Author's Note: All properties are the rights of their respective owners, Sledgehammer, Activision, LucasArts Games, etc.

Picked up The Immortal and Collective Obligation, it's been a good week.

Yes, the naming of this chapter is a blatant rip off of The Rat Patrol.

The Devil's Company

Chapter 13: The In For A Penny Raid

No. 63 Commando

1/2 mile from Project Nova Facility

0622 Hours, January 15, 1945

"Petrova, report," intoned Price gruffly, prompting Arthur Kingsley to look up from his watch. Kingsley saw the Russian woman trudging through the ankle-deep snow, seemingly the only one unbothered by the bitter chill in the morning air. The entire remaining strength of the Small Scale Raiding Force was gathered outside the target compound, spread out over 300 yards and waiting for the signal to launch their assault.

"Dragovich has his men ready, like all good soldiers of the Motherland, they are eager for the fight," she reported. Her lips then pursed momentarily, "Dragovich has also called for additional support, he says their own planes will come."

Price nodded, "The more the merrier. I trust your men are in position as well, leftennant?"

"Yes sir," answered Kingsley promptly, "They're ready."

Kingsley was more than ready too, the bodies of their lost scouting group had been found and buried the night before, giving Kingsley the chance to say goodbye to his friend, Richard Webb. He wasn't the only one, the small unit was close knit, and everyone was close with at least one person that had been killed. The change on the men had been palpable, gone was any sort of bravado, replaced with a solemn understanding that Jerry would pay for the friends that had been lost.

"What about the Bosch?" inquired Price, the mustached man turning back to Petrova and jamming a cigar in his mouth.

When Arthur didn't hear an immediate response, he turned to see that Polina was frowning. "There is Nazi heavy armor, assault guns, facing east, and the garrison is manning their defensive positions. But… the transport vehicles are gone, it appears that the warehouse by the railroad tracks is… it is empty Major."

Kingsley frowned himself, and even Price shifted his cigar. "Was it empty before leftennant?"

Polina shook her head, "I do not know. The doors were closed and I could never see inside."

"Good work, find a vantage point. Once the attack begins you are free to engage the enemy at your discretion, until then, report if you see anything else of significance," instructed Price. The Russian nodded and turned back, heading the way she came and leaving the Britons to ponder this revelation. As Arthur mulled this over, he was interrupted by Price, "Thoughts leftennant?"

"We still have to attack, sir," answered Kingsley immediately. "If they did move the gas, then we need to find where, as well as destroy the means of manufacturing it."

"Quite," hummed Price, chewing on his unlit tobacco.

"That armor could be a problem sir, we aren't equipped to handle it. The planes won't be able to, not if everything goes to plan," observed the Oxford Officer quietly.

"We leave them t our Russian friends. Those tanks are in their way, not ours," answered Price. "And if Dragovich does wish to make a play for Project Nova, then hopefully that armour can slow him down long enough for us to get, do our jobs, and get out." Arthur frowned, unsure how he felt about their supposed allies, Petrova's countrymen, being left to die so their suspicious superior wouldn't get his hands on Nova, but there wasn't time for such thoughts. Price removed the cigar from his mouth and replaced it in its case. "To your men, leftennant, it's almost time. Just waiting on our friends upstairs now."

RAF No. 675 Squadron 'Battlehawks' Vought F4U-4 Corsair

2 miles Northeast of Project Nova Facility

0628 Hours, January 15, 1945

Scanning the horizon, Wright saw the sunlight reflect off the wings of the four fighters sweeping low over the countryside as the roar of angry piston engines announced their arrival. Coming in at treetop level, the Battlehawks banked, putting the rising sun at their backs as they made their final approach to their target. Curtis flipped the switches arming his fifty cals and the eight High Velocity Aircraft Rockets slung under the wings, each tipped with a warhead containing seven and a half pounds of TNT before settling back and taking a deep breath. Casting one last glance down at his watch, the Daredevil saw a flash of movement to his left as Rork's Hawker Tempest nosed up out of the weeds, and the other fighters followed suit.

The four planes zoomed up, altimeters spinning rapidly as they crossed 1,000 feet before leveling off and gaining their bearings. "Tally ho chaps! At our 10 o'clock!" called out Rorke. Wright's head swung left to catch sight of the Project Nova facility and quickly picked out the targets assigned by Major Price. "Trevor, we're up first. You yanks follow us in."

