Night fell once again upon the allied forces stationed within Swinburne. Trenches and fortifications had been modified to face the German front line as distant explosions flashed, Phantoms dropping their deadly payloads of parachute bombs on the enemy positions before bugging out. Lines of tracers criss-crossed the skies from whatever left-over German anti-air batteries there still were.

Major Oktyabrskaya watched the unfolding night fight with a cigarette between her lips and her Dragunov rifle cradled close to her form. She'd rolled her sleeves down due to the desert getting inexorably colder at night, a phenomenon she'd been warned about by the UNSC officers that had deployed to Omsk as both negotiators and training support.

She watched a BRDM-1 gently roll forward, the female crew chief peering out through her binoculars from behind the shielded mount of her Dushka. Other infantry carrying one of Kalashnikov's newest inventions, the AKM rifle and the PKM. Certainly, not every single member had the most modern weapons, but enough of them did to pose a threat to the Nazis' own loose allotment of modern Sturmgewehrs and other weapons.

Hearing footsteps on the stairwell, she turned her head toward it. She saw the American Lieutenant she'd met, Tibbets, climbing up, then greeted him with a nod the moment he spotted her. Turning back toward the fighting going on in the distance. She told him, "Harrismith is getting bombed by US Navy Airpower…"

"Figured as much," He replied as he approached, leaning against the same window she was sat by. He then added, "They're trying to soften up the lines of defense leading up to Johannesburg. We cut that artery, the remaining Nazi troops West are gonna be forced to fall back to some other parts of their colonies, or die if they wanna hold."

"This African War is not going to end soon," The woman spoke rather prophetically.

John snorted and asked, "When do they? This place's always gonna have some sorta conflict going on in it," before staring out as well. A certain eerie, if not outright terrifying beauty lay in the sight of warfare to some. The Lieutenant himself saw it and he could tell the Major was seeing it, too. He asked her, "You ever been outside of Omsk before with your girls?"

"No," She replied, "Outside of fighting in Siberia against hostile warlords, obviously. I spent most of my childhood hiding from the Nazi bombs that fell upon our heads…"

"Really helps rouse the hate, doesn't it?" The American then asked, sliding his rifle forward and holding the strap close as he leaned his back against the wall. He pulled his canteen off the belt and took a sip of water, before putting it back in its harness. She nodded at that, but didn't say anything. Finishing her cigarette, she put it out on the windowsill, then lifted her rifle and peered through the scope at the distant tree-lines.

John hummed, then peered out from the window again, too, watching a pair of Clark tanks roll up right beside the League's First Mechanized, scanning the area ahead. UNSC Engineers were setting up more defensive embankments and early warning systems under the cover of darkness. He told her, "Y'know, they have actual Night Vision."

"I saw," She replied, grinning, "Helped us a while back with an uppity Warlord…"

"Don't even wanna know how bad they mangled the fucker for you," The man joked, garnerign a short laugh out of the woman. He told her, "... How did they convince you to work with'em? I mean, I know Yazov is only open to cooperation if it means getting payback on the Krauts, so what changed with them?"

"The UNSC has promised that revenge alongside the OFN," The woman answered, lowering the rifle, "... However, they have also promised to aid us in nation-building. Under the guise of keeping ourselves safe and open after the Nazis are inevitably defeated, forming something friendly for the rest of the world."

"... They wanna help you build yourselves into a Democracy?" John sounded almost amused. When he got a nod of confirmation from her, he asked, "No offense, but do Russians even know what that means?"

Lydia chuckled at that, shaking her head and stating, "I don't suppose we do. From centuries being run by the Tsars to decades run by the Soviets, then falling apart twice-over. It almost feels like our old Homeland is cursed to be forever burned down again and again," before sighing deeply, "Damned Germans…"

"The fact the UNSC still has a bunch of'em in their ranks," The American spoke, which caught the woman by surprise as she looked at him, one brow raised. He grinned, "Hell, I heard them interrogating the captured Kraut officers. It's kinda fun, hearing their own scream at them," and saw the woman take a moment to imagine it.

