[b]Tibet, China[/b]

The expansive Tibetain plateau rose to meet the sky. As the sky itself came to meet it. The rocks that ran through the Earth's thick hide groped and scratched gnarled at the air above. Hallow and hungry as is – the very spine of the Earth itself – pulled itself from the earthly back of the world. The mountains no longer looked flat. It no longer looked small. Definition and distance returned as the dragons over head orbited and circled down. The wing was now not hidden from itself by the distances they flew.

Shen leaned into the bubble he called his perch. His breaths took to mist in the cold air. In the turning belly of the plane he watched as the entire wing of craft they flew with came into view against the clearing blue of Tibetain sky. There was no longer so much blackness as clouds pulled in across his view, and the panorama beyond. Painting a rich canvas of bright mid-day colors and crystalline white.

The steppe below was a rocky crag. Crowned with diamond peaks of snow and sparkling with melt water. Even further, more directly below them the twinkling and distant lights of their own airfield shone below. Even in the clearest day it had to be a balcony above. How else might he see it?

The lowering sun highlighted clearly his fellow planes. Dark kite-shaped monsters, angled back like arrow heads. As with the wings that hung over them, smoothed and fluid jets ran molded into the metal wings. The whole body was a single molded design, as if crafted by water running over top.

He had seen the prototype once. In some far corner of the home base in Mongolia. Sharp edges and all around primitive demeanor dominated its heavy body. Pink under belly and sandy brown. The craft this father had sired had long lost the rose and beige. They were steel gray and nightly purple. The colors patched and broken along their bowed shell.

The prototype though was not forgotten, and still flew. To its own crew. Though he had not seen it fly. Although if he had he was as forbidden to speak of it as he was forbidden to speak of the craft he rode in. There was plenty of fear in this craft, even on the ground. The black coats of the IB and their unspoken word kept a close watch on them and the aircraft. Shen shuddered to think just what they would do onto him if he spoke. It was for the best he kept quiet.

Landing these monsters was by now a routine procedure for them. Circle the landing strip, closing in ever closer. Coming down even lower. The loops becoming ever dazzlingly tighter as they drew lower to the ground. The plane would shudder, cutting through the uneven air as it went. High pressure, low pressure. Warm air, cold air. The ride was never as peaceful as it was before; where a man could sleep in peace and never be woken, if not for the regular chiming on the headsets that kept the men linked.

Shen had only seen the Himalayas twice. Both when they made voyages to this southern outpost for their wing. Practicing this very maneuver that was so regular in Nèi Měnggǔ. At Deep Gobi. He had seen more of the desert there, and the plains of the upper flat steppes and the forests of Heilongjiang and Eastern Russia.

They had flown as far as the arctic sea over Russia during the dead of winter once. The snow was black as night and there was nothing to see. But Shen starred in awe at the crystaline lights of the night sky in those clear northern skies. And the ribbons and bands of green and red that wrapped the air above them. He had never felt more at peace with himself, or more at awe with nature than there. And for a brief moment then, he felt close to what was preached by part of the Dao.

The base that closed in below was by no feat a complex affair. A single runway cut a black gash across the mountain side where it was cut. Alongside a single tower rose like an axel amid a field of barracks and administrative buildings. Several large hangers sat off to the side, one for each craft in their wing. They alone dwarfed the regular hangers for the contemporary aircraft, the fighters and helicopters stationed here. They were the only bombers stationed here, and they got the hangers armored in steel and concrete.

“We got ten minutes to land.” Sin Wu said in Shen's ears. The static that underlined their communication buzzed harshly, “Buckle up comrades. Over.”

Shen sighed. Leaning back into his seat. Reaching over with gloved hands he grabbed the strap, and pulled it across his lap, buckling him in. He took a deep breath, watching the horizon between his knees. His seat jerked under him, as the plane hit a rough pocket.

