Date Tuesday 09/03/2060, Location 53.38042, 50.27575

Back in the barracks, they examined the rooms they had been assigned. They were not particularly big or lavish, the furniture basic and clearly mass-produced. The walls had a few prints placed on them, presumably of famous field marshals or figures of renown in the Russian military, but were otherwise bare, though noticeboards were covered in thousands of holes from notices past. It was clear that this was not a permanent base, but a temporary transient home for units that cycled through, with the building being stripped after each unit left.

Each room had a plastic locker next to the single bed, a cheap looking desk with a spotlight, and a simple swivel chair, a small hand sink and mirror with an overhead light, and some curtains that were presumably incredibly hi-tech nano-engineering - it was hard to explain a fabric so thin otherwise.

Tads looked around her room, then came out into the corridor and called out loudly.

"I'm going to stay in the truck. Just in case I'm still being stalked. I want to be inside my lodge, or behind the ward, that's for sure." Aswon popped his head out of his room and looked over at her.

"Are you sure?" he held up a hand, pausing Tad's response. "I don't mean it's a bad idea - but do you even know if they're still looking for you? If you're behind the ward, then you won't know, as they'll probably just fail. If you're outside, as long as we have someone on watch magically, we can spot a ritual trace forming way before they get a lock on you, and wake you up - THEN you go inside the lodge and cut them off."

Tads considered a moment, and thought about what he was saying - it did make sense. But if they got a sniff of her, it could encourage them - assuming it was the Iranians still after her, she had no doubt that their fanatical beliefs wouldn't let them give up easily if they thought they had a chance.

"I think for now, I'm going with the truck. If they did manage to track me and do some kind of magical attack, the last place we want that to happen is on a base full of Russian troops, surely." Aswon paused, then nodded emphatically, having thought about the likely trouble that would bring. A moment later, he returned to his room, continuing to unpack his meagre supplies onto the washbasin, anticipating a few nights in the room at least. No more than ten seconds had passed before he heard Tads call out again.

"We told them we needed magical supplies for making permanent wards. Do you think we ought to tell them about the dog shaman in Sochi?" He sighed, placing his flannel next to the small container of unscented soap, then leant out of his door again.

"No. Not only no, but hell no. Can you imagine how pleased he'd be to be able to help that many people? He'd wag his astral tail off." He adjusted his voice, changing to a higher pitch and speaking quickly, his words coming out in a jumble. "Can I sellyouthings?OfcourseIcan! Reallygoodstuffhere,letmehelpyou!" He shook his head, imagining the scene, his long dreadlocks splaying out behind him and whipping through the air. Tads was reduced to giggles at the mental image created. "Let them know about the mage - he and the army probably deserve each other!"

"I guess so, maybe that's not a good idea. I'm sure they do have ways of getting stuff like that - I just wondered how long it would take. Or what happens if they can only get a few sticks of chalk for instance." Aswon shrugged, not being drawn into a debate for which he had no answers. He waited, checking to see if Tads was going to say something else, then returned to his room as she continued to stare into space, clearly lost in her own thoughts. Just as he'd once more picked up his kit to unpack it, he heard her voice once more.

"I think I should speak to the base chaplain, or whatever they call it here. Talk to him about what happened in the infirmary. Find out if they can make people happy to be healed." There was a pause, and Aswon took a deep cleansing breath, then slowly unclenched his hand from the small bottle of shampoo, before he split the casing. He could swear he heard a snigger from the direction of Hunter's room, opposite. After two more breaths, he looked out, only to find that Tads had wandered off into her room, chuntering away to herself about the idiocies of people refusing help.

Having set their rooms up, Aswon, Hunter and Nadia set to work cleaning their weapons, getting rid of the accumulated muck from their time on the range. They ended up sitting on the swivel chairs, on the edge of their rooms, with Hunter and Aswon coaching Nadia on how to thoroughly clean her sub-machine gun - as she'd put more rounds through it in five minutes on the range than she had in total since picking it up. Marius meanwhile was out checking on the truck, ensuring that it hadn't picked up any damage on the journey from Sochi, including through the manastorm. He also looked over for any bugs or transmitters, just in case - but despite a thorough search, he found everything ok and no stowaway devices.

Twenty minutes later Nadia reappeared in the corridor, wearing a smart dress, with her hair freshly washed and tied back and a small amount of makeup applied. She wandered down the corridor and stopped abruptly, staring at Aswon who was gathering his dreads into a bundle to tie together, but was otherwise wearing his cammo fatigues still.

"Aswon, when are you getting ready?"

"What do you mean? I am ready."

"You're going for dinner with a high ranking officer, wearing that?"

"Um, I thought we were just going to the mess. Hey! What do you mean, 'wearing that'? This is my suit. Look." With that he opened the locker and revealed the two spare suits of patterned body armour and combat trousers, identical in cut and colour. Nadia just shook her head at him, then stared at Hunter who appeared out of his room, washed, but again wearing his combat gear that he normally travelled in.

"We want to make a good impression with the Brigadier. And end up working for him, and getting paid in helicopters, so Marius is happy, yes? So perhaps we ought to, I don't know, not turn up for dinner looking like a squad of his troops fresh off of exercises?" There was grumbling and muttering, during which Tads walked out of her room, also in her travelling gear. Nadia just stared at her.

"All of you, why not go put on those nice suits we bought, back in Batumi - the ones you got for meeting with the crime boss up on the hill, with the cable cars. Remember those?" Lightbulbs went on, and it was clear that most of the team had in fact forgotten them, and there was some frantic rooting around in gear. Aswon found his trousers and shirt rolled up and stuffed inside a bag that he'd been using as a pillow. Fortunately, irons and ironing boards were still to be found in army billets, and the corridor was soon filled with the hissing of steam irons and quiet swearing.

