[h1]Tibet[/h1] [h2]Lhasa[/h2] Sunlight streamed through the palace window, warming the otherwise cool room. The wooden joists and wooden floorboards groaned as they expanded in the warm early-afternoon sun. The cold morning was lifting and the day was beginning. In a private study, the Dalai Lama sat on a cushion and recited the sutras with his monk-courtiers. Their voices low as the earth. When they finished and lifted their heads they coughed and began moving about. The lessons for the day were to begin. Thupten Lungtok Namgyal Thinley, the Ling Rinpoche, master of four schools of Buddhism, and head of the Gelug sect lead the personal lesson. With broad shoulders, bald head, and an old face that squinted through his smile lines he looked the every personification of a kindly uncle. Sitting across from the Dalai Lama he looked the boy in the face and began the lessons. He spoke gently, throwing his hands in motion as he entered into dialog with his student. Going over scripture, stopping to hear questions, and to answer them. When the youth began to act out, becoming bored and impatient and acting improper he chastised him, bringing him back to hell so they may continue. After all as he told Ngawang Sungrab the Third Taktra Rinpoche to look out for him, because again he may conspire to antics. He engaged in a long thoughtful dialog, breaking into the tradition of debate to emphasis points and to waken the room. A small collection of attending monks had stolen the moment to stand by the door to collect on the sermonizing and the teachings, hoping to absorb a little more wisdom. After several hours however, Namgyal Thinley began to feel sore in the knees. Uncomfortable, sour, and the hardness of the sun's rays having dulled as the day passed into mid-afternoon he decided it was time to call a rest to the lessons. He rose. “I am growing tired of of this room.” he said in a soft low voice, “It is warm outside. I want to know the day still while it is warm.” Surprised, the young Dalai Lama rose. His mind returning to basic principals he asked: “But how is it you can desire? Aren't we supposed to lose our own desire to attain enlightenment?” The Ling Rinpoche looked down at him and laughed, “Yes, but that doesn't mean we should live our lives in discomfort.” he said, “And you'll remember someday how it is to sit so long on your knees. The warmth of the sun or standing somewhere else relieves much discomfort.” “Yes, bu-” the Dalai Lama began, before being interrupted, “There is no buts. There only being for what it is to be in the world.” the tone of his voice tensed some at this, dropping a few leaves of the passive joy he had in his tone of voice, “Though it is to desire things that are comfortable and luxurious that attaches us to this world and prevents us from seeking peace, so it is that desiring things which are uncomfortable and harmful for us. Walking from one stage of life to the next to seek the next destructive adventure of experience after the next acts as negative attachment, to force ourselves away from something just because it can resolve a little physical discomfort. But this can be a whole lesson into itself. You should ask Lobsang Tenzin about it. He will lecture your ears off the whole day!” he said laughing, “But I am still sore.” He started to walk again and the Dalai Lama followed him at a skip. They stepped out into the sun of Lhasa. It was a clear day, and warmed by the afternoon the city was out in force. Outside of the palace grounds on the streets the people were out selling crafts and wares out of stalls, sweeping the streets, and going on with their days. Pilgrims made processions around the palace walls, clutching rosaries in their hands as they made circuits or prostrating themselves upon the ground and rising again, their palms and knees bloodied from their long crawling voyage across the length and breadth of Tibet to the county's many shrines. Things were as they should be, were in not for the gray armored car that slowly plotted and spat its way through the streets, moving around the dense groups of pilgrims and pushing the vendors to the side. The young Dalai Lama, leaning against the sunbleached wood of the palace railing knew who it was. He felt his heart suddenly sink seeing them. He became concerned and terrified, recalling the whispers he heard throughout the palace. “Lungtok,” he said softly, watching the car snake its way out of view, “why are the British here?” The Ling Rinpoche's back stiffened at the question and he felt a cold sweat on his brow. His throat caught itself and for a time he was unable to speak as the question wrapped him in tension and shame. He sighed, and the Dalai Lama had to repeat the question. “It is intrigue.” he said flatly. “Am I danger?” the Dalai Lama asked. “What would