[h1]Russia[/h1]
[h2]Tyumen[/h2]

Laying in his cot, Tsung watched the ceiling as a fly buzzed helplessly along the flaking white plaster overhead. It searched the desert landscape of white, wings buzzed and hummed as it hit the hard ceiling in its desperate search for a way out and in damned confusion. Laying with his hands wrapped behind his head the young army private found himself drifting from malicious curiosity to the bug's plight and on into an alien sort of understanding.

It took him all of five minutes to create the metaphor.

In the soft warmth of the afternoon light it helplessly threw itself against the ceiling of the Russian apartment on the daft hope there would be escape. While it might be safe from the broader world smashing its head against plaster board, out of the way of birds and spiders in the middle of that ceiling it was going nowhere. And in the bored doldrums of Tsung's heads he found himself feeling empathy towards the fly, as strange and unnatural as it sounds.

While not physically blocked off by walls, he was held in place by the same ceiling of military bureaucracy and management that had been wasting he and his comrades away in Tyumen. Their commander had since exercised his position to see himself out into the field in someone else's tank, casting him as well into the same trap; though Tsung had never met nor heard the man's name but it was known – or rather well assumed it had happened – that Sun Song had temporarily usurped a lesser commander's vehicle so he could be out with the rest of his unit giving command.

It was hardly debatable why, but stuck in Tyumen there was an uneasy restlessness about it all the while. Even Tsung had took it quietly and gratefully as a break from fighting and he could try and calm the nightmares. Hui and Lin spent their time in their own way. But being trapped in a city slowly being filled with Siberian security forces didn't leave many like the three of them left, all who remained were in the supply network and wouldn't have the time to speak with them, or were in the hospital chewed up by the war; and Tsung didn't want anything to do with them. After all, after the air raid he had decided he didn't need to see another victim of bombs for awhile, but there was a firm inevitability he would be back at it.

“Hui?” Tsung asked, turning from the fly on the ceiling to the gun loader who lay not to far away, a rag over his eyes so he could nap. He grunted unceremoniously as he lay.

“Hui.” Tsung repeated, more forcefully. But he couldn't help but clap his lips tight as his voice cracked over the raised tone.

Wi Hui rolled and dragged the rag from his face and looked over. His bald head glowed in the Russian sunlight. His eyes said it all.

“Have you ever had to wait this long before?” Tsung asked.

“The hell do you mean? I sat on that tank of ours for far longer as you before we were given the deployment order. Of course I had to wait longer.” he replied, “At least now I don't need to sleep atop the turret.” he mumbled as he pulled the rag back over his face.

“Really?” Tsung asked.

“Sometimes, earlier we only got to crank the engines for an hour a day and wait. That's when your former fell on his ass and broke his butt on the ice.” There wasn't any humor in his tone of voice.

“Have you ever been held up for that long before?”

Hui grunted, “No.” he said in a low growl, “I figured standing for inspection was a bad waste of time, but we were never held up for that long. And I've been to other hot zones before, but Russia has been the first time I had to sit through 'indefinite readiness'.” He wrapped the last two words in disgust, “And now we're fucking holding back to go out again, but at least I'm not having to sit by our tank.”

“Where have you been before Russia?” Tsung asked again. While it was like only cracking open a valve to let out a drip, the conversation was a release from the grinding boredom. He sat up in his bunk and turned to Tsung, waiting and listening for its continuance.

“What is this, story time?” groaned Hui as he sat up lethargically, “Bullshit, comrade. I don't remember ever hearing much about you. Why do I need to spill out to you?

“So about that, we trade a story for a story? Who were you before the army?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” asked Tsung.

Hui rolled his eyes, “What did you do before you joined the army, or the army came to you? Where you from? What did you do?”

“You don't really want to hear that, it's boring.” Tsung argued, trying to worm his way out of it.

A part of him didn't feel comfortable talking about it. There was a private part of him that chilled itself shut and stubbornly failed to budge. On the other hand, he didn't want to burden his comrades. Some other part of him in allegiance with his stubborn private self was urging to keep his background quiet, to be a quiet name that'd pass his fellow crewman after the war, or if he got killed.

But Hui was persistent, and he drilled. “Bullshit, nothings too dry. You had to fucking take trajectory calculus while training, did you not? That shit's fucking boring and I somehow did fucking great. So hit me, dammit.”

