"You're holding a gate for no one. You're just an idiot standing on a wall."

--

Colonel General Alexandrov could only marvel at the speed with which the prefabricated buildings had gone up. Camp Zhukov had gone from being a barren set of foothills with the odd scrub brush and tall grass to a first rate military encampment. Still, the rate of construction was to be expected when instead of an engineering battalion or two assigned to them, they now had a full engineering division.

Barracks, infirmaries, bunkers, and hangers had all sprung up like weeds on the mountain side in addition to miles upon miles of wire and razor wire fence. In fact, so rapid was the progress was the construction that Moscow had stepped up the timetable for colonists. He was actually on his way back from greeting around two thousand of them. All men, all miners or operators related to mining, with their families to be coming in the coming weeks. By the end of the month he was expecting to have something like twelve thousand Soviet citizens running around, mostly from the Ukraine and GDR surprisingly.

Their lodgings were already provided for, indeed there was lodging for ten times their amount immediately available with more going up with every passing day. There was a joke going around that excavators now outnumbered tanks in the Gate Army, which was actually probably pretty close to the truth. Camp Zhukov had turned into a sprawling military city, that resembled the spokes on a wheel in how it was set up. Each new section was first enclosed with fencing and wire before filled in with structures and roads. The base now extended for at least a mile in every direction from the base of Mt. Rubicon, and in some cases farther, much of it geared towards housing a civilian populaiton.

Alexandrov didn't know the specifics, but he knew one thing for sure and that was the fact that they were here to extract element R331, or mythril as some of the locals called it. He had made quiet inquiries as to why the metal was so important and had been told through official channels that it was above his pay grade, which considering his rank was saying something. Though they didn't outright say it like that to his face. Through unofficial channels, friends of his dating back to the Great Patriotic War, he had learned that R331, or mythril had the ability to defeat any and all known radar and tracking systems. A light coating of the metal, even just as a paint would render all radar and long range missile systems used against it, completely useless.

This in itself worried Alexandrov. He'd already lived through one world war, and he knew there were members in High Command and the Proletariat who would see this as an edge to be used against NATO. A trump card if you will and while it would make them unstoppable in the conventional sense, they were still just as vulnerable in the nuclear one. There were those however, some of Alexandrov's colleagues included who would see this as a means to break the stalemate induced with the advent of nuclear weapons.

If they were allowed free reign, then fifteen million Red Army soldiers stationed on the border to the West would pour across Europe in an unstoppable wave. There were others though, General Alexandrov among them who wished to avoid such a war. He wasn't a coward by any means, Alexandrov was a patriot and he loved the Motherland, would die for it if needed, but he could not condone a war that would rip open wounds not yet entirely healed from the last one.

So deep in thought was Alexandrov that he didn't notice several GAZ jeeps roaring by full of infantry until the fourth one had passed.

They were all armed with assault rifles and equipped for combat with several IFVs and light tanks rumbling by in the mix. Alexandrov waved down a jeep, and the driver seeing the commandant of the entire Gate Army waving him down slammed hard on the breaks, causing the jeep to skid to a halt.

"Where are you going in such a hurry soldier?" asked Alexandrov to the startled junior sergeant.

"T-there's a column of indigenous inhabitants approaching the southern gate sir. We've been ordered to provide reinforcement."

"Is it an assault?"

"I don't know sir, we were just told to head down immediately."

"Alright I see then, make room," said Alexandrov stepping into the jeep, the soldiers scrambling to compact themselves to give the general a place to sit.

"This is now my personal motor vehicle and you are now my security detail. We won't be stopping at any checkpoints or anyone in our way. I don't care if its your sweetheart from back home, we don't stop," said Alexandrov. "Now keep going to the southern gate."

"Uh, yes sir, right away sir," said the young soldier, quickly putting the jeep into drive and accelerating quickly past the rest of the column.

It was soon apparent why the southern gate had requested reinforcements. The few dozen men assigned to it were looking at least a thousand or more people gathered in front of it. Hull down T-55s with frag rounds loaded were aimed squarely into the center mass of the group, while machineguns poked out like metal snouts from bunkers, their operators hunched anxiously behind them, twitchy fingers on the triggers and about a dozen Soviet soldiers blocking the road with the metal gate closed and Kalashnikovs aimed threateningly. There was a constant ominous rattling from amongst the crowd of assembled people. Like when you have a handful of change that you roll about your hand. One thing was for certain however, those present were not human.