A short laugh escaped her lips. She shook her head and grinned, "Good. Who better to tell them off than their own?"

"Opens the eyes a little…" John replied, then asked, "You gonna tell any of us how you people met the UNSC, though? It's kind of a topic of discussion among both my boys and Aletta's troops," to which Lydia hummed, thinking about it for a moment visibly. She shrugged, to which he told her, "Alright, maybe tomorrow when we're on our way to Harrismith."

"Very well," She replied, "Have a good evening, tovarisch leytenant," and she walked past him, a satisfied smirk on her face as she descended the stairs. That left the Lieutenant alone to ponder their current situation… For the next couple of seconds. The sound of boots hitting the wood of the steps soon caused the Lieutenant to turn and watch Aletta step up, a smirk on her face.

"Sooo~," She teased, "What were you two talkin' about, mukka?"

He rolled his eyes, then replied, "Simply the fact that the world's quite a mess right now. Were you eavesdropping there, miss Van Der Walt?" as he cracked a grin. Aletta was probably one of the few people John even remotely cared about outside his unit. This proved she cared in the same kind of way. Or at least somewhat.

"Who? Little old me?" She feigned ignorance while playing the act up, "I wouldn't dare," before she looked at John. The two of them started laughing, before Aletta told him, "Yeah, I sorta was. Nice to see the Russians apparently never ditched the vengeful spirit thing they have had going on since the Second World War."

"They lost their home country," John spoke, his expression slowly shifting from jovial to thoughtful as he added, "God knows I'd be the same as them if that happened to me…" before he looked out toward the fighting again. Missiles streaked into the sky, seemingly trying to intercept the Thunderchiefs from the Air Force that were currently turning several enemy positions farther North-West into paste.

She replied, "Fair enough…" then smiled at him and said, "Thanks for… Y'know, the restraint back during the Church raid."

"Heh," He smiled again, rubbing the back of his neck, slightly awkward. He asked, "How is Nadea doing?"

"She's alright. At the rear-line with the other Afrika Schilder kids, being treated and given food," She replied, then pulled her rifle over her shoulder by the strap. It had nearly slipped off. She continued calmly, "I might actually pull a few favors I have with Command to get her sent over to the US. Just so she doesn't have to see our home bombed to hell."

The American quickly told her, "I'll have a talk with my officers and send a message home. Mom'll be glad to help," which caused the blonde Boer girl to perk up, staring at him with wide eyes. Moments later, she beamed and wrapped him in a surprise hug that caused him to gasp. He spoke, "Aletta… Air…" which made her take a step back. In truth, John was too embarrassed by the hug to really do anything but quickly reply in kind, then ask for a breather.

"Sorry," She spoke, averting her gaze as her cheeks glowed red. He mumbled something that confirmed it was fine, rubbing the back of his neck and blushing, too. She told him, "She always wanted to visit America. Figured it'd be a nice place… Especially considering you're all out here, fighting to keep us free from the Reich…"

As the two locked eyes, they remained silent for a moment. A full moon peered through the clouds of the night, shining a white glow into the room… The two stared still, faces now lit by the moonlight and red as strawberries. Aletta wanted to approach, visibly preparing to take a step forward, but the moment she put a foot forward-

"Lieutenant! You and miss Van Der Walt gonna go to bed, or are you on the night watch!?" A UNSC Marine called out to them, causing both of them to scramble back, faces now basically tomatoes. John looked down at the man and was about an inch short of flipping the guy off, but he said, "They want us moving to Harrismith ASAP tomorrow! Armor's already rolling up!"

"Thanks for the warning!" Tibbets replied with a mildly aggravated voice. The Marine shrugged, snapped a quick salute, then walked off, leaving the two in a bit of a daze. Sighing deeply, the young American Lieutenant told her, "Guess we'll see each-other tomorrow…" to which she nodded. Bidding a quick goodbye to one-another, both went to their respective bunk-houses to sleep.

Bier, who had a short laugh at his Lieutenant's expense when he returned, woke up with a dirty sock on his face while Tibbets prepared to sleep. Mann laughed a little, too, but at the misfortune of their buddy, before laying back down in his cot and letting John's mind wander until he fell asleep. No questions asked, no nothing.

