[h1]Ethiopia[/h1] [h2]Addis Ababa[/h2] Rain poured down on the roof of the tent. The patter of rain was a constant. A cruel nonstop that Sen Zhou watched with her arms wrapped underneath the raincoat draped over her shoulders. But even in the beating rain of the wet season the humidity had miraculously failed to let up, and with rain pouring in buckets just outside the flap door she still felt like she was swimming in a warm soup. Uncomfortably playing with the collar of her unbuttoned uniform under neath she tried to let herself breath just a little more as she watched similarly coated enlisted men dash through the mud. Along the runway just a hundred meters away a plane bearing the insignia of Ethiopia's military came to lumber down from flight among the mid-summer's rain. She could watch the plumes of running water erupt from underneath as the landing gear cut a swathe through the rain-drenched runway. And somehow she found herself preferring the tropical consistency of the Philippines. At least during her service then the rain did not come down so hard for most of one month. And though it flew against her training and education, she found herself condemning whatever God had chose to throw the rain at them the day after the met with Yaqob. She had had her hopes up then, but now they were drowning in the prospects of a pleasant, brief tour in Africa. “What a terrific July.” she groaned despondently as she cast a angry look to the thick storm clouds overhead. They hung so thick overhead it was like looking into a concrete wall, and there was no end nor beginning with them. “Comrade.” her commanding officer called out. Zhou turned on her heels and sloshed across the even flooded floor of the tent. A heavy plastic sheet had not done much to make the impromptu command post any better. Though it had guarded against the mud the flow of rain had someone managed to find a way in and had caused wide shallow puddles to form. Dezhi Cao was not in one of his better moods as he leaned over the flimsy aluminum table thrown down in the middle of the tent. It was placed even more skewed and precariously to dodge leaks in the roof of the tent. His round face glowered down at a map of the city and a notebook as rainwater dripped from his wide brow. With his hair and brow wet, it made Zhou think of his head as a water-downed boulder from a river; and it made her laugh. Chen Wu stood nearby, his palms resting against the table as a drenched raincoat fell plastered to his black great coat. The IB uniform must have be incredibly uncomfortable in this condition, and for only a second Zhou found herself feeling bad for the bastard. “I want to make preparations before it's too late.” Cao said. Zhou thought she could hear a little bit of worry in his voice. Some wavering tone that was as if he was trying to hold back his fear of the Spanish army beyond the highlands. “The Ethiopians last I heard are setting up to hold Dire Dawa, if we're going to help them with their humanitarian problems then now would be a good time.” he continued, adapting a straight face, “So, uh- I think we should do this in a couple phases.” Chen Wu looked up from the table. “What's your plan?” he asked. “Right now, we move out groups that want to flea the country now. This will be our phase one lift. They'll refuge on Pemba for the time being in the even the Ethiopians do repel Sotelo's men in the highlands. But as soon as they break through and are making real progress we initiate a second phase lift. It'll be a second chance to move out anyone else who doesn't want to get caught in the cross fire. We'll begin forwarding who we have in our custody to China after. “Our third phase is when the Spanish are here. It's the last chance and when we pull ourselves out and fallback to Pemba, pending support from Asia itself. “So, doable?” he asked uncertainly. He looked between his two present commanding officers with a look of repressed anxiety. To Zhou, he almost looked like a private waiting to get flailed for something or other. “Do we have preferences?” asked Chu. “Ah- uh. No, not really.” Cao answered, shaking his head, “If we were really to target any groups I would recommend we move women, children, elderly, students from the city. We'll leave the city to the militia and the army if at all possible. “I don't want to be under-prepared either, so if this is what we're going to do I'll radio back to Pemba for the rest of the transports to fly in so we don't become over-burdened. We're going to tell our target groups now and begin the lift tomorrow.” “A regular North American airlift.” Wen Chu smiled, but there was a sarcasm in that voice of his, “Fine by me, I don't see any problems. But I'm not Huang Xianwu.” he admitted. “Fair enough, Zhou?” he asked, turning to his second in command. She traded him for a reserved look. Chewing on her lip she tugged at her undershirt from under her poncho and gave a unopinionated shrug, “Go ahead.” “Two for, a great unanimous victory.” chuckled Cao, “Very well, if we are united in this we need to advertise it to our core groups. I'll see what I can do to speak with the university.” “I don't have any particular qualms where.” Chu said, “But if it might not be any trouble I'll go to the hospitals and talk to the doctors. We might be able to withdraw some patients and free up beds for when the fighting starts.” “Excellent, excellent. Comrade Zhou?” Zhou looked up at Cao and thought. “Where do you need me?” she asked. “Request that you can get on the radio?” her CO asked. “If we can do that then why bother going to the people