[h1]Russia[/h1]
[h2]Yekaterinburg[/h2]
[h3]Smartash Camp[/h3]

It was a sound that brought Tsung back to the all to near reality. The sound of gunfire and artillery fire that cracked and banged from inside the besieged capital of Yekaterinburg. Though if talk was anything to say, much of the Republican government had been divided between this city and Moscow. So it was doubtful a fall of Yekaterinburg would be a functional defeat of the Republic as a whole. The officers were lording over the battle all the same, calling it a moral blow to the Republic if they lost here. And although they never answered the additional rumors, they had been letting as many dirty ragged forced to be sucked into the city so as to trap and starve them.

But Tsung hadn't seen any of that. All he saw of the battle was through the small filtered screen of a tank operator's windows. He doubted even Song had as clear a picture of the wide battle as he. And when they made it to their dirty, salty camp all that was left to be seen of it was the wounded that cycled into and out of the position on a regular basis.

And is it had turned out for them, this forward base was less a base, and more of an impromptu fortress. Attempting to control the entire quarry that lay in the ground behind him like a massive gash carved into the Earth's flesh a large part of the area was fortified. It was hard to tell if distant gunshots were from sentries patrolling the outer-rim deterring raiders, or something from the nearby neighborhoods and industrial cordons of the city's edge.

On clear afternoons when Tsung was not piloting his tank into the streets he could look towards Yekaterinburg and see passed the trees that rising smoke of smoldering buildings and blocks of the city as regular shelling tossed towards the Republicans a mortifying conflagration.

But now it was neither a patrol, nor was it day. The night sky sparkled above him as he sat above the edge of the quarry at a table of mismatched garbage – plastic boxes, metal barrels, pieces of plywood – covered in the rock salt that drifted through the air in a fine mist. Some men had taken to wear masks when the most of it was being kicked up from the bone-colored floor of the pit when the equipment was most active.

In front of him, Tsung pushed around on his table a tin plate full of a sloppy stew, a slice of bread soaked in the middle. With rice, vegetables, and meat it wasn't so much a stew as it was a pile of congealed gelatin on a gray plate. Likewise, a tin cup was filled with water. Both however had soaked in so much of the still air-borne salt dust that they had become border-line inedible for Tsung who resigned himself to limply picking at the plate and glowering down at a plate that had begun to sting the tongue and dry the mouth, and a glass of water that did little to quash the discomfort. He sighed, annoyed.

The rest of the canteen was filled with banter under warm green halogen lights that rose overhead on thin metal masts. They seemed comfortable with the distant sound of rumbling artillery fire and gun-shots. For Tsung, he looked up nervously to the tree-line that rose above the mass of tents with a dismaying feeling of fear and anxiety. He had survived one explosion already, nearly; he wasn't willing to try his luck if some large force stormed from those trees and no one was ready for them.

Grumbling, Tsung surrendered and pushed the plate away. He had ate about half of it until the meal lost all of whatever flavor it had. It wasn't even warm anymore. Laying his head on his hands he looked up into the night sky. Through the powerful glow of the camp-lights the weakest stars had been stifled out so only the largest and the brightest glowed. It was a far cry from the night skies he knew back home.

Tsung looked down as he heard rocks pop and grind under the weight of a boot. Walking towards him from the mess tent Hui approached the table. He looked at Tsung, and down to the half-eaten food on the table. “You're not hungry?” he asked, concerned.

“It got salty, quick.” Tsung explained, “I don't think it'll do me any good.”

Hui raised an eyebrow as he came up to the table, “I know the cook's cooking isn't great, but I don't see how much worse it can get.” he said as he grabbed a corner of the bread, pinching and twisting it free with his fingers. Flicking it into his mouth he chewed quizzically and nodded in agreement, “You're right.”

“Water isn't much better.” Tsung pointed out, Hui wasn't adventurous enough to try it out. Evidently, neither of them wanted the shits.

“Well if you're done I was going to head back, we're heading out early tomorrow morning and it's best we get as much sleep as possible. We're going to be out all day tomorrow.”

“How do you know?” Tsung asked.

