The distant rumble of artillery betrayed the battle ongoing in the Caucasus region. The air around grew chilly as the Fall of 1971 set in fully, the mountain road less travelled covered by thin layers of snow and thicker layers of fallen leaves. Boots creaked against the thin layer of snow, tank and IFV treads crunching through the layer of vegetation as they advanced. The hum of an accordion played from atop one of the transports, alongside the quiet, low voices of a dozen young women, their cheeks red, bitten by the weather.

Mounted on top of a lend-leased tank from their allies, an M48 'Clark III' MBT, the commander of the Regiment-strength force of Mechanized Infantry peered from the armored cupola around at the snowed-in forest. The Kavkaz was milder than the Siberian tundra at this time of the year, but it still was a rather dangerous issue. Steep cliff faces with bottoms invisible in the darkness of the night would be the death of many crews and their vehicles if they did not pay attention.

Forward reconnaissance vehicles, BRDM-1s, reported that their forces had already long-ago engaged the Fascist scum nearby, their target being the former city of Volgograd and the attempt to break the German forces present there. The commander of the Regiment, a Major in rank, looked down toward the valley. Sporadic exchanges of fire happened below them, tank cannons roaring distantly against one-another, while the radio played the noise of advancing divisions, of orders from the General Staff and of requests for air cover from the Aviators.

"Dark night, is it not, comrade Major?" Asked a young woman from besides the officer, her voice quiet, a little younger than the others. Overhead, the stars danced beautifully in a night sky that was not to be reached. The young woman beside her, one Lieutenant Korolevna, was a Siberian by birth. Obvious in her somewhat Asian features, the young woman stared up at the Ukraine-born Omskite Major with almond-shaped eyes. Her stout stature did not betray her strength, however. The good Lieutenant carried an AK-74 like it was made of paper mache, despite her height being only a meter forty.

The Major replied, her voice a bit quiet, though soothing, "The darkest night will give way to the brightest morning, Tina. Plus, we've faced darker during the Reunification..." as she set her bioncular aside. The tall woman, a soldier born of Ukrainian parents, stood at approximately one meter and about sixty-eight. Not the tallest woman in the regiment, but her presence alone, her broad shoulders and wide hips, her camouflage uniform and helmet gleaming faintly in the starlight.

She hummed and picked up the binocs again, peering through them and scanning the area, just in case the enemy decided to ambush them. She sighed as she saw nothing, then radioed, "Kaskad, Molodaya. Contact?" as she heard the rumble of the MGs from the BRDMs. Distant tracers flew into the darkness, bouncing off the ground and into the sky. Positions given away already?

"Molodaya, Kaskad. Affirmative. Two enemy scout cars. Destroyed," Reported the officer aboard. She sighed, murmuring a quick prayer, before motioning to Korolevna to move back to the transports in the rear. She dipped into the tank's turret and gave quick hand orders to the female tankers aboard. One of them slammed a shell home into the breech of the 90mm cannon, while the Major herself checked to make sure the M2 Browning in the cupola was loaded and the sights, aligned.

She then radioed, "Molodaya Actual to all Molodaya and Kaskad elements, expect contact within five minutes. Load armor-piercing and dismount all infantry to meet the Fascist dogs up-close..." a fury bubbling in her voice. She fed a round into the M2's chamber, then peered through the periscope. She saw the women around the tank already lifting their AK-74s and AKMs to their shoulders, some even hefting PKMs and RPKs.

She breathed, then sighed and steeled her voice, radioing, "From the frozen fields of Siberia, to the red walls of the Kreml, let the din of our battle be heard, sisters. The enemy will meet his death at the end of our guns. Leave nothing alive. Take no prisoner, for they will not spare you either. For Mother Russia, lost in the Fires of Revolution and the Second World War, for the loved ones we've all lost getting here... And for the waving banner of a Free Russia of tomorrow! Kill the Fascists! Slaughter them like they're naught but pigs! Just like the Soviet Remnants who failed us! Just like Taboritsky's attempt to build an Empire of Purity and Religion not too distant from the Reich! FOR FREE RUSSIA! URA!"

