Breakfast came once Christmas Day had arrived. The Queen of Arendelle entered the dining room alongside her sister to find the royals and Pavel sitting across the table eating pancakes being brought from the kitchen. She sniffed the air for a moment and realized the scent. "Chocolate pancakes."

"Come sit girls," Their father asked of them, sitting at the head of the table. As the girls took their seats at the vacant spots on his right, he continued. "We'll be opening presents once we finish eating."

"I hope our company will stay and receive them."

Elsa turned her head to the right, past her sister and mother, to find Artyom and Pavel eating together beside the tsar of Imperial Russia and Prince Vaska. They slowly eat before one of the post-apocalypse survivors realizes the attention was on them. The communist officer swallowed and washed his pancakes with a glass of orange juice before initiating a reply, "Unfortunately, we cannot spare any time after this."

"None of you are staying?" She wondered as she grabbed her knife and slowly cut into the meal, "I thought both of you were given a break."

"Yesterday was our last day. My comrade and I will be heading back to work soon after."

The weary and hardened face of Tsar Mikhail smiled as he ate the last piece of his pancake and leaned back in his chair. Then he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table to chime in on the conversation. "Prince Vaska and I will be joining them since my grandson's superior will be needing us to coordinate our affairs in the immediate future."

She had been so eager to celebrate the holiday with the Russians that she forgot that a war was going on. It was a somber thought to consider that even now they would not give themselves the opportunity to relax for extra time. No matter how much their people have settled in, old habits of the post-apocalypse still manage to crop up. Elsa did not mind that but the queen knew that they would be returning back to the fires of war on behalf of her home. The Defense of Arendelle was over and the survivors were bound to strike back at the offender who caused all of their problems. There was still much snow to be had before it settled down.

Boots clicked against the wooden floorboards as the dining room door opened and revealed an Uhlman standing in the doorway. There was an uneasy quietness as the Polis Ranger walked over to Artyom and Pavel's side, whispering in their ears for a brief moment. Elsa didn't know what was being said before the Russian prince and the communist officer wiped their faces with napkins and placed their silverware on their dishes before standing up. Artyom looked to the Arendelle royals and addressed them. "Colonel Mel'nikov has summoned us to the war room. We must go."

"Go, I won't keep you from your duties," The queen replied as she watched the Russians rise from their seats and make their way out of the building, "Good luck."

The war room within the bunker complex was now occupied. Most of them were tired men who had awakened from their morning slumber or managed to sober up from an afterparty. It wasn't professional to come to the meeting with the smell of alcohol but the wicked never rest and that was a luxury that the Spartan Commander could not afford at this moment.

Representatives of the various Moscow Metro militaries stood in the back of the room while the more important commanders and individuals had taken their seats by the table at the center of the room. It had been a long time since Colonel Mel'nikov had presented a briefing but he refused to let stage fright take control over him. As the last of the representatives came in, he began. "Comrades and gentlemen, I hope we have had a good Christmas celebration and I know some of you were looking forward to Christmas Day to open presents with family and friends but the initiative. The quicker we end this, the more time we can spend on settling down in Arendelle unmolested."

His eyes looked around the room but then he shifted to General Vinogradov, sitting by the table and smoking a cigar in his hand. The OSKOM representative had provided an instrumental role in making this meeting happen.

"Thanks to the efforts of OSKOM, we have discovered an item called teleporter stakes," The colonel explained before he could elaborate on the meaning of its usefulness, "So long as we have these things around and enough space, we can deploy troops and vehicles from this location to anywhere we like."

Heads nodded in approval as one of the officers from the Hanseatic League voiced his concern. "What does this mean for us?"

"We don't have to rely on a fleet to get us there. As of right now, our options involve going on a voyage with our Imperial countrymen or deploying a small force via a submarine. It's a real godsend that these are in working order."

Tom the Cat was standing on the right side of the room with a hand slightly raised above his crossed arms. "So what is the plan to get to our enemy's country?"

"A small team of my men will be inserted into the country and deploy the teleporter stakes for our arrival," Mel'nikov stole a glance from the nobleman, who was standing beside his tsar on the other side of the table, "Thanks to Prince Vaska's assistance we have some knowledge of the kingdom. What will happen is that a vanguard will be our force in recon, scouting ahead of us to clear our main advance and catch the kingdom off-guard with our troop movements."

