[h1]Ethiopia[/h1]
[h2]Addis Ababa[/h2]

There was a distant roll of thunder in the sky, heralding the march of yet another front of summer storm clouds. Though the sky was clear over the distant horizon a wall of blackened clouds rolled, the valleys and veils of the oncoming storm flickering and flashing with the sharp light of lightning. It wouldn't be long now as Sen Zhou sat in the city airport's terminal and watched out dusty glass windows as the monsoon storm continued to crawl towards them, counting the time between the flash and the thunder; it was quickly growing shorter.

The Chinese soldiers stationed here with them had long since moved inside the airport to escape the pounding summer rains, the storms had been a wild under-estimation on their behalf and tents had quickly become waterlogged. It was fitting and comfortable that what they had were to be moved into cover; it'd become waterlogged otherwise. The tarmac of the runway outside was still wet with rainwater as well, and the red orange soil along it was dark and impregnated with water still.

“How long will it be until another flight out?” a man begged.

Sen Zhou and Dezhi Cao had been sitting with a young man from the university for the past five minutes. Tentative and nervous introductions had been exchanged and Zhou had grown bored with the formalities.

Unlike other Africans, then man had a more palor complexion than most and a sharper nose. In a number of respects, he was closer to that of the Arabs while still being darker than their light sandy skin, but lighter than the darkened ash of his local neighbors.

“It may not be for another few days.” Cao told him, he sat with his legs crossed in a graying-red armchair. Despite the fans running in the airport's empty terminal he was still sweating and he fingered at the neck of his uniform uncomfortably, “With the storms moving in as they are we're forced to inter-space our flights according to what my weathermen tell me.”

“And what do they tell you?” the young man asked. There was a distraught and tense look in his passionate earthly brown eyes.

Cao shrugged, “We don't have the range of weather observation we would have otherwise, and we're still trying to find individuals to get information from on a broader scale. But we've had challenged with how under-developed the whole of the nation is. There's no one we can call beyond Addis Ababa to get data from.

“But the best bet my men can give me is a day and a half. The summer storms of your country punish us.”

“A day and a half.” the young man nodded, he sighed as he turned his frantic gaze from Cao. He seemed considering, pondering. Rubbing his knees with his hands he sat silent in his chair, leaning forward as if ready to spring up, “Perhaps there is still time then!” he said suddenly, “Are you open to the possibility of taking men and women from outside of Addis Ababa?”

Dezhi Cao raised a brow, “What are you asking me to do?”

“My family – my village – live around Lake Tana, to the north. I fear they may be at the mercy of the Spanish soon if the war continues as it has been. I would like to get them out.”

“Gondar's a far ways away.” Cao pointed out, he leaned out his chair towards the young man and with a solemn expression told  him: “I do not have the resources for a mass evacuation at that distance.”

The revelation shocked the student. He leaned back into his chair as if struck in the face, eyes wide and mouth agape. “The great China lacks the shit to go and pick a family up from the north!” he shouted, he was hot with anger and he rose to his feet, defying his respect of authority in Dezhi Cao. The reality of the situation was as offensive to his standards as it was straining.

“My people have been offered an indignant life in Ethiopia for the better part of several centuries and you would surrender us to the Spanish!” he continued, “Do you know what the history of Europe is with Jews? They try and strip us of our heritage, dignity, or life! They even tried to destroy our heritage here in Ethiopia, and would surrender my people to this fate!?” he seethed with anger. He was clearly passionate and he shook with it. Outside the thunder rolled louder as it fueled by his disdain.

Sen Zhou looked at him and down at her commander. “Excuse me.” she said, bowing to the Beta Isrealite as she put a hand on Cao's shoulder, “But can I give a private word of advice to my CO here?”

The youth sputtered and spat, “Fine.” he grumbled. Zhou nodded and looked down at Cao, motioning to following her to the side. Quizzically he sat up from his chair and followed after as the African-born Jew walked a few steps from his seat.

“You do know what the Spanish possess?” Zhou asked in a hushed voice, “At least, we can't confirm if they have it with them here, but we know full well what they do possess.”

“Yes, I'm wholly aware of VX.” Cao whispered back, he shot a wary eye to the young man as he stood with his back slouched and head bowed. His fingers tapped his elbow as he waited, “But what does that mean for them? How does that help us help them? I only really have enough to devote to Addis Ababa and I can't go about allocating my meek resources to areas that Ethiopia may not control in a few weeks if the Spanish offensive persists as such.”

