Scott had kept his head down for most of the barrage - experience had taught him that debris flew a long way, and the strobing blasts of explosions could mess with your eyes and senses quite exquisitely. All the same, he popped his head up more than once to take a look, and couldn't help a somewhat feral grin crossing his features beneath the face-scarf he wore. Men and materiel were being blown to bits, and that was a god-awful thing... but it still looked fucking impressive. And besides, if they didn't want it to happen, then they shouldn't have gotten themselves into trouble. All too soon the fireworks were over, and they were on their feet and moving once more. Jan directed him to move on point, which he answered with a brisk and efficient 'sir' as confirmation, the HK MP5 up and to his shoulder, held with the sling extended to full stretch in the 'SAS style'. Like Jan, he moved between cover. Dust thrown up by the explosions was drifting in the air, and the smell of burning metal, fuel and masonry tinged the fresh, mountain air. Sliding to the ground alongside Jan, he too saw the checkpoint, and briefly met eyes with the Pole. "Right, weapons free," he confirmed again, before sliding out of cover once more to engage the hostiles. The MP5's report was a sharper, shallower rattle compared to the deep voices of Jan's 416 and the G3's and AK's of the tangoes, but its' shots were no less lethal. A man went down, caught through the chest, before Scott ducked into cover behind another tree. As Jan's 40mm round tore the guardpost apart, he used the moment to advance further and lob a frag grenade overarm behind a small ridge and a fallen trunk the hostiles were using for cover, scattering them further. "We've got them running, sir," he reported over the radio, chasing the moving hostiles with another burst from the MP5 before changing mag. "Just have to keep pressing them!"

The blast was - as Zhenya had expected - massive. Even from his crouched position, he could sense the shrapnel which whistled overhead at breakneck speeds. He could feel the intense heat of the explosion irritating his skin for a split-second, but after that, there was nothing but an eerie silence punctuated by the shouts and yells of the wounded. In hindsight, the bomb run by the Su-25s had probably done little to add to the devastating wrought by the Smerch battery. "Forget good effect, that was total destruction." Medved-One muttered, then cleared his voice. "Good work," He said into his mic, addressing the pilots and artillerymen sharing the frequency. "Lima captain wants another gun run on his mark. Su-25s, expend your rounds and head back to base. We will take over from there. Out." There was no confirmation from the pilots, but the spine-chilling sound of their gatling cannons opening up on their target a few seconds later told Zhenya that they had indeed received the order. The planes flew low, their wings almost clipping the trees as they pulled up from their strafing run, but they had certainly maximized the effectiveness of their guns. Whatever that had survived the initial bombardment was almost certainly torn to shreds by the Su-25s. "Medved to Lima, we will be taking a different route. No point for all of us going in one direction, eh?" Medved-One said, then with a nod of acknowledgement to Zhenya, skulked off into the forest. "We will go around the airfield. We have targets of our own to pursue and mark for destruction, but we will keep as close as we can. Let us know if you require assistance." Zhenya followed the rest of his squad towards the airfield. Looking at the devastated landscape ahead, he wondered just where the Captain expected him to set up his machine gun. There was quite literally nothing left that could be use as cover - anything that was not vaporized by the bombardment was on fire, and those not on fire were close to collapsing under their own weight. Eventually, he found a suitable spot behind the wreck of a car, or what he assumed used to be a car. Deploying the bipod, Zhenya set up his weapon and get his eyes downrange. The RPD, while old, was still a venerable weapon, as the dazed and confused TIAF survivors of the bombardment soon found out. His machine gun spat out round after round, each of them finding their intended target. Slow-moving, and none of them doing much to actively evade fire, the enemy soldiers were easy pickings. "Covering," Zhenya reported simply.

Jan moved forwards, moving into cover behind another tree stump, laying down fire on soldiers as Zhenya moved, and "Shit! BMD-1, coming from our right! Range, about 200m, closing fast! That is not VDV, that's a BMD-1!" Jan yelled, aware that this was a shitty little BMD-1, a light IFV of sorts with a 76mm gun and a Matyluka ATGM launcher. It was ancient tech, but it had to be taken out, and probably was a mover out of their sight. "Scott, prep the Carl G, light that fucker up!" Jan yelled, as he shot a man that was armed with a PKM cleanly with a burst, then reloading the 416, throwing a new PMAG into the weapon as he gave it a confident cock. They continued on laying down fire down the hill, as Zhenya set in, Jan keeping his head down as the RPD chucked out rounds, and the last remaining few at the guardpost were dead. The BMD was all that was left, and the infantry aboard now laying down rounds into the snow from afar. The radio suddenly buzzed, after the fight died, as Jan felt it was on his long range. Command. "This is Col Sanderson, Lima Actual, you are to halt right there. VDV and Spetsnaz forces are coming en masse, you're to desist and back off the target. Spetsnaz Vympel forces have seized the command centre." He heard, as Jan looked over, at the anarchy, the distant sight of parachutes and transport planes somehow sickening. This was fucked. Yet Jan felt that there were still men left. The fighting had died? How? Jan didn't understand, there were still militants last time they checked, and the fire hadn't hit the command centre...and yet the area had been teeming last time that Jan had looked. "Sanderson, you sure? We're almost to target, we're closing.." "Negative, you are to desist with immediate effect, Captain. You are to fall back over the ridge and await extraction." Sanderson said, as Jan looked around. They'd done the job. No more hostiles. There were soldiers on the ground, and somehow, Jan felt betrayed. This wasn't right. Something was fucked. Medved was nowhere in sight, and Jan knew that Zhenya had something to do with it, or at least part of something. Why were they stopping? That he didn't get. He had to abide his rules, and knew full well what was going on. Right now, they had to leave. Maybe there "This is bullshit, Colonel.." "Orders are orders, Captain. The Russians want your team removed right now. Do I make myself clear?" Sanderson said, as Jan swore, moving around the wrecked guardhouse, the sight of new, shiny looking BMD-3 and balaclava-clad Russian men following behind, scary enough in it's full sight. This was shitted. They were here too early, and they had found something- they rushed the Command Centre. Jan wanted to go in. But he had a feeling the ROE had changed for them. "Understood, Colonel." Jan said, as he lowered his 416, the burning wreck of the BMD-1 close to the guardhouse, and the dead bodies strewn about for nothing. He looked to the two men of Lima, unable to still see Medved. "Zhenya, I swear to God....tell me fucking true, what is going on. Why I'm hearing this. Tell me that you're going to say this is madness. We lost five men for this." Jan said, bitterly, taking his sunglasses off with his gloved hands, the 416 held tightly in his right hand, around the pistol grip. He had a feeling that whatever Zhenya was going to say, was going to be terrible indeed. Or if it wasn't, Jan knew it was going to be a lie. He felt driven himself to say it. He wasn't speaking on Scott's behalf now. He was saying it because he wanted to personally get retribution. And there was a deep seated anger that he had at Zhenya right now, a deep seated suspicion about all of this.

Zhenya could not say that he was surprised when he saw a BMD-3 of the VDV come rolling through the airbase. It was almost a certain fact that Medved had something to do with this sudden de-escalation, but the Russian also knew that this was exactly how the VDV operated. Strike hard, strike fast and end the fight before it even truly began. All around him, the Russian troops were all cheering at their speedy victory. "Nobody, but us!" They shouted the VDV's motto in Russian, punching their fists into the air. Taking some time to mingle with his ex-comrades, Zhenya found himself repeating the motto alongside them, albeit in a softer and more subdued manner. "Do any of you know of a Medved team?" Zhenya asked eventually, curious about what the Vympel team had been up to. "They said they were going to designate more targets." The VDV lieutenant whom Zhenya had asked merely shrugged. "Who knows? Vympel never tells us anything. I am just happy that the fight is done and I have not lost too many of my men." He said, but then tilted his head towards the other side of the airfield. "But it has something to do with the command center, I am sure of it. We were told to leave that building to Spetsnaz. If that place is off-limits to even VDV, it must contain some very important information." Zhenya furrowed his brow. This was not going to go down well with the Captain, but he would deal with that problem when it came to it. "Details to do with Grozny, I guess." "I fucking hope so," The lieutenant said. "I promise you, we are going to salt their lands and burn their homes once we find out where the TIAF have been hiding." ---- The command center had, thankfully, survived the worst of the bombardment. Most of the walls were on their last legs, and the ceiling was entirely gone, but the building's contents were still thankfully largely intact. Medved-One carefully stepped through a roughly person-sized hole in one of the walls. Opposite him, he could clearly see the huge chunk of metal which had made the hole. Aside from that however, the command center was empty. "Clear," He called out to the rest of his team, who filed in shortly after. They gathered in the center of the building and took a quick glance around them to get oriented. "Right, we all know the drill. Search everywhere and take anything that looks important. We cannot waste time with the computerized bullshit, so pull the hard drives and we will hand it over to the technicians when we get back to base." Medved-One said quickly. With only curt nods from the rest of the team as acknowledgements, he moved off to search his own sector of the command center. The first desk he came to had apparently been emptied in a hurry - the drawers were still open and there were papers everywhere. Some were burnt, but a few were still intact and legible. He picked one sheet up and looked through it. "Cargo manifest," He called out, neatly folded the sheet and placed it into a map case hanging from his duty belt. "Hard drives," Medved-Two reported. "And a laptop that's still on. Can you believe these guys were using Google Earth?" "I can, actually. Unless they were planning some precise laser-guided bullshit, Google Earth maps are good enough." Medved-Four replied, and was immediately followed by the grinding sound of a cabinet being dragged across the floor. "Hidden trapdoor." He reported, then smashed through the wooden door with the heel of his boot. "Anything?" Medved-One asked as he sifted through another pile of papers. "Yeah," Medved-Four replied. "Empty gas canisters, like those used in Grozny." Medved-One let out a low whistle. That was one heck of a find; no doubt the TIAF were planning a similar attack somewhere in Armenia, or in any of the neighbouring states. Just as he was about to dismiss the pile he was sifting through as useless, one particular report caught his eye. It was written entirely in Russian, with no Turkish or Armenian translation. Holding it up higher, he read the report carefully. "Oh, shit." He said, his eyes going wide. "What is it?" Medved-Three asked. "The TIAF are planning something massive." Medved-One said. "An attack on a European city. A second Grozny, they call it." "So?" Medved-Four asked. "Let the technicians find out where and let whichever nation it is deal with it." Medved-One shook his head. "It is a false flag. They have militants already in their target city. Several hundred, if this report is to be believed." He said and smirked despite the situation. He had lost count of the times when intercepted enemy reports spoke of 'thousands' of insurgent troops when in reality there was hardly a handful. "They have Russian uniforms and AKs. Once this attack kicks off, Europe will think that Russia just launched a terror attack." "So the TIAF is targeting Russia?" Medved-Two asked. "What for?" "According to this, Grozny." Medved-One replied. "Revenge for the slain martyrs or whatever shit. They mentioned Lima too. Looks like Derzhavin's friends have made themselves a significant problem. Could be a trap, could not. Either way, we can't do anything with this now. We can panic later when the technicians get more details. For now, strip this place and do it quick. I want us done and out in thirty." ---- When Zhenya walked back to his team, the last thing he had been expecting was for the Captain to immediately blow up in his face. Sure, he had been expecting some kind of reaction, but he had thought that the Captain would save the emotional stuff for when they were back at base, not here in the presence of a VDV regiment. "I do not know either," Zhenya replied flatly and folded his arms. "But we have our orders, yes? To return to base. The VDV seem to have everything under control here." Just then, Medved-One's voice came over his headset. "Derzhavin! Do not reply. This is a secure connection, no one can hear us. Listen closely. We have raided the enemy command post and they have plans to implicate Russia in a terror attack. Their target is Copenhagen, but that is besides the point. The Danish can handle their own affairs. The point is that the TIAF know of Lima. They know you will respond and from what we found, they are planning to eliminate your team once you all respond. Keep Lima away from Copenhagen, Derzhavin. Do whatever it takes." The communication cut off as sudden as it began. Zhenya maintained his facade of calm, but in his mind, he debated whether or not he should tell the Captain what Medved had just told him. It did not take long for him to decide that it would be a bad idea; the Captain would probably see the trap as a challenge and decide to take the TIAF head on, even against tough odds. "Are we to return to base?" Zhenya asked the Captain.

Scott had been backing up Jan and Zhenya's fire with his own as they advanced. He heard the BMD at the same time as Jan called it out, and threw himself behind cover as the infantry piled out, and the vehicles' low, flat turret began turning, the cannon sniffing them out as targets. Cursing to himself in a mutter, Scott slid the Carl Gustav off of his shoulder, along with the backpack of rounds. Swinging open the tube in a super-fast reload, he swung the nozzle shut and slapped the catch home. He shouldered the heavy recoilless rifle, and squinted into the high-powered, modern scope. The BMD swum into focus as he came up on one knee. He tracked the crosshair to his left, sighting on the boxy flank of the little tracked vehicle. "Fire in the hole!" he yelled out, and then pulled the trigger. The weapon fired with a crashing, rolling boom that echoed off of the forest and the ruined base, rolling around. The projectiles' impact was marked with a roaring blossom of flame and smoke; and the IFV came to a stop abruptly. He was all ready to load a HE for the second round, but then the order to stand down came through, and he hesitated. Almost in an instant everything started to unravel. He slung the Charlie and followed Jan, MP5 in hand once again. An uneasy feeling grew in his gut as they moved on. Russians were swarming everywhere. Balaclava-clad and moving with fierce intent and purpose, they looked like the stereotype of the Cold War baddies bought to life - and there were here, in the middle of their mission. Like Jan, he felt a growing sense of unease, and that something about the situation was squirrelly, but he didn't have a chance to mention it before the Pole spoke his mind, angrily and rightly so. Zhenya's reaction was typical Zhenya: the man was almost robotic at the best of times (both of them were, he thought to himself wryly), and now he didn't even portray a reaction other than simple acceptance. "This is bollocks, mate," he said chiming in quietly as he pulled the scarf off of the lower part of his face and slid his goggles up onto his helmet. "The captain's right, something about this doesn't add up. It's all too bloody convenient, and we're being frozen out of whatever's going on here. I know our orders are to return to base... but if we missed out on something that we'd get in the shit for later because we didn't look into it. Well, 'we were ordered to' is a bit of a crap reason for it, isn't it?" He shook his head. "Not my call to make though," he said after a moment. Rolling his shoulders, he looked to Jan and nodded. "Sir," he said, meeting Jan's eyes evenly, and hoping he got the silent message: I'm with you, whatever happens.