With ten minutes to go, the team rolled out of their quarters, to be met by a couple of troops who were to guide them to the officers' mess. Most of the creases had been worked out of their suits, and overall they looked quite presentable. Shimazu had slung his scabbard onto his belt, and it appeared intended to take his sword to dinner with him.

They were led over to the main building, and up to the third floor. Turning into a corridor from the main thoroughfare they noticed an increase in quality of furnishings almost immediately. The carpet was thicker and of higher quality, the walls were smooth and well-painted, and the prints on the walls were all framed and highlighted by the downlights positioned above each one. Their escort swept them along the corridor to a set of double doors, old-fashioned wooden affairs with big brass handles and push plates that gleamed in the lights, marked with only a few fingerprints. The lead trooper knocked on the door then braced to attention, as did the rest of the escort.

A few seconds passed, and then the doors swung open smoothly, revealing Captain Zarkorov on the other side. He released his grip on the doors and fired off a sharp salute back to the escort.

"That'll be all, thank you." They did a sharp about face and marched down the corridor - in step and much smarter than when they'd arrived, leaving the team with the Captain. "Do come in. I hope the accommodation is to your taste? If there's anything you need, we can try to arrange it."

The team filed into the room, looking around with interest. The rich and thick carpet ended at the doorway, replaced with a block wooden floor that was stained dark with age, but polished to a high sheen. The walls were a deep orange, reflecting the warm light from the overhead bulbs and making the room feel cheerful and welcoming. Wall fittings were the same brass as on the door, polished and gleaming, also reflecting the lights. On one wall a set of large picture windows looked out over the barracks area - one side was a mass of lights from the occupied brigade area with the companies laid out in rows that receded away from them, while the other area was dark with no sign of the mirror image layout. The walls on either side were dominated on one side with a massive oil painting of a Russian officer sighting some kind of rocket against a German Panther tank amidst a war-torn and ravaged city, whilst the other wall had a huge fireplace. There was no fire, instead there was a large metal set of tubes in an X formation, with a large flag hanging from a pole resting in each tube. The flags looked old, and were decorated with golden trim and tassels, the cloth hanging down in deep furls that prevented them seeing the design - but they guessed they were the Brigade colours. The centre of the room contained a large oval table, with room for perhaps twenty people. A snowy white tablecloth covered the wooden table, and nine places were set around one end - rows of silver cutlery flanking small and delicate looking china plates, while crystal decanters were laid out with geometric position down the centre of the table.

The Brigadier had been staring out of the window at the camp, but turned as they entered, and gave the team a smile. He and the Captain were in their dress uniforms, and his left breast was covered in ribbons and medals, while the shoulders of his uniform were dotted with specialism tabs - the Brigadier had "seen the smoke" so it seemed. Both he and the Captain fixed their views on Shimazu for a moment, then they exchanged glances. Neither of them said anything, the Brigadier taking a deep breath then welcoming them too.

"Good evening. Thank you for coming. I do hope you're hungry, though of course, we need to get you a drink first."

The serving staff must have been waiting just beyond the door, listening carefully. At their cue, four of them entered the room, with a variety of drinks which were offered around - glasses of white or red wine, chilled ice water and orange juice. Once everyone had a drink, the service staff disappeared back through the discrete doorway, and the Brigadier continued.

"I suppose the first thing to do is to enquire as to your schedule. Do you have other tasks or commitments following your delivery here, that mean you have to leave by a specified date?" Kai sipped his orange juice, then responded.

"Well, we do have some other jobs that we're looking at, but nothing is set in stone, and there's no real time pressure. As long as they don't contravene our rules, then I'm sure we can at least discuss them."

"Your rules?" The Brigadier asked, clearly asking for clarification.

"Well, there aren't many. We don't smuggle people - at least not unwilling people. So no kidnappings or unwelcome extractions - we're fine with getting someone out of a situation if that's what they want, though. As a general rule, we tend to stay away from 'wetwork' - we're not assassins, and though we have killed, and will kill again I'm sure, it's not something we want to do on contract." The Brigadier snorted a little.

"I don't think that should be an issue." He waved his hand, wine sloshing from one side of the glass to the other as he moved, towards the window. "I have plenty of people willing to engage in 'wetwork' as it were."

"Of course - but sometimes people want very specific, or hard to reach people dealing with - and again, I imagine you have some snipers who are adept at that kind of thing. But other people like ourselves can sometimes bring other things to the table there - being able to fly magically while invisible and silent for instance. But anyway, I digress. So, we prefer not to do wetwork as a primary goal, but we have no issue with property destruction and material damage. However, in light of the beliefs and backgrounds of several of the team, we won't engage in jobs that lead to massive environmental damage - no setting fire to forests, blowing up oil refineries or bombing chemical plants for instance." The Brigadier looked around the team, clearly spotting the look on Tads face, and also glancing at Shimazu - who just returned his gaze with a blank expression.

"Well, I don't think that any of those would be an issue. And it does mean that I have some interesting options to discuss with you."

Tads quietly translated to English for Shimazu, who'd just been listening to the babble of conversation and letting it wash over him, paying more attention to the body language. Captain Zarkorov turned to face him, and also spoke in English.

"I'm sorry - I had thought everyone spoke Russian. I take it that you're unfamiliar with our language?" He saw Shimazu nod. "Ah, my apologies - I should have checked. I'd made the assumption that since so many of you spoke fluent Russian, with a variety of interesting accents," his eyes flicked over to Tads, "that it was a common language. We will continue the discussion in English." Shimazu bowed towards him, and murmured a thank you. The Brigadier dropped smoothly into English as well, speaking with a cultured tone that indicated he'd learned formally, and almost certainly from a native middle-class speaker.

