[h1]Russia[/h1]
[h2]Kostroma Oblast[/h2]
[h3]Russian Republic[/h3]

“God dammit!” Ullanhu heard as he slept. The sudden force and anger of the announcement shocked him awake in much the same way as taking a bag of flour into the stomach would. With his hands clenched he shot awake and then scrambled uncoordinated on a floor whetted with frost and decaying leaves. A cold morning air had crept into the cavernous ruin of the old church ruins and snuggled within the halls as if it was taking rest under the blanket itself.

His sudden darting explosion to stand woke the sleeping president who cried out shocked and terrified as Ullanhu tripped over his sleeping porky body. With a tumble and a smack Ullanhu fell face-first into mossy tiles and a mat of leaves. He spilled out there in the mouse hotel as his head swam in the chill, shock, and soreness of falling face first into granite tile.

Groaning woefully to himself, Ullanhu pulled himself up. Everything about him was sore in ways he thought he'd have never felt. Rising to his feet he meant to ask Vasiliy what was wrong, but it was soon answered before the question could be asked. “Someone slashed the tires!” he roared in spiteful Russian.

Ullanhu walked to the cavernous gaping hole in the side of the ruined church, where the bricks had spilled across the ground inside and out. Stomping and raging alongside the truck they had stolen was Vasiliy, railing on about anyone who might have done it. Clenched fists hammered the side of the cab and crashed against the metal. The hard bangs and cracks his fists made against the side of the cab sounded like they'd hurt, but whatever pain he was feeling was muted by his unbridled rage.

“Someone slashed the tires?” asked Ullanhu as he walked out into the morning light. The sun had barely lifted over the horizon and a gentle fog hung over the meadow they were in. Dew glistened from the nearby bushes and tree tops. And from the high dome-doped bell tower at the front of the large brick and mortar church a flock of sparrows were dancing and spinning about as they fled their roost.

“Yes!” Vasiliy bellowed, waving bruised reddened hands to the trucks tires. Deep gashes were cut deep into the rubber and now they sagged so severely against the vehicle's weight the lips of the cuts bore a bovine overbite.

“Well... Uh... Do we know who?” Ullanhu asked dimly. He was still half asleep and what threads he was spinning were not fully worked out.

“I don't know who, but if I figure it out I will...” Vasiliy began, his face burned a bright beet red that only grew solar as he fought to find what it was he was going to do with them. Let alone figure out who.

“Fuck I don't know. But I'll figure it out when I get there.” he sneered angrily.

Ullanhu nodded along and rubbed at his shoulders. “I'll just...” he said, “... I'll just go keep an eye on Belyakov.”

“Fine!” Vasiliy snapped, waving a dismissive hand up at him, “Go do that.”

Ullanhu turned back to the ruin of the country church, putting his back on Vasiliy who continued to ramble angry Russian. The words from his mouth sounding less like an articulate language, but the sounds of a raw bestial anger. Turning about the crumbling wall it fettered off into muffled distant nothing.

To say the temple they found themselves in had been built for paupers once upon a time would have been a insult. Even in the ruined state there was a rich opulence that still shone from the walls. But from where gold leaf had been carved from the walls by locals there was instead glistening morning dew that shone like diamonds in the morning light. Halos of dazzling dew polish framed the face of peeling iconography of Jesus and a diamond sun shone over faded scenes of medieval Russian country life, portrayed in romantic idealism by fresco slowly loosing their colors to the wear of time. And along the bases of statues evidence to the building's final hours reached up along the robes and clothes of Russian saints in the form of scorch marks and stubborn ash. Stains from rainwater added permanent trails of tears from vacant accusative eyes as these holy men looked down at and scorned the communist that had taken refuge under their crumbling roof.

And while the structure wasn't ancient given the signs that there had once been electricity and modern convenience installed here, the severe neglect that it suffered certainly had not helped it.

