With the war winding down Isaac felt pleased with himself. Killing his nemesis had brought satisfaction to his thoughts. He would rather focus on that than on how for the second time in his life he shot a woman he cared for. And one with his child in it. Felix's body was dumped into a trench that night. Isaac had planned to desert with Ivan shortly afterwards but at the last minute new orders came in. Retreat.

Though not a total evacuation there was an effort to begin to pull back deeper into France. Deeper into France later became Germany. Germany later became Poland as troops were shifted around so quickly it was hard to keep track of who was where. Men were deserting quickly but Isaac stayed. After all if you were to desert but stay in the country you would end up under the jurisdiction of whichever nation captured you first. An aircraft was the only way to make it out to true safety.

One night Isaac had had enough. Every other chance he had to get out before had fallen through but this next time would be the end of it. The Russians were now the greatest threat and a battle was close. Pooling every last item of worth, he and Ivan were able to bribe a pilot into leaving a small plane well fueled and unguarded, and who would be responsible for flying them safety to Sweden where they could pose as lost aviators. And if the air traffic wasn't promising they could always try Northern Ireland. A neutral country was the aim. At night, the three were to meet at 11:27 and would be in the air by 11:30 if luck held out.

The Russians had planned their attack for 11:02.

With explosions around him, Isaac took out his Luger, the gun that had gotten him past this all. "The last time!" as he threw himself into the thick of a Russian charge. Other Germans were pouring into the area and the battle seemed even. However the Russians had strength of numbers on their side and slowly the Germans were being routed. Isaac fired and dropped every Russian he could find. His gun jammed as every remaining German fled. Picking up a rifle he shot a large man and charged into the enemy lines. The fog had set in and it was becoming harder to see. With so many Russians and only one German it was easy for Isaac to tell who was who. But when Russians tried firing back, often times they shot their fellow soldiers.

Making it to safety Isaac came to the point where Ivan and the pilot would have been waiting. There was no plane. If it had been destroyed by explosives there would have been debris around but there was nothing…only the body of the pilot. Shaking with rage, Isaac slowly lost control as he shook his fists into the air and for the first time lost total control of himself as he shouted, "IVAN!"

It so happened that a Russian officer heard the shout and came to meet Isaac. Once there, he found Isaac standing still. "Hands up." commanded the officer. "Come with me."

Isaac thought to himself that this officer was terrible at his job. First of all if you want to command an enemy, at least point a gun at him. With that thought in mind Isaac dove behind the body of the pilot and grabbed his pistol. Bullets logged themselves into the body of the pilot and Isaac blindly fired back. Standing up he charged at the Russian who was reloading. They both dropped their guns. Isaac saw that the officer was a bit older than he, tired looking. "Is that how I'll age?"

The Russian continued to struggle with Isaac but there was no clear advantage. "Come now you whelp, do you think you can kill the greatest man in the Soviet army? I am Saturos!" That was the last he said though for Isaac had taken a knife and plunged it into the Russian's heart. The man writhed in agony but soon was still. Switching uniforms, Isaac now made his way away from the battle. His coat was a little bloody but that could be overlooked. He needed to concentrate on escaping…

Sweden. Isaac had finally made it. Free at last. Coming off of a ship that had just docked Isaac was hungry and thought this to be as good a time as any to try Sweden's famous seafood. It had been a difficult month of avoiding Russians, stealing a boat, sneaking aboard a passenger ship, and ending up where he had hoped to be long ago. Stepping off of the dock and onto dry land lifted his spirits immensely. To be surrounded by Scandinavians. A race known for their output of Arians. All of this aside though, he would have to move on to Canada eventually. It would be too easy for someone to track him here.

While seeking a fine looking place to eat, Isaac didn't notice a tall, coated figure moving swiftly towards him. It was only when the man stepped in front of Isaac that he noticed the danger for he recognized the man from back in France. Reaching for his Luger, Isaac remembered that it wasn't there. He chuckled at the outcome.

Sean stood with the revolver in his hand, concealed to all but him and Isaac. For a few seconds, just looking at the former Nazi Colonel. "Are you sorry?" asked the man who appeared as if he had wasted away since last anyone saw him.

"About what?"

"Anything I suppose."

Isaac chuckled. "I suppose a few things, but when you love yourself as much as I do me you need to realize that certain things happen and even if you did them, of well. Live with it. I was a Nazi who was responsible in some way for hundreds of thousands I imagine. I can live with that." Isaac breathed heavily but his smile retuned as he inquired, "Tell me, what is the best restaurant around here?"

Sean admitted that, "Svend Christianson's bistro just up the street isn't bad. I was on my way there when I spotted you. You looked familiar and I suppose that chance brought us together for me to finish a job."

"Finish a job? My goodness I always wished that I would never leave something incomplete. But I suppose you, having survived my extermination of the resistance proves the necessity of completing what you start…So are you going to kill me now or shall we have a meal together?"

Sean took that as a cue and put all six rounds into Isaac before dropping the gun and stepping away.

With his last gasps, some witnesses claimed they heard the dying man saying something in French. Something about elegance perhaps, but they weren't sure. He had a look on his face that was described as though he had been expecting whatever had happened to him and was hoping it had been for magnificent.

Word came in a few moths later that Germany had lost the war and that "The Wise One" who had started it all, was found having shot himself in the head.