[h2]Green Island Rocket Facility[/h2]

He had been the king of his home. A emperor in a palace of humans. His size had assured him that much respect, holding court over several other dozen felines. But now he had been removed from his Forbidden City. Taken far from his Mongolian home. His demesne had been cut to a smaller size, now no longer given the freedom to explore the sanctified halls of the Ullanbator research facility, where his master's fondness had kept him out of the hands of the humans that darted the halls.

When he had first arrived here, he had thought he had been forsaken by [i]his[/i] human. He had been stolen off by a lackie who grumbled like he had a bone to pick with everyone and slouched. He afforded the Emperor no kindness or tribute. And quickly as he could was delegated out.

And now the stocky feline king of Ullanabator lay sprawled across a mattress of fluff in a large cage, tucked in the far corner of a cavernous room, hanging from a hundred hooks cables and an infinite number of mysterious human craft works dangled from the stone walls. The air was crisp and cool, comfortably dry. As opposed to outside where the stifling humid heat made the kingly cat to sweat under his thick gray coat of fur. He'd started to shed, but this had ended when he was given this new barony to rule. And he observed it from the tables and shelves, sprawled across the cold metal surfaces with his great stretched body, full fur laying flat against the polished steel, like rivers of soft silvery wool.

When things were more lively this mighty room teemed with humans. Humans who would let him out of his cage so he may wander. Though he chose instead to lay across the top of his vacation palace and to watch the puny humans busy themselves with the trivialities of their pursuits. But there was entertainment to him, a dance of motion and the wild music of their work entertained his laziness well. And sometimes they might wander over; feed him a treat of roast duck and scratch him behind the ears and where he couldn't hit that itch. They were almost a substitute to his old handler. Almost.

Today the attention had been delayed. Today only early in the morning had he been let out to wander under the watchful gaze of a man in a green uniform. He'd been fed and watered once, so now his stomach rumbled. He was hungry, but not starving; merely mildly discomforted at the emptiness in his large belly. He had pissed and shit the rest out in a box in the corner, and things were becoming incredibly sub-standard.

There was on top of it a great silence that had befallen the room since the man in green left him alone. No one else showed up. No work noises were made. And no specters sang. Everything hung in a dim boring silence. A dull flat spread over a so far terrible afternoon.

But he couldn't do anything. So with a soft sneeze he swept his tail across the mattress. Tucking in his legs for added comfort as he half shut his eyes. Opting to sleep through the dullness. Such things had happened before, and the people usually came back.

The time wallowed through with bitter laziness. No one second feeling any different than the other. And the good Emperor laxing through rest and wakefulness. Each time nothing feeling any more different than it was before. The monotony was beginning to feel eternal until doors opened.

The rasping groan of the heavy doors opening on the far side of the door was enough to put his highness on high alert as his ears shot up. His fat face turning to the origin of the disturbance. Sniffing the air, there was something. Sweat, deodorant. People.

“I'll grab the fat fuck and hold him, you just slip the suit on.” a human voice said, drowning in self-pity and self-loathing. He imagined all humans hated themselves in some way. None were as grand as he, with a life as rich and well fed.

“I'm sure we went over it enough.” said another. From around the corner of some machinery walked two men in green. In one's hand a familiar fold of the stretching, pinching skin they like to fold he and his kin up in. The other walked with a cage. Neither looked respectful of his majesty.

Head craned up all the way, his ears perked to the full manner. He watched with a wide expression as a nervous unease slithered through him. A harsh tempest of anxiety welling deep side. His tail drummed and beat his bed as he half rose to a sitting position. With a rattling snap the large cage's door was opened, and gloved hands were reaching in for him.

Fighting was useless in the end. Yowling in considerable personal discomfort he was pulled out from his bed, hanging limp in the vice-like grip of the human handlers he was swept up into the air to fly to towering heights by his grip. “Yeeeaaauouuuuuuu.” the Emperor moaned bitterly as he hung in mid air.

He struggled and kicked at the handler's hands. The anxiety reaching a full horrified shame as he was handled and forced deep into the pinch suit. He felt his fur hitch and ride up against him as the tight fit collapsed about his legs and torso. A stormy flurry of whipping slaps did nothing when ultimately he was stuffed and closed in.

He felt his nerves tighten in discomfort over the suit. He stood stocky like a statue as one of them placed him on the table as they turned to worked his carrier. He cared not to move. The suit feeling as if it glued his joints. He could only yowl in embarrassed defeat, watching the two open the crate door with widened eyes. And with masterful brutality by the two, he was gently placed in the carrier, the gate closing behind with a soft tick.

He felt the world swing back and forth and around as he was carried off. Yowling and mewing anxiously as he was carried off. And as he went it dawned on him why he had not eaten, nor had he drank since this morning: for his bowls loosened but he felt nothing fit to release.