directly?” she asked. She was already confused. “In the event it doesn't reach the widest range.” the commander assured. But he was trying, that much Zhou could see. Chu looked to be playing along, “If they didn't hear it in broadcast, then we'll be there. They'll talk.” “I think I can see it.” Zhou was too used to being in a fight and drilling than she was trying to communicate. But if she was to be forced into it, so be it. And to her surprise she found herself wondering if there was something in lapse somewhere. -------------------------- [h3]Addis Ababa university[/h3] With rain dripping from his overcoat, Cao stepped into the student commons. By his side an attendant professor hovered nervously, closing a black umbrella up as the heavy wooden doors to the central commons shut with a loud bang. His face was gaunt, but not old. He gave the Chinese officer a great deal of caution, as if afraid. But even Cao had seen in his eyes something different: a sort of jealousy. To what reason it was there Dezhi Cao could not put his finger on it. The young coffee-skinned African professor had introduced himself as Adom, and he worked for the university's aerospace department. Having called ahead of time he was the first – and only man – to great the officer at the great African baroque gates of the university. He had been the one forced to explain the situation to Dezhi Cao and the mood of the student body. He had even tried to dissuade him. Cao had dismissed him wholly. But now they were in the heart of the student commons. Outside the rain still fell and it came down in sheets against the tall glass windows of the lobby's outer wall. Interspaced with regularly distanced pillars inside and out, the entire structure had a classical air, speaking of some great connection to the Egyptian world with a more African heritage. The building, and the main body of the college had been built to look like it had stood in its present location for not just generations, but the greater part of the passed century and beyond and called from the past the mythical legacy of Ethiopia to be reborn in the modern age. In its way, it reminded Cao of the officer's school in Nanjing. Dezhi Cao breathed a deep sigh as he looked out onto the commons. Young men and women lounged across recliners. But much of the sense of academia had withdrawn from the grounds and was instead replaced by staunch national solidarity. The Ethiopian flag with its golden lion hung like royal and pride-filled curtains from the walls, there was music, and there was talk. Walking alongside him, Adom asked: “Nervous?” The Chinese officer looked about him, the handful of guards he had brought with him loitered a safe distance behind, with their arms crossed behind their backs. Their rifles hung from their shoulders as they looked out at the room. Already they were attracting the stares of the student body, and slowly after their arrival the voices died to a murmur as all attention was drawn to the foreign interlopers. “Now would be your time.” Adom encourages, separating himself from Cao. Dezhi Cao did the only thing he could think of to begin: he bowed. “Comrades,” he began, “I am shang hsiao Dezhi Cao, commander of the Pemba Training Group. “Recently, as of command of Beijing and given the acceptance of your emperor, my unit is committed to the humanitarian and auxiliary support of your people's military in the capital city. In the wake of pressing threat by the Spanish military on Ethiopian shores we offer passage from the country and to China, where you will you be awarded residency by the People's Congress for the duration of the conflict. This offer extends to any individual who wishes to seize it. “Starting tomorrow, we will execute the first flights from Ethiopia to Pemba, ferrying any parties unwilling to be caught in the middle of the conflict. In the future, should the Spanish threat grow more pressing you will be flown to China. To Lhasa, from there my people extend their hospitality and offer to relocate you within China for your peaceful tenure as guests of the Chinese state. “Upon the war's conclusion, you may return. You have on this, our solemn promise that Africa will prevail, but you need not be caught in the middle of the inferno of conflict.” Dezhi Cao paused to catch his breath and collect himself. He could feel the weight of the room on his shoulders as he held the attention of much of the student body. They looked on at him, judging him as he stood at the edge of their world. He wondered if he should step deeper into it and to be more one with them. But the safety and security of being nearest to his countrymen along the wall behind him kept him sealed to the spot as he sweated through his speech. “We demand no re-compensation, we place to expectations. Just that if those among you do not wish to be victims of conflict and to loose too much, that you see to our offer. We will be present to help and to assist until the final hour.” he felt the tug of his strings as he spoke those final hours. He became again acutely and morbidly aware of the most severe of situations. He hoped the rain could hold up long enough that no one had to suffer if it got worse. The air in the room hung silent. It tensed against Cao's nerves. Standing, a student in the back rose to his feet: “We will die for the motherland!” he declared in a singing voice, “For the land that brought us into this world, we will persist for it! Long live Ethiopia!” he trumpeted. The room exploded into a triumphant chorus as martyrs stood and sang, in active defiance to the Chinese