[h1]Africa[/h1] [h2]Addis Ababa[/h2] (The following segment is a collaboration between [@Vilageidiotx] and I) [b]July 10th, 1980[/b] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePNd8nwm89w]Action tiem[/url] Addis Ababa stopped as a river of red cut a meandering course through the city. A line of Chinese soldiers paraded from the south, lacking all indications of subtly. In full bombastic pride, the rigidly locked boots of the Chinese column parted the city's traffic as they sewn through the streets. For a moment, the city stopped to look at the foreigners brashly declaring their presence in not just number: but in color and sound. For the Chinese, it was as if it were another march towards their African counterparts on the island of Pemba; a visit to the Ethiopian base down the road to conduct training exercises with the lost and disorganized misfits of the Ethiopian military. But the driving emotion that pushed Dezhi Cao to march briskly at his column's head, with his sandy-brown field cap drawn down over his brow, was not pride, or some peacock maneuver to declare his authority and a sense of superiority. It was simply that he knew nothing else. He was an officer who long paraded himself through mediocrity and mediocre promotions. And it would be the parades that showed he could drag himself from the trench of gutless following and to assert himself. Whether or not the subtlety mattered was beyond him. He would announce himself clear to the Emperor's palace. The turned bewildered faces of the gawking Ethiopians were a minor matter on his mind. He put it instead on the Emperor. Keeping their pace at his side trailed his staff. Sen Zhou, not drowned in the same desperation to prove herself as Cao, trailed behind much more aware of the people she assumed they were here to protect. How much were they going to be alienated by this? Was this really the sort of thing the Africans needed to see? By the empty look on Chen Wu's face, Zhou imagined the IB agent tied to Cao was at as much a loss as she was. But being IB, it was not hard to imagine the agent would have preferred a manner of subtlety. Now how many would know the Chinese were here? Though as much as Zhou would have gone an announced presence, an armed military parade through the streets of Addis Ababa all the same felt inappropriate. Music and all. But she had to swallow that bit of doubt and the sudden lack of confidence it bore in her commanding officer. The procession cut through the heart of the city and began to climb the streets of Addis Ababa's northern edge. Ascending upwards, they came to the street of the imperial residence. With brisk orders, Cao ordered the men to take positions along the side-walks, much like a general assembling his retinue before a liege-lord to present his intentions and the resources which he bore to conquer or assist. The demeanor should have been lost on even Africa, but Cao was in a different mind-set. The men re-grouped, holding red and orange banners with the scrolling writing of Chinese calligraphy in golden stitches. It wasn't deep in meaning, but a re-adoption of romantic imagery for heralding the units in parade. There was even a banner portrait of Hou Sai Tang, whose quiet features and short pointed beard glowed still and dead in the African noon sun, his face lacked the fine and deep lines that had cursed him with his age. A wall of stone crowned in serrated iron poles separated Addis Ababa from the palatial grounds, itself a lake of emerald greens with the palace at its center. The complex stood adorning the center of the plush yard with a long flagstone walkway, like that from a villa in Western Europe. Groves of trees stood scattered in the yard, while individual trees lined the road and shaded the assembling soldiers from the sun. At the gates, the palace guard stood gawking. They, much like the Chinese parade, looked like something from an older era, with their white uniforms and pith helmets. “Dezhi Cao, here to see emperor Yaqob Yohannes.” Cao proclaimed to a burly figure who took center position behind the ornamental iron gates of the palace. He leaned to the side on an ivory peg-leg. In his cold hard exterior Sen Zhou recognized on him a look of a soldier, well tested and experienced. “I suppose so.” he answered, “Come on in, but you leave your army behind.” he invited coldly. Cao gave a stiff bow before stepping inside. Zhou and Wu lingered outside the gate, though the look of impatience on the guard's face indicated he expected them both to follow. Hesitantly, they stepped through the gate and raced after Cao. "Should we expect anything?" Sen Zhou asked Wu in a hushed voice. She turned to look behind them, the red flags of their regiment fluttered in the afternoon breeze just beyond the wall. But more stunningly was the guard from the gate, who despite his missing leg kept his pace with them. "Nothing." Wu answered simply, folding his arms around behind his back. He looked over his shoulder to Zhou and with a bitter look elaborated, "Cao will announce we're here to