Private Laudry kept his eyes on his lane of fire, exhausted, scared, and excited all at once. After years of politicking, posturing, and behind the scenes back-stabbing, the Soviets had finally made a move. And according to his CO, they were heading straight for his battalion's position. Trying to ignore the knot in his stomach, he swallowed and rubbed his eyes. They had been waiting for over eighteen hours. Planes flew over head and he heard distant explosions, but so far there was no push on his unit's position. A quick look around assured him that the rest of his squad was there and covering their lanes as well. Settling back down in his foxhole, he refocused on his lane and prepared to wait several more hours— Some of the explosions in the distance seemed closer than they had before, and were followed by high pitched shrieks. Seconds later 152mm rounds exploded a scant three hundred meters from his foxhole. Time for Laudry slowed to a crawl. He and his comrades had trained for this moment: he had learned to shoot, how to work in a team as part of a cohesive unit, how to react under fire—and now it was actually happening. He watched, dumbfounded as Soviet artillery walked fire up to his position. He couldn't hear his squad-mates screaming at him to get back. A few hard tugs on his Kevlar vest jerked him back to reality. He ran with the others to cover, fire erupting on all sides. M1s and M60s fired on targets he couldn't see. Gripping his rifle tighter, he waited for a target to present itself. After the initial artillery strike, the rest of the Soviet force would soon follow. An Anti Tank Guided Missile struck a nearby M60 on the turret ring. Secondary explosions sent the turret flying off of the hull a fraction of a second later. Laudry screamed at the top of his lungs as he unloaded his rifle's magazine into the direction of the enemy's advance. His rage was cut short as another artillery shell landed close by, sending him tumbling. All he heard as he lay on his back was a loud ringing. He tried to look around, tried to find his rifle, but the pain spiking through his body wouldn't allow it. He tried calling for help, but the words were lost in the noise and chaos. With his head ringing and body refusing to listen to his commands, he did the only thing he could do. He watched the sky. He watched contrails twist and turn as pilots fought their own battles miles over head. He watched as missiles screamed past back and forth, screeching angrily for their targets. Tracers danced through the air scant meters above him. Suddenly, Laudry felt incredibly tired. More so than he had 10 minutes before. Closing his eyes, he waited for the inevitable: the random artillery shell, bullet, or bomb that had his name on it. The wait seemed to last forever. Maybe the others were putting up a better fight than he thought? He lethargically acknowledged the medic shaking his arm. He opened his eyes enough to see his mouth moving, but couldn't hear words coming from them. He barely felt the jab of morphine in his leg. By the time they got him on their stretcher, he was unconscious. By the time they got him to their Humvee, the rest of the battalion was falling back. When he finally reached the aid station, the Soviets held the position and were continuing their advance. Rapidly spinning tracks churned the grass and trees into mud and splinters in a matter of minutes. The Russian tanks continued their advance as artillery followed the American retreat. SU-25s and Hinds joined in with their own rain of fire from the sky, sending M2 Bradleys and Humvees up in flames. Eight T-72Bs rushed a group of five Bradleys as they were trying to reach a new firing position. Eight barrels spewed fire, punching holes in four of the IFVs, while the fifth fired in panic as its driver shifted into reverse. The 25mm Bushmaster cannon spat fire at the closest Russian tank. HE rounds splattered uselessly on the T-72's hull and turret face, the panicked Bradley gunner forgetting to switch to APDS. The rest of the crew were already bailing out the back by the time the other seven tanks had pointed their cannons at their final target. The eighth tank exploded violently, the turret flying up in the air followed by a jet of flame. Despite nearly impossible odds, a fluke HE round had found its way down the barrel of the T-72's cannon. The the resulting explosion had caused a chain reaction that sent the turret of the tank flying off. Unfortunately, the lone Bradley gunner's excitement was short lived as the remaining tanks silenced him with a final volley. With the area clear, the tanks continued their hunt through the woods. As armored hulls burned and jets streaked overhead, the T-72s slowed to a stop at the edge of a clearing. The lead tank's turret hatch swung open, and a small, helmeted man, popped halfway out. Lieutenant Georgy Lel took off his helmet and rubbed the top of his cropped brown hair. The push had been a success; while losses had been heavier than originally anticipated, NATO forces were in retreat and the 20th Tank Division was in full pursuit. Georgy looked around his tank and sighed. His company had been hit hard: American batteries had wiped out his commander's platoon, 2nd Platoon's Platoon Leader had been hit, and Georgy had lost one his tanks to an incredibly lucky M2. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he slumped against the commander’s hatch. Things were looking grim for the new Alpha Company Platoon Leader. “Comrade Lieutenant, it would be a good idea to get down. The Americans may still have soldiers lurking in the wood line.” Private Pavel Zhukov spoke up from inside the tank. His small frame still took up a lot of room in the cramped turret. Powerful though they were, Soviet tanks were not known for their creature comforts. A smirk tugged at the sides of Georgy's mouth. Georgy liked his gunner. He was barely through the first six months of his conscription but he showed promise. “I suppose you are correct Private. And if you are correct, then you should keep your eyes on your gun's sights. I need to get in contact with Battalion.” “No worries, Comrade Lieutenant!” the young private boasted. “Nothing gets past our little Suka!” “Hah! Let’s keep it like that, eh? Rezanov, let's get this bitch moving back to Battalion. I'll call ahead for further instructions.” Giving an affirmative grunt, Sergeant Anton Rezanov shifted the T-72 into drive as Georgy signaled the rest of the remaining tanks to follow him. A short ride later, the tents and