Common Ground

THE AIR skirmish has been going on for almost thirty minutes now, and things are starting to look grim for Talos squadron.

They went in, thinking they can pick off the French Mirages that were strafing frontier defenses on the border; they had not factored in that this was an obvious feint by the other side to draw out their air assets and neutralize them, thereby clearing a breakthrough path. This serious lapse in judgement will not go well with headquarters; but that is a problem for another day, and now isn't the best time to worry about it.

They were heavily outnumbered now, with three of their SU-27's getting shot down, two MiG-23's badly damaged and had to ditch, and the rest-- mostly MiG-29's-- have spent most of their R-27 and R-73 loadouts and are rapidly depleting their cannon rounds. Captain of Aviation Suslov surveyed the situation and cursed himself under his breath for his blunder. He forgot to factor in the bolstered American air presence in the area, a fact that is ripping his squadron apart now.

"Why did it have to be Ramstein?" Suslov said to himself, as two F-15C's swooped in for a weave that almost caught him unaware, forcing him to bank hard right and push for altitude. "To think they'd be able to deploy this fast to support the French on this push..." He was still muttering to himself when his radio went alive with an alarmed wingman coming on.

"Talos-1! Talos-1! This is Talos-5! I'm picking up more inbound bandits! I say again, more bandits inbound! They'll be he-" The report chopped off to an explosion before leaving nothing but static. "Talos-5?! Talos-5, respond! Respond, dammit!" Suslov almost banged his fist on the dash of his battered MiG, before regaining his composure enough to look over to his left. To his horror, he espied a group of British Tornados, swooping in from the west in what is starting to be a furball of very messy proportions.

"Not another bunch of those dogs," he whispered, as he went over his comm and switched to the squadron channel. "Talos-1 to all surviving aircraft, keep it together! Remember your training! Switch to two-steelwing teams and engage them one fighter at a time!" He accented that later part with a sudden dive to try and get a Mirage into his gunsight, missing wildly as the French pilot made a hard left.
"Talos-2, on me! We'll focus on the French!" A MiG-23 suddenly leveled its wing alongside, ready to spew hot lead on the enemy. In a flash the two managed to execute a scissors-like maneuever that caught the Mirage--a 2000, one of the newer ones--well within a double-wall of bullets. Moments later, their efforts were rewarded with one less Mirage in the air.

"We got him Talos-1! That should teach those dogs!" Talos-2 said over the comm, enthusiasm obvious in his voice. "A few more like that and this battle's good as won!" Suslov had to chuckle to that, a dead man's chuckle. The odds were certainly not in their favor; right after he scored another shared kill, two more MiG-23's came crashing down with no chute, and another Su-27 was now trailing smoke.

"At this rate, we'll just be delaying our deaths..." Suslov sighed, feeling an odd sort of calmness. "We can delay them at least, and when the poor bastards on the ground find our bodies we'd probably get medals." Resigned to his fate, Suslov was about to announce on the squadron radio that he'd treat the surviving pilots to some beer "if" they returned home, when his IFF transponder started beeping. "I don't remember asking headquarters for additional forces.."

Then he felt a chill down his spine when a female voice went on. "It seems you and your boys are taking your sweet time, Talos-1."

Just managing to avoid another Skyflash, Suslov leveled his wings and looked over to his right for a short while, before finally seeing the stuff of his nightmares.

A young witch with shoulder-length blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, flying an Su-27 striker unit, was now in view. Wearing a VDV beret and a black, unmarked flight jacket, she quickly dove into the action, helping a badly damaged MiG-29 shake off a Tornado before aiming her all-black finish AK-74 into the horizon, firing a couple of rounds and hitting a loitering EF-111.

"Comrade Major Ilyushinka! What are you doing here?!" Suslov said, flying alongside the witch after she handily evaded a Sidewinder--a Sidewinder!-- with what seemed like a pirouette maneuever. "This is a far too dangerous location to be in right now..." he added, nervousness evident in his voice.