help, per our orders. Yaqob will give him orders, and we'll be out and I can have some tea." "Thrilling." Zhou commentated. As they caught up with their commander they slowed their pace. Together the trio stepped up onto the veranda of the Ethiopia palatial estate. Columned walls marched in either direction as they found the shade of the entryway and made their way to the door. An anxious pitted feeling filled Zhou's gut. It was one thing to charge into gun-fire, but a wriggling nervousness sedated her confidence to approach such an otherworldly extravagant mansion as Yaqob's. "Yaqob will be waiting in the scroll room." the guard said as he climbed up the steps. His false legged tapped loudly on the warm stone of the steps. He spoke without any particular patience towards the guests. "I'll show you the way." he beckoned as he opened the large, oily-dark doors of the palace structure. With a step they entered through the door and were swallowed by the monstrous house. Stepping into its marble gullet and corridors. 'The scroll room'. It carried an almost ancient, edifying weight to its name. And between the three officers they believed the name was for some cavernous library, or ancient sanctuary. The very designation of such a space in a building as grand as this held a certain amount of pomp to it, like everything they passed. Ancient armors, paintings, and decorations hung from the wall or stood to the side in safely guarded niches or upon finely decorated pedestals and tables that turned the imperial corridors into less a home and more a museum. To picture a young child running between the suits of medieval Greek armor and ancient aboriginal suits seemed unnatural and unwise, it decorated their opinion of the regime further as being decadent. The heavy battle-scarred guard though soon led them to the end of their voyage, stopping at a bamboo door. Although the heavy groans of the hinges inclined the three to believe the door was not bamboo, but was a false facade between them and the chamber inside. Dutifully and cautiously with heavy feet they followed the peg-legged figure into the dim confines of the scroll room. The first to shock them was not resplendent decor, but the low dim light that filled the chamber. Soft amber light shone, copying the very light of a late evening. The bamboo covered floor under their weight sagged and sighed as they stepped inside, their eyes adjusted to the low light and they with-held what was almost a portal to home. Adorning the walls hung long Chinese silk-scrolls. Between them were ancient Tang and Song pieces with fragile fraying ends and fading ink, and modern reproductions of the ancient styles contrasting the modern life of Hou's dream of an industrial China with the rural agrarian utopia of the classical kingdoms. Proudly set in the center of the room was a ceramic fountain. A serpentine long dragon hung wrapped around it, snarling fiercely with its dog-ish face, and water trickled between its legs. "The Chinese to seek your audience, your highness." said the guard. The young emperor walked out from behind the fountain. His black robes flowed down to a pool that trailed behind him as he gently glided across the bamboo. He looked gently - if coldly - at the three Chinese officers present before them. "Good afternoon, pleasure to meet you." he greeted them. "To you, comrade." Cao bowed, giving the emperor the same curt stiff bow afforded of all Chinese, "An impressive collection." he complimented. A nervous tingling played in his tongue and danced in the back of his throat. He felt as if the words were a cloud of dry scratchy feathers, and he coughed them out with uncomfortable force. To Zhou as well there was the same alienating sensation of being here. Made only the more complicated that she knew - or felt - the man's rank of Emperor was somehow inappropriate. Yet she still felt she should be standing before some remnant of the Qing regime and not the solemn mournful presentation of Yaqob. The feel was no less lost on Cao. But for Wu, he hid behind a distant shell. He merely observed. "It is." he said kindly, walking to the hanging scrolls, "I acquired them over my stay in China. I find them charming, and beautiful." he smiled as he pointed to them, "Your culture is most fascinating. There is a shared heritage between us I think. Here we are, the two oldest nations on Earth, and we have came together in friendship." He paused for moment, wet eyes fixed keenly on his guests. He only looked away when he motioned to one of the glass cases. "These are commissioned works from Hou." he continued approvingly, "They were gifted to me. The older ones I acquired on my own. This one is from the early Song dynasty I am told. Look at the jagged features of the mountains and cedars. One thing I regret about my time in your country is that I never got to see the wild places that inspired works like these. Tell me, have you seen the mountains?" "These are commissioned works from Hou." he continued approvingly, "They were gifted to me. The older ones I acquired