He dared to move in the envelope he was in. Turning his head to the side to watch the world pass by stiffly. He could move easily, but the tight embrace of the suit was none the less poor; only his fail and face seemed to be absolutely free.

Outside past the metal grid of the crate window the gray of the human world swept by. Pipes, cables, concrete. A few odd colors, but a sustained monotony ruled. Quickly he found himself missing the cavern he had called home for the past several months. It had a comfortable regularity. This was unnatural, this was terrifying. And suddenly it was gone.

His world filled with a bright blinding light that burned itself on his eyes. And slowly fading he realized he was outside. For all the sun-drenched rocks and the bitter, salty, moist air of the new outside world. He was beginning to sweat and quickly. If it could get any worse, it was. He yowled loudly, protesting the situation. He demanded his privileges. He did not want this. He did not want to go anywhere. And he did not want to go up.

Metal grating and steel mesh descended beyond the safety of the carrier box. The distant stone walls of wherever he was likewise. Cut outs and windows passed, all darkened and reflective in the afternoon. Faintly in the distant glare he could make out the mirror reflection of something great and tall. A great unknown. It terrified him. It terrified him more than his situation could have terrified him.

“Got him?” a human asked bluntly.

“No shit.” someone responded. The crate was handed over, sweeping swiftly through space and turning. He staggered against the side of the crate. Mewling in response. He heard the door behind him open and soft hands grabbed hold of his frozen torso and he was pulled out into the light.

Turning about he saw briefly the peak of the monolith he now flew alongside. Red and pointed, it jousted upwards with a defiant brilliance. Like a tail of steel.

And then there was a man's face. Several, looking at him. He recognized one as the tired and bedraggled person who had brought him here and tried minding him for a time. He had disappeared, only to come back and somehow the king believed it wasn't coincidence. It was clearly an omen of something impending.

“Everything look good?” asked the other man. A wider, friendlier sort of person. He recognized him from his minor barony, one of the balding types in a white coat. Which to no avail he retained.

“Yes, it does. Now get him in and let's go get ready.” the other said, in the typical sharp spit of an angry sort.

“Alright.” side the other, turning his majesty about. A green suited human leaned over to the side of the monolith, grabbing hold of a lever and opened a door. Making an opening to a dark cavern inside. Protesting, he screamed as he was put in, kicking and flailing best he could in his current situation.

But as he was strapped in he realized: he was probably too lazy. And then the hatch sealed, shutting out the world. Enclosing him in absolute darkness, save for a silver dime of a window before him. He was strapped down into some sort of cushion. Looking up at some sort of hole into the bright blue above. His breathing quickened. The unknown seizing fast. He pulled and fought against the straps, to no avail.

And again, time passed. And as warm as the new prison was, it was at least dry.

In the dim silence of the darkened chamber he only had his heart to listen to. Rapidly it tapped against his ear drums. Counting the micro-seconds as the feline royalty starred wide-eye through the port hole before him. The silver light that came through was the only calm normality. The brilliant sun the only bulb. It didn't calm him all, but it eased the edges. Softening the initial panic, settling him into the mentality this was just the tests the lesser cats went through. And the fear leaked away. Enough so that he could think again about his stomach.

He still had not eaten, and that bothered him. He mewled defensively as something shifted under him from under the cushions. He mewled in discomfort at his shifting empty stomach. And again he mewled in distress as the world around him rumbled and rattled.

A great tempest threw itself against the outer shell of the tower he sat in. A fierce vibration exploded up and a deafening roar welled from underneath, turning and transforming into a gradual scream. And then a roar of violent triumph. The roar turned into a thunder, and finally into an explosion and his head fell back against the back of the cushion. Pressing more and more into the soft embrace as everything moves. Not forwards, but up.

Everything seemed to drain away in an instant. He screamed in horror, but his primal roars were drowned out by the godly rocketing of the engine under him. His blood rushed back into his head, his sight faded away. Black halos grew in from the edges of his vision. The violent rumbling was quick to evolve into a ferocious earth-rattling shake. Every bone in his body felt as if it were to break as he was tossed side to side against the embrace of the straps against his chest and stomach. His legs stood out before him, being pulled back by the immense forces slamming into the cat.

The thunderous roar burned and burned, shreaked and shreaked. In hazy vision he watched the sky thin and the air darken through the porthole window. A glowing silvery glow exploded around the edge, like a halo. An aura of ambient silver light that burned and shone more at the sky faded more from its solid blue, to an inky black tempest. The rattling began to die, but the force remained.

His ears rung fierce from the violent cacophony that had filled them. His body still felt heavy, as if a weight of an entire man still rested against it. But this began to lift. He meowed youdly, his very voice echoing against the metal walls.