Major of Aviation Olga Ilyushinka looked over her shoulder to Suslov, with an expression that looked playful but what Talos-1 knew from experience was the face of a seriously displeased senior officer. "We at headquarters had been wondering why you were taking so long shooting down a feW flimsy French steelwings," she started, and as she did so, she fired her 74 at another Mirage, promptly damaging it. "I went ahead and looked for you, and what do I find?" A few short bursts from her rifle scattered two Tornadoes tailing them.

"Comrade Major--"
"Stuff it up for your report, Talos-1," Ilyushinka quipped, cutting Suslov off. "For now, order your surviving pilots to withdraw. You're sticking with me until we could drive these fighters off." Suddenly she drew what appeared to be a shashka with her left hand. "Oh, and by the way, Talos-1," she added. "Please stick to call signs while on mission, alright?"

"I... Well... Er, understood, Aida-1," Suslov meekly responded, knowing full well that hell awaits him once he turns in his after-action report.

IN JUST the first five minutes after Ilyushinka entered the fray, things took a quick turn. She was handily dispatching enemy fighters, scoring at least three kills with her rifle and another two with her shashka. Once, an F-15C almost got the drop on her, coming in from behind her and rapidly firing its gun. Without warning, Olga cut off the power to her strikers, entered a slow turn up and left, neatly grazing the top of the American steelwing's canopy and, with a quick movement, shot through it three times with a magic-enhanced Makarov aiming straight for the avionics before "pinning the throttle" in time to see it crashing down.

Another instance, she had three oppossing steelwings on her tail, and another two swooping in from her eight o'clock. In a move that even Suslov described as "utter load of witch craziness", Ilyushinka was dodging rounds left and right, executing Pugachevs but not entirely cutting back enough to get behind the steelwings. In the middle of what appeared to be another cobra, Olga suddenly clawed for altitude, telling Talos-1 to "distract them for a bit", to which the confused Suslov quickly obliged. Moments later, Ilyushinka dove in, catching sight of an F-15C trailing her bewildered wingmate, and seconds later, slashed the steelwing crosswise with the shashka, and damaging a Tornado's fin with the shockwave.

The opposition, after recovering their wits from seeing a fighter sliced clean like steak, came in with guns blazing to bring down the two of them; some even managed to get missiles in the melee. While Suslov pinned the throttle and went for a low yo-yo to shake off the missiles, he watched in horror as Ilyushinka just hovered there, shashka poised in front of her like she was an honor guard in salute. Then a second chill ran down his spine when he realized what Aida-1 was about to do.

In a flash Olga rushed the oncoming missiles while neatly dodging the bullets, using miniature shields to graze those that came a little too close for comfort. Then, in a string of moves taken straight out of a ballet performance, she weaved through the Sidewinders and Skyflashes with some fancy spins, before abruptly breaking off into a wingover back to her wingmate. To add some flare to this sudden retreat, the missiles started dropping off in neatly-cut pieces before blowing up.

"Let's head back, Talos-1, I believe they got the message," Ilyushinka said to her wingmate, a bemused smile on her face. Sure enough, the remaining fighters were already bugging out, apparently not planning to add to the statistics of steelwing pilots humiliated by witches--or a witch--they outnumbered.

Suslov though, was pretty much quaking in his cockpit. He'd have to ready his recruit training uniform when he gets down on the ground, since that's where the Major will send him and his surviving pilots, like she did for the others before him.

"THE MAINTENANCE chief reports that it will at least take them five more days to refit Suslov's steelwings, Comrade Major," a rather steely-eyed starshina reported to a less-than-amused Ilyushinka. "On top of that, he lost a third of his pilots, and High Command can't afford to--"

"Lev," Olga started, taking off her shashka and beret and laying them on a rack. "I have less time to worry about the lack of replacement pilots and am far more concerned with the lot we have now." He gave the starshina a look over, stunning the junior a bit and forcing him to straighten up and look dead ahead.