(This is an incredibly long post, for an incredibly good setup. There are bits I've bracketed, in case you fall asleep- bits that you should really pay attention to for your character's involvement. I've staggered the calls to work for both characters.) (Victoria can be NPC'd, in regards to earlier phone calls. Keep it simple.) Jan looked to them both, and then at the VDV movers, sighing distinctly as he knew this was fucked. Scott looked supportive, and he hadn't heard the snipers in a while. It seemed awfully strange, why they were off comms. But there had to be a reason, and for now, there was no reason to panic. Somehow, Jan felt sickly, horridly feeling inside that this was totally fucked. Sanderson sounded bitter. The VDV looked scary. Things were confusing, and yet, clear. They were hijacking their objective, and now, Jan was being ordered out. The snipers weren't coming in. Everything was at a head. A part of Jan wanted to put his weapon to Zhenya's head and ask again. But he couldn't. No, that wasn't the way things worked. They had to leave, and even though Scott agreed openly, he had to concede it. He was in for a bollocking anyway. Things had already gone to shit. He'd almost frankly disobeyed orders, and Lima was at a head. "Fuck it. We're leaving. Later, I want answers, Zhenya. I'm not fighting your men for some intel. But I best know of it." Jan said coldly, as he turned his head, looking over. The look on his face said it all. He just didn't know anymore, he wanted out of this mess. "We're headed back to LZ, Sanderson. We can't rally up the snipers. We'll assume they'll make their own way out." He said, as he reloaded his 416, a new magazine in, as they turned back from the guardhouse, Jan speechless, angered and just somehow blocking of the fact that this was so fucked. It took a few minutes, and within that time, more VDV had flooded the airfield, crowding it like it was their new forward operations center, which seemed almost appropriate given the number of BMD-3s, and soldiers moving in. Something was not right. And while Jan wanted to disobey completely and go against Sanderson's grain, he couldn't. He'd already instigated the damage, and there was an eye on him already. It would be suicide, if the VDV chose to fire warning shots back. Jan might as well put the bullet through his own skull if they crossed into the airfield itself. For now, none the less, getting away was his priority. These terrorists had to die, and Jan was going to make sure they paid. But at the same time, Jan knew that there was no getting around the fact that the intel they had come for was in Russian hands, a whole VDV Regiment, maybe even Brigade had dropped into the mountains, and they had BMDs, armed with 30mm guns and Konkurs-M ATGM launchers, thermal optics and plenty of expertly trained paratroops. Not a good idea. The MH6 would be back soon, and right now, Jan knew getting out of dodge was the best idea. This was coming to a close, and somehow, Jan wanted to go past this mess, fast. ---- "Shit!" Neil quietly exlaimed, looking at his radio, the whole thing dying dead. "They've got fucking jammers. It's hit our frequency, they probably wanted whoever was inside there. Jesus. They mush have fucking pulled out of our blindspot, there's too many." Neil simply said, switching the thing off, looking down his DSR-50's optic, looking to the airfield. "And I think we shouldn't be here. They've brought the fucking cavalry." He simply added, picking up the weapon, placing it onto his back, taking the Austeyr F88 Para that he had by his spotting position. It was a simple, yet brisk weapon. The white ghillie stood, looking to his female sniping companion. "We can't extract with the rest, we're going to have to head south. I know, shit idea, but I'm running out of solutions here, Wendy." Neil said, loading a 9mm magazine into the weapon, as he then clambered up and over the rocky cover, moving back up the hill, waiting on her. It was going to be a walk and a half, and they had to leave. It was almost ten hours later, when Wendy and Neil were just still walking, through the snow-bound forests, darkness decending. They didn't have NVG equipment, and this felt fucked. They were to get to an RV, but that hadn't arrived. They had missed their ticket out, and were now going to the Emergency RV, further south through the forests. The two moved slowly and surely, the cold kicking in now, as well as the darkness being prominent. "Down here." He added quietly, as Neil clambered over a fallen tree, to the sight of a road. "Shit, BMP. Head fucking down." Neil added simply, as he almost threw himself onto Wendy, to at least get their heads down. They wore white ghillies, and the snow was thick enough, as the BMP trundled past, merely 500m away. "That was Armenian. They're Greenfor, no NATO affiliation, probably as fucking confused as we are about what's going on. We need to avoid contact." He said quietly to her, the cold snow at his face really kicking, and a little strange to the Australian. He'd spent time in the Australian Alps in the middle of winter as a part of his SASR Alpine Training, but that was little compared to this cold. Standing, Neil checked the area, before moving through, following the forest line. And then, it descended into hell. Neil could have sworn on all his senses they were clear. But the Armenian soldiers that had been on patrol in the forest saw the two, and yelled loudly, standing only 20m behind. He couldn't tell what it was, but there was at least six of them, hunting TIAF militants. Right now, he was camoflaged in white and had no identification. He dropped the weapon and put his hands up, dropping on his knees at the sight, knowing that there was no point fighting this one. They were most definitely Armenian soldiers, and this was most definitely SNAFU. ---- 0600 Hours 23rd December, 2013 Somewhere aboard the USS George H.W Bush Gulf of Oman The brig was a small place, a sealed room, and within it, sat Jan Wojtkiewicz, sitting by the end of the metal box. He wore a simple blue shirt and white baggy trousers, with a pair of cuffs around his wrists, and a locked door at the other side of the small room. He didn't want to sit on his bed, he wanted to sit on the metal floor, just thinking, the slight rumble a little clearer. The reasons he was here, he didn't entirely know. But he knew what had happened in the last few days. Following Lima's extraction, Sanderson gave leave to all, that is, except for Jan. No, Jan was here, and he was sitting in a metal hole, just thinking things over, as he had done for the last eight days. He was here due to personal compromises, or perhaps, the fact that Jan had gone too far. The investigation over the dead operators at the border town, and the events within his own squad, among other things. Jan's disobedience of orders, and perhaps personal vendetta. The snipers were missing too, that was the worst thing. It plagued him. Their comms had gone dead, and Jan knew that they weren't to make contact with them...though somehow, Jan felt uneasy that they hadn't given any information, not that he knew of. It was a nightmare, and right now, Jan knew that NATO and in particular, Sanderson were operating on the policy of Guilty, till proven Innocent. It had happened two days after the return to a NATO base in Turkey, that the events that now had unfurled had occurred. Why he was on this Carrier, he didn't entirely know. Pomp and circumstance, no doubt. They'd just said he needed to go here, and he was under the US Navy's jurisdiction, for now at least. Right now, Jan was awaiting extradition back to Germany, to a hearing of what precisely he had done. What he had done, he didn't know. He felt bitter, angry. A victim, but perhaps, somewhat blind to what he had gone through. He had performed as his higher ups had said, but he had been too driven. Not willing to cage it in, instead using any method needed to get the job done. Sometimes, it had gone far enough, such as in Turkey. That had been too loud, and Sanderson still didn't understand entirely why. It was becoming personal, in Sanderson's view- Jan was compromised, and wasn't fit to lead. The Task Force had hit political problems, and there was still the pending investigation in Afghanistan. It was a nightmare. And whatever Jan was going to, it was high up. It was a problem that was going not with Polish Special Forces HQ, but with NATO's HQ itself, no less, Jan to be transferred from Ramstein AFB to Brussels at some point. It was something that Jan disagreed with, and asked many a question about. Right now, he knew two things. The snipers hadn't still been found in official, and they were MIA, and he felt as if they had been neutralized quietly by the Russian Spetsnaz. They had made sure they had disappeared, and somehow, Jan knew it wasn't good. They were no doubt, dead in a foreign field. Just like the other members of his team were. The other thing, was that Scott was back home, in Britain, and that so was Zhenya, back in Russia. They'd been ordered back, and Lima was dissolved until further investigation was conducted. He wanted to go home, but he didn't know what to. No, this felt like betrayal. Like everything they'd done was going to hell. Jan knew that this brig wasn't much worse than home. But prison was a prison for a reason. Not uncomfortable, not to Jan, but restricted. He had given in that hope, and let his mind slip to other things, that was, until he heard a distant clanking. The door opened, as the guard looked in. "Wojtkiewicz, you have a guest." The US sailor said, as Jan nodded, the bearded Pole looking over, at the bright corridor light, before a female turned the corner. Victoria. The CIA operator attached on their operation in North-Eastern Turkey. She looked different to her usual battlefield self. She wore a navy blue suit, and her blonde hair was in a bun, her face lightly polished in apperance thanks to the makeup she wore, covering any bruises from training or operative work. She was somehow one of the few people Jan expected. But somehow, it felt unsurprising. The guard shut the door, as she chuckled. "So, I hear you end up here. They really dragged you out...poor bastard...anyway, I've got news for you, Jan." She said, rather briskly, as she walked over to his bed, sitting down, looking over, as he sat up, a little confused. "Spare me the bullshit, you're going to say I'm a fucking criminal too. You've come here to tell me that I'm wanted for several crimes against command and the intelligence community, and you'll happily make me a fucking eunuch." He said bitterly, as she shook her head, looking around the cell, before staring at Jan's eyes. "No, you're not. You're a savior, if anything. After the operation, they sent me back to Langley. That intel you found, was a goldmine it turns out. We've got a lot out of it. The weapons dealer referenced has been wrapped up, by CIA proxy operators, and we interrogated him. Nothing from him, nothing significant, apart from the fact that we know they have something along the lines of a warhead in their possession. But what interested us was the manifest you found, and the possibility of an improvised nuclear warhead. A dirty bomb. A container arrived in Aarhus's container docks twelve hours ago, and was loaded two hours later onto a lorry. We were twenty minutes late to the dock, and we've lost all traces of it's movement, so we're going on pieced together intel from field assets. Right now, we're seeing a loose weapon. It's more than likely that this is not a loose threat. This is real." She said, as Jan looked over, the sight flashing back in his head somewhat. "Go on." He said, swallowing saliva, as he listened patiently. "We connected the pieces together. What you hit in Turkey, was a storage point. There was a production facility within the Caucasus, but it seems to be wiped off the map. We don't know who hit it, it was either ransacked by the Russian MVD, or abandoned, but satellite and drone intel suggests it's just vanished. The TIAF itself has rallied outside of Turkey, and have credible links to Al-Qaeda. The Turkish Military have lost all the HVTs they were hunting. They're waiting on spring, and then they'll launch an attack on Turkish soil like no other...and they've got this going now. They're deploying at least 50 men and a pair of chemical weapons to Copenhagen, as an attack on the West. A message for us to understand their state." "The Russians don't know anything about this, and frankly, they don't need to know. But what we know is that they have intelligence we lack. We can guess to some things. The Danish authorities have alerted us to a terror threat, as have the German and Dutch Intelligence Services. They say that right now, there are weapons, note weapons, of mass destruction in the European mainland. Most likely destination, Copenhagen, on Christmas Eve. Millions of people would be in a projected blast radius within the city. That last bit, they are skeptical about. And I can assure you, from what I've seen with my own eyes, they are wrong." She said, taking a breather, as she looked to him. "It's going to be there, and the analysts can already sample where the most likely connections exist, for their setup. The Russians don't know about this loose nuclear warhead, keep that in mind. They know that chemical attacks could hit major areas. But this, this is a different scale. These chemical weapons are now merely a false flag for something much bigger. Spread their chips, so they can make the big show much less attractive." She said, as she looked out, then back at him. "The Russians already sent in a VDV Airborne Brigade into Northern Armenia, and they appear to be having counter-militants, armed with modern AK series rifles in the mountains of Turkey and all of Armenia. Little Green Men, Jan. No doubt, this is a TIAF attack what is going to happen in Copenhagen. But I have a feeling that if it were to happen, the Russians would have a just war. A just cause for occupation. And you know full well that can't happen. Even if the Russians let it slide, millions will die. I know you stopped caring for the politics, and maybe Langley would rather we had stability in the Caucasus. So at least do this for the people, not the Russians..." She said, as he looked to the wall, as Jan was thinking it through. "Fucking Zhenya. Knew it." "He's a mere cog. This Medved team, it's Spetsnaz Vympel. They work closely with the MVD, and they've been there for almost a month in those mountains. They were gathering inteligence on TIAF capabilities. We found this out in the period you've been locked up. Zhenya is still an active asset, but he isn't anything major. He's got connections, but if he was deep cover, then I wouldn't be bringing him into what I have planned. He's a good man, no matter what." She said, as Jan shrugged his shoulders, Victoria knowing the look on Jan's face. "I assume that this will be more major, something that will be impossible to control. Trying to convince the authorities that this exists as a clear and credible threat to stop is nearly impossible. The Danish already have all the FKP and Jaegre forces out, as well as EOD teams scattered about the city, though that won't do much good, because they think it's a false threat, like so many we've had. They always mention tens of men being implicated. And now, I think that might be true. Intel most likely says that they'll attack the City Centre, around the Bredgade. The main high street, where there's going to be tens of thousands of Christmas shoppers and various festivities going on. It'll be easy for them to orchestrate, even with increased security. Point being, Langley doesn't want a loud noise connected to it on the ground. I need someone on the outside. You're the last chance we really have. Otherwise, we're going to have to stand and watch." She said, as Jan laughed, looking over. "And that's it. You just want me to go back, and somehow fucking save the free world. When nobody believes me." He said, chuckling, as she looked over. "Well, when you put it like that, you know that you have believers now. Your alternative is rotting in a cell for the next four years in a Polish prison, then add to that a few months in a NATO cell. I know your choice well enough right now. It's something you're prepared to do." "Perhaps. Carry on." "I can get you Scott and Zhenya again. And I know that they're good assets. Zhenya, yes, tricky. But you will need him. Trust me, I know your team's inner workings. You need a third man, and you have one him- whether he likes it or not, he is going to come, I can tell. He'll cover your back if the Russians want answers, and they'll pull him out no doubt as a deniable asset later on. I'll feed him the basics, you'll need to explain the rest of what I've just told you and what we know in entirety to him. It will be something he'll go alone on, I'm sure. Besides, I already know that look in your eye. You want vengeance for Gunther, and those other men. You're sick and tired of the bullshit that's been put up." She said, as he looked to her, as she smirked. "I'll get you a vehicle, and your equipment. I've got a phone to hand, and you can call them, of the details of how this works. The only problem is, you're in a brig on the most reinforced aircraft carrier this side of the world. Thousands of Sailors between you and 20km worth of swimming to Oman." She said, as Jan chuckled, knowing she was going to elaborate a little more. "You'll have an opportunity to bail out while you're en route to Brussels. I'll make sure of it. Once it happens, get yourself, by any means, to a Rasthof called Bad Neumond, on the Autobahn 1 heading north to Hamburg. I'll have a stash waiting for you there, and you can regroup with the other two. I'll have them a couple of hours from your position by this point; I'll explain the finer details soon. From there on out, no more communication with us. You're on your own. Danish Police, as well as any deployed Royal Danish Armed Forces soldiers will treat you exactly like a TIAF militant. But you're going to need to sacrifice whatever you can. After it's done, you vanish. Like a ghost. Shouldn't be too hard for you. Zhenya will find a way, no doubt. Scott, I can deal with him. But you, you need to do it yourself." "It's fine. I'll sort it. And why aren't you coming?" Jan said, as Victoria smirked, knowing his attitude to this. "Please, you gave me enough adventure. I'll cover your backs on the far side, make sure you at least haven't got too many worries. I'll be dealing with Scott's aftermath, and it's besides the point that you know what to do better than I ever would do on the ground. I just know the places and events. Speaking of which, I'll explain what leads you can go on. There's a suspected building, an old office block, on the main road itself. Seems that it's been rented out approximately a week ago, and the owners, we don't know much about. They seem very shady, and the profiling fits, that they're borrowing a space to set up their work. You need to secure that first. Danish EOD and SOF teams will be close by to the Copenhagen Metro, and the Lufthavn, but this, we think that the Bredgade and City Hall the most susceptible. You find the devices, and stop anyone in your way at any costs. You don't shoot civies, and you make sure that once it's done, you don't end up as the next piece of 100-page paperwork on my desk." She said, as Jan smirked. "It sounds better than sitting here. Fucking rats. You've given me this chance at least." He replied, as she nodded, looking at the door, before back at him. "Glad to hear. So, you're in?" "Just make sure my 416 is there, I have an opportunity, and that car, it's a black Land Rover Defender. Apart from that, I'm in." "That we can do." -------------- 23rd December, 2013 2200 Hours Somewhere on the E42, en route to Liege Rhineland-Palatinate, Germany The pair of G-Wagens were going at the speed limit, and were the two vehicles taking Jan to Brussel. They had two guards each, and Jan was handcuffed inside, to a hardpoint steel bar that was a part of this specific vehicle's frame. This was it. Just as Victoria had later told him, later on. They were pulling over here, for fuel. This was a designated stop, and there were four men to deal with. They were private security staff, of all things. Contracted for prison runs, of low-key, but high value individuals that needed to be dealt with by NATO personally. Jan was one of the rare few, and they assumed he was a good little prisoner. No need for much security, when a man like this was unlikely to kick out. Except right now, Jan was willing to go beyond that suspected risk. This was a setup, an easy way out, a way that had been given to him on a platter. The security team was three men down from usual, and that worked perfectly. They pulled into the petrol station, and the cold, wet rain stopped erking across the blacked out window to Jan's left, one of the men getting out under the cover of the roofed station. Jan was careful. The guard wasn't looking in his mirror. It was the tiniest click, but it was slow. Something he had left there for a while, but the pin had slipped into place, something that had been stabbed deep within his upper left armpit. It was an old trick, but these cuffs were shit, and Jan could only guess that they'd forgotten his particular skillset. One man got out, and the other G Wagen parked up a little further, as he slowly took the cuff out. Click. It was gone. The cuff dropped onto the leather seat, the G-Wagen just a regular vehicle, not reinforced or anything in particular. Private companies, he told himself. They'd literally thrown him into a car like this, cuffed up for his own good around a bulkhead, and now look what had happened. The doors were locked, yes, but there was one man in front. The service station was empty, and Jan, of all people, was someone who didn't mind doing what he had to do. There were only a pair of other cars here, and no witnesses. Just two G-Wagens, on this stretch of Autobahn, at a quiet little Petrol Station. And that was perfect for him, as he thrust forwards, grabbing the man in the passenger seat, a sharp turn of his hands snapping the man's neck, as Jan pulsated with rage. The Pole smacked the release, and got out, throwing a low kick at the guard that was fuelling the vehicle right by his left, aware he had no idea through the blacked out windows. Oh, they really slipped up this time. Jan knew that it was a setup, yes, Victoria had bought this for him. It looked like a perfect prison break, but to him, it was child's play. This was too easy. It was sad what he had to do to these men, but it was for the greater good. He told himself that. People who didn't deserve to die, yes, but people who at the end of the day, were blocking him from getting what needed to be done, over and completed. The man he had just kicked was knocked out with a sudden blow to the side of the temple, as one of the guards shouted in German to the other, a little paranoid. Jan was playing this situation just fine. He felt the bulge in the man's suit jacket, and pulled the Glock 17 from his cable-attached holster, snapping the cord as he moved around to the back, aware that the others were coming, guns ready. They were suspicious that there was a man on the floor, and the passenger looked dead as anything. But that wasn't to Jan's concern. Now, it had begun. Peeking his head out, he shot five times at the two security guards, both Germanic looking and former military, but completely unaware of the man that Jan was. He had enough time in GROM under his belt to understand Escape and Evasion, and this was a part of it. Do whatever was needed to survive. Shooting the men, was a part of the plan. One took a clean 9mm round to the head, as the other took four in the torso, being thrown to the ground before they even manged to respond, a single bullet straying the G-Wagen's side. Somehow, Jan didn't like the fact he was wielding a firearm at a petrol station, and that there was CCTV right now, straying his bearded Polish face. He knew what to do. And he knew it well. He moved past, and ran forwards, another couple in their Suzuki Swift petrified at the sight of the gunman, hands raised inside their car as Jan approached. He gave a simple wave, and spoke politely in German. "Hands up, out of the car, now." He said, as best as he could, the petrified young-looking couple completely frozen. He walked to the side and dragged the driver out, a mid-20s something businessman of sorts hitting the concrete, as his female companion stepped out, hands raised clearly, as Jan looked to them both. He needed different transport than a Mercedes G-Wagen. Something that could have a tracker. He needed civilian transport. "I promise I won't hurt you. Turn around." He said once more, as he pointed the gun at them both, nodding for them to move, as they slowly turned away from him. "Run." The Pole simply added, as the businessman's girlfriend screamed and they moved away with a certain fear, the man looking behind slightly, Jan piling into the Swift before he knew that the clerk could see. Jan had to leave, right now, before anything happened. The police could be on the way. Anyone else could be on his back right now, but he had to go. He started the engine and sped away, the tank full; Jan thankful that they'd topped up with petrol before he had started this. Perhaps they were ready to go. Right now, he had blood on his hands, and had carjacked a young couple. He felt horrible inside. But this was the way the world worked. Perhaps stop a million dying by killing a few. It was a sacrifice that was worthwhile. ----------------- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VeSIK4NnDc (An OST) Two Hours Later 0000 Hours 24th December, 2013 Somewhere on Autobahn 1 en route to Bremen Lower Saxony, Germany Bad Neumond was 2km away. Hurrah. Jan felt tired, but he had slept most of the time on the plane to Ramstein, and even in the G-Wagen that he'd been held arrested within. Waiting, just waiting, for his chance. He had the same Glock he had shot those three men with, and knew full well that one would be left breathing, able to tell a tale. Jan knew it was no concern. He'd be taken aside by the CIA and told quietly to sell his story differently, before blurting anything silly. It worked best for both parties. But his friends were unlucky, and that was just the way that things worked. He was a criminal now, no doubt he'd be on TV for murder and theft of a vehicle, and when the morning came, German papers would be sprawling with the news, that a Special Forces soldier of unknown type had escaped. There were people that would make sure his identity was never truly revealed, but his face, oh, that would have to be shown. So Jan knew that this dark was a good thing. The rain poured down, covering the windshield of the black Suzuki, the nimble little thing pulling along the lorry-strewn roads that led to Hamburg and Bremen. The German Autobahn never seemed to be an interesting thing in itself, or the places it got you to. It got you from one side of Germany to another. That was the one reason it existed, to Jan at least. And right now, it was doing a good job. Bad Neumond was 1km away. Closer. It was a tiny little place, only marked with a P, for Parking symbol. A phone was there too, apparently, and would be Jan's way of getting things done over the line with Victoria, Zhenya, and Scott. He had one more call to make as well to someone. One that he knew he owed himself. Right now, Jan knew what he was going to look like. A man intent on death. Jan knew there was nothing more he owed himself now, apart from this. Finishing this. He was good within GROM, and wished to return. But it was a life of pain and soldering, as was Lima. Civilian life wasn't for him. He hadn't found a lasting relationship, and doubted he would. This was his life, and right now, it was his duty to finish this. He had seen many things that many would not have the chance to see. And perhaps this was the end of the literal road, for Jan. He didn't know what after. He promised Victoria he wouldn't be a problem. He didn't know what to feel. Suicidal? No, not entirely. But the thought wasn't far. That after this, it was a life as far as possible from society as need be, or a death. Nobody would remember him. He'd be remembered as a madman, as a lunatic who murdered a couple innocents in an attempt to flee his certain prosecution. But perhaps there was some sanity to this. Perhaps Jan knew that it was the only way to do right. That this was a hard path indeed. Bad Neumond was 500m now. He began to indicate, and look in his mirrors, seeing few and little traffic. The rest stop, or Rasthof, was completely empty, apart from the odd lorry driver parked for a night's sleep. It felt strange to be going on like this. It was madness. Stopping the Swift, he exhaled hard, the cold rain pouring outside, as he put his head in his hands, turning the engine off. He looked to his left, and saw the black Land Rover Defender, a stern but small smirk on his face, as he knew precisely what it was. It was one that he had been wanting to buy after this Tour. A black, ex-British military Land Rover, three seats in the front, and a covered rear that within, Jan could only guess he had been left the equipment. But that was not the focus. Right now, he had to get to work on a few things. Clambering out, he grabbed a small wallet from a handbag in the passenger footwell, the fiance, girlfriend or wife of the man that he had carjacked a few hours earlier proving to be a little more than useful. There was enough change for what he wanted. Stepping out into the rain, the bearded Polish GROM operator, a Captain of a Special Forces unit that no longer existed, and now a criminal, both for what he'd done to those people and to his men, now moving to the covered phonebox. It sat next to the toilets, which looked as grotty as Jan remembered Rasthof restrooms to be. Walking past, he picked up the phone, and let the number run through his head. First call. The phone slowly whined, as he heard the other side respond in German. It was a night nurse, at the Bundswehr's Middlestadt Military Hospital, a hospital that Jan knew a certain man was staying. He spoke in his best German, knowing he had to connect to a specific someone. "Hello?" The nurse asked, as Jan looked around, checking his area. "Hello, I'm calling for a friend in the hospital. He said to call at this time, apologies. His name is Gunther, I believe his patient number is 542-002, or something like that. He said to connect to him." He said, as the nurse seemed a little suspicious. "Sir, I don't think I can put you through to that line.." "I served with the man, in Afghanistan. He knows me. Put me through. Now." He said bluntly, as the lady on the other end responded, perhaps a little shocked at the confidence that Jan used, even though his German wasn't pitch perfect. The line buzzed, as he waited, just slowly letting the time tick as the tone rang. "Hello? Who is this?" Gunther said, as Jan chuckled, hearing the Automatic Rifleman's Germanic voice in his ear. "It's Jan. I said I would call back. Sorry about the time. Just wanted to report in, see how you're doing." Jan retorted, as Gunther sat up in his hospital bed, looking out, before adjusting his phone's receiver. "Yeah...what's going on, Captain? Your voice gives it away, you sound like you're not sure of something. Is that rain?" He said, as Jan looked around the corner, knowing nobody was here, before carrying on. "It's complicated, Gunther....look, it might be my last chance to just say goodbye. Things are getting a little bit complicated." "You been deployed somewhere dangerous again?" "Worse. Look, I haven't got a lot of time. All I can say is, I'm going to make what happened right. I promise you. "What do you mean?" "I said it before..but I didn't deliver on it. I'll see you in the next life, mate. Take care of yourself." Jan said, putting the phone back, cutting off, aware that it was the best option to take. A few more calls to make, then he had some keys to grab. It was dark, but he knew where to go. Twenty steps directly to the left of the payphone, up the bank, and right by his feet, would be the keys. For now, he had to call Victoria, and confirm he was here. Maybe it wasn't as clean as he could have done, but it was the best in that situation. Any later, he'd have had more security. And earlier, he'd have been running away from Ramstein Air Force Base, with at least a couple of thousand of mixed Air Force personnel on his back. It was the best he could do. The phone buzzed in Victoria's office, as she took the call, herself in Langley now. They'd left the George HW Bush quickly via a US Navy helicopter to a US AFB in the UAE, followed by a military flight to Ramstein. It had been a quick turnaround for her, and she'd pulled it off well, or as best as a field coordinator such as her could do, working for the SAD. "Got you, Songbird. Eagle's here." Jan said, as Victoria chuckled on the other end of the line, Jan looking around, blanking out the pissing rain coming down. He only wore his blue shirt and white trousers still, perhaps a little relaxed for prisoner's garb, but something that was vaguely something that Jan was allowed to keep. He was under arrested suspicion, but he wasn't exactly the most wanted when he was in that Brig. And right now, he could tell Victoria seemed a little more at ease with what Jan had to do, as crazy as that sounded. "Line's secure enough, nothing gets tracked, Jan. I saw your little debacle. We're dealing with the man you knocked out, fucked his shit up pretty bad, but he'll be alright. We'll make sure he says nothing about you, it'll cover your tracks for the next 24 hours at least. We've got personal bragging rights to ask him the details through our proxy in the German Polizei." "Beautiful." Jan said coldly, somehow not feeling too chuffed, but a little remorseless, a little cold. "You seem cheerful." "I'm trying, Victoria. It's hard to do when you have two criminal records that look equally as bad, and could be thrown in prison for multiple life sentences for what I'm going to do. The other two are covered, right?" "Scott and Zhenya won't have to worry about the consequence. Most of the blame goes on you. I get Scott off the hook, the Russians will spare Zhenya. We don't think they're deploying any Vympel Teams. But I've insisted that Zhenya come, I've told him about the possibility of more WMDs than expected. It's still the three- two chemical weapons, and one dirty bomb, more likely primed as a light nuclear warhead. You can tell him the rest of the scale of attack." "Just another fucking day. Millions of lives are at stake. Can't fucking believe this is all we have against it." Jan said, looking out, a little bitter still, wiping his brow of water. "Well, I guess it isn't the most attractive path, what you'r doing. Anyway, grab those keys, and enjoy the gear. I left you what you wanted. Scott and Zhenya have what they want too. Counter-Terrorist gear, untraceable, but the best that we have. Picked to their taste" "Thank you, Victoria. Why did you do all of this? I mean, from what I see, you could have just left me to rot and given this problem to someone else." "It's because I know you're right. Lima was put up to get rid of paperwork. If there was one thing I learned from you, it was that you wanted these bastards dead. No politics, no drama, no bullshit. You saved my ass once or twice back in Turkey. If it's the last thing I do for you in return, so be it. The path of those who want to fix the world is a long and narrow one. And you might as well ride it." "You have no idea how much this means to me, Victoria. I mean, honestly. Dzienkuje (Thanks)." Jan said, as she smiled. "Bez Problemu (No Problem). Goodbye, Jan. Do me proud." She said, as the phone hung up, from Victoria's end. Jan exhaled. This wasn't over. But it was, and it was coming to a close. He felt soft inside, but the Special Forces operator heart and soul kept him thinking. Logically, just sanely. (This is Skyth's call. I've left it intentionally open-ended, so responses will be made with Jan to this call, even though it's going to be a little chronologically strange in context at places.) Third call to make. Jan put in more change, enough for three minutes of conversation. He hated payphones more by the minute, he reminded himself, but it had to be this way. He had to perhaps be a little careful, as Jan knew that with Zhenya, it was tricky. He felt betrayed, and felt as if he was calling the person of whom was attached to the people who had made the snipers merely vanish, like a magician's trick. He had no idea where they went. But only one think stuck out to Jan. Perhaps Zhenya could see some sense. That Lima was dead, and this was a personal ask. That they had to do this, the three of them. Anything that happened, was on Jan's head. And he was a fucking good shot, be it with an SVD or a RPD. He was a funny man, and while Jan would never naturally get on with a Spetsnaz soldier, mainly for just being Russian and partly for being a completely polarized opponent to NATO, he was a person of interest. Someone who could be relied upon in a firefight, albeit not in politics. That was what mattered. And he'd been through it all. Seen it all. Lent a hand where needed. He was maybe mistrusted, but he was a fighter, and multitalented, as comfortable kicking someone's face in as well as taking out a grouping of hostiles, single-handedly. "Friend, this is Eagle. Simple question right now, answer with a yes or no. Got some ants chewing the wire?" Jan asked, as he kept the reciever up, aware of what he was asking. Most listeners wouldn't pick it up immediately, but perhaps he knew that Zhenya would see it a little easier; namely, if the phone was bugged or not. He waited for a response, simply letting Zhenya ask the questions, quickly adding something in. He waited for the response, before he continued, only giving scant details only known to Zhenya. "I'm in position at the RV, Songbird has confirmed it with you no doubt, you're close." Jan added, just waiting on Zhenya to confirm his end. (This is Silverwind's call. Same as above.) The next call wasn't too hard. Scott was someone that Jan trusted well, probably the last man left. A Brit, who was an operator that knew how to drive, shoot, and destroy. Those skills were something that Jan knew that the SAS taught well these days, and that Scott did good at. He was differently tuned to Zhenya- perhaps Jan knew that Scott was someone that would follow him through this, even though in a shot like this, Jan somehow knew that Scott didn't deserve to share Jan's fate. The Pole knew that Scott at least should go home, get a family, have kids, and be that dad that was in the SAS and did lots of crazy shit, only to be doubted by others. Perhaps he'd go on. "Mate, it's Eagle. Songbird's pinged up that the RV is as aformentioned. Got our kit here. Looks good, if you're close by, we can get this show on the road." Jan said, letting Scott be the judge here about the wiretap, somehow doubtful that SIS or the Special Forces Directorate would install a wiretap, but playing it careful no less, till Scott cut the whole thing first. No less, Jan could guess that this was going to be alright, and they could carry on with this. It was the last of the change. And he was done here. -------- (Chronology picks up here.) 0200 Hours Bad Neumond (Rasthof) Lower Saxony, Germany Time had ticked. And the sky was still dark, and the rain had become cold, it had become sleetish. It wasn't sticking, but it was miserable, and cold. He waited in the black Land Rover Defender, with changed clothes and kit. He had his HK416, as good as new, ready to go. An EOTech 553 sight sat on the weapon, with a 3X Magnifier sitting behind it, a PMAG loaded in and a VFG foregrip on the weapon. A Surefire Mini Monster silencer sat at the end, with the CTR stock as usual, Jan's favorite. He had it pushed in, to be compacted, and it sat below visible sight, in the door. He wore a grey-black battle dress uniform, camouflaged somewhat in a digital shade, with a black and blue chequered bandana/thermal bandit covering his mouth and nose, being something a little comfortable. A black beanie sat on his head, with a headset around his right ear, a plate carrier and vest on his chest. A pair of red-tinted Oakleys sat around his neck, on a strap, for use when it was sunnier perhaps, over times like this. His Mk23 sat in a holster at his right hip holster, and his BK3 at his left holster, his usual plate carrier being as usual. A British Army-specification, as well as personally preferred Predator 45 sat on the middle passenger seat, being a compact rucksack that Jan had gone for, camouflaged in a matt black, carrying a couple of explosive charges, as well as a few other bits of equipment- defusal equipment, and a couple of grappling hooks, attached to cord.. His good old boots, and lack of insignia on his shoulder, juxtaposed each other. It was a strange feeling, to be missing the Anchor, and the flag. This wasn't something he wanted to be proud of, it wasn't for Poland, not for an ideal, not for friends. It was for the sheer humanity that Jan wanted to finish. Jan was waiting now, waiting for them to arrive. The rest of the team would probably drive in, park up, and they'd go on from there, in this vehicle. It was still abandoned, and only a few of the truckers had left. Jan had downed a little Red Bull that Victoria had left in the car, and it kept him awake, though he knew that en route to Copenhagen, he'd have to let Scott drive, and get an hour or two of kip, just thinking time. Time to think about his life. Was this it? The end? Maybe it was, perhaps it was all that had been. Jan knew that this might really be it. Nothing could justify what he had done. Even if the threat was credible, and they disarmed it, nobody would forgive him. It would have been treason. At the highest level, a crime to have committed against Denmark, but his native Poland too. Germany as well, why not. Jan was already aware that this was it. The ending. ------ Somewhere Neil gagged a little, staying quiet, but feeling sickly. Emotions didn't describe what the Australian national felt in the prison. It was a shitty place to be, far worse than Jan's brig. At least his was furnished nicely. It was a concrete block, a nasty piece of work for nasty pieces of work to be held in. And now, they were being pulled out of this mess, him and Wendy, almost wanting to spit, as he was punched hard in the stomach. He recoiled almost, the five man MVD team dragging him and Wendy to somewhere probably worse. Neil knew of the Aquarium, in Moscow. The FSB's interrogation centre, and why was it called the aquarium? Because that was where they invented waterboarding, and many other torture techniques that were probably not officially disclosed at all. Neil knew that RTT was something you were taught in the SASR, just like Wendy knew it too. But they would hurt them, and Neil didn't want any harm to come to Wendy, not her. She was a strong woman, the Canuck built well, but something that Neil knew. But for now, he was in agony. It felt as if his whole intestine had been blasted apart, as he recoiled hard, a harsh tone leaving his throat, as he vaguely could make out the Russian they spoke, but was too much in pain. They were dragged out, Neil still in pain, as they were thrown into the back of the car. He wanted to yelp, but couldn't find it in him. When he saw the sight of Zhenya, he couldn't even do a chuckle. "Thanks. Tell your guy he's ruined that last meal I had. Anyway, what the fuck happened to Lima?" Neil said, croaking almost, as he sat up, looking at the box of uniforms that Zhenya had left.