“I just do.” Hui shrugged, turning away. In the light of the camp his shaved head should have shone, but so much dust had settled and his scalp dried it did little but pick up a dull matte highlight.

At Hui's hip – much like Tsung – hung the heavy nickle polished handgun issued out to all service members in the Chinese military. The Changui revolver was as much reliable as it was very well out of style in an age where most militaries used semi-automatic handguns. But this fact hadn't dawned on command early on, who simply needed something to outfit its men uniformly over-on, the weapon had since stuck. And while they were technically in active service they were required to be armed, but to go about the camp with a rifle or assault-rifle as many other infantry did was often cumbersome and inconvenient to the men of the armored divisions who packed their weapons light, in lieu of their often packed confines. As such, their handguns were often what they had on them.

The way their weapons hung at their hips as well gave an air of a western gunslinger from American folk lore as the rested strapped to their user's sides by heavy straps decorated with pouches holding their extra ammo. Hui moved through the camp comfortably with his handgun. But Tsung not so much, who found the banging weight of the gun against his bony hip uncomfortable to manage.

“Where's Lin?” Tsung asked, inquiring over their crew's gunner.

“Probably found someone to play Mahjong with.” Hui answered dismissively, “We'll see what happens with what she brings back.” he didn't sound the least bit worried at all. In the end though, there wasn't much to gamble between them but bullets, cigarettes, and books or magazines. In the end the losses wouldn't be significant on any of them.

Though there was the time she managed to retrieve for them a few extra shells of high explosive rounds, but Hui never wanted to know how she won those. And Song himself was just as apathetic to their sudden appearance.

Drawing away steadily from the center of the camp, the number of lights illuminating the dusty, muddy paths between the rows of tents slowly thinned to only a few random posts, providing a random scatter of sickly green electrical light. Elsewhere, light was brought down in the form of lanterns that cast a soft burning orange glow, or the smoldering embers of tiny campfires that did little more than shone with small pin-prick needles of red light. In the late hour, the tents and rows and columns were sleepy, quiet, and dark. There stood at points men who sat idly around a dimly lit electrical lantern smoking and talking to each other in low voices as in the distance the murmuring clamor of the mess-tent and the central functions of the operating base continued its end-of-the-day din.

Lower down in the camp, down a rocky incline to the upper lip of the camp was where the men of the armored division camped segregated from the rest. Closest to where the equipment was kept, it was felt that it was better served for these men and the mechanics to quarter a quick slide down a dusty precipice from their equipment. Though the gentle incline couldn't be seen in the darkness of the night, it was surely there. White stones reflecting the blue light of the moon helped to guide them along the narrow paths between the tents.

They hadn't gotten far when stones began rolling down from the higher perch of the quarry's walls. A fist side rock bumped first into Hui's ankles startling him. He jumped aside as if trying to avoid a grenade before stopping to listen curiously to the cascade of sand, pebbles, and rocks rolling down the mouth. Tsung turned, hearing it too. And something else: there was the guttural sound of someone rolling down with them. And further than that: panicked angry shouting.

In the darkness he saw a figure of a man rolling and sliding down the shallow edge of the quarry, rolled up in a ball as he guarded himself against the stones as he took the quick way down the slope. “What the hell?” Hui asked as he watched the figure slide to the bottom and struggle to his feet. In the shadows both men noticed a rogue paper fly up into the air from under the man's arms.

“Cyka.” the man spat angrily, reaching up and grabbing the fluttering paper. With a staggering step he turned clumsily and limp on his foot to grab the flying paper in the moonlight as the two Chinese soldiers stood watching. 'Was this some Siberian nonsense?' both wondered.

The man caught the paper and turned to run again, seeing the two of them. “Oy... Cyka blyatt.” he swore again in a heavy breath. His hand dashed to his shirt and Tsung took a deep frightened breath in as he saw the flash of gun metal in the moon light.

“Shit!” Hui cried.

“Idi nahui!” the Russian cursed again, holding the gun out to the two of them. The two men couldn't clearly see the man, but if they could see him then they both knew he could see them well enough. And neither knew well enough what to do but raise their hands in shock. He after all had command now of the situation.