With that, the Tempest and Spitfire peeled away and nosed over, lining up on the German facility as they swooped down to deliver an explosive wake-up call. Watching from above, Curtis saw the two pilots spread out before firing their rockets in long salvoes, aimed at the walls on the west side of the compound in an effort to give the commandoes a way in. After unleashing their weapons, the two Britons pulled out of their shallow dives and banked north, getting clear of the compound and giving the Americans a clear run.

As the last two Battlehawks rolled in, Wright saw the rockets from the first pair of planes impact, throwing up fountains of earth, snow, and splinters from the perimeter fence. With that primary target destroyed, the two diving fighter pilots picked out the camouflaged AA guns placed on opposite corners of the compound and lined up their own runs. Chase's Mustang was slightly ahead of Wright, and the six HVAR rockets slung under its wings shot off in another rapid salvo, zipping straight towards their target. The attack Curtis made was somewhat different, and as he drew into range he unleashed his five inch rockets, only his flew off in pairs, and his experienced eye saw they would miss. Making a few minute adjustments with pedal and stick, Wright snapped off a second pair of the high velocity rockets before pulling the stick back and climbing back up.

Just as the Battlehawks had preplanned, the two Americans banked to the right, making a lazy 270 degree turn so they would come in from the north side for their second pass. The first run was to open the door for the Commandoes on the ground, the fighters' second run would help them have an easier go of it once inside the compound. Craning his head around, Curtis saw his rockets find their mark, and a satisfying pillar of smoke emanated from where the smoldering ruins of the Flakvierling lay in a crater.

Wright could also see the compound come to life as the planes circled around, men running in every conceivable direction as the British pilots swooped in for a strafing run. Their wings twinkled as they unleashed a hail of fire onto the compound, cutting down men where they stood with a mix of thirty caliber and twenty millimeter rounds. This time, when the Britons finished their pass, they stayed low, sweeping over the countryside as they got clear and allowing the Americans to make their pass. Chase bore in with his six .50s, hosing the base down as the Mustang stampeded through, clearing the way for Wright to make his run. With four rockets left, Curtis lined up on the barracks and triggered both pairs, sending all four of the weapons into the building as the Corsair streaked past.

Inside the cockpit, Curtis strained to look beneath him for any sign of the Commandoes. "Give 'em hell, guys," he whispered quietly, "And stay safe Polina."

No. 63 Commando

150 yards from Project Nova Facility

0631 Hours, January 15, 1945

The Soviet Sniper watched the planes fly overhead, picking out the distinct dark blue form of the Marine's fighter and unable to keep herself from smiling. Settling back behind her rifle's scope, Petrova's smile grew as she saw the destruction wrought by the four fighters, a corner of the barracks was destroyed by rockets and Germans were scampering for cover after the assault from the air. From her hilltop perch, Polina watched the British soldiers move through the woods with haste, rushing towards the gaps that had been made in the perimeter defenses. There was a brief pause as the Commandoes organized themselves, rapidly setting up their Bren guns and preparing their assault elements which gave Petrova a chance to settle her sights on her first mark.

While the airplanes had destroyed the AA guns and barbed wire fences, the guard towers that marked each corner remained standing, and that was where the crosshairs of Polina's scope settled. All at once, the British machine gunners opened fire, sending streams of fire into the German base as the assault teams rushed forward. Polina took this as her signal to fire, launching a 7.62mm slug through the head of the watchman occupying the nearest tower and causing him to tumble from his perch.

Muzzle sweeping across the entire compound, Polina saw the Nazis were slow to turn their attention from the damage within their perimeter to the threat bearing down on them from without. The sharpshooter also watched the British make the most of their enemies' confusion, sweeping into the gaps in the defenses and rushing for cover amongst the crates, vehicles, and buildings. A cacophony of automatic weapons fire and the thunder of exploding grenades drowned out all other noise as Polina watched the Commandos split up, squads moving to each building before the defenders could rally.

The distinct report of a German machine gun drowned out all others as a stream of tracers raked over the advancing Commandos, causing Petrova to search for the source and see a sandbag pillbox draped in camouflage netting near a gate. The incomplete fortification was open topped, and Petrova could just barely draw a bead on the top of the gunner's head before firing a shot and taking it off, causing the gun to fall silent.

