[h1]Siberia[/h1] [h2]Yerofeysky[/h2] How long had they been there? By now the warmth of the sun was beginning to fade and a faint chill nipped the air. It was September but Wu Hong was starting to feel as it were time to count down to the first snow. He could feel it, a chill wind was blowing in from the north. But it did little to quell the simmering tension that lay beneath their feet. Time and time again they were beginning to worm their way further out into the forests around the village, probing out along the train tracks that ran just outside of town. Searching and securing but accomplishing little. The attack that had been... How long was it, a week ago? Two? Hong had lost track. Others had too. But when there wasn't patrol there was nothing else to do in the small Russian village that would occupy them. Some of the men took to drinking, or playing games. When the weather was comfortable some would take their clothes off and swim in the creak, wading off somewhere down stream where the water was deeper. The water was like ice. But now it was getting colder and the thought was a lot less enticing. There were still games to play, women to try and swoon. But there were so few for so many soldiers and competition was as fierce as it was oppressive to the girls of the village and the attentions they received was becoming too oppressive. The sergeants were beginning to crack down. Wong had been tempted, but the relationships were growing cold when he had thought about it for once. And he had taken up walking. He spent much of his time walking on patrol only to come back and walk some more. Taking off his boots and strolling barefoot along footpaths between the empty or ramshackle houses, alongside the sad church at the center of the village, and out to pastures and through orchards. When he ventured too far one of his comrades from his squad would join him and they'd slip into conversation. They would talk about home, feel homesick. Talk about what was next, and become afraid of what was to come. There was no new orders coming in. No commands to move out. The survey teams had reached them a few days previous and they told them about how the men that were clearing the way to carve a road from there and into China were behind them. But it would take months for them to reach their position. The snow would be on the ground. They were behind schedule. They wondered if things were going according to plan. Something felt wrong, and that tense fear that boiled beneath their feet became hotter. He sat now, having walked straight for ten hours. Logs had been laid out along the edge of the village center as benches and their moss covered bark turned up like cushions. To a weary Wu Hong it was a respite for his feet as he sat rubbing them. They were black with dirt and other filth and they throbbed dully and ached under him. Pressing his fingers into the bottom of his foot he looked around, watching the still unmoving scene of the village square. Small groups of people stood around, mostly soldiers, their rifles hanging from their backs. They watched small groups of villagers move about, and they them. As he sat, someone spoke up behind him. Hong jumped. “You doing anything, soldier?” said a dry voice. He looked up and behind, standing over him was one of the company medics, broad shouldered and dour. “No.” Hong answered. “Good, I need you. Come with me.” he motioned, walking away. Hong immediately shot up and scrambled after him. “Where are your boots?” the medic asked. “At my bunk.” “Why are they there?” “My feet were getting sweaty.” “How are your feet now?” “Fine.” The medic nodded. He lead him up the steps of a faded gray house and opened the doors for him. “Can you wash your hands before we do anything?” he asked. “Sure, but- what are we doing?” Hong asked hesitantly. “Need your help on a patient. There's a pot of warm water over there.” the medic motioned, pointing him towards a pot over a stove. Faint ropy strands of steam lazily rose from the water. The stove itself was dead. Pensively, Hong watched the medic walk off into another room. The doorway was a simple sheet nailed on the frame. With tentative nervous steps he went to the stove and dunked his hands in the water. It was scalding and he recoiled back and rubbed his arms. The skin glowing red well passed the wrists. Cringing, he braced to plunge his arms in again, and vigorously rubbed his hands together as he splashed his arms into the water again. Before he could boil his arms he pulled them out and shook off the hot droplets. The sensitive skin burned as the cold air touched it, and the wash evaporated from his skin. Both hot and cold. From the backroom came the medic again who followed suit in plunging his hands in. “Make sure to keep them up, don't touch anything.” he told Hong as he was about to lower them down to his legs. He froze and held them up and the medic finished. “Follow me.” the medic said in a flat