make you ask that?” “I hear things.” the young boy said, “Some monks speak softly, thinking they can talk when I can't hear them. But I do. I get the feeling I'm in danger. So, am I?” Thupten Namygal found himself embarrassed. Sighing, he turned to look into the distance, passed Lhasa and into the peaks of the Himalayas on the far side of the valley. The young Lama pried again and he was forced to answer, “No, you're not. For our best efforts you're safe.” he said, “There are people who conspire, we believe. But so far they are a minority.” he licked his lips. “So how is they are here?” he asked. “Protection.” the Rinpoche answered. “From who?” “The Chinese.” was the answer. “Years ago, during the reign of one of your previous life, the Chinese attempted to invade several times. Once by a warlord clique of Muslim invaders, they were driven out by the lesson was taken. The British approached us, and we allowed them to help us. As we did the Russians. But now the Russians are gone, and the British should be gone. But the British are not gone entirely.” “And what then?” “Well... The Chinese came back again, more unified and your predecessor reached out. The British returned, but not the same British. They helped us, but when it was over, they never left. And here they are.” it was the most basic of answered, but Thupten Namygal had to hope it worked. There were things the boy had yet to learn, and it was hoped that would not be for some time. It would be hoped that when it was more assured he would live he would get to learn it. But he also knew he was the Dalai Lama, and that if he wanted to know he would need to be told. He swallowed as he waited, he felt cold in spite of the sun. His chest tense. The young boy thought for a while, looking down the road the car had gone and himself looking up over the valley but also towards where the British had their fort at Drapchi. “Did you try to tell them no?” Thupten tensed, thought about the question. Hesitantly he answered, picking his words carefully. “I did try to refuse them.” [h1]China[/h1] [h2]Qinghai[/h2] [h3]Tibetan Militarized Zone[/h3] The cigarette smoke was heavy on the air as the men sat at a long table, going over technical information. For the past month the long command transfer process had been carrying on diligently. Men from central command had made their rotation through the doors of the conferences. Long tours of the entire long command theater was made to make introductions to numerous individual local commanders. Observations were made, exercises carried out officers gave accounts of inspections, inventories were presented for re-review and the physical assets examined. An entire mind-numbing amount of intelligence was poured over, reviewed, and discusses. Plans and contingencies were reviewed in full, even if Feng Lu knew them all from his under service to Quan Yu. The exhaustion was coming to its terminal breaking point. But there was relief on the horizon, for it was nearly over. “I think that perhaps the Taklamakan Detachments might be under-utilized.” Feng Lu said with a tired voice, “Tibetan raiding hasn't targeted them directly in the past year a half where as they've been probing more eagerly the center. I don't think there's any incentive for them to perform any encirclement.” “What if they do try?” an officer asked, as a test. “I would have to first assume they have been performing recon and are assessing our forces. But from what I remember from uh-” he paused for a minute to scan through a note book dog eared notebook, that with all of its hundred tabs now sticking out had transformed into a multi-colored flower, “Apparently QJ has acquired a significant amount of evidence suggesting the East isn't even in Tibet's priorities. U-Tsang is a region they believe would be just a distraction from any significant operations. The road to Nagqu would be in an offensive operation of more importance as the first major stop before Lhasa. I think they're right to assume that Aksai Chin would not be very important, much of Ngari would be a logistical nightmare. I would not want to use it for anything except some small maneuvers. But with no development to speak of, we should just consider that entire side of the country impassable. “For this reason, and because they seem to be suspecting that the policy of raiding can not be tolerated for long they're concentrating more to hold Kham. In a desperate situation, even an offensive on uh- into Amdo. In such a case, or for any large-scale Tibetan offensive they are operating at a severe disadvantage, the number and quality of the armor and mechanization we have would put our combined arms at an advantage, and they'd be operating within the functionality of our aircraft for this altitude.” “And if you were asked to do such an