officer who could do naught but watch. “I warned you.” Adom said, as he walked up to Cao's side. “You're all a nation of martyrs.” Dezhi Cao gaped in awe, “A nation of insane, suicidal martyrs.” [h1]Russia[/h1] [h2]Novosibirsk[/h2] The papers shuffled with mouse-like softness as a set of files were moved across the desk. At the bear desk, Angua poured over a stack of musty manila folders as he scanned the pages and the names within. A pad of paper at hand was swelling with the burgeoning waterfall of names he considered to be leads. The task it seemed was growing daunting and his diligence felt challenged. The pain of it was growing duller over time. What had felt like the long road to tedium became slowly a resentful march to nowhere as the time ticked by. Outside the windows life went on in Novosibirsk. And beyond the Siberian capital the front was still moving. Last he checked, stalwart resistance had broken out on the road to Yekaterinburg and Huei Wen was held up at any number of villages. The only break to the waspish ticking of his pen and the scratching of dry paper was the occasional breaks afforded to him by his intelligence subordinates seeking regular authorizations. Or as they crawled ahead the agents that had slept in the Russian Republic rejoining the main force. An Angua had become in that effect a pathway home and the nearest commanding officer to debrief to before reporting home. He had collected notes of those as well. A venerable richly loaded library was being constructed by Angua to serve in his hunts. The main door to the room crept open, the pained moaning of the hinges brought Angua's eyes up to level at his guest. Turning through the door, the dragon-faced IB agent let himself in, a short stack of personnel files in his arms. He glowered down at the seated agent with a cold venomous look as he walked over. “Comrade.” he greeted bluntly, pushing the files onto Angua's desk, “Found anyone?” An Angua looked up at him, then down at the growing list by his wrist. “Yeah.” he shot directly. The dragon man nodded, “May I sit?” he asked. “Go ahead.” Angua waved. The other bowed, and pulled up a metal chair. The room was bare and naked, very few effects – if anything – decorated the room. A thin snowy sort of dust drifted about in the fiery daylight. “I've perhaps found a few, I was wondering if there was any chance you got information on any affiliates we could corroborate on.” dragon face remarked. He narrowed his eyes to reptilian slits as he watched Angua scribble down another name. “Sure.” shrugged Angua. He passed a cold look passed to his bald partner and withdrew it to his diligent work. “Fyodor Trobesky.” the man said, “Does it turn up at all for you? He had a long list of supposed accomplices, but none that I could tell were officially investigated, but there were more names on his list of affiliates whose files I didn't have. Any turn up for you?” “No.” replied Angua, “But who is this Fyodor?” “Some former Cossack, grand father fought for the Emperor during the uprising. Was last registered to living out around Tyumen. Fought for the former Novosibirsk warlord before he was overthrown, he drops off the radar soon after when he was about to go on trial for some murder charge. He's believed to have had Ressurectionist affiliations and had a long list of family contacts, apparently his name is well affiliated with some old oligarchs.” “If that's the case then I imagine he left the country a long time ago. He might be a dead end.” Angua suggested. “Well you see: I would have thought so but he did stick around for some time when Russian went to hell and back. But he wasn't a man tied to Moscow or Saint Petersburg where a lot of his ilk lived, but they all left the country at the first whiff of trouble. His older brother is reported to be living in Spain off his family's copper wealth but he never did. Either he was too low on the family food chain, or he had something here in Russia still.” Angua nodded, “Sounds like a theory.” he remarked. “I rather like it myself, he's been occupying a part of my mind for a while.” smiled baldy, “Do you want to know another?” Angua looked up, and hung his heavy gaze on the dragon-faced IB agent. Like a block of steel he anchored his eyes on him. There was a suspicious tone to his voice. He was ready to be dismissive, but then he felt the cold nip of jaded morbid curiosity he had something that he needed. There was a smug plastic look in his face as he leaned in his chair. “What is it?” “This operation of yours: it isn't officially sanctioned is it?” he asked. “How do you mean?” “I mean, since you rounded us up personally and you've never left the operations center – even to be close to your commanding generals operational sphere, working on the edge – and there hasn't been any incoming messages from Beijing for the greater part of operations I get the suspicion that no one's said to do this. Does Huei Wen know you're doing this at all?” Snakes coiled in Angua's gut, he had a pretty clear picture. Was this that transparent? “Fascinating idea. Suppose it isn't official, would it make it any less valid?” The dragon tattoo slithered and twisted as he smiled, “No, it wouldn't.” he remarked, “Sometimes, you have to do it unofficially. Have you heard the allegations that it was the IB who murdered Kim Il-Sung? That was the right move, but of course no one knows. Even better.” Angua nodded. “How much about any of us do you know?” the agents across the desk from him inquired. “Huang Li Wong, age 41.” began Angua, reciting dry and direct from memory “Served