There it was, the fear of action again. His voice didn't shake, but his strong hesitancy to action was in the words. Making excuses where they could be made. “Listen, we don't need to offer much to it, I'm sure if the Emperor is letting us do this then he wouldn't be pre-disposed to offering something to go up there and pull them out. I wouldn't be asking for much, a couple trucks maybe, a handful of men to defend and organize it. And then we'd be coming straight back and we can fly them out of the country with the rest of them.”

Cao shook his head, “No, I can't have that.” he said. He made another nervous look to the student behind him. How much could he hear? “And the Ethiopians look resource strapped enough, do you think their government can afford to allocate anything for this mission? It's all going to fight the Spanish, not make any grocery runs.”

“What if we just asked though?” Zhou asked, “You and I both know I'm the only woman in this army brave to do it. You know in your own heart that you can't do it, personally. But I can. I can find a means.” sighing, she shook her head.

“Can we give it the benefit of the doubt?” she continued, “I can ask Yaqob, or even the palace at least. If not that, I'll find the resources I need myself. I'll pull a handful of men aside, enough to get me there. I'll figure something out.”

Cao looked up at her disdainfully. But there was also pity and fear in those sullen light-brown eyes of his, and he looked away. If partially out of guilt. “I can't lead you out to die.” he said simply.

“I won't!” Zhou promised, “I'll try to make it faster than a simple run for groceries. I'll be in there, I'll be out. I'll figure out a way to move the entire village if they have what I need to do it. I'll bring them all right here, to Addis Ababa, and we can fly them home before the Spanish gas the entire city.”

“You're making a stretch of a promise. Don't promise anything you can't fulfill.”

“I'm not, I know I can do it.”

Cao let out a long defeated groan. He looked back at the distraught man. He shook his head and turned back to Zhou, “I'm going to hate this.” he said, “But I'll let you do it.”

A great big smile stretched across Zhou's face and she felt relief wash over her. She was finally doing something.

Turning to the student Cao declared in a loud voice, “There's been a change of plan, we'll do what we can.”

The student looked like he was hit in the face with another cold blow to the jaw and he looked up with shocked glassy eyes, “You will?” he asked.

“We'll try.” Cao emphasized, “I'm putting my lieutenant on the job. She's going to do what she can.”

The student whooped in joy and dashed across the floor. With a cry of relief he wrapped his arms around Zhou and gave her a great relieved hug. Nearly sobbing into her shoulders he declared, “God smile on the both of you!”

Zhou didn't know what to think, she stood rigidly with her arms pressed against her side as the young man released his grip. “Oh thank you, thank you.” he said with ecstatic bows, “I will never forget.”

“Yes, yes.” Cao smiled stiffly, gently ushering him away, “We'll see you on the soonest flight out.”

The young man turned and left, his face glowing with the widest smile he could wear. As he left, Cao turned to Zhou, “I suppose I'll give you a pass on a shower in the morning, you're going to see what you can do as soon as morning arrives.”

Zhou nodded with acknowledgment. She felt a weight off her shoulder with no longer being tied to Addis Ababa to watch airplanes load and take off for Pemba. She was happy, though for different reasons and not nearly as much as the man who had just embraced her. “I understand, comrade.”

“But, are you really sure?” asked Cao, testing his lieutenant's convictions.

“Would you really turn back on what we promised him we'd do?” Zhou answered.

[h1]Russia[/h1]
[h2]Yekaterinburg[/h2]

From his camp outside the city, the sound of thunder mumbled in the low distance as bombs and artillery shells ignited the Russian defense of Yekaterinburg. But per his orders his men were not to approach the city itself. Seated in a chair, Huei Wen waited out the day to a cup of warm tea. Though the sounds of battle could be heard they were a distant fire-cracker. Even the smoke was a faint wisp of suggestion that drifted up through the air.

But for where he was, it was calm. A warm southern breeze blew through the trees rustling their gentle boughs at the warm hushed song of the wind. A musky sappy scent was carried on it from out of the groves at the edge of the farm he and his men had acquired. The owners having long since dispatched themselves for the west as his armies approached. Indeed, his advanced scouts had met the family as they were leaving, all that they reported seeing being the brake lights of their truck as they rumbled down the country road, the back laden down with everything that could be easily moved. 

They had advanced warning of them, or were expecting them. While they took their clothes, treasures, and money they had left for the use of Huei Wen and his commanding staff and present company the use of their wood stove. It was somehow a surreal idea that men should enjoy tea and bread baked from left-over flour in the pantry while there was a war not happening several miles from where they stood.