vehicles making up Battalion's headquarters came into view. Men in trucks waved as they passed by the small tank column. Moral seemed to be high among the rank and file. And why shouldn't it be? NATO forces were falling back in increasing numbers, and there were rumors floating around that the Chinese would join the fight on Russia's side. It was a glorious time for the Communist International. Georgy smirked: the West was learning a painful lesson on testing the Great Bear. Rezanov's gentle braking distracted Georgy from his thoughts. Hopping off of 'Suka', he sent the remnants of the company to re-supply, re-fuel, and get a hot meal. He did not walk far before a Junior Sergeant ran up to meet him. “Lieutenant Lel, the Battalion commander is awaiting you in the command tent.” Pivoting, he began walking before Georgy could respond. “This way, sir.” A short walk later, they arrived at a large tent surrounded by communication antennas and generators. Shilkas and other anti-air weapons dotted the area. In the sky, three small dots were circling around the encampment. Witches. “It's good to see our lovely girls watching over us, eh?” Georgy jerked his thumb up at the speeding figures. “Yes, Comrade Lieutenant. The Westerners would quickly regret even coming within fifty kilometers of this position.” “I'm glad to hear it.” Georgy watched as a group of men transported ammunition boxes to the Shilkas. “Here we are sir. The Commander will be here shortly.” “Thank you Sergeant.” A blast of hot air hit Georgy as he stepped through the tent flaps, taking him aback. A large portable heater warmed the area, along with the number of bodies adding to the ambient heat. A cold blast of air from the open tent flaps caused the men near the entrance to grumble in irritation. “Ah! Lieutenant Lel, I am glad to see you in good health!” Georgy nearly jumped out of his uniform. The booming voice drew a few sideways glances from the others in the tent, but they quickly went about their work. “As am I, Comrade Colonel.” Georgy quickly regained his composure. Colonel Artyom Glukhovsky was a boisterous, intimidating man, but had proven himself a fantastic commander. “I was told you wanted to see me immediately?” Colonel Glukhovsky's smile gave way to a solemn frown. “Yes comrade. First I want to congratulate you and your men on their gains and I will see to it that you are all awarded accordingly.” “Thank you, Comrade Colonel. It was a hard victory.” “Indeed Georgy, it was.” The casual use of his name did not surprise the Lieutenant as much as he thought it should have. The Colonel pulled up one of the small chairs in the tent and took a seat, his large frame causing the joints to creak and groan. Beckoning Georgy to another seat, he continued. “Captain Glazkov was a good soldier. He and the others will be remembered, this much is true. But we will grieve another time. I need you and your men back at the front, Georgy. We need as many tanks pushing our advantage as we can.” The Colonel paused at the blanched look on Georgy's face. “Do you have an issue with what I have said, Lieutenant?” “No... no, Comrade Colonel! But we have few tanks and men left. Do you intend to send us back out undermanned like this? And with Captain Glazkov dead, who will lead us?” The smile crept back to Glukhovsky's face. “Hah! Don't worry about that at the moment, Lieutenant. For now, go rest with the rest of your men. I want to see you again first thing in the morning.” The Colonel's chair seemed to sigh with relief as he stood. Georgy stood with him. “Ah, and before you go, Georgy, your wife is in the camp. Please send her my regards.” Glukhovsky laughed once more as he patted Georgy on the back. “Yes Comrade Colonel, I will do so.” Georgy grimaced as the large man's hand smacked his back, nearly knocking him over. “Shall I send her to visit you later?” “I think not, comrade. I believe you two will be busy the next few days. We have something in the works that will involve both of you.” Georgy nearly fell out of the tent as the Colonel gave his back another slap. “Now go Lieutenant, there is much work to do before we complete our drive to Berlin. Oh, and I expect an official full report in the morning as well.” Georgy mulled over the Colonel's words as he walked from the tent. His thoughts were interrupted by his growling stomach, him how hungry he was. The idea of more cold rations was not an enticing thought and the Sukhoi Paks, though filling, left much to be desired in taste. Hot food would have to wait, however. Hitching a ride on a passing truck, Georgy directed the driver to the motor pool. There was much work to be done on the tanks before anyone could rest. As he dismounted the truck, Georgy found his men already hard at work. “Good to see you could join us, Comrade Lieutenant. I thought you were just going to leave all the hard work to us.” The smirking face of Sergeant Rezanov popped up from the driver mechanic hatch under the turret. “As you can see, we have already taken the liberty of starting without you. Now,” Rezanov paused as he hefted himself out of the hatch and slid down the hull with practiced ease. “Would you like to hear the good news or bad news first?” “Just tell me what our status is, Sergeant. I am hungry and I'm sure the rest of you are as well.” “As you wish, sir.” Rezanov shrugged. “As you know, Comrade Captain Glazkov's platoon was wiped out, 2nd Platoon has lost Lieutenant Ekel, and Sergeant Savinkov's tank was badly damaged.” “So we are down to half effectiveness, then. How is everyone else?” “Savinkov and his men will live, though I hear he will at least lose an arm.” Georgy cursed lightly under his breath. “We have lost too many good men already, and we have barely even begun. Let's finish our work here and then get some rest. You all have deserved it.” Rezanov nodded as both men walked back to the line of tanks. A few hours later, the remaining tanks were cleaned, fueled, and ready to go at a moment’s notice. The men made their way to the mess tent, stomachs grumbling as the smell of freshly cooked food wafted through the air. Fortunately, they were among the first in line, and soon everyone was seated and enjoying their meal. Georgy noticed the men were not as talkative and lively as they usually were. That was understandable. After all, many had lost friends in the attack, and everyone would miss Captain Glazkov: though he had been a hard man, he had taken care of his soldiers. Georgy had not served under him for long, but Rezanov had told him that since