23rd December, 2013 A flat in Hereford United Kingdom 17:30 Hours Scott sat at the small desk in his flat, staring at the piece of paper in front of him. His scratchy, scrawly handwriting covered the lined notepaper. Lifting the cold bottle of Peroni to his lips again, he took a long drink from the bottle and stared aimlessly out of the window of his flat into the dark, wey December evening. After they'd been ordered to stand down the mission, Scott had done one last thing that he could: He'd looked around, from where they were, at everything he could see, committing as much of it as possible to memory. Numbers of men and equipment, their camouflage, whatever insignia he could see, what they done and where they'd gone. As soon as he'd had a chance, he'd written all of it down for later reference. It could be useful in some way, he thought. And paying attention was one thing he had learned. All the same, at the time it had felt like doing something. Now it was done, he felt listless and unsure. After being called back, Lima hadn't been sent to a base or even given another mission. Instead, he'd been separated like the others, and flown back to the UK. From there he'd been shuttled back to Hereford and given brisk and matter-of-fact orders to the effect that he was currently 'suspended from duty', with no clear explanation as to why, and what would happen next. His anger and unease at the way the missions' end had come about, and about the wall of silence surrounding the whole operation and the fate of his team-mates had resulted in him speaking out of turn, and with less than the normal amount of decorum and understanding - in short, he'd swore, loudly and fluently at a superior office and got into a shouting match. Following that, he'd been 'coerced' into taking some temporary leave for the Christmas holidays. No one had placed him under guard, but he had no doubts that he was being watched on the sly, somehow. No one had interfered with his going home to his small flat in town, and he'd not been restricted in making personal phone calls - but no-one in the chain of command had given him any replies or answers to anything resembling an official question beyond bureaucratic waffling. No doubt word of his 'episode' at the debriefing had gotten around, and the wheels of bureaucracy that ran the MoD and Parliament were creaking to a halt for Christmas anyway. In short, he'd bee frozen out of official channels, and distance from unofficial ones. Christmas lights glowed on the streets outside the window, and revelling crowds drifted down the streets heading to post-work office-party celebrations and other seasonal merry-making. But to him, it didn't feel christmassy at all. He was too absorbed in thoughts of the fate of the team, being pulled off of their mission, and whatever had been up. Somewhere out there, was a job still waiting to be finished, and people with murderous intent taking advantage of it. He tried to push it off of his mind. Politics got in the way of decisive action - it was the soldiers' lot in life. Especially for Special Forces... but this seemed wrong. Listless and frustrated by his own thoughts and situation, he stood up from the desk, shoving the chair out with a squeak across the wooden floor, pacing into the kitchen and draining the last of his beer. He swung open the fridge only to slam it shut angrily when it was empty of any further booze. The door jarred violently enough that something crashed inside of it. The accident was the last straw in releasing his frustration, and with a wordless bellow the big Englishman smashed a heavy kick into the front of the appliance, rattling it and wobbling it on the floor, before punching the front of it hard enough to break skin on his knuckles. Breathing hard, he stared through glazed eyes at the damage he'd done, and the red mark on the white panelling. "Fucking nice one, wanker," he muttered to himself. "Beating up your kitchen. What's that accomplished?" Feeling the ache in his hand, he shook his head, ashamed at himself, as he turned toward the sink intending to run his hand under the water. Before he got far, he heard the ringing of his mobile, on the desk in the lounge. Frowning, he darted back into the room, and looked at the screen on the smartphone. [Unknown Caller] Shrugging and figuring it was a well-meaning colleague or family member, or yet another call regarding utility bills or some other idiot he could vent his rage on, he slid his thumb across the screen. "A'right? Scott here". "Scott? It's Victoria" "Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Merry Christmas, I suppose. What's going on, love? I suppose it's too much to hope this is a social call. If you wanted my number, you could've asked..." She gave a dry laugh, which made him give a slight smile of his own, and a flush to his cheeks. "You wish, Scott. And Merry Christmas. Unfortunately, it's business. I take it you're free to talk?" His expression darkened, and he leaned on the desk, looking out the window once more at the people outside and sleeting rain as he held the phone to his face. He knew that if the CIA operative had got hold of his number and called him, and if it was related to their line of work, it was hardly likely to be any kind of coincidence with the last missions' ending. "This is about the last op, isn't it?" he said quietly. There was a silence on the other end, before she replied quietly. "Can you meet me somewhere? This isn't a secure line." "Where are you?" he asked in confusion, standing off of the table, and looking out the window. He half expected to see her out there, under an umbrella. "Near enough," she replied. "Just give me a place, and a couple of hours to get there." "All right," he said after a moments' deliberation. "There's a pub on a road between Hereford and Lebury. The Crown and Anchor. Meet me there, in a couple of hours." "See you then". The line went dead, and Scott blinked in surprise, running one hand through his short hair as he mused over the conversation. He'd just agreed to meet a CIA operative in a secret meeting... it was close to treasonous, if not being outright so, and the kind of thing that could get him slammed in prison for a lifetime of sentences. But his gut screamed to him that doing something was better than sitting here and going stir-crazy, or drinking his feelings about it into oblivion. He needed to know what had happened to the others, and to the deadly weapons they'd been chasing. And instinct told him that Victoria had something on the situation. Glancing down at his hand, he squeezed the aching digits into a fist. Decision made. Two hours later, Scott pulled his tatty car into the car park of the Crown and Anchor. Shutting off the engine, he looked around the car park. Nothing unusual or out of place whatsoever. Grumbling to himself, he stepped out of the car and locked the door, before heading inside. The warm air and the quiet burble of the patrons inside hit him in the face, and as he looked around, he easily caught sight of Victoria sitting quietly in one corner. She smiled briefly in greeting, and he nodded to her. Ordering a pint from the bar, he slid into the seat opposite her, and leaned over the table as he took a sip. She had a glass of wine set in front of her, and looked different from the appearance he was familiar with of a tough, battle-ready woman. Instead, she had makeup on and elegant yet practical clothing. The effect was arresting, though he focused in on her words instead. "Scott, glad you could make it. Though, it's a shame it's not more pleasant" "Yeah, this isn't exactly what I'd hoped for Christmas drinks with the team. Nice to see you an' all, but what's all the cloak and dagger about?" She fixed him with a sharp, serious eye, and he returned the look as they talked shop. "Eagle is in trouble," she said quietly. "And something big is coming, something serious. Much more than you've been dealing with lately, and where people, just like these people-" she gestured around the pub, the crowds ignoring the man and woman in conversation in the corner in favour of their own good times "-and lots more of them in Denmark. It's real, Scott. And we're talking Tom Clancy, Modern Warfare type-shit here. Except this is happening, and it's real." Scott chased a drip of condensation up the side of his glass as she took a breather, looking into the bubbling amber liquid as he replied. "So, why aren't your lot or the Danes doing something about it? They've got their own people. Good ones too, I've worked with them." "There's been so many false alarms, especially at this time of year that convincing anyone it's anything else will be impossible. Not to mention, they're already out there and working on it. But we need something quiet, quick, and effective, Scott. Langley doesn't want a link to the op either - if it goes loud, it'll look bad. It's too late to organize anything massive as well - you and your friends from work are the best option right now. It won't be pretty, but I'm sure I can get you off the hook... mostly, anyway. We've got dirt on people and strings to pull that can keep you out of prison, and probably in the Army without completely destroying your career. Eagle is already onboard-" "What about Ivan?" he said flatly, his eyes stormy. He was still pissed off at Zhenya, and the implied link the Russian had with events. His caginess and lack of willing to disclose information in his eyes, had left him bereft of trust and reliability. "I'll have him on board," she replied openly. "He's not directly responsible for what happened on your last... job. He's just an employee, remember. Not part of the management". He sighed and took another sip of the beer, before leaning back in his seat and looking around the room. The people here had no idea what was happening. Neither would those anywhere else, especially in Denmark in a crowded city somewhere on Christmas. Like all of these people, they'd be enjoying celebrations, spending time with their families and loved ones. Stopping things like this was why he'd wanted to be part of the SAS in the first place. He'd seen the infamous videos of the Embassy Siege, and read and heard many more stories of bravery and courage. It was almost childish, but it had given him dedication and a drive to do something - something like this. Knowing it, could he let it be any other way? Not to mention - he'd learned more than anything in his time in both the regular army and in the SAS, that you don't leave a mate hanging high and dry. And Jan needed him. He turned back to Victoria and gave a sharp nod. "All right. Tell me what I need to do". 0000 Hours 24th December, 2013 Somewhere outside Bremen Scott was almost alone in the all-night restaurant. He'd been whisked here, straight from the Crown and Anchor, via a rash of quickly-arranged flights through a handful of tickets and information Victoria had produced from a seemingly-magical handbag. Still clad in the same jeans, T-shirt sweater jacket and Converse he'd worn that day, he'd boarded a flight had departed from Cardiff Airport which had deposited him in Bremen, the rain and darkness still on his heels. Victoria had promised him that his flat and car (piece of crap it was) would be taken care of while he was away, even as she'd sat next to him in the back of a stereotypically black sedan driven by an equally stereotyped black-clad man down the motorway into Wales. He'd snatched a little more than an hours' sleep on the four-hour flight, but had been restless with the thoughts of the impending operation, and the information passed over by Victoria regarding it. More of Victoria's magic papers had given him a rental car. He'd exchanged some cash for euros, and then driven out of town and parked up in a non-descript roadside cafe, waiting for the next word. His growling stomach and the miserable weather had driven him into the cafe's interior, and now he read over a german-language newspaper and chased crumbs around a plate as he sipped strong, sugary tea. The SAS soldier had expected his mind to be racing with insecurities and a whirl of possibilities and fantasies of 'what-if' - but the reality was he felt cool, blank, and neutral. He knew his career could be on the line. But what was that compared to the lives of those in Copenhagen and beyond? Victoria had produced a full briefing document for him, and caught up to speed, he had felt an almost cleansing, burning anger creep over him at the events planned by their enemies. This was something that needed to be stopped, and was the exact situation Lima had originally been bought together for. Only now, they were operating out 'in the wild', and outside of the fence. It was dangerous, and probably illegal in many ways. He had no doubt they'd have little or no support, and there was a slim chance that Jan may not even escape capture long enough to contact him - a lucky sighting, or any kind of bad luck could stop things from coming together. But if it did, then he'd made up his mind: There wasn't anyone else to take care of it. He'd written an e-mail to his parents on the plane over, explaining that once again he wasn't going to make it home for christmas and that he was sorry. He'd struggled in how to try and tell them, without telling them, that something more was afoot, and that things were serious. But in the end, he'd ended up awkwardly telling them how much he loved them, and that he missed them. He didn't know what else to say. He'd debated sending one to Carla, his ex... but then decided against it - they'd split up because she didn't understand his life with the Regiment, and anything he'd try to say now she still wouldn't understand. There wasn't really anyone else to contact - not in the time he had. So that would do. He laid the newspaper down, finding it hard to concentrate on the foreign words, and the cut-and-dried news stories about life and culture in a country he wasn't familiar with. Over his head, a television played a late-night variety show of some kind, the flickering images almost an abstraction to the situation he was living in. He flicked his eyes away to the windows instead. Outside the glass, rain sluiced down the window in waves, the harsh lights of the car park casting weird reflections off of the water and illuminating the small patch of land against the blackness outside and distant lights. It was far from the picture-postcard holiday season, but it certainly reflected the stormy, shadowy world he was submerged in. His thoughts jumped out of his head, and he jerked in surprise at the feel of his phone ringing in his pocket. Sliding it out and into his hand, he looked at the screen. [Unknown Number] "It'd better not be British sodding Gas this time" he muttered, before sliding his thumb across the screen.

