Next chapter in "Contagion"

What a Chinese invasion of Siberia in 2027 feels like

Pushing forward

First Lieutenant Wang Wei sat on a splintered bench in the open-canopy military truck, the cold April wind whipping across his face as it roared at nearly 40 kph toward the Russian outpost. The night was pitch-black, save for the beams of headlights cutting through the snow-dusted tundra, illuminating the chaos of China’s advance. Wang’s olive-green T-shirt clung to his sweat-dampened skin, his camouflage pants scuffed from days of relentless preparation. His combat boots, caked with mud, anchored him to the truck’s vibrating floor. He checked his watch—21:15—the GPS map on his military phone glowing faintly, confirming they were ahead of schedule. Pride surged in his chest, a fierce glow that warmed him against the Heilongjiang’s biting chill. This was his army, his platoon, his China—a juggernaut no force could match. Yet, beneath that pride, a thread of unease tugged at him, a whisper of the unknown that no amount of training could silence.

The past ninety minutes had been a whirlwind of disciplined chaos. Wang’s platoon had assembled at the crossing point, where engineer troops had thrown up three pontoon bridges across the Heilongjiang River with breathtaking speed. The dark waters, called the Amur by the Russians, shimmered under the moonlight, a silent witness to China’s audacity. Wang had watched, heart pounding, as tanks and ZBD-08 infantry carriers rolled across the swaying bridges, their treads clanking like a war drum. His truck had waited in line, the air thick with diesel fumes and anticipation, until it finally wobbled over the pontoons to the Russian side. The crossing felt like stepping into a new world, one where every decision carried the weight of history. Wang wasn’t afraid—the tanks had crossed safely, after all—but the scale of Operation Brave Squill sent a shiver through him. Two and a half million troops, the largest force in China’s history, and he was a part of it, a single cog in a machine poised to reshape the globe.

He gripped his rifle, its cold metal grounding him as the truck lurched over uneven ground. His platoon of forty soldiers sat around him, their faces lit by the dim glow of their phones or the flicker of cigarettes. Their eyes gleamed with a mix of excitement and nerves, their silence louder than the engine’s roar. Wang felt their trust pressing against him, a weight heavier than his pack. At twenty-six, he was young for a first lieutenant, his rise fueled by discipline and a burning ambition to honor his father’s legacy—a retired officer whose tales of duty had shaped Wang’s life. Serve the nation, serve the people, his father’s voice echoed. But as the truck sped toward the Russian base, Wang’s confidence warred with doubt. His orders were vague: reach a designated point by nightfall, set up camp. The long-term plan was a mystery, and the secrecy gnawed at him. Are we invading? he wondered, the Heilongjiang’s dark waters still vivid in his mind. The thought of crossing into Russia, of facing real combat, sent a thrill through him, tinged with dread.

The truck hit a rut, jolting Wang from his thoughts. He glanced at Sergeant Liang Peixing, the communications specialist, her camouflage cap pulled low, her ponytail swaying with the truck’s motion. “Lieutenant,” she said, her Cantonese-accented Mandarin cutting through the wind, “commissary chatter says they’re loading a month’s supplies—maybe more.” Her voice was bright but edged with worry, her youthful energy dimmed by the news. Wang’s stomach tightened. A month’s provisions meant a campaign, not a drill, and the realization sent a ripple of tension through the platoon. Their eyes met his, searching for answers he didn’t have.

Platoon Leader Li, a veteran with scars from border skirmishes, leaned forward, his jaw tight. “Sir, that’s no exercise. Where are we going? How long are we out here?” His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of fear, a rare crack in his grizzled facade.

Wang shook his head, frustration clawing at him. “Brass keeps the big picture close. All I know is we hit the point by 9 p.m. with full gear.” He paused, meeting their gazes, his voice firm despite the knot in his chest. “Coordinates are on your phones. We set up camp, stay sharp.” His words were meant to reassure, but they felt hollow, a half-truth in a mission shrouded in secrecy. The Aleppo outbreak, a distant rumor, lingered in his mind—a biological wildcard that could disrupt everything. If it spread to Russia, would his platoon be caught in the crossfire?

The truck’s headlights caught the outline of the Russian base, a cluster of crumbling barracks and rusted wire against the snow. Wang’s pulse quickened, adrenaline surging as the rumble of tanks and helicopters filled the air. This was no drill—China’s might was on full display, a wave of steel and resolve crashing toward a foe Wang had been taught to see as inferior. The Russians were outmatched, their morale broken, their equipment relics. Yet, as the truck barreled closer, the specter of the unknown loomed larger. Pride battled dread in Wang’s chest, his father’s voice urging him forward, his own instincts screaming caution. “Stay ready,” he barked to his platoon, his voice cutting through the din. “Whatever’s out there, we face it together.” The truck roared on, carrying them into the heart of a storm they couldn’t yet see

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