"I'm led to believe that we already owe you a certain amount of gratitude for your work in the infirmary? Dr Astirdar spoke highly of your abilities and reports a number of personnel returned back to their platoons with others showing signs of increased rehabilitation rates."

"Well, I don't like to see people hurt if I can do something about it. And besides, we want to be on your good side, not your bad." Tads decided that a little bit of brutal honesty probably wasn't amiss here, and hoped the Brigadier would appreciate her candour.

"Well, we are grateful. Even though not everyone probably recognised what they should have been saying at the time. However, I have a question – I understand that you explained to the doctor and then the men about how your appearance would change, when you performed your abilities." Tads nodded in confirmation. "May I see? I must admit to being intently curious?"

"Of course – I can cast a spell to let my mask show. Have you ever experienced a joining of two minds?" She saw the look of alarm on the Captain's face, and spoke rapidly before he could interrupt. "I assure you that it's voluntary, and only information that you actively choose to share becomes known to the other person. If you don't 'send' it, I can't 'hear' it."

"Will it tickle?" The Brigadier seemed fascinated, and waved for Tads to proceed regardless. She smiled, then gathered some power, and let her Shamanic mask show, actively choosing to try and enhance the effect. The two army officers watched as her eyes grew large and dark, her nose elongated and grew and the ethereal antlers manifested on her head.

She felt the link to the Brigadier form, and then almost staggered as she received a tumultuous wave of excitement and joy from him, a crashing wave of genuine amazement at the wash of information. Tads took advantage of the speed of communication and level of intertwined thoughts to share how the spell worked with him, and how it could possibly be used to check on the loyalty of the troops, if they were careful about what they told them. In return she felt edges of his personality leaking through – it wasn't much, but it was enough for her to confirm that everything that Aswon's contact had told them was true. The Brigadier was a true patriot – loyal to his country and his people, and devoted to the men under him.

"That's incredible. And no doubt of great use when you are on a mission? The ability to send information this completely, intentions as well as situation must be a powerful force multiplier. How far will this reach?"

"Ahh, that unfortunately is not very far – at least not yet. I'm continuing to work on refining my power, and learn more from my totem. So at the moment, only a handful of metres. But it's possible that with sustained effort, that could be pushed to a kilometre or more." She saw his face drop slightly, and felt the wash of disappointment over the link. "As you said – more than enough for us as a small team, but unlikely to be quite so useful for moving a whole Brigade around."

"Indeed. So – can you hear me now?"

"No, you're not sending anything I can hear. I presume by deliberate choice?" She saw him nod. "See how easy it is to stop someone hearing you? That's why we would need to be careful with how we used it to question your men. Though I do have another suggestion for that." The Brigadier smiled and nodded for her to continue and took a sip of his wine.

"Well, I can project my consciousness out of my body into astral space. I could visit the mess sections of each of your companies, and watch your troops, looking for any odd magical taints or effects while they are relatively relaxed and not aware of the potential of being seen. That would allow me to work through your troops in a shorter time frame, and perhaps direct our attention towards anyone that stood out."

"That sounds like an excellent idea. Out of your body? That must be an interesting experience."

"Well, I can't show you the full experience, but I can show you some of it…" Tads dropped into the astral realm, supplanting her normal vision with the astral overlay of the world. The walls of the room pulsed with emotion, and the flags became burning icons of glory, shining brightly in astral space with the infused energy of over a hundred years of history and passion. The Brigadier glowed, his aura radiating energy from his magical talents. Tads swung around the room, letting her vision wash over Hunter and Marius, showing their implants suffusing their auras. As she reached Aswon, he too opened himself to the astral realm and waved at her, and through the link, to the Brigadier.

"How did he do that?"

"What, waving to you? He just has to open himself to…"

"No, no – he didn't look like I did. Then he did. Now it's gone again!"

"Ahh, there is a technique – commonly we call it masking, though different people call it different things. But it allows you to shield your aura from casual view, and lets you hide amongst people who are not magically talented." Aswon helpfully dropped his masking, then hid again, showing the Brigadier via the mindlink the effects.

"Is it infallible?"

"No – it can be broken. A sufficiently powerful observer can 'pierce' the effects – but the person you are targeting knows that their masking has been broken. And if someone is magically active and they cross a ward, they have to be skilled at hiding their aura to force it through the ward – otherwise they'll still be detected. That's why we want so many materials to build your wards – to make it unlikely that anyone but the most determined and skilled of mages could get in."

Aswon meanwhile was looking around the room, taking in the astral signature and content. It was the first he had seen of a room like this, and his mind wandered, trying to establish what would cause the mix of emotions present – there were dark eddies of sorrow and destruction mixed amongst the desire and power, and he guessed that from this room, people had plotted the deaths of thousands, or contemplated spending the blood of their troops like water to achieve the aims of the state. Fascinating as it was, it also sent a tingle down his spine, a little warning that the Brigadier did have a purpose and aim, and would be ruthless in pursuing it.

"So, can you teach me this skill, how to mask myself?"

"Yes, that's something we could help you with. Amongst other things, if you've had no training." Tads turned towards Captain Zarkorov "Excuse me, I don't mean any disrespect by this – I ask only because this is likely to be incredibly personal to the Brigadier," she turned back to the senior officer "but how much do you want the captain to know?"

"Everything. He is my operations officer, so what I know, he knows. In fact, he probably knows more. Including the size of my shits." Both men let out hearty belly laughs, their eyes twinkling and they toasted each other, while the team looked on in confusion – presumably there was some personal shared history here that they were not privy to.

