[h1]Siberia[/h1]
	[h2]Yerofeysky[/h2]

	
	“I wonder how everyone back home is doing.” Wu Hong spoke, cutting the still silence among the group as they marched along through the trees. Intermittently the radio would squeak or speak as someone along the line said something in it. Fleeting pieces of conversation would come and go, but nothing that brought significance.

	“Damn, you're finally going to speak?” Yu Huan asked, smiling as he hoisted the heavy radio comfortably up his back, “I haven't heard much of anything from you the whole time. What's on your mind?” he asked.

	“I figured these woods muted him.” Keung added, his voice faint under the weight of the packs. Hong turned to look at him and saw him smiling broadly from under sacks of overflowing green canvas.

	“No it's just... Been a while.” Hong said, “The last letter I sent was a day before we moved out. How long has it been now, nearly a week?”

	“Probably.” Huan said, “I stopped counting.”

	“Last I heard my sister was set to graduate school soon. She was ready to have her examinations. I don't know how she's done, I would like to know.”

	“My brother's wide was pregnant. I'd like to know who my nephew is. She was ready to deliver last I heard.” said Huan

	“Really? Congratulations. First for them?” Keung congratulated.

	“First niece, or nephew. I'd be happy to see a photo of them. When do you think we'll get time to send and receive any letters?” asked  Huan.

	“Probably when we stop moving.” Lei groaned, walking alongside Keung. His face was glowing red from the strain.

	The group came to a gentle hill and they began to climb it. “So how was it, home for you, Hong?”

	“Well it was... Quiet.” he said, “Not particularly bad, though spooky; I guess. We could see Korea if you went down the river. There was always a fear that if war broke out with Japan, we'd be the first in the way.”

	“So you joined the army?” Keung asked.

	“Yeah...” admitted Hong.

	“The Korean border? Isn't that a bunch of Anarchist communities, Union Party turf? What'd they think about you joining the army?” Lei huffed.

	“No one didn't say anything to me. My father just patted me on the shoulder and let me go.” said Hong, “I don't think anyone believed we would be in Russia!”

	Lei laughed, “What'd they think about Tibet?” he asked.

	“They hated it. Why?”

	“I know a few professed anarchists who hated the idea. Another who wanted to see it happen to break the power of the Dalai Lama. Then he got angry the Dalai Lama was mostly retained, if stripped of his political power.”

	“I can't speak for them all.” Hong said.

	“I think we're here.” Sergeant Ju Gan shouted from in front. Following him up, the rest of the patrol crested the hill, and from a clearing they looked down into the forest below. Cut into the bottom of a shallow valley buildings could be seen lining a rough grid of streets. A creek flowed through it.

	“Is this it?” Huang asked, kneeling down to prepare to drop the radio.

	“Might be, call it in.” Ju Gan said, dropping down himself to squat in the tall grass.

	Expertly laying the radio down Huang worked the machine and placed the receiver to his mouth. Speaking bluntly and plainly into it he began communicating their location. Working with Ju Gan they began making attempts to calculate their position to refine it.

	As they situation oriented itself, the rest of the squad gathered around and took a seat. In the grass flowers were blooming and bees flitted about. Hong wandered forward a few pieces to sit on a rock, listening to the birds and look down at the not-to-distant settlement nestled in the bosom of the wilderness. Through the trees the hints of a road could be seen. So too did the rails of a railroad break into and out of the trees, cutting across craggy, broken fields. In one direction along those rails were the Japanese. In the other direction was the darkness of Siberia's heart and the dysfunctional politics of western Russia.

	Seated on his rock Hong could not help but compare it to home. The clusters of small houses, public buildings, and other establishments surrounded by field and wood. He could not see much for farms around it though. But he could see it was a living community. From the houses thin trails of smoke rose and fishtailed in the hot summer air of Siberia. The sky was clear, and the sun was unhindered. Everything below seemed to shine in the emerald glow of the prehistoric forests of Siberia. Even this small isolated community.

	Finishing his duties Ju Gan stood up. “We're waiting here for a bit.” he declared, “We're going to need to wait for the rest of the company to come together and we're going to head into town and see what's happening.”

	“Yes sir.” tired voices responded, eager for a short reprieve before heading in.

	Walking to Hong, Ju Gan sat down on the rock along side him, propping his rifle up against his knees as he searched his pockets for a pack of cigarettes. “Remind you of anywhere?” he asked the young private as he found his pack.

