Chapter 3: Reassignment
3 Days Later
Pentagon, Arlington County, Virginia, USA
04:31 P.M
After the bandages came off and the arm cast on, scars were found to be embedded across her face and body. Finding herself at the American Department of Defense, or the Pentagon, a few days later, the Lieutenant Colonel sat with her hands on her lap. Her uniform identified her as a Russian solider, sticking her out of the rest. Whenever others passed, they couldn't help but stare at this stranger. She was sitting in a waiting room inside the Pentagon, something few people from the Russian Federation could achieve. But it was not a social call, especially after what had happened in Moscow. Almost half of her team died and she and another almost followed suit. She was forced to leave her fellow team mates behind for something she had not asked for and travel thousands of miles away from home. Not to mention that she still needed time for her injuries to recover.
Keeping her head down and to her self, the Russian patiently waited, checking her watch every now and again. It was already half past four in the afternoon and she was still waiting for someone to greet her. Woolsey was not able to join the Russian at the Pentagon due to 'Pressing Matters', so when someone did arrive to welcome her, she was already too exhausted and too distrusting to show enthusiasm.
"Lieutenant Colonel Alexeyeva, I presume?" A man asked.
She looked up and found the man with a stern look on his face.
"I am," The Lieutenant Colonel replied.
"Major Davis," The man introduced himself.
After Alexeyeva stood up, the two shook hands. Davis had then led the Russian through the rooms of the Pentagon.
"I assume you have been briefed?" Davis asked.
"Nyet, Major,"
"Then General O'Neill will be able to fill in the details," Davis replied.
"I hope so," The Russian replied.
As the two walked into another section of the Pentagon, Alexeyeva noticed a sign reading 'Homeworld Command'. She asked the Major what was the meaning of it. He didn't reply until they reached a door reading 'Lieutenant General J. O'Neill', followed by three stars, written in a plaque that hung on the door.
"You're better off asking him instead." Davis replied.
The Russian nodded and knocked on the door.
"Come in," She heard.
"Good luck, Colonel," Natasha heard Davis say to her.
Lieutenant General Jonathan O'Neill, commonly known as Jack by close friends and colleagues, was doing paperwork as the Russian Lieutenant Colonel walked in. The man, in his late fifties, placed his pen down and interlaced his fingers. Looking up at the woman, he expected to find a beauty queen who looked like a model. Instead he found a woman who looked she had been through hell. Scars across her face, made more noticeable with the burns across her cheeks and forehead. Her right arm was in a cast after it was badly injured. Her eyes were bloodshot from the tiredness and her figure was cringed from overwork and fatigue. She also had a grim but serious look, as if she wasn't exactly happy to be where she was. O'Neill thought this had to be the wrong person; that no way this could be the Russian Spetsnaz operative that was Richard Woolsey spoke oh so highly about. Yet when he checked her file again, the photo was a near perfect match, minus the scars and burns. He shook his head and moving his mouth before introducing himself, as he would to a Russian. So he stood up, finding the woman slightly shorter than he.
Alexeyeva extended her uninjured arm to shake hands with the General.
"Lieutenant Colonel Natasha Alexeyeva," She said politely. "Reporting as ordered,"
The General blankly stared, still surprised at the look of the woman, returning to his former self.
"I could have sworn I was going to meet someone else?" He said, sitting down, without shaking hands.
The woman sighed, dissatisfied with man's lack of 'returning the politeness'.
"I have seen better days, General O'Neill," She smiled weakly.
"I bet you have, please have a seat," The General gestured the woman to the chair in front of the desk.
"That's all right General, I'll stand."
"Colonel…clearly you are probably in a lot of pain…so please, have a seat."
The Russian nodded, taking a seat before the General.
The General took a moment to read through a folder that was marked with a 'Classified' stamp over the front cover.
"Three days ago, you and your team breached a safehouse that belonged to several individuals that have raided an FSB facility about two weeks before that…that correct?" "Sir…you have the reports, you have my statement, you have everything…why have me answer the question again?"
The General looked up at the woman once more.
"I just want to make sure that you said everything," He replied.
The Russian smirked, albeit painfully given her wounds.
"When it comes to free speech on politics, it's not so free in my country," She explained. "But we never lie or hold back when soldats like myself are asked about an operation by our superiors."
"Did you happen to mention that you botched it?"
"A pyrrhic victory, you understand, I don't intend on doing something such as that again," "Because if something like this happens again, you know that you will most likely get killed," O'Neill stated.
The Russian sensed honesty, earnestly and respect. Yet she knew that the General didn't like her. Regardless, the Russian nodded.
Alexeyeva wanted answers from this man; she wanted to know why she had to be brought here, to America. She decided to ask quickly, before the subject got outdated.
"You're here because of who you fought." The General answered.
"And who were they?" The Russian asked. "Who were those men?"
The General stayed silent. The Russian had an 'Oh, I see,' look across her face.
"You are not going to tell me, are you," She asked.
"Not yet,"
"Does the Kremlin know?" The Russian asked.
The General still didn't answer. Instead, he told her something else.