It is no secret that in the past half-century a dynamic shift has been undertaken in China greater than any mass movement or revolution in at least Asia. With the changing of the eras the once great Qing found themselves out of touch and out of power. And with the passing of the eras so too did the people of China find themselves captured by the movement of consciousness and foreign ideology which not only shone a light on the inability of the Qing to rule, but on the modernity of its dynasty and its institutions. Conspiring powers ultimately brought to the Qing its autumn period, which rapidly accelerating came upon its early winter days with the the revolution in Wuchang. The assumption to power of Sun Yat-sen as president of the nascent Republic of China in Nanjing marked what many believed at the time to be a course set to modernity and westernization under the new Republic. To the intellectual and the traveled the hopes of the Republic was that it would become a bend in the river of history, steering the waters of China from stagnant archaic antiquity to the fresh clean streams and bends of the modern world with modern government. But principally at the completion of the Revolution and the abolition of the monarchy in 1912 the conditions in China did not change for the better as the nation divided and peeled back at the seams. The nation no longer came to resemble a cohesive whole but a broken house with each room a feuding member of the same family. With a house divided, the Chinese Nation came to question its course and its self. Was modernity fundamental to Chinese sovereignty in the 20th century, or did our futures lie in the past, with monarchy? As the century wore on and as the Japanese invaded our homeland we as a people grappled with this question, seeking to answer it until we got our final question in its latest revolution. The breaking of aristocratic and bourgeoisie power in China by Communist Revolution has thus far shown and created the single strongest and single most stable government in the Chinese nation since the abolition of the monarchy in 1912. Infusing the state with the sort of stability and peace of mind it has not had in over half a century it has conducted itself with grand shifts in power to bring formally to an end the warlords, the emperors, the viceroys, and the banker which had so far lorded over the Chinese state with hungry eyes. But how is this so? What change has there been in the national fabric of the nation for there to be so? Has there been something for once with so much power that it able to impress itself over the heads of dynasty seekers, or could there be said to be something more subtle woven into the social fabric of the state? To understand this history of stability so far, the principles of power must be understood. For it is in power and its use and its distribution that determines the success of a state and the revolutionary character on which it rides. What structure does power manifest itself in? What physical material and in what way is material used to benefit and shape the structure and the power? And of the amorphic, abstract state? The law? The Ideology? These facets of power can be defined simply into three categories, the Three Material Facets: the state's capital, the national structure and the state's ideology. To further break down the definitions the state's capital is inclusive of those resources which it needs to survive; its water, its food, its industrial and raw materials, and its capacity to manufacture commodities with these resources and the means by which it operates it. The ideology is its politics, its religion, and its structure, simply the way in which the physical resources of the realm are ordered and structured. And then how it is all packaged and structured. If the material conditions are the locations, the cities and villages in a country side than the ideology is the road, and the structure the placement. To understand this flow of power is however not as simple as simply knowing its definitions. For it is in its use that can be truly understood. In the antiquated time of man power was thought to have been derived from gods, or a singular god. To trespass against the will of the gods was to trespass against the law, and the gods being all powerful their impressive power could smite any who would do ill against them. In political structure, the relation of man to god was manifested in the King or the Emperor, who being the divinely appointed servant of the gods on Earth or in that part of the world carried out his or her actions as divine law. To transgress against the king was to transgress against the gods. As befitting of a man who is a god on Earth, it was to him all the things in the kingdom or the Empire belonged to. All was his property, and with all of his property was all of its power. The material flow of power can thus be explained simply in the relationship of a single man owning the vast majority of property in a region to call it a state, and all those hangers on dependent on the property directly or indirectly were his subjects. Their existence became central to the use of and allocation of the royal property, and through the royal property they offer him their patronage and loyalty. As through history the growth in scale and complexity of this model clearly lends