After a small pause for them to compose themselves, Tads continued to explain the concepts behind masking, until the Brigadier courteously interrupted her. A moment later the serving staff returned to the room, pulling out chairs for the team and the officers to sit in. They swept from the room, returning moments later with a pair of serving trollies loaded with a silver tureen, and started to serve a fragrant-smelling soup. The Brigadier and Kai were served first, then they worked around the table carefully ladling the broth into the bowls. Once all the serving staff had cleared the room, closing the door behind them, the Brigadier motioned for Tads to continue, discussing the concepts with her, Shimazu and Aswon between mouthfuls of the tasty vegetable broth. Hunter spent some time carefully sniffing his broth, sampling the mixture through the advanced cyberware built into his nasal cavity and reverse-engineering the recipe, just because he could. Aswon meanwhile savoured the dish, trying to work out how it had been cooked the old-fashioned way.

The main course was roast boar, served with a medley of winter vegetables, and was just as tasty as the starter – the Brigadier obviously had his cook well trained. During the meal, Tads continued her explanation, trying to clarify Shamanic magic. After a couple of false starts, Aswon coughed and looked at Tads, and she gladly let him try to explain it from his point of view.

"Well, mostly Shamans are based on a type of animal totem – not all of them, but most of them. And the Shaman and their approach to the world is based on the characteristics of the animal. People of a certain mindset are drawn to a totem – cat shamans like to be clean, and laze in the sun, but also will toy with their enemies. Snake shaman like secrets, and to worm their way into places they're not supposed to be. Dog shaman tend to be remarkably loyal. Not all of them of course, this is magic, not a science – but often enough that you can normally count upon it."

"Now, when a Shaman casts their magic, they call upon their totem, and channel power through that belief structure. " Tads stared at him, shaking her head. He carried on regardless. "As they do, their belief and their tie to the totem manifests as an astral mask that protrudes into the physical world, matching that of their totem. As you saw with Tads when she cast magic. Of course, there are the other type of mages – hermetics. They work from formula and believe that all power is derived from force and application of rules, and sometimes we just don't know the rules yet – so they don't have a mask at all." From the tone of voice, it was clear that Aswon didn't have much time for those that believed it was all formula.

"The other main thing you need to know of course, is that while a totem and a mindset often go together, there's also a significant and noticeable tendency for Shaman to cast magic more strongly that's associated with their abilities. Elk is a protector of the herd, a guardian of the land, and favours defensive magic more. A shark shaman is all about the attack, about doing the most damage. Snake shamans have a way of insinuating themselves into your mind. And so on." The Brigadier and Captain listened carefully, asking a few questions around the excellent food and expanding their knowledge of the magical arts – clearly it wasn't a required or common part of Armed Forces knowledge, at least not out in the field.

The Brigadier suddenly turned his attention to Marius, fixing him with a grin, and a stare.

"Enough now of magical musings, and to more mechanical matters. I understand that you've seen our rather tragic collection of grounded craft, and have some interest in them?"

"Yes, they're most interesting. And with the assistance of some of the team, I have determined that potentially, some of them could be returned to service – with a lot of work, perhaps – but I certainly feel we could get at least two, and perhaps three back in the air." Marius thought for a second, then decided to follow the lead set earlier. "And, being upfront about it, I was hoping that we could persuade you to part with one, if we ended up with enough work done to balance the books."

The Brigadier sat back from the table, and flicked a sidelong glance at the Captain, getting a slight nod in return. He took a moment to wipe his mouth with his napkin, then take another sip of wine.

"That sounds like an excellent idea. If you could return even one aircraft to operational status, then that carries a significant Rouble value, and also provides me with increased tactical opportunities. And I'm sure that while the Soviet military is not in the habit of giving away vital defence assets, from time to time, scrap metal and surplus parts are disposed of for recycling to independent contractors."

"The question of course, is which helicopter would you want? For recycling, that is."

"Well, we're still somewhat discussing that – as our operational patterns would be formed in response to the available lift and flight characteristics of the craft. However, so far I believe that the Mi-6 on the right hand side of the apron looks ideal, assuming that it can be returned to operational status of course."

"That's a big aircraft – plenty of lift capacity there! I would imagine that would give you various options with regards to taking work for heavy lift capacity to remote locations, or machinery deliveries for instance." The Brigadier chatted with Marius for a few minutes, discussing air-mobile operations and options, displaying considerable knowledge. Marius in turn also talked at length, describing some of the work he'd previously carried out delivering things like drilling derricks to remote locations. The Captain joined in the conversation, reminding the Brigadier about an assault they launched against the Alliance for Allah, back in the Eurowars, where the then Captain Cherkenov and his Staff Sergeant Zarkorov had launched a daring flank attack across the Volga, using a reinforced helicopter wing, taking them deep behind enemy lines where they'd wreaked havoc on the enemy supply area.

The conversation flowed freely over the course of dinner, with the Brigadier singling out each of the team and asking them a question or making observations about subjects they had an interest in, skilfully engaging every one of his guests and giving them an opportunity to speak. It was easy to see how he generated loyalty – he had the same charming nature as Kai, and he was a charismatic and entertaining host.

Once more the conversation paused as the mess staff returned to remove the plates and replace them with small dishes, then wheeled in the serving trollies loaded down with cakes and sweets. Centre of attention was a large Napoleon cake, delicate layers of pastry with fresh cream, coated in pastry crumbs – but there were also a selection of chocolate covered apricots, sculpted Pitchye Moloko cakes and Kissel, strongly flavoured jelly in delicate containers.

Once the staff had departed, the conversation resumed. Shimazu and Aswon had a hurried conversation, and then Aswon turned to the Brigadier.

"We have a suggestion for you. You might want to consider getting some wards or other magical defences around the ammunition we bought up. They exert a powerful warping effect on the nearby environment." The Brigadier raised an eyebrow and then exchanged a glance with the Captain. Shimazu related what had happened to him back at the docks in Sochi when they had picked up the cargo, and how noticeable it was in astral space. Once again the two officers exchanged looks, and it was clear that there were things unsaid.