"URA! URA! URA!" Cheered her sisters as the first tracers began to ring out, Kaskad reporting contact up ahead from enemy tanks. The BRDMs had swiveled about and turned to rejoin the convoy as the tanks of the Regiment took the forefront. T62s, Walker Bulldogs and the Clark aimed down the sights of their weapons. Silhouettes of enemy armor appeared, Leopard 1s and Leopard 2s.

"FIRE AT WILL! SLAVA, SESTRIY! TO WAR AND TO DEATH'S CALL!" The commander roared over the radio.

The first to fire was one of the T62s, the Molodaya Ledi, her gun spewing an APFSDS round from its 115mm cannon. The first Leopard to crest the bumping road up ahead met the piercing round headfirst. It punched clean through its forward armor. German infantry appeared next, their assault weapons, Gewehr Type 3 rifles, barking. They were met by AK fire, 7,62 and 5,45mm rounds zipping through the air in reply.

RPG-7 projectiles lanced out from amongst the ranks as enemy transports disgorged even more German infantry in the rear. The rockets struck true, detonating the inside ammunition of the machine guns laying down covering fire for their men. The detonations lit the night and silhouetted more German soldiers. Their replies were quick, Panzerfaust AT launchers striking the rearline M113 Transports that the Americans had lent the Russian Military. One vehicle went up in flames before it could even deploy its troops, while another lost a track as its fifty caliber MG returned fire.

Another series of blasts, a volley of tank cannons, struck the line of Leo 1 and 2 MBTs of the German military, one of them losing its turret to the overpressure of cooking ammunition. The roars of gunfire and screams of the dying echoed throughout the impromptu battlefield. The Major squeezed the trigger of her fifty-caliber MG, scarlet tracers dancing in the night and calling out targets of opportunity for the gunner of the tank.

"Fire until your barrels glow! Fire until you drown in your spent casings! Whatever unit had the bad luck of meeting the Witches will perish! Slava Sloboda Rossiya! URA!" The political commissar roared from aboard one of the two BMP-2 prototypes as its 30mm autocannon fired into the darkness. She aimed her lend-leased Colt Pistol at the enemy and fired, all eight shots of Point Forty-Five leaving the barrel in the span of half a minute. Beside her, Conscripts armed with Papasha SMGs and AKMs fired into the darkness. Two such Conscripts fell to German sniper fire, while another took a round to the throat that a Medic was quick to tend to. She would survive.

The road was narrow. There was still a steep fall to their right and an even steeper climb to their left. The fact that the tanks and BMPs could even shoot past each-other was a fucking miracle, the Major thought. She radioed, "This is Molodaya Actual to all Molodaya Elements! PRESS THE ADVANTAGE! Clear the road of these Fascists so we may yet reach Tsarytsin! The Fifth Guards' Armored counts on us!"

A wave of infantry charged forward down the narrow road, bayonets affixed. German conscripts. The PK gunners and RPK automatic riflemen sighted them in the darkness, bayonets glistening with each passing tracer. One of the gunners called out, "COME NOW, FASCISTS! COME MEET THE DAUGHTERS OF THE GREAT TRIAL, BLYAT!" as her barrel began to glow. Her assistant gunner pulled forward two more cans of 7,62x54 belts, before drawing her PPSh-41 and opening fire in controlled bursts.

The Major popped out of the top hatch and pulled out her flare pistol, firing it into the sky. The flare ignited mid-flight and began its descent, illuminating the road in the burning glow of phosphorus. The tired faces of young German men met the angered faces of Russian, Ukrainian, Belarusian, Siberian and so many other women who'd lost so much to the Nazis' invasion and subsequent collapse of their homeland.

The girls stood to their feet, affixing their own bayonets as the tanks lurched forth, their cannons roaring, lighting the darkness with deafening thunder and deadly light. German tanks reprised and replied, their own 105s spitting HEAT and HE shells. Atop her tank, the Major pulled out a designated marksman rifle she had carried since the early days in the Omsk Military. An SVD 'Dragunov', its wood stock and handguard glistening despite scratches and marks of use, its receiver shining as if recently oiled despite its dents and its scope still clear and zeroed despite years of abuse.