in the Second Peoples Liberation brigade, service in Southern China. Engagements of commemoration: Luding Bridge engagement, siege of Nanjing. “After service you transferred to the Municipal Police Force of Shanghai, your father's city of origin. After five years of exceptional service in the investigation squad you were identified by the IB as a choice candidate for the investigation of home-bound reactionary armies who had moved activities to south-central China. “You investigated the Red Guard Gang before being reassigned to Russia during the VX incident, you investigated Russian industrial centers to confirm the Russian assertion that they actually did not possess VX. You instead brought home the recipe for a weaponized, flammable substance being developed in Russian labs; they called it Napalm. “Your tattoo is an effect of investigative action against organized crime and was a result of a prolonged assignment against the Triad-3 group.” Huang Li Wong laughed, a bright enamored chuckle, deep like a ravine. “I never understood why they called themselves the Triad-3 but that's right.” he cackled, “But why did I keep the mark?” “No doubt you find it terrifying to people. It's prevented you from a lot of field work. You've mostly did scouting after because of it, or cases where subtly or having no distinguishable features is preferred, loud things that the IB considered public.” Wong nodded along, playing up his wide toothy grin, “And I think it worries some of these Russians, or back then it did.” he joyously sang, “Made the superstitious ones afraid. I've been called a pagan demon at least several times shaking a few down. But I like it. “Besides, our enemies use terror in some manner to enforce their authority. If we're going to break them then we need to do the same. I don't suppose that's why you chose to recruit me?” he inquired. “It is.” Angua admitted. “So it all falls into place. So how about Fyodor?” “I had one file he came up in.” Angua finally conceded, digging through the stacks of Russian-titled files, “Isaak Girgorvich Alexandrov, apparently the Alexandrov family were close to his father. If he has a service record, then no doubt through that. There's not a lot on him, only a name and a city of residence.” he added, passing the incredibly thin file to Wong, “Not even a photo. You're going to have to pursue his name in Perm when the chance arises.” “I'll set a date.” Wong crooned as he took the light manila folder in his hands. He weighed it gingerly. Despite the feathery emptiness to it, the value of leads was weighed in gold. [h2]Moscow[/h2] “Alright, here's plan comrade.” Vasiliy smiled, throwing down a map onto the dining table of the borrowed apartment. Ullanhu looked down at the crumpled sheet of scrap laid before him. Dashed about its face narrow purposeful lines constructed a rough map. The Mongol looked at it and recognized the shape of the Kremlin. “I've located and explored escape tunnel under Kremlin.” Vasiliy remarked as he sat down. Excitedly and hurriedly rubbing his palms together. The frantic energy was enough that he could have started a fire from the excited giddy strokes his palms made between each other. “To final red-station line on the tracks. Is empty, but soon as president is moved there we move fast much.” Ullanhu looked up to his partner and the paper. There was an empty spot in his enthusiasm that was quickly opening. He in the end did not know if he could be as excited as Vasiliy, or even terrified. He just felt an absolute nothing. “Ok.” he remarked, fingering into his mouth a small clump of corn flakes. The flavorless coins of cereal crunched between his teeth as he looked over at Vasiliy. “Oh, is beautifully simple.” the Russian said, “I get president, take control of him, and we go on way through tunnels. There cart even by doors, still waiting for czar that'll never come.” “This car, will it run?” Ullanhu asked. “Da.” Vasiliy nodded excitedly, he wore the hope of a puppy in his eyes and his smile nearly broke his skinny squared-off face. “Fine, but what about me?” he asked, “I don't know where I am in all of this.” “Oh, is not to worry. You has of part. You will drive car.” “Me, drive?” “Da, you not know?” inquired Vasiliy, leaning over the table. For a brief second a morbid shadow of fear fell over him and his hope was dullened. “No, I can drive.” Ullanhu assured, Vasiliy's hopes were again raised. “Oh praise God!” he shouted, relieved, “I needs you at station, to wait for me.” “What will you be doing?” “Getting president, is best you not know.” Ullanhu was stricken, as if slapped across the face he was being left out of something. “Well why not?” he shouted angrily. A tempest billowed in his gut, stewed by frustration in being denied this piece of information. This part of port. “Please, please. Keep voice down.” urged Vasiliy, “We not wanting to wake neighbors, or call attention. “Comrade, I have my reasons for not saying. You is having to trust me on this. Tomorrow, I give you keys. Be parked outside the north-western most station on red-line by three in the afternoon then. I comes with president, throw him into car, and you drive! “Is plan clear?” he asked, searching for confirmation. “Ah- yes. It is. But Vasiliy, this doesn't feel right if I don't know what it is you're doing.” “Comrade, I have my reasons. I'll tell you when finished. Is my honorable promise.” Ullanhu could hear he did not having a choice. Conceding with a lanquid rock-heavy sigh he admitted his defeat, “I won't ask. I'll be there.” “Is good, I wake you in morning.” Vasiliy beamed.