[b]West of Novosibirisk, Russia[/b]

A dim sort of lumbering fog hung over the countryside. Hiding it in a cloud of gray matte that shrouded every shape and figure that walked throughout it. In the hazy mist only the echoes of sound boomed. The only sensation in the thick early-morning spring mist. The low rumble of tanks roared distantly and near, loosing themselves to each other in a ghostly chant as above air traffic continued west.

Over the radios, the idle crews and columns listened in to the chatter and reports from the west on the thus-far endless skirmishes that had marched on over the past several weeks. Those skirmishes they waited idle to join. Those skirmishes they were held back from because a general felt they had inadequate backing.

Between the codes and the signaling, the crews gleaned out what was going on. Air support was needed east of Omsk. Someone buckled down in a farmhouse having been surrounded by Republican soldiers. Reports of communist rioting in the city itself, but no formal confirmation on their status, just glazed reports from pilots when the crews surfed the airforce's waves.

For Li Tsung, the nearly unintelligible net of reports punctuated occasionally by the dull throb of explosions was his first taste of combat. A sick churning sensation swam through his stomach. It felt like he was full of eels. Locusts crawled over his heart, and his head swam drunkenly in a lake of anxiety. It was happening, and he balanced tentatively on the brink of it. Teetered on the thin edge of a knife.

Not even sitting inside the confined shell of the TG1980 could bring him balance and comfort. It was more than anything a catalyst, the barely muffled roar of the engine echoed in the pipes and steel shell and a gaseous smell twisted in through his nose. Maybe it was just him though. Maybe it was him. The soldiers he shared the cabin with seemed unfazed or only mildly disinterested with the radio. To them it seemed it was only a minor distraction.

Tsi Lin lay sat in an attempted curl on her aluminum seat just below the turret, the controls propping up her side as she sat wrapped around the inside block of the gun with a tattered comic book in her lap. The gunner's tank-top and unbuttoned uniform did little to hide the soft curve of her breasts. Something that held the young soldier in an uncomfortable spell from his driver's seat.

“Where'd you get the book?” Tsun asked, trying to ignore the fact he was staring up at one of his crew mates.

Lin looked up from the page she was reading, her expression effectively disinterested. “I won it.” she said dryly.

“Won it?” Tsun asked.

“In a game of cards.” Lin nodded, returning to her reading.

“Cards? Isn't that illegal!?” a shocked Tsun said.

“And I like detective comics.” Lin sneered, “Besides, who's going to tell.”

“She's right, you know?” Hui piped up from alongside her, peering into a small mirror as he shaved his head. The loader looked over at the young man, adding with an indifferent shrug: “It could be a worse thing to trade for. I know she's gotten us some spare ammo from the ranks in back.”

“We could always use a few more.” Lin said flatly.

“As long as I don't hear about opium being traded around here I don't feel a need to report.” said the voice of their commanding officer as he leaned over the hatch. “And if no one's coming up here shouting and threatening to gun her down then we're not at a significant enough issue.”

“Oh- well...” Tsun stammered. The thought was uncomfortable to him. On base, he had always been swiftly reminded of the sins, the inequalities associated with it. Now sitting on the field, that seems to have been ignored. A policy forgotten.

“You'll get used to it.” Hui said warmly from his corner.

Tsun sat silenced, stunned, at the driver's seat. Looking between his companions, he didn't know what to think. Shame that they would cheat the army's most honored system? Appreciation for their camaraderie to hide the fact it was going on? Horrified that somewhere in the system, the army could be corrupt? It had always been presented to him to be the purest service.

He could of posed his question. Asked it, but outside the homely, cramped vehicle a commotion arose. Sun Song turned from his crew, distracted by what was going on. There was shouting, chatter. Something even seemed to change in the rumble of the column itself as Song peeled away from the top hatch.

The crew fell into a tense silence with the departure of their commander. Shutting the magazine Lin pulled herself up through the hatch. “Shit, it's the Shaoxiao.” she said, pulling herself back in.

“Kao Hong is here?” Hui said.

Lin pulled herself back up and peeked over the turret again. “Yeah.” she said, falling back in: “And he's got flags.”

A feeling of tensity rose in Tsun's throat, constricting him. Turning in his chair he peered out the narrow block of reinforced glass he was given as a window. Along the edge of the faded and dirty window he could just make out hazy, dark figures on the edge of his viewing range. Barely present shades, with a hint of color. Other forms crossed his path, joining up with the growing assembly.

Curiosity came to Tsun as he reached over and threw open the forward hatch alongside him.

As Tsun pulled himself out, he met eyes with the Shaoxiao Kao Hong. Five meters off, and with an entourage of officers gathering around him the towering officer stood in the nexus of the assembly, looking out over the heads on his men. Flat, broad eyes gazed out to past them to Tsun. The driver felt his skin turn cold. Not just from the steel-cold gaze of the general, but the bundles of red flags, wrapped around aluminum polls tied in bundles, held in the arms of helmeted soldiers at attention.

Kao Hong's face was as powerful as he was tall. An uncany heavy chin supported a long set of lips and a thick flattened nose. His eyes had a coldness to them, if as well a sharp attentive quality.

The two exchanged a brief stare, answered as Hong rose a gloved hand to the brim of his olive-green cap and tipped it to the young private.

“Comrades, it's about time.” he started, turning to the officer and commander corp circled at attention around him, “Huei Wen has given us the time to sit and wait long enough, and he's feeling confident to put a move.

“We're driving into Omsk, comrades. We're going to make good on what we didn't do five years ago.”