(AN: So, this Omake originally started out as a deleted scene from Zulu Squad No Tsukaima that was supposed to take place after the Gallian Intrigue arc but before the final Arc.

SPOILER ALERT!

Do NOT read this chapter until after you have read chapter 147 "Lend-Lease, Part Deux", otherwise some things won't make any sense.

This was a deleted scene for reason that will become evident in the final arc of the story, I'm not going to spoil anymore than that.)

April 6th, 2017, 14:05 hours local time, approximately 45 km from Shayrat Air Force Base, Syria.

Captain Andrey Sukov squinted against the sun's reflected rays off the sands. He stood in the commander's cuppola with a pair of binoculars, but still saw nothing. He spat out some of the sand that had made it's way through his shemagh scarf and swore.

"Pizdets! Nothing in this godforsaken desert."

Currently the trio of tankers were fulfilling Russia's "humanitarian" mission in Syria, helping the government put down an insurrection by terrorists. Or at least that is what they were told. Andrey recalled the orders and continued to curse.

"These stupid goat-herders have managed to destroy everything in this fucked up country. They've blown up all the resorts, scared off all the shopkeepers, the tourists and pretty women...shelled the good restaurants..."

Vlad, his driver spoke up in the radio.

"Well, it could be worse, Comrade Captain! Remember Private Viktorov?"

"Oleg? Oh, yes, that stupid little shit from the base in Siberia. What about him?"

"Well, he was caught on camera admitting to Yankee film crew of the rusalka's existence."

Andrey snickered.

"Serves the little arse-kisser right. What happened to him?"

"He got sent as an 'military advisor' to Donbass."

"Ha! That's poetic."

The Russian captain knew that as bad as it was here in Syria, it still paled in comparison to the shit-show that was the disputed province in Ukraine. He heard Vlad speak up again.

"Comrade Captain, are we doing the right thing?"

"That, my boy, is a question above your pay grade. You are lucky, all you have to do is follow orders. As to we all. And Comrade Supreme Commander Putin has deigned it necessary to protect President Bashar Assad from terrorists, so what's left of this godforsaken country doesn't descend into anarchy like Libya."

Their conversation was interrupted by his radio operator.

"Comrade Captain! I've received new orders, we're to rendezvous with Sledge Two-Two at the air force base and report to the base commander."

"Pizdets! What does that stupid sheep shagger want now?"

He pulled off his goggles and stepped back into the turret of the T-80.

"Vlad, turn this beast around and try not to kick up too much dust. I don't want to spend the next three hours baking in the sun trying to clean sand out of the turbine intakes!"

(2 hours later, back at base.)

Andrey took a swig of lukewarm water from his canteen and stepped into the prefab aluminum building that served as the commander's quarters. Inside a portable air conditioning unit tried feebly to keep the heat out, a young man stood up at his desk and eagerly gestured to a door that led to the CO's office. Andrey put his canteen away, and shook off the young Syrian's grasp, then opened the door. The commander's office was a cluttered mess, about the only thing clean was the Syrian Air Force Flag behind the desk and a large portrait of President Al-Assad on the wall. Andrey wrinkled his nose, the office reeked of body odor and the nasty food the locals ate. The base's commanding officer, a colonel by the name of Issam stood up from his desk spoke up.

"Captain, thank you very well for coming!"

The colonel spoke English, since his Russian was worse than Andrey's Gulf Arabic. So the two of them conversed in English. Andrey replied in accented English.

"Spare me the pleasantries, Comrade Colonel. What do you want?"

The colonel nervously gulped at his Russian protector's impatience and pulled up a report.

"This is a complete duty roster that we received from headquarters. We will need your tanks for support to protect our air assets."

Andrey took the report. Thank goodness it was still written in Russian. One of the idiots in the radio room had translated it from Russian to Arabic for the sake of his hosts, then it had to be translated back into Russian. The captain looked up from the report.

"I'm confused. It says the MiG-29's have been accounted for, but you should have 28, not 27. What happened to that last one?"

The colonel glanced out his window. Andrey though the man looked nervous.

"Well, it was lost."

"Lost? You mean as in destroyed by enemy fire?"

Issam seemed to be struggling to find the words, and was sweating.

"Er-, it was, ah, how do you say, it was there last night when we housed them, but this morning it was gone."

Andrey frowned.

"Did you have another defector?"

The colonel shook his head.

"No, not that. My pilot is still here. It is the aeroplane that is gone."

He chuckled nervously.

"These pilots are stupid backwater peasants, most of them aren't even true Ba'athists. This pilot swore to me that the desert swallowed it."