offensive into Tibet?” asked another officer, testing. “For the past five years there's been development for small-unit mountain operations. We would be operating entirely by foot in this theater and at loose many of our advantages. But with radios and numbers our invading force can theoretically operate many small cohesive fronts in Tibet. A Chinese operation would see leadership from specialized mountain battalions with the backing of regular infantry rotated in from elsewhere in the country as part of their duty stations. These units would operate a mostly support function, performing logistics on the way up and into Tibet, policing, and creating a fall back line for when any group is defeated in the mountains or forced into retreat. From here a combination of small arms and mountain artillery, and range permitting aircraft help keep the Tibetan forces contained. “On review of the rifles in our possession and the quality of our ammunition in comparison to the rifles and ammunition picked up lost on the field from raiders, we should easily have the range advantage on our small arms. We'll be more than able to begin an engagement before they can. The only asset the Tibetan armed forces have for them to make anything work is to take cover, which will be our major threat moving forward.” “Hopefully they will be kind to us and wear their monk orange.” someone in the room joked, eliciting laughter from the officers on hand. Even Feng Lu took the brief moment to laugh, if it would not make anything less of him, “How we should ah-” he started again, clearing his throat, “How we would be aware of this however a solution has emerged within the last year. Intelligence Services have been nurturing and developing internal contacts and informants within the Tibetan region and the government in Lhasa willing to leak us information or serve as guides. According to these intelligence resources the condition of the Tibetan state is not well. The Dalai Lama is young, only thirteen and not at the age of maturity. He follows off of turbulence in Tibet since the assassination of the Fourteenth, or so it's suspected. As such the government is split into three parties: The Regency Council, the Military State commanded but what appears to be European mercenaries, and an under-developed Dalai Lama faction who are entirely locked out of government. The Regency and Military State are locked in disputes on how to continue, but it's been threatened that the Military State may eventually overtake the Regency. Our assets have indicated there is a possible flow of funds and capital from way of India backing them, though a absolute use of that capital they are accumulating and to develop it into political power is hindered somewhere. Military and civilian-state analysis believes it is hindered by Tibet's total lack of modern development. They've urged, so it seems, that if there is to be any intervention in Tibet to arrest the region's rebelliousness against the Republic and to finish the Expedition program that an offensive is started soon, and I am counting this as my regular petition to give order to begin those.” “And ceremoniously I say the request has been received, and time will tell.” a well dressed and groomed officer said, a liaison from the capitol and central command, “I am however getting hungry. Should we break for an hour and a half?” “I agree.” was the agreement from other officers. “I too am a little parched. Some tea and soup would be excellent.” Quan Yu added, rubbing at his belly. His old tired eyes looked over the room and to Feng Lu he said in a low quiet voice as everyone was leaving: “You are doing well.” “Thank you.” Lu said, tired if optimistic, “I'm going to get a drink.” He left the table, moving slowly to the door. Officers and civilian officials stood about, stretching their backs and strolling down the hallway to stretch their legs. At the far side there were scant few people, except for a handful of officers from the capital that had gathered to chat and smoke by a window. They rubbed their brows and laughed, stopping to stand straight and salute Feng Lu out of politeness as he passed. He returned the favor and went down the stairs. The cafeteria to the command post was small, large enough for the few dozen officers that worked in the building and their direct staff, not to gather at one time but throughout the day. At present there were a few seated lieutenants who sat with caps off as they ate some warm dumplings. They stopped what they were doing to rise in honors to Feng Lu, ordering them back to their meal he moved along and ordered a cup of tea from the civilian at the counter. He poured him a serving of tea warmed in samovar into a cup. “How are things going?” the man asked. “Well, just tired.” Feng Lu said “I imagine so. It's been