[b]Kalachinsk, Russia[/b]

By now, the bitter almost sulfuric smell of cordite hung in the air of the tank as it lumbered idle. The residual fog of the main gun loomed encased in its armored environment, dancing in thin silky threads. The beams of weak sunlight from outside dripped through the windows, filtered on the hazy residue of weapon's fire. The smoky, golden glow of the sun was like honey. Honey that stung the eyes and irritated the throat.

The fumes were made no worse by the grumbling engine that still let out thin suggestions of exhaust into the tank cabin. With his head hanging in the turret shell, Hui couldn't imagine the extreme smell of the buoyant smells. But he could sympathize with the experiences of Tsung. The poor youth had to drunk a stomach full, and like wise evicted it by now. The smell was strong for Hui, but it could only be worse for him.

“All teams, do we have fixes on hostiles. We are at the objective.” Song said as he yelled into the microphone. Everyone's ears no doubt sung with the soft subtle lament of the gun. “This is Juunshi Sun Song, over.”

There was no immediate response, as the commander sat diligent and silent in his seat.

“Anything moving?” Wi Hui asked as he leaned across the gun to Lin, the gunner. The action and pipes of the guns throbbed with a low irradiating heat. A heat that slowly bubbled through Hui's muscled arms. But it was nothing that he was concerned about. It was hot, yes. But not as scalding as it could be.

Tse Lin leaned forward into her para-scope as she gently turned the dials on the main targeting. The turret slowly spun to the turns of her fingers. Stopping and starting as she saw fit. Sun Song swayed to the movement above as he looked over the landscape just outside, waiting on a response.

“This place has seen better days.” she said distantly, biting her tongue between her teeth, “But no one moving but our guys, so far.”

“So far?” Hui snickered, “So what, everyone else is just laying low?”

“They look like they're running building sweeps, so we'll see.” Lin sighed, “If I have to shoot down a wall then we know.”

Hui groaned, as he threw himself back against the side of the turret hull, throwing his arm over the auxiliary targeting. Sighing tired he rose his hands to his face and gently messaged his eyes. Above him, Sun Song made another request for an update, apparently having not gotten an answer that satisfied him.

Leaning on the metal targeting computer, Lin picked himself up as he climbed to peek through the array of windows that crowned the top of the turret. Balancing himself on the seat he held onto the side as he looked out. Out of bored curiosity, what was left of morbid curiosity had taken a ride out. He was simply growing bored.

Kalachinsk was, as Lin put it, something that had been in better days. The wears of time and the combination of misfortunes that had befell Russia and it being a battleground had blurred and faded together into a singular identity. The wreckage of automobiles, burned out buildings, and mortar craters dotting the road (or simple potholes from so many winters of being ignored, it was hard to say) covered the urban landscape. Grey smoke rose from homes in thick columns that caught the wind and spread out through the spring skies on low winds. The veil of smoke grayed the light and dimmed the atmosphere as roaming, muddied soldiers picked through the rubble or went from door to door checking through homes and store fronts.

But just by watching them Hui could tell they did their job with the sort of tired, spectral quality of existing that was so common across Russia. Even the Republican soldiers that had been lined up, captives of their injuries looked twice as tired as they were bloodied. The color sapped from their skin, they only had dust and soot to add the color to their complexion. They looked half-fed, or just pissed scared as they looked on the great metal behemoths that gathered around them, they to scanning across the neighboring buildings as they enclosed the street, surrounding a center position in the town.

Behind them, standing in a state of disrepair and at the far end of a small, crater-rocked plaza of concrete tiles was the brick and wood town hall, of the former Imperial Magistrate's building. It's formerly Victorian surface scarred and pitted with bullet holes and inky-black roses of scorch marks that framed the shattered, toothy windows. Pink and yellow paint peeled back from the walls, as by the door a broken wooden sign had been cast aside. Once a crown for a door that proudly boasted the words, “Kalachinsk Municipal Magistrate” in thick, proud, boastful Russian cryllic.