Seizing the reprieve, the Commandos leapt up and hurled a wave of grenades at the pillbox, blasting it apart as the soldiers swarmed it and gunned down any other defenders that got in their way. Their advance was swift, so swift that they quickly moved beyond the reach of Petrova's rifle, prompting the Soviet Sharpshooter to slip from her perch and advance as well, keen to not be left out of this fight.

No. 63 Commando

Project Nova Facility

0635 Hours, January 15, 1945

After clearing the machine gun nest, Arthur Kingsley saw the clean shot that had killed one of the Germans and waved up towards where he thought Polina was, hoping she saw his gesture of thanks. The lieutenant jammed a fresh magazine into his Sten gun before waving his platoon forwards, "Come on lads!" he shouted as he ran towards the building his unit had been assigned, a small, unassuming structure close to the center of the compound. The Commandos advanced swiftly, submachine guns spraying any Germans who dared oppose them on their way to the target, though more than a few were scientists or workers who fled at the sight of the gun toting Brits.

As the Commandos rushed past the blasted wall on the barracks that housed the garrison for the base, Kingsley felt a deep, reverberating rumble in his chest that emanated from the building across from the barracks. Coming to an abrupt halt, Arthur realized what that noise was and bellowed to his men, "SCATTER!" At once every man tore off in a different direction, looking for any piece of cover they could find, be it stacks of crates, low brick walls, or jumping through shot out windows and into the Kraut barracks. Kingsley ducked into the rubble and peered over the crumbled wall as the earth trembled beneath him and he saw the half open doors of the motor pool burst open and a monstrous armored vehicle emerged.

A few men fired at it, their rounds pinging off the thick frontal armour of the tank destroyer as it trundled forward, the tracks kicking up a mix of snow and mud. The machine fought back; the machine gun in a ball mount placed on the right side of the front glacis plate spewed a stream of lead that caused Kingsley to reflexively duck. Mind racing, the officer looked around to try and come up with a plan to knock the armored behemoth out despite his platoon, and the rest of No. 63 Commando, lacking any sort of anti-armor weapons.

The Jagdpanther turned on the spot, the massive cannon swinging around before firing, the report leaving Arthur's ears ringing even before the shell blasted apart some building on the far side of the compound. "Dear god!" exclaimed Kingsley as his face was blasted by dust and snow kicked up by the muzzle blast. Ears ringing so loudly he couldn't hear his own thoughts, Arhtur's head swung around and he spied someone that gave him an idea. "Riggs!" he shouted, but the Aussie didn't acknowledge him from behind a small wall of sandbags.

As the hulking armored juggernaut rumbled forward, Kingsley tore from the doorway and dashed to Lucas, grabbing the man by his shoulder to get his attention. "What'd'ya want you limey bugger?" shouted the Aussie, seemingly as loud as he could.

"Demo charge! On the tracks!" shouted back Kingsley, pointing at the lumbering steel beast as it turned around and sprayed a volley of machine gun fire into another structure.

"You fucking CRAZY, mate!?" roared Riggs, shaking Kingsley's hand off his shoulder.

"You got a better idea?" asked Arhtur, prompting the Aussie to scowl and shake his head. "Then go! I'll cover you!" Shouting something back that Arthur couldn't quite make out, Riggs set down his SMG and swung his backpack around to produce a satchel charge. Priming the explosive, the Aussie then nodded to Kingsley, who stood and looked for any sign of German infantry as Riggs rushed up to the flank of the tank destroyer.

The distinct buzzsaw report of a German machine gun roared over the vehicle's diesel engine, and the bullets churned the earth by Riggs as the Aussie dove down behind the Jagdpanther he wanted to destroy. Kingsley poked his head up and saw the source of the machine gun fire, an intact guard tower on the far side of the base, and raised his Sten gun to loose a burst at the distant tower. The only thing this accomplished was getting the attention of the German gunner, because the next burst of machine gun fire was directed towards the British Lieutenant, forcing him to duck back down.

A single rifle shot sounded, and the MG-42 fell silent. Kingsley's head whipped around and saw a figure move near the destroyed pillbox by the entrance. With a distinct hat and cape flowing behind her, he immediately identified it as Polina Petrova making the shot from over two hundred yards, and she was moving towards Kingsley. Arthur then looked to see the Australian set to work, tucking the satchel charge into the gap between the tank destroyer's tread and the hull before Riggs turned and fled, sprinting back towards Kingsley.