[Url=https://youtu.be/nP6xBFyA_aw]Action tiem[/url]

Like a pop, something sounded behind him. Muffled by steel and all other matters of human creation something disconnected, something happened. He was struck with a sudden renewed burst of fear as an airy weightlessness took hold. Lifting and gently tossing him around in the straps. It was where the strong. A greater fear came upon him, one born from the loss of the sensation of weight. A panic thrust deep into his stomach over all things being turned differently. His heads were clenched shut, had been since the glowing of the silver fire grew too bright.

He mewled nervously, twisting and turning in his confines. Shutting his eyes as the light grew. He threw himself about, trying to escape. But to no avail, the straps were too strong, and the buckles locked tight. Everything felt weightless. Alien. He felt like he was drowning, but he could breath.

And then something tickled his nose.

With a loud sneeze he sprayed through the air a cloud of mucus. Instinctively he opened his eyes to see the effect splatter against the walls all around him. Springing and cleaning to the imperfect rough surfaces. And as he gazed to the window, all feelings of panic subsided. Like a hand closing off the flame softly, the furious, terrifying flame of fear subsided and died, turning to peace as through the porthole he looked out to the world beyond. A new world.

Clear brilliance spanned ahead and on into infinity. A massive, visceral landscape of emptiness. But in itself, hardly empty. Far off beyond the infinite horizon the brilliance of more stars than he had ever seen flew in the great sky beyond his own. It was as if it were the night sky, but at the same time it wasn't. In the darkness there was an illuminated brilliance. A pure golden and silver light that shone and reflected off the interior of the hatch window. A pure and perfect sheen. And as the capsule spun the source came into view, with more blinding glory than it ever had before.

The sun, a glowing golden coin that hung far beyond his reach hovered in the distance. Unveiled from the sky and the clouds and the dust and the fog. Unmolested from smog and smoke. And revealed naked without glass and concrete was the sun. As pure and bright as it could ever be. And in its furious humbling brilliance it burned as much. Its brilliant pure light warmed through the cabin. The cat shied its eyes away from it, shirking back at the blinding golden fire that wrapped over them. His coat felt warm in the glow. And then it was gone.

Its orange halo descended beside the port. Disappearing in the eclipse of the sides and the backs of whatever machine of man's design he rode shotgun in. The infinite brilliance of stars near and far resumed control. Even the most brilliant ivory, silver glow of the moon made a cameo. In all, the stellar sites were inflaming a sensation of awe and wonder. A brilliance he had never before witness. Until the Earth came into view.

Like a gemstone teardrop was the rock he had called home presented itself. Filling the entire window with the awe of its visage. The ocean bodies and mountains and forests and desserts he could hardly wish to comprehend revealing himself. The scale, wonder, and purity of the land below enforcing a dencentering sensation. How could he now be the center of it all if he was so small compared to the world below?

Was this it? Was this mankind's usurpation of his throne? To shoot down his godliness? If it was so, they had won. There was no terror now. No greed. No ego. Only awe and wonder in the brilliance of a wider universe.

If it had been the goal of the Chinese to destroy the last God-Emperor, it had happened. They had won.

[h2]Omsk, Russia[/h2]

Tsung energetically pulled his fingers through his hair. Even despite the shower he was pulling out thick clods of dust and debris that had accumulated in muddy blobs. The wash of cold water had reminded him of the persistent existence of filth on his scalp with the cleansing of his body. The five minutes he had was hardly enough to go through and thoroughly clean out the accumulation of wear on his head.

Sat on dusty cots pulled in for the night he and his crew mates sat at the top floor of a small flat over looking the river that cut through Omsk. It was a temporary residence for them. At best the night, he was assured they were pulling out tomorrow. So like he, the rest had gotten their appointed showering in now. Tse Lin had disappeared sometime after their left, and with the night in the thick of darkness she hadn't come back. Although Sun Song showed no evident sign of fear.

“How about Qin Wi?” Hui asked Song as he dragged a single-bladed razor across his scalp. At this moment Tsung was his most jealous of the gunner, he had the most effective means of keeping clean among them, with no hair to speak of to tend to.

Qin Wi as Tsung had learned was a commander under Song. Barely as much a sergeant as he was. And as Tsung had also learned, their commander – his new commander – Huei Wen was a duel enthusiast.

“I don't know why you think I should do this.” Song said calmly as he looked out the window at the urban night outside. Even from a small town that observed an energy curfew, Tsung had not seen a city darker. Not a light shone anywhere. It was basked in the most perfect of darkness. The over head stars shone with an unobstructed cleanliness never had he seen. It had to be the cool air, cooler than he had ever known.

Traveling across the sky as well he could watch the wing lights of bombers inbound into the city from the west, or outbound to it. The suppression must continue.

“Because maybe if you impress the good commander enough he may promote you.” Hui chuckled, “And I'd think you'd make a better division commander then Sen Wu.”

Song chuckled. “Thank you for the compliment!” he said with a cry of dry humor, “But I don't really see how it's necessary. I got this far on actually proving myself in battle I don't need to start some trend over wushu matches for promotions. It's just not how the things should work.”

