Only a tiny fraction of the officers and men in the World People's Liberation Army possessed the ability to ride a horse into battle. This was not for a lack of talent among the African or Chinese personnel, but simply because neither Africa nor China was a major producer of quality steeds. Furthermore, while the Chinese budget had included funds for breeding stock since 1915, there had been no large-scale capital investment in horses.

With the proliferation of tractors in Chinese agriculture, large livestock had rapidly exited the farming sector. For the young generation of Chinese soldiers, the opportunity to ride a horse was practically non-existent.

Thus, as WPLA units drove their infantry fighting vehicles into German cities and villages, the sight of a troop of Soviet soldiers galloping toward them at high speed left them momentarily dazed.

From a distance, the galloping horses, the fluttering cloaks of the riders, and the raw display of vitality in the synergy between man and beast was a sight to behold. The cavalrymen bore lances on their backs and sabers at their saddles. Charging from the distance, they radiated a high-mindedness of those who lived for death. This inexplicable sense of moving beauty held the WPLA soldiers’ attention for some time.

The Soviet cavalry, for their part, had been tense upon seeing the WPLA units and their banners. But the WPLA was so inexperienced in the field of cavalry that they failed to perceive this nervousness.

Reaching the WPLA units, the Soviets leaped from their horses and saluted. Without bothering to check if the men across from them understood, they shouted in Russian: "This area has been liberated by the Soviet Red Army! In the spirit of friendship between our armies, we request that you advance no further!"

Having delivered the verbal declaration, the Soviets produced pre-prepared documents in Chinese and handed them to the Asian-featured officers.

It must be said that while the WPLA had shown a ferocity in battle that made the Wehrmacht bow, they were entirely inexperienced in the highly political game of "land grabbing." Thus, they unconsciously defaulted to accepting the Soviet declaration.

After all, the core ideology of the WPLA had always been to enter Europe, defeat the Nazis and Fascists, and liberate the European people. In all their political education and mission briefings, there was not a word about occupying European territory. In fact, they had been specifically educated not to commit acts of aggression.

Once the WPLA personnel understood the Red Army’s intent, they felt a degree of annoyance and confusion. Nevertheless, they exchanged pleasantries with their Soviet comrades, shook hands, and departed in their six-wheeled carriers.

Behind them, the Soviet cavalrymen—standing as tall and proud as they could—secretly let out sighs of relief. Their political commissars had indeed told them the WPLA was unlikely to trigger a conflict, yet they had also warned that the WPLA might forcibly evict them. To succeed, the cavalry had to display a supreme air of "righteous and bold" entitlement. Only then would the WPLA retreat.

Now that the commissars' advice had proven effective, the cavalrymen decided to continue the bluff. Few among them openly acknowledged the extraordinary friendliness the WPLA had shown them.

It wasn't that the Red Army soldiers were born villains who didn't understand kindness. But in Russian culture, such trust was a dangerous thing to voice. Furthermore, the Red Army held a profound respect—and fear—of the Chinese military.

Right before their eyes, those six-wheeled armored personnel carriers were incredibly nimble. In reverse, they displayed an ability to pivot on the spot like a tracked vehicle—a level of mobility for wheeled transport the Soviets had never even imagined.

Not only were they maneuverable, but they were remarkably stable, displaying excellent off-road capability on slopes, in wetlands, and on flat ground alike. Even from the outside, the design suggested a spacious and comfortable interior. Each was armed with what looked to be an 80mm gun and two machine guns—a formidable array of firepower.

In the Red Army's experience, a single Soviet tank might struggle against such a carrier, let alone a squad of cavalry.

Each carrier could transport an entire infantry squad. The Soviet scouts who had peeked inside during the friendly exchange noted that the WPLA squad carried a full complement of rifles, mortars, and other support weapons, along with ample ammunition.

To fight a squad of WPLA infantry supported by such a carrier, a single squad of Red Army cavalry was woefully insufficient. Those who had survived the blood and fire of the front knew that even a platoon would likely fall short.

Moreover, the WPLA could fight from within the vehicle, essentially possessing a miniature mobile fortress. In a race, the vehicle was no slower than a Soviet steed.

Many Soviet soldiers understood that the WPLA truly bore them no ill will. Had the Chinese-led force intended to fight for territory, many of these scouts would be dead.

Precisely because they knew their safety rested on the other side's goodwill, their understanding of that goodwill—as members of a civilization that viewed itself as European—was fundamentally different from the Chinese view. In their culture, they did not believe goodwill could overcome innate malice; it was a world where "hell is other people."

The fact that the land grabs had proceeded without incident and with considerable success soon reached the Soviet headquarters directing the siege of Berlin.

Zhukov, Chuikov, and the others received the assessment of the WPLA’s lack of hostility and noted on their maps that the USSR now controlled the majority of northeastern Germany. They instructed their forces: "Continue the advance, but under no circumstances is he to trigger a conflict with the WPLA. Do not fire the first shot."