"It's a horrible, terrible thing – the feeling of death and destruction radiating from them was truly awful." Shimazu spoke quietly, but with feeling.

"Well, if it feels like that, imagine what they'll do to the enemy!" Again, both officers laughed, and the team were reminded that they had a different viewpoint on war and conflict. "Still, I think it would be good to get them under some kind of protection. So we need a ward putting up then?"

"Yes, and to set a permanent ward up, we need some magical supplies. We can, and will, put up a temporary one to get things covered now. But we need to get some supplies shifted in. And the closest place we know about is a good six to seven hundred klicks away."

"The Captain will make arrangements, I'm sure." The Captain nodded at Aswon, then pulled out a dataslate and made a few notes, tucking it back into his inside pocket of his jacket.

"Well, we'll put up some temporary wards then, to tide us over until the supplies arrive. Then of course we need to work out how strong we're doing a ward." He exchanged glances with Shimazu and Tads. "I think we should probably look at a three tier structure. A powerful ward, the best we can do, around your offices, and the armoury. A more reasonable one around each of the brigade headquarters, still something strong, but without consuming too many resources. And then something you might find in a corporate compound, a basic ward, around the company buildings and basic blocks, until we run out of materials. Sound reasonable?" Everyone nodded in agreement.

The Brigadier studied them for a moment. Then he put down his glass, and rested his cigar in the ashtray, placing both hands behind his back in a close approximation to parade rest.

"You gentlemen and ladies. Mercenaries is not the right term. Um."

"Private contractors?" suggested Kai.

"Very well, you're clearly…private contractors. And as we've been candid this evening, allow me to continue. You had a contract to deliver some goods to me here – but the contract was with someone else. And whilst I am sure, you would be…professional, and not discuss things you have learnt here without good reason – there is no actual reason for your silence."

"So, I propose that we change things. I wish to engage your services, for several unspecified actions and magical assistance on the base. A contract between us, if you will. As we are then engaged as client and contractor, there is an implied expectation of confidentiality, and secrecy."

The team exchanged glances, and Kai stepped forward. They could feel the tension between them, the subtle movements of stance and schooling of features as each sized up the other – it was like the meeting of two Lions, vying for dominance. Then Kai smiled, and nodded, his shoulders dropping slightly and he seemed to shrink a little.

"Of course. We'd be happy to be engaged upon some services to assist you any way we could. And it would of course mean that we would not discuss any business here with any other client or third party, as you say."

The Brigadier smiled, and held out his hand to Kai, shaking it firmly. The Captain pulled out his data-slate again, and Kai examined the text, then nodded and authorised it with his thumbprint. Over the next few minutes, they hashed out what each of them would be doing over the next few days.

Aswon and Shimazu would engage in the temporary warding, moving to secure the officers and armoury as a priority. Tads would spend time surveying the troops from astral space, looking for anomalies. Hunter was going to familiarise himself with the assault courses, shoot houses and other facilities and then share that information with the team to plan their training. Nadia was to get together with the Commander of the Air Group, and work with her database and establish a list of parts requirements, tools and equipment. And last of all, Kai and Marius were asked to make themselves available at the front of the building at 09:00 for travel.

Once everyone had agreed, and the Captain had uploaded and backed up the contract, the Brigadier turned to them, lowering his voice slightly.

"In a few months, we will be moving to the front line – to the borders of the rogue separatists that call themselves Yakult. Our Brigade will be a fast moving, heavily armed air mobile strike force, and as we have performed before, will engage in deep strikes and raids upon the enemy. But we're not alone – there is a general push, with two full divisions of troops attacking on a wide front, aiming to push back and destroy the foul creatures that have stolen our land. And we need to be ready – ready to fight those creatures of magic and fairy tales. My men need protection now, and training – they need to be ready to take war to an unconventional enemy, and you will help me do so."

The serving staff returned, clearing away the desert plates and returning with snifters of brandy and a box of cigars. The conversation flowed for another half hour, making idle chit chat and not discussing the coming mobilisation at all. Aswon regaled the officers with the tale of Nadia and her first combat operation, describing in detail how she'd annihilated a magical being with excessive and brutal application of lead poisoning at point blank range – and then how they'd had a long overdue talk about firearm safety with her. It served to lighten the mood a little, with Nadia looking both embarrassed and pleased as Aswon described her prowess in the fight. They continued to chat until there was a knock at the door, and the Captain excused himself and cross the room, opening it to reveal the escort, braced to attention with their gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The team recognised the signs, and filed towards the doorway, each receiving a firm handshake from the Brigadier as they passed. Once out of the room the escort took them back to their barracks blocks, and settled them in, with an honour guard standing outside the door. At least, they chose to believe it was an honour guard – and not a security detail.

Hunter pulled his chair out into the corridor, and settled down into position with his rifle, keeping an eye on the rest of the quarters, while the rest of the team bedded down – Tads returning to her lodge as she had earlier stated and locking herself into the armoured trailer. After a few hours, Aswon came to replace Hunter, standing guard for the rest of the night. Regardless, the night passed uneventfully, just the occasional shouts carrying on the wind as some squad was urged to run faster on some night exercise out in the woods.

As the day broke, the team assembled and confirmed their plans, ate breakfast and checked comm frequencies and times to check in with each other – just in case. Once all the details were sorted, they split up and went their separate ways.