"Actually he said that a beautiful al-jinni seduced him and made it disappear..."

The Russian looked up. A faint memory resurfaced, unbidden, but Andrey quashed it quickly. He shoved the report back at the Syrian officer.

"Fine, we will be redouble our patrols in case the rebels try to mortar the base."

He turned to leave, still unable to shake a feeling of unease.

(Later that evening, 18:37 hours local time)

Captain Andrey sat on the steeply sloped side of the T-80's tank's angular turret, his boot resting on one of the bricks of modular armor that provided additional protection to the tank's most vulnerable spot. He pulling out a cigarette, sweating profusely and hating the weather.

"Blya! I never thought I would miss snow."

He patted the pockets of his mottled dark green combat blouse, then yelled down into the tank's interior.

"Vlad! My lighter must have fell out again, can you find it?"

He heard the driver's voice from the inside of the T-80.

"Hold on, Comrade Captain!"

There was a rustling noise, then Vlad's voice again.

"Ah, found it!"

Vlad's head popped out of the gunner's turret.

"Here you go-"

The tanker captain saw his driver's eyes widen, pointing a shaking finger at something behind him.

"What's wrong, Vlad?"

But his driver didn't respond, so Andrey turned his head, and the cigarette fell out his mouth.

There, perched on the very edge of the T-80's back fender, was a supernatural beauty with long green tresses and a silky thin dress that billowed in the evening desert wind. But both Andrey and Vlad knew who she was.

"No...not you again!"

The mischievous rusalka let out a musical giggle as she stepped lightly like a ballerina along the tank's fender towards them. Andrey scrambled away from her and in the process lost his balance. Flailing his arms about he fell off the tank and landed squarely on his backside in the sand. His driver, was rooting the spot, spellbound by her large emerald-green eyes. When she reached Vlad, she lightly took the cigarette out of his mouth and flicked it away speaking in the same soft, singsong voice that they remembered.

"Don't you know that smoking is bad for you?"

Vlad finally found his voice and stammered out.

"P-please Lady Rusalka, or whatever your title is, please don't take our tank!"

The Lady let out another melodious laugh.

"I have no need for your tank, Vladimir Rogozin."

She reached out, her slender delicate fingers snatched the cigarette lighter out his hand.

"I do however, require this."

Suddenly Andrey remembered something.

"Wait! It was you, wasn't it! You were responsible for the Mig's disappearance!"

The rusalka turned her gaze towards him, and the captain felt like he was under a spell, hypnotized by those beautiful eyes. She spoke again.

"You mean the airborne instrument of destruction, don't you? What if I did?"

Andrey shook his head.

"You can't go around stealing things that don't belong to you! Why, the only reason we're not cleaning shit off tanks in Siberia as privates is because you got caught on camera..."

Vlad tried to shush him.

"Quiet, Comrade Captain! She might make it disappear, or us disappear!"

But, if anything, the rusalka found Andrey's rant amusing.

"'Tis true, but I allowed it. I felt bad for you. As for your superiors finding out about my latest acquisition-"

She glanced up at the sky.

"They will have more important things to worry about."

With that, the rusalka raised one her hands, ready to snap her fingers.

"Fare thee well, be at ease, for you shall not see me again."

She gave an angelic smile and a wink.

"If you are good, that is."

She snapped her fingers, and as before vanished in a shower of glowing motes that winked out one by one. Andrey was pulling himself off the ground when he heard Vlad speak.

"I don't understand, what did Lady Rusalka mean by that last quip."

Andrey was still dazed.

"I don't understand...she knew that sooner or later that MiG is going to be listed as missing...what could happen that would-"

A light went off in his head, and he looked up at the now-darkened sky.

"Oh shit..."

He scrambled aboard the tank.

"Quick! Vlad get every Russian soldier we have on this base on the radio, we have to evacuate!"

"But why?"

"There's going to be an airstrike, you idiot! We need to get as far away from that base as possible!"

(AN: And there you have it. Originally in keeping with the Weaver of Fate pinching Russian equipment I was going to have her steal a MiG-29 from the aforementioned base in Syria, and cover it up because the U.S. was going to launch an airstrike against that base the same day. But, after consulting with my Russian beta I was going to go with the original F-15, then the F16, and finally...Well if you've already read ZSNT all the way through, you know, and if you haven't I'm not going to spoil it for you :)

There was going to be a funny sequence where the Weaver reappears to Andrey to complain about how unreliable the MiG-29 is, only for Andrey to scoff and say that any Russian pilot could have told her that. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this little Omake.)