[b]Tianjin, China[/b]

A light ocean spray crept up the shore. A soft warm breeze blew off the south, stirring the waves and raising them to fall with a guttural beat of the drum. Perched on a short hill overlooking the Bohai a modest estate stood. A wood-plan trail – aged to a stone-grey and choked with spindly, thing weeds – lead between the back deck and the sandy shore below. Trees with bright green budding leaves stood along the home's side. Ceramic shingles stretched out and arced outward on a majestic hang over the walls of the stone clad home.

Rising behind the home, on its inland face rose a flag pole. A red banner had been risen to its peak. It sputtered and flapped in the warm, salty sea breeze. There was a warm relief in the air. A comforting breath that came with spring. The warmth of summer was on its way, and the melting snow had given way to sprouting flowers.

An elderly figure stepped out onto the deck. His boney, leathery hands wrapped tightly around the head of a wooden cane, its head set with carved bone. Its figure head looked to be a dragon. Brass inlay marked where the wood ended and the bone began. All of it shone in a rich lacquer that gave it a deep, new shine.

Behind the man walked a younger figure, dressed in a clean white suit. His hands rich and new, pure. They rested wrapped in front of him, refraining a purpose. Poised with gentle etiquette.

“I have always enjoyed springtime.” the old man croaked as he hobbled towards a deck chair. He was Hou Sai Tang. The widely spoken of chairman. Respected in the east, despised in the west. But much of his prominence that he wore when he first stepped onto the world stage and seeped away. He was an old man now. He was coming on seventy.

Deep prominent lines had formed across his face, tracing his almond eyes. His brows appeared thin, if because they were raised so high above his head. His nose wide and dimpled with the years. And where his hair was thinning on his head and slowly receding across his scalp a still prominent beard grew from his chin. Sharp and angular, like the point of a spear. It dramatized he's already thin and narrow visage by stretching out his face even longer.

His left side also hung lax and numb. A stroke some several months back had seen to that. Now he walked with a cane and he had lost his energetic stride. In only one brief moment inflicted on him by America, he had come closer to death than any man had come so far. But he walked still. But he had much stolen from him. One of which was is energy to remain the Grand Secretary of the Chinese state.

“I had taken you for a summer man, comrade.” smiled his younger companion as he walked carefully behind him. Zhang Auyi, a trusted minister to Hou. Although not the first in his particular position.

The two stood equal to one another. Although Auyi was of fairer and more youthful complexion. He was by chance perhaps the youngest man in the current Chinese government at the age of forty-four. He still possessed a thick head of hair, cut clean and worked to a campaign finish. His face full and healthy and round. No lines marked him as was the case in Hou. His lips full and flush where Hou's had grown pale and thin.

And he dressed different. Where Hou dressed in a dark conservative black, Auyi's Zongshan was a bleached white. Grey buttons rose up and down the middle, marking the breast and waste pockets.

“Summers are nice, except when you're in Hong Kong.” Hou Sai Tang grumbled. His speech was lightly slurred, and had regressed as such over the past month, “But I suspect you didn't come here to compliment the time of year.” he added, his voice growing lower and if to be true: bitter.

“Unfortunately not.” Auyi exclaimed, taking a seat as the Chairman of the New People's China party did likewise.

“Then are you seeking a campaign endorsement?” Hou asked, “Because I can tell you here and now that I made it known when I announced my retirement I will not be officially involving myself in this. I am done, it's over. I want to step out of the political spotlight, come to terms with what I have done and survive long enough to see my father pass away.”

“How is he?” Auyi asked.

“The man is over ninety and still feels he can continue living.” Hou grumbled, “They say a man doesn't live long after his wife. But no one told him.

“He just needed me to remind him of his mortality.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, my condolences.” said Auyi.

Hou grumbled. With a low sigh he slipped into silence, leaning back in his chair as he watched the sea with a wistful distant expression. He went for some time as the galls over head called down. “But we're digressing from the topic again.” the old chairman said softly.

“I'm afraid so, I'm sorry.” Auyi quickly apologised.

“And I'd issue it to you if I could, but I have been asked by all thirty of your running mates.” remarked Hou, “Including Mang Xhu. It seems that all of government is getting up to take my old chair.

“I should count it as fortunate, the constant courting has slowed down the process of everything and I can continue to stay here for once in my life.”

“I understand.” Auyi nodded, “Although, I've tried not to set aside my current priorities.”

Hou gave him a cynical look. Though in his green eyes there was a certain expression of appreciation for what he could do. “Is that so?” he said, “Minister Mang Xhu I've heard has lightened his work load. He's devoting himself to trying to court half of Congress in his favor, and who knows what else. If he announced tomorrow he would be stepping down as Industrial Minister I would not be the least bit surprised.