"Mate, it's Eagle. Songbird's pinged up that the RV is as aformentioned. Got our kit here. Looks good, if you're close by, we can get this show on the road."

A wash of relief and fear swum over him as he heard Jan's voice on the phone. Holding it a little closer to his face, he gave a slight smile. He wasn't sure if he'd call Jan a friend; he barely knew anything about his Lima C.O.'s life outside of their operations together. But he'd never steered him wrong, and he trusted the GROM operator implicitly. He liked him, as much as a man as a professional, and that was good enough. "Hello, mate" he replied with a quiet tone. "Good to hear from you, an' I mean it too. I shouldn't be too far off to meet you, good to hear Songbird came through with our Christmas presents too. I'll settle up here and come to you. Should be there in a little while to get the party started. See you soon". He hung up and sat still for a moment to compose himself, before standing up and heading to the counter. He paid the bill and emerged back out into the rain, leaning forward against the wind and the driving water. Reaching the car, he slid in and hit the engine. It was time to go. 0200 Hours Bad Neumond (Rasthof) Lower Saxony, Germany The car park of the rest stop was barely different to the one he'd left behind two hours ago. Another island of light in a landscape of dark, studded with glowing signs of civilization. Almost abandoned beyond a few overnighting trucks and a small cars, he pulled the sedan into a free space, and glanced around as he shut down the engine. Almost immediately he saw the black Landie parked off to one side, the interior lights turned off. To most people it would look like a normal land-rover, but to someone who'd worked with them for a large proportion of their adult life, it was clearly a British Army specification Land Rover. Stepping out once more into the driving rain, he crossed the waterlogged tarmac, his trainers splashing through puddles before he rapped on the drivers' side window. "Hello mate," he said loudly enough to carry through the glass, but not too much so. "Sorry it took me a while. Merry Christmas and all that bollocks. Did Santa bring me anything good?"

Wendy took a moment to look aside from her scope, looking at Neil as he indicated what had happened to the radios. She grimaced, but only turned back to peer through the scope. There definitely were a lot of soldiers than her and her M107 could handle, she was a good sniper, but not THAT good of a sniper. She could hear the gentle clattering of Neil's rifle, prompting Wendy to follow suit - quickly. The cavalry was quickly converging on them, and no matter how good their combined ability was - they couldn't handle a multitude of soldiers converging onto them. She grabbed her Vector, a change from her usual German-made backup weapon. The weapon was fully loaded with a bullet in the chamber, the only thing stopping her from firing it off was the engagement of the safety. She quickly followed after Neil, knowing that this was going to be the trip of their fucking lives. Wendy had felt that this trip had been in vain. It had about ten hours of seemingly aimless walking in a forest for an RV - an RV she was doubtful would show up to get them out of there. She had a sense of hopelessness linger about in the back of her mind, but she didn't let that deter her as she powered on, determined to get out of there. The cold had been getting worse, even though this was practically the Canadian sniper's natural element. This cold was the type of cold that always got to you, no matter who you were, where you're from, or what you're wearing. As Neil found a log to hide by, she ducked down next to him, watching the BMP float on by. As it did, Wendy could hear her heart beat out of her chest, a heavy thumping as she realized they were a bit closer to the enemies than before. "Fuck me, what are they doing here? There's a whole another battle elsewhere." She grumbled, slowly rising. Wendy allowed Neil to rise first - a bit of a mistake, really. She rose up after him and could quickly hear screaming in Armenian. "Shit." She simply said, as she put her gun down and raised her hands. She was trained to fight battles most other people couldn't, but even this wasn't a battle worth fighting for. She got down on her knees and put her hands on her head, her heart sinking to her feet as she processed what was going on. --- Wendy stared right at the soldier who was holding her. Her face showed no signs of emotion, because she knew what she was signing up for upon accepting an invitation to Lima. Regardless, the prison was still pretty shitty, typical of Russian prisons. The Canadian sniper was still hung up over the fact that a group of people got the slip on them, and now they were in the middle of wherever, being roughed by a Russian soldier. This wouldn't be as bad as what would come later in the interrogation, unfortunately. She heard Neil be punched in the stomach, which was never a nice sound to hear. Soon enough, she was being dragged out of the prison, in the midst of a five man MVD team. As if being captured wasn't bad enough, now they were going to be interrogated by the FSB, notorious for their information gathering methods. She was pondering on whether or not she really should've fought off those soldiers, even though she had a very good chance of dying. It was a way better fate than being interrogated by the FSB, especially as a person of her background. She was thrown into the back of a car, grunting gently as she slammed against the side of it. However, the situation quickly defused as she realized who exactly was behind the mask. It was nobody but their local Russian, Zhenya. Wendy flashed a smirk and shook her head, before readjusting herself to be a bit more comfortable. Wendy sat by quietly, staring at Zhenya as they wondered what exactly they were doing in the back of a car with a group of Russians. It had been a very odd experience as a matter of fact. She had gone from being petrified, to being relieved, to being paranoid out of her mind. She didn't know if Zhenya was there to help, or he went back to the Ruskies. Either way, she was sort of reluctant, and eager at the same time to see what was going to happen to the pair.