Glazkov had taken charge, he couldn't think of a time the Company had been left wanting. “Comrade Lieutenant, what will we do now?” Georgy was interrupted from his thoughts by Private Zhukov, who still was chewing on a piece of bread “First of all, Private, chew with your mouth closed. Second, we will do whatever Comrade Colonel Glukhovsky orders us to do. I'm sure we will be back in the fight soon enough.” Georgy set his dishes on his tray, finished with his meal. “For now you are all dismissed till tomorrow morning.” With the sun sinking lower and lower over the horizon, cold air began to grow uncomfortable even for a man who was used to Russian winters. Pulling his jacket tighter around him, Georgy made his way to the officer’s tent, his kit having already been delivered there on the Colonel's orders. A warm tent and cot were particularity inviting at the moment. Thinking of them reminded him how exhausted he really was. His thoughts were interrupted by strong arms wrapping around him and lifting him up, something soft pressing into his back. Before a protest could even leave his lips, he was already spinning round and round, his legs flailing in the air. A few figures blurred past his vision as the spinning continued, and he was almost positive he heard laughing. “WHARRBLUHGRTH-” His unintelligible complaint fell on deaf ears. Reaching up behind him, he tried to find some kind of hold on his attacker as his vision started to narrow with nausea. His hands just brushed his attacker's hair before he felt himself go weightless. The world seemed to spin faster for a few moments before gravity brought him crashing back down. The trill laughter of a young woman slowly filled his hearing, drowning out the buzzing in his head. The world slowly stopped spinning, allowing him to focus on the tall, dark-haired girl standing over him. She laughed, her dark brown eyes shining as she reached down for him. Sophia Lel grabbed her husband by the arm, helping him up. “Get up, dear, you are going to catch a cold lying on the ground like that.” Before he could reply, she pulled him into a tight, bone cracking hug. “Ooh I missed you! Father told me you would be arriving soon. I heard about your unit's last attack. I was so worried! Oh dear, promise me you'll be careful. Dear? Georgy?” Georgy was currently unconscious in his wife's busom, his arms dangling limply at his sides. “Oh my, oh my. It looks like you're being a bit too passionate, Sofia.” Another young woman walked up from behind the now panicked witch. “And calm down, your familiar is showing.” Sofia immediately reached up, her hands feeling her familiar's fox ears coming from her hair. The shorter, brunette witch unwrapped her friend from Georgy's unconscious form and helped lay him gently on the ground. “O-oh no,” Sofia muttered quietly. “Dasha, I didn't mean to-” A sharp smack to the back of her head from Dasha silenced the now trembling witch. “Calm down, you silly woman. He's a grown man! I'm sure a hug from his wife will not kill him no more than your rough-housing in the past. Now let's get him to bed. Come now, pick him up and let's get him out of the cold.” The two women walked to the witches' part of the encampment. Most passers-by didn't give them a second look. Those who had been in the camp the longest knew not to bother Comrade Captain Sofia when she was with her husband, while newer arrivals cast in envious glares at the man being carried by the tall witch. Sofia paid them no head, focusing only on Georgy, now snoring in her arms. “Really now Sofia, he is fine. Trust me, as your Field Medic, I can safely say all he needs is sleep. Remember what your father said? He has been fighting hard for many days.” Sofia just whimpered in response. Dasha sighed, and rubbed her forehead. “Compose yourself, dammit. The younger girls do not need to see you like this. You are the Bear of Biaystok, now act like it.” “You are right, as usual, Dasha. Georgy wouldn't want me fretting so much, either. I just want to tell him the news so badly.” Dasha opened their tent for three of them to walk in. Though the witches usually received nicer accommodations than the rest of military, the tent was still cramped for three people. A small heater in the center kept the temperature bearable against the cold. Soon Georgy was snoring loudly in the covers of Sofia's cot. Dasha sat on the cot next to him, a faint glow appearing around her. A quiet pop sounded as pair of fuzzy black cat ears perked from her short brunette hair. Her green eyes half closed as she focused her magic into her hands around Georgy's head, gently massaging his temples. A few seconds later, she stood up, patting the sleeping man's head. “As I said, there is nothing to worry about. Now, let's let him sleep a bit, and go check on the girls.” - Segregated a dozen meters away from the two officer tents, stood the much larger designated witch tent. Inside, there were four girls gathered around a small table. They were each focused on a set of cards in their hands. The girl closest to the entrance had her back to the table. She had dark hair that came halfway down her back, her cap sitting crooked on top of her head. Junior Lieutenant Margarite Taushev covered her mouth as she grinned at the cards in her hand. She had become very proficient with card games during her time in Academy, and the game of Durak was no different. She had won many ration shares of chocolate since they had been deployed. Margarite cast a glance to the girl on her left, and lay down a seven of hearts. Junior Sergeant Yana Llyin was the youngest of the four, though by barely a year. She probably would still be in the Academy now, if not for Mother Russia's need of witches on the front. Her brown eyes jumped from card to card, while she nervously chewed her bottom lip. She twirled a finger through her brown hair as she stared at her cards. She could beat the seven with her trump card, an eight of clubs, but then again, she might need it later. Her small stack of chocolate was a sharp contrast to her friends. In fact, depending on the outcome of this round would probably determine if she kept any till next time rations were handed out. “Come on, Yana, are you going to defend? Or are you going to pass?” Junior Sergeant Svetlana Tsimmerman grinned at Yana from across the table. Her light brown eyes danced with mischief as she watched her friend shift in her seat. Svetlana always seemed to be moving: even sitting at the table, she swung her legs back and forth in anticipation. A