got an... I guess "organizational document" is a good term for it, that I use to track the series. I use it to keep the timeline straight, to keep track of details as needed (what WAS that guy's name?), and also to jot ideas or even rough outlines for stories. Not unlike a notebook, but my skill at writing by hand is pretty pitiful compared to my skill at typing. Not that my typing is anything to be proud of; I only use five fingers! But it's still far faster and more legible than my handwriting.

We'll see what happens! I know, from past experience, that once I lose momentum on a project, it tends to stay lost. Who knows? Maybe this will be the exception! I sure do enjoy seeing what hijinks these characters get into!

There are three more chapters, all written and waiting their turns. I had ideas for several more that I would have loved to have written, but life intervened. I didn't want to leave the series unfinished while I was traveling all summer, as it seemed unlikely I'd return to it once I got back. Sadly, a death in the family forced me to start those travels two weeks early, so I had to wrap everything up as quickly as I could.

There's no actual video, just words. The whole piece is a script for a video, the one that's referenced in part 3 of Interview with the General. But if you read the items in the left-hand column, then close your eyes and imagine what they'd look like, you're doing it correctly! ;) How? Where was it hiding? And thank you!

It's a continuous sentence. "Camera move pulls back to reveal..." The odd formatting makes that less-than-obvious. In an actual script, those words (and many others) would never appear; instead, everything would be abbreviated (MCU in this case.) I changed all the abbreviations as an 11th hour decision, trying to be kind to a non-industry audience. Not surprising I wasn't consistent! Rats. I was hoping it was a Chrome thing. Well, as much as I love being called a genius, 2-column scripts are pretty standard in video production. I tried to do it as a screenplay, which people tend to be more familiar with, but that's not the world I work in.

Under New Management Fanfic in the Tankiverse by Hippin_in_Hawaii VIDEO AUDIO Runtime FADE IN: GENERAL FRED stands before a green chromakey screen, wearing his dress uniform. MUSIC up and under: Federated States national anthem. GF: Hello there. You may recognize my face from recent news. I am General Fred. 0:15 MORPH TO: GF’s head as the turret of a crudely-animated cartoon tank, leading a column of more cartoon tanks. GF: I used to be the head of all armored forces for the Federated States. 0:05 CAMERA MOVE: Pulls back to reveal cartoon tanks encircling the Federated States Capitol. GF’s tank rolls in through the front door. The Federated States flag descends, and a new flag rises, featuring GF’s friendly face. SFX: some crashing and brouhaha. Descending slide whistle as the flag descends; ascending whistle as the new flag rises. GF: Now, I run the entire country. We’re under new management, and that management is me. 0:15 CUT TO: Interior, cartoon jail. Real GF escorting cartoon caricatures of the Leadership and staff into a prison cell. GF: It turns out our former Leadership are a bunch of evil, power-mad cretins who wanted to take over the world. 0:15 CUT TO: Close-up of cell door slamming on Leadership’s face. SFX: Cell door slams shut. GF: Well, I’ve put a stop to that. 0:05 DISSOLVE TO: Exterior, cartoon battlefront. Oversized cartoon GF walks into frame, climbs on a hill, waving a white flag. SFX: Gunfire and explosions compete with GF’s voice. Continue until specified. GF: We’ve had enough, and we want to go home. 0:25 CUT TO: Medium close-up of GF and white flag. A giant bullet pierces the flag, leaving a large hole. GF looks sad. GF: I know it may be hard to believe, but we’re honestly calling it quits. 0:10 CUT TO: Animated map of the war. Large arrows show the disposition of Federated States forces. Zoom in to show a column of tanks stopping and turning around, then zoom back out to the map with the directional arrows reversed. GF: We’ve already halted our advance. Right now, we’re only fighting defensively. If everybody can just stop shooting, I promise, we will take our tanks and go home. 0:20 DISSOLVE TO: Interior, cartoon conference room. Cartoon GF sits alone at a round table. GF: There’s a lot we have to work out. I’m not saying that this will be easy. But let’s start by trying a ceasefire. 0:10 CUT TO: Cartoon calendar page featuring May 15. SFX: Gunshots slow to a halt. GF: In three days, on May 15, at exactly twelve noon, our forces will stop firing. 0:20 CUT TO: Cartoon Federated States soldier in a trench. He peeks up, and a bullet bounces from his helmet. He shoots in return. SFX: One shot, a ricochet, another shot. GF: It’ll be tricky. Both sides will be afraid the other will cheat. But I promise we will only fire if fired upon. 0:20 CUT TO: Interior, cartoon conference room. Lots of figures seated at the table in Alliance and Coalition uniforms. SFX: angry crowd grumbling GF: You’re mad at us. We understand. Can we please stop shooting and start talking? 0:05 SHOT CONTINUES: GF enters with a bulging sack, which he sets on the table. GF: We’re putting everything on the table. Returning land. Releasing prisoners. Handing over the former Leadership for trial. Restitution. 0:10 CUT TO: Close-up GF climbing onto the table. GF: Even I am on the table. I’ll surrender myself, if that’s what it takes. 0:10 DISSOLVE TO: Real GF, still standing in front of green screen. GRAPHICS: #PeaceNow MUSIC: Give Peace a Chance (John Lennon) under. GF: Please, let’s not shed any more blood. You’ve got three days to think it over. Then, all we have to do is stop shooting. It’s the first step in a long process, but isn’t it worth a chance to bring home our sons and daughters? 0:30 FADE TO BLACK [/td]