"Is it really that simple? I would have thought the situation would have been harder than this."

There was more to this plan than most people understood and the latest information from a local had hastened them to this opportunity. "I would have thought the same but there's a local blacksmith around these parts who happens to be an ex-member of the mercenaries we fought at Northuldra. He still keeps in touch with his active-duty guys; however, he told me that the commander of his regiment has refused to provide additional reinforcements after Prince Hans left them behind. Right now, they're currently holed up in the north as our prisoners of war. If we take him on right now, we'll be hitting the Southern Isles at their worst."

General Vinogradov cleared his throat and spoke to the men. "I think we should announce the other war plan we have in store."

"Indeed."

Much of the situation has changed since the Caspian bandits cut off the power supply of their teleporter. However, the Spartan Order had been monitoring its state for the past few months. A woman stepped out from the crowd and slipped her hands in her pockets, she was one of the people that Artyom picked up along his journey. "You have another plan?"

"Yes," He nodded as the colonel realized she would be part of this war plan, "We received word that the Baron of the Caspian has repaired his teleporter's power supply and that means he has direct access to Prince Hans' location. If we secure the area over there, we interrupt any possibility of a coordinated defense since the local warlord's entire power resides there, which pulls away men from the capital."

"You think your people can afford two offensives at the same time?"

"We now have the resources and tactical ability to pull it off."

Many whispered among themselves about the current situation presented by the Spartan Commander. Although the officer had a hard time following their conversations, it seemed like they were approving of such an idea yet there seemed to be some reluctance on their part. The surprising element was the tsar himself, who remained quiet until now. "It has come to my attention that this will divide our forces, who will do what at this moment in time."

"Most of us will get our vengeance at Prince Hans," Mel'nikov stated as he looked to General Vinogradov and Colonel Klebnikov sitting in chairs on the left side of the table. They were worthy allies that could handle themselves in the long-term, "OSKOM will be tasked to deal with the Baron and his Caspian. If they secure the region there and find the local by the name of Giul, they'll be able to redirect themselves in the rear lines at the Southern Isles."

"If anyone disapproves of this plan, please speak your mind. There is much to be done in the motherland's name."

The briefing of the latest strategy had set the course for the post-apocalypse armies that had been gathered in the bunker complex. Every faction had been called upon for preparations from the lowest infantryman cleaning his rifle to the officer coordinating with their counterparts from distant cities. What remained surprising was the cooperation between the factions of the Moscow Metro, old enemies were now in each other's company, telling jokes or even going so far as to establish friendships. There were still ghosts of old ideological struggles; however, the current situation had shifted leaders to propagate their messages to the masses. Artyom did not mind such rhetoric as that meant there would be limited infighting beyond the most disobedient members of the ranks.

His boots shuffled against the concrete floor as he entered the armory to find a multitude of armorers and weaponsmiths working behind the counters as long lines of men walked over to the workbenches to fix their weapons. He joined the closest line by the door and stepped forward when the space to the front had been open. As he waited for his turn, his eyes scanned around to see the racks filled with guns that had just been repaired or refurbished from the stockpiles of fallen ancestors. To his left, the far side of the room was a completely different story with quartermasters issuing fresh helmets and body armor to the soldiers of the independent factions, whose governments lacked the fortune and luck to obtain such gear in previous years.

When the person in front had completed adjusting his gear, he stepped out of the way for the young man to find an old friend waiting for him with what few grey hairs he had left from his balding head. "Artyom, it is good to see you. How have you been?"

"Andrew?" This was a genuine surprise. The last time he had met the man was at Kuznetsky Most when he saved his life from the Red Line's secret police. He unslung his assault rifle that had been hanging from his shoulder ever since he arrived at the underground fortress, "I suppose the war has brought you here as well."

"Yes, unfortunately, but I think my skills are in much better use helping the people find a place in this beautiful kingdom instead of the wars in the tunnels. It's quite a relief it has happened with the."

He placed the weapon on the workbench in-between the two old acquaintances as he wondered about its state of disrepair since his wounds. "This assault rifle was gifted to me from a friend of mind. I wonder if you are able to fix it on short notice."

"Let me take a look at this Kalash," Andrew began as he placed the rifle on a stand and inspected its current state. Minutes passed as his thorough look expressed his disappointment with his hands on his belt line. "I do not know how you did it but it got banged up. There's a bunch of impacts from some bullets, meaning none of the mechanisms will be working correctly. It's fixable but not in the current time frame. There are twenty other guys who expect their weapons to be ready as well. Do you have a backup?"