By the time he got back to the president he was already sitting up. His hands resting crossed and limped in his lap. His suit sagged filthy and wet from off his shoulders. He sat slouched, head bowed down like a monk in prayer. As Ullanhu got near the man shuffled, but did not look up. He kept an eerie withheld silence as reserved and defeated as his posture. There was a certain foul smell that came off of him as well, but Ullanhu assumed all three of them probably smelled poorly by now. And they haven't exactly given the president any breaks for a bathroom in a long time.

Ullanhu knelt down in front of him and the president let out a long stressed breath. The Chinese agent looked at his hooded face, expecting that he would speak to him, or acknowledge him. But not a sound peeped from his lips. “You probably need to see the light.” Ullanhu said gently, and reached out and undid the hood over the president's head. With a slow movement he pulled it up to above his brow.

The moment the morning light hit his eyes Belyakov recoiled against the sudden shot of light, clenching his eyes shot as he recoiled back and rose weak hands up to his eyes. “Christ!” he swore weakly.

Blinking away the knives, Belyakov looked up at Ullanhu and snarled, “Fuck's sakes, what's going on?” he grumbled, “I figured I was with a chink, but I didn't expect any that looked as soft as you boy.” he commented in spiteful Russian.

“I'm just here on the job.” Ullanhu said.

“Fine, some Chinese revolution.” Belyakov sighed. His puffy walrus face had faced and deflated since he was captured by Vasiliy. He was palor, bruised, and his bushy mustache had been joined by thick bearded scrub as messy as his hair had become. Critical eyes leered at Ullanhu from atop cheeks stained with tears, “I was a part of a revolution too, once!” he said in a low accusing tone, “We're all revolutionaries here, so why do you act in betrayal brother to brother?”

“It's not my area to question.” Ullanhu told him.

“Right, and which head of the dragon tells you to do this then?”

“I don't think I'm obligated to say.”

“What the fuck does it matter in the end you shit?” Belyakov continued in fire, “I know for sure you're not going to kill me, and you've evaded the army well enough I might as well recognize I'm not going back. What do you need me for!?” he demanded, “Is it because Dimitriov died in prison too soon, am I to serve the rest of his time? I wasn't even involved in that horse shit!”

“I'm sure you weren't.” Ullanhu said dismissively.

“So who then? Radek? Nikolov? I have a long list and I can keep asking for a while. It'd be easier to just tell me.” the president continued to demand.

“As much as I'd say I don't think you need to know.” Ullanhu retorted. He reached out and grabbed the hood, pulling it back down over his face and pulling the straps tight before he could grab his wrists and stop him.

“One of these days you will be cut up, and fed to the pigs your sons will eat.” Belyakov promised.

“I'll have my eye on you.” Ullanhu whispered to him, as Vasiliy came over the bricks. The Mongol rose as he walked across the leaf-strewn floor.

“How's our prisoner?” he asked in Russian, looking down as Belyakov.

“Smells terrible, but still lively.” Ullanhu affirmed, “So are you done?”

“I suppose.” Vasiliy slumped, “I'd still like to kill the man who did it. But there's no use wishing if we don't know who. We need to figure out what we're doing.”

“I just want to know where we're going.”

Vasiliy sighed, “I was of hoping we make it to Urals.” he groaned, jumping to Chinese, “If we had kept pace, we could make it by end of day today. But is not possible now.”

“Well, we're not walking. How were we going to make it there?”

“Lost car, get new one might shake search men now. So we find new car.”

“I saw a farm-house on a hill not far back as we were coming in. Think they'd have something we can drive off with?” Ullanhu asked.

Vasiliy shrugged, “Maybe. But is of best choice.” he planted his hands on his hip for a moment, and considered, looking down at the president who had since resumed his resigned slump, “I'll pick up pig, you lead us to house. Figure out from there.”

[h2]North of Yekaterinburg[/h2]

With a toss the armored car was thrown over a pothole in the middle of the road. Holding on his seat Huei Wen held fast to keep from being thrown against the floor, as with the other men in the car. Towards the front cabin a man sat perched against a terminal of radios strapped to the steel hull. The crackling and sheering voices of communication relays from the rest of the operating positions chewed through the air with the sound of the car's engine. Just inches from his head the open port in the roof where the gunner sat dropped down into the narrow room left behind between the radio operator and the equipment strapped down. The light of the afternoon sun glowed through the open turret cutout as the gunner scanned the landscape.