I don't know if the analogy makes me very, very happy or very, very sad.

Yep, shoulda been "weren't." I'd love to know what the other minor edits were, that I may incorporate them into the original.

Interview with the General - Part 3 Fanfic in the Tankiverse by Hippin_in_Hawaii [Editor’s note] Our agreement to publish this entire interview, unedited, forces us to distribute it across several issues as space allows. We apologize for any confusion this may cause. World News Weekly: A red folder miracle? What does that mean? General Fred: Oh, it’s a reference to a plan that’s possible but has very little likelihood of success. WNW: Why red folder? GF: Back in training, my crew and I spent a lot of time on plans and contingencies. We’d research past training exercises, examine maps of the training areas, memorize details about the capabilities of different tanks, run computer simulations, yadda yadda. You get the idea. And we would craft plans based on different scenarios. Lots and lots of plans. WNW: That sounds like common sense preparation. GF: (laughs) Have you ever found common sense to be common? WNW: (laughs) I suppose not! GF: But, yes, if you want to put it that way, we exercised common sense preparation. My thing is that I like to subvert expectations whenever possible. Sure, if you have 15 tanks and the enemy has 10 tanks, you can just pound on each other with a reasonable expectation that the superior force will win. But what if one tank, coming from an unlikely direction, could neutralize the entire enemy force? My crew and I spent a lot of time on that type of planning. WNW: Subverting expectations? GF: Yep. WNW: Did you ever get to use any of those plans? Did they ever work? GF: We used them all the time. Occasionally they would work. Usually they wouldn’t. Sometimes they would fail spectacularly. Once we even lost our tank to quicksand. WNW: Quicksand? GF: Long story. But it involved trying to come at things from an unexpected direction. In that case, it was from the southwest. There just happened to be a swamp in the way. Thus… WNW: Quicksand. GF: Exactly. Quicksand. WNW: So those plans were the red folder plans? GF: Oh, no. But with so many plans being made, it was inevitable that we’d develop a few ideas that, although plausible, were far too dangerous to actually be tried in a practice scenario. The sort of desperation move only to be used in times of actual, erm, desperation. WNW: And those were the red folder plans? GF: Yes. Those were the red folder plans. WNW: Did you ever use a red folder plan successfully? GF: A few times. I guess it depends on how you define ‘success.’ WNW: Tell me about one. GF: The first time actually was during training. We were on an exercise against another company. Somehow seditionists had infiltrated the training program and had loaded their tank with live rounds. When the exercise started, they began killing us. Twenty tanks armed only with simunitions trapped in a training arena; they were shooting us like fish in a barrel. They were perched atop a ridge. One of our red folder plans had involved boosting up the side of that ridge and using our cannon’s recoil to push us onto the top, then praying we could brake before falling off the other side. Like I said, way too dodgy to try in practice. But it was the only thing to try in the circumstances. WNW: It worked? GF: We successfully mounted the hill and rammed the enemy, knocking them off the far side. So we were successful in that we stopped the attack and saved the lives of other crews. We, um, weren’t so successful at the braking portion, though. We followed them right down. WNW: And you survived? GF: Well, we had their tank to break our fall! But there was a generous round of hospitalization for each of us. WNW: Sounds like that red folder saved a lot of lives. GF: At least on that occasion. So always remember, red folder miracle, subvert expectations, and attack from the southwest! WNW: Um, wasn’t that where the quicksand was? GF: Moving on! WNW: I’m really fascinated by this idea of the red folder of desperation plans. Can