_______

The off color of the lights and the wood paneling of the wall gave the room a warm light. Save for the several dozen chairs on the floor and the podium on the far-side, it was empty. Steadily and one by one the pilots filed in. Their eyes searched the sparse briefing room wishfully. They sought some hint as to why they were here. But there was none.

The men who walked in all wore the same uniform. A baggy olive-green fleight suit. Baggy and puffy their insulated one-pieces hung empty off their shoulders, nylon straps hanging limp and dead at their side. Metal buttons glistened in the room's flourescent glow. Stained white undershirts left to finally breath after their cross-country fleight.

Without fleight masks and goggles to keep their faces covered from the cold and eyes free from the blinding sun and cool air the men's faces were lined with red from where the masks and goggles and held down tight. And the accumilating torture of a nose or brow to scratch was being well relieved. Shen moved among them, keeping up with his own group. His puffy cheeks beat red from the cold, indifferent from the mask he had worn. Holding back a sneeze he rubbed his flat bolbous nose as he to searched the room.

His senior – Sin Wu – was a large man, cleanly towering over the rest. He was not hard to loose, and his thick black hair was a mess having removed his leather and fur cowl. The officer already found himself a seat, alongside their lightly built navigator: Xi Li. The rest of the crew had no doubt got lost in the mix, but it'd hardly matter, they were getting the same message. And with nothing else going for him, Shen stole his seat alongside his two crewmates.

For the rest it didn't take long to find their seats. And as soon as Shen had taken a seat the rest had to. Several minutes of patient, uncomfortable silence passed as they waited, until the door behind them opened.

The pilots and crewmen didn't need any announcements. And at once the sound of metal chairlegs grinding against linoleum filled the room as they shot to their feat, standing at rigid attention. Greeting their superior officer as he moved along their side. He had no briefcase, and only purpose in his gaze. His gray coat hung against his knees.

“At ease, comrades.” he said in a hushed voice. He was an older man, well into his fifties. His graying hair thinned against his head and his face sagged loose. At his order they resumed their seats and he took the podium.

“Several days ago,” he began, “we recieved reports of Spanish hostilities against assets of the Ethiopian Panafrican Empire off the coast of North Africa. Shortly following, we recieved news from Spain that the Spanish President – Alfonso Sotelo – declared formal war against the Empire, making it official the two nations are now officially in a state of war.

“As we speak, Spanish forces are engaging Ethiopian assets at the Suez Canal in Egypt.

“Our proud nation has not yet effectively opted for official interference on the matter. However, by request of Hou Sai Tang command has issued for limited assistance to our Ethiopian allies as official measures are drafted in response to this, and the matter is raised with Congress.

“Of the points of this unofficial entrance to the conflict, it was elected that you, the pilots and crewmen of the High Altitude Recon and Bombing wing are to engage in long-range reconessience sweeps across Spain and Spanish Africa, and the whole of North Africa to obtain information and data estimates of Spanish movements on the current front and to acquire the means by which Beijing to assess the likelihood of additional fronts in this war opening in a Spanish effort to expand the scale of the war. In addition the searching for any stores of the chemical agent known as VX.”

Hushed murmurs whipped between the mouths of the men present, astonished and mildly terrified at its invocation. Without waiting for them to finish the senior officer rose his voice, silencing them as he continued, “As well as the location of military and industrial installations of great teactical importance to future efforts to neutralize Spain should – on Chinese intervention – the moment be deemed neccesary that Spain is to be attacked directly!

“Comrades, that is what is asked of you.” he said, finishing, “You will be deployed after a twelve hours rest for Europe. Your equipment will be cleaned and prepared, your planes refueled. As with any and all events – training or not – you are to maintain maximum altitude to fly above enemy radar.

“In excericises you have all flown commendably, though we are not proven in practice. This is our chance to define the wing and even encourage and expansion of the project we're all a part of. I won't waste your time with anymore words. I will simply say in closing: you'll make us proud.”