Hui sighed defeated, “I concede your honorableness.” he replied sarcastically, whipping clean the blade of his razor. “But answer me this, do you think I could take him on?” he asked, “My position for his if I win!” he laughed.

Song turned from the window. His expression carried a spooky weight and a stern dissatisfaction. “Fuck no.” he said disapprovingly, “I'll get you promoted when I think you deserve it.

“Besides, it'd hardly be beyond my powers.” he added, grumbling.

Tsung rung his fingers through his wiry black hair once more. Sighing defeated he brushed his fingers off on the legs of his pants and fell back against the wall. His head hit the plaster drywall with a soft thunk, and he could feel a new wave of fine dust trail down on his head. He blinked agitated as a fine cloud sailed down to dock in his eyes. “You know it's a bad idea to even wear hair.” Hui mocked playfully, “Have you thought about shaving your head bald?”

Tsung groaned as he rubbed the dust from his eyes. “I- ah... No, I don't think I ever have.” he stuttered nervously.

“Shit.” Hui laughed, shaking his head, “Well I'll let you borrow my razor.” he invited, stepping up off his cot and leaning over to Tsung, “You can cut your head clean and not worry about it.” he warmly suggested, smiling.

Tsung cracked open his eyes and looked at the folded razor being offered to him. The muffed and battered metal casing barely shone with a matte finish in the gas lantern lighting of their temporary bunk.

“I... Uh- no thank you. Not tonight.” he grumbled miserably, running his hands over his face. Sitting down, the past day was catching up to him. He was feeling heavy and tired, and he didn't feel like he could hold a blade steady his hands were still shaking so much. He had found his crew, that's all he needed to feel warm invitation. When he had recovered – if he had – maybe he'd take up Hui's offer.

The crewman shrugged indifferently. “Alright then.” he shrugged, sitting back down.

“I got it from a bird Qiu Jian got into some shit this past afternoon and will be forced to dish out at mess.” Song said suddenly.

“Oh for fucks sake!” Hui cried.

“What?” Tsung asked.

“Qiu Jian, he's an asshole.” answered Hui unceremoniously, “He likes to be uptight.”

“And he'll be hung over.” Song added.

“And that'll make it worse.” Hui laughed uncomfortably, “I don't imagine he'll be very kind then?”

“Not since he started complaining about Lin sneaking away the last apple. His last apple.” their officer grumbled bitterly, “So you better have your cards at least, he's going to try and take his revenge out on all of us.”

Tsung only had to use his ID card a couple of times. The last time was to join up with this unit several months ago. He felt his heart suddenly drop a beat and hang limp, his head going numb as he realized he didn't know where it was. “Damn it!” it blurted out, shooting up from his cot, desperately searching his person.

“What is it?” Song asked quizzically.

“I-I don't know where it went.” Tsung panicked, shooting up from his cot and pacing about. Thinking hard. “It was... Was...” he started, “In my coat.” he scanned the walls, searching for his heavy coat. “I had it.” he said.

“I do remember handing it back when you returned.” Song explained, “You sort of went missing without it.”

“You keep your card in your coat?” Hui asked.

“And I- uh... I think I brought it with me to the showers.” he realized. It dawned on him like a lead weight. He was in a moment calm, then tense.

“Better hurry up and get there before the security detail closes things down!” Sun Song calmly encouraged, dismissively waving his hands, “You have time still, but go on and get down there and get it. Last we need is for one of us to get hung up at the food light and have half the column hating us.

“Go. Go on.” he again said.

Tsung nodded, eagerly taking the dismissal. He thundered out the door and for the stairs, jogging down the wooden steps, often missing several in one bound. His hand hovered over the chipped and plaster dusted handrail as he went. From the bullet-holed hallways he heard the late night chatter and laughter of the rest of the unit, the sounds of music swam from somewhere.

On the ground floor a lone radio operator leaned against his heavy back pack radio. A gauze bandage across his cheek kept him from bleeding onto the device as he idly spun through the dials, listening into every radio frequency he could. A ciagarette hung limp from his lips as he starred bored at the dial's faces. Then up to Tsung as he clattered down to the ground floor. He offered a silent nod of acknowledgment before turning back to his silent duty. Tsung wondered if he was really doing anything productive, or simply being bored. Like scanning the radio for a song. But for him, it was for war.

“Uh, anything?” Tsung asked distantly as he turned away from him.

“A lot of nothing.” the radio operator said dryly, “Entertainment radio's being re-mobilized and is down right now. And the Russians changed their codes again, so I can't say what they're doing.

“Why do you ask?” he added, lifting up his head. The gauze was heavy further along by his hear. A red stain in the fiber bloomed out from the side. The sight made Tsung's stomach crawl and twist. He turned to the door so the operator couldn't see his face go pale.

“Curious.” he said, biting his lip.