Scrambling on his feet the Russian passed them both by, switching the handgun between the two of them as he crept by. Time ticked by as the furiously frightened Russian held the two men up to his command. Both had no intention to fight as he moved between them, holding the gun to one side as he held Hui up, and froze Tsung with his cold gaze. In the dark light he could see his face clear in the moonlight; cold, brazen, and dirty.

From up top the quarry's crater's walls shouts echoed down from the distance. The Russian's face grew tight and startled as he whipped around, making quick bounding steps passed the two tank operators and looking up towards the main camp. From over the lip a man with a rifle appeared and shot towards him. The rifle cracked loud and angry as it muzzle flash lit up the night and the explosion of the bullet striking the rocky ground whipped the cold night. Tsung and Hui both flinched as a spray of shrapnel sprayed their legs and faces and the Russian was fast on the move in the spray of pebbles and rocks. With a few rapid shots from his handgun he returned fire on the rifle-man, having much more success as his bullets struck him in the chest in the night and he fell crumpled from up top.

Diving down the last stretch to the bottom of the quarry the attacking Russian dove for freedom over the last precipice as the rest of his pursuers caught up. Tsung's heart racked against his chest in a furious panic and Hui's breaths rose and fell in violent surprise. “You three!” a officer bellowed from the top of the short white cliff, “What are you doing standing around? Fucking catch that spying bastard!”

'A spy?' Tsung muttered in his thoughts. He turned to look the way the Russian bailed into the night, down into the pit.

“On our way!” Hui cheered, speaking for Tsung as he grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. He barely had time to protest before the bald cannon loader was diving him off the edge of the plataeu that hugged the edge of the quarry and they were off.

Rocks and sand slid by underneath Tsung as he slid down the steady slope of the quarry wall. Large stones knocked against his heels and his butt bumped over them as he went. He groaned at every instance he was bumped up. As he landed on his feet he keeled over, rubbing his soar bruised ass as Tsung grabbed him by the arm and threw him forward, drawing his revolver.

“Why are we chasing him?” Tsung protested as they looked for the Russian's trail in the moonlight.

“Don't challenge the MP's orders,” Hui replied coldly, “you don't need them mad.”

It didn't take them long to pick up on the spy's trail, long swept limping tracks dragged themselves through the dusty sand and fine stones. And it didn't take them long either to find the man they were chasing. Hearing them, the Republican agent turned from around the side of an armored car and fired off a few quick shots that buzzed over their heads. Acting quick Hui rose the pistol and fired off shots of his own that cracked and sparked off the shells of the vehicles. The spy screamed in surprise as the spark of a ricochet bullet lit up in front of his face and he was turning to run again.

“I'm reloading, shoot him!” Hui ordered.

Tsung fumbled for his own gun and plodded forward. He ran to the position the man had been standing and turned, seeing his spectral silhouette staggering between the vehicles. Hesitantly he rose his gun and fired one single quick shot and the infiltrator dropped screaming in agony in the salty dust. Seeing his dark body hit the ground in a lump filled Tsung at first with guilty shock, overcame slowly by a feeling of pride, like he had killed a fat rabbit for dinner.

“Got him!” Tsung shouted, turning to Hui who rounded around near him closing the cylinder on his revolver.

Turning back though, the moment of pride melted away. It was only fleeting, in the moonlit white-dust of the ground the black form of the Republican had disappeared. “Shit.” Tsung muttered.

Hui hurried forward, both his hands holding the revolver straight forward. Tsung ran after him like a school child until they reached the point he had shot him.

“You certainly shot him.” Tsung pointed out, on the ground was a pool of blood. It had dripped and smeared as the man had staggered to his feet and dashed off. Looking down at the ground, both men could make out the fine path of irregularly space drips of blood that zig-zagged along. Holding his gun out, Hui took the lead. Tsung followed warily, suddenly aware of the tensity of the night.

They didn't make more than a few steps when the spy they were hunting leaned out from behind a tank and shot at them. The bullets cracked passed Tsung's ears and he felt the burn of at least one cut across the surface of his arms. He recoiled reflexively against the pain and fired almost as a twitch. The roar of the handgun filled the night and scarred the Russian back into the night.

“You hit?” Hui asked.