on my own." "They're very beautiful." agreed Cao. He felt a close pain that they should be so in the way of the Spanish aggression and that when all else fails here: these may be a casualty of war. They were close, and familiar. A part of him as much as his blood was to China. There smoldered a guilty anger that the African noble had acquired these words - new and old - for a personal collection to boost a sense of self-important pride. It was like Europe's abuse of the heritage of the Spring Palace, and he was as much offended by the collection as he was with that. But he subdued that distaste for the sake of formality, "I'm here on different issues." he said. He felt that weight of war come back on his shoulders as he spoke those words. "Yes." Yaqob decoupled from the art. He moved away from it like a young mother being parted with her first child. "I have been briefed. You want to prepare an evacuation. You should know that the Spanish advance is closing in on Dire Dawa. Hararghe is closed to you, which means we do not have direct access to the sea. We will have to rely on the less reliable roads in the south that lead to Mogadishu and Swahililand." "That's fine." Dezhi Cao smiled, "But I have access to airplanes of my own. If need be we could withdraw some of the civilian population to Pemba, and from there anywhere out of the way." he paused for a minute, wondering if he was being polite enough of if any of this would lose him his rank or even freedom in Africa, "Of course we can still see what can be done with Mogadishu or Swahililand, it's certainly an option open to us." "If you think that is efficient, I will support it." Yaqob said diplomatically. "I am not an expert on these sorts of operations, so I can only follow the lead of those who are. But come, lets not stand around in here. There isn't enough room, and there is only one bench. Will you join me for coffee?" "Yes" Cao said. He wasn't certain how to respond. Imperial pomp had scattered his wits, and now he was doing everything he could to maintain his professionalism. "We will move out to the veranda." Yaqob motioned. "It'll be easier to talk in the open air." -- "It would be safer if we take how many we can out of Africa." Cao continued from earlier. He tapped his fingers on the small glass of coffee in his hands. The conversation had moved well outside, into the shade of a shaded veranda, looking out across the city below them. The four men sat at a wooden table, shrouded in the protection of a overhanging eave. Bespeckled brilliant white marbled columns rose like tree trucks to the safe embrace of their roof. As they sat and sipped coffee, a warm mid-summer's brief drifted by, ruffling the uniforms of distant servants and attendants and the crowns of palms and trees that scratched from below. Dezhi Cao felt estranged to have accepted an offer from an Emperor. And for it to be offered to such a mid-level officer as himself. He had politely refused, but Yaqob's polite insistence had persisted and he begrudgingly took the drink. Sen Zhou and Chen Wu themselves held small cups of the bitter African coffee as they sat in the shade of the marbled veranda. "I just feel that if we were to take your people to Mogadishu or anywhere near to the coast would put them at risk." he continued. The young Emperor reclined on the other side of a wooden table. "I can bring them to Pemba, or whoever can. And from there we could move them as refugees out of the country, to China perhaps. Or having moved them from the front lines to deeper into Africa; further from the Spanish." "We cannot move them into the interior." Yaqob said curtly. "There is nowhere to put them there. You see, this country is not like your country. I don't know how to explain this but... well, here. Observe." Yaqob took the heated coffee pot and the extra cups and moved them, leaving an empty porcelain tray in the center of table. "This is my country." he said calmly "It isn't the same shape of course, but just imagine it is my country." And then, as sudden as a storm, Yaqob took his own cup of coffee and poured it onto the tray. Steaming black liquid pooled in the center, and spread out so that most all of the tray was covered except for the raised edges and some dry spots in the corners where the spilled coffee could not reach. "If this tray is my country, the coffee is the places that I cannot control. We do not have cities there, and the only infrastructure in those places are a few roads and cramped government offices. In most of my country, I could not hope to feed refugees, or even house them. My government is mostly powerless in the coffee stained lands. I cannot even be certain if everybody in those places know they are part of a nation at all. And the places on the edges, like those on the tray that are not touched by the spill, are burdened and endangered by the war. The moment that Kinshasa falls, I will lose everything south of the Congo river and west of the Nile. That is almost half of my Empire. And when that falls, and Addis Ababa falls, what