we go back to that? How many times have you successfully used them? GF: It’s rare in the extreme. I think you could say that starting the coup was such a desperation plan, but that one never got written into the folder. WNW: Can we talk about that? How did you decide to stage a coup? How did you plan it? Who helped you? GF: (laughs) WNW: Please, let me in on the joke? GF: You’ll never believe this, but I had no plan. No confederates. WNW: Seriously? That doesn’t agree with what you were saying earlier. GF: You’re right, I do love to plan. I make plans for everything, and plans for nothing. I find that nothing takes a lot of planning. But on that day, no. No plan. Just nausea. WNW: Please, take it from the beginning. GF: I was commander of the Tank Corps. I was the right hand of Grand Marshal Morrison, who was the right hand of the Leadership. And I hated myself for it. As I had risen through the ranks, by necessity, I had been given access to more and more information. And my worldview had slowly shifted. I began to see that the goals of the Leadership were not only unfounded, but suicidal. There was no growth or glory at the end of the war. We, the Federated States, were certainly doomed. ‘Crushing defeat’ is a term that sounds pretty apt. One of the more pleasant duties I had was to speak to the new academy graduates. It was my responsibility to congratulate them, motivate them, and send them out to serve. And as I stood there, on that stage, in the middle of my address, I found I could not do it. I could not send those brave young soldiers out to die for no purpose greater than a madman’s lust for power; for no future but the destruction of our nation. So I made a desperate choice. WNW: A red folder plan? GF: Well, had it ever been formally crafted as a plan, it certainly would have landed in the red folder. ‘Take advantage of public appearance in front of a military crowd to stage a coup.’ Definitely red folder material! I think I would call it ‘Operation Seat of the Pants.’ WNW: Have you ever considered the irony that, having begun your career by stopping seditionists, you ended it as the greatest seditionist in Federated States history? GF: That’s a very after-the-fact way of looking at it. What I did in training was a desperate reaction to a horrific situation. That it resulted in saving lives is gratifying to me. What I did with my coup was also a desperate reaction to a horrific situation. I believe, or at least desperately hope, it also saved lives. I am certain it saved my country. But neither of those optimistic self-delusions help me sleep well in here. So, no, I haven’t really spent much time on the ironic aspects of my situation. Maybe I’ll get around to that next decade. I think my schedule is open. WNW: Do you really think that your sentence is unjust? GF: I haven’t said it was unjust. I’ve simply said it wasn’t arrived at by just means. Once I’ve finished my life sentence in this Coalition prison, I’m to be turned over to the Alliance, where I was tried in absentia, found guilty, and sentenced to life in prison. After that, the non-allied nations in question get a crack at me. I think there are about five of those. Assuming the trend holds, I’ll have completed seven life sentences before making it to the courts of my own country. There, most likely, I would be exonerated. Assuming, of course, I hadn’t been dead seven times over. WNW: Perhaps that is a little over the top. GF: (Laughs) Or even absurd? WNW: Absurd. Yes, I think I can agree to that! GF: I think you’ll agree that it is definitely a pivotal moment in my life. WNW: Since we seem to have drifted back to the absurd theme, do you recognize how absurd it was to use social media as a vehicle for surrendering? GF: Yes, that rated high on the absurdity criterion as well, but what choice did I really have? What few diplomatic ties remained to the Federated States were the tools of the former, legally-elected government. Even if we’d had ambassadors to any of our adversaries, there’s no guarantee they would have followed my orders. Which was pretty much a moot