“I-” Tsung began, he felt alright. All he felt was a burning sting across his arm and a light trickle of wet warmth as blood seeped from the wound down his arm. “I'll be OK.” he said, hoping for the best. He shook nervously from the rush of adrenaline in his system, and kept moving after Hui as they pursued their target.

Elsewhere in the quarry the voices of prowling security personnel echoed in the dark night. Sweeping beams from flash-lights lit up sections of the pit as they scanned every which way in the night. But with a trail, they had no where to go. Unlike Tsung and Hui who kept their eyes down to the ground, following the irregular and oddly spaced drops of blood.

“You mustn't have gotten him bad.” Hui pointed out as they continued on, “Maybe he'll slow down.”

Neither of them could reject the feel they were like hunter chasing after a wounded animal. At some point they might find him set up somewhere, tired and too injured to move. Then they'd have him.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be the case. All Tsung's bullet seemingly having done was leave a convenient trail that peppered the ground like the brass shell casings ejected from his gun.

On the trail of the intruder, the quarry fell silent. Tsung wondered if he knew there were more men hunting for him at the bottom of the pit, and firing his gun would get their attention. Hui considered if he had ran out of bullets, and was just now trying to keep a step ahead of them. They left the cover of the motor-pool, keeping their eyes on the ground for signs of blood and the disturbed dirt of a man dragging his foot along in a wide limping gait. At each corner Tsung turned tense, afraid of the probability of a gun barrel bearing down into his face with the cold sharp light of the moon and stars above.

He wondered: would Hui be there to save him if it came to that?

The agent they were after having left the motor pool threw away his abandon and by the direct course of the trail was attempting to cut a direct path to somewhere, throwing away his notions of simply weaving between the armored hulks of tanks and combat vehicles as it turned through the dark emptiness of the quarry. Tsung and Hui gave a quickened chase, with any luck they hoped the injured spy wasn't too far ahead, and they'll find him crumpled behind some rocks. But it wasn't any rocks he led them too, but a battered metal hatch at the far end of the quarry, thrown open in the side of the wall.

Large enough to allow in a large truck, it stood against the rocky wall of the mine at a slopping angle against the wall of the open-pit mine. A smooth concrete and steel throat led down into the sepulcher darkness inside. Hui held up his gun into the darkness, looking down at the ground to confirm the blood trail did indeed go inside. Just inside the hole someone had left an oil lantern burning softly just inside.

Tsung felt the apprehension just as much as his partner as they stood at the edge of a darkened underground oblivion. They stood there, hesitating. If the tunnel represented anything, it represented the entire notion of annihilation. A constant obtrusive barrier of all-consuming nothing, broken only by the burning lantern that sputtered in the cave-like breath just yards down from the entrance, marking the steady drop the floor made as it went. Not so close that its light spread out into the night, but just far enough that in the end, its glow was the eye of the abyss watching them. Neither men were surprised the other didn't want to go in.

And perhaps they lingered too long. Running up along them a security man caught up, his green helmet brandished with the insignia of the Chinese military police force. Held up along his melon-like head his gun flashed in the dim light of the night as a torch lit the ground at his feet.

“What's going on here?” he asked in a harsh demanding tone, turning to look down into the darkness of the pit beyond.

“That guy we're after,” Hui spoke, “We hit him, his blood trail goes down in there.” he said nodding into the perpetual darkness.

“Well there's a lamp down there!” the man barked, flashing his flash light towards the dancing flame of the small oil lamp. Salty rocks and gravel shone back against the warm yellow light as he scanned the inside of the tunnel's maw. “Why haven't you gone down to chase him.”

“We don't know where it leads!” Tsung blurted out, in a nervous bleating voice. The MP shot him a cold severe look, like that a disapproving father gives his kid.

“You two have to be fucking kidding me,” he groaned, “you two dumb shits are afraid of a little cave?” he scolded annoyed. He sighed deep and sneered as he looked in, taking the first steps through, “You two were first on the scene, you're with me. If you pussy out on me then I'll see that your both scrubbing the latrines for the rest of the war for this horse-shit.”