tone, and led him into the backroom. Arms raised. Hong mimicking him as he walked with his hands raised and as he walked through the curtain, bowing low backwards so the fabric did not touch his hands. In the room beyond a wide number of lanterns had been positioned about, filling it with a warm orange light. The windows were thrown open and on a table that must have been salvaged from the kitchen lay a young man, his head resting on a pillow. His face was pale and sickly, and there was a greenish tint to his complexion. Two other men stood in the room, another medic and a soldier who stood next to the table speaking in hushed Russian to the villager on the table. He looked to be passing in and out of consciousness. A set of surgical instruments lay on an end table pulled up nearby with the steel of the tools wrapped up inside shining in the warm and cool light of lantern and late summer sun. The other medic noticed Hong and his fellow doctor step in and he began speaking, “We're low on sedatives and could not appropriate anything extra.” he said, “The man here has a swollen gallbladder which we need to remove. Glad you could help us.” Hong felt his face go pale, finally realizing what he was here to do. “I was never told.” “Never the less you're here.” the other medic said, “We got the patient drunk on vodka, or as much as we feel is going to be safe. It's the least we can do to try and dull the pain but we need someone to help hold him down. Grab his feet, please.” Hong looked about. The other man there was taking up a position at the patient's head and grabbing his arms held them back against his brow and put his weight down, wrapping his fingers up with his. Hesitantly, Hong went to the feet and held tight. With a nod the two medics looked at each other and began. Using a stick they pulled up the patient's shirt, revealing his bare stomach. There was a sickly bulge on his side. The man groaned as they swabbed alcohol against his skin. In anticipation the patient began to squirm and Hong had to tighten his grip against his legs. The other medic himself put his weight down on his torso and hip and helped hold him steady. Before the scalpel could be put to the skin he spoke up, his voice slurred. “Wait- wait.” said the soldier at his head, “He wants something to bite down on.” “Right.” said the medic, scalpel in hand and about to cut the side of his stomach open. His partner looked around, and producing a small steel hook from his pocket leaned over to a bed in the corner of the room and picked up a leather belt that had been thrown on the foot. He held it over the intoxicated Russian, who already sweating took it and bit down. He nodded to continue, and Hong saw his eyes for the first time. They were blue, and afraid. Very afraid. Very much in pain. Satisfied, the medics began their work. Without hesitation the scalpel dove in and at the first contact the Russian's body writhed against their grip. Everyone fought to hold him still as the first incision was made. Blood flowed out of the wound, frothy and wet. “Shit, I told you we gave him too much vodka.” the other medic said. “Nothing we can do now.” replied the other, making his second cut around the knob in the side of his patient's body. The patient's screams and cries were muffled by the leather belt as he fought against the men holding him down. He squirmed in pain as he sobbed. Hong looked up and saw his head glowing a hot read. His face boiled with the heat of coals and tears poured from clenched eyes. “Quickly, quickly. We can't let him pop it this way.” said the other medic, holding him down against the table with all of his weight. The stomach was opened, and the skin pulled back. The operating doctor looked in and swore, “Shit, I don't have the light.” “Fuck it, find it and cut it. We can't stop.” He began to search. The blood flowing free and loose from the wound. Hong felt sick to his stomach and looked away. He was afraid he would lose consciousness, and free the man to begin kicking away. He fought himself the way he fought the patient's lively throws. “Found it.” “Got it?” “Cutting it.” There was a moment of silence from either of them. A snip, and something wet being thrown on the floor. The patient stilled, and Hong wondered if he had died. He looked up as the dark bloody hole was being folded closed. The chest rising and falling slowly in short breaths. The man at his head looked over and down, the medic who was holding him down checked his pulse. “He must have passed out.” he observed. “Makes it all the easier.” said the other as he began sewing the wound closed. It was only a small cut, a few inches longer. “Made the incision longer than it needed to be thought.” “Best we can do.” said the other, “Comrades, thank you. You helped us out.” “It was no problem.” said the other soldier, releasing the man's head from his hands. Hong felt too light headed to answer, and he nodded only weakly as he kept