The Oxford educated officer was about to shout out to Riggs when the Aussie vaulted over the sandbags and barreled through him, the pair both tumbling to the ground just as the explosive charge detonated. Springing up, Riggs took up his Owen gun and peered over the sandbags before letting out a triumphant whoop. "Aw yeah, he's buggered now!"

Picking himself up, Arthur expected to see the vehicle totally destroyed because of the power of the explosion, but when the cloud of smoke and dust cleared the lieutenant was disappointed to see the intact form of the Tank Destroyer. It looked as if the vehicle was left totally unscathed by the explosive, but as the engine revved angrily, and the steel leviathan crawled forwards, that proved to not be true. The track where Riggs had placed the satchel charge had been broken, and with every meter the vehicle moved, ostensibly to try and get away from the source of the explosion, more of the track fell limply from the turning wheels of the tank destroyer and flopped onto the churned-up earth.

Unaware of its plight, the Jagdpanther rolled right off its damaged track, its interleaved roadwheels quickly sinking down into the snow covered ground, immobilizing the German vehicle. "Get on board! Throw grenades down the hatches!" shouted Arthur as he stood up, waving his platoon forward as he rushed towards the back of the tank destroyer with several of his men. Stepping his foot up onto the suspension, Kingsley pulled himself nto the engine deck, wincing at the metal's scalding heat metal on his hands until he was able to get onto his feet and looked up to see one of the crew members sticking his torso out a hatch. The two men stared at each other before reacting, going for their weapons at the same time and there was a brief moment where it dawned on Arthur that the German was going to bring his gun to bear faster before his head snapped back and the man slumped down the hatch.

Turning back, Kingsley saw Petrova's rifle smoking before reaching down to take a corporal's hand to pull him up onto the Jagdpanther. As the commandos clambered onto the vehicle, Kingsley rushed to the casemate of the vehicle and stuffed the muzzle of his Sten gun down the hatch before pulling the trigger, spraying a burst inside the fighting compartment. Turning back, Arthur saw three of his men gathered, each holding a grenade in hand, and he stepped aside, "Get 'em in there!" he barked, waving his gun towards the hatch. In short order, three Mills bombs went into the Jagdpanther before Kingsley slammed the hatch shut and all the men leapt clear.

The series of rippling explosions were muted by the steel but a rush of wind and searing heat on the back of his neck caused Arthur to turn around and see a geyser of fire erupt from the vehicle before he tripped over a wall of sandbags and tumbled onto the ground alongside Riggs. The Aussie pulled Arthur to his feet and smacked him on the back, "Look at that ammo burn!" exclaimed Lucas.

Allowing himself a smile, Arthur turned to rally his platoon when he saw the petite form of Petrova standing alongside him, her presence taking him by surprise. The Sniper spoke suddenly, "It is too quiet," she observed, keen eyes scanning. Blinking in surprise, Kingsley listened, and realized that the sounds of battle were distant, to the east, not within the compound. "That is not right. There were more Nazis a few days ago."

Kingsley didn't want to ponder the implications of that as his platoon regrouped to move on to their objective.

RAF No. 675 Squadron 'Battlehawks' Vought F4U-4 Corsair

2 miles Southeast of Project Nova Facility

0652 Hours, January 15, 1945

Circling at about eight thousand feet, the Battlehawks kept up their vigil, scanning the skies for any sign of Nemesis planes responding to the raid taking place below. Other than the four fighters, the skies remained empty since the attack began, but the Marine hoped they got a bit busier as he flexed his trigger finger around the control yoke. Looking east, Curtis saw something, a glint of sun reflecting off metal and squinted, seeing a shape move against the ground, camouflaged white to blend in with the snow beneath. "Fellas, I'm seeing something out east, 10 o'clock low," called the Marine into his microphone.

"Sturmoviks Wright, Soviet attack planes, bloody good ones," answered Trevor when Wright's eyes looked higher and saw small black specks diving down on them, closing the distance. Before Curtis could ask what those were, he saw streams of yellow tracers arc out from the black airplanes at the white ones. "Looks like they've got some unwanted friends."

Rork's voice cut in over the radio immediately, "Let's lend them a hand gentlemen. Pair off and engage those fighters." As one, the four planes banked around and brought their noses in line with the German fighters as they climbed away from the Soviets, the sleek black fighters adorned with the Iron Cross of the Luftwaffe and yellow thunderbolt of Nemesis. The planes had round noses and a spindly appearance, distinguishing them as Messerschmitt BF-109s, Germany's mainstay fighter, any pilots flying the plane for Nemesis were undoubtedly veterans.

