A/Ramble: I thought I'd throw in a Prologue for you all so we can wrap our heads around exactly why the Russians ended up with the Stargate. Although, since this is so short, I'll throw this out with the first chapter. But this is the beginning of a long awaited tale! I've been so excited. Please note, I wrote this after Chapter one, so the style in C1 is different to this. I'll explain that when we get there. Also, all the spoken Russian has the translation following it. I did it on Google, so please restrain the flames if you actually speak the language. Also, here isn't much of it in the story, so don't let it put you off. But please, naslazhdaĭtesʹ!

~ Prologue ~

3rd August, 1969
Washington DC

"Toropitesʹ!"

It wasn't the first time Senior Lieutenant Artur Lyutenkov had been nagged by his commander during this mission and the first time had made him anxious enough. These assignments were hard enough without the scathing reprimands. On a four-man team operating overseas, in what was widely considered enemy territory, the tension was already high. In part, he was accustomed to these working conditions; it wasn't his first time on American soil, but even he was struggling to carry out a mission he knew absolutely nothing about.

This could be a suicide job for all they knew. That would be his fate if they were found. Surely a Russian spy would receive no better treatment here than an American would in his homeland. So, in time such as these, one must put their trust in their leader. If only he had a more approachable commander than Major Chekov.

After almost nine months in this country, this was the first time he'd actually seen his teammates. In the carefully guarded warehouse, that was rather deserted once they passed through the doors, the sound of his native language was decidedly foreign to his ears.

Paulkin nudged his elbow.

"Ne usnutʹ teperʹ..." Don't fall asleep now...

So he fell asleep once on a mission; surely Paulkin was over that by now?

"Vy khotite, chtoby ya razbudit vas?" Do you want me to wake you up?

Apparently not.

"AYE!" Chekov snapped at his subordinates, waving them impatiently to him. He was standing behind the tallest crate Artur had ever seen. Or the widest. The biggestcrate he'd ever seen.

"Paulkin, Poĭdi, prinesigruzovik i prinesti yego, chtoby na yuge dverʹ." Go fetch the truck and bring it to the south door.

The four men froze at the sound of a door opening and closing. Every man took a deep calming breath when they saw the US Army corpsman approaching them with a hastened pace. The Major calmly squared his shoulders, tugged on the bottom of his US Air Force uniform shirt and gave the corpsman a friendly smile.

"Yes, Corporal?" he greeted the younger man with a perfectly southern American accent.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but you're not supposed to be in here."

"I think you'll find that we are," he smugly grinned, pulling out a thick wad of folded papers. Forged, of course, to help them 'move' this crate to the East Coast, then ship it out to Hawaii, Sydney, Territory of Papua, Singapore to Saudi Arabia, shift across to Pakistan, then pull it across the border into Afghanistan and then it was easy sailing up to Moscow.

That was if it all went well.

"I see. Well, everything looks to be in order." Looks can be deceiving, Nitwit. "Is there anything else you'll be needing Colonel Martin?"

"If you could bring the truck from the movements, we'd appreciate it, Corporal."

"No problem, Sir."

Once they were alone, Artur couldn't help but ask the question he'd probably be denied an answer, but figured it wouldn't hurt to try.

"Can I ask what this is, Colonel?" It's strange to call his Commander a Colonel, when in their own Ground Forces, he was a Major. Maybe Artur was bitter about being a lieutenant in an Airman's uniform.

"Vorota k zvezdam." A gate to the Stars.

~ VRW ~

Right, now go read the first chapter. If you feel so inclined, please leave a little review for this too. Pretty please? I had to do some research on Papua New Guinea, so double check before you tell me I got the title wrong. Separate territories until 1975.