a long month or so.” “Has it been?” “Just about, when I saw them come. Be careful around them.” “Thanks, but I think I got it.” Lu said, holding the cup as he stepped back from the counter. The server sent him off with further well wishes, before returning to cleaning the kitchen. He sipped his tea as he walked back up the stairs. Arriving to the second floor landing and passing the capital officers he found they themselves were ready to continue. As he passed they extinguished their cigarettes on the window sill and flicked them outside and followed Feng Lu. “How are you feeling, sir?” asked one of them as they went back into the conference room, everyone had already returned from their stretches. “I'm feeling fine.” “You look rough.” “Because I'm also tired.” “Understandable.” He returned to the conference room, everyone had cleared out by now and the small group of officers lingered for long enough to collect a few effects and leave. Lu stood behind his seat, sipping the tea and looking down at the stacks of papers and binders scattered about. Quan Yu had left, no doubt for a cup of soup and to go somewhere to eat outside. For the moment however, Lu thought to himself that what he needed was to keep himself centered on what was being handed to him. He sipped his tea as he stood erect by the chair, looking at the half a library's worth of information scattered around him. He found his thoughts turning to whether or not if called on he would be able to prosecute an offensive in Tibet, however. He sipped at his tea, weighing things out. With the breadth of the planning and organization, it presented itself as a self-executing goal. That all was needed was to give the word and the entire operation would carry itself out to completion. Undergo its metamorphosis from caterpillar to butterfly and realize its existence from the world of dreams into reality. Was he even the dreamer of the plan here, or was he the dream of the plan. A concert of a hundred thousand moving parts, directed on their routes of years of simulation and study and at the Kriegspieltisch. The hour and a half passed, and the men returned to the conference. Some with their left overs of food and with unfinished drinks. Feng Lu retook his seat as everyone resumed their position and Quan Yu came back. There was a moment of polite silence as the note books were reopened and pens tested and they waited. “So where were we.” Lu said dryly, joking. There was a polite murmur of relaxed laughter in the room. “Military-civilian cooperation. I think that's where we were going: given the intelligence operations in Tibet we stand at an operational position where our allies in Tibet would or could seize native communication infrastructure ahead of our movements. Over the past year the Tibetan military has cobbled together a sophisticated system of radio communication as checkpoints across the country. These installations provide fore-warning to forces ahead of any invaded and updates and act as a territorial-wide sensory network. Using direct line of sight and perhaps engagement based detection they find where our armies would be coming from and relay that ahead as evidenced by the prior forays into Tibet. This has given the Tibetan military a robust reactive capability. But with infiltrators already behind line, their assets may be turned against them to broaden our range of operational ability through Tibet and disrupt the Tibetan surveillance. Our deep small-unit operations in the territory will be in need of broad radio networking for our forces to communicate across the peaks. It-” Feng Lu was interrupted as a courier suddenly burst into the room. In his hand he held up a red telegram card. He wore a stiff if apologetic face as he called out to the room, “An urgent dispatch from Nanjing. I am sorry to interrupt.” Feng Lu looked up at him, his chest tightened. “What is it?” he almost choked out. “I am sorry.” the courier said, holding the telegram close. He walked around the table to the commander-to-be and held out the dispatch to him. He bowed as Feng Lu took it, and took several long steps back as Lu scanned the brief lines. His face took on a pale color as he set it face down on the table. “I am sorry that we all wasted our time here.” he said in a low voice, “But it seems Nanjing had other ideas.” the men at the table leaned in close to hear what happened. Even though officers from central had their interests piqued. A stunning dawn crept into their faces as Feng Lu relayed the telegram, “According to the central command, real command of the operation is being given to General Fen Yu-Wen, who is to take over command in Lijiang. He's already been briefed. I am fortunately able to retain my post over this section, but I answer to Yu-Wen now.” Confused muttering filled the room