Come the next day, the UNSC Marines' M808 Scorpions, now desert camouflage-painted, led the convoy out from the town. BRDM-1 scout cars also rolled past them, moving fast alongside the UNSC's own 'Warthog' Force Application Vehicles, four-wheeled scout cars armed with varied types of weaponry ranging from missile launchers to gatling machine guns.

Sitting atop an M113, which was rolling behind one of the BTR-60Ps of the Omskite military, Tibbets, Aletta and their respective units watched the distant smoke columns rise high into a clear sky. Harrismith was yet another stop before Johannesburg, the actual big prize. They cut off a lot of supply by taking Swinburne and had tied up yet more of the Nazis' and AS's troops, but it wasn't enough.

If Johannesburg fell, they'd practically win the War for South Africa, John thought as he watched their Air Support sweeping in from up high. More F-105 Thunderchiefs and their F4 Phantom escorts dropped their payloads of bombs down onto enemy defenses. Bier spoke, "Can't believe the Air Force and Navy Flyboys are getting this much action!"

"Let'em soften up the Kraut kotte before we get there!" Aletta voiced, holding her rifle close. The other girls of her unit cheered at that, some of them poking their heads out from the M113s in the rear. A pair of Huey Gunships sped forward, firing the miniguns mounted to their hulls and the Hydra rockets below those at what was presumed by command to be enemy infantry formations and defensive positions.

The Krauts weren't gonna make the advance easy, but at the very least

Tibbets looked over toward Lydia, who was riding shotgun with them, then asked, "So, Major! You gonna tell us what the hell happened between you and the UNSC that caused you all to tag along with us?!" which caused her to turn toward him and crack a smirk. With a nod, she stood up from her seat within the tank and looked back, before beginning…

Omsk

Russian National Reclamation Government(Black League) Territories

One year and a half earlier

It was midnight over Russia in many more ways than one…

… Deep underground, the world around had begun to shift back to a somewhat normal way of living. The underground tunnels of Omsk, housing the refugees of the Old Soviet Union's many Nazi-occupied states, were slowly being emptied again, after the air raid sirens had faded. The city above still had districts that had been completely flattened by the Luftwaffe's bombs, barely being rebuilt.

The Tunnels of Omsk were large and vast, sprawling throughout the city and even a little beyond it, a command given by the officers and staff of the National Reclamation Government to expand their bunkers for what would come:The Great Trial. The last war between a resurgent Motherland and the Fascist scum.

Among the people hiding out in the underground since the end of the War and the start of the Nazis' bombing campaigns, a young Omsk soldier loaded 7,62 by 54mm rounds into her Mosin Nagant sniper rifle. Each round clicked into place in the five round magazine of the weapon, before the woman slammed the bolt forward, feeding a round into the chamber.

She looked down the rifle's scope, noting the three-post German-style cross-hair, then adjusted the knobs for windage and elevation. Beside her, a platoon of other young women stood by. Though she was a young Sergeant today, Lydia Oktyabrskaya heard through the grapevine that she would be promoted before long.

In their native language, Russian, the young woman told her troops, "Alright, girls. The Lieutenant wants us to be ready just in case any Tyumen troops are gonna try and slip past the Front Line," as she hefted her rifle, slinging the strap over her shoulder and showing them to march out. Approximately twenty women of the One-First of the League's Army marched out into an underground garage, where but a few BTR-40s resided.

The platoons mounted up, drivers taking the wheel while the Lieutenant rode in the lead vehicle. Lydia, meanwhile, looked upon the rest of the Hangar, where engineers, mechanics and repairmen worked on old vehicles that they'd managed to salvage from the Front Lines. Old T-34 battle tanks in varying stages of disrepairs, even older BT-series tanks and BRDM-1 scout transports.

Tools, boxes of ammunition and fuel canisters lined the concrete walls, too, with weak light bulbs strung along the walls and insulated ceiling by wires shining down upon the troops. Closing the rear door of the BTR-40 behind them, Lydia sat down, watching while one of her girls manned the Dushka fifty caliber MG on the front.