And while the view to the cabin was blocked the general didn't need to know where they were as they stopped. It was a checkpoint.

“Comrade!” someone hailed.

“Afternoon.” responded the driver, “We're en'route to Isetoskoye Camp. Can we get through?”

“What for?” the guard asked.

“Huei Wen wants to meet with your CO. He's in the back.”

“I won't keep the general waiting then, on your way.” the checkpoint guard invited, and they were quickly on the move again.

Many of the roads into the city were closed, most were supposedly completely shutdown by checkpoints and outposts controlling the direction of traffic until the city itself was completely shut down. Communities like Beryozovsky were used as bait, drawing out a battalion of the Republic's men to keep the Chinese from laying claim to the larger of the communities in orbit around Yekaterinburg. But they were soon trapped, and laid to the same sort of siege in that gold mining town as their brethren in Yekaterinburg.

Only the western roads were open. A contested stretch of highway under the gun of mortars. A fanciful promise of escape if they sought to take it. But never a life-line.

With a sharp bounce the armored car came to stop again. “We're here.” the driver called back.

Huei Wen replied back with a curt acknowledging nod as the rear hatch was swung open. Bright sunlight poured in and the general and his escort stepped out into the muddy field of Isetoskoye Camp.

All around the air was filled with the hum of soldiers and their comings and goings. In coming and outgoing vehicles and the rumble of tanks waiting to set out on patrolling the roads and country-side again. In the distance the thrumming of a landing helicopter summoned the return of an airborne patrol as it touched down on the far side of a large farmhouse atop a hill, a two story small mansion wrought of stone.

The grass and gravel drive had been rendered a muddy quagmire from overuse by heavy equipment. As Wen stepped up onto the front porch he briskly shook the mud and dirt from his coat, shaking clumps from the bottom hem and kicking his boots clean on the concrete steps as he walked through the doors.

“Comrade Huei Wen!” a young lieutenant saluted as the general stepped through the heavy oak doors. They stood now in the middle of a large foyer, trimmed with wooden beams. An antique if worn rug dressed the wooden floor they stood on.

“Comrade.” Wen greeted, bowing, “At ease.”

“Thank you.” the lieutenant bowed, stepping aside, “I was alerted you'd be here to see Shàngxiào Li Chu, when I heard you were on your way I came to meet you.”

“Then take me to your colonel.” Huei Wen commanded with a smile. The lieutenant obliged, holding out his hands to follow as he lead him up a flight of stairs opposite the door.

“What's your name, comrade?” Wen asked, making polite conversation as they went along. The stairs groaned under their weight as they went along. The wooden balusters of the handrail contained carved images of deer and other wild animals at play in a forest.

“Zhōngwèi Kwan Lu, comrade.” the lieutenant answered, “I serve in Chu's personnel command. I was asked to meet you when you came.”

“Yes, as you've said.” Huei Wen commented as they crested the stairs. He scanned the walls as they went, paintings and black and white photos hung in abundance from the walls and a still homely feel was kept in the home.

“This site,” Wen continued, “What condition was it in when you procured it?”

“It was still occupied, comrade. When we arrived there was still an elderly couple residing here. It took some negotiation on Chu's part to coerce them to allow him to use their home as a command center.”

“Whatever did he do to see to that.” Wen mumbled with a raised brow of bemusement as he passed an old photo of a man fishing with a youth, a pipe hanging from his mouth, he also donned a heavy mustache.

“So long as we keep most of it to the barns the old man and woman do not get upset.” Lu pointed out, having head Wen, “Much of the command structure makes use of the guest rooms and the inhabitants keep their own bed.”

“I'm sure whatever suits them.” said Wen as they stopped alongside a door.

“Well as I hear it they're still not wholly happy but their complacent. Here's where he's set up his field office.” Lu said opening the door.

Wen bowed as he entered through the door, it shut softly behind him, leaving the commander alone with Li Chu.