Broken men sat around the entrance. The blood on their faces and scars on their hands brought to breath the severity of their state. In their tattered uniforms, and jury rigged weapons there was no contest that these were the men that they had to come to rescue. Their blackened, distant eyes starred down into their boots, or high into the sky above as their comrades hovered around them, or went from soldier to soldier like moths to a light. Reaching down, showing their camaraderie and giving comfort.

“Thank you comrades.” Sun Song said abruptly, “We will await the arrival of the rest of the column. We would also request immediate medical personnel to the point as well, we have wounded and quick evac of the injured would be good. Sun Song out.”

“So we're digging in here?” Hui asked, as he looked out at the liberated Siberians huddled in the burned and broken bushes of their former castle.

“The rest of the unit will be closing in on this point.” Sun Song said, “We're holding the center here, the rest will look into an armored parameter. A few groups will run out deeper into the ground between here and Omsk. There's a few helicopters en-route from Novosibirsk.”

“Good on them.” Hui nodded. His throat felt dry and it scratched when he spoke, “Can we kill the engine, and open a hatch then?”

“I suppose so.” Song smiled, “Tsun, kill the engine!” he shouted. With a abrupt final gurgle the diesal engine gave a fitful 'pfut' and died silent, replaced by a slow a steady clicking as the metal began to cool. The soft whine of the turret hatch followed, and cool air washed down into the cabin with a relieved sigh.

“I still can't see how you can find anything through these.” Hui chuckled, “They're so small, it's no wonder you haven't rode out with the hatch open.”

“I'm not mad is why.” Song smiled, “Though I can say I haven't been tempted.”

“Don't try to make yourself to be a badder ass than you are.” sneered Hui, holding back from laughing. His commander didn't, and he let it out with a dry tired wheeze. His voice sounded strained and sore. Everyone needed a drink.

Dry coughing echoed from below as Hui hung there, looking out at the smoky city outside. Bodies were beginning to be pulled out from the buildings, laid out for the survivors to pick through and pull what they could off their fallen foes, or allies. But the grave looting that went on outside wasn't of much interest as the whistle of the driver's hatch opened through the still, smoky din of the vehicle.

Turning to the front, Hui saw Tsun crawl out through the front hatch in the corner of one of the circling viewing port. His young face pale and stiff as he pulled himself from his corner, leaning over the side. His black hair a thicker black as it clung sticky to his scalp. Beads of sweat dripped from down his face.

Hui felt quick concern for the new guy. He could imagine what he was feeling. Straightening himself out, he reached up and pulled himself through the turret of the tank, and into the cool Russian air outside.

“Did I give you permission to leave?” Song asked weakly. It wasn't as authoritative enough to be an order, so Hui wasn't concerned as he threw himself down onto the hull with a dull thump.

“If there's snipers they'd want you more than me.” Hui added, as he knelt on the outside, crawling across the metal hull to where Tsung leaned over the corner.

“I suppose you got a point.” he heard his commander remark, tinny and hollow from behind him.

Tsun didn't seem to notice as Hui slid up alongside him. The young man was too busy leaning over the side. His shoulders and body shook weakly in the cold air under his uniform. “You need a cigarette?” Hui asked, seating himself at the driver's side as he looked down at him.

Tsun looked up weakly at him. His deep brown eyes scanning up and down Hui distantly. Pursing his thin lips he shook his head. “Uh, I-uh. N-no. No thank you.” he said dryly, croaking, “I-I don't smoke.”

“You doing alright?” Hui asked concerned. He leaned over his knees, getting a clearer view at the shivering man at the nose of their tank.

“I-” was the only think he could manage out. He shook his head as he lay it on the cold steel.

“Hey, I know it's tough.” Hui said, trying to council him.

“I j-jus-st need to take a breath, is all...” Tsung said, slipping over his words in an effort to speak, “I just need to breath.”

“I guess that's commendable.” Hui said. Lifting himself up as he reached into his back pocket. In his hands he produced a wrinkled and flattened back of cigarettes, red and unmarked as usual. Pulling a battered and broken one in his mouth he looked over the battle field, “Welcome to the service. Welcome to the damned service.”