as everyone looked around, “Can they do that?” someone asked. “Fortunately they can.” someone said, perhaps from central. “This is embarrassing.” [h2]Nanjing[/h2] “A jolly good shot!” cheered the British ambassador. The golf ball, small and white rolled to a stop in the distant green. It rested five yards from the flag. Drove from the starting tee at the far side of the course it had made a gentle swooping voyage through the air, down a dogleg left before landing with a gentle plop in the grass, “By Jove, Mr. Xiu, if you were not in politics you would be a fine show in the professional circuit.” “It was luck.” Xiu Lu remarked with a smile, stepping aside. The caddies and attendants following the game applauded politely as he prepared space for the British ambassador to the Republic of China, Edward J. Grensill. With his large frame he looked to be like a giant among the Chinese. Aged and with a silver edge he looked respectable with swept back silver hair and a heavy mustache. He walked with a limp on account of a war injury in his leg, but he kept a rosy demeanor all the same as if it no longer bothered him. “I could have gone professional.” Edward declared, putting the tee into the ground and crowning it with a little yellow ball, “But I was never one to practice often. Say: after that drive, how often do you get out?” “Once a month.” Xiu Lu said. The South Nanjing Golf Association they played their game at was well outside the city. It hugged Shiju Lake on its north shore, there was a beach for members only behind the club house proper. The golf course itself was surrounded by a parameter of dense young trees that flowered in spring and fruited in summer, attracting many birds that often paraded about on the course. They surrounded each fair way as well, turning each into an island of their own where in the waves of floral bushes and reaching branches was the shaded walking and driving paths of the entire course. The trees bore fruit in spring and summer. But now that summer was coming to an end the fruit was mostly gone, and only stragglers graced the course. The visiting birds were replaced now by an aroma of fermenting plum and cherry, picked over only by the crows. “Oh bullocks!” the ambassador exclaimed, “A man so skilled at the drive has to practice often and well.” To himself, Xiu Lu wondered why it was he had been asked to join the British ambassador in a game of golf. He had did so diligently in the interest of cordial relations. But he watched him smile as he handled a set of drivers to tee off his first ball. “No, the wind is just good.” Xiu Lu said. Edward began testing the feel of several drivers from his bag. He picked a club that felt right for him and went to tee. Studying the green for a time, and taking a feel of the wind he rose the club and drove hard at the ball, sending it sailing with the wind. But he hit it too hard, or too far off the side. The little yellow ball sailed up through the sky in a long curve before falling short of its goal and landed in the rough, shy of the green. “Ah, rubbish.” he said. “I think you twisted the club when you swung.” Xiu Lu consoled him, “It hit unevenly.” “You think so?” “I do.” Edward shrugged diplomatically and slung the driver under his arm like a swagger stick before depositing it in the bag. “Well, we should be off to them.” The drivers were already on their way in the golf carts, the weak lawn mower engines puttering away. The others following in a jog on pedal bikes. By the time they got to Edward's ball he had a beer in hand and they stepped out to study it. “I think this will cost me.” he said unsatisfied, drinking from the bottle. “No, be patient. You can get it there.” “I am already one over par.” “This is the first hole. We only just begun.” Edward laughed, took a pull from the bottle, and picked out an iron. Walking up to the ball he grumbled while shuffling his feet. A bead of sweat ran down his long nose as he stood over the ball. Xiu Lu had to admit: it was a humid day, even for him and in the heavy golf clothes the British ambassador wore he had to be feeling much worse. With a dull tap he knocked the ball, bouncing it out of the grass and it landed with a few short hops into the green. The ball come to rest in the green he took another pull from the bottle, smirking. Walking over he spoke, “Abysmally humid today. Do you suppose it'll rain?” “If it does, the club house's special is roasted duck in an orange sauce. I'll buy the bourbon.” “Good lad! But you're not bothered?” “Not at the least, you look a bit wet.” “Yes, I'm a northern man. I was born in the wind.” said Edward. “I always think to myself: the British have solid academies. I never notice until someone says. You're all from London or Oxford if I knew better.” “Right'o. They even beat the Scots out