itself to the demands of change and reform from within. But the keystone at the top of the structure is and has always been the king or emperor; or whoever has had the most power over them. To the people of any rank their privileges and freedom has come with the attitudes and position of the dynasty or figure in power. Through the greater part of Qing rule, the Qing great house had sought to expropriate the powers and privileges of rival groups and individuals within the power structure of China to ensure their dominion. Whether in the granting of land rights or licenses to sell or in use of the Great Canal the powerful hand of the Qing sought to exercise its power in the only manner its system permitted: the distribution of and rights to use or distribute the material wealth and commodities of the Empire. For this meddling the Chinese state was weakened as the stately princes and capitalists of Europe came to overwhelm and dominate China's weakness under Qing mismanagement. But as it was the immeasurable power of the Qing dynasty had meant that for many of the Chinese who might have been able to resist, the possibility of revolt was a narrow thread to walk, at either end the armies and magistrates of the Qing dynasty stood poised to slay the man seeking freedom from within the antiquated Chinese state-structure. This relationship between man and the Qing court was no worse shown than in the decrees it issued it towards the dress and manner the Chinese people were deemed to display themselves. Forced to wear their clothes and hair slavishly in submission to the Qing way the long braids we wore in our hair was much a bond as the chain around the people's neck. But if there was any morality or mind to freedom within the Qing court it was their isolation that prevented them from realizing it. For in the structure of a kingdom it is the imposed isolation of its rulers that best maintain it, lest they are caught and killed or morality grips their heart. Buried behind the Confucian bureaucracy and within the cloistered confines of the Inner Court the Qing nobles presided over a country their own while pretending it to be so. They were blind to the progress of the world, and it was in their high tower that they realized too late the spears raised to them in anger were far too near, and the end far too close. [right][i]On Power and Politics Hou Tsai Tang December 9th, 1954[/i][/right] [h1]China[/h1] [h2]Beijing[/h2] [h3]May 28th, 1960[/h3] The conference hall in the National Congressional complex was again being put to use. In the soft yellow glow of chandeliers guests – various representatives or officers in the departments of state, congressmen, and a few military representatives – were already filing into the chambers as the last touches were given before the staff of the congressional hall could give it their approval. Starting softly the amiable and floating strings of conversation rose into the air and began to weave into the grand fabric of conversation among large crowds. The tall ceilings of the conference hall began to echo with a hundred voices and the echo grew more as parties of one or two filed in. “I told him that if he wanted to actually go anywhere he might as well go to the universities.” a thin bureaucrat said, leaning back in a chair at the head of the room. He spun his fingers through his long messy white beard that lay across his red vest shirt. His sleeves rolled up to let his hands free, and the underlying fabric forming a white cuff, “But he's a stubborn and stupid kid, he wanted to travel the country, said he wanted to go to Shanghai before going to college. I told him: you're nearly as dumb as his uncle if he didn't try to improve himself first before life.” “What happened to his uncle?” Hou asked, seated next to him, his longer fingers resting on a tall, half-full glass of Huangju, a dark colored fermented drink derived from rice and grains. Ironically its name meant Yellow Wine. “He went ahead and joined the army. The Republican army! He died in some sorry skirmish with the Japanese later that year.” the other bureaucrat said. “I'm sorry.” Hou remarked. “No reason to.” the older man said with a groan. “No, I mean it.” “Why so? He fought for Chiang Kai-Shek.” “Wasn't people like him that banned us as a party from the Republic. I don't fault him.” The older man shrugged indifferently and muttered to the effect of dismissal. “So, what do you know about this Yaqob man we're supposed to be greeting today?” the older man asked. “Hebei needs to know?” Hou asked the man, a congressman. He bowed his head, “He may not mean much to me, to us. But if the Committee on the International is going to throw this spectacle I might as well see what the fuss is about.” “Before you go asking, I can't give you details.” “Shame, what for? We're going to see him here today. Why don't we get to know now?” “Because I don't want any rumors or gossip.” Hou said sternly. “He's bringing a prince.” a woman's voice said from behind Hou. The chairman jumped, nearly knocking over his glass of wine as he turned. Hou Ju stood behind Hou, bowing courtly to the congressman who shot from his seat. “And the Ambassador's name is Akale.” “Ms. Ju.” the congressman remarked in a low voice, “Why don't you keep her at home?” he asked Hou directly. “I couldn't if I tried.” Hou said with a