Aswon and Shimazu headed out to meet their escort and instructed him to take them to the base armoury. They were swiftly marched over to the building they had been in yesterday, and were checked and admitted, passing through the first room and the corporal's desk, and into the second chamber where the larger munitions were stored. They set to work marking out the area they could cover, quickly finding out that between them they could easily protect the entire armoury. Talking while they measured, they explained to the Sergeant and Corporal how the marks they would make on the ceiling would form a protective barrier against evil spirits and invaders from outside the Motherland – and how important it was not to disturb them. Then came the painstaking work of cleaning and flattening areas of the shotcrete to inscribe magical runes, carefully drawing them on with chalk and then spraying with a fixer to hold them in place as long as possible. They worked quickly and surely, expanding out from the ammo storage area to include all of the main armoury, until three hours later they were done. Dropping into astral space, they saw the shimmering ward clearly lining the inside of the rooms, forming a near solid barrier that was hard to pierce.

"I think that should be good for a week, give or take a few hours. Hopefully long enough to get some decent materials in and do a proper job." Shimazu nodded in agreement, and he and Aswon gathered their materials together and cleaned up from their work. Meeting their guide outside, they were taken to the Brigadier's quarters next, in the main building. Again, they saw a marked increase in quality in the furnishings and surroundings, but the quarters were remarkably bare of luxury items, reinforcing what they knew of the Brigadier. What they did see was a variety of photos, laid out around the room. The first showing a young soldier in a dense birch forest in the middle of winter, rifle in one hand, helping an aged man struggle along the snow-filled path, and as they moved around they saw the Brigadier age, grow in rank and be placed in different parts of the country – here patrolling a mountain pass, there surveying the land from a sand-bagged emplacement.

Once again they set to work, aiming to build another ward of equal strength to the one at the armoury. On the smoother walls of the well-constructed room they found the going much easier, and a mere two hours later the ward sprang into being, forming an barrier of reflective energy over the rooms perimeter. They stopped for a quick lunch, then pushed on, warding the Captain's accommodation next, until that too was protected by a strong ward with a duration that would easily last out the week – perhaps two. The sun had long set by the time they were done and were escorted back to their quarters, the stubs of chalk rattling in the boxes where that morning they'd had full sticks.

Tads returned to her lodge after breakfast, and laid down, making herself comfortable – ensuring that food and water were in easy reach of her body. With a mental push, her spirit rose from her physical form and she floated through the air, heading down to the mess house for the first company. She floated in through the roof, the physical form of the building being no better at stopping her than a chain-link fence could stop smoke. Her form settled over the serving counter, and then she started to survey the soldiers as they sat at their tables, slowly casting her gaze down one side of the table and up the other, then across to the next table, repeating her pattern. Over and over, she looked at the soldiers, each one getting a full five seconds of scrutiny before she moved on to the next.

She watched as the platoons cycled through for breakfast, the later ones having returned from early morning PT or exercises. When all the soldiers had left, heading off to their duties she turned her attention to the kitchen staff and cleaners, supply officers and maintenance engineers, subjecting them to the same scrutiny. All told, she spent just under two hours out of her body watching people, checking them over and looking for a spark of magic, finding none.

She returned to her body, and sipped at her water bottle. Once she was rehydrated, a handful of nuts was consumed, while she stared blankly into space, going over what she had seen mentally. Certain she hadn't missed anything, she set an alarm and then settled down to snooze, letting her body recover from the effects of her essence being withdrawn. As she rested, the link between flesh and thought was renewed, strengthening her magic once more and restoring power to her.

At lunchtime, she returned to the building, checking over the troops once more. Some of the platoons were the same as at breakfast, but she checked them again anyway, continuing to work her way through the room seat by seat. Again, she found nothing, and ninety minutes later found herself back in her body, refuelling again and settling in for another snooze after she'd taken care of a call of nature.

The evening meal was much the same, but by the end of the day she'd covered the entire first company, having checked over each man at least twice, possibly three times – all without finding a trace of talent or any strange magical taste or taint.

Hunter had headed over past the armoury into the area beyond, past the rifle range and the kill-house structures, until he found himself at the assault course. The area was boggy and muddy, banks of snow heaped on the side but long trenches and patches of heavy sticky mud on the low ground, areas so moist that the snow had broken down and turned to mush. He walked around the area slowly, examining the course.

First was a climb up a rickety looking tower, then a slide down a cable perhaps thirty metres long, ending in a large bog that was going to give a very soft landing – but also cake a set of boots with thick, cloying, heavy mud. A short run led to a smaller tower and a scramble net suspended perhaps a metre high and five metres wide leading to a second tower. A climb up a short ladder, then there was a swing rope that led to a vertical scramble net that went up five metres.

At the top of the second net was a pair of wires strung one above the other, bridging the gap to a third tower. Down below was an icy pit full of muddy water with a thin sheet of ice across the surface, radiating cold. After two ten metre sections of parallel wires strung between poles, there was a single rope angled downwards to slide along for ten metres, to a fourth pole. Then there was again two wires – this time horizontally spaced rather than vertically, about a shoulder width apart, to inch along with hands and lower legs.

The next pole transitioned again, the two guide ropes suddenly just over head height, while a thin and very loose rope ladder was stretched out horizontally, leading to another tower. Finally then, was another single rope forming a downwards angle to slide down, back towards ground level. Now only a metre off the ground again, a long concrete beam, perhaps ten centimetres wide covered another icy pit that was ten metres long. This had to be taken at a run to give enough momentum to leap off the narrow tower at the far side onto another vertical scramble net, with a three metre climb and then descent, another run and then a swing over a set of logs.

The path then led down into a gully, where metre after metre of thick black mud and chunks of ice would soak the recruits to their knees at least, forcing them to plough through the slush with slow powerful strides, before climbing up the slippery slope at the far side. The path at the far side curled around a few gentle hills, with perhaps a fifty metre run all told, before arriving at a set of holes set into the hillside.

The concrete pipes were half a metre high, and ran for five metres before turning sharply into a chimney, emerging slightly higher on the hill and leading into a second tunnel, repeating the form of the first, and then a third tunnel to bring the trooper to the top of the hill. A sharp downward path looked treacherous and slick, and Hunter could well imagine the number of arses that had slipped and scraped their way downwards. The next obstacle was a steep wall, sloped at around 75 degrees, with a rope pinned to the top to allow you to walk up the wall, hand over hand, and then jump down the metre high steps on the reverse side.