But it was a disruption. It kept Huei Wen within his element. The pops and cracks of distant gun-fire and the song of mortar and howitzer gave him his wits. But the abandoned comforts meant that even if in a limited respect he could play the part of a welcoming host to couriers and reports coming in from land.

From the top of the farm's nearby water pump a pair of soldiers clung to the top of the windmill mast that pumped the home's fresh water from the ground as they fought to secure the radio antenna so as to maintain contact with the rest of the front. A recent Russian air raid had knocked the antenna from its post and for the bulk of the day the two men had been wrestling their balance and the fickle perch to re-affix the antenna. Their shouts to the ground crews and between each other suggested their work was not done, but was well enough the ground had sustainable communications.

The radios themselves were moved to the basement of the farm-house. The cellar door had been thrown open allowing them to coordinate with the men on the windmill.

Per dwellings, the house wasn't large, nor was it small. It had the rich smell of age in its wood and the frame of its low angled roof was decorated with inscribed and painted-in natural scenes of deer and spruce trees. The entire single-story building was painted a soft shade of ocean blue with a shallow front-porch facing a dirt drive-way.

Perpendicular to the home's face a wooden garage stood, or rather it did. Republican bombs had collapsed the structure and turned the commander's armored personnel carrier into a twisted heap of metal that hadn't been completely reclaimed. The driver and mechanic had sustained severe injuries and had to be taxied out of the area by another car.

Beyond all the buildings atop a low hill sat their radar trailer. Spinning slowly on its turn-table  the mesh disk scanned the air as around it a small network of trenches and guns poised from the sky kept a shield up for whatever might pluck out the sector's eyes. Camoflauge mesh was dragged across much of the defenses, and the trailer body was draped in it, decorated further it dry yellowing cuttings of straw and grass.

“Comrade Wen.” a soldier called out, summoning Huei Wen's attention to behind him. He turned in his chair and acknowledged the young officer approaching him from way of the house.

“Shàowèi.” Wen nodded, acknowledging the man by his rank, “Would you like a drink?” he offered, gesturing to the tin teapot by his side.

“I'm flattered sir, but I'm not thirsty right now.” the lieutenant answered with a respectful smile, “I have radio reports from the north-group. They found themselves engaged with a mysterious Russian unit on regular maneuvers against a Republican formation moving out from the city.”

Huei Wen sat up in his seat, “Then sit.” he requested. He pointed to a nearby empty seat, “What is the situation on the ground?” he asked as the junior officer sat down.

“They reported that a patrol had located a column of lightly armed individuals moving south along the highway between lakes Baltym and Iseskoye at 0745. upon receiving the reports from patrol at 0758 approximately the division officer dispatched a force of men to intercept and to close that section of road.

“On arrival to the location at 0820 they encountered a heavily armed force, fighting from the back of flatbeds the two groups engaged. By the end of the day five service members were killed, fifteen were wounded, and the unknown targets retreated.”

“Why hasn't Li Chu posted a permanent group at the highway?” Huei Wen asked.

“I didn't think to ask, but over the radio he mentioned that over-night he had been intercepting a Republican party skirmishing his position at the village of Koptyaki.”

“I see.” nodded Huei Wen, “Send a notification to Chu that I will met with him personally and have a professional brief on the situation at hand.” he said sternly.

“I also may need a change of location.” he said stiffly, looking at the windmill, “The Republicans may have found out where I am. It's time the central command moves before they light up the farm.”

“I understand.” the lieutenant bowed,

“Tell the others, I'll finish my tea and we'll be out of here soon after. I want to be packed up as soon as I'm done.”

[h2]Kostroma Oblast[/h2]
[h3]Russian Republic[/h3]

The wheels of the truck popped and ground down the long gravel drive. Nigh time had fallen in its entirety and the only lights were those that weakly glowed from an incandescent dashboard. Precut numbers and letters glowed a dull reddish-orange and dials slowly climbed or danced atop a back lit face. At each pothole or rut in the road the truck wheezed with rusty determination as it forced through its paces at the hands of new masters. Its only one lying dead at some rest-stop an hours drive away.

In the passenger's seat Ullanhu sat staring out into the shadows. Far away through trees lights glistened off of still water as they passed along the edge of a lake deep in the Russian wilderness. The distant pin-point glimmer of the town on the far-side was as bright and even as the stars themselves in the Russian sky above them. There wasn't even a haze of light over the small town.

