"Proceed as usual. Moreover, make the 'anti-access' segment of the exercise more realistic. Let the passing United States and United Kingdom ships and aircraft 'accidentally' capture footage of our missile systems and submarine coordinating training. This is for Europe to see, and for Washington to see—we have the ability to cause trouble in the North Sea, and also the ability to offer some sort of...security guarantee, if the price is right."

He walked to the world map, his gaze moving between the Balkans, the North Sea, and the British Isles.

"The disintegration of the old order starts from the periphery, but the cracks will eventually extend to the heart. The Balkans are Europe's chronic cardiac condition, and we've just given it a light push. Europeans either perform surgery themselves or watch it fester. Either choice will deplete their already limited energy and resources."

"Then our main objective..." Casare asked.

"Unchanged. The chaos in Europe will ultimately lead to a deeper reliance on our technology and capital, leading to the bankruptcy of Europe's strategic autonomy. The model of Scotland must continue to be established, the infiltration of England must continue to deepen. The Balkans is merely a high-intensity stress test, to test how fragile Europe's unity is, to test whether the United States is still willing and able to pull Europe's chestnuts out of the fire."

His gaze deepened:

"Tell all departments to enter a 'window of opportunity' response state. The next four weeks could be a critical period for reshaping structures. We must ride this wave, like surfers, provoked by the collapse of the Old Empire and European turmoil, rather than being swallowed by it."

England, London, a discreet private club.

Foreign Minister Crabben and the former MI6 station chief Richard Ellis meet again. Both looked worse than last time.

"Your work in Wales is showing results." Crabben's voice was weary. "The internal squabbles in the National Party have intensified, and the referendum motion has been temporarily shelved. However... we've detected that several key members of the Welsh National Party's radical faction secretly went to Dublin last weekend. They didn't meet with the Irish, but with... the Mexican Cultural Attaché to Ireland, and a Serbian 'businessman'." 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

Ellis's pupils contracted slightly: "Mexicans making connections? The Balkans and Wales?"

"Perhaps more than that." Crabben rubbed his temples. "Northern Ireland's Sinn Fein Party recently received a batch of anonymous donations for 'community development and historical education.' As for Scotland, none needs to be said. In the English Congress, although they're still tossing around within a constitutional framework, we suspect that their organizational skills and part of their funding also have traces of external guidance. This is a web, Richard. A web from the North Sea to the Irish Sea, to the Celtic Sea, possibly even connecting the Balkans. And we are at the center, being slowly entangled."

Ellis felt a chill. The world he was familiar with—where major power games had clear rules and boundaries, and intelligence warfare was in the shadows but with clear distinctions—was collapsing. In its place was a more chaotic and unconstrained infiltration, exploiting every crack, nurturing every discontent.

"What should we do?" he asked, his voice somewhat dry.

"Stall." A flash of fierceness passed in Crabben's eyes. "By all means possible, slow the substantive progress of independence in every place. In Wales and Northern Ireland, continue to create internal divisions, use economic interests to win over moderates, use blackmail to strike at radicals. In England, create more procedural obstacles and legal troubles for that Sarah Kent and her congress, meanwhile... secretly approach those around her who might be bought or waver. We need time, Richard. Time for Europe to stabilize the Balkans, time for the United States to refocus attention here, time for us... to find the nodes of this web, or, find chips to negotiate with the weavers."

"Chips?" Ellis smiled bitterly. "What chips do we have left? The gold has been stolen, credibility is bankrupt, the army is about to collapse, and we can't even hold Scotland."

"We still have geographical location, we still have the remaining talent base, we also have... the Queen." Crabben's voice was barely audible. "In the unavoidable event of final disintegration, the symbolic significance of the Royal Family might become a fragile thread connecting the fragments. And whoever holds this thread can occupy a nominal advantage in a future loose national alliance. The Mexicans may provide us with guns and money, but they can't offer this."

Ellis understood. This was a desperate rear-guard action, the aim wasn't victory, but to achieve a less disgraceful posture of surrender, and, perhaps never to come, preserve a most tenuous spark for 'revival.'

Bosnia and Herzegovina, outskirts of Sarajevo, fortified camps of the United Nations Protection Forces (UNPROFOR).

Lieutenant Leclerc of the French Foreign Legion cursed as he inspected the Famas rifle in his hand. Outside the camp, gunfire and explosions were closer than yesterday. The reinforcements of NATO's rapid reaction force had not arrived, the existing peacekeeping troops were weak, the order was "hold the position, observe and report, do not open fire unless directly attacked."

"Observe and report? Bloody hell, those Serbian armored vehicles are just two kilometers away!" His deputy, a young Belgian soldier, spoke with a trembling voice.

"Shut up, do your job." Leclerc snapped, but was equally unsure. He had experienced the most brutal siege here in the early nineties, peace had barely lasted a few years, was the nightmare to repeat again? Moreover, this time, the adversaries' equipment seemed upgraded, their actions more methodical.

The radio sizzled, a notice from the headquarters came through: the urgent diplomatic dialogue between the European Union and Mexico had made no progress, Mexicans reiterated the "non-interference principle," and expressed "understanding of the reasonable security concerns of the Serb people." Sanctions had been announced, but Serbia and the Serb Republic stated they "did not care."

"Mexico..." Leclerc chewed over the name. A distant North American country, why would its shadow loom over the Balkans? Has the world really become so small? Or is it that collapse is like an infection spreading from one continent to another?

He looked toward the direction of central Sarajevo, where windows once filled with snipers and remnants of shelling took place. New smoke was rising.

And in the distant North Sea, in the exercise area of the Scottish Self-Defense Army, a simulated target missile was intercepted mid-air by a "Shortsword" missile, transforming into a fireball. Not far away, on a command ship with Mexican "advisors" on board, data was being recorded in real-time and encrypted for transmission.

Cracks in the world spread, old maps ignite, new powers were delineating in shadows. Gunfire in the Balkans was merely a jarring note announcing the opening of a grander, more chaotic era. Everyone stood on their precarious deck, attempting to grasp something in the storm, whether it was a brand-new flag, an ancient oath, or a maritime chart leading to an unknown destination.

The dust has yet to settle as collapse continues, and the battle for wreckage has just entered its most brutal phase.

...