She scoped in the Commander of a German Panzer that had stuck his head out and fired, the 7,62x54 round, so ubiquitous among the ranks of the League, spat out of the barrel and nailed the man. His blood painted the hull of his factory grey tank scarlet with brain matter. She watched a melee ensue in the middle, meanwhile. With bayonets affixed, her sestriy struck at the Fascists, parrying, being parried, stabbing and being stabbed in return.

Kalashnikov's inventions rang with anger, while the Germans' rifles roared fearfully to her ears. Semi-automatic fire met fully-automatic volleys from the Black League's infantry. Five thousand souls fought untold thousands more on a narrow road across the mountains. Her tank's cannon roared again and the round punctured the forward hull of the Leopard, blowing out the rear and sending it careening to the left.

It tumbled end over end as it went into the chasm, metal clanging against rock, muffling the screams of any still-living crew trapped within. The counter came quickly as a German Panzerfaust hit one of the T62s beside the Major's tank, causing its ammunition to detonate and washing a line of infantry in fire and shrapnel. Dead and wounded women screamed, medics pushing to try and evacuate any of the least hurt to the rear lines.

The road was painted in the blood of both sides, High-Explosive Fragmentation shells shattering concerted infantry assaults on a road that could barely fit two tanks. Yet the Black League advanced while the Germans' resolve wavered. Even with the losses, the soldiers of the League proved their ferocity. One young woman punched a kraut in the face, blood foaming at her mouth from a bullet wound in her gut as she jumped on top of him and brought her trench knife down on his chest.

Beside her, a comrade-in-arms fired bursts from her Papasha toward Germans armed with carbine-length weapons. An MG42 ripped through both as the surviving armor of the enemy slowly pulled back. Yet more tanks were lost, turrets flung to the side or their hulls split wide open by the League's own tankers. The Major laughed heartily, "Hahahah! Yes, keep pushing, sestriy! The Great Trial will be our hour of victory yet!"

She paused, however, as the radio crackled to life. Dipping back into the tank and closing the hatch. She listened in, then blinked and gasped. Peering through the periscope, she could see them indeed. Like shooting stars in the heavens, amidst a cloudless sky, flashes bright as a small sun turned toward the planet, their launch point indeterminate. In reply, she soon realized, their own stars lanced out of silos.

She heard the Comrade Yazov's voice over the radio, "To all Elements of the Black League currently on the Front Lines, this is KINGPIN speaking... The Great Trial's culmination is upon us... If you can hear this message, the enemy has launched their arsenal of nuclear-tipped ballistic missiles at the motherland and at her allies. While I pray for your survival amidst the devastation of this Last War, I know that those away from the safety of the Omsk bunker network, or any network of that type, for that matter, will more than likely not survive. To this extent... I declare the following:Not One Step Back... Fight to your dying breaths, heroes of Russia. Even as nuclear fire burns, let the fire in your hearts burn brighter. We shall see you soon in the land of God... Slava Bogu, Slava Sloboda Rossiya."

The Major blinked, then grit her teeth and opened her hatch. She looked up at the descending missiles. She saw one of the missiles split and several warheads appear from its conical tip. Minutes away from impact, she grit her teeth and wanted to tell her sisters, her comrades in arms, to retreat to the vehicles for any hope of survival aboard their CBRN-resistant interiors. She exited her tank and stared up at the sky as the warheads descended, then looked to her comrades, all of whom still fought despite the launches and the distant wails of the alarms.

... And she drew her pistol, aiming at a German officer that tried to order his men back aboard. With disregard, she shot the man in the head, then jumped off the tank and called out, "SLAVA SLOBODA ROSSIYA! THE GREAT TRIAL ENDS, SISTERS! DIE LIKE HEROES! DIE FIGHTING! DIE FOR THE MOTHERLAND, EVEN AS THE WORLD BURNS AROUND YOU!" fury welling in her heart as her comrades teared up and cried their own angry battle cries. She turned to the Germans and snapped as she fired her pistol into the crowd of fearful youngsters, "YOU COWARDS WILL PAY FOR THIS IN HELL! I SWEAR TO YOU EVEN AS MY FLESH BOILS FROM MY BONES AND I DRAW MY LAST, BURNING BREATH, NO FASCISTS WILL LIVE WHILE THE MOTHERLAND'S FEW STILL DO!"