Those veterans in the first four Messerschmitt's didn't appear to notice the Battlehawk's presence, and flew across the noses of the allied fighters. Looking to his left, Curtis saw the two Britons accelerate forward, their fighters angling in to slip onto the tails of the -109s while the Americans scanned the skies above. Wright saw nothing amiss as he looked over his right shoulder, but as he made to look to his left, he saw Chase's Mustang crank over and immediately matched the move on instinct. Grunting under the G forces of the tight turn, Wright barely registered the yellow blobs the size of his fist streaking over his canopy.

The flash of black that followed ignited the aggressive spark inside the Daredevil, and he threw the stick back over, reversing his turn in an instant to go on the attack. Ramming the throttle forward, Wright accelerated to pursue the four -109s that had overshot him and tried to reel them in. After missing their diving attack, the Nemesis fighters were nosing back up, climbing away from the Americans, but Wright wasn't keen to let them get away. Pulling back on his stick, Curtis squeezed the trigger and unleashed a quick burst from his fifties, sending a hail of bullets over the canopies of the German fighters.

His shots flew wide, but they had their intended effect, spooking two of the Nemesis pilots and causing them to abandon their climb, snap rolling over and diving away. Grinning evilly behind his oxygen mask, Curtis threw the stick over and rolled inverted before pulling it back into his gut, grunting as he was pressed into his seat. Supercharger screaming, the Corsair hurtled towards the ground in excess of 400 miles an hour as Wright rolled back over and watched the two Messerschmitt fighters pull out of their dive to begin a spiraling climb. Pulling his stick back and kicking the rudder, Wright swung the Corsair in behind the climbing Nemesis -109s, vision dimming as blood was drained out of his head. Straining against the g forces pressing him into his seat, Wright could just barely make out the two black shapes in his windscreen and eased his pull just enough to slide in on their tails and take aim at Tail End Charlie.

Pulling the trigger, Wright unleashed a quick burst from his six machine guns, tracers arcing through the air and slamming into the engine of the Messerschmitt. Black smoke belched from the stricken fighter as the canopy flew off and the pilot bailed out just as the plane rolled onto its back and entered a death spiral while Wright turned his attention to the lead German fighter. The Nemesis pilot abandoned his climb and reversed his turn, snapping back the other way faster than the Corsair could match. Keeping the throttles wide open and standing on his wingtip, Curtis' foot came down on the rudder pedal, his nose swinging upwards to launch the Corsair into a Chandelle, cranking the aircraft around and came back down on the German plane, pulling his stick back to put his crosshairs out in front of the -109. Lining up the high angle deflection shot and pulling the trigger, Wright hosed the -109 down with a long burst as it flew threw his gunsight. As Curtis flashed by the Nemesis fighter, he craned his head around to see the mortally wounded craft enter into a flat spin while flames began to engulf the fuselage.

Before he could catch his breath, Wright heard Chase come over the radio, "Break right Curtis!" Without looking, the Marine threw the yoke over and into a hard right turn. Grunting at the strain, Wright barely noticed the tracers stream behind him as the German fighter unleashed his 20mm MG 151 cannons, from which a single hit could shatter his Corsair. For all its agility, the BF-109 could not match the sustained high speed turn of the F4U and it soon lagged behind. "Hang on Daredevil, I'm comin'!" called Chase as Curtis looked back over his shoulder to see the Mustang bore in.

His fellow Battlehawk slid in behind the Germans and fired, with Curtis watching one of the black painted fighters fall away. Arms shaking from the sustained pull, Wright clenched his jaw as he fought against weary muscles to keep up his turn, knowing that slacking before Chase cleared his tail could end in his death. Time seemed to draw out as Wright endured the turn until the Mustang Ace's voice came back over the radio, "You're clear, Curtis!"

Feeling a weight lift off his shoulders, Curtis quickly leveled his wings and picked up airspeed, eyes scanning the sky, first above and behind him, and then ahead and below, when he spotted a white Sturmovik right on the deck, with a black Messerschmitt hot in pursuit. Pausing just a moment to let the pair of planes pass beneath him, the Marine Ace rolled the Corsair onto its back before burying the stick in his gut as he entered into a diving Split-S, fangs out as he kept his eyes locked on his next victim.

