[b]Chinese Armor Staging grounds, west of Novosibirsk[/b]

“We're driving into Omsk, comrades. We're going to make good on what we didn't do five years ago.” Kao Hong boomed above the idling grumble of Chinese armor. Their guttural rumbling throbbed through the air with the whetted throat of dragons. If the carved and angled blocks of steel had the faces of beasts, there would be without a doubt that blood was craved. Even as stoically hidden by his officers, the Shaoxiao could see into their souls. They were looking for blood as much as their boats were. Many were fresh and the virgin desire to prove themselves was full throttle. Those who has tasted the bitterness of gun powder stood on the cusp of preparedness, their desire more than infantile blood lust, like a young boy craves wet pussy; they were men of reason in this, they knew it was coming and they only wished to see it to the end.

“Our armed forces may have been taken by surprise on the first dive,” he continued, “But we will not! The mustered strength of our foes have not carried on for this long and they have broken their own spirits! Let me re-affirm the briefings, those that we have all been given.

“The Republic is broken. It has begun its death when they so cowardly surrendered their president to us! And when the weak coward was found dead in his cell!” he continued to shout, only half-lying. For the weakened will of the former president Dimitriov did not resign his life to death's grip. It was what came unromantically, in the lunch line, with kuàizi shoved deep into his belly over a dispute with fruit. But if the Intelligence Bureau had ever needed a cleaner, accidental assassination it was then. “Their country is over run with criminals and whores prostituting themselves on the decay and deception cast on their people, throwing them headfirst into a world of putrid decadence eating their very bodies from the inside out!

“Our course is not a curse on them, comrades! It is a blessing we bestow on them. To enter into a protective fold where their cancers may be purged from their bodies with a hot iron and every man and woman there can live the lives their parents and grand parents intended. Not at the yoke of some other man's greed but the social unity they will find in Revolution! The physical spirituality of a society set on the road to communism!

“This is what we are here for. Let them not tell you otherwise! We are here for freedom. Freedom for the yokes of the mafia class and the tzarist vampires that duck the proud working man alive. And we will achieve. By the sweet of our brows we will achieve and I shall not have failure! And neither will Hue Wen. Neither will China be shamed!”

“Come on, where we rolling!?” shouted a commander, his voice was jovial and excited. Impatient at the same time.

Kao Hong smiled, his unphased and indifferent face alighting with a sort of fatherly admiration. “A man after my heart!” he boomed, laughing, “It is why I love you all as brothers.” he laughed, “But if we are already motivated, I won't let it go any further than it needs to go.

“We're riding on the city of Omsk, on the trial of the 1st Sibirian People's Guard to bolster their ranks with our fresh armor. On our tails the 12th Heilongjiang corp will be traveling with the assistance of 3rd Manchurian engineers who will assist our Russian brethren skirmishing against the enemy to hold a central position and establish for our needs a forward operating position.

“We will not hold our ground for any long than one hour and ten minutes. In which time you shall designate yourselves to defend the designated forward operations base or seek mechanical or medical attention where need be. Reports from the front have yet to report that the Russians have in their armory any mobilized armor. I am thus operating on the aerial and field reports that their armored divisions are currently out of commission or too far behind enemy lines to make full use of themselves.

“There is word of light re-purposed civilian vehicles in the region. But I don't fear them. Their harassment will only be like bees to the shell of a tortoise! Grind them up like paper and leave them to burn when you encounter them.

“I am not holding out on the possibility they have it deployed but inactive until we have dispatched our own armor. But I am not ordering the advanced deployment of the TG1980 columns. For this purpose on this first day those old veterans in the old TG1965 columns will be running point to conceal the new armor. But if there is any large-scale fire on you, then pull back and call for the assistance of the closest newer model boat. And those of you in the new toys will respond!

“Failure to comply on my orders will face punitive action. I will revoke commander privileges and write the papers for dishonorable discharge. For this reason, stay on the radio to give regular status updates. I expect your status to be confirmed by your neighbors.

“As soon as a forward operations is established I and the 13th Heilongjiang and the 3rd Liaoning Cannon will set up fire positions on Omsk itself. For you men wait for order confirmation on establishment of the forward base.

“Are we clear, comrades?”

“Yes, sir!” the officer corp saluted.

