Near Huolin Gol, Tonglia, Inner Mongolia
Mengjiang United Autonomous Government
14-10-2019, 08:30 – UTC +8
Mukhali sighed as he raised free hand up to his brow, using the back of it to wipe away the copious amounts of sweat that coated his forehead and formed the numerous beads of the liquid on his skin which had been irritatingly dripping down his face all morning. It wasn’t the heat that was making him sweat, the sun was shining brightly in the sky but at this time of year out here the temperature rarely went about 11°C, but it was as usual the constant exhausting work that he undertook every single morning of what seemed like every single day of his young life out here in the grasslands that he called home. Mukhali was the son of a farmer whose father and his father before him had lived out here in the sparse grasslands of Mengjiang for what must have been centuries, or so his father always liked to tell him, and tended to their herds of horses and goats and made a meagre living out of a way of life that had been going on for hundreds of years in this region. It was a life that Mukhali had known since the age of five when he first learnt to ride a horse and had accompanied his fathers and elder brothers out on his first day of work and for the next thirteen years he had known nothing but the life of a nomad farmer, yet another insignificant life to go with all those before him be thought, doomed to raise his children to live this life over and over.
“Khyalbar khüü” [Easy Boy] Mukhali spoke reassuringly, panting from the exertion of the mornings work so far, has he firmly but caringly patted the strong neck of his steed, one of the easily recognisable Mongolian Steeds that populated Mengjiang and neighbouring Mongolia “Jaakhan amarch baitsgaaya? Bidnii khüch chadlyg butsaaj av” [Let’s just rest for a little bit okay? Get our strength back] Mukhali sighed to which his companion simply grunted and bucked its head from side to side, the young farmer smiling and taking that response as a sign that he agreed with him even when he was pretty sure his trusty steed was anxious to get on with the day’s work “Ene ni mash ikh züiliig avchirsan yum” [It can’t have gotten far].
After allowing each other to regain their stamina and take a much needed drink of water, Mukhali tugged on the reins of his horse and set off down the slow rise they had been resting on and meandered off towards the rising and rugged hills before them in search of a wayward member of the herd. Searching for a lost member of the herd of goats his family owned and maintained was a task usually relegated to Mukhali, a lonely and sometimes frustrating task but one that he enjoyed if only for the fact it allowed him to have some time with his thoughts and his dreams of having a life that meant more than what it did now. Sure his mother and father were proud of him but that was only because he was carrying on his families ‘legacy’, they didn’t care what he wanted to get out of life only the honour he brought to the family and to them honour meant maintaining the herds and nothing more … but was there anything more for him to aspire to in Mengjiang?
Despite dreams and visions of something more Mukhali knew the cold hard reality that people like him would never aspire to much, never be allowed to aspire to anything. Since the 1940s when the Mengjiang United Autonomous Government had been formed with the substantial assistance of the Empire of Japan following their victories in the Japanese Invasion of Manchuria and the subsequent border conflicts known as the Frontier Wars with the local Chinese Government at the time, the people of Mengjiang had been essentially left behind by the decision makers and de-facto rulers of the region in Tokyo with only a small elite class of Mengjiang citizens were able to benefit and profit from the lucrative business that was kowtowing to the Japanese. The peasant population was kept in the exact same state they had been since the time of the Great Khan; isolated, ignorant but also content with the little lives they carved out for themselves whilst those who had been given power and wealth greedily kept hold of it. The rich got richer and the poor stayed poor in an arrangement that seemed to suit all … almost all.
Mukhali’s thoughts about the unfairness and insignificance of his life in Mengjiang were quickly cut short however by the distinct bleating of his wayward goat somewhere in the distance amongst the rugged hills he now found himself wandering through, the young farmer immediately reaching his hand down to reassuringly touch the rifle he had holstered on his horse and make sure it was easily accessible. Whilst it was a good sign that his quarry was nearby, his bleating goat would also attract other unwanted attention and with Eurasian Wolves common in the area it was always important to travel the wilderness armed and ready. Satisfied that he could reach it easily, Mukhali made a few loud clicks with his tongue and guided his mount off towards the sounds of his lost goat, both horse and rider warily scanning their surroundings for any animal that might look upon them as a meal.
“Khövgüün baigaari!” [Hold up boy!] Mukhali quickly hissed as he pulled back on the reins of his horse who dutifully, and more importantly silently and without any complaints, came to an immediate stop as Mukhali strained to pick up the noise he had just hear, his ears twitching as was not greeted by the sounds of a howling wolf as he expected but the murmurs and mutterings of voices in the air. Immediately Mukhali reached for his rifle, easing it out of its holster and gripping it tightly, his mind straight away thinking of the worst possibilities of who the voices could belong to, they could just as easily belong to a fellow farmer but it was unlikely any would be around especially with his father’s herd not too far away. Rifle clutched in one hand the young boy expertly dismounted from his horse and led it over to a small thicket tree, looping the reins over it and patting his steed gently “Odoo khyalbar … end ayuulgüi baigaarai” [Easy now … you stay here safe].