“It's really not exciting, I hoped around and I landed here on blind luck.” Tsung continued, pressing his excuses and unwillingness to talk about it.

“And how to clean mud from traction bearings too! That was great.” Hui laughed, “Really, just go ahead. It can't be as bad as you make it, comrade. You just don't happen into things. If I was taught one thing in all of this it's because I'm where I am because someone thought I was worth it.

“So go ahead. Let me be the judge on if it's boring.”

Li Tsung groaned. Lifting himself up off his back he sat himself against the wall and softly drummed the back of his head against the dry plasterboard. “I was born in a small town outside of Urumqi, town called Changji. 1957.” he began. By speaking the name of his home-town he could taste again that course silicate taste of dust and clay. “I doubt you heard of it.”

“No, I haven't.” Hui responded, “But sounds awfully dull, but do continue.” he remarked sarcastically.

“Anyways, my family were farmers. We raised goats.” he continued, “Besides goats we shared several acres of wheat with our neighbors as part of the local commune.” he could hear them as ghosts at the back of his mind, “We weren't far outside of Urumqi, if we wanted we could easily take the train into the town to visit the theater there, wasn't much going on at home despite the radio.” he laughed, “If you were far enough south you could see the mountains on the horizon, weren't anything spectacular, a dry rocky range really, the Bogda Shan east of Urumqi are much more impressive.”

“I had never known mountains before the army.” Hui commented with a smirk, “I was born up river from Shanghai, all I got to know was a murky river. But go on, how'd you get in the army?”

“Dad served in the revolution, I suppose he wanted his sons to know that pride so insisted all three of us also enlist, I was the only one who they actually needed I guess, and I ended up in tanks.”

“I see, so where'd you end up for basic. When were you there?”

“Ah...” he thought, “1978, Nanjing. That was the furthest I had ever been from home.”

“And after?”

“Mongolia after basic for graduate training and active duty, Ullanbator. It somehow felt the closest to being home after Nanjing.”

“So from Mongolia, how'd you end up in the Manchurian Defense Army?”

“I had asked for a change of duty, I didn't like it in Mongolia. The winter was too cold, I was hoping to end up somewhere in the south. I wanted to be warm again.”

“And so that's where the prodigal son comes to join the unit of men!” Hui laughed, “So that wasn't so hard, yeah?”

Li Tsung's face flushed a soft shade of red that Hui laughed at. Shrugging he tried to hide the fact and lowered his head. “Don't be too hard in yourself, you did fine.

“So, returning the favor.” Hui cracked, clapping his hands together and swinging his legs up over the side of the cot. “1957, Nantong. Began training for the armored corp in Shenyang. 1973, just in time for the war on Mindanao. As soon as I was done in basic I got shipped straight to Manila, which is where I met of all people: Sun Song.

“He was my commanding officer at the time and just a green commander of a single tank.”

“Wait, wait.” Tsung cut in, “You were sixteen when you signed up?”

Hui nodded enthusiastically, with a proud smile on his face. “I wanted in, I was bored, young, and I lied my way through registration. Figured if I wasn't fit, they'd throw me out and at the best they take my name off the draft lottery list. Turns out I was needed. I don't think they ever caught on, or if they have it's much too late now.” Hui seemed incredibly proud of the fact and wore a wide smile. His face glowed.

“So anyways, back then it was just me and Song. We did about two years of basically garrison work, by that point the Luzon government didn't need our tanks in the street so it was a lot of drills and finding ways to kill time in the city. The beaches, the women. It was almost a vacation with this looming risk of work over our heads.” Tsung was feeling jealous.

“So, the second phase of the war begins and we're sent off to Butuan. My first active deployment in a combat zone. After about a couple months the driver falls sick from something awful and was sent home. He basically got his injury ticket out he was bent over so bad. I never thought to ask what he had. But damn, was he pale!

“We get holed up with an incomplete crew. About then we get your predecessor, Huang Ho or 'Little Brother'.”

“Why was he called Little Brother?” Tsung asked.

“Guy was small.” he exclaimed, “I want to say he was maybe from Taiwan.”

“He never talked about it?”

“No, but unlike you he was a lot more involved.” Tsung responded back with an almost accusing wave of his hand, “It never occurred to me.