He went in, his light lighting up the rocky ribs of the cave walls. Hesitantly, Tsung and Hui followed. Tsung took the lantern as they passed it.

The tunnel they walked was long and straight, climbing ever steadily downward. In the floor the cuts made by trucks passing along the soft sand-packed floor was clear with the sharp hard shadows throw by the lantern and the flashlight. The walls were grooved and cut in softened rings, like that in the trachea. In the claustrophobic silence of this deep mine, the foot-steps of the three soldiers echoed off the walls as much as the drips of water from above did. The air tasted salty, and humid; already Tsung was sweating as the temperature and humidity slowly climbed.

“What is this place?” Hui asked, checking down and ahead of him every so often as he held his gun ahead with the light of the MP.

“Some extension of the salt mines.” the MP explained in a dry dusky voice, “We had scouted it out briefly, but no one wanted to go too deep. Places are flooded, others twist and turn. We just kept the hatch shut and locked, posted a guard alongside it. Didn't think anyone would throw it open.”

“D-do you think our man has a map?” Tsung asked, stuttering as he stepped over a ring of small blood droplets on the ground. He had to be careful to not smudge them, these were his way out.

“Can't say.” the MP growled, perpetually in a sour mood as he led the two through the briny tunnel.

After what felt like hours, the floor leveled off. Dropping off into a wide low chamber they stopped to scan the room. While the walls before had been white and muted brown, the floor, ceiling, and walls had taken on stripes of gray and muted reds sandwiched in layers from the pressure above. Scattered in the middle of the chamber rusting mine-carts lay on tracks half-submerged in puddles of water that shone a brownish-green as the lamp and torchlight shone off the tense flat surface of the stagnant pools. Here, the humid briny air had taken on a strong salty smell, with a mingling scent of bleach that ebbed and flowed with each gentle breath of the tunnels below.

“Damn.” Hui exclaimed.

“I hear it gets more impressive.” the MP remarked, scanning the ground for the blood trail. Amid the puddles of water that pools under neath cracks in the ceiling and gathered rust, it was difficult to tell where the blood went. But in dry patches a coagulating sheen of dark red would glimmer in the light, and they followed the trail of bread crumbs into the deeper caves.

Abandoned on the spot the three passed mine-carts on rusting iron tracks, picks, and mechanical jack hammers laid up on the ground or against the walls. But here the latent salt in the air and high moisture had turned each piece of equipment into a heavy chunk of rust that sealed and seized every possible moving part, rendering them a statue to an industry that had long abandoned them after the nation fell apart above it.

At points, crumpled cigarettes packs lay strewn on the floor with other miscellaneous pieces of refuse. Candy wrappers, cigarette butts, cans of kvass where the paint on the aluminum cans had faded and chipped away until they were barely legible until brought right in front of the face. There were abandoned lunch boxes, wooden boxes, and cardboard. Laying soaked in one salty puddle Tsung counted at least one wayward sock, forever divorced from the regular laundry.

They seemed to be following the trail of blood deeper still into the tunnels. The drops becoming much more regular and staggered as they wove from wall to wall. Their pray was tiring, becoming disoriented and tired in its frantic escape through the underground.

It was also here when the rocky walls and the exposed surfaces of the tunnel became much more dramatic.

As their lights opened up into a wider chamber carved into the rock the rock face exploded in front of their eyes in a plethora of hues and colors unmatched in any underground. Fiery reds and oranges banded together with nearly phosphorescent, photosynthetic greens and blues. Soft tans and beige crowned with bands of silvery white and gray.

Across the floor milky pools of green water swam with clouds of disturbed white and black like a cosmic display of suspension. Tsung was taken back as he mouthed his wonder at the wider cave. Rising the lantern higher to cast more light against the walls and ceiling.

Cut into the rock face concentric series of circular cuts were carved in succession like primordial design on porcelain and ceramic wares. They decorated the walls, etched into the mineral rich rock face from where workers more than a decade previous had bore into the rock wall with great grinding machines to collect the sparkling rock dust that would fall from the walls as they worked. Rusting iron spokes in the ceiling and walls from where electrical cables would have ran added to the color, granting the walls streaks of red as bright as blood from a fresh wound.