point; all our diplomats had long since been evacuated from, or imprisoned by, the countries we were busily invading. WNW: But social media? GF: Well, we tried everything we could. Cold calls, television and radio broadcasts, print flyers dropped over combat zones, and social media. Social media was just the one that gained traction. WNW: The video on FriendFace was particularly effective. GF: The “Under New Management” piece? Thanks! Personally, I found it ridiculous, but I was a fan of the hashtags. WNW: Any favorites? GF: ‘Hashtag Peace Now’ really resonated with me. And, although we didn’t start this one, ‘Hashtag I Believe In General Fred’ certainly warmed my heart. WNW: You were always the face of the coup. GF: Well, it was my coup. WNW: Certainly you had help. Your influence may be widespread, but it’s simply not possible that other high-ranking officials weren't involved. Officials like General Georgina Olsen. GF: You are like a dog with a bone, you know that? Georgie and I served together for a long time, and it is well known that we were intermittent lovers as well. But when I took the reigns of power, she used that familiarity to stay in my good graces only long enough to escape. She went to ground, and to the best of my knowledge, remains undiscovered. Rumor was that the Alliance is sheltering her, but I haven’t heard anything more since I was locked up here. What’s that been? WNW: Almost a year now, sir. GF: Almost a year. Seems longer. Anyway, yes, it was my face on the surrender campaign because it was my coup. One of the secrets to a successful coup is that you don’t share power. WNW: Since we’re having this conversation in a maximum security prison, can you call your coup successful? GF: That’s a little harsh, isn’t it? It seems to me that I managed to preserve the Federated States with its pre-war boundaries intact. I organized and held a special election to reinstate the constitutionally-mandated government. I negotiated with the opposing forces to let the Federated States keep some defensive forces. I negotiated with the incoming government to commit to an exhaustive campaign of restitution and reconstruction aid for the countries we invaded. I handed the traitorous members of the former Leadership over for trial. I released terabytes of data and documents to make sure that those people were tried with accurate information. I surrendered myself to the Coalition delegation on the same day our new Leadership took office. And I did it all within a calendar year, just as I promised to in my first addresses. I didn’t leave a single major checkbox unchecked. So, yes, I consider my coup a success. WNW: How about minor checkboxes? GF: (laughs) Thousands of those didn’t get checked. WNW: You make it sound like you’re the hero of the day. GF: I’m just not getting through to you, am I? All those things I just listed, everything I did as part of the coup, was to try and make up for the harm I helped cause. I was no small part of our success in the war. My subsequent trying to make things right doesn’t change my culpability. WNW: The guards are coming, sir. I think our time is over. GF: I want to thank you for your company. You have been a most welcome diversion from my hours of solitude. I look forward to someday seeing if this was, actually, a pivotal moment. WNW: I hope that it will be, sir! GF: Again, be careful what you wish for! As I was escorted from that forbidding place, changing back into my street clothes under the unblinking eyes of security cameras, I was also replaying the interview in my head, trying to preserve nuances of tone and expression. I felt that this was a man who believed what he said, and whose story may deserve a closer look. Sadly, I fear that we may have to wait for a future history to provide that objective clarity; I don’t think we’ll find it today. [Editor’s note] Any opinions expressed by the writer belong solely to themself and do not reflect the position of this publication.

Yep, something like that! Turns out, aside from learning how to spell "armour," there weren't any differences.