his eyes low, cast to the side at the base of a wooden chest behind the second medic. “So what are you going to do now?” the other soldier asked. “Wait for him to wake up. We're going to clean up. But you two did enough. We're going to need to make sure he'll live. I'm not sure we should move him yet. So maybe he'll sleep on the table for a bit.” “But it's covered in blood.” “We'll worry about that. But it's his at least. Not ours. I'll send word along, see you two get something. What your names?” “Xiao Deng” said the other. “Wu Hong.” said Hong weakly. [h1]China[/h1] [h2]Heilongjiang[/h2] [h3]Harbin[/h3] The foggy, ash coated windows of the train car reminded him very much of the rice paper windows of his old home. Aiwen Wu sat resting his arms crossed against the table in front of him. It was early morning, and a cold mist had fell over the city of Harbin. Shadows of buildings and shapes streaked passed by the window as the car lumbered its way through the city at a brisk twenty miles and hour. Streaked across the hazy pains of glass that rattled in their frames streaks of rain crawled horizontally. It was beginning to rain outside. Barely early morning, the sun having not yet peaked. The city still slept and the general and his staff rode south. To Beijing they would change lines, and head north into Mongolia. Stacks of preliminary information sat on the table alongside him for the upcoming inspection of the Chinese forces to launch from Mongolia there. In Ulaanbatar they would also meet with Nestor Yanikovich and Radek's staff. The meeting to come weighed heavily on general Wu's mind as he traveled. He would have to account for what was becoming a lack of apparent progress in Russia. The fear was that if he could not satisfy them they may complain to Congress, and if the declaration of war was any sign of an alliance they could build the pressure to replace him. The stakes were there, and he still had not proved himself, so he thought. He jumped when someone took a seat across from him. Seated across from his sat a plain officer. Her eyes a dull brown-gray and her hair tied up behind her cap. “You're uneasy.” she said brusquely. The general did not answer her immediately, and instead turned to look back out the windows. “You read the briefs yet?” she asked. “No, Ting.” he answered honestly, “I'm just thinking.” “About what?” Ting asked. “Operations.” he answered, “By this point I would have hoped there would have been an effort to resist us. But there hasn't been any real sign of movement by the enemy. They skirmished once with the First Group. What do you think? You think they're too afraid, or cautious?” “I'm not intelligence.” Ting reminded him, “I'm only your security.” in disinterest she reached out to the stacked binders and began to thumb through one by random browsing the pages, “You really expected to read all of these?” she asked in a conversational tone. “No one's ever asked.” Aiwen Wu told her, “I think at a certain point they simply believe you if you say yes.” She nodded and turned to look out the window. “You want anything to drink? To eat?” she asked, “I see the others aren't here yet so there won't be any briefings.” “If you would kindly.” Wu answered in resignation, reaching out with a heavy hand to the papers and opened them, “I'll get started on these.” She nodded and rose from her seat. Again Wu was left alone in the train. The clacking of the wheels muffled underneath the floor boards and the car rocking gently as it went along. Thumbing though the files he went over the overview of conditions on the ground. Conditions had not changed. This frustrated him. He had hoped for a rapid response from the Cossacks but they seem to be keeping their distance. Army intelligence hasn't worked out a reason why, and coordination with the Intelligence Bureau was impossible since they hadn't begun missions, or any significant missions. He felt the fog of war on him, realizing coldly that all they had to go on was what Radek and his men knew, which wasn't where or how the Cossacks moved in Siberia, and where from they operated. He was under the assurances that they regularly raided and extracted tithes from the scattered and isolated communities in the Russian wilderness, and at times the cities. However tight a grip they had there was in question, and it was suggested that the mayors and local governments were part of Mafiya syndicates that arose in the power vacuum after the czar was killed. That these more urban and more developed organizations answered to the Cossacks. To complicate matters there was still the matter of the Japanese pilot. The remains of his airplane sitting somewhere in a warehouse being torn apart and inspected. No report had come in on classification or evidence on what his mission was. His appearance on the scene raised doubts and he had been warned by command to not yet engage in the Japanese. They had used 'yet'. It wasn't off the