[b]Kalachinsk, Russia[/b]

“Hey, we got it!” the early morning air echoed. The engineer crews had just begun to gather at the growing motorpool. Since the previous night several more damaged vehicles had arrived for maintenance, or had been pulled in off the field by brave salvage crews. The night was filled with the thunder of diesal as night crews facilitated to the placement of the scrap equipment. Teams of mechanics had set out in the damp late night to keep up, but despite them there was a significant backlog built up for the day teams.

Sun Song's Tei-Gui still sat precariously by, waiting attention. Though in the muddy ground of the old town hall's back yard it had begun to sag. The damaged side still lifted up off the ground enough to work. And standing proudly nearby with a rusted belt of linked steel plates was Jonny, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his overalls.

“Figured they'd pull through.” Wu said, taking a large swig from a warm flask. He still looked tired, “We can get this done then.” he added, looking to his side. Tsun stood by distant. Short hours were new to him, and he felt stuck in a daze.

“The hell you doing so awake?” Da joked, raping Tsun on the back as he whipped around from the side, “It's only zero-fivehundred.”

Tsun grimmaced at the hours. He'd been up late watching them last night. Going to sleep wasn't much easier, spending much of the time thinking about how Song might bear down on him. If he had done this at home his drill sergeants would have him castrated. But there it was running over something. But a mine was a fair comparison.

“How long?” he asked groggily.

“Give us a couple hours. This afternoon you may be able to head out.” Wu said in a low voice.

“What do you think Song will do?” Tsun asked.

“Song?” Wu laughing, “I don't know the fucker good enough. For all I know he could force you to breath exaust for a week or cut off an ear.

“But if it was me, I'd smack you across the head and tell you not to do again or I'm writing the paperwork. And I might as well bust your nuts over that if I have to go to the discplinary officer and run the briefing gambit.

“I'm not willing to take any bets.” the sergeant added.

“I don't think anyone is...” Tsun said drowzily.

“Deal only in absolutes.” Wu said with a proud nod, “Accept only victory. Believe in no superstition. The power of victory is in man only.

“I remember that from training. Do you?”

“How could I forget.” Tsun grumbled.

Wu nodded, standing by idly. “Coffee?” he offered.

“Excuse me?”

“Coffee.” Wu repeated, “I guess it's the new thing. A lot of people in Shanghai and Hong Kong have been drinking it. Last I was in Beijing I saw one place in the south-east corner selling coffee. Comes from Ethiopia. Probably the closest any of us will be to Africa.

“And stronger than tea too. Want a swig?” he offered again, holding out the flask.

Apprehensivly, Tsun took the flask. The metal was warm in his fingers. Lifting it to his nose he smelled it. The drink was potent, with a strong earthly aroma; sweet and bitter. He gave Wu an unsure look.

“It's not going to kill you, and it's not contraband.” he said, “And it's not liquor so you won't get drunk.

“Drink it all. I can get more. I know the Quartermaster well enough.”

“Well... if you say.” Tsun said hesitantly, raising the flask to his lips.

All to quickly he tipped it high. And all too readily the hot liquid inside came rushing to his lips and washing into his mouth. Sharp bitter heat exploded on his tongue and in shook he reeled back, coughing out a mouthful of bitter black water. He gagged, spitting as he fought to quench the burning sensation on his tongue. Wu roared with laughter, clapping his hands as Tsun struggled with what just had happened.

“Drink, not chug it!” he seazed, laughing.

“Oh shit, you did it for me.” Wu chuckeled, “I didn't think I would get that today, but I did. Shit, I don't think I need to drink any now.”

Tsun gagged, trying to spit off the burning from his whole tongue. But to no painful avail. “And you're not supposed to chug it!” Wu exclaimed, “I said drink!”

“The hell happened without me?” Da asked from the tank.

Whipping a tear from his eye Wu recovered himself. “Nothing, go back to work.” he ordered, waving him off.

“Go, try again. But careful.” Wu invited again. Tsung shot him a angry look, offering him the flask again.

“No, I mean it.” the sergeant said again, his voice tettering on that of an order, “If you're falling asleep on duty then you might need a little help. Because Song's coming.”

