Before I begin this fic, I'd like to clarify a few things. Firstly, although the majority of this fic will be from a Russian's point of view, he will be speaking in English, because I don't understand Russian, and it's easier for the fic, and for you guys to read. Secondly, this fic assumes, (with significant evidence today) that the Russians would survive the nuclear fallout with the aide of massive subterrean complexes, which have been proven to exist, like the one under Moscow.

Lastly, this fic may be a bit unrealistic, but so is everything in the show.

Okay, here we go. This is my second fic, please tell me what you think of this chapter.

I was woken up by loud sirens wailing throughout the base. Shaking my head, I struggled to my feet, before looking in the mirror. Brushing aside my raven bangs, I looked into my eyes. I barely recognized the guy in the mirror anymore. Between the lack of sleep, and the constant maintenance a subterranean bunker complex requires, and the resultant exposure to miniscule amounts of surface radiation, my body was running on fumes. My normally bright blue eyes were bloodshot, and weary.

Grabbing my tokarev and it's accompanying holster from beside my cot, I smiled at it. This old tokarev pistol was less of a weapon and more of a family heirloom, stretching down throughout my family back to 1942, in Stalingrad, where my great great grandfather used it. It was passed down through generations, to me. Shaking out of my thoughts, I holstered the ancient gun to my side, and stepped out of my maintenance quarters into the chaos outside in the hallways. I ran along the hallway with the crowd until I found a familiar face.

"Dimitri" I called out, trying to get his attention. We were both maintenance workers, so when we heard the sirens it was our job to figure out what was busted and fix it before we all died a brutal death. Well, theoretically… us maintenance workers may survive, due to the miniscule amounts of radiation the three generations of workers have absorbed with no lasting effect. It's possible we may have become somewhat immune. That was besides the point right now though, I have to get his attention.

"Ah, Ivan, what is it old friend" He said with a crooked grin on his face.

"What the hell is going on here" I asked, keeping pace alongside him as we ran. "Is there a breach?"

"No" he answered. "But, there's been an alert activated. There is significant evidence of a surviving nation. All able bodies have been ordered to report to the armory for equipment and briefing."

My eyes widened. Holy shit, that was big news. A surviving nation? I didn't realize that was possible. "Wow" I said, too astounded to say more.

"And his excellent wit shows itself once more" Dimitri said, with a grin

"Shutup" I grinned back, hitting him over the shoulder.

We reached the armory, where we joined the line of fit people, and were processed through. I was equipped with an AN-94, a prototype ak- type weapon used by the special forces of our country before the war. 7.62 mm, two round burst. Very powerful, and very efficient. Dimitri was given a basic AKM, an improvement of the ancient, but powerful AK-47. We were each given roughly 330 rounds of ammunition, enough for around 10 magazines, not including the one in the gun already. We were each given Russian army fatigues, along with NBC suits, just in case of surface exposure. A/N NBC suits are used for extremely hazardous situations in the military, such as nuclear fallout or accidents or biological and chemical attacks. That's what the acronym means, actually. Nuclear, Biological, Chemical. The gas masks they provided us with here very high quality, unlike the other soldiers, which made me wonder. I assumed it was because Dimitri and I had military training, however bare boned. All workers in this base, no matter how small or important their position, had to do roughly the equivalent of basic training of the Russian Army, back when it still existed.

I was shaken out of my musings as we entered the briefing room, where the remnants of our government stood in front of us in front of an ancient school-like projector in a giant room that looked somewhat like a high school auditorium, displaying what looked like a crashed modified soyuz landing craft, used in the ISS before the war.

As soon as all the fit men and women were settled in the briefing room somewhat comfortably, our president in this bunker began to speak.

"Yesterday, at 14:20, what's left of our radar installations above ground detected what seems like a landing craft near the military bunker named Mount Weather."

Waiting for the mumblings and gasps of shock to die down, he continued. "We've always suspected that the US government would've survived as well, just not like this. We never thought it plausible to survive in space for this long, but evidently they found a way."

Clearing his throat, the president continued his monologue. "Originally, we were filled with feelings of retribution, and planned to launch an orbital K-100 kinetic missile from our bunker in a pre-emptive strike, but we decided not to, as that as how we got into this bunker. Instead, we have organized an expedition, to meet this vanguard of the US government. As we are stretched on men, fuel, and firearms, this will be a one-way ticket to what's left of the US. If you do not wish for this, you are welcome to leave, nothing will be held against you".

I pondered with this. Looking to my right at Dimitri, he nodded at me. We both have been curious about the rest of the world and it's current state and this is our chance to get out into the real world instead of this filtered air and artificial sunlight. We both stayed, while over half the room left.

After the people who didn't feel like a one-way ticket left, it was just Dimitri, a few other maintenance and defence forces guys, and I. If the Russian president was surprised at the number of people that left, he didn't show it. He started explaining the plan to us.

