British Salmoa Times

Mr. Arata Kurose, left,  former First Sergeant in the Japan Ground Self-Defense Force Special Forces Group Unknown Entity Targets Kanagawa Institute of Subatomic Research By Hiroshi Yamamoto This article originally appeared in The Kokumin Chronicle and is reprinted with permission. The city of Tokyo is reeling from one of the most serious incidents in modern Japanese history since the 1998 Tokyo Bay Cargo Disaster. What began as a confusing series of simultaneous emergencies now appears to be hardening into a coordinated, multi-pronged attack on the nation’s capital, authorities confirmed early this morning. Chief Cabinet Secretary Sato Akihiko, who addressed the press in the early hours, acknowledged that investigators are no longer treating the events as a coincidence. The sheer synchronicity of the container ship fire, the city-wide gas alarm triggers, and the high-security breach at the Kanagawa Institute of Subatomic Research (KISR) points to a level of planning and execution ...

By Hiroshi Yamamoto This article originally appeared in The Kokumin Chronicle and is reprinted with permission. The chaotic events that overwhelmed Tokyo Metropolitan Police and emergency services last night have sent shockwaves through communities across the capital and through every level of government, both local and national. In light of the seriousness of the incidents, Chief Cabinet Secretary Sato Akihiko held a late-night press conference in the briefing room of the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications, where he sought to address the unprecedented disruption and reassure the public. Shortly before seven-thirty last night, the container ship MV Orinoco Mistress issued an SOS after a fire broke out in one of its bays transporting electric vehicles. The ship, registered in Panama, had been waiting to unload its cargo at the Aomi Container Terminal when the incident began. Almost simultaneously, gas-leak alarms were triggered in several Tokyo districts - including the T...

The Courier By Richard Hardenburg British Salmoa Times Correspondent, aboard USCGC Healy , Arctic Ocean It has been eighty-two years since the loss of Submarine K-88 Grom and its commander, Captain Pyotr Alekseyevich Volkov — the Wolf . For many, this remains living time. Yet no surviving witnesses of the Anomaly remain to recount the final hours of the boat and her crew. From declassified Soviet documents, we know that in late October 1943, Grom prowled the icy Arctic waters — a lone predator in a theater where the Red Army faltered and the Northern Fleet eked out small, costly victories. The war had drained men and material alike; morale along the front lines was fragile. Yet in the frozen north, the Northern Fleet still struck. And Grom — daring, relentless, unsinkable — had become a symbol. We are fighting back , the propaganda claimed. For once, it was true. The mission described in Combat Order No. 036/op was unremarkable by wartime standards: lay mines, attack enemy tra...

By Richard Hardenburg British Salmoa Times Correspondent, Northern Fleet Library, Severomorsk In the reading rooms of Severomorsk, beneath the unblinking gaze of uniformed clerks, I sifted through the slow decay of war - paper yellowed by frost and decades. Page after page of declassified reports slid beneath my fingertips. One name surfaced with the inevitability of a tide: Captain Pyotr Alekseyevich Volkov, Third Rank, commander of Submarine K-88 Grom . The documents were fragments - a personnel file, a reprimand, a medical note, a hastily typed line in a mission log. Yet, like scattered bones, they assembled themselves into a man. Volkov came from a lineage carved out of hardship. His father fished the treacherous White Sea. His grandfather was a burlak on the Volga - one of those human engines who bent their backs until vertebrae surrendered, dragging barges for men who never learned their names. The family inheritance was measured in tears, sweat, and blood. Volkov carried it nor...

  “An Expedition of the Century - and a Question of Timing” By Richard Hardenburg British Salmoa Times Correspondent, on board USCGC Healy, Arctic Ocean The Kremlin calls it The Expedition of the Century . The Severnaya Zemlya Expedition, we were told, seeks to revive the daring of the early cosmonaut era, epitomised by Yuri Gagarin. Its aim is to venture into the high Arctic during the Polar Night, face extreme risks, and return with discoveries of scientific significance. The ambition is clear. The question remains: why now? Before discussing “ The Man Under the Uniform ,” it is worth considering the wider context. Why Now? European geopolitics have shifted markedly since the Russo-Valkarian war began in 2014. The front line remains largely static but violent. Both sides suffer heavy losses, and while Valkaria benefits from Western support, Russia produces its own artillery at a scale reminiscent of the Second Great War. These circumstances form the backdrop to the e...