Despite that, they were no threat save for their great numbers. They were dressed in rough and cheap clothes, dirty and torn as if they had never been cleaned and been subjected to a great deal of abuse. The people wearing them didn't look much better. They looked gaunt, hungry, and depressing examples of what they had once been, but also hopeful. Iron collars and chain links dangled from them, dragging their limbs down from the weight now clinking any time that they moved.

They were odd looking creatures, some looking like animals that could merely walk upright, others appearing entirely human except for strange looking hair that looked like feathers and avian legs. They were as varied as they were numerous, with their little ragtag column stretching back at least a mile if not more. The smell was something gagging as well. Too many unwashed bodies too close together from too many species.

"Sir, I would advise you to stay back," said a captain with a Kalashnikov who appeared to be in charge of the gate. "It could get very hot here any moment."

"Somehow Captain I doubt that," said Alexandrov walking up to the gate where some of the bravest one had ventured within a dozen feet of. "You, what is your name interpreter?" called Alexandrov to the elf assigned to the gate in case of a situation like this.

"My name is Rissien, my lord," said the elf. A slender looking man with long limbs and long starlight colored hair that looked feminine both in length and style. Like all elves he had a flawless symmetry to his face and an almost too perfect complexion. With slender, almost fragile features to complete the image of some kind of doll.

"You will be my interpreter Rissien, follow me," said Alexandrov heading towards the metal gate, his half dozen accosted guards following close behind.

"Open the gate," said Alexandrov to a burly sergeant who seemed to be responsible for letting people in or out.

"Are you sure sir?" asked the sergant, eying the veritable inhuman horde on the other side.

"Very," said Alexandrov. If he wished to prevent a massacre then it was the only thing that he could do.

"Sir I must insist that you leave, it isn't safe for you here," said the Captain in charge of the gate.

"You may insist all you want Captain, but I am still going through this gate," said Alexandrov as the heavy steel gate was opened enough for someone to comfortably walk through. Having just come from a welcoming ceremony Alexandrov was dressed in his full dress uniform and his officers cap. Medals from a dozen wars gleamed on his tunic and his ceremonial saber swayed gently on his hip as he walked through, flanked by his half-dozen guards and elfin interpreter.

Alexandrov stopped a few paces short of the closest...being who seemed intimidated at seeing someone so obviously high ranking standing before him.

"Ask them who speaks for them."

Obediently the elf named Rissien translated quickly to the group in front of them. It truly was remarkable, amazing in fact the rate that the elves had learned to speak fluent Russian. It seemed in addition to their various other traits the elves were highly intelligent, learning things that would take a normal human a month of intensive study in a week.

The closest to Alexandrov, a dark furred looking dog man with a lupine snout and vaguely humanoid body looked around for a moment before a large, muscular looking man with horns on his head and scars on his body stepped forwards. He had an iron collar around his neck and manacles of a similar construction on his wrists and ankles. His voice was deep and powerful and Rissien translated what he said as he said it.

"He says that his name is Talfagoron and he led these people in an uprising from a mine at least fifteen leagues from here. They were slaves, but when they heard of the defeat of the Imperial army at Mt. Rubicon and rumors that the mottled men did not practice or condone slavery, they broke free and headed here. He says that they lack food and water, and most have no education, but they have strong backs and would be willing to work hard for the Lord of the Mountain in exchange for protection from the Empire."

"Tell him that I am Colonel General Alexandrov, commander of the First Gate Army and that everything here and everyone on this mountain is under my command and as such I have indisputable authority here. Tell him that he has trespassed on territory belonging to the Soviet Union and the only reason that he was not fired upon was that he is not a threat to us in any way. Does he understand?"

"He does General. He says that he is very sorry for coming onto your lands without permission and asks in humility that you accept them. He says that they have nowhere else to go."

"Ask him why he thought that I would take him and his people in. I have more than enough workers and more than enough mouths to feed without a few thousand more refugees with children and the lame to take care of," said Alexandrov seeing a grotesque leg injury on one of the nonhumans present.

Rissien relayed the question and Alexandrov could almost see the hope drain from the large man's eyes. Even though he was at least head and shoulders above Alexandrov he seemed pitifully small now, unable to meet the General's gaze. As if a great weight he had been holding up had finally proven to be too much and was now crushing him down into the ground.