sigh, looking up at his wife as she slid over to them. “And how are you?” she asked, she didn't pretend to hide her offense at the earlier remark. The congressman only scoffed and turned his attention back to Hou. “So our ambassador brings royalty. I suppose the secret's out.” he said, “You going to try to turn him into a communist then?” “I don't think that would be appropriate.” Hou answered him. His voice was tense and bitter, “I leave his personal opinions up to him.” “Well maybe then when he goes home he'll change something. A communist king, who would have ever thought.” “Yes,” Hou began, sipping from his drink. He began to wish he could change the discussion. He caught Ju looking at him from the corner of his vision. “That would be strange.” “So, Ju... How did you learn about this?” the congressman asked. “A wise woman's intuition.” she answered cryptically, “Now can you excuse me, I need to speak to my husband before it begins.” The congressman looked between them and rose to his feet begrudgingly. “Very well.” he conceded, leaving the two to themselves. “You want to go for a walk?” Hou Ju asked. “Why?” Hou sharply asked. “That's why.” Ju said, hearing the subdued sharpness in his voice. She held a hand and rose him to his feet, “I doubt it's the drink, but you've been on edge all morning.” she observed in a soft tone of voice, leading him out the back. “So many state dinners, official meetings, congressional disputes, politburo meetings, a civil war with who knows how many friends and family killed; you're not going to break here are you?” she asked as they headed through a back door into a secondary hallway around the back. A few people walked about it, but the pace of their step and dead-set expressions made it known they were only intent on the rolls they had to do. She lead him around to a back room and opening the door lead him in and closed the door behind them. It was little larger than a closet. In fact from what was collected in the room it might have been. Wayward filing cabinets, wooden crates and cardboard boxes. Even the interior was unfinished compared to the red carpets and wood paneled walls of the rest of the assembly building. “You've been a little off since this morning too. I think something's on your nerves.” she said, sitting on a stack of crates, pulling up her cheongsam just enough she could bend her knees enough to be comfortable. Hou looked down at her as she up at him. There wasn't any sweetness in her expression and in fact her demeanor was sharp and investigating. The lines and wrinkles of her face looked deeper as she frowned up at him. “I'm sure you know better than me on this, Tsai-Tang. But I get the impression you're putting principles before reality.” He lowered his head, and nodded, “It's silly, I know.” he said. “Now, I wasn't there for that particular day you must have discussed this with the rest of the cohorts. So I don't know if you know anything I don't know.” she said as she rose. Disarmingly she grabbed both of Hou's hands in her own and began to dance. Without music she lead the chairman of the Party, and the Grand Secretary of the Politburo about in a slow confined waltz in the center of the room. “You heard of Mombassa?” Hou Ju shook her head. Hou continued, “It's a city on the coast. It was put to siege and the intelligence we've picked up is that the city was put to the torch. It was a massacre.” “I don't see how that applies to Ethiopia.” Hou Ju responded. “It does because the people who took the city are closely related to the Ethiopia government. The Swahili are in a special relationship to the Ethiopian crown.” “So you're worried about what it means to be associated with them knowing what happened?” Hou was silent for a long moment as the two swayed and turned to nonexistent music. “When the topic was first raised among Politburo we didn't have a complete picture.” he said in a low tone, “We figured it was pretty straight forward. But in the days leading after I kept receiving reports and revisions as the information we have available changes and is updated.” “Well this is diplomacy, I'm sure the issue can be straightened out.” Hou looked troubled. He didn't buy the reasoning. But the conversation was helping to take the weight off his shoulders and he felt certainly more relaxed. “Besides, if you were thinking you had to bring it up tonight then you don't have to, I'm sure of that much. “You feeling better now?” she asked. Hou pretended not to hear the question at first, looking away. Looking back he said, “What about revolutionaries acknowledging royalty?” he smiled coyly, Ju rolled her eyes. “You're acting like a Unionist.” she remarked, stopping the dance and letting go of his hands. “We have a dinner to go back to.” she said. Heading back into the conference hall they were greeted by a uniformed soldier. Bowing low for the two he said quickly and succinctly, “The delegation landed at the airport five minutes ago. They're on their way.” [hr] Beijing was the grandest city Yaqob had ever seen. It dwarfed Addis Ababa in both size and population, its smallest suburbs as big as the provincial capitals of the Ethiopian Empire. They passed by ancient neighborhoods of weathered stonework and slanting roofs, crammed into small spaces like the slums that surrounded the Ethiopian capital. As they entered further