of the Scots!” Edward laughed, “God's work, they are.” They came to the ball and Edward picked a putter. Feeling confident in how it felt in his hands, he stepped forward and gave it its lightest taps. It was not enough to get it to the hole, but it took Xiu's ball out of rest. “Your turn.” “Perhaps we need such academies, to bring all Chinese to proper Chinese.” “A good idea, but I can only help you with the English lessons. But what would be the right Chinese?” Xiu Lu only turned, smiling before tapping the ball. It rolled smoothly across the short cut grass before coming to rest a few inches from the hole. “I'm not sure what we'd do. That's the forte of Tsai Guo. I know he has some ideas. Literacy funding. Research into advancing the language. There are some debates over monolingual or bilingual programs but I do not follow any of that. I and my kids are all too old, and the grandchildren all have gone to proper academies. They speak the proper Mandarin, and can write in the classical style. As much as I and my family can engage: it's all done.” “I wish it were the same for my boy Oliver but he seems to be becoming native.” Edward said, “I wonder if he is now somewhere between here in Shanghai.” “Shanghai has that sort of pull.” admitted Lu, he leaned forward on his club. With a tap he pocketed the ball. Edward followed with his own play, but missed the putt and it rolled away from the hole. “Bullshit!” he swore. “Careful.” Lu said with a smirk. “You're right, I don't want to become American. But: zero par to one-over.” With the hole finished, the two men mounted their golf carts again and were rolling off through the green hills of the course to the next hole. Stepping out Xiu noticed that Edward had his second bottle. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “This weather is getting to me.” Edward said. “I'm sorry, would you have rather of done this in Beijing?” “Yes, if the capital was there again.” bemoaned the Englishman, “But bloody hell, this weather. I should have requested a posting to Sweden.” “What about the cold, though?” “Tolerable.” Edward swung, and kicked off the hole with a long drive straight down the middle. It popped and rolled across hill before coming to a stop at the edge of the green. The British diplomat was visibly happt with himself and smiled gregariously as he turned to Lu, “Look at that!” “Impressive drive.” Lu said, “Where were you before all this?” he asked as he stepped to his ball. “Prior I was a special consul to Russia.” “How was that posting?” “Stressful.” “I wouldn't have thought. But then, we've been ejected from Russia.” “Should just give them their east back.” said Edward, teasing. Xiu Lu brought hit the ball. “I don't think we will.” the ball landed behind Edward's. “It is a shame then. But no surprise. Not as if they won't be able to anything about it. But, nice drive.” “No, that wasn't good at all. It was bad. I think I hesitated on it.” “Never-the-less, chap: a good drive.” “What exactly were the intrigues in Russia?” Lu asked as they went back to the golf carts. “That the court is divided between its east and its west. They argued whether the greater issue was the free hand the local army chiefs in the west of the country had or whether the court needed to have Siberia to heel in order to have access to basic resources. Anger at the Chinese and the Japanese, or enraged terror at the German Communists. This was all before the Ukrainian invasion, so the situation has invariably changed significantly. But I left Russia having broken hearts, so no one tells me what is new there any more. But it was a stagnant waste of time.” Over the ride on the carts to their next play Xiu thought it would be time to break the question on his mind. Disembarking and stepping to the balls he asked, “So I assume it is not any deals over Russia you want us to sign for, you personally are locked out. I don't think you're here to just play golf, Mr. Grensill. So I wonder: what is the business?” “To play a round of golf?” “No, that's not it.” said Xiu Lu, striking the golf ball onto the green. “Right you are.” Edward answered back, “I do have a matter of importance to bring up. “It's of the matter of the Japanese.” he said putting his ball back into play, it rolled off the side of the hole and came to a rest a meter away, “As you for sure know the Japanese have us pinned down in the East Indies. There have not been major strides in the front for some time but between the mess in the Americas and in Nigeria the balance is, well it is fragile. The Federation exists on thin ice, as the Americans would say; and we need what help we can get. The Dutch have been putting up an admirable fight but it's not a winning fight. There are only so many resources we can devote to it.” “This government has made its