55th Ground Attack Regiment Ilyushin IL-2 Sturmovik

3 Miles East of Project Nova Facility

0711 Hours, January 15, 1945

Scrunching down in her seat, Lieutenant Natalia Burdina threw her Ilyushin around the sky in anticipation of another burst from her German pursuer, her plane already sporting holes from the enemy cannons and machine guns. Daring to turn around and peer behind her, Natalia saw the corpse of her tail gunner slumped over her gun, her blood pooling on the floor beneath her. 150 meters behind her tail, the Soviet flyer spotted the black painted Nazi fighter, its nose and wings twinkling as a storm of metallic hail chewed into the woman's plane as she erratically jinked in an attempt to throw off the aim of the Fascist, to no avail.

Shuddering under the weight of the sustained fire, the battered Sturmovik soldiered through the damage, with Natalia grimacing from the shattered glass cutting her through her jacket. When the German fire let up, Burdina dared to look back again and saw the black BF-109 still latched onto her, but then saw something else, a strange blue airplane she had never seen before diving down behind the German before its wings lit up. Natalia couldn't help but smile at the sight of her tormentor bursting into flames before he slammed into the ground, only for her elation to turn to horror at the sight of another black fighter scream down behind her savior.

Natalia desperately wished she could warn the pilot of the blue aircraft as the German closed in, but her radio had been shot out, and if it wasn't, she doubted they shared a frequency. Her plane was in no shape to aid in a dogfight, not that the Hunchback was much good in one, and so Burdina could only watch, mouth agape, at what happened next. The blue fighter suddenly cranked over and turned hard, nose snapping to be almost perpendicular to Natalia's Sturmovik while the German fighter bore in, guns blazing as it streaked past the blue fighter that had seemingly slammed the brakes on the -109. In awe at the incredible move, Burdina was almost let down when the blue airplane merely reversed its turn rather lazily to unleash its own guns on the German, taking down the black fighter with seemingly minimal effort.

With the second German dispatched, Natalia took a moment to scan the skies around her and saw that they were clear of any other planes. Burdina took a moment to lean back and relax against her armored seat. Closing her eyes and taking a breath, she saw movement to her right and turned to see the strange blue aircraft alongside her, blunt nosed and featuring an odd, bent wing, it was emblazoned with a white star on the side and numerous flags beneath the cockpit. An Ace she realized instantly, and she raised her hand to wave at the unknown pilot. The big blue airplane rocked its wings in salute before peeling away.

No. 63 Commando

Project Nova Facility

0715 Hours, January 15, 1945

Entering the building alongside Arthur Kingsley, Polina Petrova didn't attempt to hide her disappointment when all she saw were a few random desks, bookshelves, and cabinets that marked this as some sort of office space and not something of greater value. One of the soldiers approached the dark skinned Englishman and reported, "Building's secure sir, looks like it's a post office, or similar, we're looking for any relevant documents now."

Kingsley nodded while the frown on the Russian woman's face deepened into a scowl as she watched the men rifle through desk drawers and rummage through cabinets to search for anything of value. But Petrova refused to believe that there would be a building dedicated to such a mundane purpose, and so she began a search of her own. Stepping brusquely past the British soldiers, Polina began searching the room herself, walking from side to side with heavy footfalls, head swiveling as she looked for anything amiss, because something felt profoundly off to the Soviet Sharpshooter. Approaching a desk near the middle of the room, Petrova realized that this was the only place where the wooden floorboards were covered by a large, thick rug.

Rushing to a corner and crouching down to draw the rug back, it didn't take long for Petrova to reveal the edge of a trap door built into the floor. "Kinsgley!" she called, and soon the dark-skinned Oxford man was looming over her, the look on his face telling Petrova that he immediately grasped the implications of her discovery.

"You two," barked Kingsley, pointing at two of his men, "Move this desk, put your backs into it lads." In seconds, the wooden desk was dragged aside while Arthur tossed its accompanying chair the other way, leaving Polina to pull the rug back and reveal the door it concealed before stepping back. "Let's get in there lads, look alive," urged the British Lieutenant as a few of the more eager Commandos wrenched the hatch open and descended the stairs hidden behind it, down into whatever the Nazis had hidden under the nondescript building. "What do you think's down there?" asked Arthur.

It took a moment for Polina to realize that the Englishman was asking her. "I hope we find Steiner," replied the Sniper coldly, drawing her Tokarev pistol and racking the slide to chamber the first 7.62x25mm cartridge, "And Freisinger."