  By Richard Hardenburg  British Salmoa Times Correspondent, on board USCGC Healy, Arctic Ocean As the Polar Night settles over the Arctic Ocean, the USCGC Healy holds steady against the dark. From its deck, I look back on the extraordinary days of the Severnaya Zemlya Expedition. To make sense of them, I must set them down in order. On November 8th, we flew to Murmansk aboard a Russian Il-96, shadowed by a Sukhoi Su-35S in blue digital camouflage. Passengers pressed to the windows, uneasy at the fighter’s presence, a reminder that even at thirty-five thousand feet, we were never beyond reach. Minutes before landing, a woman in a navy-blue uniform stepped to the front of the cabin, picked up the aircraft’s microphone, and spoke. “Good evening. My name is Senior Lieutenant Ludmilla Smirnov, and I am a coordinator for the expedition. Due to recent events, the expedition’s directors have made changes to accommodations in Murmansk, and we will be temporarily staying at the Norther...

Richard Hardenburg is a British Salmoa Times correspondent currently based in Europe. Over the past decade, he has reported from Europe, the Middle East, and Central Asia, covering political, cultural, and human-interest stories. A graduate of Columbia College, New York, in the early 2000s, Richard is known for his careful reporting, attention to detail, and commitment to presenting events clearly and accurately. He has a long-standing interest in international affairs and strives to provide readers with a thoughtful perspective on complex developments.

By  Lilla Marin, and Rachel Hátszeghy British Salmoa Times . As family members, colleagues, and readers across Canada and the world anxiously await news of the international Severnaya Zemlya Expedition in the Russian Arctic, breaking reports from the Russian Federation Foreign Ministry confirm that Canadian members of the expedition are being airlifted to safety aboard the USCGC Healy by Northern Fleet Russian Air Force helicopters. At the time of this report, the British Salmoa Times does not have a list of evacuees or their medical status. The explorers are being airlifted from the deck of the S.S. Severnny Polyus (Arktika-class LK-60Ya), a Russian icebreaker. Given the gravity of the situation, and after consulting with family members, we have decided to publish this editorial. What We Know On November 7th, when our correspondent Richard Hardenburg failed to submit his excerpt for the section Letters from the North -  following a four-hour-and-thirty-minute flight fr...

  By Richard Hardenburg British Salmoa Times Correspondent – Bureau, Istanbul, Turkey As I write this dispatch from Istanbul, one thought weighs heavily on me: for each of us—no matter our wealth, title, or trade—there comes a moment when we must choose a lane. Such choices can change a life; sometimes, they end one. The events of the past three days in this restless city are living proof. At dawn, I watched the sun climb above the Bosphorus from my room at the Marriott. The air was clean and new, but my thoughts were not. In that first light, I asked myself: What is a correspondent? The answer felt larger than words, larger than print. It was a quiet pulse that filled my chest, an echo from those who came before us. Across every age, it was the recorders—the witnesses—who preserved the words and deeds that shaped humanity’s belief and destiny. Without them, the story of who we are might have been lost to silence. Today, that duty has not changed. We are still bound to the truth ...

By Richard Hardenburg British Salmoa Times Correspondent – Bureau, Istanbul, Turkey With Dr. Marino’s name officially cleared, our goal was simple: leave Istanbul and put both physical and strategic distance between ourselves and Helga Dittmer.  “Your passport, sir,” said Agent Demir, handing it to Dr. Marino. “I apologize for the unpleasant hours, but it was my job.” His smile was polite, restrained. Professional. Unreadable. Outside, a dark station wagon waited, engine humming. The driver, composed and precise, wore a communications earpiece. Agent Demir said it would take us to the hospital.  He took the front seat; Dr. Marino and I sat in the back. Agent Demir spoke briefly in Turkish over the radio, then said, “I am alerting the agents we’re on our way.” The car threaded swiftly through narrow streets. Blue lights sliced the evening air. My eyes were forward, but my mind cataloged every detail—the positioning of officers, the likely routes, the subtle rhythms of the city ...