“Of course this means I would need to go to Beijing and talk join the Politburo in making a replacement.”

“How does that process work?” Auyi asked, “I never fully got it.”

Hou shuddered off a deep sigh, “I wish I could remember the original logic. It's been twenty years and the job has been so highly associated with my position. I wouldn't be surprised if a legal committee simply wrote the Grand Secretary in as being the one to do it, and not the Chairman. Or both could. And I signed it when I was drinking.”

“Six months clean, haven't you?” Auyi asked.

“Eight.” Hou corrected, “I don't know how I feel anymore.” he mumbled, “Dien Han's been encouraging I stay this way as part of my rehabilitation. Whenever he comes over for a check up every so many weeks he even demands the guards to prove the house is dry.”

“And do they?” Auyi asked with a smirk.

“Only when I order them to comply.” he responded, “Loyal young men.” he added.

Auyi nodded, and it was again his turn to invite the silence. The two sat in their chairs. Watching the distant ocean throw itself on the waves and draw itself back. Birds – cranes, herons – strutted along the wet sands calling out to each other. A few galls picked along the sides, giving their taller more majestic companions sharp disdainful looks as they prodded the sand for food.

“It's strange.” Auyi started, “I had never seen the ocean before until I joined the Revolution. I had only seen fields and mountains and rivers as a boy. I never left my home by birth.”

“I have seen much.” Hou added, “Too much.

“Young men get killed for their cause. Destructive Imperialism by one breed of men. Starvation. Disease. More death any normal person should ever witness.

“I've been shot at, exploded on, and driven out with my friends by my enemies. I cried when the greatest man that ever was died, and became the executioner. I fear those days will catch up on me. I will not to meet them on my own terms.”

“Surely though you've seen much?” Auyi asked, “You saw us go beyond the clouds, liberate so many.”

“Yet people die, and Spain seeks to dam the Gibraltr! Yet Russia continues to prove that man is not pure and righteous!” Hou proclaimed, nearly shouting as he leaned out of his chair, “Brothers kill brothers in Africa. The Ottoman Turks rise and crash climatically in a single decade!

“In five years I have watched two nations crumble to dust, and now a third, shredded by violence and to no doubt be doomed for more.” he leaned back in his chair, raising his hand to his temple he sighed low, “Wen Chun, by dear friend and best man I have ever met once said I was perhaps the greater pick. He was too modest a person. If I was some saving light in his young ideological mind, how did I not prevent this?”

Auyi leaned back, too stunned to answer. He found his words though, but he felt uncomfortable. Like they weren't the right once. They were awkward. Somehow, he wanted to confirm what this man he had never met had said of Hou once upon a time. “How is any man supposed to?” he said.

“How is anyone supposed too...” Hou said, “Communism can not be accurately achieved without insanity being purged. But I'm not strong enough. I may have been able to keep it from happening in China itself. But how was I supposed to keep a wanton psuedo-Pope from starving half of Mindanao for his holy mission.”

“You... you couldn't.” Auyi said. He hoped to find something dismissive, something that wouldn't build the confirmation.

“I feel deep down China needs someone who wasn't there to be a party in the politics of the old party and the old communes.” Hou bemoaned gravely, “Xhu knows it too much.” he stopped to look at Auyi, looking into his eyes and seeing the frozen shock on him, “Provincial governor of Guangxi, no background but honorable service before that. Minister of People's Affairs and of Agriculture.”

“What are you saying?” Auyi asked.

“Maybe I facilitated to rapid a rise.” Hou laughed, “Some might criticize me for being too apologetic to Puyi for giving him the same seat before you, and after Mao. Though maybe it's favorable.

“I do not believe in circumstance, comrade. I believe in merit.”

“Is this an endorsement?” Auyi asked, he felt confused. Excited if scared.

“I will need to think.” Hou sighed, “But it won't be official if I do. Never will be.

“And you got a campaign to go on, and a family to return to, comrade Auyi.”

[b]Yekaterinburg, Russian Republic[/b]

“Penthouse suit, top floor, third window on the right. No company.” a deep voice said next to him. A Grizzly, rough built Russian. A heavy fur coat hiding his bulking form as he sat crouched at a broken window on the top floor of an abandoned, darkened tenement building.

The rooms had been completely ravaged. The walls tore out in order for scavengers to get at the pipes. The broken wood beneath the plaster jutted out like broken teeth. Their mouth opened to an abyss of derelict nudity. In fact, filled with the crude depictions of the nude. Spray painted penises and crude dripping vaginae had been painted onto the opposite side of the wall opposite. There was already nothing there. The meat and worth of the walls had already been stripped out, along with the wiring.

