Cpl. Maria "Anya" Allen

Task Force 141

Northern Siberia

"If I have to look into this scope again, I will break it," Anya proclaimed towards MacTavish. They had been inserted into northern Siberia to observe a freighter with a Norwegian registration deliver a shipment to a known Ultranationalist warehouse around 20KM away from the coast. The sun had almost set, filling the skies in vivid purples, golds, and oranges. It was a wondrous and remarkable sight.

MacTavish harrumphed in a jovial way, smoking on his cigar. "Patience, Anya," he soothed. Anya had come to the 141 shortly before Operation Kingfish. A US Army Ranger proficient in Russian, Mandarin, and Arabic, she was recruited as an experimental move by Lt. Gen. Shepherd as a sign of the changing times. Thus, she was given the callsign "Anya" for the simple reason that she could speak Russian. It was also that same reason he had selected her for the mission. "Did you pick up anything on their radio?"

Anya shook her head with a grimace. "They've been complaining about how cold it is and how bored they are," she replied. "Pretty much what I've been doing really. They've been waiting for this ship for as long as we have."

MacTavish rose to stretch, noting that there had been a few creaks in his back. For a moment, his sky-blue eyes met her sapphire ones. They felt a spark of electricity, but Anya looked away immediately. It had been like this ever since they had first met two years ago.

Silence crept over them, and Anya went back to the scope of her sniper rifle. Hours passed. Still there was no sign of the ship. Anya found herself leaning her head on his shoulder to stay awake while they kept watch. Although she knew that she was more than just the diversity hire, Anya was adamant to prove her worth as a soldier and felt that an active involvement with MacTavish would paint her in a different light that she would like. Yet, being alone with him in such proximity faltered her resolve, since there was nothing around them but the falling snow and the sounds of the sea.

"Anya, look!"

MacTavish's voice woke Anya up. He pointed his finger towards the skies. An aurora borealis. Anya's eyes lit up as she stood up carefully to watch the lights of the aurora.

"It's beautiful!" Anya exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you, Captain." With those words, she kissed him on the cheek. Once the aurora subsided, her wits returned to her, and she sought to distance herself from him, her face now redder than a tomato.

However, MacTavish pulled her back towards him with an arm around her shoulder. "It's cold," he said, looking out towards the window. "We'll have to keep each other warm."

Anya had never heard of a more blatant excuse. She closed her eyes, and just focused on the feeling of his arm around her, the heat of his body, how his beard tickled the top of her forehead. There was a strange warmth that pooled in the depths of her gut, one that then moved to her chest, followed by her head. She did not know what she was feeling, but she did not want it to end.

There, they remained, focused on their work, but huddled close together. There were several times when Anya had sneakily looked up towards the captain, but he did not return her gaze. His arm never left her shoulders, though.

"Captain, the ship is coming in," Anya said, after what seemed like hours. "The registration of the ship checks out."

"That logo on those trucks," MacTavish commented as they observed a convoy of trucks that arrived at the docks. "I've never seen it before, have you?"

The logo was that of a crown encircled by an ouroboros; a snake biting its own tail. "I can't say I have," Anya answered. Ever since the Loyalists lost the Second Russian Civil War, the Ultranationalists took control of Russia on two fronts, they had won the elections while the military arm of the party was absorbed into the Russian army officially. Those Ultranationalist soldiers used to bear the party's logo, which was the sickle and hammer in a black star upon a red field.

Given that their Intel was solid, that there was an Ultranationalist warehouse not too far away, and that the ship was there for the delivery, Anya surmised that something must have changed within the party. "Either their marketing team is having a field day, or, the Ultranationalists have gone through a schism."

MacTavish nodded. "What do you think happened?" he asked, entertaining the possibility of Anya's guess happening. It was becoming increasingly difficult to differentiate between the Ultranationalist's own army and that of the military of the Russian Federation, and now that there was this new faction that appeared that also seemed to have Ultranationalist ties… It was starting to do his head in.

"I don't know, Captain," Anya answered bluntly. "But I have a hunch, that this has something to do with Makarov."

"Go on."

"Although he's been forced out of the party's leadership, he still has influence in the military," Anya guessed. "Maybe he's formed his own special club within the party itself?"

What Anya said was not entirely implausible. When Boris Vorshevsky came into power, he had taken a more moderate approach than his colleagues within the party. Wanting to prevent further civil war, the Russian President removed Makarov from the cabinet to curb the latter's influence in the Kremlin. The result only increased Makarov's terror activities within Russian soil as he vowed to take vengeance on his political rivals.

If Anya was right, it meant that Makarov's influence within the Ultranationalist party ran deep and wide, despite everything that was happening on the surface. It also meant that the shipment that they were observing could have gone under the nose of the Kremlin.

"We've got what we came here for," MacTavish concluded once the last trucks in the convoy started to leave. "We'll see where this Intel will lead us to."

Anya nodded. "Calling for exfil now."