[b]Northern Russia[/b]

Across the clear field the structure stood solitary against the wilderness. Behind the men, the light of the morning sun crowned them in a halo of gold as morning rose over the Siberian spring. Standing at the edge of the trees they sat looking out at it. The solitary Russian fort at the edge of nothing. Thin dying hairs of smoke rolled off the roof as ghosts of men prowled the parameter.

“Can we take it?” Tsien Huang asked, crouching in a melting bank of snow. With the coming fight he had dressed himself over for it. Metal and padded ceramic plates rested over his winter coat. Slung over his back the reinforced steel tank to his flamethrower glowed in the low Russia sun, its drab green a dull orange. Resting on his knees the flamethrower itself, a single tongue of blue flame rising from the tip like a gentle candle.

“We can.” Quan Yun-qi said, lowering his binoculars as he turned his wrist, checking his watch, “In five minutes the mortar teams are going to begin shelling the compound and soften them up.”

“Then I go in.” Huang nodded, smiling. He knocked his knuckles against his helmet, a solid piece that hugged against the whole of his head, “And I'm ready.” he smiled at the rasp of his knuckles.

“A lot of us are.” Yun-Qi added, “You know what it is you're doing?” he asked.

“How could I not.” Huang scoffed, “I'm riding in there after the shells land, busting in a hole in those fences and clearing a path for you and the rest to mop it up.

“You sure this is how mechanized infantry is supposed to work?” he asked.

“It sounds good enough in my head.” Yun-qi replied, “Now get in your position, wait for my whistle.”

“Yes, comrade.” Huang bowed, “Can't wait to get cooking!” he cheered quietly, as he bolted off. He could hear the subdued clicking of his gear as he shot off through the snow.

The sound of Huang died off as he departed into the trees. Hidden in there were the ranks of the buggies and personnel carriers that had got them here. From the deep north where they waited in the darkness of Russia's deep winter to here. Faintly on the wind the colonel could hear the idle chattering of their motors.

He could feel the morning sun on the side of his face. It was warm. A contrast to the wet coldness of the snow pressing into his winter coat as he lay on the bank looking out to the Russian compound. The sun felt like it rose too low up this far north. It was never high enough. Some days it was like it gently skirted the edge of the horizon, if it rose at all for most of the year.

There was a building silence that hung in this morning air. What few birds remained this far north were awakened by the golden light and had started chirping in the trees. But around them they held back, afraid of the motors and the diesel that ran below their trees. It was the sort of thing man only noticed when he was in its middle. Like the birds, not even deer nor boar had stirred where the Chinese were crouched in wait.

The Russians wouldn't notice.

The soft breath of southern air brought a warm relief with the sunlight. The brushing breeze rattled the boughs of the trees softly as it brushed through the forests. Distant clumps of snow fell tumbling from the pine boughs in the distant, like ethereal streams of rosy gold. It had to be coming soon. It had to be time. Yun-qi checked his watch again, it was time.

As he lay his head back down he heard the whistling above his head. His head shot up at the howling that cut the cool morning air in the vein attempt to catch a glimpse at the silvery shells that plummeted to Earth. The hard explosive knocking in the distance recaptured his attention as to his face his binoculars shot. Dark cloudy plumes of smoke and shrapnel shot in the air, filling out through the Russian installation as he watched through the lenses.

He could feel the shock waves of each shell from where he sat. The cutting throbbing crashing of mortar fire tore through the silence morning, shaking the ground. The shells falling fast and hard. Drumming fiercely against the Earth as blackened motes of debris sprang and fell in the air. Huang watched through his looking glass at the guards scattering through the compound, their heads bowed low as they dodged the piercing shells that fell all around them.

Along the fences he watched the patrolmen funneled between the fences as soot and timber tore through like flachetes. The chain link no protection from the shrapnel as bodies dropped at each close explosion. Beyond he watched through the fence as a man fell victim to a direct hit from a mortar. His body disappearing all together when the smoke cleared.