"He says that he understands that you have no reason to take in worthless slaves, but asks that you at least take in the women and children. He says that the slave masters from the mines have sent out bounty hunters and cavalry after them and have been attacking the back of their column. He says they came here in hope that you would accept them, but asks you now out of pity that you take in the young and show mercy so the masters will not punish them when they are recaptured," said Rissien, stopping as the large being stooped to his knees prostrating himself before Alexandrov, his stone like face cracking as the large man began to weep, his voice a pitiful wail.

"He begs you General," said Rissien as the large man clutched at Alexandrov's pant leg causing his guards to level their Kalashnikov's at the being, safeties clicking off. Then pointed them away at a gesture from their general.

Alexandrov knelt down and grabbed the mans shoulders, raising him back to his feet. His skin was like leather, tough and rough, woven through with long healed scars from a lifetime of abuse and muscles made through strenuous backbreaking work.

Alexandrov had been but a boy when the revolution had swept through the Russian Empire to turn it into the Soviet Union, yet he still remembered that time vividly. He remembered the lack of food, the indifference of the nobles to the lives of the people under their control, the bleak outlook of the Russian worker forever at the mercy of the factory owners and landlords. Little better than slaves, sent to fight and die or starve at the whims of their 'noble' lords without thought or care. They had feasted while a famine had swept through Russia as they had fought a pointless war created by nobles against Germany in which millions of young Russian men had perished. Alexandrov was still a revolutionary at heart and it struck a deep cord within him to see such an obviously proud man refer to himself and his people as worthless slaves. To grovel at the feet of merely a new lord in his eyes. He did not know if Moscow would approve, but he would not turn his back on the starving masses literally at his door.

"Rissien, translate everything that I say exactly as I say it."

"Yes General."

"Talfagoron. I admire the courage and resolve that your people have displayed in making this journey and at terrible risk to yourselves. In respect of your courage and as an act of simple humanity, your people will be taken in, every single one of them. You will be provided with food, water, shelter, medical treatment and accommodations. You will not be mistreated or abused while you are under the protection of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics Red Army. Your rights will be respected and your dignity will be preserved. However, there are rules that will be followed without complaint or question. Failure to do so will result in the expulsion from Mt. Rubicon and Camp Zhukov. I retain the right to do so at any time should my conditions of your acceptance be breached, and I will make you leave in such an event."

It was as if the crushing weight upon the mans back was lifted off in an instant and in a fit of glee Talfagoron wrapped his arms the size of stove pipes around the general in a great hug, Alexandrov having to make frantic gestures so that his men did not think it some kind of attack and open fire. The giant of a man, or whatever he was, was weeping openly.

"Talfagoron says that they will honor you for this and pray to the gods every night for your health and well being," said Rissien.

"Tell him it isn't necessary," said Alexandrov.

"But it is General."

"Why?"

"Well because General, no one has ever done anything like this. Nothing even close to this scale even. Especially not a human for people who aren't human," said Rissien.

"Well I intend to change that," said Alexandrov.

With that and the indisputable authority of the Colonel General, the great metal gates were opened and the freed slaves from a dozen different species came through. The final count would be 3 428 slaves accepted that day. There was more than enough space for them, with the engineers erecting dozens of new barracks and houses a day complete with showers and the compartmental nature of which the camp had been designed allowed them to be put into one section entirely. They were put under heavy guard obviously, but were provided with all necessities of life.

Surplus uniforms were handed out to replace clothes that could no longer be called such and a veritable army of doctors and nurses were unleashed to help process those present, including some mechanics and engineers to remove the iron manacles and collars still handing heavily from the escaped slaves.

Alexandrov's act of mercy would soon be turned into a propaganda victory back in the Soviet Union when the first reels of footage were released to the public to show them what was being done with so many resources and so much money that was being funneled into the Gate. Not all of those in Moscow were pleased by his act however. Many powerful men looked unfavorably upon it.

--

It had been at least a week since they had hit the Imperial tax collector and Ianthe found herself experiencing what some of the other mercenaries had called, 'silver fever.'

It wasn't a sickness in the traditional sense of the word, more like a warm fuzzy feeling of not worrying about money for the first time. She had been concerned at first accepting the contract with the Red Army, but in reality all it entailed was her flying around every so often and letting them know what she saw ahead of them. That was it, no fighting, no duties, and food for her and time to hunt for Maximus. When she finished with this job she would have to pay out her debt to the Skyraiders obviously to go back to the Messalon cities. Maybe tell some of her peers about the opportunities and wealth that could be gained from working for the Red Army. Right now though, she was more concerned about napping.