Tsun's chest siezed at the revelation. Paniced he looked around. Turning to find his superior officer walking through the morning mist towards them. Arms wrapped around his back, coat hanging about his knees.

His driver fidgeted with the flask, nervously trying to hide it as Song walked closer. Was this sentencing?

“Sun Song.” Li Wu saluted, stepping aside.

“Comrade.” song bowed, “How are things?”

“We've located a replacement tred, throwing it on as we speak. I imagine it'll be done by the afternoon at the latest.”

Song nodded, seemingly ignoring Tsun for the time being. “Excellent.” he said, “I want to get out as soon as we can. We're missing things. We've already preached city limits. I got commanders under me wondering where I went. I don't want them to go lacking.”

“I understand.” Wu agreed. Gesturing to Tsun he stepped back, “I imagine you're here for him.” he added.

Song smiled politely, waving Wu off before he turned to Tsun. The young driver's chest felt like iron. His heart wrapped in chains. It wasn't admiration. It was fear.

“Comrade.” Song said.

“Sir.” Tsun said nervously.

“Will this happen again?” Song asked.

“No sir.” Tsun replied.

“Then we're good.” the officer smiled, “Though, I want you to take more responsibility. Sleep more. If need be I can put in a few requisitions and find something to keep you awake. I'm sure I can find something medically at my disposal.” he stopped, looking at the flask.

“Coffee...” Tsun said nervously.

“Coffee.” Song nodded, “Tsun.”

“Yes?”

“Given what I know, I order you to drink more coffee.” Song ordered, pointing to the flask, “Or some strong tea before we go out anywhere. How you acquire it will be up to you, I'm not going to baby sit you about it. But as an order, to perhaps prevent this again; drink more of that. Carry it in your bags if you must.

“Finish that, and go to the rest of the crew and get some sleep. We're moving out as soon as we get the tank back.”

“Yes sir.” Tsun bowed. A part of his mind drew a sigh of relief. The other held back defensively against the burning bitter drink.

[b]Urals, Russia[/b]

“Comrade Makulov, I must really stress how dire this is!” Ulanhu protested loudly, as he followed the Russian commander down the hall of his cabin hall. The former imperial general looked tired and worn. He moved with a heavier gait and obviously was not in the mood.

“How am I supposed to be concerned with the gross negligence of a soldier who is not even mine to command?” the general protested, his voice heavy and discplinary. He shot the Mongol a harsh look to the side. His face read he didn't want to have any of it. He just wasn't having the morning for it.

“Because for all I know our enemies may be using the radio to find our location.” pressed Ulanhu, “From the communications I got last night it's strongly implied they do know where I am, and by association you and your men are.”

Leaning against the opening to a large living room Makulov turned. Glaring silently down at Ulanhu he sighed. “Last I checked comrade, locating one by radio doesn't require one. Unless Jun had three I can not believe you.” he spoke like a displinary father, a cynical teacher. “And I have many men under my command still, and not just in the village itself. If there was any direct threat to our hideout and our safety then it would have reached me. Furthermore, we can hold our own against the rabble that was the Mafiya.

“Now, I don't give a shit about your toys from the orient and I'm sure they're probably off trying to play with you more on it. But it's wise you don't yield to their psychological war. No matter how many people they string up to the trees we've always told ourselves: we are more, we are stronger, we are more loyal.

“We're the greater strength against gangsters. I am confident we can hold off a few lone gunmen. If it was a direct Republic threat I may care more. But if you excuse me, comrade, I would like to take a nap by the fire. I've had a terrible night last night.”

“Comrade, could you at least promise someth-” Ulanhu argued desperately, his heart fluttering in panic in his chest.

“Good bye, comrade.” Makulov replied, annoyed.

“B-” Ulanhu started.

“Good bye!” the general shouted. His face writhed in discomfort as a hand climbed to his temple, “Please. Walk yourself out.” he grumbled.