The sound of automatic gunfire echoed up from the open trap door, and both Kingsley and Petrova practically leapt down the hatch, rapidly descending the stairs as more Commandos followed them. The staircase was illuminated by dim lightbulbs, and as Polina rounded the switchback she saw the pair of wounded men laying at the base of the stairs as a third returned fire with his submachine gun. Polina peered in to see the room was some sort of planning area, filled with a large central table covered in maps and ringed by radios and other communications equipment.

A stream of submachine gun fire forced Polina to duck back around the corner before the British unleashed volleys of return fire into the room, bullets tearing into all the equipment as the Russian's ears rang from the sustained fire in the confined space. Knowing that, eventually, one of the Nazis would toss a grenade into the stairwell, Polina took the only option available, and dashed into the room, diving under the massive central table before more gunfire broke out. Crawling along the floor with her pistol in hand, Polina reached the edge of the table and peeked around the corner, catching sight of a Nazi boot tip peering out from behind a support column. She extended her arm to take aim with the Tokarev pistol, squeezing of a single shot that found its mark. The black leather tore open while flesh and blood erupted from the gap, causing the wounded SS soldier to stumble out of cover. Polina raised the TT-33 and fired off three more shots into the man's chest.

Petrova then crawled out and forwards, slinking along the floor as more gunfire was exchanged over her head when she saw a shift ahead of her and a German stepped out from behind an overturned table. Both locked eyes, having caught one another by surprise, but Petrova was quicker to react, emptying the rest of her handgun's magazine into the startled SS trooper and causing him to slump back against the wall behind him. Polina paused to reload her pistol, yanking the empty magazine out when she saw a blur of movement in the corner of her vision. She reflexively rolled to her right, throwing her body behind a thick encryption device just as a string of 9mm parabellum bullets chewed into the floor she had just been laying on. Heart racing, the Russian stuffed a fresh magazine into her pistol and pushed herself up to her feet before ducking to the outside of the German machine, still crouched as low as her petite frame would allow.

Rounding the corner, Polina found herself roughly shoved back against the wall, the wind knocked from her lungs as she winced in pain from the impact before regaining her senses. She found herself staring face to face with a Nazi solider as the hand holding her pistol was slammed repeatedly into the wall until she dropped the gun, but she fought frantically, thrashing about wildly until she was able to slip her left hand free and grab her knife before slashing at the German's face as he saw the incoming blade and pulled away. He didn't escape unscathed, screaming loudly as he brought his hands up to his face while Polina lunged at him, trying to drive the tip of her knife into the German, but the bigger SS soldier threw himself at her, his entire body weight driving Polina to the ground as she drove the blade into his shoulder.

Gritting her teeth, Polina twisted the blade to draw out an excruciating scream from the Nazi; she tried to kick at him and free herself, to no avail, and soon both of the man's hands were wrapped around the handle of the knife, fighting against her to pull it out of him. Despite the burning strain consuming the smaller woman, she could tell it was a battle she was quickly losing as one centimeter of her knife, and then a second, came out from the German, his blood dripping onto her clothes as she tried desperately to drive the blade back in. Suddenly, the man reared back, hands releasing Polina's and going to his side as the Russian seized the moment and dragged the blade across the man's shoulders and drove it into his throat, tearing it out savagely before the dying man toppled off her.

Catching her breath as the adrenaline subsided, Polina took the hand offered to her by Arthur, and gave him a nod as soon as she was pulled to her feet, cleaning and sheathing her blade before retrieving her lost pistol. Looking around, Petrova asked Kingsley the first thing that came to mind, "Any sign of Freisinger?"

The Englishman frowned, "Check the bodies! Look for anyone of high rank!" Petrova looked at the corpses of the men she had killed, but none matched the sight of the German General she had seen a few days prior. A few minutes passed as Commandos spread throughout the room and reported back the same thing, that the only men found were junior officers, Freisinger wasn't here. "Damn," cursed Kingsley, and Petrova growled slightly at the slippery Nazi escaping her retribution once again. "Same drill as upstairs, anything that looks vaguely important, grab it, looking for maps, documents, letters, anything."

