[b]South of Kalachinsk, Russia[/b]

The road turned rocky and broken as the tank groaned on. Fallen trees lay tumbled like match-sticks. Abandoned vehicles lay off the side of the road, turn over or simply left behind by their owners. And all between Siberian soldiers picked through the litter and watched idly by the side of the road, their rifles held all too casually at their chests. A clear view lay out in panorama from the turret of the tank. Behind, a handful of armor thundered behind. And all around were the clear skies of a Russian mid-day, save for the smoke that rose to Sun Song's right.

The juunshi looked out at the smoke rising beyond the trees and farmer's fields lining the road with a sort of knowing. An experience in the ways of war. As a veteran of the war in the Philippines. By then, he had hardly won the hardened leather cap on his head, with the bulbous earphones on the side.

He knew that some of his comrades would need to deal with it. The bulk of the column had fanned out over the countryside as they crossed over into the Republic. There was without a doubt there were armored teams that would be heading into what burned. And going down this road, he figured that on some level he'd be requested to lead his crews to it. He was already drawing fairly close towards Omsk. But he kept the expectations bottled, they'd happen as they happen. He'd be ready.

The still silence that had loomed over the radio heralded the eerie forced calm that the Chinese had experienced so far. Muffled static whispered softly through Song's earphones. Occasionally, commanders throughout the column would whisper in their positions, or give minor updates on their status. Communications were still, sterile. They had to keep the line clean.

This would change soon. Song could tell as he looked ahead.

Along the side of the road a red flag flew tattered and weak. Through the murky reinforced glass windows that circled the turret hull, small dilapidated tents grew visible between road-side brush and trees. Arranged haphazardly along the shoulder of the road and into the farmer's field beyond. Figures patrolled the outside weakly, while others lay behind them.

Through the glass Song watched as a figure stepped out into the road. The blurred soldier rose a murky flag in his hands as he hailed the tank down, waving it over his head.

“Stop at that man!” Song shouted over the grinding and whistling of the motor below. 

“Yes, comrade!” his driver shouted, the new guy. He was anxious. The apprehension shown on his words. Song could say he felt sorry for the young Tsung, but then every warrior needed his moment of proving. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

To his left the tank's communication equipment sat bolted to the side of the turret. A bulky brick of electronics and diodes. Blackened knobs allowed for adjusting channel and volume, or what minor matters of noise reduction he could achieve. Like the model of tank he was in, this was new. “Q-41I, Sun Song,” he said in a raised voice as he cupped his microphone to his mouth, looking behind him at the four others following him, “We're pulling in for a stop up ahead. By advised.”

“Copy, comrade.” came the response to his ears. The headphones in his cap kept some of the background noise of his own command from getting in the way, though the same could not be said for what often fed through with the voices of his subordinates.

Slowly, the tank gave up speed and inched to the figure in the road. The noise and clattering that echoed inside died to softer tones as it came to an inching crawl, then stopped.

As the tank came to a full stop Sung reached up for the hatch above his head. The latch turned stiffly in his hand and threw open just as heavily. Fresh sunlight streamed in with golden brilliance as Sun stood up outside. His lungs singing a song of relief as they took in the heavy fresh air of the outside. A cool breeze washed from the north. It was a drink of water he drank on after riding in the warm stuffed Tei Gui.

“Hail, comrade!” the man shouted, lowering his hand. He was an officer, young for his position too. But the far away stare in his eyes was beginning to develop. And his Chinese minced with a heavy Russian tongue. Song had to give him the credit where it was due for trying, but took a moment to wonder why all Russians sounded drunk.

“Comrade.” Song shouted back. He took a moment as he breathed in the fresh air and to look around. Looking out to the shoddy encampment off to the side of the road.

“You heading to Omsk then, comrade?” the Russian soldier shouted back. His rifle hung limp under his arm, muddy strap hanging across his equally muddied and bloodied coat as it wrapped around the opposite shoulder.

There was a way he carried himself. Uncertain. His shoulders hunched and back slouched. He wasn't an eager man. He was tired. And so to did his brothers.

“In the direction.” Song replied. Nodding to the camp he asked: “What's this then? Why'd you hail us down?”

“We've some comrades trapped in the town of Kalachinsk, brother.” the soldier shouted back, nervous. From the front the driver's hatch was thrown open and Li Tsung crawled out. He gave a confirmatory look to his commander before looking at the Russian and to his camp. There was a pale relief on his face, but the expression died as he took in what was next door. The Siberian didn't make him feel any better in his tattered battle-soaked clothes. Neither did his report on the matter.

“The Republican army has encircled their position in the middle of town.” he continued woefully, ”We've tried to relieve them, break the siege for as long as they need to breath. But for the past couple of days they've been keeping us out.”

Song nodded, “What do they have?” he asked.

“Heavy machine guns, it's made for an attempt on foot suicide. They're lined up in the trees on the southern advance here.” the soldier said solemnly, “There's not a lot of cover in the farm fields, they cut us down as we go. Or snipers pick us off if we go around. I haven't seen what it's like in town since our two units were separated.”

“You allowed yourself to get separated!?” Song shouted, horrified.

“I- I-” the soldier stammered, “It was not like we could try. Fresh soldiers from Omsk got there before the rest of us did, and we lost our communication's officer!”

“I would have radioed in if we hadn't lost him.” he continued desperate. “And I can't spare any men as it is, too many of us have been injured by the assaults. So it's not like I can spare any runners, comrade!”

“Then why not pull out further to get closer with the rear-guard!?” Song shouted, angered.

“I'm afraid of what'll happen if we go back empty handed!” the Russian officer fearfully admitted in a raised voice, “At least staying here I supposed we'd meet up with someone who could do something about it.

“This is you, isn't it?” he pleaded weakly.

Song grumbled. Dropping his forehead into his fingers he stiffly messaged his temples, “What else is the situation then?” he spat.

“I believe they got mortars somewhere. Maybe out west.” he said nervously, fidgeting in the road, “And maybe they got something else. Last I saw of our brothers, they got held up in the town hall. Maybe they're still there if the Republic hasn't managed to break through.”

“I'll see what I can do.” he shouted, dropping down into the turret. He grumbled disdainfully to himself as he reached for the receiver. Turning it on and cupping it to his mouth, “This is juunshi Song, requesting command. Over.”

“This is command, comrade Song.” a female voice responded in a calm even tone.

“We've crossed with Siberians who are requesting assistance in liberating a trapped number of men at the village of Kalachinsk, do we have permission to engage?”

There was a long stretch of silence from the other end. The rumbling of the idling tank filling his ears as he waited for a response.

“This is command.” a voice said again, “Permission is raised to engage hostile forces in the village of Kalachinsk. Coordination with Siberian command recommends to hold the settlement on its liberation and to wait for reinforcement.

“Advance on the village with what support you can acquire.” the voice finished.

“Copy that, Sun Song moving out. Over and out.” he said, connecting the microphone back to the radio box.

Communication and reports continued to flow through the channel like water as Song crawled back out into the Russian light. “Do you have any men who can fight still?” he yelled at the Russian below him.

“We have some, Tovarich.” he said hesitantly.

“Rally them. You're going in with us.” Song ordered.

“Wait, you expect us to help?!” cried the officer. Tsung looked up wide eyed at his commander. A silent conversation, a confirmation went between the two as Song glared down at him. His driver diligently weaseled back into his seat.

“As best you can.” Song said, “And keep behind us as we move!” he yelled, sliding back into his seat. The hatch closed with a clang behind him. “Take us to Kalachinsk.” he shouted down into the cabin.