“But the war in Mindanao was a cursed sweaty thing. It rained a lot, there was mud everywhere, and we dug our tank out of muddy road ways more times than I can count. I got enough mosquito bites to last me the rest of my life and I think I fell ill from something once every month, but never so much so I was sent home; which by that point I would have wanted.

“But the Philippines was a lot of driving down jungle roads hoping some pig doesn't shoot a rocket at us from the trees. We lobbed a lot of shells at things that I don't know even existed but Song insists an infantry patrol found and there was some arguing over the radios to set up some sort of bearing on them.

“And the tank leaked when it rained. We actually had to bail it out.” he said laughing, “That was fun.”

“That was your Philippine tour?”

“Pretty much. You can talk to Lin about it. We called her Lady San Francisco since she came in when we rolled into some town by that name. I dunno why, but Ho was on about America a lot when we were there. I think he had family there. But he sort of forced it on us with how much she called her San Francisco.

“I wouldn't call her that anymore, she's still annoyed.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Tsung nodded.

“Good...” said Hui, “So, heard what you wanted?”

Tsung paused to think about it. “I guess?” he said, he certainly felt time had passed.

“Good, maybe now you can be a bit more involved. I know nothing's happened but I was starting to wonder if you were just a child-like automaton.”

“Oh, wel- Wait?”

“You heard me.” Hui smiled snarkily.

“I'm not a- whatever you called me!” Tsung retorted defensively.

“Don't blame me, I'd blame Lin.” Hui laughed.

Tsung was about ready to try for pushing the matter further. But when the door opened he looked up, setting aside his remarks as Lin herself walked in, accompanied by a sergeant for the armored division. There was an enthusiastic pep to her step, and the sergeant himself looked modestly relieved.

“We got new armor!” she boasted happily, “It just came into the city not too long ago. We're heading back up to meet with Song as soon as possible.” she delivered the news with the same sort of cheer one might announce a new boyfriend, or girlfriend. It completely put aside any notions of idle amusement that Tsung aspired to as he looked stunned and surprised at his tank buddy.

“Comrade Wo, how are you?” Hui asked, standing up to bow to the officer.

Wo, a small and almost invisible sort of man returned the gesture, “I am fine, and will be better now that I can reclaim my own tank.”

“Until we can catch up with Song at the Republican capital he's our temporary commander. But I don't think we're going to have problems.”

“I only really foresee trying to organize reconnecting with the unit. By all reports I heard the country-side east of the city is in enough of our control that there won't be any significant threats to us.

“Now comrades, if you three can ready up quick we can go. I'm sure we're all excited.”

Reality returned to Tsung.

[h1]China[/h1]
[h2]Nanjing[/h2]

The ceiling fan clicked as it made its short and round rotations from the ceiling overhead. Behind frosted glass walls city detectives and patrol officers moved as shadows through the halls. The central police precinct for Nanjing was quiet and subdued, with only the faint ringing of telephones to cut the whispering of secretaries and officers. Through windows to the outside the stoic straightforward brick and mortar high-rises and apartments of Nanjing swept through its valley, the windows glimmering in the sunlight as blue smoke from distant linen factories puffed above the rooftops to mingle with the clouds that drifted quietly and lazy through the blue sky.

The air outside was humid, and it was no different in the conference room. Standing at the head of a long wooden table Chu Sun casually loosened the buttons of his uniform suit as he began his address. “The news came back from Beijing on the lab-tests on the recovered pieces of the bomb used at Dong Wu's rally. The suits in the lab at national central are confident that the make and identity of the explosive is unique to our man, a manufacture like it hasn't turned up in our records; revolution or post. I'm sure it's a detail our man Kwan Yu can describe.” he finished, motioning to a man a few seats down.

Yu bowed as he sat up. None to pretty to look at, Kwan Yu had the face of a fish. Heavy lips stuck out away from his mouth wearing a permanent swelling from a mean punch to the jaw. His flat nose pressed neat and round to his face, and he was as well as fat as an over-gorged gold-fish. But he spoke with a sharp confidence and steady tone, “Thank you comrade.” he smiled, which helped to smooth out his features, “Now while we can't get a sure fix on who our delinquent bomber is the thing the lab could say for certain is that the device used at the scene was a pipe-bomb. Or rather, multiple pipe-bombs. Their analysis of the remains of the explosive agrees with the Nanjing investigation that our suspect constructed and tied together several pipe-bombs linked to a timed trigger, possibly an oven timer to complete a circuit at zero.