position well known.” Lu's ball also came within orbit of the cup, but rolled off the lip and stopped a hair's breadth away, “We're neutral to the war. Though we do not like the Japanese government and hold grudges against it for its continued occupation of Chinese territory, the Republic is not fit to take them on offensively.” “I am not asking for a force commitment.” Edward said, “I have been authorized by the Prime Minister and Parliament to seek more passive means of support from China, if you will not accept other terms.” “I should also say I am not unilaterally authorized to commit any part of China to anything.” “I know that!” Edward said sharply, exasperated. He walked over to his ball, “But you are my liaison to president Li Su. So: on what terms with the president meet with the British Imperial Federation?” “What are the terms being offered?” “You allowed the Germans to dock ships in Chinese ports, that much I know. Can the British be extended such offers as well?” “I should have you know that this would park ships of war in our ports. I can't trust the Japanese would not take a chance. You expose China to too much collateral.” “Yes, but docking rights and privileges would give our ships such better operational capability. We could neutralize the Straight of Taiwan, shift the entire front to our favor and throw the IJN into chaos. Retake Taiwan.” “Taiwan is not yours to retake.” said Liu. Edward putted again. There was lackluster force against the ball and it did not go far enough. He went again and pocketed it. “I think this hole is yours.” he said. Xiu Lu nearly wanted to make a comment about the clandestine plans for Taiwan. That with or without the British or the Dutch they were working to handle the island themselves. He must have given such pause and caught himself before speaking so late that Edward noticed something. “What is it you have in mind?” “It is nothing.” Lu said, “But the answer to that is still no: we can not tolerate war ships in Chinese ports.” “If not military what about civilian?” “We already do as per our commitments to trade and good business. What difference would it make that we take special precedent over the safety of civilian vessels?” “It is only a matter of classification.” Edward said, “That the Chinese take on some soldiers. In a civilian capacity. No military duties; a refit and rearm. But this hole is dried up, should we continue the conversation at the next?” “No, we can develop this train of thought on the way to the next. We should walk. Care for the walk?” “Very well. You take the lead, your honor.” Lu smiled, bowed, and started the walk to the next course, holding his putter under his arm as he went, “I think you have better options with asking the French for use of their colonial ports if it's just to provide soldiers for rest and relaxation from the front.” Bitter, Edward sucked on air through his teeth and grumbled to himself. “Then is there nothing? You know the French, you know their condition. It would not be safe, and at best would become awkward.” Xiu Lu laughed and looked over at the Briton, “I don't believe you could run out of ideas so soon.” Edward though, stuffing his hands in his pockets while they strolled across the green. “What about Burma?” he asked. “What about Burma?” “As I recall, with the assistance of the British we helped the Chinese build a road through Burma to break the Japanese blockade. Now the end of that road spills out into India, and we can not trust the viability of India. But what if: the road went to Yangon? Along it: millions of pounds of supplies purchased by the British government to supply and boost our fighting lads. To the Japanese: it appears as a neutral co-operative effort between the Chinese Republic and its southern neighbors. If not Yangon, why shouldn't we also turn it south more to Bangkok, or split the road even?” “Can this be something the British can manage?” “Well I might be able to rally some creditors, that is without a doubt! A bonds sale for a road or a rail through Burma. It is a romantic idea. Could I have sufficient promises in capitol from you Chinese?” “Not a subject I can authorize, but I can enlighten my peers.” they arrived at the furthest ball, but neither of them paid scant attention to whose it was. “Yes, I think we could have a deal. I will have to immediately contact my counterparts there. It shall be a grand organization of Asian cooperation for mutual commercial development!” “I will send word along, and will wait. But I must admit I am pessimistic.” “Oh fear not, if there is one thing the Burmese want more: it's for money and free projects. I dare say: The Chinese might win more of this in the long run than us British. But at least it shall be the first few links in the chain to choke the life out of the Japanese.”