In Russian culture, a lack of overt malice from the other side was interpreted as acceptance of the Red Army's advance. The culture of "yielding out of politeness" did not exist; for them, all courtesy was a diplomatic ritual adopted only after an intense struggle had forced a state of peace.

Furthermore, the attention of the high command was currently fixed on the siege of Berlin. The unit designations of the SS armored divisions within the city stirred a primal urge for slaughter throughout the Red Army. Too many Soviet soldiers and civilians had died at the hands of these Nazis. These units showed no intent to surrender, preparing instead for a defense of the capital. Without their total annihilation, Berlin could not be taken.

News of the Soviet land grabs did not reach Marshal Cheng Ruofan, Director of WPLA Logistics, until two days later, on April 23rd.

Before receiving the report, Cheng was occupied with two tasks. The first was the disposal of the equipment already in Europe. To arm millions of WPLA soldiers, tens of millions of weapons and hundreds of millions of spare parts had been shipped to the continent.

The WPLA had no plans for occupation; most of its soldiers would return home after the victory. The Logistics Department realized that shipping these weapons back to China would be a net loss.

This problem had first emerged during the Northeast Government’s war with Japan. Fortunately, that victory had been followed by the war to liberate all of China, allowing the surplus to be used for the newly raised national units. Later, the surplus from the Burmese campaign was used to arm local forces. Overall, the waste had been manageable.

But these tens of millions of pieces in Europe were another matter entirely. Given the shipping capacity required, it was far more economical to simply trade them or even push them into the sea rather than haul them ten thousand miles back to the Chinese mainland.

On this basis, Cheng and his department reached a decision: aside from using salvaged parts to maintain active equipment, they would directly donate the surplus to nations like Hungary to arm their new regimes, following the outcomes of Chinese government negotiations.

Hungary was already a major power in Eastern Europe, yet its wartime standing army was only 800,000. In peacetime, it would struggle to maintain even 200,000, meaning it could only absorb so much.

Although the African border settlements had been successful, they could not provide too many weapons to those new nations. As the saying went: "With a sharp blade in hand, the heart grows murderous." Newly formed nations lacked a sense of boundaries; give them too many guns, and they would inevitably fall to fighting one another.

The remaining options were North and South America. The five indigenous nations in Canada certainly needed arming against American pressure, but the NDF’s North American Command already had an inexhaustible supply of surplus and had no need for gear from Europe.

South America, meanwhile, showed little interest in full mobilization. After the initial fear of a Chinese invasion had passed, they were no longer concerned. Armies were expensive to maintain, even with free weapons. While they needed some new equipment, they lacked the capacity to absorb China’s retired stock.

This led to the second major question Cheng faced: which weapons were to be retired?

Fortunately, He Rui had long ago provided the research results for future force structure. Based on his views, the Military Commission had defined the military application scenarios for the next stage.

He Rui had predicted that it would take fifteen years for the two other Great Powers, the US and the USSR, to fully recover their strength. Between 1945 and 1960, China would only need to maintain a force of a certain scale to uphold its New World Order.

During those fifteen years, the focus of the Chinese military would be the integration of artificial satellites and new computer technologies.

Based on this, the Commission determined that the active force would be maintained at 2.3 million, with 1.3 million armed police and a reserve of 10 million. For China's population, this scale was negligible. Although China had been prepared to raise 30 million and had mobilized 6 million active and 12 million reserve for this war, the number of troops in sustained combat on the first line had never exceeded 3 million.

Reading the report for the next fifteen years of military construction, Cheng Ruofan was no longer surprised by He Rui's seemingly prescient vision. He felt only a gentle sorrow. Even in his final months, the man had been focused on the future of the nation and the world.

He Rui never demanded results from his comrades to glorify himself. Instead, he pointed the way and walked alongside them, surmounting the obstacles they deemed impossible and pushing both China and the world forward.

Based on He Rui's judgment, Cheng could form a basic assessment of future war risks and the boundaries of deterrence. Compared to these strategic insights, the equipment itself seemed less significant.

The Type 59 tank would remain the mainstay of the ground forces, to be continuously upgraded with auxiliary systems until its potential was exhausted. After fifteen years of accumulation, a major overhaul would result in a truly advanced new main battle tank.

Most other equipment, however, would shift to new models. The Air Force, for instance, was to enter an era of all-jet fighters. The Navy would gradually retire the carriers modified for jets over the next fifteen years, replacing them through technical iteration with larger ships using more advanced catapult technology—eventually reaching 100,000-ton supercarriers utilizing electromagnetic catapults.

Of all the equipment, the only one that truly caught Cheng’s interest was a ten-wheeled armored personnel carrier. As an officer with extensive combat experience, Cheng suspected this unit was a "playful" creation of He Rui’s.