She was sitting on Maximus, lounging actually, who was in turn sitting on the armored wagon called a PT 76 light tank. It moved astonishingly fast, even carrying something as heavy as Maximus with nothing visibly pulling it, which had made Ianthe suspect magic, but the elf had said it wasn't the case. The elf had said that it was a machine that moved itself, but that sounded like hogwash to Ianthe. More than likely it was some kind of magic and they had just lied to the elf about how it worked. The little elf seemed like a good sort, the kind of village girl preachers daughter that lived down the lane who would volunteer to carry things for the elderly. While hardly knowing what her lady parts were supposed to be used for.

The elf was nice, if a bit meek, but that didn't seem to be much of a problem the way the that the older soldier with the steel teeth looked after her. Ianthe wondered if perhaps the soldier wanted to, or was laying with the elf. It seemed unlikely though, he didn't look at her with hungry eyes, more of a protective and fatherly look. Wherever these guys were from though, they were absolute prudes.

Whenever they had to bathe, or else clean themselves they would all make a concerted effort to not even glance in her direction. Which was all fine and dandy by Ianthe's point of view, but she was from Messalon. It was called the free cities for a reason and independence was not the main cause of the name. Hell, clothes were more of a fashion statement than actual necessity there for both men and women. Doing mercenary work though had taught her that if she didn't want to get stared at like a piece of meat all the time, cover up. Helped too since many of the places Messalonian mercenaries went considered women inferior soldiers.

What she was looking forward to, was a chance to get drunk on what the Soviets called Vodka. She didn't mind the taste, though it was much more potent than what she was used to. The lieutenant was very strict though, no liquor on duty, no fires at night, and nobody left the group or went anywhere alone. Smart man so far as she was concerned and he seemed like a competent officer. Literate, knew his numbers, and he listened to his sergeant which was a huge improvement over many of the petty nobles Ianthe had worked for before. He might actually end up not getting them all killed if he kept it up.

Maximus however, was not taking to the lack of violence quite well and as a result was getting fat, complacent, and stubborn. All three things that Ianthe couldn't allow him to become. Dealing with dragons was a bit of an art. If you acted like food around them, you became food. If you acted like an alpha, you always had to be the alpha, which was essential and harder than it sounded when dealing with thousands of pounds of raw, scaled killing fury that could snap a horse in half with its jaws. That being said, you had to read the dragon's mood. If you just tried to abuse it to get it to do what you wanted, you were a fool who would soon be dead. You had to get them when they were just a hatchling, get them used to people and believing that you were stronger than them and you could never back down when they challenged you as they were growing older. If you did and they found out that they were indeed stronger than you, that dragon would never respect you or listen to you.

They were hard to train, stubborn, tempermental, dangerous, and worth every ounce of hardship and patience. One dragon rider was better than a full platoon of calvalry. Most of the time it was the dragon that did the fighting. You could fight with a special lance or a bow from a dragon, but it was better to just let the dragon do its thing. Unless two dragon riders were fighting, in which case when the dragons locked together in a battle spiral, you did every dirty trick you could to make the other dragon lose. Try to lance it in the eye, stab its wing, kill its rider, and all sorts of other nasty tricks of the trade. If you were particularly lucky and skillful you could lance it under its armpit and maybe hit the heart. Even if you didn't though, it was a very tender spot on the dragon. Good distraction point.

Ianthe watched the trees go by without any real interest. She had just gotten back from a reconnaissance flight and the Lieutenant would let her know when he wanted another one done. Some sort of magic device that transmitted voices would let the crew of the PT carriage she was on now know, whom in turn would let her know.

Switching her gaze, Ianthe stared at the Lieutenant riding on top of the BTR carriage behind her own. He was always looking over his map and making little notes, his Kalashnikov as she now knew the staffs they carried to be called, was never far out of reach for him. He seemed different than his men. While he wasn't much older than Ianthe, if any older, he seemed to have an air of experience about him that his men lacked, save for the big man named Boris.

He was different in another way too though. Ianthe had seen all manner of warriors from peasant levies to knights who had literally dedicated their lives to war. The lieutenant Feliks had something inbetween the two. He took his duty seriously, but didn't let the idea of personal glory and combat cloud his judgment or interfere with his decisions. However, he seemed to enjoy combat to a degree that no conscripted farmer could ever hope to achieve. There was something else about his though, something that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

The man had been involved in something more than common soldiering sometime in his past. As to what he had done Ianthe wasn't sure, but despite the somewhat easygoing air that he would sometimes give off, he seemed like he could be a dangerous man if he wanted to.