exactly will I have with which to protect refugees in the center? If you are going to understand my country, you need to understand that there are three keys to it. Ethiopia and her highlands is where our power is. Somalia and the Ogaden is loyal, but sparsely populated. That is where my grandfather drew his power from. The third key to this Empire is the Congo river. When those fall, I am only a sad ruler of dirt, and I can do nothing to protect my people." "Then there's not too many places for me to put your people that would put them out of the Spaniard's way, and I'd rather not want to find out what would happen." Cao admitted strongly, "Let me take them to China. I can request further aerial support. Those we don't have room for can attempt the trip to Mogadishu or Swahililand when or if I lose time. "Admitting, though I can do this for Addis I may not be able to do it with all of Africa; if I can reach them all." To the side, Chen Wu gave his commander a cynical look. Subtle as to be hidden from the emperor. But Cao could feel the cold sharpness of his eyes crawling on him. For a moment it was there, then it was gone. Yaqob smiled. "I do not think you have the resources to move most of Ethiopia, let alone most of Africa." The Emperor reached out and placed his hand on Cao's. The officer recoiled uncomfortably, clearly confused but polite about it all the same. Yaqob continued to speak. "But I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to see that my ally cares so much. I do not know if I will survive this war, and I fear what will become of this continent when I am gone. My people will fight for their right to live, and it is good to know that you will fight for them as well." Yaqob's hand broke away when a servant came to fetch the coffee-drenched tray. He swapped it for a new one, and his presence brought a pause in the conversation. "I want you to focus on taking the people who can rebuild the nation when the Spaniards are defeated. Many in the government have fled to Gondar, but I can call back some of the non-essential personnel. I also want you to focus on the university students and men who own wealth in the capital. These are the people who you will need. Of course, I must say, they probably will not all accept your invitation. In fact, it might be rather hard for you to collect many willing refugees at all, aside from peasants from the villages." "We can see what we can do." Cao answered stiffly, "It is the least that I can practice at the least. If some would refuse and find themselves on the wrong side of Spain and there was nothing I can do then regretfully: so be it." he took a measured breath. He felt a tinge of guilt. A part of him asked the question on if he could force people away. But what would the good in it be if they were prisoners? [h1]China[/h1] [h2]Beijing[/h2] [b]July 13th, 1980 - Present[/b] “... Of a vote three-hundred ninety for, eighty-five against, and twenty-five absentee, this international congress does agree to commit this body to a state of war against the Spanish Republic.” the tape recorder crackled and popped, “On this date: July third, 1980 the Third International declares its intention for war against Spain, obligating its members to commit to the cause a body of soldiers, resources, and equipment to the current conflict in Africa. This deceleration shall be made to the Republic of Spain itself, as properly regarded and observed under international practice.” A distorted, muffled bout of cheering filled the room, momentarily drowning out the speakers voice as it warbled back into prominence through the grainy hum of feedback and background noise, “-ations under the jurisdiction of and membership to the International are required to make their obligations for the following objectives: “Firstly, to initiate in combat with the Spanish Republic on the intended purpose of military and political withdrawal from Africa if not the disarmament of the Spanish military for this incursion on sovereign territory this body has agreed to defend. In doing so: the international commanding body shall be drawn and elected to oversee the operations into and within the Pan-African Empire. “Secondly, given the likelihood of sustainable damage in this conflict, we commit ourselves to rebuilding the Ethiopian state should it sustain any degree of damage to its self: administrative, infrastructural, or economic. We will lend our abilities: our strengths. And in doing so be of benefit to the African people and their liberty and freedoms, to defend them from imperial powers.” Again, there was another bout of applause and cheering as the tape cut off silent, the reels stopping dead as the reader was shut off. “We had several day's time.” Hou said in a low voice as he leaned on his cane, resting his pointed beard on the gnarled knuckles of his hands. He looked down at it with a strong look of apprehension. It was a dark cloud to him, and he heard thunder in what he heard as jingoistic cheers. “But now that it's been done it's time we lay it out.” He looked up