table. But it wasn't the current mission. He rubbed his temples, feeling sleepy. It had to have been up to an hour. They were in the country now, the sun up and heating the windows and the dew and streaks of condensed fog and rain droplets on the windows had rolled off clean and the forested hills of Heilongjiang province rolled out around them, breaking occasionally for the odd vineyard or farm field and scattered small towns. But at the end of the hour or so the rumble of a food cart broke Aiwen Wu's concentration and he looked up to see a rail attendee pushing a covered cart his way. He bowed respectfully to the general, and he returned the favor best he could sitting down. Setting aside his paperwork the general was served plates of steamed buns stuffed with meats and cheeses, wheat noodles and a rice pudding. He was given a cup and a pot of hot tea. The two talked genially for a moment, before the attendee, a curious young man, left. As he helped himself, the rest of his staff trickled in. Ting was the first one back, with the broad shouldered and diminutive Zoeng Kwok-Keung. The two of them idly talking about a movie either of them must have seen before setting out on the train. Kwok-Keung greeted Wu, bowing and request a seat. He was granted that, and began serving himself from the breakfast served. “I know this is the last thing you need to think about,” Kwok-Keung said stately, in a high voice, “But I got the letters to be sent to the families of those last slain soldiers. We managed to get them out of the woods and to the base. You can sign them and get them mailed out when we arrive in Beijing.” he was the chief of the general's communication. Wu nodded understandingly as he chewed on a dumpling. A dark, bird of a man walked in a gangly stride in. His dour face scanning the room as he brushed a hand through short black hair before hiding it again under his face. He made no comment as he stepped in, finding a seat across the aisle from his commander. “Chuyen, here.” Ting said, handing out a cup of tea across the aisle. He smiled and bowed his head, muttering a thank you. “Perhaps the problem is that we're not being loud enough.” Kwok-Keung said over a bowl of noodles, “If the Russians are not hitting us they may not be taking us seriously. We have to go deeper.” “First group can't go in any deeper, they're unsupported as it is.” Aiwen Wu pointed out as they went over the impromptu discussion on their operations, “I'm beginning to think we'll have to deploy the second group. I'm under the impression they can get to the river. In any case they're a few hours from the border, we share a city on the border with the Russians, it's been an easy crossing point if dangerous to go further.” “We're going to need to secure... what was the town's name? Kyakhta?” Ting said, “I know since the czar died their police have been operating with their neighbors, as the reports go. The two administrations are acting as much as one as legally permitted. We could even leave a platoon behind to act as cross-border security as we move ahead.” “The passing of the 2nd Group in through there would be a quick alert to the enemy if they have communications that far south.” Chuyen mused in a distant tone, he was half looking at the group at the table and half gazing out into the rural distance between them. He looked pondering and hazy, “That may be the noise you need to confirm they're coming east to deal with you.” “I'd call that the plan, but we should wait for the others.” Wu said, taking a sip of tea. Two more officers came in later. One was a larger man, with a bulldog face. His companion, a woman had the air of a model, handsome and reserved but with a warning fire kept in her eyes. Hui Jiao-Long and Fu Nuo respectively, operations and the Aiwen Wu's commanding quartermaster. “Did we miss anything?” Fu Nuo asked as she took a seat across from Chuyen “Talking about things going ahead.” Aiwen Wu said, “Glad you two are here, we can start.” “Indeed.” Fu Nuo said, “What's the plan?” “I think we're going to need to deploy the Second Group in. We're going to push to occupy Kyakhta and push north. What's your opinion?” “Confirm the order and I can have the unit moved out within the day.” Nuo smiled, “They're getting anxious. Are we sticking to the original plan?” Aiwen Wu nodded. “From there to Chita.” and let the two armies meat. Determine where the rest of the Cossacks are, push them towards Europe and pin them. That's the battle plan. “A lot of ground to cover. But we can work with it.” The train attendant came in again, with a fresh cart of breakfast. The commanders there were served again. “Radek and Nestor are going to need to know what's happening. I've got notice Nestor himself wants to inspect our cavalry. Are they ready, can they be made ready?” Wu asked, looking over to Nuo. “Again, I can give the call and we'll know their readiness. Give a time and date.” “Then let's discuss that.”