“Where are we?” Ullanhu asked, looking across to Vasiliy. Between the two the kidnapped president sat napping with the bag still dropped over his eyes.

Vasiliy took a quick shooting look out the window. “We must... Ah...” he thought, “We should across of lake from Galich.” he said with stern affirmation.

“And where would Galich be in Russia?” asked Ullanhu.

Vasiliy shrugged indifferently, “Is north of Moscow,” he mumbled, “But we not much closer to Urals.”

Sighing, Ullanhu rested his chin on the palm of his hand as they continued their slow clip down the road. In the bed of the stolen trunk parts and pieces sang like bells as they clipped against the bed of the truck.

They kept on for what felt like an hour more. The lights of Galich began to fade back into the darkness and even the lake itself slipped away. Trundling along through backwater swampy roads the continued their press on through Russia.

“We ever going to find a main road?” asked Ullanhu, breaking the silence.

“Perhaps, but not now.” Vasiliy cautioned, “I would like to find a new car first.”

Ullanhu shrugged and nodded. He watched in the distance a farmhouse atop a hill, lantern light lit the windows and it stood as a beacon in the darkness. Like a lighthouse in the ocean of night. Against the starry sky it was a strange sight. Like almost that from a storybook.

Its signal though wasn't for them and they kept going. With a stop Vasiliy stopped them at a crossroads. At the edge of the yellow headlights an old road-sign stood at the corner. Its arms and arrows pointing down each arm of the dirt, rutted roads. Looking at the worn wooden and metal signs Vasiliy could not claim to be brushed up enough, or awake enough to make sense of the writing.

“I think it might be time to stop over somewhere for the night.” Vasiliy mumbled, throwing quick cautious glances down the darkened roads on both sides of them, “Can't promise it'll be comfortable.” he added.

Nonplussed, Ullanhu looked up at him. They crossed the intersection and made way down an overgrown two-track. The tires of the car bumped and jumped over potholes hidden in the night and all of a sudden Ullanhu found himself afraid they were en'route to somewhere off the map. He held his hand up on the roof as he leered out the windows, watching as nothing passed the window. Out the windshield long grass and bushes fell out over the road, nearly covering it in its entirety. Faintly through the darkened underbrush Ullanhu could make out shapes or textures of something well hidden. Whipping in his chest his heart raced with the rising anxiety as he realized he couldn't see the stars.

The bumpy journey lurched over holes that felt like bottomless chasms until Vasiliy brought the truck to a stop. Ahead of them barring the road was a large iron gate. Holding it shut a rusted tangle of heavy chain closed with a padlock barred the road. The lock looked old, and well abused by the weather. In the headlights blots of bloodied rust the rise of hands covered the iron gate and broke the lock down into a camouflaged pattern of oxidation.

Moving his hands from the driver's wheel Ullanhu mumbled in a low voice, “I think I pick it.”

“You think?” Ullanhu asked, perturbed. He watched baffled as he hopped out of the door and rummaged through his dirty, bloodied suit coat for a pick. Then hovered over the lock, breaking the tumblers free in the light of tungsten headlamps. In the disruption of the moment, Belyakov had been shook wide awake and his snoring had given way to a nervous broken breathing.

Finally with the ring of metal clashing on metal the lock fell from the chain and Vasiliy had pushed the gate open. Running back into the truck he threw it back into gear and rolled on through.

For a moment everything but the ground fell away into a perpetual sea of nothing. The two could have been driving through inter-dimensional nothing and neither would have realized. It wasn't until the light of the car captured in its glow the brick wall of some monumental building, covered in moss and creepers. But to Ullanhu, looking out through the door towards that wall with the age of its damage and neglect the three could have easily passed through some portal in time or place.

With a click Vasiliy killed the power to the engines and in an instant there was nothing but darkness in the world. As the motor wound down to the lethargic cold clicking of a still engine there was only the tense breathing of Belyakov between them. Vasiliy threw open his door, and grabbing Belyakov Ullanhu did the same. His feet immediately came down on thick grass.

“Where are we?” asked Ullanhu and he pushed Belyakov through the night-time air. It was cool and still and there was a heavy marshy aroma in the wind. Slowly Ullanhu's eyes adjusted for the low moon-lit light and the stars came back in focus. He stopped to look up at a looming tower over his head. Broken spears and jagged bricks leered out from uninviting nooks along its height until it was less of a tower and more a mangled monster's nest.