at the men gathered at the table, they were again in the basement of the army headquarters. The spartan décor of the conference room glowed with the sterile light of florescent and hummed the low song of cycling air conditioning. Outside it would be a hot day, and vendors would be prowling the streets hawking chilled fruits and cold drinks. The full command was present here, and several other guests. Xiaogang Wen and Yue Zen being the most prominent of the non-military bodies present. Their civilian uniforms stood out like sore thumbs among the drab green, blues, and grays of military accompaniment. Or the glimmer of metals on the chest of the generals. Their faces too were at contrast, uncomfortable and awkward as they shared the same air with the martial command of the entire Chinese military. Yue Zen herself appeared coldly out of place as she danced nervously under her red-silk gown. “I already took obligations to re-mobilize the Pemba garrison.” Lou Shai Dek began, his voice dropped, “As you are aware. For the benefit of some of us: Cao Wen and his men are to see to duties in Addis Abada. According to him, he's to assist the Ethiopians in evacuating Addis Ababa.” “It could perhaps take time.” Jan Jang spoke, “So I wouldn't imagine they could get to Yaqob right away. He's surely a busy man. “Though his wife and son are in his care, which must be a burden released from his shoulders at least.” he said in a positive tone. The comment was directed towards Hou, as the commander turned to look at the chairman. “What are the Queen and heir apparent's residency statuses?” he inquired. “They're staying at my home.” Hou answered, “For the time being.” “Charity is nice.” smiled Jang, “And if you wouldn't mind me adding comrade, it's perhaps about time you invited a woman to stay with you.” he laughed. His laughter told cold however and died as he saw Hou's dissatisfied look. He turned to uncomfortable caws and chocked coughs as he adjusted himself in his seat. Yan Sing looked from Hou to the commander with a cold look of with held knowing, tapping a cigarette against the table. “Your trying to lighten the mood is appreciated but not appropriate.” scolded Hou. “Forgive me, comrade.” Jang bowed, rising out of his chair. “Just sit down!” Hou ordered. Punctuating the command with a hard knock of the cane against the floor, “The issue at hand: what is it? Do we have anything more?” “The Vietnamese parliament has already rose their own bar for obligations by declaring war on Spain themselves.” Wen Daohang spoke from the far-side of the room. He loitered like an elderly ghost against the wall. He was a frail figure of advanced age. Older even than Hou: and not as powerful a figure by any means. “The official statement very much mirrors that of the International's deceleration but it moves them to greater personal obligation. The Quân Đội Nhân Dân is without a doubt going to be set up to be moved. “Unofficially, I suppose the move is possibly symbolic and I was asked to forward a request to Jan Jang and Han Shen for assistance, hoping it might be part of the Comintern obligations. But we're going to need to exact scale of our obligations from parliament, so it's a pending request right now.” “Do the Vietnamese lack that sort of resources?” asked Yue Zen. “Afraid so.” Daohang expressed regretfully, “They have some, but they're not equipped to move nearly that far or to move that many men so quickly.” “Understood, I'll wait on Congress.” Han Shen agreed, “When do our departments expect this?” “They'll convene tomorrow to vote.” the congressional secretary answered with no due ceremony, “Since the International's decision the prospect of going to war like our comrades to the south has gained traction. It's not enough to seal a majority, but with time it'll happen. But there will be enough support for sure to determine our obligations.” “How did they take the news about Pemba being moved, if I can ask?” inquired Hou. “No movement. I don't think they heard or cared.” smiled Wen, “Or really, since they were there on an existing mission it's hard for them to write it off so it's not being tried. Shai Dek could march them to the western borders and they can't challenge it.” “An intriguing offer but I don't think so.” smiled Lou, “But I got a notice that I assume means I'm the International Commander, Hou signed off on the order. So I may be able to do that.” “Pulling two commands at once, that I must say is impressive.” Sing spoke up, his voice soft like a hissing snake. “We're no longer any young lieutenants anymore.” scoffed and already exacerbated Lou Shai Dek, “I can't say I'm not looking forward to it.” “For once one of our own gets the honor and privileged to fight the Spanish!” Han Shen cheered, “It's been a few years, not since Aurora. But that was only one engagement with the Americans and not the whole war.” “The last foe any of us fought on par with Spain would have been the Japanese.” Jan Jang barked. “We shouldn't focus on nostalgia, not right now.” Hou reminded them bitterly. Jang looked