"Yes, my railgun and sidearm."

The old man paused and looked at the weapon rack behind him. "We got some guns from Vladivostok, high-quality gear from Tom the Cat. I can fix your assault rifle while you use this temporarily. The quartermasters say it's considered an expendable item given our current war so they won't mind if you break it."

"What is it called?" Artyom wondered with genuine curiosity. The weapons of Vladivostok had made an impression on him ever since he was handed the American pistol. It had served him well since then, "The owner knows a thing or two about firearms."

"He calls it the Sammy. It comes in three variants - burst, auto, or sniper. Pick one."

With the number of resources invested into the final part of the battlefield meant that ammo would not be a problem. "Auto, we're going to need something that will suppress."

"If that is the case, you'll need some high-capacity magazines," The old blacksmith said as he walked over to the weapon rack and picked out the rifle from the stands along with the large drums in hand, "Here, you'll need this. Good luck, kid. Make those rounds count."

The capital of the Southern Isles had been consolidated by the Baron ever since he took control. Immense wealth had been squeezed from the streets whether it had been valuables such as trinkets or food in the form of pork and beer. There had been some semblance of resistance among the locals but an occasional shooting in the neighborhood had quelled their intentions of rebellion. The people were helpless under his tight control of the city; however, there were those who fled from the watchful eye of his men who were too drunk or tired to carry out the executions. It would not matter in the end since he had no intentions of staying in this place.

He was refreshed by the sight of cloudy skies, the green pastures, and the blue waters as he stood on the balcony outside of Prince Hans' office. It was so tempting to take the throne for himself and sit on it as the kingdom's ruler but the old gangster was a practical man. The wasteland and the Caspian had taught him that everything has a price, even a decision such as that. If he were to assert control over this land, the Baron would be forced to placate to the wishes of the locals and that would counteract his control over his men. His power base came from the Caspian Desert and the oil rig that oversaw the region. Any attempt to settle with the Southern Isles would diminish his authority over the gangs just like that one story of a dog and his bone. Yet, the greatest obstacle was the mere situation of global politics. He and his men were one of the major powers in their pond of the wasteland but taking control of this place would be starting over from scratch in a world where empires and nation-states ruled the world. His civilization would have no place among their ranks, no matter how much he tried.

His ears caught the noise of the doors opening behind his back and he turned around to see the individual who interrupted his thoughts. "This better be important."

"Yes, boss," The bandit soldier responded with his Kalashnikov slung over his shoulder and his hand holding on to the doorknob. His gear had been weathered by the sands of the Caspian but such was life in the post-apocalypse, "The boys and I found those officers you ordered us to find. We're bringing them to the throne room as we speak."

"Excellent, bring me to them."

He had been planning on this all along. Thanks to the boy's failure at his invasion of Arendelle, the sacking of the capital was the consequence of his failure and the men he lost. It was hard to find good men with a head on their shoulders that wasn't wasted in a black bottle or rotted away from their smoking. Fighters like Saul would be impossible to replace as the gang could treat him as one of their own while maintaining their loyalty to his rule. Such a loss would be noticed by the neighboring gangs in the Caspian and summoning of the local officers will help smooth out the sacking of the city before the boys would be called upon to commit themselves to another raid or wage another war.

The walking stick tapped against the marble floors as the old man eyed the paintings on the wall and the splendor of the kingdom's wealth spent on this castle while following his servant. Such was expected by the rulers of this age to reinforce their right to rule others. The Baron saw this as a complete waste as none of this would serve any use. Some of the aesthetics would be worth hundreds of slaves and they still have their usefulness as future construction workers or breeding stock for strong laborers. After all, what's the point of looking good if you can't back it up with any substance?

Soon the Baron was brought into the throne room as several dozens of his men surrounded the chair that ruled this kingdom and remained on its flanks. The main entrance opened with officers and gentlemen being coerced to walk to the warlord with their backs held at gunpoint. They were like sheep unable to settle with the reality that their whole world was turned upside down the moment he seized their barracks and their prince. Fearful eyes trembled at what may come to them but when there was a stick he would always offer the carrot. "Gentlemen, I apologize for bothering you but I have a certain matter that needs to be dealt with."