Looking up from a desk in the far corner of the room the colonel stood and saluted. “Comrade Wen!” he cheered, offering a stiff salute. The officer seemed stiff. There was a nervous air to his wide smile and quick forced formality. It was as if reviewing cadets, as Wen noted to himself.

Chu wasn't much for a man, a boney figure who had put on some muscle. He was several days behind in shaving, and an already pronounced sharp beard was growing on his chin. “At ease.” Wen invited, looking around the room. It was sparsely decorated and many personal humanizing effects were well removed. A small dresser full of decorative trinkets sat in the corner opposite of Chu's writing desk and a tall mirror stood between the windows opposite of the room's door. Otherwise a bank of cots sat lined against the wall at regular increments, though in irregular states of disorder and decorum. “You seemed to have done well for command posts.” Wen noted with some jealousy.

“I do with what opportunities arise. I liked the hose since it was stone and on a hill.” Chu explained nervously. His thin brown eyes searched carefully. His entire demeanor was like that of navigating a minefield and he was searching for the next place to step.

“Sure, but it was occupied.” Huei Wen said stepping to the deck.

“I negotiated with the home-owners. We're here on their permission now.” said Chu with a smile. He held out his hand to the wooden chair alongside his desk and with an inviting smile asked: “Care to sit?”

“I'll stand for now, Shàngxiào. If you don't mind.”

“Very well, suit yourself.” nodded Chu as he resumed his seat. He fidgeted nervously with a pen in his hand and looked up, “So, what's the visit for?”

“I hear you had a brush in with some independent actors in your sector. I normally wouldn't think much of it but to me it sounded like they were armed pretty well, I thought you could elaborate what had happened. So much can only go over the radios.”

“Oh, of course.” said Chu, a relieved breath passed his lips and the stiffness in his demeanor lifted. “It was a routine interception of a Republican patrol unit searching to scout out any breaches in the security. On the way to meet with the marked detachment my unit intercepted instead a south-bound independent group who fired first on them.

“As word from the patrol sergeant went both sides exchanged fire. My men had taken cover on the other-side of a wooded berm. They had fallen back to that as they were crossing over the roadway and they had arrived.”

“How were these independents equipped?” Wen asked.

“Well...” Chu shrugged, “My reporting NCO said they had uniforms almost similar to the Republican military, the same green and dress of the Imperial army and the same equipment. The only notable difference is that they fought in almost a similar style to the Armenians back in the mid-seventies. They made use of civilian vehicles and fired from the backs of re-purposed utilitarian trucks.”

“So are you sure this wasn't a Republican relief group?”

“Well if it is, then it was very poorly equipped with vehicles.” Chu laughed, “Fuck, civilian cars; our intel says they still have military equipment for however long that can last. But they can't really be abandoning that so soon, can they?”

Huei Wen lowered his head, thinking about that. There had been some reports of sporadic engagements with unidentified forces elsewhere along the siege line. And some scouting of the city itself suggested that it was fighting itself.

“You don't think it's Mafiya, is it?” asked Chu.

“No, I doubt it.” said Wen.

“I see, so how should I go about proceeding? If you need to know more I can't offer you up much else.”

“No, I think that'll do.” Wen nodded.

“Well, comrade. Before you leave perhaps you could answer a question for me: when are we taking the city?”

Wen looked down at him and shrugged, “That'll happen when it happens.” he said simply, “Until then, hold your posts. I want future patrols to try and take something from these independents so we can get an ID on them in the future. Are we clear?”

“Yes sir.”

[h2]Volgagrad[/h2]

“You can take the couch.” Makulov's man said, directing Jun's attention to a sparse simple couch in the far corner of the apartment flat overlooking the Volga river. To Jun, the apartment was familiar in its compactness and he had memories of one like it being set on fire to kill him in Perm. However, much unlike that this was clean and didn't smell of corrosive chemicals.