The Lieutenant gave one order and the trucks rolled out onto the ramps, climbing out onto the streets of the city and turning left onto the main road. Though the intensity of the bombings had lessened, there were still visible signs that Omsk was the favored target of the fascist scum. Anti-air emplacements on the roofs of yet-undamaged buildings with forty-millimeter anti-air guns pointed up at the clouded heavens, the cracked facades of damaged buildings and shells of hollowed-out ones and the craters they had to avoid on the road.

Civilian life still continued on the surface, too, however. As they rolled on, Lydia noticed a small market on one of the side roads, where people were going to buy fresh produce from the farms around the city, most of which had remained surprisingly untouched by Luftwaffe firebombing campaigns. One of the civilians ran up to Lydia's truck and handed one of the girls a whole bag full of apples, enough for the whole platoon.

Lydia smiled and waved in thanks, only to pause as the Civilians around them, men and women alike, cheered for them. The Scout Platoons waved back, smiling as the vehicles passed through the city's damaged streets and by the people of Omsk, many of whom were glad to be living another day. Another day that spited the Nazis. Another day that brought some hope for both a future and for revenge.

One familiar sight that hadn't been taken down from the streets was the form of a crashed Nazi High-altitude strategic bomber. Though it had been stripped for everything from engine parts to electrical wiring and mechanical items, the husk of the aluminum-hulled vehicle, its left wing ripped off by flak rounds, still remained embedded within the baroque facade of the old Party Headquarters building, tail hanging loosely as its body began to slowly rust away.

It was a sign for the people of Omsk. A sign of resistance against the Germans' war machine that would never be removed, by order of Comrade Yazov and the rest of the Reclamation Government. Any time a German bomber's navigator scoped in on Omsk, they'd see it and be reminded that the city would forever stand against them.

She felt someone gently elbow her in the shoulder. Looking down, she noticed two dark, almond-shaped eyes staring up at her. The young girl's jet-black hair was tied up in a low bun, with the rest hidden beneath the steel helmet bearing the shadow of an old Soviet star emblazoned upon its forehead. Corporal Tina Korolevna, a young woman of some sort of Chinese, Mongol or Buryat descendance, looked up at Lydia and asked, "Dark night, is it not, comrade Sergeant?"

"The darkest night will always give way to the brightest days, Tina," The woman replied with a half-smile, then looked up at the heavens. She noticed a faint flash of light among the clouds, passing by from South-West to North-East, just the way the rest of the Scouts were moving. She felt the vehicle take a turn right, then said, "Negotiations with Tomsk seem to be going surprisingly well…"

"Something apparently scared them," Tina replied with half a mouth as she held close an SVT-40, a magazine-fed rifle with a wooden stock that fired the same round as Lydia's Mosin Nagant. It was semi-automatic, though, unlike the bolt-action sniper rifle. She added, "Of course, Tomsk's leader would never outright say they surrendered to us, but…"

"I know," Lydia replied, "Wanting to integrate after we fought so many border skirmishes is… Odd."

"Wonder if we're gonna get scared by something, too," Joked another Corporal, this one an older woman with a rougher voice and a grin on her face. She bore a scar, like that of a branding, on her left cheek. A Swastika mark made with an SS branding iron from when she was a kid. The rest of the squad let out short laughs.

Yet another called out, "My ass! The Nazis couldn't scare the shit out of us and Tomsk are a bunch of shitboot cowards!" which was followed up by several of their comrades laughing their asses off. Lydia showed them to calm down, then turned as the Lieutenant cast a look her way, a face full of amusement. The older woman that had just spoken said, "Sorry if we're getting you into trouble, comrade Sergeant."

"Just shooting the shit, Ignatyeva," She replied, cracking a small smile through the ice cold exterior, "No need to apologize…"

The others gave the woman a pat on the shoulder while the vehicles continued to roll. Reaching the outskirts of the town, also known as the most damaged districts, which included still-functioning, but heavily bombed factories currently making 'new' equipment for the Omsk defense force, plus residential areas and a chunk of Omsk's 'Old Town'.