into the city, its heart glowing with electric light so the night sky was painted a dull pink-orange, the environment changed. It became fresh and new. Instead of an ancient city, it had the heart of a space colony. Row houses with new coats of paint lined perfectly square streets. Walls were painted with images of powerful revolutionaries, square-jawed men and happy women, marching with the tools of industry and peace held aloft like weapons. Buildings for public business looked like nothing he'd ever imagined, great bricks of stucco and glass, the signature slanted roofs of Asian crowning shapes with European flavors. There were cars, people, light! The activity and modernity of Beijing touched his young heart. It did more than touch, it grabbed it, squeezed it, set his breast ablaze. How lucky was he to live here! Not in some stuffy dormitory beneath the castles of dusty European aristocrats. He was in the middle of it all! On the precipice of the future! The Chinese driver said something, but Yaqob didn't understand a word. Akale Tebebe, his legs crossed beneath his flashy giraffe-studded caftan robe, squawked a little Chinese back. Akale translated it for Yaqob. "He says the city was burned during the war. It all had to be rebuilt." They drove into a plaza flanked on three sides by a monstrous building. It was two stories except for in its dominant center, built of stone and brick, its windows narrow, with the swooping sort of shingled roof traditional to Asia. Men in pine-green uniforms, either soldiers or police, lined the plaza. The two Africans were greeted at the door by men in suits, who spoke Chinese to Akale and led them both inside. They passed by the colorful columns of the hall, footsteps echoing on the stone floor. Yaqob felt like he'd entered the palace of a God. They passed through the doors and into the reception hall. A page announced something in Chinese, but Yaqob only heard his own name and that of Akale. They were greeted by a sea of Chinese officials. Yaqob recognized the diminutive form of Hou Sai Tang at a table in the middle of the room. He was star struck, but he tried not to show it, standing next to the confident looking Akale, feeling like he was the older man's consort rather than heir to the seat of Solomon. [hr] Hou rose on seeing the ambassador. With one hand on the back of his chair he scanned the crowd, in one part he was searching the heads of state to see their reactions to the black men now standing center in the banquet hall. On the other hand he was searching for his wife. It appeared Ju had left him out to handle this alone. Though to his relief, the expressions and outward reaction of the delegates, ministers, and officers here today showed less an apprehension to the noble, but more a curiosity to his race. It was for the room, perhaps everyone, perhaps all but one or two, that this was the first time they had seen a black man. And turning to look back on the new ambassador – or rather, his attache - he began to wonder: how had he been so anxious? Why so afraid. The man was young. Still a boy even, he possibly had to still be receiving an education and this left Hou feeling more afraid for him, then he was for himself. The young prince, to Hou looked bewildered and awestruck at his new surroundings. His attire and demeanor struck the Chinese statesman as surreal, with what could have been the ancient attire of his own people, something Hou had no trouble being worn when the Han dynasty ruled China. He was tall, dark, but with a youthful spring and an astounding ball of curly hair on his head. As the youthful prince and Akale approached Tsai Tang he bowed tensely, "Welcome to China.” Nearby a man with a camera took a quick picture of the first meeting. Looking from Akale to his companion he hoped one or the other, hopefully both could speak Chinese. "Mister Chairman, I'm Ambassador Akale Tebebe" the companion said, "This is Le'ul Yaqob Yohannes Iyasu, heir to the throne of Solomon." Akale said something to the prince in their African language. Yaqob smiled shyly. "Hello" he said in awkwardly pronounced Chinese. Hou smiled invitingly and returned the favor, returning the favor. But he could not help but feel the clear language barrier between he and the young ambassador would be a considerable obstacle. Yaqob's clear inability to speak the language further underscored what was becoming his doubt in the new mission. Looking to the side he noticed the same apprehensions hidden behind the practiced mask of politics in many of the people present. "But come, sit." Hou invited, motioning to the ambassador and his aide to take a seat at the table. Waiters were beginning to appear at the edge of the room, testing the waters to determine if it was time to serve the dinner of the evening. Yaqob sat down first. Ambassador Akale sat down next, taking the place across from Hou. With the two men seated at the table the mood in the room began to gradually shift, marked by the delivery of that night's meal. Weaving between the tables to set down bottles of Kaoliang - sorghum - wine and small bowls of soup at each of the tables. As the dishes were laid out, Hou set out conversationally, "Akale, so where did you study for this post?" "The University of Lisbon." Akale said, taking a drink of wine. Yaqob followed his move like a