“Good enough comrade.” the operator said dryly, bordering between wakefulness and sleep.

Tsung nodded stiffly as neared the back door. He felt stiff, and his mind wandered back to the injured soldier in that armored car. Pulling the door open – it didn't need much force – he leaned up against the door frame. His breaths heavy as he collected himself. He shut his eyes, remembering back to training, how his drill officer had told them to simply remember to breath.

He didn't think it'd actually come into use, but any time was a good time now. He took a deep breath, and exhaled. Imagining the image being swept aside by a rush of water. Opening his eyes again, he looked up into the barren yard where the shower tents had been quickly thrown up. Surrounding it burned barrels of twigs, paper, and unusable refuse that could be burned. The evening was cool, but not bitter cool. And somewhere a shower head was running.

Tsung presumed it was a late comer, too busy to get to them before and just now seizing the moment before security detail shut off the water. It would hardly be an issue, and he'd be in to check and out. He stepped out into the muddy water, the ground whetted by shower run off.

Walking over the rubber mats on his way up he figured what if the jacket was there? It'd surely be in the hands of the quartermaster's office, where ever that was. He'd need to find that. The idea made him moan. It wasn't pleasant, and sounded like a lot more trouble than it was worth. And it made him more tired than he was thinking about it. But it was gone as he parted open the tarpaulin tent flaps to enter as he looked up.

He had assumed it'd be another guy. Someone he felt he could get by without issue. But looking up there was not the pillar build of a foot soldier or any man he knew, but a distinctly feminine hour glass. He stopped frozen, an unmuted fire smoldering to life under him. Blood that had rushed out from before suddenly screamed headlong up and he staggered dizzied, starring on at the rivulets of water that flowed down along the yellowed back of the unexpected patron.

The erotic fire turned quickly into a choked surprised noose as he realized just whose curves the water followed. Black hair let down, he was watching Tse Lin. His breathing tightened, his chest constricted as her slender body curved and stretched as she combed through her head. Half turning, scrubbing aside the dirt. And then looking up.

“Oh fuck!” she shouted, reeling back suddenly as she saw Tsung standing at the entrance way. Her arms flew to her, wrapping themselves across her tight breasts and tucking away whatever else.

“S-sorry!” Tsung stammered awkwardly, spinning back from the door. Tripping over the heels of his boots. With a graceless half turn he regained his balance. But his heart raced at a million miles a minute. His head swam in milk. And a cold sweat beaded all over his skin. He trembled as his clam hand went to his eyes.

Everything felt frozen, and his thoughts took on a jarred mess. He shrunk back, mumbling incoherent thoughts to himself. He would have turned to go back inside and to wait...

“Tsung?” Lin called out from inside. The hiss of the shower head had died. She sounded nervous, and as shaken as he.

“U-uh...” he stammered weakly. He was to say, “Yea?” but what came out was too jarred for words.

She sighed. “Fuck it, what do want?” she asked. She spoke somewhere between a scolding mother and a concerned sister. The bruntness caught the tank driver off guard, he hesitated.

“Ay-I-I'm looking for my coat.” he answered finally, “I thought I left it h-here. I- uh... it's got my ID in it. Song said I should get it a- I'm s-”

“For fuck's sake, it's OK.” she consoled with a loud sigh, “Come in and get it. You just surprised me is all.”

“Um... OK, I guess.” Tsung said, his eyes lowered as he stepped in. His boots slopped against the wet plastic that covered the ground. He half looked over, Lin's bear feet were right next to him.

“For fuck's sake don't be a tard.” she scolded, smacking him briskly across the head. He recoiled back, lowering his hand. She had a towel on.

“Sorry.” he apologized, there was a heavy lump in his throat.

“I suppose we both should.” she mumbled, stepping back. She held on tight to the towel wrapped around her torso, hand hovering over where it covered her breasts. The other scrubbed her hair dry with another. She looked at Tsung with sharp eyes, judging, condemning, but forgiving; if a little.

“There was a crumpled coat over in the corner there.” she said, nodding to the far corner of the room. Tsung followed her gesture, seeing the lumped canvas mass in the distant corner. Stuffing his shaking hands under his arms he bowed.

“T-thank you.” he said nervously, walking over.

“You've never been with a girl, ever?” she asked suddenly, as Tsung collected his things.

“Excuse me?” he stuttered, looking back. He tried not to stare for long, and turned back to his things.

“You.” she repeated, “You act like it. Not even a sister?” she asked.

“Uh- Ah... No...” Tsung softly muttered.

“So then I don't suppose you've ever gone out with anyone then either.”

“I was told I should find a- uh, girl. But I never...” he started, but he trailed off. The heavy lump in his throat turned into a rubber plug, and he choked to talk around it. He collected his coat, and held it up to his chest.

“So you queer then?” she asked, almost dismissively.