“Chemical analysis of the compound use to set off the explosive is likely to be a mixture of sugar and potassium nitrate.”

“Great, we have to question everyone in the city now.” another investigator joke.

“Yes well, we can't all be so lucky that out terrorist has managed to get his hands on actual military-grade explosive, Riu Huang.” Yu conceded with a dull smile.

“Now it's reasonable to suggest our man knows that the explosive charge this mix provides in a single pipe isn't nearly enough to kill, so by the over-kill evident in its size I can say confidently that our individual isn't trying to start a panic, he's aiming to kill.” he rested a fleshy hand on the table as he sat down, “Now I'd like to talk some more but this sweaty head in damning me.” he complained.

“I'll take over.” the man next to him conceded, a slightly smaller and fitter counterpart to Yu. Carefully combed back hair reflected some sort of attempt to appear contemporary and younger than the middle years he was in. With spectacles balancing on the tip of a narrow down-bent nose he took to speaking, “Our bomber also took to further compensating for the lack of impact he calculated his package would have by having it near to the stage. Cross referencing with scene reports, photographs, and the first-hand accounts of city detectives as the scene itself we went through the paces of trying to figure out the conditions of the explosive while the lab was looking at the composition.

“The attack itself took place in the Zongshen South Park, just several blocks from the Sun Yat-Sen Mausoleum. By the time we got to the area that scene was already swept up well before any of us got there. They had deconstructed the stage and city authorities were beginning to actually patch the small crater the bomb left in the concrete plaza. So return value to the location has been lost completely, we'll have to rely on photos and maps for future evidence and leads.”

“I suppose in the end this relates to our victims of the explosion.” Wu Jing-Shen cut in, scratching his head uncomfortably. “Forensically we can figure out how far all our victims were from the bomb, and they were pretty close. I'd say between the crowd and Dong Wu.”

“Fine and all, but are we actually close or are we confirming Nanjing's department did a good job so we can pat them on the back?” Riu Huang asked with hard grating wit.

A boisterous man, Huang carried shoulders like an ox, hardly contained in his clean flat-brown suit. He rubbed long thin fingers across his square sunken face, “Any one we would otherwise suspect his already under surveillance or still in prison. Our hidden hotels too don't like to release people on any date, some of our biggest anti-government names are so deep in re-education they basically don't exist anymore.”

“It's a fair point, but the investigation is still fairly young.” acknowledged Sun, “We got an untraceable weapon, no immediate subjects, and our crime-scene is too cleaned up. I think the only order I have on this is that we re-pursue witnesses to try and get a physical description of our man. But before we should look into just how the bomb got there. If it was left in a bag we could narrow it down.

“I'll go to the Nanjing City Events Committee and see who helps put together and build these rallies, we could have a reliant witness body there.

“More-over, I think even now we can be confident in one thing: our man is targeting politicians. But we don't know if there's a history here. Dong Wu wasn't local to the area so we can rule out local mis-identification or hate towards the man. For safety reasons any future candidate sweeping through Nanking will need to be under tighter security, the city police know that. But what we need to do as a team is look out not just for him but for anyone who raises red flags, that's my second standing order.

“Whose our next candidate on the campaign trail to come to the city?” he asked, finishing.

“Wong Hua-Kau.” Huang said, “He's another minor league and in the bottom percent so no doubt willing to risk any personal safety to gather support. I'll get in contact with his campaign and say while he's in Nanking the National Police will be with him.”

“Good, thank you comrade.”

[h2]Tianjin[/h2]

A warm breeze blew across the sandy beach, stirring the bushes and shrubs that scratched against the railing of the porch overlooking the beach. Flocks of gulls littered the beach, herons plied the shallows in search of crabs. Far out in the waves of the Bohai Sea the pencil-thin profiles of ships passed across steel-blue water in the haze of an open sky. The smell of sea-salt was fresh and heavy in the air, providing a crispness as Chairman Hou leaned against the armrest of a wicker chair.

Relaxed, a large white shirt hung from his slender old frame. He looked down under the brim of straw wove, white Panama hat to a cup of tea cradled in his crooked fingers. With a straw he stirred a loose tea leaf through the briny water, mixing in added milk with care and patience as the warm drink cooled to a more palpable temperature.