"What is the meaning of this?!" An old large man in a powdered wig cried out as he stepped out from the crowd of men, "Why have you taken control of our capital?"

"Simple. Your Prince Hans had a deal with me to help him in his campaign against the Arendellians but he failed and the damages I have suffered are too much to bear. My price for his inability is to loot this city of yours with as little effort as possible."

The fact the nobleman had the gall to reply was annoying but he permitted it as his hand rested on the handle of his cane. "Then why are we brought here? Do you plan to execute us?"

"No," He had a far better option than killing the men. In fact, an execution would galvanize the population to resist and that was far too much work to deal with. His carrot came at a compromise, "All of you will retain your commands but will obey me for the time being. If you resist, you will be killed and your families enslaved. Now if you take my offer, I'll sack this city and be on my way out. Just do not interfere with me."

"We will never serve you."

His defiance needed to be made an example as the Baron reached for the side of his belt and brandished an old Nagant revolver he had stolen since the bombs fell. The old gentleman's eyes lit up in fear before he pulled the trigger. "Shame."

A thud came to the carpet red floor as the nobleman's brain matter was splattered across the floor. Those standing behind him were shocked as they took a few steps back from one of their fallen kin. It should be enough to put these men in line.

"Find the fat fuck's family and put them in chains," He ordered as a group of five bandits rushed out of the room with great haste as the Baron focused his full attention on the couple dozen rich bastards who lived in this urban center. They were so privileged that they didn't even consider how much control he had over them. Perhaps their titles would be respected by people living in this world but he was not from this world, "I can provide the same service to the rest of you lot if you have any intentions of fucking with me but cooperate and I will be nice."

Reluctant faces exchanged glances with each other as minutes passed before one of the men, a middle-aged man in his brown coat spoke, "You won't harm us?"

"That is my promise."

"I'll accept your proposal."

The entire day had been busy for the Russians and their associates while the Queen of Arendelle had busied herself with the repairs of the kingdom. She wanted to ignore the war but was unable to come to terms with it. Elsa thought about Artyom's participation in the coming battles; however, the possibility of death coming for him still disturbed her. He had survived the gunshots to his body but an old fear reminded the young woman how terrible life was without him. Yet, she also understood the kind of person he was and it was conflicting for the queen to demand him to stay.

Elsa sat beside her desk and looked at the mirror while she braided her blonde hair. The stress of the conflict had taken over but her beauty still remained. That Christmas was truly needed after all of this time. Fretting over the kingdom's security, concerned about Artyom's well-being, and rebuilding from the destruction. What could she do now that was over?

The bedroom door was unlocked she turned her head to see her love enter the room while carrying his backpack and the folded clothes of his uniform. "I need to ask you something."

"What is it?" She wondered as her gaze fell upon the man's gear being brought into her bedroom, "I thought you were preparing."

"I am but my assault rifle is broken. I am here to see if you'll lend me that shotgun I gifted you a while back."

The queen understood what he meant. It was originally been gifted to her but the truth was she never truly used it. No harm was done for him to ask for a weapon of his back. "You can have it back if you really need a weapon."

"Thank you," He said as he placed his belongings beside the door and walked over to her side, "It's a bit short notice but there's a reason for that. I am leaving tomorrow."

"We just celebrated Christmas with you. Do your commanders want to push you to exhaustion?"

Artyom stood behind her as they looked at each other through the mirror. "Circumstances have happened and the situation is in our favor. The Southern Isles is at its weakest and if we don't commit ourselves right now we may never get another chance. That's what Colonel Mel'nikov said and I agree with him."

"Do you think that this is the end?" She said with great trepidation in her voice feeling unsure about how it will truly turn out in the end, "I know we were successful in dealing with Prince Hans but how can we be sure it will work out in the end."

"We'll never know until we find out. That's the tricky part about life that even I found out the hard way. I have to be sure that this is not a one-off fluke of life that may disappoint us but that is why I have to proceed with this plan of ours. I hope you understand."

Elsa reached over her shoulder and grabbed his hand while looking up at him. The uncertainty of life pressing against her soul but her lover's presence seemed to ease those thoughts. "Stay with me for tonight. Please?"

"I could never refuse," He said with a smile as he crouched low enough to match her height to kiss her on the cheek, "Once my time is up, I must go."

"I understand."