year older than Yana, and about two inches shorter, the two were often confused for sisters though they were nothing alike. Her mischievousness contrasted with Yana's cautious nature. She looked back at her own cards and grinned, confident she could counter Yana's hand. Giggling, she took another bite from a candy bar. Along with her rations, she was able to sweet talk a number of soldiers into giving her candy as well. A smile and a kiss on the cheek from a witch could go a long way. While the other three girls bantered back and forth amongst each other, the fourth patiently waited for her turn. Verniy Savinkov sat quietly as she looked at her hand. She had always been a quiet girl, more often dragged into the antics of the others than joining by choice. She decided she would not let the outcome of this round concern her. None of the cards in her hands could beat what was on the table, and Svetlana's eager face revealed she had a number of good cards. Resigning herself to defeat, Verniy sat back in her chair, squeezing her eyes shut as she stretched. Her spine popped in relief after having been seated for so long. Opening her eyes revealed the tall figure of their CO standing in the tent's entry. “Attention!” Verniy nearly knocked the table over in her rush to stand. “Good evening, Comrade Captain!” The other girls nearly jumped out of their skin's trying to stand up. Sofia nearly broke her stoic look with a grin. As adorable as they were, she had a reputation to keep. “Having fun, ladies? Am I to understand all of your duties are complete?” Junior Lieutenant Margarite stepped forward. “Yes, Comrade Captain. Our gear is stowed and and our weapons are clean. We are ready to move out whenever you give the order.” She glanced around at the three other witches around her. “We hope to prove ourselves to Comrade Stalin and the Motherland soon.” Sofia sighed to herself inwardly. “You will get a chance soon enough.” The four stood a little straighter as she walked closer. She thought Margarite would collapse when she straightened her cap for her. “For now I want you all to get some rest. We have a change in our deployment, and I will need you all rested to finish preparations.” “Do not worry, Comrade Captain! We're here for you!” Svetlana grinned at her CO, her wry smile stood out from the other's serious faces. “I'm glad to hear it, now enough games for tonight. Get some sleep, I will see you all in the morning.” With a “Yes, Comrade Captain,” the girls were dismissed to clean up their game and get to bed. Sofia stepped back out of the tent to where Dasha was waiting. “My my. They seem eager. It reminds me of a certain young witch I used to know. I will have to keep a close eye on them like I did for her.” Sofia gave her friend a light shove as they walked into the night. “And I seem to remember a certain friend of mine nearly peeing herself before her first mission.” Both of them shared a laugh as they continued their walk. A few minutes later, they found themselves in front of a hastily erected metal building. A tired looking sergeant and three privates stood at the door, guarding it's entrance. “Good evening Comrade Captain, Comrade Lieutenant.” The sergeant snapped to attention, quickly followed by the other three. “Have you come to check your equipment again? The youngsters were here earlier crawling around all of it with the technicians.” “Yes Sergeant. We would like to have one finally look at ours before calling it a night.” “Very well, Comrade Captain.” The sergeant gestured to his men, who proceeded to open the two large doors for the women and closing them back after they had entered. Work lights hung loosely from the ceiling, casting a harsh light over the equipment inside. Six T-80U strikers stood in their stands as if at attention. Even without the witches powering them, they were imposing machines just like their bigger cousins. A combination of high speed, impressive armor protection, and the ability to put out a massive amount of firepower made this striker a threat to any opposition on the battlefield. With a top speed of 70 km/h, and even faster with the talents of some witches, the T-80 was among the fastest MBT strikers available to Communist International witches. The armor was a combination of body armor, covering the torso and head, a standard shield barrier capable of absorbing a few glancing hits from other MBTs, and finally another layer of magic shield “blocks” that layered over the rest of the shield. In the event of a direct hit, an enormous amount of energy would be expended, negating energy of the incoming round when it struck. The armament was just as impressive. Most witches used their own preferred weapon, Sofia herself carrying her PKMSN. With the foci in the strikers, the weapon could hit as hard as any cannon. Also available was a rocket pod attached to the side of the striker. It was especially useful against pesky infantry. The strikers did have one major disadvantage: the tradeoff for so much power was enormous energy consumption. The drain on a witch's magic was tremendous, often leaving one exhausted after a day of training Sofia ran her hand over her personal set. Neither she nor Dasha had used them long; they still looked brand new. She climbed up the ladder and hopped into the legs. With a low whine, the magic turbines on the machine turned, powering them up enough for her to look through the HUD attached to her helmet. All readings came back normal. The strikers were calibrated and ready for combat and the girls had personally seen to their own weapons to make sure they were clean and combat ready. “Everything looks ready to go. We could attack at a moments notice.” Dasha finished the checks on her system as Sofia climbed down from her strikers, hopping gracefully down from her own set to stand next to her friend. . The two stood silent for a few seconds, staring at the metal beasts before them. “I suppose I do feel a little nervous. Do you think they're ready? The girls?” “Oh my!” Dasha looked at her friend with feigned bewilderment. “Is the Mighty Sofia Lel losing her confidence? What is this world coming to?” Sofia smiled a bit as her face flushed. “Oh shut up. They are still green. I just don't want them biting off too much yet.” “Don't worry, dear. With you watching over them they will be fine. Now come, let's go check on that lazy husband of yours.” The encampment was nearly as busy at night as it had been in the day. Trucks and helicopters brought in wounded, artillery fire barked sporadically