Rubble littered the streets, as did corpses covered by tarps, which were being moved out from the area by people who'd just come out of their bunkers. The girls tried to ignore the sight, quietly singing a famed Russian war song with each-other, 'Kogda My Bily Na Voyne', or 'When We Were At War'... Lydia couldn't help but hum the tune herself, trying to forget memories that attempted to resurface.

"Comrade Sergeant?" Tina asked while the others quietly sang. Lydia turned toward her, raising a brow, to which the young woman spoke, "... I wanted to ask where you were born. You have a bit of a familiar accent, but I can't pinpoint what part of the Motherland you're from, exactly. I'm from Yakutsk, but my parents moved to Omsk…"

Lydia hummed, then said, "I guess you missed when I told the Leytenant about it… I'm from Kiev."

"Oh," Tina frowned, "Apologies, comrade Sergeant…"

"It's fine," The woman felt like she'd said that a dozen times over. Before long, silence settled among the troops yet again as the vehicles moved to their drop-off point:The outer areas of one of the forests making up the border between them and Tyumen. Upon reaching it and dismounting, the women scattered at the Lieutenant's orders into the trees.

Each member of the team had some sort of camouflage uniform or cloak, ranging from Second World War hand-me-downs with all the patches and splotches and worn colors one would expect to modern experimental camouflage patterns meant to match the Nazis' ever-updating military on the matter. As they scattered out among the darkness, Lydia pulled her rifle off of her back and shouldered it, peering down the scope.

Tina lay beside her, her designated spotter. The young woman slung her SVT onto her back and pulled out a pair of binoculars, scanning the trees in this dark night for movement. As they sat there, remaining completely motionless, none of the girls spoke anymore. Simply relying on hand signals, they remained dead quiet, performing their scouting and security mission to the best of their abilities.

Continuing their watch well into the night, the young women waited and waited and waited. Nothing moved except them and, even then, it was barely perceptible. Tensions remained high, considering it was stated that Tyumen would be trying some sort of attempted breakthrough any time, or some sort of sneak attack.

Distant artillery thundered as the battles between the Omsk Military and Tyumen's own continued, uninterrupted by the rest of the world. A small microcosm of the New Order…

Lydia perked up. A faint trace of movement appeared in the corner of her eye. She tapped Tina on the shoulder and pointed to where she'd seen the movement, swiveling her rifle right and toward it. A singular shadow crossed behind a dree, to which the sharpshooter immediately tensed. She breathed, trying to slow her heart rate as she zeroed in on the figure's position, waiting for it to cross the edge of the tree…

Then paused as she felt cold steel press against her head. A voice that sounded like it was filtered through a microphone spoke, "You Black League troops?" in clear-cut, well-accented Russian that sounded like an old Muscovite was speaking. She looked back, pausign as she saw a man clad in a highly-advanced, jet-black armor of some kind and armed with a weapon that looked like it was from the future.

She saw a similar gun pointed at Tina, who was already with her hands raised above her head. She then nodded at the soldier, stating, "There's a battalion of our troops waiting outside this forest for you Tyu-" only to freeze as she saw an eagle's emblem on the man's shoulder pad. She grit her teeth, but feeling anger bubbling up in her heart.

The man lowered his pistol and holstered it, then told her, "Good to know…" before balling his fist and showing his team to calm down. He knelt in front of her and said, "We're here to talk to your leadership with a message from our own. We don't intend any harm to the soldiers of Omsk or their civilians… Though that should really be clear by the fact we talked instead of shooting and that we got Tomsk to back down."

Lydia blinked, then stood to her feet, weapon still in hand. She looked around and saw that a dozen soldiers had surrounded her squad, each armed and geared the same as this man. He extended his hand and offered, "I'm Sergeant Lyons, United Nations Space Command… It's a really long story, but we need to talk to your leadership. They should know about us from the leaders of Tomsk."

… Right, Lydia thought, taking his hand slowly and shaking it. This was… Going to be interesting.