“No!” Tsung quickly denied, “No. No, I'm not.” he added, biting his lip, “Why do you want to know?”

“I'm sorry.” Lin said with a sigh, “I grew up with two older brothers. And I've never met another guy so nervous.” she shot Tsung an accusatory look. She brushed the towel the last of her hair, “So if you're not queer, what are you?”

“I-” he started, “I-I guess I was just raised a little traditionally.”

“Mhm.” Lin nodded, “And I grew up without a home with my mother and two brothers. I think the traditional school of polite secrecy was lost to both of us.” she said. She tried to say it comforting, but it was still laced with an accusing tone.

Tsung couldn't help but lower his eyes. The entire situation was awkward. And the erection in his pants wasn't making it any easier. It was hardly the most polite place for a conversation, nor the sort of conversation he'd expect to get from a crew member. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, throwing his coat over his shoulder as he walked to the door.

“So why'd a softie like you join?” she asked as he neared the exit. Tsung froze.

“Excuse me?” he asked, glancing over. She was kneeled over on a knee, drying off a leg. Her hand still holding the towel to her chest.

“How'd you get in?” she reiterated, “Lottery?”

He didn't answer. He brushed his hand along the canvas, tarp tent flap. “I suppose if you were anyone else I probably would have had to break your bones.” she said, freezing Tsung to the spot before he could leave, “We women, since integration at least, we're taught to be tough. So we're not taken advantage of.” she stood stood. Looking Tsung right into the eyes, “You scarred me, is all.” she said again, her tone wavering on honesty and condescension.

“I-I'm sorry.”

“I know.” she smiled, “And when you get back, could you not tell Song? I'll follow you in a minute. He won't worry.”

[h3]Huei Wen[/h3]

“A toast, to the first victory!” Afanasi cheered, rising out of his chair, a glass in his hands. A table of a modest spread sat before him, and the other officers gathered with him. Candles and lanterns gave a wispy spooky light to the dinner. Shining off of and from bottles of vodka, wine, and steel tea kettles. Metal military bowls of rice and pork were laid out atop the bare wood surface of their dining table. Plates of carrots joined alongside with a hode-podge of other vegetables. Slice potatoes, beats, and a few apples.

“It may be too early for the toast.” Huei Wen smiled, getting out of his chair, “But here I can't resist.” he laughed softly, rising to meet the Russian commander's glass. With a soft ring of glass, the meal was on and the two sat down among their staff officers and retinues.

“When I got the invitation to a dinner I did not expect an actual meal.” Afanasi complimented, eyeing the spread greedily, “I had expected some Chinese slop cooked in a pot.” He smiled, looking up at his Chinese counterpart. His beard wrinkled up his narrow beaten cheeks. “No offense of course, comrade.”

“None taken.” Wen bowed. He looked across to Afanasi's entourage who looked down lost at their plates and the food. Perplexed at the invitation and the charity. They were clearly unsure whether it was their place to eat, or why they were at the table.

“Go ahead, eat.” the Chinese commander invited them, “Mann Wu and Angua have already started.” he said, pointing out the two staff officer's at his side.

“I was ready before the toast.” Wu laughed. Despite the warming spring weather he still wore a scarf around his neck that framed his round bony face. A hood of rags covered his head as it wrapped down under his chin. By comparison Angua was more comfortable, having long shed his winter uniform.

“Well if not assured victory why the meal?” Afanasi's lieutenant said. Lechivsok, a scrawny creature with wild blonde hair. A hound of the Russian commander, and who Wen knew to be a prick.

“Simply to talk.” Wen said, restraining his emotions, “I've always found a meal to be an appropriate and peaceful moment.” he mused philosophically.

“That, and once you fill a man's stomach how could he ever deny an offer?” Afanasi laughed loudly. Chunks of carrot slipped from his lips into his beard. But it hardly mattered to him, his blue eyes were glowing with charitable thanks for the meal. He did not expect it on campaign. Wen knew he had to be careful, lest he spoiled his ally in operation.

“What was it you need to talk about?” he asked.

“I'm going to request that as we push on you step back your men from the front.” Wen said. He spoke plainly and direct between bite-size servings of rice from his chopsticks. He had mixed together what he could in a small bowl. A glass of wine sat nearby.

“Right now they're no doubt making the forward push on the Republic, as discussed.” he went on to say, “Which is admirable. But in common raiding and skirmishing I can not expect them to form a stable line across the country.”

“They lack armored support.” Afanasi added, “We have some tanks, old ones your nation sold to us. But I can not expect them to serve equally or provide adequate cover.

“If you're concerned about the support of my men, then why don't you provide your own tanks to the advance? It would make things easier than simply restraining them.”

“It's not the lack of support I'm worried about.” Wen replied, “I can do that easily, and would not have invited you to sit down for dinner with me if it were the case.