in the distance, and watchful guards kept watch for enemy attacks. For the witches, and Georgy's men, the night passed fitfully as they waited for what lay ahead the next day. PART 2 It wasn't supposed to feel this warm in the middle of a winter night. In fact, the bed was sweltering. Slender, but deceptively strong arms held Lieutenant Georgy Lel tight under the covers, making it difficult to move. His groggy mind struggled to remember how and why he was here, and not in his own tent. In the dim light, he saw a simple wedding band on the left hand that kept him prisoner. He grinned, recognizing it immediately: Sophia had always been a bed hog. Georgy decided to share the warmth a few minutes more, intertwining his fingers with Sophia's. He lay as long as he dared, but he need to get out and ready himself for the coming day. Gently, he unwrapped the arms around him and slid out of the cot. Sophia murmured and turned fitfully in her sleep before rolling over and snoring again. Georgy stretched, his back cracking from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position— Sophia was just as possessive as always. He looked around to get his bearing, a few small windows letting in just enough moonlight for him to see. The tent was better furnished than his own spartan quarters: the cots were larger and there was more room—almost a waste of space for just two witches. Stirring from the other side of the tent caught his attention. Another cot lay on the far wall with another figure—Dasha, he assumed—sleeping peacefully. He looked back at his wife as he set down to put on his boots. The disheveled, snoring, drooling, blanket stealing woman in front of him was very different from the imposing, stoic soldier the rest of the military knew. Georgy smiled at the sleeping woman, leaving her with a light kiss to the forehead before he stepped out into the cold morning air. Georgy walked aimlessly around the post and stretched his legs, letting the cold air dispel his grogginess. The barest hints of dawn peaked over the horizon, but the the moon and the stars in the clear sky made artificial light unnecessary. His mind drifted to his youth in the collective dairy farm, helping his father milk the cows early in mornings much like this one. He had been a small, almost sickly child—but he always wanted to help. Running errands, cleaning, helping his mother cook... always looking for something to do around the cottage. He smiled to himself, remembering a younger, then Captain Glukhovsky, coming to visit his father and bringing a young girl with him. The two were about the same age: Georgy seven, and her eight. The girl had stood a few inches taller than him and, compared to the scrawny boy, seemed imposing. Georgy remembered her smile as his father pushed him forward to greet her. His hand had shaken nervously as he awkwardly extended it to her for a shake. Her smile and gentle handshake had made all his nervousness go away... till she dragged him outside with unnatural strength to play. That had been his first experience with a witch. And with Sophia. Distant explosions brought him back to the present. Those seemed farther away than they had the day before. Maybe the front was pushing up faster than expected? If so, then all the better. It had made no sense that the Polish air force would bomb civilian targets in Communist International territory unprovoked, but they had—and the rest of the West would pay. Georgy and Sophia had been visiting his parents when they heard the news, and returned the the 20th's head quarters as quickly as they could. Images of wreckage and blackened buildings in Sandomierz had played on news stations across the country for those who had television sets. Reporters retold the story on the radio countless times. Pictures of blanket-covered bodies had filled the news papers. The memory sent a shiver of rage down his spine. How could the Poles be so stupid? Surely they could see the futility of such a cowardly attack? It made no sense to Georgy, and that only made him angrier. “Excuse me, Comrade Lieutenant, can we help you?” Georgy startled, looking up at a heavily armed sergeant and his soldiers. They were standing guard in front of one of the entrances to the motor pool where his tanks rested. With resistance fighters being reported in many of the conquered areas, extra precautions were being taken to keep vehicles from being destroyed or stolen. Georgy opened his mouth to reply, but another voice answered for him. “No need to worry, Comrade Sargent, we are just here for some early morning work on our tank.” Sergeant Anton Rezanov stepped out from behind Georgy, startling him for the second time in less than two minutes. The Sergeant stared at them both for several seconds but before he could open his mouth, one of the privates spoke up. “I saw these two in the group that came in yesterday, Sergeant. They rode those T-72s over there.” Georgy followed the private's pointing finger. Just like he said, their tanks, along with the others left in his company, were neatly lined up. Georgy nodded curtly at the soldiers as he and Rezanov walked through the gate,walking past a number of ComIntern vehicles on the way to their own. It was a testament to the amount of firepower the Motherland and her allies were throwing against the West: A line of Polish T-72Ms, a company of Ukrainian A variants, various models of T-62s, and a fair number of T-55s as well. Georgy wasn't sure what good they would be against NATO's newer AFVs, but they looked just as dangerous as anything as else present. He was, however, somewhat taken aback to see T-34-85s as well. That there were many still in service of the ComIntern's militaries were well-known, but he had not expected to see them this close to the front. He winced thinking of driving one into combat. I was scary enough to be inside his T-72B—fighting inside one of those would be hell. “A hell of a lot of shit piled together, isn't it?” Georgy looked back at his smirking gunner. A grin of his own etched across his own face. “What, no faith in the products of the People's blood and sweat?” Georgy asked as they came up to their tank. “If blood and sweat could grease little Suka's gears or stop bullets and missiles, I would be the most faithful man in all of Russia.” Both men laughed at as they started walking around the tank, looking for anything that would hinder the vehicles operation. “Decided to let Pavel sleep in?” Georgy asked as he climbed on top of Suka to take the covers off the turrets