The dissolution of Lima and the Captain's subsequent imprisonment had not sat well with Zhenya, to say the least. It simply was not right, not after everything Lima had done. True, they were blacker-than-black operatives, with everything done under the radar, but at the very least he had hoped that Lima's commander would have the decency to step in when it became apparent that the Captain was to be arrested for whatever ridiculous reason it was. The Captain deserved a lot of things - a solid right hook to the jaw, for example - but wasting away in a cell was not one of them. Still, that was only one of Zhenya's concerns. There were still the two snipers that had apparently fallen off the face of the Earth. The Russian did not know either of them personally, but they were still team mates. They had watched his back in combat and that was all the reason he needed to at the very least try to uncover their fate. It had been a task easier said than done; the VDV brigade which had launched the strike into Armenia had no records of any prisoners, and even after their subsequent pull-out, there was still no news of any snipers caught. His relentless questioning had been what led him to his current position. Reassigned to some backwater unit in the Russian far east, officially to train new Vympel units to be raised in the region. What he actually spent most of his time doing, however, was sorting out the paperwork for the units. The actual training were being carried out by the junior sergeants under him. On paper, it would have been a generous promotion, but to Zhenya, this was as good as torture. The phone on his desk rang suddenly, and Zhenya picked it up without looking. "Junior Lieutenant Derzhavin, 115th Marine Infantry Brigade." He said in an utterly bored voice. Like with all other Vympel detachments, on paper, he was attached to the 115th. Much to his surprise, the person who spoke was an American woman. There was a brief cracking of static, then followed by someone in the background saying something about a secure line. "Derzhavin?" The woman asked. "Good. This line is secure. I will make this quick." "Who is this?" Zhenya asked, his voice hushed. The voice laughed softly. "An old team mate, Zhenya. We last met in Afghanistan. I was the spook, remember?" Zhenya nodded to no one in particular, but kept an eye on the door to his office. He was tempted to just end the call, but something compelled him to listen to what she had to say. He had not trusted the CIA operative back when she had been part of Lima, and that was not about to change now. However, she had to have a very, very good reason to contact him. "What do you want?" He asked. "Look, I know Lima's supposed to be dead, but you guys are needed for one more job. The last job, if everything goes well. Copenhagen is about to become a second Grozny. Worse, even. I'm talking about two or three WMDs. The chemical weapons unleashed in Grozny, plus possibly a dirty bomb." The operative said quickly in one breath. She paused for a moment before continuing, "I know how you feel about Jan, but we need you-" "Done." Zhenya said plainly. "Sorry?" "I said I am in." Zhenya clarified. This could possibly be his ticket out of his desk-bound hell, but first, he wanted to just take a gamble. The way he saw it, if he took the mission, it would either lead to a court-martial or a medal, so he might as well take this chance to get the answers to his questions. He pressed a button on the side of his phone and held it there for a few seconds before letting go. It was used to open a line to the telecomms personnel down below, but right now he wanted them to hear what was going on. "That simple?" The operative asked. "Yes. I am not doing this for Jan. I just do not like leaving a job unfinished. Tell him I will meet him in Copenhagen...Or wherever he wants us to assemble." Zhenya said. "Alright then," The CIA operative said, still sounding slightly surprised. "I can get you out of your-" "I can handle that myself." Zhenya said with a small grin to himself. "Zhenya out." He placed the phone back into its cradle and leaned back in his seat, waiting for what he knew was coming. Sure enough, the door to his office was soon kicked down by one of the soldiers providing security for the base, flanked on both sides by a military police officer. Zhenya looked at the three of them and merely grinned, more to himself than them. "I suppose I have been caught." ---- "What the fuck do you think you were doing?" The commanding officer of the naval base yelled at Zhenya from across the table. They were both seated in a plain, grey interrogation room, though now it seemed as if it was less of an interrogation and more of an intense tongue-lashing on the part of the commanding officer. "Bad enough that you are soliciting calls from unknown personnel, but to take one from a known CIA operative trying to rope you into God knows what operation? Have you lost your mind?" "It is still there, the last I checked." Zhenya deadpanned. "And I know what kind of operation it is-" "Yes, yes, Copenhagen!" The CO interrupted, then slammed his fist on the table. "I think your time with Lima has rotted your mind, Derzhavin. You are Vympel. You have an obligation to serve the Russian Federation. Not your old team, not this Captain of yours and fucking hell, not a fucking CIA operative." That was exactly what Zhenya had been waiting for. The CO, for all his skill, was a known hothead who rarely checked his words when he was incensed. "I never said Copenhagen," Zhenya said and arched a brow. "In fact, I never said anything about the operation since we came in here." He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table, looking at his CO right in the eyes. "So unless you know something I do not, I am curious how you came to conclusion that she wanted me to do something in Copenhagen?" The CO flushed, having realized his slip of the tongue. "Check your tone, Derzhavin. I am still your colonel, though if the court martial comes through, that would not be so in a few weeks." He said, though his voice lacked the anger and venom it had just a few moments ago. He let out a long sigh and sat down opposite Zhenya. "You are right, we do know something about Copenhagen. You remember our assault on the TIAF in Armenia?" "How could I forget?" Zhenya muttered. The CO ignored him and continued. "We raided one of their command posts and a production facility. We found details of their next move, and they were going to hit Copenhagen. It was, and still is one of the biggest breaks we have ever had on the TIAF, but we also found something very disturbing. They planned to detonate a dirty bomb in downtown Copenhagen, and that bomb is of Russian origin." He paused for a moment. "Can you imagine the embarrassment? Bad enough that the West distrusts us - for dubious reasons, if I might add - this would only fuel their impression that Russia is a decrepit nation. The fact is that the dirty bomb is a relic. Soviet-era, modernized in 1993 and sent for disposal in the Caspian via Azerbaijan in the early 2000s, except it never made it all the way. It disappeared somewhere near Baku, but we assumed that it had been dumped into the Caspian as planned." "We were dumping bombs in the Caspian?" Zhenya asked. The CO waved his hand dismissively. "Just that one. Instead of going all the way to the Pacific, if we could safely dispose of our WMDs in the Caspian, it would have saved us a lot of trouble. Needless to say, that plan never took off the ground after that bomb went off the map." He paused again and cleared his throat. "From the TIAF documents, we know that the bomb was stolen by the early TIAF in one of their biggest and grandest operations. The only reason they had not used it was simply because they did not have the authorization code." "And they do now?" "Well, no, but according to the documents, they found a way to fire it manually. Think of it as a suicide bombing on a larger scale." The CO said. "There are too many documents that we dug out, but you only need to know that we have information that can cover us if it is discovered that the bomb is Russian. We also have prime leverage material. Do you have any idea how many European and American businessmen and corporations had been unwittingly funding the TIAF?" "No," Zhenya said. "But I imagine there is a lot. They would sell anything to anyone fighting a common enemy." The CO nodded. "Exactly. If word gets out...There will be hell to pay. The TIAF has more than one name, and they had many loosely-affiliated allies who are on good terms with the West." He stopped suddenly and stood up, the angry expression returning to his face. "But the point still stands! You are not going to Copenhagen! We cannot have a Russian operative in a European capital, not in this political climate. Let the Danes deal with it on their own. Your Lima friends are free to join in, but not you." Zhenya narrowed his eyes. "I thought we were going to avenge Grozny?" He asked. "We are hunting down those responsible. If the Danes want to avenge Copenhagen after the attack, they are free to do so." The CO said dismissively. "But if you go, and they find out, do you know what is going to happen? They will talk of Russian covert operations everywhere. Russia will become the new bogeyman and NATO will expand even closer to our borders, then accuse us of encroaching on theirs when we respond. They will tighten a noose around Russia and strangle her to death." "But then think of the benefits if we succeed in stopping the attack." Zhenya argued. "A Russian bomb stopped by a team with a Russian, working under the radar. The media will forget all about the Russian origin, and if they do, well, they cannot say that Russia did nothing about it." "What makes you think that you would succeed?" Zhenya let out a short chuckle. He had one very good reason to be confident in their success. It was not because he thought that highly of himself, or he underestimated the TIAF. It was not even that he was being overly optimistic or overconfident. Looking right at his CO, he gave his answer. "Lima has never failed." ---- After plenty of back-and-forth with the CO, and a brief conference call with the SVR, it was eventually decided that it would be possible for Zhenya to rejoin Lima for the duration of the Copenhagen mission. Despite the CO's initial objection, he actually insisted that a Vympel squad be sent along as backup, something which Zhenya welcomed. Lima had never failed, but help was always welcome, especially when up against such long odds. The SVR made sure to take care of everything to do with the logistics of the mission, from arms to the diplomatic battlefield. They made a note to tell Zhenya of the risks, however. In the event of a failure, he would be disowned by the Russian Federation, his citizenship revoked and he would be branded a terrorist. There would be absolutely no way for him to return home, or even enjoy life as a free man. That was a risk that Zhenya was willing to take, but he had one request he wanted the SVR to fulfill before he left for the job. He wanted Lima's snipers. To the surprise of no one, the SVR revealed that they had always known where the snipers were. They had been held in a secure MVD prison in Dagestan ever since their capture by the Armenian armed forces. With the dissolution of Lima and no way to prove their purpose in the area, they had been thought to be foreign fighters with the TIAF and thus detained by the Armenians, then passed on to the Russians. Knowing where they were was the easy part, but getting them out proved to be a whole different matter. The SVR could hardly ask the MVD to give up two prisoners for a mission that could not even be mentioned, so an unconventional plan was concocted. ---- "Approaching the prison. Everyone know their roles?" Medved-One asked as he carefully drove the GAZ Tigr down the dirt track leading up to the detention facility. Zhenya had been rather surprised when he heard that Medved had volunteered for the Copenhagen job the moment the CO mentioned that there was a blacker-than-black job that required a team to backup Zhenya and a few 'unknown operatives'. Doubtless, Medved had probably figured out what that meant. "Yes," Medved-Three confirmed. The entire team, along with Zhenya, were dressed in the uniform of MVD troopers. If anyone asked, they were there to transfer prisoners to another facility closer to the Russian capital for questioning. They had the papers and identification to back up the story and if anyone called the numbers on the documents, they would reach people who would swear that they had always been in the unit. The Tigr slowed to a halt at the gates of the facility. A security trooper walked up to the driver's side window and rapped his knuckles on it twice. Medved-One winded down the window and presented his card, identifying him as Starshina Danila Harkov of the Moscow district OMON division. "Prisoner pickup. We called earlier." Medved-One said flatly and yawned. "The two snipers we picked up in Armenia, I think." "Yes, we were told." The trooper said with a nod. "Hey, do not rough them up too much. Orders from the top." "Yeah, yeah, whatever." Medved-One said nonchalantly and waited for the gates to open before driving through. They parked close to the entrance to facilitate a quick evacuation if things went south, but if everyone played their parts well - including the snipers - that would not happen. The team dismounted the vehicle and walked into the detention facility, a depressing, rectangular grey building crawling with MVD troopers armed with AKs. The interior was no better, with a complete lack of furniture and bright, white fluorescent lights embedded into the ceiling."Here for cell 3B, prisoners 100029 and 100030." Medved-One said to one of the guards who approached them. Immediately ahead of them, Zhenya could see rows and rows of cells, and stairs leading up and down to more of the same. "Down the stairs, straight ahead. Third on your right." The guard said, nodding to a flight of stairs leading down. "Thanks," Medved-One said and led his team down the stairs. Now they had to be careful. They all had their faces hidden behind scarves, wraps or even half-masks, but all it would take for their plan to fall apart was for the two snipers to recognize them. Until they were safe in the Tigr, the two of them would have to believe that Medved and Zhenya were regular MVD troops and nothing more. "Cell 3B!" Medved-One shouted out once they reached the cells. The snipers were still in their uniforms, but without all their kit. Despite the warning the security trooper at the gate had given them, they certainly looked as if they had been roughed up somewhat. A loud alarm sounded as the door to their cell slid open. "Take them," Medved-One said curtly. Medved-Two and Three pulled Neil roughly to his feet, and Zhenya and Two did the same to Wendy. "You are being transferred to the Moscow district. If you will not talk here, I guarantee you that you will once the GRU are through with you." He said coldly, then nodded to Medved-Three, who punched Neil in the stomach. It was all a show for the lone guard patrolling up and down the corridor, but Medved-Three had evidently put too much force into the hit. "Enough," Medved-One said, hiding his concern that Three might have actually injured Neil. "They are to be unharmed. We move." The team practically dragged the sniper team out of their tells, back up the stairs and to the Tigr. Medved-One opened the back door and simply said, "Throw them in." The two snipers were pushed unceremoniously into the vehicle and the door slammed shut behind them. Medved-One climbed back into the driver's seat, with Zhenya beside him and the rest of the team sat in the back with Neil and Wendy. The team wasted no time in getting out of the facility, and only once they were clear of the watchtowers did they remove their face masks. Zhenya turned around in his seat and looked at the two snipers. "Sorry for earlier, but we had to make it believable." He said, particularly to Neil. "The Captain needs us, and I was not about to leave you two behind while we enjoyed ourselves. There is a set of MVD uniforms complete with their tactical apparel in the boxes. Throw them on. We will not be stopping until we reach the airfield." "If anyone asks, your names are Gennedy Andreevich," Medved-Two added, looking at Neil. "and Yekaterina Fydorskaya." He continued, looking at Wendy. "Both from the Astrakhan OMON and due for transfer to the Kaliningrad garrison. Your relevant papers are all in the uniforms. I suggest the two of you not talk unless we give you the green light. One wrong move and we are all going to end up somewhere far worse than where you two were."

"Thanks. Tell your guy he's ruined that last meal I had. Anyway, what the fuck happened to Lima?" Neil said, croaking almost, as he sat up, looking at the box of uniforms that Zhenya had left.

"That would be me," Medved-Three said sheepishly and raised his hand. "Sorry about that." "Lima has been dissolved," Zhenya replied matter-of-factly. There was no point sugarcoating it; the sooner Neil and Wendy found out about it, the better they would be able to get up to speed with the latest developments. Zhenya carried on from there, filling them in on what they missed, from the VDV intervention in Armenia to the Captain's imprisonment. He did his best to tell them about what Victoria had told him, about the imminent TIAF attack on Copenhagen with several WMDs. However, it was hard for him to truly give them the real picture since he himself had no idea what was actually going on either. Thankfully, Medved-Four continued from where he left off. "Long story short," He said, then glanced out one of the windows behind him to check how far more they had to go. "Your captain is putting Lima back together for one last mission to stop the TIAF in Copenhagen. You will all be considered to be terrorists by the Danish military and law enforcement, so there will be no support other than what the SVR and us can provide. We also have information which suggests that the TIAF is deliberately trying to eliminate Lima. You guys have been one hell of a thorn in their side. That is where we, Medved, come in. The TIAF may be expecting you all, but they will not be expecting us." ---- The trip to Kaliningrad had been done with the utmost urgency and stealth. The team did not even need to exit the Tigr - Medved-One merely drove it into the cargo hold of the IL-76. Once they had come to a complete stop, Zhenya gave a thumbs up to the loadmaster, who then informed the crew via radio that it was time to go. The ramp had not even been raised completely when the cargo plane started rolling down the runway, and soon after, they were airborne. Only then did Medved-One give everyone the okay to exit the vehicle. "If either of you have any questions," Medved-One said and looked to Neil and Wendy. "Now would be the time to ask them. We have plenty of time before we touch down in Kaliningrad, but it will be hectic from then on. We will be immediately transferred to a civilian flight bound for Bremen. The SVR has assured us that they have our equipment on the way." He paused, then sat down on the floor of the cargo hold. "Get comfortable, everyone. It is going to be a long flight."

"Hello mate," he said loudly enough to carry through the glass, but not too much so. "Sorry it took me a while. Merry Christmas and all that bollocks. Did Santa bring me anything good?"