Alongside where he was seated the glass door wall slid open. Stepping through, a man in a subdued gray suit stepped out onto the deck, nervously and reflexively turning his own hat in his hands. Hou looked up at him as the Congressman looked down at him. Smiling tensely, he bowed before the senior Grand Secretary.

“Good afternoon Wu Shou.” greeted Hou with a muted polite nod, “Please, sit down.” he invited, showing him to a nearby chair. Without hesitation congressman Shou took the seat he was shown.

“Tea, comrade?” Hou asked as he seated, “It's a fresh kettle, just brewed.”

“It'd be my honor.” We Shou smiled. His voice was as startled as a mouse. Sheepishly he reached for the simple cast-tin kettle and poured out a small glass of rich black tea into a spare porcelain cup.

Shou Wu was my no means a powerful looking man. Sheepish and slight, he really looked and acted like a congressional junior than the long-serving member of Congress that he was. Hou watched as a line of sweat beaded underneath his crown of graying hair.

The two sat in a certain silence, nearly meditative as Hou watched the sea. Shou Wu pensively waited for the great Hou Sai Tang to speak, sipping at the hot briny drink in his hands. “It's wonderful weather, don't you think?” Hou asked, breaking the silence.

“Indeed it is, comrade.” said Shou, “The weather has held well, for a while I thought it would rain, it was certainly threatening that.”

Hou nodded, said nothing. He removed his stirring straw from his drink and raised his cup to take a sip. The loose tea leaf rested against his coarse silver-white mustache as he drank. “I need you to drop your support from comrade Wong.” Hou finally spoke, cutting blunt into business, “Do you understand?”

“Excuse me?” a baffled Shou exclaimed, “I realize comrade Wong is not doing well in the elections, but he insists personally he can still pull ahead. Just recently NPN polls reshuffled the entire mid-field of the candidates list. If he can capitalize on this then he can get notoriety and jump ahead!” he insisted. There was a hint of personal bruising in how he spoke, jumping and stuttering as if he was struck a blow.

“He's been polling in the bottom five for the better part of a month and a half when Yue announced he was retiring from the campaign trail. And where do you think those reshuffled supports go to when they changed their minds at the news polls?” Hou asked, pressing. He turned to look at Shou, his face was paper-pale and dreading ultimatum.

Shou knew where most of them went to. He didn't want to admit it all the same. “I want you to announce you're ending support for Wong from congress and to your district. You'll be supporting the next best candidate, the next best related to him.

“You're going to put your name behind Zhang Auyi, lead your people in behind him.” he insisted, “There isn't going to be argument, Wong when his campaign runs out of steam will do the same.”

“Is this a planned succession?” Shou was visibly shocked, his eyes went wide.

“It's a top-office endorsement and hardly a planned succession of office. If it was otherwise I wouldn't have allowed Mang Xhu to run or all the eligible members of Congress to do so as well.

“Under a worse country, this election would have been quiet, and one of our own wouldn't have been blown up in Nanking.” hissed Hou, “But China is a better country, we deserve to act the part. But we also deserve a leader fit for its name who will be a shining example of China's cause. An icon, not an enforcer. Do you understand?” Hou took a sip of his tea again.

Shou dabbed his palm across his forehead as he looked down, “And what if I don't?”

“Next Party and Politburo committees I will put in a word to the fellow chair holders that your level of merit in the party is in question. Perhaps it will lead to you being relegated out of congress. Perhaps after your present term you will never be allowed to hold office in Beijing.

“Maybe you'll just be sent back to Sichuan to perform office work the uninspiring communal council from whence you come from, and you'll be dead-ended.

“It won't be a purge, but it'll be an exile from Beijing.” the threat wasn't necessarily one Hou sought to deliver, or even abuse. But once made he knew he would have to make good on it when it came time. But with the frozen look of Shou he knew it was something that was weighing heavily.

“I understand.” the congressman said with heavy resignation.

“I don't know what sort of pact the two of you made for this sort of thing but there's a time in place to recognize defeat in your crusade. The game's panned out for longer than it had any right to. Be humble and acknowledge that for your friend, he'll follow.”

“As you wish, comrade.”

“Good.”