optics. “I thought it would do him some good. The young bastard tried to familiarize himself with a few of the witches; only got himself a slap to the face.” Rezanov laughed. “Poor boy reached too high, I think. A few of the others are milling about, but I sent them to get breakfast first. And what about you? Normally I have to wake your lazy ass in the mornings.” Georgy grinned sheepishly but didn't reply. “Oh-ho! A night with your lovely wife?” Rezanov hooted theatrically. “If only we all were so lucky!” “It wasn't like you think, you vulgar ass. She caught me by surprise and I woke up in her tent—get that look off your face, I told you nothing happened.” Georgy smiled despite himself. Anton had been a good companion ever since Georgy had joined their company. Despite their difference in rank, Anton had taught Georgy more about their tank than he had ever learned at the academy. He trusted his Driver/mechanic with his life and Anton trusted Georgy with his. He had impressed on him so much, Georgy had even made him one of the groomsmen at his wedding. The morning sun was already above the treeline when the rest of the tankers arrived. They busied themselves with checking the tension of the treads, and oil and fuel levels. It was all monotonous work, but no one wanted to be in the vehicle that stopped at the front due to improper maintenance. Crews took bore brushes and swabbed cannons tubes, not stopping till Rezanov was satisfied they were spotless. Each crew preformed function checks on their tanks, making sure they started without trouble, and that all the systems and hydraulics were functional. Anything that looked suspicious or troublesome was written up, and given to the maintenance crew to be dealt with. Georgy watched as the crews packed the last of their gear back up. Fortunately, there were few problems with the remaining functional tanks. A few leaks here and there and one had a cracked road wheel, but Anton had assured him that maintenance crew would have the issues fixed by the evening. Satisfied that their work was done, Georgy dismissed the crew for the morning. It would do them well to have some time to either call or write to their families. Anton walked from behind Georgy, throwing his arm over Georgy's shoulder. “Let's go get us some breakfast ourselves, eh? I'm as hungry as a bear, and the others are saying they are serving real eggs in the chow tent.” “That sounds good to me, comrade. After that I'll need you to help keep an eye on the men. I still have a report to finish for the Battalion Commander, and I don't want Pavel getting himself slapped again.” Georgy chuckled, remembering the young soldier's still slightly swollen face. He had tried to change the subject when Georgy had asked him about it. “Hah! I wouldn't worry about him to much. His pride is hurt more than anything, but he will be back to chasing skirts soon enough.” The chow tent was still busy by the time they arrived. Fortunately, there was still plenty of food to go around, and the two men enjoyed their breakfast of eggs, toast, and ham. The two men were so engrossed in their food that they didn't notice a young girl walk up behind them. “Um, excuse me. Comrade Lieutenant Lel?” Georgy turned to face the voice behind him. Yana Llyin stood at attention, trying her best to look serious. “Yana! How are you this morning? Would you care for some breakfast?” Georgy offered her a slice of toast with jam, which she politely declined. “Thank you, Sir, but I just have a message for you. Captain Lel needs to meet with you at the nearest available opportunity.” Georgy smiled and nodded. “Then please inform the Captain I will meet her at the Striker hanger.” The young girl nodded, and tried to straighten herself even more. Georgy grinned, and ruffled her hair, causing her to squirm and duck, squeaking in surprise. Yana's face flushed red as she gave a rushed salute and hurried out of the mess tent. Georgy and and Anton both laughed as they took their trays to collection counter. “I won't hold you then.” Anton dumped his utensils into the receptacle and gave Georgy a lazy salute. “I don't want to keep your lovely wife waiting. Give her a kiss for me, will you?” “She would probably slap me for it.” Georgy grinned at his friend. “Keep the men out of trouble, will you?” Anton grunted as they parted ways, Anton heading towards the soldiers tents and Georgy towards the witches' area. With less than fifty witches in the 20th Tanks Division, their area was much smaller than the rest of the camp. The first thing Georgy noticed was the lack of witches in the area. Most were probably at the front, and the few who were not were probably resting or training. A few small hastily made hangars stood in the middle of the area, the crest of Sofia’s unit painted on one of the doors. Sliding it open just enough for him to fit through, he made his way inside. Aside from one set of strikers—Sofia’s, he noticed—it was empty. With nothing more to do besides wait, he went to examine his wife's equipment. He saw her weapons stand next to her strikers. Georgy smiled as he studied over his wife's choice of weaponry: an AKMS—the one originally used by her father in his younger days—sat next to her PKMS. His eyes turned to the cannon that dwarfed the other two weapons. Sofia’s favorite armament, a 52mm cannon, lay on it's side; she had always preferred more firepower. Georgy had witnessed Sofia punch through armored plates over three kilometers away with this beast. “You aren't jealous, are you?” Georgy turned to see Sofia, closing the door behind her. He hadn't even heard her open it. “Too much to carry, I think. I'll stick with my tank.” Sophia laughed, her voice and boots echoing in the empty room. “You *are* jealous, are you?” She grinned, stopping behind her husband, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He grabbed one of her hands, intertwining his fingers with hers. “Why would I be jealous? I have Suka, don’t I?” Georgy gave her hand a light kiss before she could smack him with her other. “I’ve missed you, you know.” Sophia hugged him tighter to her bosom. “I know.” She let the words hang for a few moments while they stood in place, quietly staring at the strikers. She rested her chin in the crook of his neck, and he reached back to stroke her head. The two stood like that for what felt like an eternity before Sofia spoke up again. “I want this to be over.” “Me too. And with luck, we’ll be finished within a few months. Then we can finally start our lives together. We’ll have