His heart pounding in his chest, feeling like it might almost burst out, Mukhali slowly climbed to the top of rise ahead of him with rifle now firmly in both hands and ready to be brought to bear on anyone who might need convincing to back off. Each step was torturous, Mukhali worried that he was making too much noise and whoever was on the other side beneath the ridge of the hill would hear him and put an end to his life, but he pressed on … his father and brothers would expect him to. Crouching low as he neared the top of the hill, the voices becoming clearer and more audible, Mukhali laid himself flat on the floor and crawled the rest of the way, pushing his body into the ground as much as he could until he was at the edge and looking down onto the other side of the hill where he quickly spied the source of the voices and more troublesome also spied his father’s wayward goat amongst them. There were four of them below, Mukhali quickly noticing that they were all armed ad all similarly dressed in various forms and styles of camouflaged gear, seeming to indicate to him that although they were obviously fighters they were not professionals who would almost certainly be uniform in the gear they wore and therefore meant they most likely were not government soldiers. Mukhali wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not. He'd heard stories from his father about how bandits roamed the countryside and camped amongst the hills, striking local towns and villages and carrying out deadly raids against government forces and civilians alike. Most of them had been hunted down years ago by the army but there were a few scattered holdings that remained to terrorize the countryside. He wasn't sure if he believed the whole 'bandit' story, sure there were probably criminals out here that the army had hunted down and he was glad they did but at the same time he wondered if the term 'bandit' had been liberally applied to anyone who opposed the Mengjiang government and her Japanese 'ally', turning people like his father against groups who they shouldn't turn against and should sympathize with ... or simply that people like his father just wanted to believe they were bandits and remain innocent in these matters.
“Chi ter yamaag ali khediin etseslekh üü? Khet ikh shuugian tarij baina … bi ölsöj baina” [Will you put an end to that goat already? It’s making too much noise … and I’m starving] one of the men grunted, who Mukhali watched with some anger at his casual insistence at killing his father’s goat, whilst he knelt off to the side of the group who were all sat in various positions beneath the rise of Mukhali’s hill, their weapons to their sides and their stolen goat in the middle of them all.
“Nadad bolomj olgoj baina uu? Bi üüniig zöv khiikhiig khüsch baina” [Give me a chance alright? I want to do this right] replied one of the armed men closest to the goat, Mukhali watching him meticulously and expertly sharpening the deadly looking blade he had in his hand that would soon be used to put an end to his goat. Mukhali thought about making a move, grabbing his rifle and firing off a warning shot close to the bladed man’s feet … it would scare off his goat and hopefully would send these four men, whoever they were, scarpering off into the hills. It was a foolish idea, these men were clearly armed for a reason and would know doubt get over their initial shock of being fired at and simply riddle Mukhali with bullets before he could even get a second shot off … and it was even more foolish to risk his life over one solitary goat when there were still nearly a hundred back in the main herd but Mukhali couldn’t seem to shake the idea that he should act and stop them right now. His foolish plan however immediately hit a rather solid brick wall when he felt the hard press of what was unmistakably a gun barrel in his back followed by the voice of the man pressing said gun barrel into his back.
“Chi end byatskhan züil khiij baigaa gej yag yuu bodoj baina ve?" [And what exactly do you think you’re doing here little one?] the man spoke in a calm yet still firm manner, Mukhali sure he would have taken offence at being called ‘little one’ if he wasn’t so shit scared and also if he hadn’t just pissed his pants “Aliv … khöl deeree byatskhan” [Come on … on your feet little one] the man ordered as he kicked Mukhali’s rife away and grabbed the young boy by the scruff of his jacket, hauling him to his feet and into full view of the men below who immediately snatched for their weapons and aimed that straight at Mukhali who found himself being quickly frogmarched down the hill towards them by the man behind him who he was still too scared to even turn to look at and see who he was. He suddenly found himself stood before the armed strangers, acutely aware off the large wet patch around his crotch that he was sure they had all noticed but didn’t seem to be too bothered by it, they were all more concerned with who he was and were regarding him warily with guns trained on him.
“Ter kher udaan tend baisan be?” [How long has he been up there?] one of the men asked to the man stood behind Mukhali, the same man who had been demanding they quickly kill his goat and now that Mukhali was almost face to face with him could see that he was much taller than his fellow fighters.
“Urt bish. Bi tüüniig guchin minutyn tursh dagaj baisan ... ter bas l gantsaaraa” [Not long. I’ve been following him for the past thirty minutes … he is alone also] came the reply from the man behind him who Mukhali watched from the corner of his eyes slowly move around to join the rest of his group, his rifle casually cradled in his arms and aimed down at the floor away from the young boy. Mukhali cursed to himself at the revelation that he had been followed for half an hour and he hadn’t even noticed … what a fool he had been.