Before Major Lydia Viktoria Oktyabrskaya could make another declaration, however, the airburst warheads above detonated. The Fifth Guards' Armored Division and, by extension, the 33rd Mechanized Guards Regiment of the Witches, flash-vaporized. The world ended, the mushroom clouds of its last struggling breaths rising to the sky like grim sky-scraping reminders of what once was for anything watching from above.

... One voice, however, spoke to a certain someone...

"Not yet, Lydia Viktoria Oktyabrskaya. There is still one battle to be fought..."


Somewhere Else

... Some hours later...

Whatever was below her felt uncharacteristically warm.

She jolted awake, eyes shooting open as she stared up at the heavens. A clear, blue sky with a glowing Sun dead in its center peered down at her, warming whatever she lay upon like a heat lamp. She shielded her eyes from the burning sphere above, then clutched her hand tightly, feeling the grainy texture of sand between her fingers. With a hum, she craned her neck over and looked to the side.

Desert. Desert as far as her dark eyes could see. Still imprinted on her eyes were the MIRV's multiple warheads detonating all around them. And on top of them. She sighed deeply, gently pushing herself to a seated position, feeling the heat of the sun beating down on her. She tugged at the thicker uniform she wore, then removed the jacket and wrapped it around her waist, before checking her gear. She also quickly opened her shirt slightly, revealing the Telnyk striped top underneath.

She still had her Tokarev and the SVD with her, surprisingly, meaning she had a way to defend herself. Pushing herself to her feet despite the sand going through every crack and crevice at this point was a feat unto itself for the woman. She quickly examined herself, noting that her uniform was relatively undamaged by the nuclear blast that had wiped her unit.

Then again, she wasn't particularly damaged by it, lest she had been flung to the Middle East by the blast. She sighed deeply, her mind wandering back to the fight they had going. It'd been a pretty good fight, she was not going to lie, but the point was that they'd pretty much all lost. So, partially, she hoped she wouldn't see a Nazi marching toward her right now, lest she wished to have more blood on her hands in Purgatory.

Or whatever this desert hellscape was, she thought as she marched up one of the sand slopes, pausing only as the noise of armored vehicles echoed. She ducked behind the lip of the desert's hill and shouldered the rifle she wielded. Far in the distance, mountains rose like tall, jagged spikes on the horizon, the faint greenery of the area visible. She peered down the scope to where the noise of the vehicles was coming from.

Only to have to slide down to the midpoint of the dune as two BTR-60s stopped in front of her. She aimed her rifle, but spotted eagle cradling a map of Mother Russia in its claws on the side of the vehicle, alongside the Witches' Regiment's markings. She paused, lowering her rifle as she saw one of their girls get out of the vehicle. She beamed, her dirty blonde hair gleaming in the sun's light as she called out, "Tavarisch Major Oktyabrskaya! You're alive!"

"... Sergeant Dyomin..." She sighed, relieved. Standing to her feet, the woman looked up at the dismounting platoon of twenty-plus infantrywomen, each carrying an AKM. The Major smiled, then asked, "I take it more of us found our way into whatever Catholic hellscape this purgatory seems to be, then...?" before getting a nod from the young woman, who snapped a salute. Lydia saluted back

"We've reunited with about two-thirds of the Regiment and are in contact with the others over Radio, ma'am..." The radio op of one of the BTRs reported, patting the backpack she had on, with the antennae sticking out of it. She spoke, "You were the last one in. We saw the bright flash from a mile that way," and pointed toward the location. She arranged her black tanker's padded helmet and hefted her wire-stock AKM gently over her shoulder.

"Thank you, Vyacheslava. Let's get moving to the rendezvous point..." The Major hummed, then climbed inside the transport with the rest of the girls, taking the forward 'shotgun' seat beside the driver. As the vehicles began their drive, traction hardly useful on the desert sands, Lydia turned back to see that some of her girls had head wounds that'd needed to be tended. Others had been patched up with bandages around the waists, necks, faces... She murmured, "I take it the injuries we took in battle do not vanish."

"No, tavarisch Major..." The Sergeant sighed, then smiled, "The deaths seem to have been reversed, however. Our BTR got cored by an AT round right down the middle. Each of us died, but..." she shrugged, "Seems like God had other plans for us..." though her foot was twitching, telling that she, too, thought they may have been dead and just in some form of purgatory.