plenty of children for you to dote on, so you can leave the younger witches alone.” Sofia blushed furiously as Georgy snickered. “I do NOT dote on them! I treat them like soldiers. Defenders of the Motherland.” “Yes, if said defenders were a litter of kittens, maybe. You fret over them more than a hen over her chicks.” Georgy twisted out of his wife’s grip to avoid another smack. “You are lucky I love you, dearest husband.” “And you are lucky to have me, my lovely wife.” Giggling, they embraced once more, both looking into each other’s eyes, faces coming closers together. A loud knocking on the other side of the hangar caused them both to jump away, faces red. “Oh ho! What do we have here? The two love birds spending some time together before the briefing?” Colonel Artyom Glukhovsky stepped the rest of the way through the door way, his laughter filling the room. “Father! Please, you don’t have to interrupt us like we are still children!” Sofia pouted, looking very child-like herself, Georgy noted. “Aha but I do! I fear you would be preoccupied for some time if I hadn’t come by. Now come, we have many things to discuss.” The Colonel ended the conversation without giving the two a chance to reply. Georgy grabbed Sofia’s hand, and they followed him to the command tent. PART 3 A coal stove kept Colonel Artyom Glukhovsky’s tent comfortably warm for the three people inside. Georgy and Sofia Lel sat next to each other near the stove as the Colonel poured them some tea. They graciously accepted the cups and began sipping the hot brew. Glukhovsky remained standing while he cradled his own cup. The worried lines creasing his face caused an uneasy feeling to well up in Georgy. He had seen the old man worried before, but this seemed different. Glukhovsky appeared to try to speak a few times, his mouth opening and closing. “What’s the matter, Papa?” Sofia moved to her father. Concern welled from her voice. Glukhovsky seemed to steady himself, steeling his resolve. "Three days from now, we are to make a two prong push into NATO held territory. Most of our consolidated forces will be in the North, towards Poznan. One of Stalin's 'toys,'" Disgust coated the word as he spoke, "will lead the attack there. Sofia, you and your witches along with Georgy and his tanks will spear head the push towards Wroclaw, in the South.” The Colonel paused for just a moment, gouging the reactions of the couple’s faces. Georgy sat in silence, still trying to absorb the information, but Sofia starred at him perplexed, before opening her mouth to question him. Glukhovsky did not give her a chance speak. “And before you ask, yes you will have support. I have been able to gather a few more witches for you, and Georgy’s platoon will be re-enforced, merged into yours. You will also be accompanied by most of the 20th Tanks Division and a number of motorized divisions as well.” “Papa, why are you telling us this now? There will be a briefing that includes the other commanders soon, no? I understand the risks, but how is this any different from any other time?” Sofia clasped her father’s hands in her own. She grinned as the big man bowed his head. With one hand she lifted his chin back up, and wiped away a tear with the other. “Papa, I’ve never seen you like this before. Tell us what’s wrong.” “Yes Colonel!” Georgy jumped from his chair. “Acting as vanguard is no challenge. I can assure you that my men and I are up to it. We will make you and the Motherland proud!” The older man nodded wearily. “Yes. Yes. I believe you will. However, I think there is something else you should know. There are some in the General Staff who doubt my loyalty. They think I am holding back, being too cautious. The bastards think we should be at the borders of Paris by now.” He sneered. “Consider this a test.” He looked Georgy and Sofia over before continuing. “They wish to punish me, but eyes will be on you the entire time. You are not expected to break through to Wroclaw, but to take pressure off the divisions attacking in the North.” “Leave it to us, Comrade Colonel.” Georgy thumped his chest. “We will pave the way to Berlin, the Paris, then to the Atlantic coast!” Glukhovsky unleashed his renowned boisterous laugh. “HAH! I suppose I have nothing to worry about, eh? You have grown into a good man, Georgy. You do me and you father both proud.” “A long way from the scaredy cat he used to be.” Sofia started laughing herself, crushing Georgy in a bear hug. “You two are right. I have no reason to worry. As I said before, you will have re-enforcements, but I shall see if I can drudge anything else up for you. Come, let’s get to main tent for the actual briefing.” The Colonel walked to the entrance of the tent, holding the flap open and beckoning the other two through. Georgy and Sofia made their way silently to the large tent in the center of the base. Colonel Glukhovsky parted with them saying he would meet them there after he picked up a few things from his tent. He recognized the tent they approached as the one he had reported to when he had first arrived. A number of other officers and Senior NCO’s were still entering as they arrived. Dasha greeted them as they entered, escorting them to three seats she had saved. “Everyone seems excited.” Dasha stretched lethargically, acting anything but excited. “Care to take a guess where we’ll be heading next?” “You silly woman. It’s pretty obvious we are heading west!” Georgy from the other side of Sofia, then immediately dodged a smack from Dasha. “Oh stop it you two. Behave yourself.” Sofia glared at the curious faces that turned to investigate the commotion. “You two act worse than children!” A sudden blast of cold air interrupted their argument and silenced the rest of the tent. Colonel Glukhovsky stepped inside, his enormous size blocking out the light from the outside. Everyone snapped to attention as he walked to the podium at the front. He looked everyone over before calling them to stand down. The clatter of chairs was the only noise as he turned his back to the audience and unrolled a large map for all to see. “Comrades, as you know, we are here, outside of Kalisz.” Glukhovsky pointed to a small point on the map indicating their location. He traced a line to another town circled in red. “This is our target, Wroclaw. To the North,” he traced another line up the map, “is Poznan. The main push will be here. A new prototype will be leading the attack to crush NATO resistance. Our duty is to divert as many NATO forces to our position as possible.” The Colonel