“More so I'm worried about the ability to secure the rear.” he continued, after swallowing a rice-covered boiled carrot, “My men for sure could handle it, but it wouldn't be without drama. There is a certain destabilizing factor when people of one race must police another, I feel. And it might for our benefit ease tensions.”

“How so?” Afanasi asked.

“My studying of the situation among the Russians in Outer Manchuria.” Angua said, “They'll follow along as we expect, if only because most it would seem are in ideological agreement; to a degree. But among population groups there's a wariness of Chinese soldiers and police in the street.”

“Oh really?” Afanasi commented cynically.

“I know it seems silly, but it's something we're keeping ourselves aware of.” the IB agent mumbled in a low breath, “There's even been a noted disparity of violence among the Russian majority of the territory against Chinese officers compared to violence against Russian officers. If means were different we may not be as involved in the local policing matters in the area, but with the vast influence of the Mafiya then the powers that be in the national police are committed to putting more boots in the area than not. Nearly a third of the reserve half of Wen's men are allocated to Vladivostovok and the outlying towns to provide an strong commitment to security so we can chase the Mafiya while the common officer pursues common crime.

“If I wasn't already on comrade Wen's staff and assigned to the Manchurian army I imagine I would be partaking in some [i]rat hunting[/i].”

“It's incredibly political.” Wen smiled.

“My men though deserve some sort of advance role in this though!” Afanasi demanded sternly, “It's after all our mission, not the Chinese mission!

“You're the help.” he reminded them.

“And they will.” Wen assured him, “With policing in mind I'm only asking for a few hundred men garrisoned behind us as we go. A few small units, to provide a presence in the cities and regions we enter. You can have the exhausted units stay behind to over look the situation behind us. Under performing ones even.

“I don't wish to remove you from the battle field, comrade.” Wen reminded, “I just want to set this up before we get too far in. The success to the grander fight will come down on the complacency of the people we're occupying.”

Afanasi breathed deep. His nostrils flaring. His eyes darted about the room. From Wen, to Angua, and to Yu Mann, who made no committed gesture to the conversation. Huei Wen thought he'd for sure get up and walk out. His face had reddened.

Reaching for his glass of vodka he downed the entire thing in one go. Slamming it to the table he looked back and said low: “When we get to Moscow, I want to lead the assault.” he said.

“And you shall.” Wen assured.

“I'll play along then.” the Russian nodded, “But I don't want to be cut out.”

“You won't be, you're still playing a very important part in this.” Wen consoled comfortingly.

“I'll take your word for it.” Afanasi breathed comfortably, “So, anything else?”

“If I may,” Angua spoke up, “but I would like to borrow comrade Wen for a moment. I got to talk to him about the wine.”

Wen looked over at his agent. He realized by the way he looked down he had something to say. “The wine?” Afanasi laughed, “That doesn't seem like something you talk in private about.”

“It is when some might be angry you got it up here.” he smiled, quickly finding the excuse.

“Oh!” the Russian crooned, “Then it's a special treat! Then go on ahead, we'll put it to good use.

“Yu Mann, you haven't talked all dinner. Would you like a glass?” Afanasi offered as Wen and Angua parted from the table.

“No thank you.” Mann politely refused, as the two officers passed into the next room.

It was dark, hardly any light to speak of. What little that passed through the window was hardly enough and reduced the two men to the barest, most naked of shadows.

“You can't really trust Afanasi, can you?” Angua said.

“Admittedly no I don't.” Wen admitted in a hushed tone, “But I don't think I got a choice. I'm politically tied to him because of this.”

“So you do want him cut out?”

“If it was advantageous, yes. But right about now I need his men as much as I need his support. What are you getting at?” the commander asked as he walked to the window, “Can you infiltrate his command to predict his next move?”

“Easily, the Siberians are sloppy. Especially after Sakha. They move so carefully as to not offend themselves they walk about like the shit their pants, but won't admit it. A beggar kid on the street could probably steal the wallets from their coat pockets.” Angua observed as he joined his commander at the window. The street outside was barren and dark. In the distance a few fire lights burned among the still smoldering ruins of Omsk.

“But I won't be taking anything out, I want to put something in. Something we can use.”

“How can we use something that we don't have?” Wen asked, purely to humor his intelligence officer.

“The unfortunate thing that might arise from using Russians to police Russians is sympathy. We may avoid a factor in violence, but it doesn't mean that they'll let in saboteurs or Republican spies in simply on the factor of being brothers. I imagine not all of his army has all their relations in the east. The more we move west the more families we reunite, and the more open holes for Russian sympathy to involve.

“If we're not closing those tunnels, we may as well run our own snakes through it.”

“It sounds like what you want to do might be illegal.”

“Depends on which court we end up in. But I want to close down as many avenues our enemies have. The Russian Resurrection was an embarrassment enough born from being too soft.

“Comrade, I want to find our enemies and snuff them out before they become an issue. It'll be strategically sound to our mission.”