Even though its annotations included futuristic tech like 4x4 missile launchers, the ten-wheeled IFV was not what the next phase required. Within the military technology Cheng was familiar with, such a weapon was impossible to realize. Yet he did not oppose its inclusion.

That He Rui’s vision could not be realized today did not mean it was impossible with the technologies of tomorrow. Seeing that He Rui could not resist such a fantastic concept made Cheng feel a touch of joy. At least it proved He Rui was a human being he could understand. Men, at a certain stage, invariably dreamed of "ultimate weapons" or technology beyond their time. Cheng himself had felt the same impulse at that age.

His improved mood soured upon reading the report of the Soviet land grabs. For a moment, he even regretted that his military education had been too idealistic. The WPLA instinctively viewed the Red Army as an ally—a thought that wasn't necessarily wrong—but the Soviet land grab was a blatant offense. That the WPLA had not immediately countered such behavior was a failure.

Ultimately, Cheng issued his order: from the moment this order is received, whenever the WPLA encounters the Red Army attempting to declare an occupation zone, they are to inform the Soviets that the WPLA does not recognize Soviet occupation of German territory. The Second World War was a just war against colonialism and racism; no occupation of another nation's territory would be acknowledged.

Having issued the order, Cheng telegrammed Li Runshi. Since he had not yet returned to China, he utilized the occasion to test the new Chairman’s mettle. He Rui had understood the nature of European civilization well and was adept at such struggles; he surely would have warned Cheng beforehand. Since Li had not, Cheng would test him after the fact.

Li Runshi had indeed not expected a major power like the USSR to behave so ungracefully. He had already passed a decision in the Politburo to negotiate military administration zones with the Soviets. His baseline was a division based on the nineteenth-century borders of the German states and provinces—a division that would grant the USSR approximately a third of Germany's territory in the northeast.

To convince the Politburo, Li had been forced to cite He Rui’s prior discussions on the matter. Only then did he gain unanimous support.

Now, with the reports of Soviet land grabbing, Li felt that Cheng Ruofan’s political awareness was extraordinary. Cheng's response both upheld political principle and pushed the Soviets toward a negotiated settlement.

But despite his admiration for Cheng, Li’s confidence in the Soviet Union had waned. Their actions thus far were quintessentially imperialist—at best, a "Red Imperialism."

Recalling He Rui’s assessments, Li had to admit that many of his predecessor’s seemingly biting remarks were merely accurate descriptions. Without a solid cultural foundation, the socialist system had not been enough to lift the Soviet Union onto a higher civilizational track.

Meanwhile, the Soviet Party, emboldened by the WPLA’s restraint, had turned its full attention to the capture of Berlin. The relationship between China and the USSR was now one of competition, but their relationship with Nazi Germany remained one of mortal enmity. The Nazis shared the assessment. The battle for Berlin was a bloodbath from the very start.

In the first wave of the assault, 200,000 Red Army troops annihilated vast numbers of SS units in a single day, but suffered such staggering losses that the entire force had to be rotated out for refitting.

In the Soviet-German War, it had been the Nazis—not the Red Army—who were the first to utilize "human bombs." Now, like a cornered beast, the SS continued this tactic, achieving frequent success in the confined urban combat of Berlin and inflicting horrific casualties on the Soviets.

While victory was inevitable for the Red Army, the Soviet Party was feeling the crushing weight of the price.

Stalin did not discuss the cost. He forced the agenda back to the integration of Eastern Europe. Romania, Czechia, Slovakia, and Poland were now Soviet-controlled. According to Russian tradition, these nations would become a buffer zone, their politics and economies subject to Soviet leadership.

To this end, Stalin prepared to convene a summit of these nations under Soviet auspices. "The meeting will be held the day after the fall of Berlin," he told the Politburo.

To use the total defeat of Nazi Germany as a display of power was classic Russian culture. The Committee members voiced their agreement.

Before the sycophants could begin, Stalin continued: "Furthermore, we shall establish a separate German regime within our zone of control."

Molotov heard this and wanted to speak, but he ultimately remained silent. The end of a war often meant that former collaborators became rivals. This was not a matter of human malice, but rather the simple fact that they had only cooperated because of a shared, more significant enemy.

Both the USSR and China had endured heavy external pressure and were forced to cooperate in many fields. Now, the shackles forged by the imperialists were being broken along with their makers. But China, the nation that had broken them, had emerged as the most powerful force on Earth—meaning China was now the greatest potential threat.

Regardless of the source, the Soviet Union had to meet the threat, and it had to do so by maintaining its independence and autonomy at all costs. To join an order built by China was, by definition, to lose that autonomy. The USSR could never adopt such a policy.

But Molotov also knew that China seemed to have no plan to split Germany. Therefore, any Soviet move to do so would meet with Chinese opposition. The public emergence of the Sino-Soviet conflict would likely begin right here.