Jan smirked, opening the passenger door for him, as he took the 416 in the footwell, raising it up, smirking. The slightly grey-colored weapon was the second thing you associated with Jan, if it wasn't the Kotwica on his shoulder. It was in a Puma camoflage- a camo that Jan liked, and he had sprayed it nicely before, the weapon being Jan's limb, almost. "He brought me this. And I think he got you something in the back. Really fucking loves us. That's an FN P90TR, CompM4 optic, M952 Flashlight and silencer attached. 50 rounds of 5.7mm glory. Shit, it might not have much flesh power, but it cuts body armor like a saw, and there is an awful lot of it with high ballistic capability to more than make up for it." Jan said, smirking, almost wanting to hug Scott, in a strange manner. It was a weird feeling, but he felt connected to the man, like they were brothers in arms almost. The same could be said of Zhenya, Neil and Wendy too, but he knew the latter two were most likely dead, and the former, while he was a good man, Jan still felt uneasy about. "So, how have you been these last few days?" Jan asked, as he checked his rifle, letting Scott grab his kit, aware that he'd have something similar. An urban camouflage, a chest rig and plate carrier assembly, as well as a few other things- none of it with any distinctive insignia, or flashy symbols, not on sight at least. Jan had been thinking about what he'd do next after this, knowing full well of his fate. He was going to have to vanish somehow. He had a vague idea, and was able to assemble something in his head in the two hours waiting that had gone on, about what next. It wasn't great, but it would have to do. He didn't know what would happen after he got away, but he knew that decision would come to him at some point. For once, he wasn't thinking of the endgame for what next. "Considering I just carjacked and killed three people, I feel pretty tired. Poor bastards, and I shot them in cold blood. They were innocent. But it was the only way, they've fucking trumped me up on charges that I don't even get. Sanderson's taking this disciplinary a step further. Says I've endangered political ties, and that I'm a walking risk. The things we do for the people we don't even know." Jan said, just shaking his head with a little bitterness, just a little angered at what had happen. "I've got nothing left to lose, Scott. You know about me. I lived in a flat in Gdansk, my dad was a Lieutenant in the Spadachroniarze. The Polish Paratroopers. Left when the whole thing collapsed, he said he loved what he did. They were going to fight the West Germans, he was based in somewhere north of Berlin. At a moment's notice, in the Mi-8, and the first wave of people across. That was almost certain death. Flying a helicopter across the border, just imagine the air defenses that the Americans had at that time. Even if you were on the ground, you were firing that AKM knowing that at any moment, a nuclear warhead could blast every memory you had away. It took guts, and while he always said he hated the regime, he loved the people. The soldiers, the fact that they were able to simply be. That man I always looked up to, because the one thing he said to me was, it was a life that he'd still live if he was fit. He didn't even get to see me get inducted into the 2nd Airborne Regiment, he was too drunk at the time. And still is, probably. Fucking hell." Jan said, as he looked out the window, then back at the Englishman. "Parents, eh. What can you do about them." He added, chuckling, as he inspected the Mini Monster on the end of his 416, screwing it off, and inspecting the thread, before re-attaching it to the mid-length barrel. "It was that brotherhood that I lived for too in GROM. A strange mixture of Western and Eastern equipment. Rappelling out of a Hind, with a F2000 in your hands never makes sense, not even to someone like myself. And I was good at doing what was asked of me, dealing with problems. I look up to your guys, Scott. The SAS are the best in the world. But we try, you know." Jan added, checking one of the PMAGs, the polymer magazine filled with 5.56 rounds, in a neat pattern. "I remember Victoria mentioning the FKP too, the Frømandskorpset. Crazy bastards, they're the Danish Special Forces Frogmen. If we run into them, it's going to hurt like hell to fire on them, but it's unlikely. We're going to have to stop this, by any means. Local authorities are on alert, but they won't stop it, so we just make sure that we eliminate the threat and leave. And that's what matters really. Explains why we're here. I guess most just sit back when shit like this happens. Fuck that. I've had enough with these bastards. Might as well finish it here. You'll get to go home, Scott. I promise, you'll get to go home. Whatever happens, even fucking Zhenya." He said, pausing, thinking to himself, that there could be more innocents that could die. The Police, or any special forces units that were out, might be in the way, and Jan knew that he had to flush it out of his mind. He could usually do it, but it was going to be haunting. Not something likely, but something to be ready for. "Way I see it, Zhenya might have been hiding the truth, but he wasn't lying. I'll give him that." Jan said, thinking to himself, exhaling, the rain and sleet pelting down. ---- Neil sat up, just listening. "Fuck." He simply retorted, looking to Wendy, just nodding back to Medved Four. Neil threw off his shirt and trousers, putting the uniform on, the MVD uniform a bit strange, the fact that he was now a Russian soldier, technically. His Russian was passable, he hoped he wouldn't have to speak it, or bad things could happen. He had to try. "It just gets better and better. Fucking hell, mate." The Aussie said again, just not knowing what to think. They were aboard the plane faster than he could tell, and it was a strange way to travel, no doubt. They had driven fast onto it, and it felt as if this has happened a little too fast, for his recollection. All he could really say right now, was that they were headed to Kalingrad, and at a pace that he knew was more than just fast. They had pulled all the stops to make this work, and currently, things were in freefall. He smiled simply to Wendy, before Medved One gave the word to jump out. This was something that Neil went along with well, and he was out of the vehicle quickly, clambering out of the armored MRAP, stepping out to realize that this genuinely was the cargo bay of a Russian transport plane, as insane as that felt in his head. Medved One turned to him, as Neil looked over, knowing well he had a few questions on his mind. "So you found something big then, whatever happened. Last transmission I caught, we were bringing in strafing runs and there were VDV on the horizon. I guess it's on now. Just make sure we have something to shoot, and we'll help. I'm in." Neil said, looking to him, nodding, as he looked at the Vympel operator, dressed like him, albeit actually armed. That fact was the big diffrence between the two of him, and right now, Neil could guess that back at home, there was a souring in diplomatic relations between Russia and Australia. Not that it was of major significance- but no less, he was still MIA, and after this, could continue to be. That was something Neil saw might actually work in his advantage- getting a new identity, or moving on after Copenhagen, could be easy. It sounded like a nightmare to plan, but he put trust into Jan. The Captain had something in him, and went on his gut instincts, finding they worked out frequently. He was rather that than rotting in a Russian prison, for the rest of his life. Once he got his response, he found a seat by the side of the vehicle, usually destined for the rear of a paratrooper, but now, it was his seat. He leaned back and exhaled, clutching his stomach, the agony bad, but realistic. It would wear away, he thought to himself. He'd gone through worse. Looking to Wendy, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, leaning back, his head in another place now. No going back home, not now. They were back into the fray, and felt like he wanted to just finish this, like Jan had said.

The Russian uniform felt a bit weird on the sniper, considering the only uniforms she would wear were either from JTF-2 or Lima. But here she was, wearing a Russian uniform to save her life. She really did hope that she didn't have to speak any Russian, she didn't know enough Russian to construct a conversational sentence. Never did she think she would be sitting in an car full of Russians dressed exactly like them; escaping prison while they were at it as well. It was an odd sensation, but she figured it came along with being a Black Ops operator. As the vehicle boarded the airplane, it was quick to shut the door and take off. What had just happened in the past few moments was a lot for her to handle. Classified as terrorists? That was the exact opposite of the foundation Wendy's career was built on. She enlisted to fight against terrorists, not be terrorists. The sniper remained silent as the cargo plane finally stabilized, hearing the go-ahead to disembark from the Tigr. Wendy took a bit of time before disembarking, grunting gently as she stepped onto the plane's floor. It really did feel great to be able to stand freely again inside an area that wasn't a shitty jail cell in Russia. Wendy stood next to Neil as Medved One informed them of their task. "Guess I'm in as well." Wendy stated, looking down and kicking at the floor. The Canadian had started to wonder what exactly was going on back in her homeland. She was hoping all was going well, especially her loved ones. Hopefully her status wasn't reported to her loved ones, otherwise there'd be some major unnecessary grieving. She was still alive, but her loved ones didn't know that, and that was scary to her. Copenhagen sounded like an operation that would take 110% of everyone's ability and teamwork in order to survive. She would still do her job regardless - knowing that a majority of the team would probably be killed in an operation like this. She didn't want to entertain that thought for long. Wendy took a seat somewhere in the plane, putting her head back and sighing deeply. She closed her eyes and opened them to see the ceiling of the plane. They were on their way to another Russian city, which would probably be a long flight. She felt a weight on her shoulders and turned to identify the weight. It was Neil, which was unwarranted but nice in a situation like this. She then remembered that she was still in a commitment to someone, and shrugged off Neil's arm. "Neil, please." Wendy said quietly, giving him a look, "We're still professionals." The Canadian sniper stood up and walked towards Medved One, wondering if there was some sort of way she could contact back home. She was doubtful, but it was worth a shot asking. "Excuse me, do you have a secure line here or something along the lines of that?" Wendy requested, "I'd like to make a call."

Zhenya let out a long breath as he sat down on one of the seats lining both sides of the cargo hold. It seemed so hard to believe that just that morning, he had been on the other side of Russia doing paperwork as a mere junior officer. He did not regret his decision at all - this was what he had been trained to do - but the current moment of peace was a welcome chance for him to collect his thoughts and finally look at everything with a clear head, and not one preoccupied with planning the escape of two prisoners from an MVD facility and carrying out said plan. The mission ahead was daunting, to say the least. Altogether, Lima and Medved had only nine people, barely a single percent of the TIAF forces said to be active in Copenhagen. Added to that were the Danish security forces, who were just as likely to shoot them. The odds were ridiculously long, and while Zhenya liked a challenge, he had to admit that this was perhaps the only mission he had undertaken thus far where dying was a clear and present danger. He did not fear death - as long as the mission was complete, he would be more than willing to die fighting - but it did make him think. There were plenty of loose ends he needed to tie up, or to make as neat as possible, and most of them were to do with his family. He had not been home ever since he joined Lima, and before that he was barely home for more than a week at a time. Russia always needed people of his caliber, and while he had been more than happy to do his part in defending his homeland, he was all too aware of the toll it was taking on his relationship with his family. It was hardly something he could just clean up with a single phonecall, but there was little else he could really do. There was no sign of a phone onboard the aircraft, but Zhenya figured that it would not hurt asking. Perhaps Medved-One could even arrange for everyone to make a few personal calls or set aside some time for personal matters. He stood up and walked towards the Vympel operator, but as he approached, he heard Wendy ask the same thing. "Sorry," Medved-One replied. "This mission was about as last minute as missions get. The fact that we are not driving all the way to Kaliningrad is a minor miracle. The SVR had to pull a lot of strings to get us this plane." He explained apologetically, sounding both resigned and frustrated at the same time. Zhenya guessed that he had his own personal matters to clear up as well, as did the rest of Medved. Even for Zhenya, a Vympel operator himself, he had to remind himself that every member of Medved had their own families, had their own lives outside of Vympel. Just then, the sound of footsteps approaching from the direction of the cockpit. Zhenya looked in the direction of the sound and saw a man - dressed rather casually in a zipped-up grey jacket and dark blue jeans - walking towards them. "Agent Surkov, SVR." He introduced himself, and Zhenya immediately guessed that that was not his real name. "I will be the support coordinator of your mission, as well as the one dealing with all the logistical bullshit." Medved-One stifled a laugh and said, "What support?" "Two guys with a drone in Copenhagen." Surkov replied without missing a beat. "It is a nice drone, commercially bought and fitted with the best camera we could fit on it. We can only afford to give you imagery support, and nothing else." Zhenya shrugged. "Better than nothing." He said, then continued, "Why are you here? You could not have came here just to tell us that piece of information." "You got me," Surkov said with a laugh. The agent's casual manner and incredibly un-SVR like behaviour should have made Zhenya feel more at ease, but it did not. The general rule of thumb Zhenya stuck to when dealing with any intelligence agent was that the friendly ones were probably just putting on an act. "I need to finalize kit lists before we land in Kaliningrad. While you guys are flying first-class to Bremen, some of us will be getting all your kit ready in a safehouse." He looked to Wendy. "Especially for you and your spotter. We have plenty of Russian arms in Kaliningrad, but if you want something in particular, you are going to have to let me know now. I am not just talking about the guns. Uniforms, plate carriers, the like. Name it and I promise you will receive it." Surkov said and paused, grinning to himself. "The SVR can get you anything, even a nuke if you ask nicely enough." It was no surprise what Medved-One immediately asked for. "What about phones? We have...Issues we wish to clear up. Preferably untraceable, in case the mission goes south and we are suddenly terrorists." "Of course," Surkov said with a nod. Just then, the plane lurched slightly to the left. "Fucking pilot...He is probably going to get us lost without me in there. I swear, we need to start teaching them how to fly without waypoints set by the autopilot. Would make my life a whole lot easier." He grumbled. "I will be in the cockpit. Find me when you are done deciding what you want to bring into Copenhagen." ---- Once the team had settled their own kit lists with Surkov, there was little for them to do for the rest of the flight. Zhenya, along with the rest of Medved, had decided to just spend the time getting some rest. Who knew how long it would be before they could have the luxury of sleeping uninterrupted for a few hours? However, Zhenya felt as if his eyes had barely closed for a minute before he felt a series of bumps as the IL-76 landed at Donskoye airbase. Everything after that was just a blur as they were led out of the aircraft by Surkov and into an empty hangar, where they were given exactly ten minutes to change into the provided civilian attire. They were then ferried to Khrabovo Airport by a minibus. The SVR had seen to it that they moved with minimal risk of detection, even if it meant that they ran on an incredibly tight schedule. By the time they were dropped off at the airport, the team only had fifteen minutes to check in and make a mad dash for the gate. It was hectic, but it also meant that there was a lower chance of them being detected. The MVD had probably long since discovered that Wendy and Neil had not arrived in Moscow, and that the team sent to pick them up only existed on paper, and that no one outside of their command structure had heard of them. It was a certainty that they had put out a warning for all airports to be on the lookout for the two snipers, and the last thing the SVR needed was for a well-meaning civilian to make the call. Things only slowed down once they touched down at Bremen and linked up with the SVR agent assigned to pick them up there. Agent Katya, she had introduced herself. They were driven out into the German countryside, close to the Danish border, where they stopped by a small farmhouse. It was plain and just unappealing to the eyes. Perfect for a place where the team could prepare themselves. The team was led down to the basement, where there were exactly seven crates placed neatly against the walls. "Your equipment," Katya said helpfully. "You have an hour to get ready. Satellite phones are upstairs if you need to use them. They will be transmitted via a secure, double-encrypted signal, so it is safe." "Thank you," Zhenya said. The SVR agent went back up the stairs to the farmhouse, leaving the team to sort themselves out. Zhenya walked over to the box labelled with his name and opened it up. His kit had been designed with mobility in mind, leaving out the bulkier Russian body armour options in favour of a low-profile one that stuck close to his body. On top of that, he wore a 6sh92-5 load bearing vest - Old, but effective. Everything was in the same camouflage pattern as his uniform, the commercially available blue kamysh pattern. His rifle of choice was the same modified AN-94 that had been with him since his early days with the Russian Special Forces. It was fitted with a silencer and a PSO-1 scope, mounted high so he could still use the iron sights if needed. It took him a little over fifteen minutes to suit up, and that left him with more than enough time to make his call. "I am going up," He said simply to inform everyone else, just before he climbed the stairs leading up to the farmhouse. Katya was seated on a chair in the brightly-lit living room, apparently reading a book. Anyone looking in would have just seen a young woman enjoying some alone time, barely anything worth paying attention to. "The phones?" Zhenya asked. Katya pointed behind her, towards the windowless bathroom. While it seemed like an odd place to place the phones, Zhenya supposed that it was the only place available - the lack of windows prevented anyone from looking in and seeing the five incredibly expensive phones that looked very out-of-place with the rest of the farmhouse. Zhenya took one of them, and for some privacy, walked to one of the darker corners of the farmhouse. He thought for a while about who he should call, but then decided that there really was only one person he needed to talk to. He punched in the number and held the phone up to his ear. The call connected after a series of rings. "Hello?" The strange-yet-familiar voice of his sister asked. It had been far too long since he had heard her voice, and hearing her say that one word was enough to bring a small smile to Zhenya's lips. "Who is this?" "Zhenya," Zhenya said quietly, not wanting to draw attention to himself. "Hello, Zhannochka." There was a brief, uncomfortable pause and Zhenya wondered if he had made the right decision to call her. Out of all the people in his family, she had been the one who was the most opposed with Zhenya's choice of occupation, even if her daughter seemed to idolize him. "Zhanna," She corrected, her voice icy and bitter. "Are you calling to tell me that you will not be home for Christmas? Because I already know, and have told mother and father." Zhenya cringed slightly at her words. Forget Christmas, he had missed just about everyone's birthday and every other important holiday for the past three years, at the very least. He could not blame his sister's hostile reception, even if it did sting. "Yes," He replied, then quickly added before she could hang up, "But I just wanted to talk." "That would be a first." Zhenya sighed and bit his lip. This emotional stuff was completely alien to him. He was used to keeping things to himself, not letting them out and certainly not spilling his heart out over the phone. Yes, he loved his family, but somehow saying it out loud was just so difficult. "How is Dasha?" He asked about his niece lamely. "She is fine," Zhanna replied and paused. "She wants to know when you will visit again." She added softly. "I will..." Zhenya said and dragged out the last word. He did not want to let them know that he was going to head for certain death in a few hours time - they deserved to enjoy the festive season - but he did not want to let his dear Dasha down either. "I will see you all soon," He said and gulped. He did not believe in the afterlife, but he hoped that if it existed, there would be some way for him to track down his family members. "Is she there? I can talk to her if-" "She is asleep," Zhanna interrupted, then sighed in frustration. "What is this about, Zhenya? You never called once over the past few years, and now you suddenly want to catch up? What is going on?" "I will be heading out soon," Zhenya finally said. He could at the very least tell his sister that, and hope that she could connect the dots. There was another one of those awkward pauses that seemed to define the conversation. "Oh," Zhanna said. "Is it...Is it that dangerous?" "Possibly." "I..." Zhanna began. "I do not know what you want me to say." "You do not need to," Zhenya said. "Just...Just let me talk for a while, okay?" "Okay," Zhanna said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I am sorry," Zhenya said, and felt a weight begin to lift off his heart. "I am sorry that I was there. I am sorry that I was not home when Dasha was born, or when grandmother died. I am sorry for all the times I voluntarily extend my tours of duty, thinking that it was the right thing to do when I should have gone home." He paused for a moment, feeling tears beginning to cloud his vision. Crying was one more thing he was not used to. "And I am sorry, Zhannochka, that your brother has made himself a stranger to you." There a long period of silence, and for a while Zhenya thought that she had hung up. The sound of a series of faint sobs proved him wrong, however. "Oh, Zhenya," Zhanna said, her voice cracking slightly. "You never needed to apologize. Yes, I was bitter, and still slightly so, but I have always understood why you chose to do what you do." Zhenya grinned slightly, finding an opening to break the tense atmosphere with some levity. "Now that is something I could do with knowing." Zhanna laughed weakly. "You have always wanted to play the hero, little brother, and I suppose now you are doing just that." She said. "Just come back alive, okay? We will be waiting for you for New Year's day." Zhenya stopped himself from answering immediately. Was this a promise he really wanted to give? There was no telling what would happen in Copenhagen, where there were a million ways for things to go wrong and only one way for things to end as they should. However, something within Zhenya hardened against all his doubts and questions. He would survive Copenhagen and return home. There was simply no other option. "Then I will see you all then." He said. "I will bring something back from where I am going." "I am holding you to that," Zhanna said with a chuckle. Just then, there was a shout from Katya. "Last few minutes, wrap up whatever you are doing!" She shouted. "I have to go," Zhenya said. "Alright," Zhanna said, sounding crestfallen. "I love you, little brother." Those few words warmed Zhenya better than any of the winter suits he had worn, and for the first time in a long time, a genuine, happy smile cracked his otherwise stoic face. "I may not say it or show it, but so do I. More so than you think." He said, then added, "Goodbye, Zhannochka. I will see you soon." He ended the call and took in a deep breath to compose himself. That was a big promise he had made. Now he just had to make sure he kept it. ----

"Friend, this is Eagle. Simple question right now, answer with a yes or no. Got some ants chewing the wire?" Jan asked, as he kept the reciever up, aware of what he was asking. Most listeners wouldn't pick it up immediately, but perhaps he knew that Zhenya would see it a little easier; namely, if the phone was bugged or not. He waited for a response, simply letting Zhenya ask the questions, quickly adding something in. He waited for the response, before he continued, only giving scant details only known to Zhenya.