“Ter bol tagnuul!” [He’s a spy!”] one of the men shouted as he angrily thrust his rifle towards Mukhali and his accusation gained a murmur of approval from one of the other men “Zasgiin gazryn tagnuulch, esvel yapony zarim neg muu!” [A government spy or some Japanese lackey] he added before spitting on the ground at Mukhali’s feet after mentioning the word ‘Japanese’.
“Za khüü yuu? Ali ni ve?” [Well boy? Which one is it?] the tallest fighter asked and it seemed to Mukhali that neither option was the right one.
“Ali ni ch bish ... Bi zügeer l tarialanch, fyermyeriin khüü! Yaponchuudyg tednii tölöö gantsaaraa ajillakhyg bi ogt kharaagüi shüü dee!” [Neither ... I'm just a farmer, a farmer's son I swear! I've never even met a Japanese let alone work for them!] Mukhali stammered, his voice cracking and breaking he was so nervous as he tried to explain. It was true, in all his years despite his homelands intense and dependent relationship with the Empire of Japan he had never met a Japanese person, he had one seen a column of Japanese soldiers off in the distance when he was very young but he remembered how his father had gathered him and his brothers and immediately made for home “Bi yamaagaa khaij baisan …” [I was out here looking for my goat] he added and pointed a shaking hand towards his still bleating goat, the five assembled men glancing over to it before returning their wary gaze immediately back to Mukhali “… Bi üüniig ööröö olj medsen chini. Ene bol minii tangaraglasan ünen” [When I found it with yourselves. That's the truth I swear.]
“Yamaa chini? Ene bol manai yamaa ... bid üüniig endees gantsaaraa olson” [Your goat? This is our goat ... we found it out here alone] retorted the fighter who had been sharpening his knife in preparation for killing it.
“Ta üüniig khulgailsan gesen üg yum” [You mean you stole it] Mukhali snapped, suddenly finding some courage which he immediately wished he hadn’t as the group of fighters fell deathly silent before each of them chuckled and shook their heads at the brazenness of the young boy.
“Bid bol khulgaich bish” [We are not thieves] the taller fighter responded, Mukhali surprised to find that his accusation had actually hurt the armed fighter and the young boy found himself regretting making it even more “Tüüniig yamaagaa avaach” [Let him take his goat].
“Gekhdee ene bol bidnii ...” [But that's our ...] the knife wielding fighter began to complain but was quickly silenced both by the raised hand of the taller fighter and a stern gaze from the man who had captured him. Reluctantly the fighter turned on his heels and walked over to the goat, grabbing it gently by its horn and leading it over towards Mukhali who remained silent, unsure if this was some kind of trick as the goat was pushed in front of him.
“Odoo üüniig avaad fyermdee butsaj och ... vintovoo orkhi” [Now take this and go back to your farm ... leave your rifle] the taller fighter ordered to which Mukhali offered no argument, quickly grabbing a hold of his goat and nervously backing away from the group of men who seemed to never take their eyes off him, Mukhali praying that he got away without them changing their minds. He had made it halfway up the hill before he realised his prayers went unanswered as his captor called out after him.
“Ta nar margaash öglöö end butsaj irekh bolno. Mön ta khool khüns avchrakh bolno, zövkhön ta chadakh züilee l oilgov uu?” [You will return here tomorrow morning, same time and alone. And you will bring food, only what you can spare ... is that understood?] Mukhali froze and looked back down towards the assembled group, strangely calmed by the voice of that man who captured him, and found himself nodding that he would do as instructed, the fighter gesturing for Mukhali to carry on his way which he immediately did.
Making sure to calmly walk away to the top of the hill, not making any sudden movements and making a conscious effort to avoid the sport where his rifle had been kicked away to, though he very much wanted to grab it to avoid not only the questions from his father as to why he did not have it but also the chastisement he would get for ‘losing’ it, he decided against it and as soon as he was out of site he practically sprinted towards his horse, dragging the troublesome goat along with him and quickly looping a rope around its neck and tying it to another piece of rope hanging from his saddle. He could feel his chest pounding again as he looked to the hill to make sure there was nobody there to gun him down before climbing onto his horse and setting off as fast as his goat was able to endure back to his father and brothers. He thought about telling them everything when he saw them, perhaps telling the local police in Huolin Gol about these strange armed men but something about them intrigued him, they weren’t bandits and their dislike for both the government and the Japanese made Mukhali want to know exactly who and what they were. No he thought to himself, he wouldn’t tell anyone about them … he would make up some story about losing his rifle and he would do as the men had asked him, he would return with supplies and find out what these strange men were doing.