“I know.” Wen nodded, he watched the solo headlamps of a truck as it rolled down the empty street. “But can it be done without involving me?”

“I got contacts in the Siberian administration, we've infiltrated it and it's messy. I can throw a fistful of Yuan into it and it'll get so lost no one would know it got in.

“I've known people who have. A few entrepreneuring roosters have been doing it to finance IB operations here so they can go far beyond the allotment Beijing provides us. There's a lot we can slip in and out of Novosibirsk without so much as a clerk finding out.”

“The flow of money doesn't stop moving. I imagine I should forget you ever said that.”

“Please do, then forget I've ever said I can register a nonexistent Russian officer and a totally ghost regiment of men under Afanasi's command. I can put it in, no one will know it was there or won't ever ask if they do.

“Forget I've ever said that's the cover I plan to use.”

Wen nodded along, “Sensible.” he said, “But I'm not a spy. I'm an army officer. So excuse my lack of comprehension when I say: 'I did not have commanding authority over that man.'”

“Exactly. But forget I ever suggest you shouldn't use 'did not', comrade. Use contractions, you're lying otherwise.”

“I'll promptly do that.”

“So what do you plan to do with all of this?”

“Get some friends together. Some people I can trust. But some guns and pens in their hand and go rat hunting.

“Simply as that.”

“You got my blessing.”

[h2]Addis Ababa, Ethiopia[/h2]

The jets touched down with a loud squeal across the tarmac. At the angle they entered in from and the speed the sortie blundered down the tarmac, nearly forcing themselves to have to lift off before they reached the end and risking crashing through the airport's perimeter. But even if they had not gained control and tame their own speed the appearance of the twin silver, alien aircraft created a considerable buzz.

In the background of their communication with Addis's control tower there was notable excitement. Raised voices, bellowing out speeds. Or exclaiming their excitement. In the end, the distressed air traffic controller had to force through what little Chinese he could command to set them down right. And as swiftly as they came, they tucked themselves away. The Chinese embassy had seen need for keeping them under lock and key. Even if on their pass in the explosive sound they made for sure alerted the entire city.

They could only hope that in their ignorance there wouldn't be a panicked riot.

“Shit, is he here? Did he make it!?” Wu bounced in the halls of Addis' airport. Slipped among the rooms the regular pilots would use and tucked away from prying civilian eyes. Wu's wild eyes scanned every door as he spun about, his wild unkempt hair sprung out out from under his leather cap as he dodged and weaved. Among the curious African staff. Alien words fluttered and wove around them as airport employees exclaimed in their alien tongue their bewilderment for the leather-outfitted Chinese pilots.

“He's not here...” Yu said. His shallow cheeks pale.

“He's not?” Wu asked. He scanned, “He's not...” he repeated, defeated.

“He's got to be alright.” his partner assured him, walking him through the halls. He felt as strained and panicked as his partner. A shadow of doubt hung over him. “He crashed.” he suggested, “He died, a second Spanish plane found him. You can't confirm it.” he continued to pry.

They moved down the hallway, lost. But not unguided. “Comrades.” a man called out in a familiar language. The two pilots looked up, standing alongside an open door stood a Chinese soldier. By the uniform, an embassy guard. “I was told I was expecting three.” he pointed, puzzled and then deeply afraid, “Did something happen?”

“I- who are you?” Yu asked.

“The Embassy asked me to meet three Chinese pilots. Orders.” he said, “I was to get them on the line with Chake Bay. I take it you're the thre- er, two.”

“That were. But we lost one.” nodded Yu in a low, saddened voice, “You got Chake Bay on?”

“I can get them. Come in quick, I was told without hesitation. And that comes with caution. I don't know who any one here is.

“Can't let Spain know.” he added, stepping aside as the two pilots bust into the room.

It was a small conference room, sparsely decorated except for the red telephone on the center table. “From the embassy.” the guard said, inviting them to use it, “I got Pemba holding on the line.”

Yu bit his lip, nodding. He stepped to the phone. He felt heavy as he picked it up. “This is Song Yu. Heron 1.” he reported. He was nervous.

“What happened to Han Wen?” the other end asked with a gasp, “He was to deliver.”

“I can't confirm it, but I think Han Wen was downed.” Song Yu started, “But we went to the target position. The Spanish had already made it, they only had one plane. We engaged it.”

“Plane?”

“They have jets too...” Song Yu stammered. Somehow admitting the words was like admitting to treason.

“Did you terminate?” the Pemba operator asked.

“We couldn't. He left, and we abandoned pursuit. Our fuel was low. Han Wen aborted earlier, saying his fuel tank may have been hit.”

There was a long silence from the other end. It made Song Yu shake. “Tell us everything.” a different voice said. Harder, more affirmative. The CO above Wen, “Then hand the phone to your wing man and let us hear his side of the story.”

“Y-yes sir.” Yu stuttered, and he began.