about nervously, then resigned himself to silence. “Comrade Wen, do you need anything?” “I could use a request to take before Congress,” he said, “Something less than all-out war, but will maintain image among the International. I don't get the impression you don't want to push conflict prematurely, comrade Hou.” “No, I don't.” “That is well.” Wen conceded. “We maintain the Pemba detachment's importance in Africa.” Lou spoke up, “That's a sure given. I can order the nation-side reserve to be prepared for deployment. It won't make them happy without knowing who's going or when they're going. And for that we can probably send a unit to Africa alongside the international force. “I'll be meeting with the rest of the commanding body, and we will find out where out staging ground should be. With the Ethiopian Navy destroyed we can expect it to be obviously hairy. So for certain we'll need naval resources; no one else in the Comintern has an effective naval force for this level of projection, the weight – in Asia at least – is on us.” “The commanding agent close to Radek has given me a report that Radek is keen on seeing some sort of raiding detail done against Spanish commercial assets.” Sing spoke up in his cold unwavering voice, “He's met recently with Shen Shao. He hasn't been keyed into the details, but there's an expectation from him that he feel we have a tactical asset in the west with the submarine squadron idling away at Arkhangelsk.” “The Bohai will be a terrifying asset against Spain. Shao was the man responsible for sinking the Vanguardia.” Shen reminded them, “Given the permission, he should be utilized.” “Is there a place in the modern world for piracy though?” an aghast Yue Zen nearly shouted, “This isn't the 18th century. The world has laws against that!” “No one ever punished the Great Powers in Europe for it.” said Shen, “The idea isn't totally invalidated if Europe looses some cargo and capital at sea. Especially the Spanish.” “I'll see to it that Congress is known.” acknowledged Wen, “Let them argue the finer points. If Hou'll sign off on it.” “I will.” the chairman promised. “What's the status of the Russian conflict?” Hou asked Lou, “In this event we were going to allocate men there to Africa. Is Huei Wen ready?” “No. No he is not.” Shai Dek conceded with remorse, “He hasn't made gains that he's comfortable with. Given our exchanges I doubt he would be complacent with a move and strictly advises a withdrawal from Russia of any kind. The conditions of fighting he says is far too fluid; even with the gains he's made. “I believe by the time he's seized the Urals he might reconsider the option for a drawback.” “Likewise Turkestan isn't ready.” Daohang gently cut in, “Their government is eager. But not so eager. Our men are their supplement at the border. There's a deep concern that if we were to leave there would be far less guns to keep the Russian Mafiya from entering their country. If even as a transit stop. So we can't see to an end to our military mission there.” “Delays all around, it'll be from native garrisons then.” Wen concluded, “I'll let Congress know this.” “It might be looked at as escalatory, and dangerous...” Jan Jang nervously interjected. He held his mouth for a moment as he looked over the present heads as they turned to him, “But we could utilize the GHH program in the future to perform their intended purpose over the field of battle in Africa. “The accuracy will be questionable. But it's the only real, long-range resource we have at our hands. Something by which to bomb the front from here at home. “Should it come down to it, when it does: then we could use it to target the Suez.” he rapped his fingers nervously on the desk, “So far they've been successful in recon on Spanish Africa. But they haven't ever had a combat mission outside of evaluation and training. “But, it could be showing our hand early. And do we need the Spanish to push to meet us in the upper atmosphere like that?” “No, hardly.” Shai Dek admitted hesitantly, “It's an option to consider, but one we should leave on the side. The tactical advantages would be a benefit but we don't know what Spain will do once they figure it out. We'll save it when the conflict escalates.” “Noted, all of it.” Hou spoke, “Last thing: do we perhaps know if Spain will simply back out of this? Daohang?” “There hasn't been any scuttling demands to meet at the table for peace yet, but any belligerent or third party. This may be the big one, or we're scared of Spain. “But I'll look into composing demands they cease hostilities and move a statement out. Is the official stance condemnation?” “Of course it is.” Hou wheezed, coughing lightly into his shoulder, “See what you can do and if maybe. And see if the rule of the last ten years applies.” [h2]Guilin, Guangxi[/h2] A rare breath of fresh hair. A short break from the rush of a campaign. If only for a day, Auyi was home. With his legs stretched out, he sat leaning over a note-book, frantically scribbling down the short sharp characters in the composition of a