"Yes," Zhenya said in response to the coded message. Never had he thought that he would be happy to hear the Captain's voice, but now it offered him a sense of familiarity in an otherwise alien situation. Whatever he thought of the Captain, there was one thing for certain, the Pole had earned Zhenya's respect for seeing things through. In that sense, they were not so different, Zhenya thought. "I brought some friends to solve the ant problem. Old friends, I think you all have met before." He continued. Medved-One, driving the Land Rover Defender, looked at Zhenya with an arched brow but said nothing. Obviously, he had not been filled in on the coded language, but Zhenya saw no need on telling him that now.

"I'm in position at the RV, Songbird has confirmed it with you no doubt, you're close." Jan added, just waiting on Zhenya to confirm his end.

"The Songbird said as much," Zhenya replied and looked out ahead. He could see the two cars parked within it and the two people standing in front of the vehicles. "We are here." He said and Medved-One automatically brought the vehicle to a halt just a few feet away from the two other members of Lima. "Right, time to get social." Medved-One said and clambered out of the vehicle. Wendy, Neil and the other members of Medved climbed out the back of the vehicle. "Merry Christmas, Captain." Zhenya said with a nod as he climbed out of the vehicle, taking a folder while he was at it. It had been described as a 'present for Lima' by Katya, and contained almost every relevant document the SVR had on the TIAF's Copenhagen mission, as well as Medved's role and the limited support provided by the SVR. He walked towards the Captain and handed him the folder. "It will explain everything, and also, I found our snipers." He said and tilted his head towards Wendy and Neil. Everything felt as it was during their first meeting when Lima was first created, and it felt great. They were a team again, and even if they did not always get along, they were finally going to end what the TIAF started.

"He brought me this. And I think he got you something in the back. Really fucking loves us. That's an FN P90TR, CompM4 optic, M952 Flashlight and silencer attached. 50 rounds of 5.7mm glory. Shit, it might not have much flesh power, but it cuts body armor like a saw, and there is an awful lot of it with high ballistic capability to more than make up for it."

Scott whistled appreciatively and nodded his head. He'd cross-trained with the P90 on several occasions, and had found the unusual-looking PDW a powerful, accurate and effective weapon. He'd be glad to have it in hand. At Jan's smile toward him, he couldn't help but return the same. It felt good to see him, and especially alive and in one piece. Even if the whole situation was fucked, at least they were fucked together. Still listening to Jan, he walked around to the tailgate of the land-rover and opened up the rear door, pulling the pile of gear and fatigues towards him and beginning to check through it, as well as getting changed out of his wet and travel-crumpled civvie clothes.

"So, how have you been these last few days?"

He sighed as he thought over the last few days, pulling on a fresh T-shirt and then buttoning up his fatigue shirt. "A bit shit, if I'm honest. I didn't react very well to being pulled off the mission and all our contacts being stonewalled and delayed. I got pretty much taken off of duty until our lady friend got in touch. By that point I was eager to find out anything and do something about all of it". He listened carefully and attentively as Jan spoke. It was a something they'd barely found time for what with running all around the globe for Lima's missions. The rare downtime had been spent on catching up with sleep, admin, or the basic necessities of life. He pulled on the rest of his clothing and shut the door; the assault kit could wait 'til later. No use being uncomfortable for hours on end. He climbed into the passenger seat of the landrover and looked out at the darkness and the sleet with Jan as the Pole opened up to him, describing his life and career, while checking through his equipment and gear. "I don't think," he said after Jan had finished talk, his voice more serious and quiet than his usual humoured, bombastic tones. "That anyone outside of our circles - Special Forces I mean - ever really understands it. The life, I mean. Our families love us, no doubt, and there are friends and others who think of us. Sure, there are documentaries and books, and stories people hear. But it's different to living it. Some of the blokes I've served with, they've been complete tossers. I wouldn't have given 'em the time of day if I'd met them outside of the service, or growing up, for example. But crawling through a mile of swamp, or humping your kit over a mountain range in horizontal rain in the middle of the night and knowing that even when you stop, there's still a whole countries' army looking for you, it makes things different. You end up having that brotherhood, like you say". He shifted in the seat, watching the rain drizzle patterns down the glass, before pulling his own kit over and giving the P-90 a thorough once over, unscrewing the suppressor and then checking the batteries in the light and the scope. "Can't say I'm looking forward to going up against the Danes either. Especially since, if everything was right, they'd know we were all after the same goal; stopping the bad guys. But if we do end up trading shots... well, they're like us - they signed up to put themselves on the line, and it's a shitty business. We can do what we can to avoid casualties as much as possible, but they'll be shooting to kill us, and we know that's what we're there for too." He fell quiet for a breather as he reflected on the rest, thinking about what Jan had said about his life and times, before he spoke up again. "As fer the rest, mate - I don't think any of us are living rock-star lifestyles exactly. Not all of us can be Andy McKnob and get a million-book deal and a film adaptation... We get paid a shitty amount to do shit work no-one wants to hear about. So we make the most of it we can, and most of the time it leaves us pretty much wrecks... best we can do is make the most of it with each other while we can." He looked over at Jan, worried by the fatalism of his words. It was a very Eastern European trait - maybe it had something to do with all the heavy poetry and suicidal novelists; he wasn't sure. Either way, he didn't really want to give in and let Jan go out in a blaze of glory, if he could avoid it. "I appreciate you saying you'll get us out of this in one piece too. For what it's worth, I'll do my best to see the same happens to you as well. Maybe we can all disappear and lie low for a while. Find somewhere warm, far away, and quiet to let it all blow over so we can start again. Open a bar and drink all the profits. Who knows, eh? Either way - you haven't done me wrong so far, Jan, and I'll give my word to you, too, that I'll do what I can as well. And I reckon you're right about Zhenya, too. It might not have come out well, or sat well with us... but I reckon he was probably being used, rather than doing the using. I'm sure we both know enough other people it's happened to". Another pair of headlights emerged out of the gloom, and the grinding of an engine came with them as the vehicle came to a stop. Squinting into the dark, the shape of another almost identical Land Rover could be made out - and then a familiar face climbed out from behind the wheel. Scott glanced across at Jan, before he opened the door on his side and climbed out, stretching as he did so and nodding to the Russian, and smiling warmly as he saw the teams' snipers back in one piece.

"Merry Christmas, Captain." Zhenya said with a nod as he climbed out of the vehicle, taking a folder while he was at it. It had been described as a 'present for Lima' by Katya, and contained almost every relevant document the SVR had on the TIAF's Copenhagen mission, as well as Medved's role and the limited support provided by the SVR. He walked towards the Captain and handed him the folder. "It will explain everything, and also, I found our snipers."

"Looks like the bands' all back together, Scott said, walking the short distance over to the others. He stood with his arms folded for a moment, before sighing and sticking his hand out to Zhenya to shake and nodding. "Good to see you again, mate," he said with a slight smile. "Merry Christmas an' all that too".

Wendy nodded, knowing fully what she to expect when she asked a question along the lines of that. She walked back to her seat, sitting down and relaxing as she started to reflect on the impending operation. It was Lima, and the Vympel squad against the TIAF forces, not to mention the Danes. Nine against a whole bunch of people. Those were some crazy odds, and if they all wanted to make it out alive, they needed serious firepower. That also meant that Wendy would also need something with way more punch, that was able to spit it out at a faster rate than her signature AWM. Her mind went through the sniper rifles that fit the criteria, eventually settling on the M107A1 and AS50. Both were rifles that really did pack a punch, and would definitely be able to take care of multiple soldiers with one shot if she had the perfect angle. Next were her backups - although she wouldn't be as up close and personal, she would still need to be prepared just in case things got too friendly. The UMP she usually carried wouldn't suffice in this situation, fast, nimble, but not enough firepower. That meant she had to upgrade again, to an assault rifle of sorts. She was debating between the ACR and SCAR, both were very versatile weapons but she was only able to carry one of those. The SCAR-H won the mental debate, knowing that it was a bit heavier but it packed more of a punch and she would be able to have things like grenade launchers and whatnot. The conversation Medved One was having wasn't really paid attention to by Wendy, but when she was presented with a question she could only respond the best way she could. Once she figured out what exactly she needed, she went up to the cockpit to talk to the man that would provide her supplies. "Alright, I've got my list ready..." She said, "I would like a Barrett M107A1 and an FN SCAR-H, pretty much the extent of my requests. I'm sure you can provide the rest of the things we need." Wendy felt like she was picking out candy in a candy store, but had to pick two candies. She smirked and walked away, going back to her seat to wait for the flight to end already. --- Wendy slowly cracked her eyes open as she felt the airplane touchdown onto the tarmac, meaning they'd finally landed. What commenced afterwards was rather wild, they were ushered towards a location where they were to change clothes yet again. This really did make her think she and Neil were being sought after, which was not a good feeling. The thought of having to get through security and whatnot very quickly was something she didn't ever plan on doing, but there she was yet again. She tried not to make eye contact with anyone as she rushed through the airport. Only when they were out of Russia could Wendy relax, knowing they were safe from the Russians for now. Now she was being driven to somewhere in Germany, which was a good location considering the location of the operation. Whoever planned this out were seriously very smart, as she would've never thought to have this desolate farmhouse as a setup area. As they were lead upstairs, she could see there were seven crates, presumably one for the each of them. Sometime later, Wendy had finished gearing up and putting things where they needed to be. Her sniper rifle, assault rifle, and headgear remained on the crate as she figured she needed to take care of some long overdue business. She heard Zhenya indicate that he was going up, and before he could go up, she ran after him, "I'm coming along." She said, hoping that she could make use of the phones. The Canadian herself was dressed in a MultiCam Crye outfit of some sort, with a lightweight plate carrier that could somehow also carry quite the bit of ammunition and things. Her loadout was geared more towards mobility, as a sniper needed to be mobile and light so they could make escapes. Agent Katya was nice enough to point out where the phones were, and she allowed Zhenya to grab one before she could grab another one for herself. Wendy needed to find a nice location to settle and make the call she had always wanted to make. It was a bit weird knowing she was seconds away from doing so. "Hello?" Wendy's heart sank at the voice that popped up on the other line. It was none other than her fiance's. It had been so long since the two saw each other. It was just the nature of her career and the both of them were very well aware of that sort of thing, but she knew that it was taking a toll on their relationship regardless. She honestly didn't know what to say. "Mark? It's Wendy..." An audible sigh could be heard from the other line, but she wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. "Oh my god... you're still alive? Everyone's started to think you've died, but the government hasn't told us yet..." Wendy chuckled and shook her head, leaning against a wall as she figured out another thing to say. "Well, I'm fully alive and in one piece. Just crazy shit's been going on... sorry for not calling you or anything. You know how it is." Wendy bit her lip as she awaited Mark to respond, it was surreal to hear his voice once again. Even though it wasn't the same as talking to him face to face, it was still nice to have some closure with her fiance. Most people who knew what she did thought it was odd for snipers to even be married, as they had that lone wolf mindset as they did operate alone or with one other person. "Let me guess, Wendy - you're not going to be home for Christmas are you? You don't know how much you've missed now. You've missed your stepdaughter's thirteenth birthday, you've missed your sister's wedding... you've just missed so many things and I'm kinda starting to get tired of it." Wendy crossed her legs and groaned softly, knowing that this was the point where the conversation would had to have been had. She feared this conversation. "Yeah... I won't be home for Christmas. But like I said, Mark, you know how it is. I'm tangled in this world and I- there's no sign of letting up anytime soon. It's just how it is..." Wendy swept back some of her hair, sighing, "How's Rachel? Is she fine?" "Yeah she's fine... she misses you a lot. She's on the honour roll, you know; she's been saying you've been one of her biggest inspirations, even though you're never there anymore. When are you coming back? We all really miss you..." "That's the problem, Mark. I don't know when I'll be coming back. But by the looks of things - maybe I'll be back to start off the new year with you and Rachel. I promise you I will try my best." Wendy was about to say another thing, but she could hear Katya's imminent warning to wrap it up. "Mark, I've got to go. I'll see you later, I love you." She said, before hanging up. --- Wendy clambered out of the vehicle as they arrived at their destination. She shouldn't had been so surprised to see Jan there. It felt like it had been so long since she saw him, but in reality it wasn't really that long. She was for some reason grateful to see even Scott again, which was a bit peculiar considering well, it was Scott. Scott was just one of those guys, she figured. "Holy shit, I really can't describe how great it is to see you guys again. Merry Christmas."