What remained of the furniture was busted and strewn across the floor. The remains of a toiler lay scattered across the floor and a substance that look like dried and aged blood coated the chunks. Broken abandoned needles and broken light bulbs littered the floor, except for where they had been cleared by the window. What had transpired in full here was a mystery, even to the pair of men; and no one bothered or wanted to solve what had happened. Jun was almost surprised when they had entered that there was no body.

Leaning on an overturned couch some ten foot from the window next to the Russian was the man named Jun. His full figure too was clothed heavily in a thick coat. In his arms a battered rifle – a Mosin-Nagant from the era of the Imperial army no doubt – rested in his arms. A bundled sheath and sword rested on his back, hidden in a cocoon of bundled supplies and hidden gear. His mouth wrapped up in a thick scarf. Only his eyes could be seen, sharp brown eyes that glowed like a killer's. Irritation had saturated the white's thick with blood. And clenching one shut he peered down the long scope and scanned to the window his spotter had pointed out. A thin hair-line crack ran across the glass, but to his relief he could still see all the same.

“Dorofey Mitschov,” his spotter said, licking his lips as he watched through the binoculars, “How the world will be happy with you dead.

“Do you see him comrade!?”

“I see him.” the Chinese spy said angrily. He scanned his scope to the indicated window. There, several blocks off in the distance stood a large man. The weight of a fully stocked cow hung from his belly and his arms. Through the scope Jun could make out his signature mustache as he moved through what looked to be his bathroom.

“Carve out his head before he returns to his bitches and so we can go home.” Jun's Russian partner demanded, “I am tired of this shit.”

“We will need to confirm it still.” Jun replied with a bark.

“Right right, Makulov said you were in charge.” the Russian growled angrily, “Just take the shot then will you?”

“How's the wind?” Jun asked flatly. Cutting the bullshit on the spot.

“South by south-east.” his partner replied flatly, “Distance is roughly four-hundred fifty meters. Taking the shot?”

“Taking the shot.” Jun repeated.

“Then this man gives you permission.”

With a loud clap the rifle flashed with a strong report. It bounced in the Asian's hands, kicking back with a numb punch against his shoulders. And for a brief moment, the city outside went dead silent.

“Confirm it.” Jun demanded.

“Blood on the windows and walls.” his companion cheered, “I'd say you hit him!”

“Right.” Jun sighed, standing up. Bending down by his knees he grabbed a heavy wool wrap, and proceeded to bundle the rifle up. “We move out, give the responders time to come in, clean up, and move the body out. Then break into his suit and look around for confirmation.

“Then the morgue, get a photo of the kill for the Ghost General.”

“Sounds good by me.” his spotter said with a proud smile.

[b]Novosibirisk, Russia[/b]

Outside the glass panes, rain fell over Novosibirsk. Inside the office, it was warm and dry. Outside, trains pulled into the city train-stated. Inside, a desk sat accompanied by a number of officers. The cap of a a Chinese officer stood out among the crowd. His over coat weighed with the multiple medals, badges and ribbons and symbols of his rank.

He stood over a notice on his desk, a dispatch from the Chinese military logistics service. “This is the fifth time I've been undercut, and we are already running out of time.” he grumbled, “We're loosing our window.”

“General Wen sir.” an officer said nervously, “It's nothing in our control. The roads out here are terrible. It's perfectly reasonable to expect to lose convoys and to delay them. The spring melt has turned much of them to mud.”

“I can read the dispatch comrade Mann!” Wen shouted angrily, raising his head. Grabbing the paper and holding it up to his face.

The general's face was heavily decimated by wrinkles. Sleeplessness had formed bags under his eyes. And his wide-chin sagged from the disdainful frown he wore. His nostrils flared wide on his upturned nose. He looked like an enraged boar than a man, only his cleanliness and neatness presented him as a man than a beast. “We are loosing our window for a swift action over Russia. I will not be caught in the snow!” he boomed, “It is how we lost the last time.”

“To be perfectly honest comrade, we have fought plenty in the snow.” a Siberian officer counter argued. A young, trim Caucasian figure, “How this is important I do not understand.”

“Snow means winter,” Huei Wen growled, “And winter brings snow. And with snow we risk attrition, especially at the harshness as we will face here. If we can not establish our lines or make swift action then by next spring we will be shot in the muck when we have not properly moved needed supplies where they're needed on time.