speech. For what: he didn't know. But having poured so much thought on the road, the river never stopped to flow. Auyi even could not stop to claim to know the topic as it swayed organically through the valleys of his hand-writing. Cutting a course in short sharp lines and dots. The summer in Guangxi wasn't merciful, though hardly stifling. The foreboding humidity of spring was on its way out, but the sun was at its peak over the valley of the Li River. But it was hardly a matter of issue as Auyi sat composing his thoughts in the shade of his veranda, a glass of tea on the wicker table alongside him. Echoing distantly from the river below the urging song and chant of the lone fisherman echoed up the bank and among the softly rustling trees. Auyi glanced up off the book to the river below. Dancing in the river's meditative languid bends an old man on a bamboo raft gently bobbed up and down as he sung to and encouraged a flock of cormorants to bring to him fish. The day was quiet, and the water calm and smooth, and the elderly fisherman had the entire river to himself. He was in his world as much as Auyi. He turned his attention away from the river and the sugar-loaf mountains along its banks to the writing at hand. Again, the scribbling of the pen danced across the bleached white parchment of his notebook as his flow of thought continued unimpeded. Thoughts on the Comintern's recent decision and its weight flowed into thoughts on China's greater importance on a world stage. He wondered on paper if the hermit empire could – and if its time had come – to exert itself upon the world stage. There was a noise to Auyi's left that rose his attention from his writing. With a sour look he turned to look to the veranda's door. There standing, shivering with his face pale was Auyi's campaign manager. Chen Wu, whose normally stretched mousy face had become even more taught stood leaning against one of the porch's posts. It didn't take long for Auyi to realize something was up. Folding his book over his pen he placed it alongside his tea as he rose. “Comrade...” he spoke softly, “Something's up?” he inquired. He could feel his own tensity. Wu's eyes were wide behind his wide bottle-glass spectacles. “Something is very, very wrong.” he sighed. He leaned his mouth into the inside of his elbow as he turned to look at the river and mountain valley. “Well what is it?” Auyi asked concerned. It couldn't be his family, they were here at home. It couldn't be Bao Yu, she was in the kitchen preparing for dinner. And Jie was in his room, playing with wooden horses. This was something greater, larger. “Duang Wu was attacked on the campaign trail.” Chen Wu answered in a hushed voice. He turned back to look inside, urgently gesturing his hands he pulled Auyi to the side, “I was just informed fifteen minutes ago by the Central National Police in Beijing,” the manager continued as he pulled Auyi from the door and windows, to a distant corner of the deck. Pinning himself against the corner beam he continued, his own tone of voice high and stressed. But very much hushed, concerned someone would be listening, “There was an explosive, planted or thrown somewhere near the stage he was giving a speech on. A piece of metal pierced his chest, he bled out before they could get him to a hospital.” “No shit...” Auyi commented, aghast and stricken, “Do they know who did it? Why?” Auyi had worked with Duang Wu prior, he was a loud man; but he was vibrant. He shared great support for Auyi's intentions as a minister. “I-I got nothing. N-no details.” Chen Wu admitted. His voice was weakening. Whether it was sadness or fear was a dangerous question; it could be both. “Well... How's his family?” Auyi asked, if there was any question more human to ask: it was that. “I- ah... I-I- they'll be fine.” Wu stammered, “A-atleast I don't think anyone was trying to attack t-them. Ah- uh, they'll no doubt receive his pension and compensation, he – Duang – technically died in office after all. So they'll... They'll get something.” Auyi nodded. A dark cloud had flown low over his mind. A terrible thought that was getting more dangerous than it should crept cold fingers into his consciousness. “I don't want this to happen again.” Auyi demanded, “No one – me, my family, you, or the people – can't be put in harms way. Can you get in contact with the national police, see what you can do with stepped up security?” “Handoi Hu is no doubt looking into that and organizing something.” a shuddering Chen Wu said, “But OK. Yes, I will.” “Good, good...” Auyi smiled. But it was weak. Another false mask to wear. He chewed idly on his lips as he looked up passed his manager to the mountains, “Was anyone else hurt?” “Eight others, two died from the explosion, four suffered severe injuries, I don't know about the other two.” “Right.” nodded Auyi, he looked back towards the house, “Try to keep it quiet around Bao Yu, I don't want her upset. But for a while can you keep her distant from my campaign? Just in case something happens.” “It'll be for the best.” “Thank you.”