“He must have passed through here, the water is disturbed.” Hui pointed out, but Tsung hardly paid attention as he followed them at a distance into the oily, brine water that pooled at the bottom of this chamber, which had to be two stories tall by his estimation.

“We'll have to find where his trail picks up when we find a way out.” the MP added.

“If we do.” said Hui. The light from the flashlight swept across the wall only livening the drama of the colorful walls by making mineral spots glimmer bright like stars, even as the beam passed away from the spot they shone with the reflected light like small mirror dots.

Tsung wasn't paying much attention as he marveled, or at least until the gunshot. It tore apart the silent stillness in the cavern. More than that: it destroyed that. The compactness of the space echoed and amplified it and Tsung's ears rang terribly as he recoiled around to watch the MP standing with his hands clutched to his through. A long deep gash along the side squirted blood so thick in the moment it took for him to press against the wound his fingers were already heavy with it. Tsung was caught in horror, his heart palpitating fast as the MP stepped back several steps and fell back in the shallow ankle-high water around them, choking and sputtering through his final breaths as the water filled with the blood that squirted out in volumes from his neck.

Hui was the first to move, as he bound behind a column of rock. A second shot from the Russian spy's gun scattered Tsung and he himself dove to the safety of cover as the oil lantern exploded in his hands. The flame caught the fuel as he moved to the side, catching a splash of hot burning lantern fuel on his arms as he dove into cover.

The hot flames on his arm burned and in his panic he began slapping his arm with his hand, hoping to dose the flames. When that didn't work and the burning across his arm rose he surrendered to chance and dove his arm into the water and began loudly splashing. Between Hui and the Russian thief, fire was exchanged and each gunshot rang louder than a church bell in the enclosed space. The smell of gun smoke quickly came to overcome the smell of brine and the harsh humidity.

The MP's flashlight still shone in the water, giving the entire chamber an eerie aquatic glow as bright bands of light through rippling waves filtered across the exposed rock surfaces and lit the watery floor in bright colorful hues. Furthermore, the shot-through lantern had leaked its burning oil in the water which left a floating pool of flame an arm's reach from Tsung, spreading a harsh red-orange glow on the walls and further casting the chamber in harsh fire-light and knife sharp shadows.

Tsung picked himself up, fishing himself out of the water as well as his gun. Turning to look around the dark-side of the column of rock, the fire-fight had already stopped. A hanging silence filled the chamber that only accentuated the tinny ringing in his ears. He looked nervously to Hui, who returned the favor.

There was a moments worth of quiet hesitation in the air before Hui spoke. “Cover me.” he commanded. His voice was heavy and nervous though all the same, he lowered himself and crept through the water with his pistol raised, the barrel still smoked from the fire-fight that had just ensued. But the memory hardly mattered as much as Tsung heard his heart through the persistent ringing in his ears.

He drove a tank, why was he so bothered by this fire-fight?

Rounding the last column Hui pointed his gun down. Tsung had hardly watched the fire-fight ensue, but it didn't take much imagination to piece the scene back together. Hui stood up straight, holstering his side-arm as he picked up a leather-bound folder from the water.

“He's dead.” he said in a solemn tone, turning to walk to Tsung. He rung his fingers across his bald head as he turned to look down at the dead MP laying in the turning water, the fire from the broken lantern getting all too close to him. “How are you?” he asked Tsung.

The question was like a scissor cutting a string that was all too tight, it brought the young soldier back violently and he collapsed in the water shaking. “Oh, fuck.” he moaned to himself, “fuck, fuck.”

Hui walked up alongside his shaking crew-mate and patted his head, “It's alright, we're done here.” he said in a comforting tone. Or he hoped they were, with the stolen papers under his arm. He turned to look at the positions of the two bodies and solemnly nodded his head, “We'll get someone else to come down here and pick these two up.” he told his comrade, who was at the edge of hysteric tears as the entire situation came down on him, and the adrenaline rush came to a sudden and violent crash. It wouldn't be long until the stinging pain of an arm sized burn would creep up from his skin.

He wasn't supposed to be here. He shouldn't have been. What the fuck?

“Get your composure back and we'll head up to meet the rest.”