"Er... Um... Yes, of course, Comrade Major." Lev, who by this time was trying to keep a straight face, almost recoiled when he heard the Major say in a smoother, more relaxed tone, "Now my dear Lev, if you could be a good boy and let me have some time alone?" Then she went over and straight up sat on her desk, loosening up her tunic. "That is, of course, if you don't want to join me--"

"By your leave, Comrade Major," Lev replied, clicking his heels, saluting, turning to walk briskly out of the room and locking the door behind him in one swift movement.

Olga chuckled at the gesture, satisfied that he managed to let off part of the tension she was feeling after the "little affair at the border" earlier. She glanced over to her saber and beret, whispering to herself, "Dear Brother, I wish I'd just joined you in the Airborne." She then made her way to her Bosendorfer, lifted the cover, and sat herself down. After taking a deep breath, she let her fingers rest on the white keys, and in a few moments the room was filled with the somber notes of first notes of Rachmaninoff's Isle of the Dead.

Not long after she started the second part of the piece, she suddenly spoke out, "You do know that it is rude to be listening to someone playing on the piano while hiding behind the curtain like some burglar, yes?"

And then she came out. A young witch, probably no more than 15, was holding her arms up in a mock surrender. She had her short auburn hair tied up in a ponytail, and was wearing a flight jacket loosely open to reveal an equally disheveled tunic underneath, as well as a pair of pretty short pants. Despite the unkempt look, her gray eyes were up and finely alert, like a bird of prey hiding behind snow-covered evergreens.

"As expected of the Kubinka Dandy," the younger witch said in jest. "Although I'd prefer you played Faure's Sicilienne. Rachmaninoff is just too wistful for my taste." She then made her way to a chair near Olga's desk and sat without a by-your-leave, raising her legs on top for good measure.

"And to whom do I owe the honor of a visit from the death-seeking Red Wolf of Seelow?" Olga was well within the last part of the piece, so she didn't even look when she said that. In her mind, however, she remembered the news about a young answered the witch who scored both an earful of acid and an Order of Glory from her superiors on her first-ever mission.

Junior Lieutenant of Aviation Tatyana Budanova, for her part, took it as a well-natured jab about her way of doing things, and simply replied, "I'd have you know, Major, that I've already forgotten about my death wishing. You on the other hand," she espied a picture frame on the desk displaying the rest of the officers of the 226th Mixed Aviation Regiment, which included an unsmiling Major Ilyushinka. "You need to see someone about your habit of picking on lower-ranked soldiers-- like what you did to poor Lev earlier."

Olga had at this time finished on the piano and was already turned to face the lieutenant and, seeing Tatyana's extremely relaxed appearance on her own desk of all places, shook her head in disbelief while responding,"That is a problem for another day, dear Lieutenant." She crossed her arms and switched to a more serious tone before continuing. "As to why you are here, in my office, without any advance message of any sort..."

"Ah, don't be worrying yourself about that Major," Budanova quipped, arms now crossed behind her head lazily. "I'm just a normal witch of the Union, enjoying a well-earned rest from all the fighting on the front." Her eyes started to wonder around the office. "You don't happen to have any Glenfiddich around here, do you? It's been that kind of day, really." She practically went to the nearby wetbar herself, casually opening it up and helping herself to whatever she could find.

"Junior Lieutenant Budanova, you do know that what you are doing will only add up to your list of misdemeanor reports, yes?" Olga was somewhere between disbelief, annoyance, and amusement as she watched the younger witch raiding her bar. "I do believe it is time to explain yourself, and--Hey! I was keeping that for dinner!" But it was too late; Tatyana had already wolfed down the club sandwich she had in her right hand, while making her way to a sofa in the corner of the office with her haul.