While the men did as ordered, Polina moved to the center table and the map laid atop it, quickly recognizing the map of Germany, with the base they were currently in was clearly marked, as were two other locations. One was in Northern Finland, the other was near the border with France to the west, along with a symbol denoting an SS panzer unit, one with a crest that Petrova immediately recognized. "Freisinger has gone here," she announced as she pointed at the map, prompting Arthur to approach and try to discern the various other symbols and markings.

Before he could answer, another Commando approached, "Take a look at this sir," he said as he passed a drawing to the Commando.

"My god," breathed Kingsley as he looked from the drawings to the map, "Freisinger made the poison gas, and gave it to that Jerry Air Force squadron to put it onto their V-2 Rockets." When Polina saw the drawing, it was some design for a large rocket, at least if the labels that denoted measurements were accurate, "They've shipped the rockets here and here, they're going to launch them at Moscow and London."

Memories of seeing Freisinger's twisted creation being used knotted Petrova's stomach, and the thought of such a horror being unleashed on her homeland only made those feelings worse. She stepped back from the table on uneasy legs as things only got worse.

"I thought Monty took care of those rocket launch sites sir?" asked the Commando.

Kingsley shook his head, "These would be in the American sector, they're new. Maybe the flyboys can tell us more."

While the English officer folded up the drawings he had just been given, Polina regained her nerve and said, "We can't let Dragovich find this, any of this," she asserted with as much conviction as she could muster. "We must take it all."

"We'll take what we can but…" returned Arthur, but before he could finish, Petrova reached out to grab the man's arm and squeeze as hard as she could, fixing him with a cold glare when he turned to look at her. The man swallowed before speaking again, "Riggs, can you do anything?"

The Aussie stepped up, "I can't bring this whole place down, don't have enough for it."

Petrova refused to leave anything for Dragovich to find and her mind raced to find a solution. "What about the building above? Destroy that to bury all this?"

A grin broke out on Lucas' face, "Aw yeah princess, I can do that."

"Then go get to work on that, the rest of you, grab what you can," ordered Kingsley, "This isn't over yet."

Red Army 66th Guards Rifle Regiment, 3rd Shock Army

Project Nova Facility

1136 Hours, January 15, 1945

Striding through the ruins of the Nazi installation, Regimental Commander Podpolkovnik Nikita Dragovich barely kept a straight face as he saw the scraps that had been left for him by the British Commandos, whom had stripped the base like locusts and fled before the Red Army arrived. What should have been a simple assault was hung up by well placed German Tank Destroyers that wiped out the platoon of T-34-85 tanks under Dragovich's command and stalled the attack. The losses the battle had incurred were not what bothered the Soviet Lieutenant Colonel, but the delay that meant he would not be able to partake in the spoils that had once been housed in this SS facility.

"Comrade colonel, comrade colonel," called a junior officer, prompting Dragovich to scowl as he turned and returned the young officer's salute. "We've found something, a hidden room beneath one of the destroyed buildings. I think someone was trying to hide it."

With his scowl curling into a slight, sharklike grin, the regimental commander said, "Show me," to the junior officer before following the eager man. Turning to his right hand man, Nikita asked the Kapitan, "What do you think we have found? And who tried to hide it, Lev?"

The bald man shrugged, "I know the answer to neither comrade," he grunted, "I hope it is a sample of this weapon the Fascisti were supposedly developing, I would like the chance to see what it can do myself."

One of Dragovich's eyebrows raised as he pondered the thought, "I would as well, comrade," he agreed as the pair arrived at the rubble, following the more sprightly lieutenant through the path to the center, where a stairwell was revealed. With cautious steps, Dragovich descended the stairs, thankful to be out of the bitter cold, at least for a moment. When he emerged into the large room at the bottom of the stairs, Dragovich's thanks no longer had to do with the temperature. As his eyes pored over the map and marks imprinted on the glass screen, he soon noticed the body of a German officer laying on the floor, shot dead. "Lieutenant, did you men do that?"

"No, comrade colonel," replied the younger man instantly, prompting Dragovich's scowl to reappear. Coupled with the open drawers and general disarray, it was clear that the British had been here first and taken what they could find before trying to hide it from him.

Yet they had failed, and as Dragovich directed his men to search the room for anything left behind, he vowed to not forget this insult from the West….

Closing Notes: Yeah, we aren't quite finished yet, though I have gone out of my way to tie this into Black Ops, it isn't the last bit of that I'll be doing in this story. We're on the downslope of this story, and the next chapter should be up at it's usual time.

Stay Frosty, Misfit Delta out.