It was in every respect, pristine. Studiously cleaned, tended and decorated. Although there were no personal effects to add to the décor of the small combination living room and kitchen small potted plants were strategically placed at the windowsills, strategically taking as much space as possible and to provide their owners with fresh herbs and spices. Taking off his boots, Jun felt the freshly vacuumed carpet under his foot.

It was a welcome creature comfort after having been for so long shacked up in squalor or in the wilds. He felt a sudden relief and the sore tension in him slip away. For once: he could breath.

“We both have the same sort of mission, so it's only fitting that we share resources. I'll let you shack up here for the time being until you can get yourself proper accommodations for the future.” the Russian spy said, “Until then, my place is yours.

“If you need to clean your uniform or clothes there's a wash bin in the basement of the tenanments. But you'll need to hang everything up on a line.”

“I understand.” said Jun. With a loud thump he threw his bag on the ground alongside the couch as he sat himself down. He brushed his hands along the short-bristled red fabric as he leaned back and felt months worth of strain leave his body.

“Do you want anything to drink?” the Russian agent asked as he walked to the kitchen half of the apartment. There sat on the counter-top an ice-box the size of a large radio sat alongside a sink of stained nickle.

“I'm fine.”

“Understood.” nodded the Russian.

Leaning into the back of the couch Jun looked over the rest of the room. On a dresser stand sat a wood-paneled radio, its top forming into a soft, tall arch and its face set with brass knobs and a woven face for the speakers. Alongside that sparse shelves with simple knick-knacks. Opposite to that and on the wall left of the entrance was where the door to the Makulov agent's room was. Tucked on the other-side of the radio display on the right wall was a cracked door, that given the light reflection of sunlight through the porch door wall alongside Jun was where the bathroom was.

“I'd hate to talk business so soon,” Jun's host started, holding a dark bottle of beer to his chest, “but I'm wondering: do you plan to go see your brewer man?”

“And what?” asked Jun

“Tell him what happened.”

Jun shook his head, “Nothing's happened yet.”

“How can you be so sure, you made the deal with Batista then.”

“I'm not working for him, not yet at least.”

“Ok.” the agent shrugged. He took a swig from the bottle and wandered over to the doorwall, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants. Outside the mid-day sun was beginning to wane and soon it'd be evening. “And another thing,” the other man started, “and this is completely independent, but since you're here: there is going to be some big conference thing in town.” he waved a hand behind him, towards where the heart of Volgagrad was no doubt, “I approached the city as an independent man for hire to run security there; but really to just get inside. I could use backup.”

“Backup?”

“Of course.” the host nodded, “Nothing amazing, but someone else there to pass off as a business partner. I don't know how deep they'll let you go in if at all. But it's happening soon, I can recommend you.

“Between the two of us we can get information important to both of our parties and mission. It's mutual benefit in mutual work, against mutual enemies. How do you say?”

Jun looked up at him, cocking his jaw to the side. He didn't know what to make of it, and it produced itself from thin air. “What's it about?” he asked.

The man shrugged, “I don't know.” he admitted, “There was a small announcement made some time ago about hosting representatives from across the Volga Confederacy. There'll be some other smaller parties in attendance too. I can only expect dirty political business so having two ears there will be a great help. We'll share and collaborate information on what happened at the end of the day. Then after – or during, who knows – Batista will have you in his employ and making good on his word.”

“Sounds interesting, but can I really hold Batista up to it?”

The Russian host laughed, a guttural honest laugh. “Of course.” he cackled, “He may be a former fucking autocrat but he knows when someone can tighten the vice on his balls. Of course don't push him, or he'll as soon have someone pull your guts out over Old Sarepta.”

“Would this hurt my chances with him, going to this conference?”

Again, the host laughed, “Fuck no.” he crooned, “The Confederacy isn't much of a nation as it is a collection of mutual city-states and organizations with land claims. A few enclaves here and there who would rather not. But a lot have their stake in it, especially after the Turks fucked off. Mafiya included. Batista's a stake-holder but himself not big enough to attend.

“I can get you in to work it with me, among the muscle there, simply being there will be enough for some respect. You get the protect some of the more powerful known gangsters in southern Russia!” he laughed.