Taking a bite at an apple she snatched from the chiller and grabbing a book--Anna Karenina--Tatyana was lounging with such carefree abandon on the sofa, oblivious to the Major who was still gathering her wits about her. Out of the blue, and without looking up from the book she was engrossed in reading, Tatyana said, "What are you planning to do when all this is over, Major?"

"I... what.. Excuse me, Lieutenant?"

"Me, I'm going to get me a dacha somewhere in Peredelkino; you know, not too far from Moscow? Kudryavka isn't really too keen on city life, but at least the dachas there aren't too noisy. Besides, there's just enough space there for a growing Caucasian Shepherd like her." Tatyana took another munch on her apple before continuing. "Then I'll definitely sign up for the cosmonaut program. Kudryavka's coming along of course; she already hates that I left her behind right now."

"I honestly do not get what you are driving at, Lieutenant," was all Olga could muster after that.

"I just want this war to end, Major. that's all there is to it," Budanova replied, suddenly sounding serious, although she was still engrossed in the Tolstoy she had in her hand to even face Olga. "Seeing your friends dropping left and right like flies, coming home from a mission almost entirely alone... you know the feeling, yes? You were in Afghanistan, after all..."

"That's enough rambling, Junior Lieutenant." Ilyushinka was still as calm as ever, but the firmness in her voice meant business. "I still have no idea about this whole mess of you being in my office, but to satisfy your curiosity, yes, I fully know that feeling." Her mind's eye briefly drifted to the image of Bagram, of fallen friends in Arghandab, and finally, of her own brother on Hill 3234. That distracted her for but a moment before she resumed speaking. "I also plan to join the Bolshoi, just as I planned after Afghanistan. But that is beside the point. Right now, I can't let myself be distracted by such trivialties. If you let your emotions get the best of you, you will never be able to end any conflict. We have our orders, and it is by those orders that we can finish this war sooner."

"Oh, cut me the rousing speech, Dandy," came the surprisingly spirited response from an irate Tatyana. "You and I know full well that what you're saying is an utter load of bull. Hell you don't even believe a word you said right now!" She stood up, straight off dropped everything she had on the sofa, and continued, "This entire war with the West is utterly pointless, and you know it. There's only so much we can do in this conflict, and once we've expended everything, the enemies we've made will destroy us entirely."

Olga stood there for a full five seconds, seemingly unsure what to retort.

Then the gears in her head started rolling, and it all clicked together.

"I applaud your sincerity, dear Lieutenant," Olga began, her voice sounding alarmingly calm. "And I must say seeing your sheer disregard for authority in person was quite the experience." Then she put on a playful smile before adding, "From what I have seen in you, however, there is more to this than just some random ramblings."

Tatyana sighed, pocketed her hands and, looking away, muttered, "Seriously, that old geezer expects ME to get YOU in on all this? And then he still expects that I will be able to cooperate with you? Madness." She then turned to pick up her loot from the sofa, although she did return the Tolstoy on the shelf. "We know well enough that you hate this war as much as we do, and that you suspect that something else is going on." She then produced an empty overnight bag from her jacket pocket, stuffed her loot inside, and added, "I can't fully fill you in, but that over there would more than suffice." She then motioned to a plain envelope now resting neatly on Olga's desk. "As for me, I believe I should be off. This wasn't a wholly official break, anyway." With that, her boyish playfulness returned, and she clicked her heels and lazily saluted. "By your leave, Comrade Major." She let the last two words roll off her tongue, before turning around to leave, locking the door behind her as Lev had done earlier.

"Younger Leningrad witches and their lack of manners," Olga bemusedly quipped. Within a few seconds she was already opening the envelope and reading through most of its contents, making mental notes about what she was seeing.

She did recoil a bit, however, when she saw the name of the author.

"It seems that things are starting to get very interesting," she said, and in her mind she assured herself that maybe, just maybe, full colonels in the KGB were crazy after all.