	Hong didn't respond. He didn't know what to answer with. A no, perhaps? He became aware that he was certainly taking his time to look down at it, and perhaps that would be a silly answer. He couldn't say yes, because as close as it reminded him of home, he also couldn't come out and say it looked like it. It was missing much of what his home had, it was missing life.

	“I don't know if I ever found out, but do you smoke?” his sergeant said, offering him a cigarette. Hong looked over and shook his head and Gan withdrew the pack, putting one in his mouth and searched his pockets again. “I heard you talking back there.” he added, diving his hands into his pockets.

	“Oh, yeah?” asked Hong.

	“Indeed. I can't say this place reminds me of anywhere. But fuck if we're not here- Where the hell did I put my lighter?” he grumbled angrily as he searched his pockets, finding nothing.
	
	“Maybe it's in your bags?” Hong suggested.

	“Probably. Fucking hell. Forget it, never mind.” he said, giving up. Opting to chew on his cigarette instead.

	The two sat there quietly, as the rest of the squad came to migrate around them. Bao and Qi eventually wound their way over, taking a seat in the tall grass with their rifles in their hands. Over time the forest began to turn and churn as foot steps broke the silence. Traipsing through awkwardly the other teams meandered their way to them, stepping from the trees on an odd course and almost missing them entirely. In time the hill began to fill up as the remainder of the company gathered in.

	As they gathered around, officers decided they would become too conspicuous early on, and they were moved to behind the tree line. The fear was the village would be alerted, and they might resist or even send out an alert. As groups found their way in small cooking fires were lit on the opposite side of the hill, and rations were heated. Formal lines of communication were established back, or attempted. A census was taken. As heads were counted the commanding officers in the unit went off to make their decision, and several of the non-commissioned, Ju Gan was one of them.

[hr]

	The body of foreign soldiers that walked into the village gave pause to the few that remained there. Standing back aghast the Russian civilians stood and gawked at the uniformed Chinese soldiers who walked in formation into the village. A standard had been unfurled and was carried through the gravel street through the inter-playing shade and sun cast by the trees and village homes. In the center of town the bell tower of a single church rose above the roofs, being the only major landmark in the village. Among them walked Yu Huan, who with the rest of his squad fell in the rest of their group to be the vanguard into the isolated Siberian community. As it were, they would take the temperature, gauge the threat in town and if no resistance was met establish the Chinese presence.

	For all the silent pomp the Chinese entered with, it felt anti-climatic. They entered into a town as liberators, but without an enemy to fight. There wasn't any clear distinction of who was an enemy here and who was not. With wary gazes they searched the empty windows as they passed. In Huan's hands his rifle felt heavy, burdened by the tension that hung on his shoulders.

	Passing by open doors he could hear the whispers of women holding their children back from the strange people entering their town. Their red flag flew bright and vivid in the summer sun.

	Huan pulled his attention from the awe struck and terrified villagers to over the shoulders of his comrades. At the head of the column strode their commanding officer. His long great coat hung down to his ankles and fluttered with every step. The folded collar revealing the fur lining, and his cleanly shaven neck. His cap was an unadorned crown, and the tip of his jian sword rested on his shoulder as he marched ahead unencumbered by any weight, carried aloft by his spectacle of command.

	A figure stepped aside into the street, dressed in an old suit. The man looked as if he had not cleaned or shaven in a while. His beard had grown out and was ragged and wild. His hair was pulled back against his skull and tied in a knot behind his head. He seemed nervous and apprehensive as he walked out into the street before the company and smiling tensely he began to speak, his confidence wavering and frightful, “Z-Zdravstvuyte!” he hailed.

	The officer rose a hand and halted the company. He made a series of quick curt orders to his men. One of which was for them to stand at ease, Huan could lower his rifle. He looked to his side to where Bao and Qi stood, they kept a hold of their rifles, but allowed their posture to drop some. From the ranks a junior officer stepped forward and joined with his senior counterpart, both approached the man in the road.

	In low voices words were exchanged. Clearly neither the commanding officer or the man could speak the same language, and the conversation was carried out through a translator. It was a long conversation, or felt like it. The tension in the column mounted as men shifted in their boots and turned to look at the spectators with wary nervous feeling. As the sun beat down on them, a conclusion must have been met. The senior officer turned back to his men, he was a clean trimmed soldier, if not for the thin beard growing on his chin.

	“We're staying.” he announced. Not making the circumstances feel even more climatic.