Ulanhu knew the demands were rejected. There wasn't anything more he could do to change the rebel general's mind. He turned slowly from the officer as he returned to finding a couch to lay on.

Ulanhu's boots beat solo on the carpet as he walked down the rest of the hall. As always the heavy doors that seperated Makulov's private quarters from the more functional section of his rural headquarters hung shut. Made of heavy oak, Ulanhu forced them open. They groaned heavily on their iron hinges. And just as much they closed behind him.

The guard that stood nearby watched his go with a apprehensive look. Ulanhu though was to distracted to notice. He walked by, his head swimming in fear and the weight of his partner having been killed in the field. How might he get back to Beijing and report the loss then? How should he establish a connection with home? Was he trapped until the Chinese army made it to the Republic's capital? The questiones were heavy, and played ruinously across his good concious. He wasn't a field agent like Jun was, there'd be way he'd survive Russia.

But, they only had the one radio. How likely was it they were going to find him? Could they have used it though to find the signal on their own radios to triangulate him? Afterall, ECGs weren't much but a way to downsize and boost the range...

“Comrade.” the guard said to Ulanhu before he could get far. The Mongol froze startled.

“I heard some of the conversation, you have problem. Ja?” the guard asked. His Chinese was weak, shaky at best, even conversationally. Rough and broken, it was delivered in stressed breaking the rythym. The guard's staccato accent changing the tones, mutating it.

“Just... Just a little.” he said, turning to address the guard, “Why?”

“If you scarred, could always invite you into town.” the guard invited, “Stay with family until the situation blows over. Ja?”

“Well, thanks... But I don't think that's neccesary.” Ulanhu grumbled, “It'd be best if I were let alone.”

“I understand, but to one comrade to another.” laughed the guard. He was heavier set, and his body jiggled like gelatine when he laughed. He leaned forward, looking into the administrative hall. “By the way, what was on the radio?” he asked.

“I- I guess it's not state-important.” the agent grumbled, walking up to him. “Just a lot of threats. And does the phrase 'Tili tili bom' mean anything to you?”

“Tili tili bom!?” the guard replied, his blue eyes going wide, shocked. “Is an old lullaby. Mother sung it to me when I was a kid.”

“It is?”

“Dja. Was always a little creepy. But I guess it scarred most of us to sleep!” the guard said, rolling with laughter, “Mother sings: 'Tili tili bom. Close your eyes now. Someone is walking outside the house.'”

“Doesn't sound pleasant at all.” Ulanhu commented, disgusted.

“Aye, but I still sing it to my kid.” the guard smiled, “Lately though, I wonder sometimes. I hear from family in city out near Tyumen of stories of people hearing song on the streets, at night. Then when they wake in the morning someone is dead. Is rumors, but is enough. Are you sure you want to stay alone?

“You got company at my place, and guns. And you're not at the edge of town. More in center. I won't care for Chinese things, I can let you set up in the basement. Wife and son don't speak Chinese, Makulov ordered I tried. So try I did.”

“I'll have to consider it...” Ulanhu nodded, distantly, “But, is there anyone else I can talk to about this? Perhaps to put me at rest I can ask someone to see if they can find Jun or his body?”

The guard shrugged, “Ivan, probably. Apart from being comrade Makulov's muscle he oversees our matters in the city. Mail, groceries, supplies, inteligence, scouting. Stuff like that. He could deliver the word down.

Ivan. Ulanhu didn't have good instances with him. When they first arrived the burly Russian threw him naked into an icy pond. Ever sense the scrawny Mongolian feared he'd try to make another effort. Loud, muscle bound, and angry. He wasn't a figure he wanted to deal with, and he tried to hide that fact. “I'll keep that in mind.” he said, if apprehensive and distant from the proposal. He much preferred Jun's cold distance from the aggressive and challenging personality of Ivan.

“I understand. But my offer always open.” the guard nodded, “Name is Konstantin.”

“Nice to meet you, Ulanhu is the name.”