“And these set backs are forcing me to become concerned with the entire endeavor! Already we've sprung our first move and we're prolonging our second. If we can't get the last of the units in from Manchuria than we are risking one more day the Republic will counter-act once your Russian forces are forced into retreat.”

“Are you implying we are not strong!” the young Russian bellowed.

“And I am your superior officer Lechivsok!” Wen boomed in angry force, sprinting around the desk to put himself into the Russian colonel's face, “Have you not had the sense of humility bashed into your head!?

“Every day we wait for them to clean up their mess is another day our forward army sits idle ready to move. I wanted to be in Omsk last week, and our men on the way to taking the frontier forts in the north by now. I can't blind the Republic to the north without us striking Omsk with the force of a hammer.

“Air-raids and unit skirmishing will only do so much to delay or prepare the piece.”

“If I may speak sir,” Zhōng jiàng Yu Mann spoke softly, “Perhaps I may request the Mongolian air service assist where possible. Lighten the load, and move the last or most troubled men in the stuck units out to Chita. They could be on a train on the rail road and to Novosibirisk.

“Obviously, with the Trans-Siberian being so heavily damaged between Valdivosotok and Chita it's not possible to safely do it. But it's in much better condition I gather between there and here.”

Huei Wen sighed, backing from the retreating officer. “Very well.” he groaned, “Thank you.” he added stiffly, “You may be the only other one here with brains.”

“Well it's no longer cold sir,” Mann added, “And the air conditioning works.”

“That it does.”

[b] (West of) Novosibirsk, Russia[/b]

The grumble of tanks rumbled even on at night, but not a light was shone. Instead in the distance behind them glowed the city of Novosibirisk. Not as a great metropolis like Shanghai, or metropolitain Hong Kong. It was low suppressed glow. A sleepy orange laid down behind the trees. The golden spots of distant cars crawled along the roads. But none coming towards them.

No traffic west.

Li Tsung sat perched on the shell of the rumbling, idle tank. A distance off by a burning barrel Shan Sung stood with his commanders and some of their crew. Talking and laughing together. Tsung watched them, feeling distant and left out. He didn't know these men. And they didn't know him. So they stood at their barrels, smoking cigarettes together and telling jokes. But the tanks were too loud to for him to hear.

It felt, lonely. He had barely been here a few hours and he still didn't know what was going on. Fully that is. He heard the planes over head enough tirelessly sweeping westward or returning to base. He knew a war was starting. But when it was for him, that was another thing. It made butterflies in is stomach. Ants. He felt... knotted and cold. Ahead was a big mystery, with mysterious people.

Back at his old base, as cold and miserable as it was, he at least knew people Uygur and Han alike. Now Russians had been thrown in, and wet, still cold weather.

He shivered under his coat. He hadn't been allowed to leave his tank. They were on standby for something. But it just felt like they were idling forever. He gave a tired sigh, pulling his legs in and sitting hunched over his new home.

He could have stared down at the hexagonal, sharp, boxy turret of the tank for hours, lulling himself into a trance to spend the time. But as he drifted off, there came a soft metallic knock. Tsung looked up and over. Wi Hui leaned up along side the metal carapace of the tank, a wrench in his hand. “Comrade.” he said. In the dim light he smiled a bit around the word, like he thought it was a joke, “Having fun?” he asked.

“I- I don't know.” Tsung said confused.

“Huh...” Hui grunted, looking at him up and down, “Want to go get warm?” he asked, nodding to the fire.

“I'm not sure if I should...” replied the young soldier, his voice chirping with subtle fear.

“I guess not.” Hui shrugged, “Some of us have to keep close to the tanks. Can you make room?”

“Oh, yeah Yeah. Sorry.” Tsung said, shuffling over across the top of the turret. Wi Hui clambered up, sliding atop the turret and joining him looking out into the dark horizon. Tsung noticed he was finally in a coat.

“So,” Tsung began, trying to force his words around the rock in his throat, “How long have you been a part of this?” he asked.

Hui looked at him and smiled. “You want to know how long I've been in this shit can?” he asked, reaching into his coat pocket for a cigarette.

Tsung shrugged indifferently.

“Well,” he started, lighting his cigarette, “I should be going on three years now.” he remarked, “I was the lieutenant's first transfer in when he was still a sergeant.”

“Oh...” Tsung nodded.

“Now, can I ask you a reasonably sound question?” Hui posed.

“Yeah?” Tsung asked.

“Can you drive an 80-series?” he asked, “I've known some poor bastard crews who got someone who could only drive the 70-series of Tei Gui. Not these new ones.”

“Oh, well yes. I can.”

“Good, good.” Hui smiled around his cigarette, slowly looking up into the star-filled sky, “Then I have a feeling you'll do well.”