Whatever it was though, it wasn't any of Ianthe's business and so long as he kept paying her then she could care less what he had done. There was a saying among the mercenaries of Massalon. You're paid from the shoulders down. The lords don't want you to think, they just want you to carry out whatever it is that they want done and how they want it done. And so long as she continued to have a contract, a quite lavish contract at that, she was content to do just that. Finally getting comfy in her saddle, Ianthe went about the business of getting some sleep.

--

Feliks liked to think of himself as a good leader and a good tactician, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his guard up on this patrol. Whenever they ran into any legionnaires, which was few and far between, it wasn't so much a fight as target practice. He didn't want to discount them as a threat, but when you had killed a hundred of them without a single loss of your own it was a little hard not to.

They'd been resupplied already with fresh fuel, food, and munitions, not that they'd really needed any more. They'd taken it though and stuffed as much as they could into the back of the jeeps since there was only ever usually one person driving them. Feliks pitied the poor bastards who were unlucky enough to have to drive those things day in and day out.

For the most part though things were going exceedingly well. They'd even developed a little routine. They'd go into a village, give the chief his gift, introduce themselves, and then pretty much put on a show of handing out little trinkets, giving some minor medical treatment, and generally making the Red Army look good.

They were about a hundred and twenty nautical miles from Alnus kill so starting tomorrow they'd be cutting cross country and staying in forrested areas as much as possible to hide them from aerial reconnaissance.

If what he had heard was true and all the villagers said that it was, there had been several large armies that had converged on Alnus Hill. Now Feliks was reasonably sure that their convoy could fight their way clear of even a legion of infantry and cavalry. What he was concerned about was the Dragon riders. They simply didn't have enough ammo to keep them away, or kill them all. Not assuming that they didn't try to simply ram or tip over the armored carriers with their dragon mounts. Or wyverns as some of the species were called. Not to mention that the BTRs weren't specialized for anti air work.

Because of such, if when he sent up Ianthe and she returned telling him that a huge amount of dragon riders or an entire legion were up ahead they would do a quick about face and head directly back to camp Zhukov. Their job was reconnaissance, not a combat patrol so Feliks was more doing his best to avoid any bandits or other encounters, which had been increasing in frequency the close they got to Alnus hill.

What could be more beneficial too though, would be traveling at night instead of during the day. They had night vision capabilities and from what he'd heard from Ianthe and some villagers they'd encountered, people generally didn't fight during the night in this world because of the confusion it caused and the difficulty of keeping everyone coordinated and together.

They'd also be noticed far less than they were now and be less likely to run into bandits than they were now, though honestly the few bandits they'd seen, if they had been which seemed entirely likely had been terrified of them. A tank with a dragon riding on top will have that effect on people it seemed. Speaking of which.

"Sergeant!" Yelled Feliks authoritatively into the open hatch of the BTR.

"Yes sir?"

"Our resident mercenary is getting too comfortable ahead, put her to work would you?"

"Yes sir, like to see her sweat do you sir?" asked the big man with a grin, sticking his head out of the hatch.

"Every second of every day if I could Sergeant."

"Right. Same deal as usual, fly some circles around us?"

"Yes, but see that she goes a bit further ahead to scout out the terrain. Tell her to go out for a few hours, but be sure to be back before nightfall."

"Making her work extra hard sir? If I may ask though sir, wouldn't it be quicker to just tell Dima and his boys yourself instead of getting your overworked sergeant to do it?"

"Boris you're teaching Luella how to play poker. Plus it's delegation, the art of leadership. I tell you to do it, you tell Vitsin to do it, Vitsin asks the driver who outranks him who obliges to do it, and then Dima tells Ianthe. It's a very complex command structure that you simply can't circumnavigate."

"I agree on all accounts except one sir, I'm not teaching Luella how to play poker. It's purely cultural exchange."

"Boris, you have three kings, does that beat what I have?" came the voice of their resident cheerful elf from within the confines of the BTR.

"Darling you can't look at my cards, we're playing against each other."

"Oh. Sorry," came the sheepish reply. Boris flashed a steely grin to Feliks before he ducked back down inside the BTR.