Plumes of fire and smoke rose like freed dragons as vehicles were chewed and fell victim to a number of shells that dropped right on them. Sirens picked up and roared as the shelling intensified and corners of the brick building were torn off, raining on the ground rapidly coated in rubble and pitted with craters.

The mortar fire dulled to a lull. It was time for the next stage. Rising from his bank Yun-qi tore out from his pocket his whistle. With a hard blow, he blew into it. A shrill screech cut into the air. Deafening even the shelling as a shrill silver note sung into the cold spring air. Bellowing out in tandem a hundred others sang out, and the groan of engines rose to a lively hallow roar.

Tearing out through the trees the hundreds of motors they had with them. Bar-wrought buggies thundered towards the Russian installation. The pained whines of their engines screaming in. Turreted machine guns opening fire. And riding in the middle a cart flaying a wooden mast, flying from which was the Chinese flag. Its rider, perched in the turret seat sat low, clinging to the barrel of a flame-thrower mounted on its swiveling frame.

The Russians were attempting to re-organize themselves and to recover from the shelling. But what defense they had was staggered and shocked. The defensive fire almost hesitant and misplaced. In return gunners and passengers returned fire as they tore at the fence. Yun-Qi watched as the first buggies rode into the shoddy fence, bending the thin steel and tearing it loose from the snowy earth and whatever held them to their wooden or rusty poles.

***

With a crash the wheels of the vehicle crashed against the flattened fence. Leaning stressed against distant poles it hung bent and deformed as the buggy, and several others struggled to climb up the frozen, twisted fence. The motors strained as the gas roared, coughing up thick clouds of smoke that spun skyward with thick wet clouds of mud and slush. Riding in the gunner's seat Tsien Huang leaned against the angle of the cart as it crawled slowly through the opening that had been rammed through. Shallow craters filled the wide court yard of the installation. Columns of black smoke rose into the cold air from the fresh, warm pits.

Anxiety fermented and boiled in Huang as he sat at the barrel of his flame-thrower. Before him the dozens of carts that had spear-headed in before him wheeled around. Sweeping through and keeping the panicking Russians in check before he could arrive to bring them to the torch. Weapons fire clapped and clattered through the morning air, mingling with the siren klaxons that wailed and feel. Before him the first battle of his involvement in Russia carried on, and he was stuck on a fence.

Furiously the driver slammed the gas pedal. The motor roared loud. “Fucking piece of fucking Siberian trash!” he roared enraged as he leaned his weight on the pedal. At his side his passenger scanned the area through the sights of his rifle. Checking every inch of cover. Likewise their neighbors did the same.

Roars of slogged down buggies screamed and roared as they struggled to climb onto the fence from the burrowing trench they were digging at its foot. The loose bending of the metal did the job just as worse as they caught themselves in the chain link.

Tsien Huang was growing impatient in his nest. He fidgeted in his cold metal seat. Not even the warmth rising from the engine below was any comfort.

“Wu, you fucking get this unstuck, I'm walking in.” Huang growled bitterly as he worked over the clamps that held his flame-thrower to the frame of the vehicle.

“God fuck no, I need your fucking weight!” the driver shouted, pissed. He turned back to Huang, frowning behind a pair of jet-black goggles. A metal collar guarded his neck.

“Ho is fatter than I.” Huang bellowed, pulling the flame-thrower free with a crack and hoisting the tanks higher up on his back, “He can take my seat.”

The passenger looked back at him, without saying a word. Behind the solid-gray scarf that wrapped around his face there was no doubt he was biting back calling him a cunt.

Before anything else could be said Huang landed on the mangled fence, his gear in hand as he jumped into the mud inside the Russian camp. “Damn it Huang, get the fuck back here!” the driver screamed.

“Come find me when you're done being stuck.” Huang called back, opening a valve on the side of the flamethrower, the flame glowed brighter and larger as gas hissed. Turning on his toes he charged into the installation, weaving between the pacing and patrolling buggies. From behind Wu yelled angrily back at him.