"Amguema, yes?"

The man shook his head angrily.

"Ombaam! Ombaam Luorawetlan!"

"Okay... Ombaam. Ombaam, put that on the map. Ombaam. Make the man happy."

The scout rolled his eyes and laid the map on his comrades back, scribbling something on the topographical view of the peninsula. They had met the man herding reindeer across the hill not long after the snows had broke. He was short and fierce, armed with a rifle that he had been more than happy to wave at them the moment he spotted them. Free alcohol had pacified him.

The scouting party was gathered here, on the hill overlooking the sea. The horses were being fed, the cold was low, for now. Their guide was talkative, but apparently untranslatable. At the bottom of the hill, they could see the town apparently called Ombaam. In the old world it was Amguema, but things do change over the years, they supposed. They made an early camp, and sent word back into the mountains.

Next the scouts began to ride around the peripheral of the and take detailed reports. The flood had brought a protected bay right to these peoples doorstep, although there was some suggestion it might still freeze over the winter. None the less, it was a port.

A few days later, they had done all the tests. Depth gauges into the bay. A ride east along the old river to make sure ships could indeed enter - they could. Good good. A supply of local food, seemingly both reindeer and fishing. Good and good.

On the fourth day, the Translation team arrived, with armed escort, and made formal contact with the village. The scouts moved on. There were no roads in this part of the world, few existed even before the flood, but the terrain wasn't too barren. They traveled for a few more days, feeling the sharp arctic winds slowly begin to weaken from inhospitable to weak.

They reached a natural stopping point, and began to search the landscape. As their progress returned towards the mountain range, their work slowed. Six men on Horseback, looking for an invisible line. Scouts get the worst work.

They did find it, in the end. A concrete block, placed by foreign hands, hidden in a snow drift. Russian make. Below it was a flag of Alyaska, relatively fresh. The scouts placed two flag poles, about a meter apart, and flew the flags of Alyaska and Kamchatka accordingly. This was their border. For now.

Another weeks ride west, then. Back to Ombaam. The 5,000 men of the 1st Goshan had made partial camp here now, more than the town had perhaps ever seen. Military engineers were all over the previously snowed landscape, making markings, and laying the groundwork. The town had been bought. And so, first blocks were laid on Fort Ombaams long road from reindeer village to Fortified Military Port.

[Meta: In which I continue to be the only person in the world inconvenienced by the weird contradictory province divide along the international date line. [RE055] [RE054] [RE051] [RE428]. Mappa. New New Abstract.]