Feliks grinned when he was sure that Boris couldn't see. He and Boris had had a love hate relationship back when they'd been more comparable in rank. By love hate, they had loved to hate each other, all in good fun of course and a day didn't go by that they didn't insult one another to some degree. They were both professional enough now that since their relationship had changed with Feliks becoming an officer and Boris a senior sergeant, but they were still friendly with each other. Just couldn't rib each other like they used to. There was an unbreakable hierarchy in the military and you did not insult your officers or have your officers and senior NCOs argue or insult each other in front of the men. To do that screamed of being unprofessional and no longer soldiers, but civilians toting guns.

Feliks couldn't help but grin again when he saw the hatch of the PT 76 pop open ahead and Dima stick his head out and tell the mercenary that she needed to do another flight. The girl Ianthe wore everything on her sleeve as the expression went, and Feliks never had to guess what she was thinking because of it. He liked that about her, she was blunt, transparent, and crushingly honest. Right now, her expression told plainly that she would rather be napping. Nevertheless she was soon suited up and strapped to Maximus.

It was always a sight seeing the dragon tight flight. It would raise itself up on its haunches, like a cat about to pounce, then in one dramatic and explosive movement it would unfurl its wings and throw itself into the air. Its wings extending like a blue sail to either side of the road before snapping like dull thunder, the creature soon no more than a speck high above their heads. So it was more than a little surprise when she returned not a half hour later, landing heavily on the road ahead of them and leaping off of her mount.

"Column, halt," said Feliks into the Radio as they drew closer to the mercenary running up to the BTR.

The column ground to a halt, with the turrets of every vehicle swivelling to cover all avenues of approach.

Feliks watched the mercenary running up quickly to him and called for Luella to come out and act as an interpreter so they could more easily understand each other.

Ianthe made it to him, breathing heavily, but seemingly more from excitement than actual physical exertion despite the fact that she was fully armored for battle.

"BTR! BTR ahead!" said the mercenary excitedly.

"What?" asked Feliks perplexed. They were the only Soviet force out in this direction. There was no way that there was anyone with vehicles besides them out here. What followed was a rapid exchange between Luella and Ianthe, before the elf turned to Feliks to relay what had been said.

"Ianthe says that she saw vehicles like yours, but different ahead. Three of them, with one having a gun like that on top," said Luella, pointing to the turret of the BTR and the KPVT housed within. "She also says that they'll be here within maybe twenty minutes at their current speed."

"She's sure that she saw trucks? Not carriages or something else?"

Luella relayed the question to Ianthe who responded rather hotly to the little elf, while glaring at Feliks.

"Um she says, and sorry for the language, but she says that she knows what a fucking horseless carriage looks like and she wouldn't mistake a real one for something like you have," said Luella. Stumbling over the expletive like a child knowing it was saying a bad word.

A small part of Feliks wanted to reprimand the mercenary for swearing at a superior officer, but he had more pressing concerns to deal with than the mercenary's lack of etiquette.

"Alright then," said Feliks half to himself. This was unexpected and more than likely the reason that they had been sent this way. No way these vehicles were indigenous, one culture could not be that much more advanced than another and allow the other to maintain an empire. Nor could the disparity in technology be possible, which led to one very uncomfortable conclusion. There was another gate. One which another nation, possibly the same or more advanced than theirs had come through.

"Sergeant!" barked Feliks.

"Yes sir?" answered Boris, noting the urgency in the officers voice.

"Get that long range radio receiver sending. Tell Zhukov that we've got automobiles of a military nature approaching us and what they want us to do about it."

"Yes sir," said Boris disappearing within the BTR.

"Luella, tell Ianthe that she is take her mount and stay out of sight."

"O-okay," answered the elf, realizing that they may be getting into a fight in a short amount of time. As soon as the message was relayed, the silver haired mercenary was sprinting back towards her dragon and was soon airborne, by which time Feliks had already grabbed a radio and was giving orders into it.

"Grekov, Belikov, Zonov, Averin, break out the RPGs and get a good line of sight on the roadway from the treeline on either side. Dima, I want HE loaded and ready to go," rattled off Feliks and quickly got a series of yes sirs by way of reply.

"Lieutenant, I got through to Zhukov," said Boris hopping out of the BTR."

"Really?" asked Feliks, surprised at the speed with which they had gotten their reply, which only furthered his suspicions that they had already known of either this, or something like this beforehand.

"Yes sir. They say that they want us to make contact, but no violent confrontation."

"Did they say how they wanted us to greet them or what to say?" asked Feliks.

"No sir, they left that up to your discretion."

"Well great," muttered Feliks.

--

AN: Long time no see eh? I have come back!