“Very well brothers, man your stations. We're going in hot. Mark your targets, and leave none of our blood on our hands.”

[b]Russian Far North[/b]

Snow still covered the ground, whipping through the desolate open landscape. Howling between gnarled twisted trees stripped of their needles. The desolate landscape rolled through the hills with sparse wooden groves to block the wind. On the cusp between the living world and a frozen hell to the north a secluded camp of wrought scrap iron stood. Banks of snow had drifted up to and clung to the side of the protective walls, creating less a barrier for entry and more a hole to guard against bombing raids. But the inert dismay of the post's garrison betrayed any sense of danger that would be had at the line between nations.

Though the mercury declared the day to be a balmy zero degrees centigrade, the wind was a whole other matter. Here, it tore from the south and drove cold knives into the men who opted to stand around fires, or the open engines of grumbling bar-framed buggies. The scene spoke in its own way, seemingly suggesting the world had succumbed to a chemical winter. The silence of the garrison cursed the settlement. A curse spoken with no incantation.

Ragged tarpaulin tents and sheet-iron barracks made for temporary shelter that leaked comfort.

“We've got the orders.” grumbled a comm officer. A scraggly beard grew from his chin. His already squinted eyes were pressed harder against the cold that wafted through the command post in sharp biting drafts, “We can finally fucking move!”

“I am as cold as you are, brother.” a senior officer said. His rank suggested he could be older than the bearded officer. But the collar of his coat parted back from his face showed a man of equal age to him. In his late thirties, Quan Yun-qi could hardly claim the physical scars of war that his older contemporaries or his superiors would so proudly boast about. Tokens forced on them from the Revolution, or the excursions into Taiwan and Korea. But it was not to say he was any less ample for the role of a colonel.

The dark combed back hair of Yun-qi had seen the Philippines many times over. He was sharp in training, and regarded well by the drill staff there who made sure to push him harder and further than his contemporaries. And his brown eyes had seen the crucifixions and the man-bombs of Mindanao.

“So are you eager to move?” the comm officer said, “Because if we stay here long I imagine Tsien Huang won't ever use that flamethrower of his to keep anything warm, at least not in a good way.”

“I understand.” Yun-qi said distantly. He did sorely wish to be home in the south again, although he never thought to describe Manchuria as being 'south'. But the warmth of his wife and child was as good as any summer sun, and here in Russia it seems the concept of “spring” never reached anyone's ears. Not even the sun, which was beginning to linger too long in the sky. Could he tell what time it was anymore? How early in the morning was it?

“I'll take it that the buggies are chained up and ready to roll? And the six-wheelers?”

“I imagine so.” the comm officer grumbled, looking over towards the radio he kept tucked in the corner. He had a small barrel near by that burned with wood-fed fire. Next to it a stack of wood rose on the table like some sort of cold, dreary cairn.

“We've been waiting on this for just short of a month after all.” he added as an afterthought.

“Then to say we're leaving will be a morale booster enough for the unit.” Yun-qi smiled, digging through some briefing papers, looking for something.

“Yeah, and where are we going?” the comm officer asked.

“If I can find it, I would tell y-” he started, pausing abruptly as he paused mid-way, “here it is!” he laughed, pulling out a folded map.

Closing the brief folder he unfolded the map on his desk over it. Between the seams was a faded portrait of Russia. Criss crossing lines over top it traced coordinate sectors over top Northern Siberia, which lay warped from one corner to wrap curved to the other, the lines following and accentuating this curve more.

“There's an installation there that intelligence dubs as site 62-69.” Yun-qi said, pointing to a small black X, “We're a long march behind, but we won't have any interference. The Russians attention is to the south where our own Russian allies have been trying to pull the countryside apart from Surgut to Omsk. They've opened for us a black hole we're using to hit along a few other units.

“We're going to take Site 62-69, which is believed to be Imperial prison, but there's indication it's being used to house soldiers now. I've been told if it's gone it'll destabilize Republican ability in Khanty-Mansi and we can overrun the area once we shut down radio communication and cut their distribution network.”

“And why are you telling me this?” the communications officer asked, baffled.

“Because you handle enough of my outward and inward communications I don't care.” he said, “And you'll be far enough in the back it won't matter. I'd also like someone else here to know what we're doing.”