"We'll be using half our remaining air force in this mission". I furrowed my eyebrows, before I remembered that our bunker had an underground hangar, equipped with several fighter jets, transport planes, and few prototype planes that never were mass produced due the collapse of the USSR in the late 70s- early 80s. The hangar was the only part of the complex that was regularly exposed to surface radiation, which is why it was completely sealed off from the rest of the base by several pairs of lead lined tungsten blast doors. Radiation sensors warned us of a breach, and we'd either fix it, or we'd die.

I tuned back to briefing in time to hear the planes we'd be using. An ancient Antonov-255, and a Yak-141 Freestyle. I perked up at the mention of the Yak-141, I'd done maintenance on it before, and I believed it to be the coolest fighter jet to have ever existed, with its three vectoring engines. I've even done simulator flights in it in my free time, I've logged over 1000 hours in the years I've been here. Hey, it's an awesome aircraft.

"...And Ivan here, will be piloting the Yak-141 Freestyle, doing a VTOL landing in the middle of their encampment…"

I was shocked. I've actually never been in the Yakovlev's cockpit, let alone flown it. Not that I'm unhappy, it's awesome to get a chance to fly it, especially in a possible combat situation where I might get the chance to try out the 30mm cannons and air to ground missiles, but surely they have someone more qualified.

I voiced my concerns, and the president explained that yes they did, but that person left the briefing room and chose not to go. So, it's up to me.

"Yes sir", I nodded to the President. "I'll go get her set up now"

Exiting the briefing room, I ran to the aircraft, before I approached the sealant doors. Slamming my NBC suit's helmet on my head and pressurizing the suit, I cranked open the door, slamming it behind me, cranking it back into place. I waited for the system to give me the greenlight to open the second door, exposing this part of the base to the outside world.

Running up and practically jumping inside the the aircraft, I started up the engine and waiting for the control tower to give the greenlight for me to start taxiing down the runway. I could not hide the grin from my face as I touched the faded leather joystick, instead of a plastic fake simulator one. I taxied inside the cargo bay of the ancient Antonov-255. The plan was that the Antonov would open the cargo bay once over the crashed American spacecraft, and I would start the engines, and as soon as they were powerful enough, I would release the powerful hydraulic brakes on my landing gear, and the plane would slip out of the plane through Newton's first law, inertia, and I would pretty much fly down, and do a VTOL landing in the middle of the encampment.

I was shaken out of my thoughts by the sound of the hydraulic locks clicking loudly as the cargo bay door was closed, and the green light was extinguished, meaning that the massive aircraft was underway, with my aircraft in the cargo bay.

Suddenly, the last few days caught up to me, and my head slumped over as I attempted to keep my eyes open. Slowly, they slid shut, and the last thing I saw was my tokarev pistol glinting in the soft green light given off by the cockpit console, as if it was winking at me.

I was woken up 8 hours later by the green light chiming. I started awake, looking around me frantically, before realizing where, and what I was doing. I ignited the engines, turning them to VTOL mode. I heard the sound of the engines slowly vectoring to face the ground as they began to fire up. Speaking into the onboard radio, I spoke. "This is Ivan, engines are firing up, VTOL is engaged. ETA of full engine power is" -I glanced at the display "60 seconds".

I felt for my tokarev pistol, and clenched it tightly in my hand. It was my good luck charm, and I had a feeling I would need it in the coming minutes. I glanced at the display again, and spoke into the onboard radio to the crew in the Antonov's cockpit.

"VTOL is engaged, engines are approaching full thrust. Keep me in here any longer and the heat from them will burn through the fuselage."

I heard Dimitri's voice through the intercom "See you later comrade, we'll be back in a week with supplies for you, try not to die until then."

"Copy that comrade" I said into the radio, thankful I had someone I could depend on in the skies.

The hatch opened, and the inertia of the moving aircraft instantly shot my aircraft out of the larger antonov-225. The first few seconds of separation was insanity, as my Yakovlev lost total control and I started corkscrewing towards the ground.

Wrenching the joystick into my stomach, I managed to level out the aircraft a few hundred feet above the ground. A few more seconds and I'd have smashed against the ground at a few hundred miles per hour.

I looked down at the ground and caught the gaping mouths of several teenagers glancing up at me. I furrowed my brows in confusion. Teenagers? I thought this was supposed to be ex-government and military, not civilians. I hovered the rest of the way down, risking burn out from the heat the engines in Yakovlev produced. Extending my landing gear, I touched down gently, the airblast from the landing blowing many of the teenagers back a few feet.

Slamming my hand onto the red escape hatch, the plexiglas cockpit flew off, landing somewhere behind the aircraft, and I climbed out onto the wing, pulling out my ancient tokarev pistol, and slamming a fresh mag into it, cocking back the slide. Sure, it may be ancient, but nobody messes with a Russian 7.62x25mm slug A/N No, I'm not making this up, the tokarev pistol actually chambers the same round as some models of Kalashnikov rifles, it's pretty insane.

I shouted out loud enough for everyone in the general vicinity to hear. "Where is the leader of this camp?"

A girl with blonde hair stepped forward, and met my eyes challengly. "I am"

So… what do you guys think of this concept? A russian OC in the one hundred? Bad? Good? Leave it in the reviews, and don't hesitate to criticize me, I need it. Flames will not hurt me, because I'm already dead inside ;)