A water jump, nearly two metres wide lay beyond, then a set of monkey bars nearly ten metres long over another massive icy pond stretched to the far end of the course, then the path curved around a spinney of trees and arced back in the direction of the start. A series of scaffold bars formed a set of giant hurdles, nearly two metres high, then another set of brick built steps, each a half metre high. Hunter winced, imagining the burn in the legs and the pounding heart at this point, trying to force the legs to climb up steps that would feel twice the size they actually were. Another sloped wall, this time a full five metres high with a knotted rope to pull yourself up by lay after the steps, with the descent being a rope that was suspended out a metre from the structure, with a landing in another of those muddy bogs.

From here, another set of tunnels led down at an angle, and he could see the water in them that started at perhaps 1/3 of the height of the pipe quickly rose to fill it – walking around, he could see the exit, and thought that the tunnel was around ten metres long, with the centre section completely submerged.

Now thoroughly soaked of course, from head to foot, the next obstacle was a ten metre scrabble under a crisscross tangle of barbed wire, strung no more than thirty centimetres above the ground, necessitating the legs and arms to be splayed wide to lower the body. Emerging from the scramble net, there was another wide pond, with a rope stretched across the top, just clear of the surface – just enough to keep you upright while you half swam, half walked through the neck deep channel.

The final obstacle was a series of poles buried in the ground, with rising and falling heights and larger and smaller gaps between them, and finally a twenty five metre dash to the finish line. Hunter had no idea how long it was supposed to take, but he guessed you'd have to keep up a good pace throughout to meet the standards of the infantry.

Having walked around it and seen the obstacles now, he returned to the start and shucked off his top layers, laying them in a neat pile. His body tried to shiver a little in the brisk icy wind, but he ignored the urge, and started jogging on the spot, warming his limbs up in preparation. After five minutes of exercises, his heart was pumping and he felt loose and ready, and set off at a fast jog along the course.

The first time he hit the water, he almost let out a cry. He'd never felt anything quite so cold and painful in his life as the frigid muddy water penetrated his clothing, and he felt his core start to cool almost immediately. Ignoring the pain, he pushed on, relying on his muscles and exertion to warm him back up. All was going well, and he progressed through the course well, his athleticism and physique standing him in good stead. That was, until he reached the V-tunnels.

As he progressed down the tunnel the water rose higher and higher, lapping at his throat, his jaw, then his philtrum. Finally there was no choice and he had to take a deep breath, close his eyes and submerge himself fully into the frigid filthy water. The cold felt like icy knives prickling into his skull and the shock almost caused him to cry out. He pushed on to the bottom, and tried to transition from the entry pipe to the exit – and found himself stuck.

The two pipes were joined by an angle piece, and this was a few centimetres smaller it seemed. Just small enough that his wide shoulders jammed into position. With the cold water making his limbs feel like lead weights, and making everything slick and slippery he really had almost no purchase to work with. He felt his lungs starting to burn as his body cried out for fresh air.

"Bugger this," he thought. With a mental command the filter snapped shut across his trachea, and his implanted air reservoir came online. Fresh oxygen coursed through his system, and the screaming desire of his body vanished immediately. "Now, let's work the problem. Take it steady…" He calmed himself, and then wiggled, gradually working himself loose from the pipe, and then adjusting his shoulders, until he was more like a rescue swimmer doing a side stroke. Finally he had enough room to get his bulky orcish physique through the pipe, and up the other side, emerging out into the wan winter light, then pushing himself along to finish the course.

By the time he had finished it, his heart was pounding, his limbs were covered in the most severe goosebumps he'd ever had and his hands and feet felt numb. Nonetheless there was a huge endorphin rush at having finished the course – and also a little elation at not dying. He wondered how the orcs or trolls in the army managed the course, feeling sorry for anyone that didn't have his advantages and finding themselves in that kind of position.

He set off at a jog, keeping moving and ran around the outside of the course, pushing three laps out at a steady pace to warm back up and work out most of the water, then tried the course again, making sure he used the new technique in the tunnel. Even accounting for the time difference for not getting stuck, he improved his time noticeably as he honed his technique for the different challenges.

He continued for the rest of the morning, pushing himself until he felt bone-weary and every step was like lifting lumps of concrete, before finally heading back to their barracks. He wandered into the shower block fully dressed and just hit the button, letting the hot water cascade over him and warm him up, whilst also washing away the black mud. After thirty minutes of getting himself cleaned up and warm, he dried off and climbed back into his bed for an hour, letting his body rest and stabilise while he mentally worked through the course again, working out what he could do better next time.

After an hour in bed, he got up and put on fresh clothes, ignoring the pile of wet and manky fatigues he'd worn for the morning. Grabbing his gear from the room, he headed for the range, checked in with the range officer and then set himself up on the pistol range where he continued to work out on his technique, trying to put into practice the lessons given to him back in Sochi.

Marius and Kai reported to the reception desk in the admin building first thing in the morning, as requested by the Brigadier, and soon found their escort leading them, and Nadia, to the air-wing. On the far side of the woods they found the giant shelters for the squadrons of choppers being maintained by a small army of technicians. There were a variety of types here – small and light scout birds with huge radars and surveillance pods above the rotors, fast attack birds with stubby wings mounting rocket pods and chainguns, light and medium transports with heavy armour and cannons, all the way up to the large troop birds that could transport a whole company into battle.