shadow. "Graduated 1949. Back then there wasn't a lot of European universities open to foreign students. Half of them were burned down." the Ambassador took another drink, "I learned Chinese over the spring. We have a tutor, man who fled to Europe after your war, makes his money teaching your language to foreigners. Yaqob here didn't have time to learn. We'll get him taught. Until then, I'm afraid he'll be a little quiet." Hou looked between Akale and Yaqob, "Perhaps we can talk in something he may know?" Hou asked in English. It was tense, measured, and unsure. He spoke slowly, carefully measuring and considering the words. But despite the rigors, the accent; it was passably organic to say the least. "Ah! I understand!" Yaqob exclaimed, beaming with delight. Akale laughed. "Very well done, Mr Chairman." he said. "You can thank the yankees." Hou smiled weakly, taking a sip of his soup. "So Yaqob, what puts you in China?" "The instistance of my brother, the Emperor." Yaqob said, "Do not get me wrong though, I love that I get to be here. The work you are doing is important. I'd rather be here than Europe." And there is no place I'd rather be but here, at home." Hou remarked, sipping his soup. "I can't blame you." Yaqob said, "You have done so much to improve it. I hope I can learn from China, and take my lessons home to improve Africa." Akale said nothing, watching the other two, sipping at his Sorghum wine. "If that is what you want, I am sure plenty of accommodations can be made." Hou said with a wide smile. Yaqob reminded him of a man, a companion back during the revolution. Full of fire and energy. He had great respect for that and he found himself leaning in, subconsciously pushing aside the bowl of soup. "In China, we have a great respect for people who seek to learn. Those who wish to master their own education are thought highly of." "I would love that." Yaqob said. Akale shot a quick glance. He tried to play it off as mild surprise, but for a single second, his expression was telling. Hou caught Akale's expression, laughing he leaned back. "Putting this together will need both sides." he said, almost turning to Akale as if to accommodate his feelings, "In the mean time you will need to work on your Chinese, Prince Yaqob." [h1]China[/h1] [h2]Northern Heilongjiang[/h2] [h3]June 9th, 1960[/h3] Nestor Yanikovich walked up stone steps scaling the embankment of a low hill. Guided alongside by the aged Tsu Ju-Long. The old general hobbled forward with surprising energy and vigor on a cane ahead of the Russian exile as they made their way up the embankment. Behind them on the gravel road a military car sat idling, attended to by a well kept officer who crossed his legs and leaned against the hood of the vehicle as the two superior officers crossed up and out of view. Conquering the steps they stood up in a wide open yard. The grass was only a heavy outline for a vast sand and gravel field where soldiers in uniform performed drills as a unit or exercised in the yard. At a distance on the far side a grove of trees shaded officers who lounged in the cool grass watching their juniors train in the early June sun. Winter had left in full in the northern corner of the country, and the afternoon was warm and bright with only a few faint specters of clouds in the skies. The air was clear to out beyond the garages and barracks of the fort and the hills of northern Heilongjiang rolled in the distance, carpeted in spruce and evergreens. Several of the exercising soldiers had noticed them come up the hill, and dropped what they were doing to stand at attention for the elderly superior officer. Casually he returned their attentions with a light wave and turned to Nestor, “We'll go around the edge.” he beckoned, and lead the Russian along the edge of the yard. Distantly the officers were beginning to notice the appearance of the commander and were rising from their lazy, placid rest and standing at attention for him. Noticing their change in disposition the rest of the unit slowly took notice and faced the commanding officer and his guest. “Sir, we didn't know you would be here.” a young officer said stiffly, standing at attention with his chin raised. His hat was off and was slung under his arm while the other hung stiff like a plank at his side. “At ease lieutenant.” Tsu Ju-Long bid, “and order the others to return to their drills.” he bid in a soft, quiet voice. The regular enlistedmen still stood at attention, facing the side he and Nestor had walked by; towards their left. The lieutenant relaxed and turned towards the others, “At ease, back to work.” he ordered in a loud rolling voice. Turning back to Ju-Long he asked, “What can I help you with?” “I'm looking for General Aiwen Wu. Do you know where he is? He's not in command.” “He's sparring with some of the senior officers. I can can take you to him.” A rather short, round lieutenant offered. Ju-Long smiled and nodded. “Can you take us to him?” he asked. “Certainly.” said the officer. He turned towards the garages, “He's over here.” From the grass several yards from the training yard they stepped onto asphalt. They rounded the corner of one of the garages, brushing passed soldiers doing maintenance on the various equipment of the unit - trucks, tanks, armored cars – in the open sun. As soon as they noticed them, the maintenance