“Old Monastery.” Vasiliy said in his typical muddied Chinese, “I sure we find place to sleep inside.”

“Wait, in there?” Ullanhu gaped. Somehow he felt less at ease inside there than when waiting to bail Moscow with the president.

“Of course, is cover. If rains, we not get wet.” said Vasiliy, somehow Ullanhu could imagine him smiling unapologetically.

“Well how can you be so sure?”

“I have light.” Vasiliy sneered, a small dime of silver light snapped to shine in the hallowed darkness. Ullanhu jumped back as it stole away his vision.

“For fuck's sake!” Ullanhu cursed, shielding his eyes, “Don't do that!”

Vasiliy shrugged and waved his small torch to the building. “Where'd you even get that?” he asked, grumbling.

“Pocket. Be always prepare. Is not scout code?”

“Yea, sure.”

[h2]Novosibirsk[/h2]
[h3]Siberian Republic[/h3]

There was a peace divorced from that of the outside world. A bulky wood-cased radio played soft music at a low volume, just enough there was an ambient noise without being distracting. In the hall outside boots shuffled back and forth past the door. And seated on the corner of his desk Huang Li Wong read through the sparse records the Siberian inherited from the former imperial state, information copied from some source document in Moscow to be shelved at magistrate offices or military bases to keep a universal tab on the state's numerous VIPs: old-money aristocrats, new-money capitalists, and the officers of the army.

Many bore signs of damage, whether swept up in the post-assassination chaos and mixed together until the narrative of the pages was lost. Or half-burned in a desperate bid to save identities from the communist surge in the seventies. It wasn't as complete as he would have liked, but it was something.

The names however had become a blur in his heads. Many lacked photos so there was no face to connect to the names and the sparse identities. Siberian efforts had attempted to update some of it, but the daunting task of adopting the czarist regime when their own bureaucracy was so thin that the effort was at best token. Still, the most notable were at least given photos provided by the Chinese. But these were not the issue, many of them were already under observation or in a Siberian prison camp.

Still, there was the two names that felt like leads; Fyodor Trobesky and Isaak Girgorvich Alexandrov. But any real meat on them was in the far west, and certainly not here. If there was connection with the Mafiya though, there might be a chance that either one had this information burned so they could become the phantoms they wanted to be.

Suddenly breaking the dull monotony there was a knock at the door. Licking his dry lips and rubbing the cotton from his tongue Huang Li called out, “Come in.”

The door opened and the agent in the doorway  bowed. “Comrade.” he greeted, stepping inside and closing the door.

“Did you manage?” asked Huang Li, shutting the file and setting it aside.

“I did, but I don't know for what.” the other agent responded. He was the young sinewy sort of man, with thin side-swept hair, “It was hard as hell to get a word through, but I managed to get a correspondence from our man in Perm.”

Huang Li smiled and nodded, “So: what does he know?”

“Not a whole lot. Apparently those names you gave him are as much of an enigma to him as they were to me.” reported the young man as he leaned against the door. He scratched at the underside of his chin. “He said there was something familiar about the Fyodor sort but excused it as being the name of a local kid in the neighborhood.”

“I see, so Shu doesn't know anything at all?”

“If he did I wouldn't know what you'd want to know.” the young agent scoffed, “But loose lips.

“He did have some other things to key the Lion's Den into though.” he added.

“So what is it then? Does Angua need to know?” Huang Li asked.

“He probably will,” the other man nodded, “Since his partner died in the field Shu's been acting solo for a long-time. Understandably he wants out and is waiting for Huei Wen to get to Perm before surrendering himself over. But that's all pretty obvious knowing his situation.

“What he considers interesting is that maybe about a month ago another agent was in Perm.”

“Another, who?” the dragon-faced agent asked. He leaned in interested.

“He didn't get a name.” the other said regretfully, “But he did say he was working with Makulov, or his mission entailed working with Makulov. I don't know if he made contact with the Phantom General or not but he was out there. Apparently he was going solo.”

“I'll have to call Beijing.” Huang Li affirmed to himself, “How was the condition of the agent when he arrived in Perm?”

“I guess they found him near to death by a sewer outflow.” said the agent, “He had been severely injured, but commented it didn't bother him. He was adamant he leave, but Min Shu had to force him to stay until he was sure he was ok.”

“Yes, I'll have to contact Beijing on this. Are you sure this is a credible report on his part?”

“Sounded so, comrade.”

“Alright, that's enough then. You're dismissed.”