George Bush’S Great America [EN]: Chapter 189

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In Riga, the arrival of Christmas wasn’t marked by a public broadcast announcement or a commercially driven festive atmosphere.

Due to an unspecified issue, several areas were without electricity. Officials, now reduced to survivors within the crippled infrastructure and public facilities, stated that power could only be restored by replacing damaged power lines and transformer components. The water pipes remained intact for now, but their long-term reliability was uncertain, mirroring the precariousness of the electricity supply.

The Christmas spirit, to put it mildly, was utterly extinguished. People of all nationalities and ethnicities avoided gatherings, and despite the holiday, hotel and motel occupancy rates plummeted to unprecedented lows, even below typical off-season levels.

Could you imagine that the streets of Riga, now descending into anarchy, resembled the dazzlingly prosperous avenues of New York? Yet, that’s precisely what was happening.

Fear of the virus, not religious observance or familial warmth, defined this Christmas.

So, what *did* signal the start of Christmas in Riga?

It was a massive explosion that ripped through downtown Riga precisely at midnight. The exact cause remained undetermined due to the building’s collapse, but the scale of the blast suggested a gas explosion.

The explosion was immense, but as the saying goes, “empty vessels make the most noise.” The explosion, for all its bluster, only managed to ignite a couple of buildings. The resulting fire was manageable, easily extinguished with a few bursts from a fire truck.

The problem, however, was the absence of both personnel and equipment to fight the blaze. Riga had become a solitary confinement cell, and firefighting resources had long been scavenged or dismantled for survival. With everyone focused on self-preservation, the fire steadily grew.

As the fire intensified beyond initial expectations, it became impossible to ignore. People were forced to either flee or confront it. Initially, most chose to escape. Driven by fear of the virus, even self-sufficient survivalists, who hadn’t relied on rations, joined the masses flocking to the ration gate—their only link to the outside world—and launching boats onto the river.

Do you know the saying? “Crisis is an opportunity.” Too many in Riga clung to this belief with excessive zeal.

“Wow, it’s burning nicely.”

Riga’s historic buildings were consumed one by one. The fire wasn’t merely spreading; it was being deliberately set. Was it the work of militias, rival factions, or simply nihilistic doomsayers seeking chaos?

“I wanted to eat meat, but not *human* meat.”

I couldn’t identify the speaker, but I understood the arsonists’ objective.

“Gunshot!”

Another person crumpled to the ground as a gunshot rang out. He clutched his bleeding thigh, screaming in pain, not even realizing what had happened until he saw the blood.

Having been trapped in this city for months, I was intimately familiar with the sound of gunfire. This was undoubtedly a Mosin-Nagant rifle, identifiable by its distinct communist-era report and the bolt-action’s unique cycling sound. Gunshots in Riga fell into three broad categories.

First, there were hunting rifles or pistols, obtained through legal or illegal means. Second, military assault rifles, of unknown origin, were less common. Finally, there were antiquated muskets, often looted from museums or private collections. Regardless of whether it was a modern rifle or a musket, a headshot meant certain death.

The confined environment and unique circumstances of the city amplified the power of firearms. They were primarily used for robbery and looting, rather than self-defense. After three days of starvation, even the most rational person might resort to theft, especially if armed. Robbery became easier with repetition, desensitizing the perpetrator. It was safe to assume that anyone with a gun was a looter. Ironically, those without guns were forced to surrender their supplies to these armed individuals.

However, this power dynamic wasn’t absolute. In conventional warfare, superior technology could be overcome by skill, and hierarchies could be overturned in an instant. And that moment had arrived.

“You bastards!”

As the bowstring was drawn and released, a carbon arrow unerringly found its mark—the looters’ heads.

“How’s the bullet I shot with my bow taste! You sons of bitches!”

A bullet didn’t necessarily need to be fired from a gun. Specially crafted arrows could launch bullets, with a modified bullet attached where the arrowhead should be. The detonator was triggered upon impact, replicating a point-blank shot.

It was a last resort, as archery was preferable to poor marksmanship. Pipe guns were simply unusable.