teams rose to attention, but were as courteously as before bought out with a gentle raise of the commander's hand. Inside the garage a rough arena had been set out on the concrete floor. A piece of floor was covered thick with loose cardboard. Already on it two men were fighting, exchanging quick short jabs with their hands and elbows, parrying and dodging exchanges as a loose circle gathered around, either involved in the contest or taking a brief reprieve from their duties. At the center, two men dressed in right circled each other with hands raised. Dark bruises had already been planted under their skin and the darkening patches spoke of their freshness. With a quick jab one thrust forward only to be batted away with the wrist of another. A leg was swept up and the other's head ducked. Dropping below the high swinging leg the man dove forward with arms out stretched and planting one low on the thigh, just above the knee and the other high on the hip. In a single motion as the leg came down to be trapped the combatant was lifted and turned about. Astonished cheers echoed in the garage as the one went high and was thrown down to the ground. The thrown fighter had just enough time in turning to raise his hands, and landed with a sudden hard thud on the cardboard mats and slid. He had touched the ground, he lost. Applause and cheers echoed in the garage. “Comrade Aiwen Wu, you have a visitor.” the lieutenant shouted over the din. It quickly quieted as everyone turned, and saw the commander. He gave them terse nods as the crowd parted to make way for the man who had won. Dressed in white pants and a white tank top soaked with sweat the general was a thinly cut figure, sinewy in build but firm in his arm. He rose his hand to his high brow. “Ju-Longzi.” he said. “Wu.” the commander said with a short bow, “An unorthodox place to fight.” he observed. “We agreed he'd set the place to spar. He wanted it here.” he said, looking back to his competitor who being lifted back to his feet turned and bowed low to his superior officer. “I would have wanted it elsewhere, but he wanted to give his boys something to watch.” Tsu Ju-Long nodded indifferently, “You weren't in your office, and we have some official business to discuss with you.” he said, “We came to look for you.” “Do we? No letters or brief then?” the general asked. “We're on a time table.” Tsu Ju-Long informed him, “As soon as we made the decision we didn't think it would be best to go through the motions.” Aiwen Wu looked between them with a quizzical expression. “Well you can tell me on the way to the command center.” he said, heading out to a waiting car. As they approached a soldier produced a folded coat from the back seat. A hat was laid on top. “As it would appear someone in Congress wants a war, but not next year but in the next couple months.” Tsu Ju-Long spoke as they walked towards the car. His step punctuated by the firm click of the cane. “As such we're assuming we can get away with trimming some of the bureaucratic procedure.” “So we've accelerated something?” Wu asked as he took the uniform from the waiting soldier, who bowed as soon as his arms were relieved. “We are.” Ju-Long confirmed, “Lou Shan Yuang has already been coerced to go along with it. So whatever's going on is in the confidence of the leading congressman to see this done.” “Have we heard anything from Politburo?” Wu asked as he threw on the general's coat, a long heavy green great coat that trailed down to just above his ankles. Large pockets covered the breast and emblems of rank decorated the shoulders, red epaulets with yellow diamond, yellow sash over the shoulder. “Politburo has been tacitly silent. I think they're willing to see this head into Congress before issuing their critique.” “I see.” Wu said in a softened voice, putting the cap on his head. With the white fighting clothes covered by coat and rank the man looked more the general he had before. The attending soldier reached over and opened the door of the car for the officers, and from the back bench seat he removed his final symbol of rank, that which many officers carried: the Jian sword. “Your friend will need to ride in front.” he added. “I do not mind.” said Nestor. “Where are we going with this war? Japan?” Wu asked as they sat in the car and the engine was started. “Very quick to plan and prepare a war with them.” “No, we're going to get involved in Russia.” Tsu-Long informed him. The car began to move and Wu turned to look at him, surprised. “All the way to Moscow?” “I'm not sure yet. The current plan as I've only got it was that we're going to occupy Siberia.” “That's a lot of land.” Tsu-Long pointed out, “Obviously, and it's none the lesser task in the Russian East. What makes you think we can do it.” “Because we may have allies.” Ju-Long nodded to Nestor, “This is Nestor Yanikovich. He's an aid to our ally moving ahead in Russia.” “Nice to meet you.” Wu greeted, tipping his cap. Nestor returned the favor with the slightest of salutes with his finger. “I hope we will work successfully together.” he said. “Well tell me then, what do you expect to accomplish with us?” the general asked. “We'll have to see.” Nestor said back, “For now I'm interested in your cavalry. How is it? What are we using, riding?” “Particulars.” Wu smiled, “We'll go over the details in my office.”