Nadia was called off into the air-wing operations office, where a warrant officer sat her down with a computer to start working through the data she had gathered and started working on the previous day, comparing notes with the base logistics system. Marius and Kai were led to a chopper sitting on a landing pad, the rotors turning as the engine idled, while the pilot completed his pre-flight checks. Their guide indicated the troop compartment, but Marius ignored him and climbed into the co-pilot seat, grabbing a flight helmet from the rack and quickly clipping in the five point harness. The pilot stared at him for a moment, but didn't object. The guide strapped Kai into one of the rear seats, carefully showing him how to check his harness, where the intercom switch was, and how to operate the door.

A few minutes later the pilot spooled up the engines and lifted off, with Marius watching him carefully. The pilot was pretty good, and Marius watched as he expertly shifted into forward flight and headed south west, skimming over the trees. He asked for permission to lay his hands on the flight controls, and after a curt agreement from the pilot, let his hands and feet rest lightly on the controls, so he could feel the movement of the pilot.

The chopper headed back along the Volga, quickly accelerating to around 300kph as the pilot pushed the engine to full speed. The heavy duty turbojets had power to burn with no combat troops loaded or other cargo, and the chopper accelerated like a champ. After a few minutes, the pilot keyed up the intercom, mentioning that Marius had a "good touch", as he couldn't feel him fighting on the controls. Marius in turn complimented the pilot on his flying abilities, discussing techniques with him. Once it became clear that he knew exactly what he was talking about and had a significant and deep understanding of helicopter flight dynamics the pilot opened up a great deal, and soon they were nattering away about the chopper and how it handled. In the back, Kai looked out of the window, studying the ground and the terrain as it whipped past in a blur.

Two hours later, the chopper crossed over the city of Sochi, slowing slightly as they entered controlled airspace. Marius and Kai got to see the roads from above, and saw the chaotic mess of roads and highways, the medieval remains of the town, the half-finished upgrades and the bizarre three dimensional nature of the city, and wondered how it worked at all.

The pilot took them over the city centre and down to the docks, landing on the same concrete apron they'd been at only a few days before. The dock-master emerged from his hut, accompanied by another stout fellow they approached the chopper, waving their arms furiously. However, when the pilot emerged from the cabin, his sidearm conspicuous on his hip and holding his military ID in his hand, their objections were silenced. He turned to Kai and Marius, and then dug into the thigh pocket of his flight suit, pulling out a chunky ID stick which he passed to Kai.

"I was told this is a military requisition permit for you. You are to go to the magical shops, and take possession of the materials needed to defend the buildings from attack. The Brigadier has countersigned the orders, so you should have no trouble."

They strode up the street, Kai marching past the tourist traps and visiting the true magic shops. They started with the dog shaman where they were enthusiastically greeted, as if Kai was his long-lost friend. The joy leeched out as they presented the procurement orders though, but the owner complied, gathering a large bag of supplies before slotting the stick into his terminal. This was repeated at the cat shaman's shop, and finally the mage emporium, each being less than impressed with the presentation of the stick, but gathering supplies and slotting the order to generate a record of the transaction. Eventually they made their way back to the chopper with a large selection of materials in a variety of bags, meeting up with the pilot who had managed to get hold of some fuel to refill the chopper's tanks.

After the pilot checked the aircraft over, he rose smoothly from the docks, watched by the angry gaze of the dock-master. Once he had her up to about a hundred metres, he turned at looked to Marius.

"You wish to take the controls?" Marius nodded quickly. "Co-pilot's aircraft." Marius firmed up his grip, and gently transitioned into forward flight, increasing the engine power as he adjusted the cyclic control, twisted the rotor actuators and applied a tiny touch of rudder to stop them spinning. The Hind started to move through the air gracefully, picking up speed and Marius was as gentle on the controls as he was with Nadia in bed, caressing the joystick and gently feeding power into the engines, his eyes flickering back and forth from the readouts and dials of the display to the surroundings.

In a mirror image of the outward flight, the pilot kept his hands and feet on the controls, ready to resume control at any moment, but after the first few minutes when Marius had proved that not only did he know the theory, but that he was dammed good in practice too, the pilot removed his hands entirely from the controls, folding his arms and making himself comfortable in the chair. As Marius followed the flight plan back towards Samara, the pilot keyed up the intercom, and described the land they were flying over, talking about some of the cities they flew past and generally just chattered away. Kai listened carefully, soaking up the knowledge, while Marius mostly ignored him – instead soaking up information on how the Russian chopper handled, getting valuable experience for his coming project. When the base finally heaved into view, he bought the craft into a perfect hover over the helipad, then slowly descended, his hands flashing over the controls like a virtuoso as he bought the Hind in for a gentle landing precisely in the centre of the pad, to the pilot's approval.

It was late when they all met up, sharing a meal at the end of the day and describing their activities. Aswon and Shimazu checked through the supplies, finding that there were over sixty bundles of raw materials they could use to enact permanent wards – which told them what they were going to be doing for the next few days. Hunter recounted his excitement on the assault course, Tads detailed the soldiers in the first company and Nadia complained at length about the evil and misguided sadists who had programmed the logistics system the Russians were using to manage their fleet.

Repeating the plan from the previous night, they settled down to sleep while Hunter took first watch, his assault rifle laid by his side ready while he broke down his pistol and reassembled it over and over again, until he could do it by touch alone.

Outside, the pair of privates stood watch on the door, they too, not quite sure if they were prison guards or honour guards. In the woods, creatures snuffled and snorted, and the hoots of owls echoed across the base as they hunted their prey, whilst deep in the woods the occasional curses of corporals encouraged the troops to complete their night marches and navigation exercises or reprimanded troops that were not sufficiently vigilant in their sentry duties.

The wind shifted in direction, and the temperature dropped once more, and in the distance looming clouds stared to race down from the north, slowly blocking the skies until the base was covered in a dense cloud layer, and snow started to gently fall once more.