stopped for a moment as whispers in the crowd grew louder. They ceased immediately as he turned around to face them. Glukhovsky rested his hands on his podium, leaning to face his men and witches. “Comrades, this will not be an easy fight. It will be our most difficult challenge since the start of this war.” He paused to look over the faces focused on him. Worry and fear showed on the younger ones under his command. Most of the rest stared back with solemn, understanding eyes. They knew he always asked for everything, and the Colonel knew they would give it. A number of them even looked excited, hungry to test themselves against the odds. Glukhovsky had never felt the same way about combat himself, but he respected it. “This will be a huge gamble. But, if it pays off, we will be on Berlin’s doorstep; and soon after that to France. I have the utmost confidence in all of you. Many of us have already been bloodied in Afghanistan and those of you too young for that fight have more than proven yourselves thus far. You are ready; I know this, and I can say I am proud to fight for the Motherland alongside each one of you.” Several in the crowd unconsciously sat straighter as he spoke. All eyes were focused on the Colonel. 'Good,' he thought. Doubt was the last thing his officers needed right now. The next few hours went by quickly. Glukhovsky spent the time detailing smaller parts of the plan, and answering as many questions as he could. The noon sun shone down on them as they excited the tent afterward. Sofia stretched as she, Georgy, and Dasha walked out into the sun. It was still chilly outside but the sun felt good on their skin. “As usual, your father is good at stirring up fighting spirit.” Dasha covered her mouth and yawned. “Though it gets old after being around him for so long.” “You’re just a dull person. I don’t think I’ve seen you seen you get excited about anything aside from causing others pain.” Georgy snarked from the other side of Sofia. “I don’t think that’s a healthy mindset. You should find yourself a hobby, I think.” “Big words from a little man who hides behind his woman. Maybe I could make a hobby of smacking you around?” The two bickering adults were too oblivious to watch out for the chops to their skulls. “Really, you two! What did I tell you both earlier? You both truly are worse than children.” Sofia sighed and rubbed her temples. “Let’s go get some lunch. Father wants to meet with us again at the striker hangar.” The other two agreed, though Georgy stuck his tongue out at Dasha while Sofia was not looking. Dasha made a halfhearted swipe at him but another look from Sofia ended the bickering before they started snickering. Sofia sighed before resigning herself with a small smile as they entered the mess tent. - Four pairs of eyes tracked the three entering the tent from behind a nearby parked truck. Four young witches crawled from behind the truck and ran towards their tent. Junior Lieutenant Margarite Tarshev held the flap open as the other three ran in. “I told you something was happening!” Svetlana Tsimmerman hopped around the tent, bouncing from cot to cot. “They wouldn’t get all the officers together unless something important was about to happen!” “Where do you think we’re going next?” Yana Llhyin asked, hugging her pillow on her bunk. “Hopefully back to the front. We have the Western forces on the run; we’ve been wasting too much time here.” Margarite huffed as she plopped down on her own cot. Svet jumped from her cot, landing on Verniy Savinka’s. “Whatcha think, Verniy?” Twisting around and falling backward, she let her head drop on Verniy’s lap. “I bet we head out any day now.” “We’re have to see what the Captain says.” Verniy replied calmly. “Harumph!” Svet pouted. “You’re no fun.” She jumped up again and grabbed some candy from her bunk before settling down and chewing happily. Margarite threw a few errant strands of hair over her shoulder with a flick of her wrist. “There’s no reason for us to speculate, all we have to do is prepare ourselves. We need to make Captain Sofia proud and-“ A pillow to her face cut her off. “Look at you, acting like an officer.” Svet jibbed in a sing song tone. “I bet you don’t even care what the Captain thinks. You just wanna impress her hubby.” The other two girls giggled as Magarite’s face turned several shades of red. “Th-that’s ridiculous! I would neverOOF!“ Another pillow to the face cut her off. “Don’t worry, Margarite, you little secret is safe from us.” Verniy chimed in. Yana only laughed into her pillow. Margarite’s response was to charge Svet with her own pillow. “We’ll see who’s laughing after I shove this down your throat!” The sounds of laughter and rough-housing carried through witches' section of the camp. - Stomachs full, Georgy, Sofia, and Dasha walked through the doors to the witches’ hangar. The first thing Sofia noticed was two more sets of tank strikers that had not been there earlier. The next was two unfamiliar witches who were in the middle of a conversation with the Colonel in the center of the building. She noted that they seemed to be around the same as her, which could be advantageous; another set of rookies would only make things that much more difficult the next few days. The first woman was the shorter of the two. Her tan complexion and dark brown hair done up in a ponytail clashed with her light blue eyes. A small, round, cute face focused on Colonel Glukhovsky with a neutral expression. Her crossed arms belayed her impatience: it seemed they had been waiting for several minutes. The second witch, a tall blonde woman, yawned. A small scar blemished her left cheek, but it didn’t take anything away from her roguish good looks. The Colonel was the first to notice them walk up. “Ah, here we are. Captain, allow me to introduce you to your new witch attachment. This is Senior Lieutenant Rozalina Emine.” Rozalina gave the three a quick appraisal before standing to attention. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Comrade Captain, and Comrades Lieutenants.” “And this,” the Colonel waved his hand to the other witch, “is Lieutenant Alyona Sizy.” Sizy gave a small nod. “A pleasure, Captain.” “These two witches will be your support, your eyes and ears for the assault. They specialize in scouting, an invaluable asset for our task.” “It’s a pleasure, Lieutenants.” Sofia eyed the two new arrivals. Doubts swam through mind, but the two of them held themselves confidently, and her father seemed to have a good impression of them. That would have to do.