“This is a goddamn end of the world.”

A devastated, burning city; a large-scale gunfight reminiscent of a gun museum; a battlefield where firearms and melee weapons clashed; and a cavalryman on a motorcycle!

“Or is it a fantasy? The title should be ‘The Fall of Riga’.”

Even as I grumbled to Gordon, now reduced to a keychain, my sharp eyes tracked the enemy’s fleeting shadows.

However, one question lingered. Aside from this cursed keychain, what had become of my real friends? My childhood friends from Riga were either dead or gone, but I wondered about my foreign acquaintances—not those living abroad, but genuine foreign friends.

I also had friends from online chat, including a French soldier who boasted of single-handedly eliminating enemies. I’d connected with him for some reason, and we’d often exchanged greetings until a few months before the incident.

If not for the Riga disaster, we’d probably be sharing a drink around this time. Drawing the last arrow, I made a vow.

No matter what, I would survive and tell that friend the true story of the end of the world.

* * *

The saying that anything can be solved with money, and if not, you simply don’t have enough, held true, at least in America. The seemingly unstoppable wildfire was contained with vast sums. Whether they poured water or money, the massive expenditure had a positive political impact.

As the saying goes, “The lucky get luckier,” and the timing was perfect, turning a crisis into an advantage.

In fact, post-fire recovery and reconstruction would cost even more than the firefighting efforts. While the battle against the flames was intense, restoring nature would take far longer. The reconstruction plan was already underway when the fire started, and the personnel were ready.

“Someone said, ‘As long as there is a strong sovereign state in the world, paperwork will never end.'”

However, presidential approval was required.

“Albert Einstein.”

“Let’s see, it starts with that damn CIA.”

Because the outcome was favorable, everything was being glossed over, but it had been a chaotic mess. Unauthorized possession and discharge of firearms on board an aircraft, not at an airport, was a major international incident. France was still furious, creating a constant headache.

Officially, it was attributed to a rogue CIA operative, but that was untrue. It was an official directive. To appease France, those involved received a light punishment of suspension, but even that was a formality; they remained active and were even being considered for medals.

Next were the foreigners, non-citizens, starting with a Korean national.

‘Is he a NIS [National Intelligence Service of South Korea] stooge? Why are these kids like this these days? Are they trying to cause another Koreagate [a political scandal in the 1970s involving South Korean influence-buying in the US Congress]?’

Koreagate, also known as the Park Dong-sun scandal, involved illegal lobbying by the South Korean government in the US Congress in 1976. The House formed the Fraser Committee to investigate, resulting in the Fraser Report.

In short, it was an attempt by South Korea to manipulate the United States through financial means.

‘Surely not. This isn’t a place where you can buy influence with money anymore.’

It wasn’t that the US Congress was immune to financial influence, but rather that existing lobbyists had already secured their positions. Creating an opening would be difficult, though not impossible.

And I thought things would improve with a new president, but they’re exactly the same. No, they seem worse.

That’s not to say the CIA is innocent. It’s an old story, but the CIA had wiretapped the Blue House [the South Korean presidential residence]. Since intelligence agencies are vital to national security, it was difficult to intervene, even as I watched them run wild. I simply ordered them to exercise restraint.

Does a clean intelligence agency even exist?

‘I don’t like this.’

The CIA believes the NIS agents in Washington D.C. are solely focused on President Bush’s personal life. They seem to be planning something, but I have no idea what.

“Shall we get rid of them?”

“No, leave them alone. It’s too early. ‘It’s not too late to figure out what they’re trying to do.’ That’s what I think.”

The chief of staff looked puzzled.

“Is it necessary? Do we need to wait?”

“Even if we kick these guys out and send them back, that’s it. They’ll definitely send them again in some way.”

It meant that simply cutting off branches wouldn’t solve the problem without addressing the root cause.

“The French will take care of the French in France, and West Iraq… It’s not our business. Several Afghans. We need to share this side a bit.”

He passed the documents, and Bush’s hand stopped.

“Huh, the criminals have quite unique backgrounds?”