"Sure." Neil simply said to Wendy, sighing, not disappointed, but just knowing he was tired, clutching his stomach with his left hand as he put his right hand down, aware that Wendy was right. It was a little bit close, but no less, he just felt tired, and a little confused. He'd never actually met him- not yet, at least. Maybe after this, Neil would; but that wasn't his focus right now. There were bigger things to worry about. -- It had been a few hours, and a hectic few, at that. Neil had put in his requests, and left it short, and sharp. He was tired, and had mainly slept on the flight to Bremen, knowing he wanted to make a call too. He'd found his equipment within the barn, and kitted up first. An Ops-Core helmet, colored in a grey paint, with a plate carrier and vest, Western in origin, sat in a neat pile. An AS VAL sat on top of the pile- he had thought to use a foreign weapon, rather than something from NATO's arsenal, and while it was a little strange, over a few minutes, he'd accustomed himself with the workings. A 30-round 9x39mm magazine, with a see-through polymer fitted neatly into the weapon, a western Aimpoint CompM4 sight sitting on the top of the weapon on a side-rail, as well as a vertical foregrip that sat on a specialized mounting on the barrel. It was a nice weapon indeed, and it had been joined by a simple Glock 17 pistol, that he put away in his holster, the Australian stripped of any insignia or identification. He loaded up, and kept a blue shirt and brown outdoors trousers on underneath, as well as a black baseball cap on, something that he felt appropriate. This was going to be a hellish run, and right now, he was doing whatever Zhenya said. He had made a quick call home, simply to his mother, but had left it just at that- it was nothing more he wanted to say. He didn't have a lot of family that he kept well in contact with- he wanted to call a few mates back in the SASR, but there was no way he'd get through. Right now, he knew that it was fine; this was really it, and he just wanted his mind to that. He reported into Zhenya when he was ready, followed by Katya. He kept his mouth shut for now- he wasn't too in the mood for speaking, or thinking his thoughts out loud. Just what was going to happen next came to mind. ---- Jan looked to the group that had arrived, just smiling. It felt good to have backup, but Jan felt as if they were here because of reasons. They had all regrouped, and known each other from before. But he couldn't feel as if Medved was here to keep a leash on Zhenya. Whatever happened, he could guess that something had changed. He took the folder, not saying a word, not yet. He had one thing to say. "What the fuck happened to my snipers?" Jan asked bitterly, looking at Neil and Wendy, with Neil walking forward before Zhenya or Medved could even respond, walking from around Zhenya, his presence a little surprising to Jan. "Nine days in a Russian prison, but enough of that, Captain. We're cool. It's been dealt with, we can talk about it later." He said, as Jan shrugged, looking back at the vehicle. "Whatever you say, you were captive, not me. Anyway, good to see you, Zhenya, Medved." Jan added, as he looked back at the vehicle, the rain coming down, as the beanie-wearing Pole looked as his assembled group, aware that they had to go. "We all know the score. I suggest we go, quickly. If you've got a headset, the channel's 51.5, encrypted. The Russian radios should work with it, if you Vympel people can tether it to Western frequencies. They're hitting the Strøget, a massive pedestrianized street. We think they're inside in 4 Vysbund, to the west of the area. We think they're holed up in this abandoned office, as a staging area. We think they're going to hit it right at the peak of shopping hours- namely, around 1800 hours. We have sixteen hours to reach Copenhagen and set ourselves up." Jan said, looking to the group, from Zhenya and Medved, to the snipers, and to Scott. ( For Maximum Effect ) "I promise you, it won't be easy. They have at least 100 men in Copenhagen right now. They have two confirmed chemical devices, similar in scale to that of Grozny. We think it's a buffer attack, it could be used to implement the chaos of a small nuclear strike within the capital. Estimates put it at one, to two million dead. Anything within a 8km radius of the city center will be leveled, anything for the next 20km, will be permanently irradiated. We have Danish Special Forces units that are on alert, as they are every year, and nine men, just us. I don't like those odds. A fool would bet on us." Jan simply said, exhaling, the rain pouring down. "But I won't lie, you're some of the finest men that I have served with. You have integrity, hearts. Something that many individuals do not in our community. Saving millions of lives. What we do next, will not be written in a textbook, or remembered in TV. You will be remembered as criminals who shot Danish police or Special Forces, and not as the saviors. You may have children, or wives, or girlfriends. I can't promise you will return home safe. But I can assure you, that these bastards will be stopped. No, matter, what. This is everything you train for. A threat such as this to the world's integrity. It is your last chance. Turn away, back into the cars, or follow me. I promise you, these bastards will pay for Grozny, for what they did to us in Afghanistan, Lima. Forget politics, whether Russia or NATO are the superior force in the world They will be made to have their plan fail, and no doubt, the world will realize full well what they were going to do, not what they did. So I say this, gents." Jan said, looking at each man in the eye, despite the rain Jan was using that emptiness giving his speech a little volume. "Follow me, and I can promise, you'll stop the suffering. You'll stop innocents dying. And you'll have your redemption. And I promise you, we will not hold back. We will not stop, till they are fucking dead. We will finish this, right here, right now. Is everyone with me?!" Jan said, looking back at the vehicle, before looking at the rest, climactic at the end, he knew. But he had made his point, and it was a rallying call. "Good. The kit we can use then. We've got defusal equipment, and no doubt, they'll try to hit the city with synchronized strikes. Cripple movement, before detonating the nuke. Then they'll have maximum effect. One of the chemical weapons is said to be in the Metro, but again, there's FKP and Jaegre forces there, so I wouldn't worry deeply about it. The other, could be up on the street, or at the Lufthavn. In the case of the latter, leave it to the Police. In the case of the former, we defuse it, immediately. The chemical weapons have a concentrated range of 2km, and they wear off quickly- they appear to be weaponized GD, Soman. Whilst they're a threat, I assume that this is what the Danish authorities expect. Not this." Jan said, looking to his force, nodding as he thought things over. "Plan of action is simple. We'll need to move quickly, to breach and clear the office building, and to find those weapons. We'll go straight in- risky, yes, but we can surprise them, if we do it correctly. Clear each floor, and take no prisoners. If it's in motion, we hit the main street, the Strøget, and Medved secures the top floors. We find the militants, kill them, and defuse whatever they have. No doubt, it's going to be loud. They might try and run if they know they're compromised. Such a bomb, while you'd think is easy to detonate, would require a target to be stationary for at least 30 seconds. We have that on our side. Jammers will also come in handy, if they try a remote detonation. The Land Rover has one inside- Zhenya, we have a spare one if you need, tuned into burst frequencies. Things such as detonations, for example. Should work for anything within 500m." He said, looking to Medved, then the other three. "We might need to chase targets. But don't get cocky. They'll likely defend the main carrier, as the nuclear device is roughly of suitcase proportions. Nobody fucking shoots him. If you shoot the container by accident, it will piss radioactive material. Even if you think you have a clear shot, we take the man down, rather than shooting him. A missed shot, everything is kaput. The carrier of the fission device is likely to be improvised, constructed of thin lead. So you shoot through that, we all fucking die. Everyone clear?" Jan added, as he looked around. "Good. As I say, I want non-lethal takedowns on any carrier, but I know you Spetsnaz people like your knives. I won't kid you. NATO wants me for questioning, and I've shot three innocent men. I will not be walking away with the rest of you at the end of this. I guess that part of the plan is to be figured out later on, Zhenya. Extraction is simple- you head back to the car, ditch your kit, and disperse. I'll handle the other problems." Jan said, as he wanted to move on, fast. What he had said, was a little interesting to some he could tell, but he knew precisely what he meant when he said it. "We have to go, now. We have no time to waste. Zhenya, you can roll with us, or with Medved. Either way, we're going to haul ass." The Pole said, as he adjsuted his hat, looking to the Russian, as he moved back to his car, looking to Scott. "Scott, you can drive. I thought you'd like this car." Jan said, chuckling, patting the Defender on the side, as he moved to the left, clambering into the passenger seat, his 416 slung on his chest rig, as he moved along, sitting back. He turned the radio on, and heard a vague story on German news radio, before shifting it to something a bit better. Yes, this was it. German Radio at night wasn't great, but sometimes, it was fucking perfect. As they pulled out, headed north, towards Hamburg, it was a good feeling, to be rocking out to this. They were on the road north, and he was aware that Medved would deal with their end of the threat when they arrived, as they rolled out in convoy.

"I will ride with Lima," Zhenya said and nodded to Medved team. That had all been discussed before they even reached the meeting point - In order for Medved to be a surprise to the TIAF, they would have to enter the area of operations via a different route, and although Zhenya could follow along the Vympel team, he wanted to go with Lima. After all, this entire thing had started with him in Lima, and it only felt fitting that he ended it the same way. With a nod to Medved team, Zhenya squeezed into the backseat of the defender, placing his rifle between his legs. He took in a deep breath and let it out. Once they crossed the Danish border, they would either return a fugitive, die, or at best, return with no changes to their status. It was a high-risk mission indeed, and oddly enough, this time it were the Russians who were providing support. As much as Zhenya liked his country, he had to admit that Russia rarely ever bothered with anything so far from it's borders. At least not overtly, and certainly without his knowledge. He could feel the captain's, and everyone else's suspicion peak when Medved team showed up, so he felt the need to clear the atmosphere. "Captain, I know you distrust Medved." Zhenya said. Though he addressed the captain, he meant for everyone to hear what he had to say. "But I assure you, they are here to help. They came voluntarily and are taking the same risks as us. They are not here to keep an eye on the operation. If my commanders wanted that, they could have done it without any of us ever knowing." He nodded to the folder that he had given to the Captain. "And if nothing else, we did not have to give you that. I do not even think that Medved had been authorized the information, but they gave it to us because they found it useful."

As soon as the more jovial part - relatively speaking, anyway - of everyone meeting back up came about, it was soon muted by the need for business; although rightly so. Everyone gathered around as Jan laid out the information he'd received. With the right support and resources, it would've been a difficult op to carry out. With the small group they had at hand, it would be bordering on impossible. But TF-Lima had been formed from some of the best and brightest; they'd do it somehow.
There wasn't much else to say, and Scott looked up as Zhenya spoke. It was evident that he was trying to make up, or apologize for the results of their earlier mission in his own way. He couldn't blame him for doing it, and it was hard to hold ill-will toward him either: he'd come through and arrived here like the others, and bought Wendy and Neill back safely - mostly - too.
There were no speeches - there was still the long drive ahead before they'd be moving into action. As they moved around to board the landrover, he looked over as Jan spoke up.

"Scott, you can drive. I thought you'd like this car."

"At least I got one nice thing for Christmas," he quipped back with a grin, settling into the drivers' side. He adjusted the seat and mirrors a little, before wedging his P-90 into the space between himself and the drivers' side door. The engine turned over on the first turn of the key, and he gave an appreciative smile at the result. "Good to know we're not likely to have any problems," he remarked. "Nothing could've been worse than if we'd set everything in motion only for the bloody car to break down halfway there".
He lead off, waving to the Medved driver to follow as he turned out onto the Autobahn. He drove sensibly; no use attracting undue attention to themselves. Being pulled over would cause them no end of problems at this point, and could scupper the mission before they even got near the bad guys.
Miles rolled under the wheels with the radio blaring, and Scott found himself nodding his head and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove. He glanced over at Jan, and into the rear view mirror to look at the others. The inside of the car was somewhat quiet, and he creased his brows into a brief frown as they rolled on. Eventually, he couldn't stand it anymore and broke the silence.
"So, I was thinking," he began with a light tone in his voice as always. "If we 'ave to escape and lose ourselves, who wants to come wi' me to the Carribbean? Start a bar somewhere, live the quiet life on those white sandy beaches... Could be a nice change of pace", he gave an amused sidelong glance at Jan, hoping to lighten the mood with some dark humour. The radio ticked over to the next song, and Scott raised his eyebrows, nodding his head in time with the beat and mouthing the lyrics.
Whoever the DJ was on the station, he must have telepathically dialled into the moment.

(If Queen isn't posting, then I'll have something up.)

Jan sat back, just thinking, the next song just as good as the last one. This was a Classic Rock radio, shit, it was just a Good Music radio to Jan's ears. It was wicked, no less. And Scott did seem confident, even though this was a death mission. Jan chortled a little at the idea, not loudly, but in a way that he just didn't see it, not himself at least.
"Sounds romantic, but you can't count me in, I'm afraid. I can't promise I'll be able to run the bar. And even if I did...you'd have to source some Lech, not just Carling. You Brits might do some Ales good, but leave us to do real Larger." Jan said, chuckling, in a semi-nihilistic way, but he knew that it wasn't all bad. Somehow, he just had to look on the bright side, and know that these few hours would be the last that he'd spend with his team. He had to make it count, in some way.
"It's Vodka you want, get all those youth in, and the rich Russians on holiday in Barbados. They like that shit more, the world's moved on from just quiet bars I hear. But you know, it's always worth it. Gotta be Dabrowka, not that fucking paint-thinning kitchen cleaner you Russians call Vodka." Jan said, chuckling at the comment, a stereotypically Polish one, in regards to Russian vodka.
He looked through the folder, looking back to Zhenya, nodding.

"I guess that means there could easily be someone watching, now you mention that. But I'll take your word for it. Thanks." He said, looking over the schematics, of the street, of the area that they were heading into. It seemed tense, but the facts somewhat corroborated. There was an office building, abandoned, that they were going to use. Third floor, and they had a whole setup. Minimum, forty men on this operation. Armed well, and likely able to contend with the Police and any RRFs, or Rapid Reaction Forces that the Danish SF and Police had in place. In order to take that down, Jan knew that it would take a hell of a lot more than just speed. They'd need to clear the staging area, fast. Medved would be a great asset to lockdown any escape routes, but that wasn't perfectly sealed, if they rushed out. And if they headed straight onto the Strøget, they were going to likely set up a place for maximum effect of both the device, or anything else they had planned. Stopping them there and there was a key. They could try and find another staging position, or something else. But whatever it was, Jan knew that from what Victoria, Zhenya and other intel he had seen had said to him, was that he considered this the only credible threat. A threat that the Danish Authorities had let fly over their heads. Not that it was their fault. But it was a time when Jan knew he could stop another Grozny, and that mattered to Zhenya, he could tell. That innocents, people with no reason to die, would be killed instantly and others burned, scarred, and dying from radiation poisoning. A huge diplomatic stifling, and the world turning back to hell. It would be nasty. But it had to change. And Jan knew full well that he had nothing left to lose. His country would not want him. Nor would NATO. His team did, but after this, he knew that the debt of what happened in Afghanistan would be paid, and that it would be his time to walk away, and let the others run, whilst he became public enemy number one. Sometimes, the world was dark in the way it worked. Jan was fine with that, and whilst today would be a sacrifice above and beyond many of which a special forces operator would be used to taking, it was one that he knew he couldn't have found better support for.

Looking back, he saw Neil and Wendy, the two snipers, a bit grizzled, but up to task.
"You're rather quiet then?" Jan asked, as Neil chuckled, opening his eyes as he looked to the front, to the Pole.
"I just came out of a Gulag, and haven't even caught near enough sleep. Give me a break."
"You been Russified by Zhenya then?" Jan added, as Neil laughed, looking at the AS VAL in his hands.
"No, it's just a fucking neat weapon. I'll give that to your weapons industry, Zhenya. A 9x39mm cartridge, and it's practically a silent assault rifle. Simple steel. I guess it works best with a rail, mind. Those sights are horrible." He said, Neil peering over at Zhenya, as he shrugged his shoulders.
"Sorry. But you Ruskies are probably used to the closed pictures. It's functional, but doesn't work well for range, not on this one at least." He said, aware that the AN-94 that Zhenya had, could have a horrible iron sight picture to any Western SF operator, but no doubt, was something to Zhenya was ideal, below his PSO optic. Jan looked out of the window, at the blurry rain and hail, as it slowly became more sleet-like, as they headed northwards, towards Flensburg, the edge of the German border. Turning his head, Jan looked over to Zhenya, as he knew there was an air to clear.

"I guess it hasn't been the most easy-going of relationships. I'm sure you understand, this wasn't ever going to be a match made in heaven. Shit, I'm amazed that we haven't already killed each other. A Russian and a Pole working together. Fuck, you can't write that stuff." He simply said, as Neil looked over.
"I bet you could, if you read enough Tom Clancy. I've suffered under your prison system and worked under yours, and both times, I've frozen my ass off." The Australian added, as Jan said, thinking back to Turkey.
"And it's why you do Alpine training, Neil. Kurwa, Zhenya didn't even induct you to the worst of their system. The Far East, over in Magdan, I hear it hits -50 as a high temperature of the day." The Captain replied, as he looked to his 416, the conversation at least taking up some of the time. They were across the Danish border, and
"Maybe. But it's the heat I'm used to, I'm afraid. Try sitting in 45 degrees temprature and aim a Mark 11 accurately. I can do it, I don't think Sergeant Derzhavin could." Neil wiped the sweat from his brow, a cold sweat, but one from wearing all this kit none the less, as he looked over his own VAL, particularly the Aimpoint that sat on the top rail.

(One more from everyone in the car, then I'll have us pulling into Copenhagen on my next one.)
(Also, the most fucking cheeky bit of banter at the end of my post. It's not breaking the fourth wall, but if you can tell, you'll chuckle.)

"When this over, I will get you paint thinner and some true Russian Vodka. Then, you can make your comments with valid reason." Zhenya said seriously, though the slight grin that tugged at the ends of his mouth gave him away. The Captain was right; never before did Zhenya imagine that he would be working alongside a Pole. He had nothing against the Polish, but he was pretty sure that the Polish were no big fans of Russians, to say the least. However, now here he was, sitting in a car with a Pole, an Englishman, an American and Australian heading towards certain death, talking about the future as if it were a certainty that they would make it out alive as a squad.

It was weird, but a good kind of weird. It was the kind of warm feeling that Zhenya had last felt in Chechnya, when he had just been a regular, enlisted soldier sitting in the back of a BMP racing down a dirt track towards the battlefield. The feeling of camaraderie and a powerful bond despite borders, language or even beliefs, that was a feeling that Zhenya never wanted to forget.

"Negative 54," Zhenya corrected and glanced towards Neil. "Last I was at Magdan, the temperature peaked at negative 54. Worse than the winter that stopped the Germans in the Great Patriotic War." He said, but then continued with, "But I admit that I would not do well in extreme heat. The most we experience of heat is the Moscow heat wave that comes every once in a while, and I imagine that is nothing compared to your Australian desert."

He leaned back in his seat, taking this brief moment of peace to entertain Scott's idea of setting up a bar somewhere quiet once everything was over and done with. It would certainly be a welcome change of pace, or hell, even a welcome change of life. He had experienced enough war and fighting for a lifetime, and even though it was the one thing he was good at, he knew that this was not a job that he could keep forever. Eventually he would have to accept a desk job, and eventually he found fade away from the frontlines and into the office.

"A bar in the Caribbean sounds like a good idea," He mumbled. "I think we all deserve a quiet rest of our lives after all this. The world owes us that much, would you all not agree?"

"A bar in the Caribbean sounds like a good idea," He mumbled. "I think we all deserve a quiet rest of our lives after all this. The world owes us that much, would you all not agree?"

"Somewhere on one of those white sandy beaches, where the water's really clear. And we can drink out of coconuts and serve laid-back tourists stupid things with little umbrellas and half a fruit salad in," agreed Scott with a chuckle, as he kept the land rover on course along the autobahn.
He glanced around. The moments' humour was good, he felt close to the others and glad to be with them again, joking and chatting like this. It made it all the more sad they were heading off to a dangerous rendezvous with the enemy, on a more-or-less illegal mission. But at least, if nothing else, they were fighting together again.
He glanced up as the miles rolled past, checking a sign. All too soon they'd be there, and things would get real. His lips formed a tight line as he thought back on what Jan had advised, and about the odds they were up against. They were as prepared as could be. All that was left was to carry out the mission as always. And, hopefully, they'd make it out alive. Even if they didn't, the mission had to be completed.