By Richard Hardenburg British Salmoa Times Correspondent – Bureau, Istanbul, Turkey Seeing Dr. Marino placed under “house arrest” by a Turkish intelligence agency left me deeply unsettled. I suspect Agent Demir wanted me to feel that way—to prompt me to do something revealing. After all, he had no reason to restrict my movements, yet he made sure I understood that I had not been ruled out completely. Hence, he suggested I remain in Istanbul, under the pretext of offering moral support to my countrymen. His reasoning seemed sound enough, but I was not entirely convinced. At the hotel lobby, I left a message for Agent Demir stating that I intended to have lunch at Pepo Restaurant, a well-reviewed steakhouse. During lunch, I found myself more preoccupied with glancing over my shoulder for a hotel messenger than enjoying my meal. The walk back to the hotel seemed interminable. However, as I was about to enter the elevator, I heard a voice calling my name. “Mr. Hardenburg, Agent Demir summ...

By Richard Hardenburg British Salmoa Times Correspondent – Bureau, Istanbul, Turkey The troubling events of the previous night lingered vividly in my mind. I resisted the urge to speculate, unwilling to let my thoughts drift into conjecture without firmer ground. Before pursuing that line, however, I turned my attention to the gentleman whose air of commanding self-confidence distinguished him as he issued instructions in the local tongue to several men in plain clothes who nevertheless bore the demeanor of law officers. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said with a heavy local accent. “I am Agent Demir, from the regional Intelligence Division. We were contacted by the Crime Division to look into this incident.” He gestured with a measured hand. “Perhaps we should move to a meeting room for more privacy.” As Dr. Marino and I followed, a uniformed officer with an MP5 fell in behind us. “Do not worry about him; we are taking no chances after what happened last night. I’m sure you understand....

  Hello Lilla, Rachel, You may or may not decide to publish this installment describing the extraordinary events that unfolded last night. I lost my connecting Aeroflot flight to Moscow this morning, but I have been reassured by the local authorities and the airline that I will be able to depart for Russia on the next available flight, as soon as the present matter is resolved. If the editorial board decides to make omissions to this report, I would understand. Best, Richard By Richard Hardenburg British Salmoa Times Correspondent – Bureau, Istanbul, Turkey Nothing could have prepared me for the extraordinary events of international consequence that unfolded before me on the night of November 3rd at the JW Marriott Istanbul Bosphorus. After my arrival from the airport, Steve, Dr. Marino, and I arranged to dine together at the hotel restaurant, which overlooks the Bosphorus — that dark, restless strait where Europe and Asia exchange their secrets. At half past six, we were seated...

  By Richard Hardenburg British Salmoa Times Correspondent – Bureau, Istanbul, Turkey On November 3rd, stepping out of the airport after an eleven-hour flight from Norport to Istanbul felt liberating. The taxi ride to my hotel—the JW Marriott—took me from broad, orderly highways into narrower and narrower streets, as though the city were compressing a great human current through its ancient arteries. The driver’s voice never lifted above the hum of the engine, as if trained to sound incurious. Only his eyes, briefly meeting mine in the rear-view mirror, betrayed a quiet alertness. “First time in Istanbul?” he asked. “Yes.” “You are lucky,” he said. “The past few days were cloudy and rainy, but today—sunny, nineteen degrees. We will move slowly; rush hour.” “Your English is excellent,” I offered. “I study journalism,” he said as the car slowed before a light. “Only part time, at the university. Sometimes I drive foreign visitors. I like to hear stories.” Then, with a faint but delib...

By Richard Hardenburg British Salmoa Times Correspondent Having returned briefly to Norport after my meeting in Ottawa, I found the city cloaked in the quiet anticipation of early November. Last night, the city was washed in a cool, refreshing mist, and the early hours of November 2nd found me completing my final preparations before my anticipated trip to Russia. I packed light and must have checked my carry-on a thousand times, ensuring that nothing essential had escaped me. Going to sleep well past midnight was no excuse for rising late on the morning of my departure, nor forgoing the customary jog with the woman I call my wife. Before stepping out, I slightly opened our daughters’ door to see them sleeping deeply, their breathing soft and steady beneath the faint light filtering through the curtains. Our route holds a beautiful monotony, though today it feels strangely silent. The air is crisp and clean—the kind that hints at frost soon to come. As we stride along the trail, crushin...