She hummed, then offered her a smile, "The Great Trial has claimed us, Sergeant. Our Duty, however, is not over."

"Only in death does duty end," Chorused the entire BTR crew as they moved forward over the rolling hills. Lydia propped open the radio operator's armored port and peered past it as she heard more engines, turning to see a pair of BRDMs rolling in beside them, not to mention several GAZ and Willys Jeeps. She leaned out of the forward port and waved, to the cheers of the women, all of whom had taken off their uniform tops, leaving themselves in Telnyashkas. They cheered, hooted and raised their hands in greetings to their CO.

She beamed at that. Despite the lingering concern in the back of her head about the well-being of so many of them, seeing them happy to see her warmed her heart to no end. She hummed, then leaned back into the chair as they continued driving. As they crested a hill with a rather bumpy ride, the woman laid eyes upon the gathered Regiment and gasped, asking, "Just how long was I gone?"

"Almost a day's worth, major," The Driver replied as they slowed gently down. Lydia blinked, then scratched her cheek. Talk about lost time. Her driver spoke again, "We've been gathering up since midnight last night here..." and the women watched as they drove into camp. Multiple young women with injuries were being treated by the medical company, while the attached support company was building tents and bivouacs for the gang in lieu of orders.

Reaching the center of the camp, the faint hum of an accordion playing in the distance suddenly stopped as the entire gathered Regiment turned to face them. Korolevna, one of the Lieutenants present in the center, smiled and cried out, "She's alive!" as she threw her helmet into the air. Cheers erupted across the camp, the girls laughing heartily. Some shed tears, others raised balled fists with smiles on their faces and others yet, wounded, stood up and saluted the Major.

She smiled at that, then said, "Hand me the radio," to Dyomin's RTO. She complied wordlessly, handing the woman her radio, to which Lydia climbed atop the vehicle, connected the radio to the right frequency and called out, "Sestriy! WE LIVE YET!" before the cheers intensified a hundred-fold, including arriving Companies and Platoons that had been scattered. She called to them, "Not even the Fascists' dirtiest weapons could kill us! Their nuclear warheads merely separated us, but even in this Afterlife, whatever it may be, the Witches reunite! I am so unfathomably happy to see you all, my dear sisters! Wounded as we are, we have prevailed over the German assailant...!"

"Blade, gun and nuke failed to kill us..." Lydia had to take a moment to register the truth, before grinning, "Yes! The mightiest weapon on the planet failed to kill us! We truly are Witches, then! WE CHEATED DEATH WHILE THE PIGS WE FOUGHT COULDN'T! HOLD YOUR HEADS HIGH, MY GIRLS! THE RODINA AND GOD HAVE BLESSED US! FROM THE BERING STRAIT TO THE BRITISH SEAS, OUR BEAUTIFUL ARMY IS THE MIGHTIEST IN THE WORLD!"

"URA!" The women cheered, raising high their rifles.

"And if one Fascist dog still walks this planet, we will shatter him under the weight of our guns! The Black League's Great Trial has been won thanks to our survival, however. We mustn't squander this opportunity!" She then ordered them, "Rest for a day, take stock of our remaining supplies and prepare! We leave tomorrow at Dawn for the North, for the Black Sea if we can find it, or the Caspian if we cannot! We settle and await Command to call to us, for if the Fascisti truly still walk this world, we will slaughter all that's left of them! Stand tall, sestriy! Slava Sloboda Rossiya!"

"URAAA! Slava Sloboda Rossiya! Slava Tavarisch Maior!" They saluted.

She descended from the vehicle as Korolevna approached, smiling and saying, "Good speech, comrade."

Lydia smiled, then paused as Korolevna handed her a bottle of water. She took it and took a sip, then looked around, noting that even the M48 Clark was still here, probably brought over by the crew that tended to it. A good sign. Meant their equipment was still usable, which was a major bonus in a hellish area like the desert. She noted the BMPs, BTRs and M113s being wheeled up to provide extra bunking space, while platoons of infantry moved to secure the perimeter alongside Conscripts.

She could trust her girls. She knew that. What she couldn't trust was this new, strange world... Wherever they were and if it was even home.

She'd figure it out, though. They always did.