“It'll only take five minutes at most to go, so let's go tell the boys.”

[b]Southern Urals[/b]

“So the man returns!” a booming voice shouts in the large fire-lit office. A warm comfort fills the room, as with warm late-spring sun. Gold and amber light filled the office, which resembled more a living room. And its head, dressed in an Imperial uniform was the home's resident. His features dramatic and handsome, if strongly indifferent to the agents' presence. If anything, his sharp blue eyes shone with a interest in the potential information the ears would hear. He rested the whole of his wait on a single powerful hand as he leaned on the back of a chair.

Jun gave the blonde general no empathy or apathy. He had been ringing around long enough to convince him to the Chinese side of the current conflict, but his adventures weren't lighting the kind of fire his superiors wanted. Not the kind that burned in the fire-place, warm and healthy.

At the same time, he had warmed and a few of the lower ranks had come to respect Jun, or fear him. Which ever it was.

Jun wasn't alone. The partner appointed to him by the general was with him on one side. On the other, a smaller less physical sort of central Asian stood. Ulanhu, a Mongolian. He was enough to impress a man while in his uniform, but that was only in the realm of political courtesy. He was short, even by Asiatic standards. His eyes mousey and nose broad. He wore thick glasses and his hair was starting to thin early. He was an unlikely accomplice to Jun, who was tall and better built; a man without pain.

“I am ready to give the debrief, Makulov sir.” Jun said.

Makulov nodded, his lips neither curling in a frown or a smile. 

“Upon being issued this mission April 20th, I and Ivan tracked the target Vladimir Peterovisk to his residence in a central-city apartment in the Republic capitol of Yekaterinburg. On April 24th upon locating his apartments I discovered a security guard tracks the traffic in and out of the building On April 25th I managed to seize a copy of the entrance and exit notes kept by him. I and Ivan ascertained his movements and stacked out a firing position from an abandoned project a block down from Mr. Peterovisk's residence and we set up a firing position.

“We dropped him in his bathroom on the first of May, scrounged his apartments the night after, and broke into the morgue to confirm the kill.” Jun continued, “Well searching his apartments I located a cache of weapons that suggest his association with the Mafiya, and Ivan located his address book and a telegram addressed to him.”

“Do you have these papers?” Makulov asked, “And the photos?”

Jun stepped aside, giving Ulanhu room as he stepped forward and pulled a file from his coat. “Comrade Ivan, can you confirm our allies story on this?” the general asked as he received Ulanhu's debriefing work.

“I can, sir.” Ivan said, “And what the China man says is true to the word. If I might say, scarily to date.”

“Thank you.” Makulov said to both the Mongol and his subordinate as he looked down into the paper work.

“Going through the address book I was able to find correct matches to the currently known names for several Mafiya aliases.” the Mongol said uncomfortably as he stepped back from the general, “Or at least what information your unit had written down. This- this all having been done yesterday as we prepared this.”

“I see.” Makulov grumbled. “Child of the Devil?” he crooned curious as he lifted up the small telegram from the folder, “Do any of you have any idea on who this is?” he asked, ample curiosity showed itself on his words.

“No.” Jun said.

“I- I don't have any ideas myself.” Ulanhu stuttered, “It could be anyone I think. Perhaps they don't like a politician in the Republican government and are looking to kill their kid. But it shouldn't be that hard to find a kid, can it?”

“Not unless they're being protected by a rival Mafiya faction.” Makulov grumbled, “But you have the names confirmed to some known leads then?”

“I do.” Ulanu mumbled, biting his tongue, “Peter Veshenko, Adrian Nikov, Arkady Bishko...”

“What about the rest?” Makulov interrupted.

“I don't think they're all Mafiya.” Ulanhu said, “It would be dangerous to assume they are, after all. We might kill someone who isn't even relevant. Even as tight-knit these men come.”

“I see.” Makulov grumbled, “Well, we got names, so we can weed them out.” he added with finality, closing the briefing folder, “And I would say we got our next move.” he continued, handing the folder back, “I want you to copy the names and addresses of every person in that book, comrade. Jun, you earned yourself some rest until your friend finishes his job. When he is done, speak with me.”

“Understood.” Jun said plainly.

“Good.” Makulov sighed, “You're all dismissed, thank you comrades.”