Getting back into the swing of things for this final section. As the events take place over only two days, I think it will be shorter; perhaps about 10,000 words. There may be an epilogue but I have not gotten that far.

Going back to Part One, Sergeant Major Sergei Konev of the Imperial Russia Army is back as our main character, but another shows up almost immediately. Like an invasive weed, Reina has to make an appearance, too.

More Monday. Try to have a good weekend, y’all.

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Just southeast of the Canadian Parliament Building, Sergei Konev sat on a stone bench, looking at their National War Memorial.  In civilian clothes to not cause a stir, he sipped at the water bottle he’d purchased on the way out of his hotel room.  A room where he’d just finished a remarkable conversation.

First relieved of command of my scout unit, briefly seconded to General Suvorov before coming under the personal control of the Prime Minister, even after nearly three months, this is still new to me.  I’m a soldier, not a diplomat.

But for whatever reason, Reina disagreed.

You will be a part of the delegation of ten to Ottawa to discuss at the very least an armistice if not Canadian capitulation, she had said from his tablet a week ago.  Captain Gogol will also be on the team but the other eight are diplomats flying in from home.  I… will appreciate you keeping an eye on everyone.

So I am to spy on my own countrymen now?  Is this more fallout from those Spetsnaz bastards?  He kept that thought to himself.

You also, she had gone on, may be called to act in accordance with your training.

Me?  Now he spoke back to her.  The fact she looked like a pleasant young woman was jarring to the actions she had taken over the years.  Take military action in the capital of a belligerent power?  That is reckless, Miss Prime Minister.

Are you unable to obey me?

Not wanting his family to disappear, Konev swallowed his pride and reservations and said he would do as ordered.

Which brings me here, to their capital.  Nothing formal and no recognition from the press or other government agencies, he and the other nine met at night with their Prime Minister, explaining Russia’s position and intentions:  to hold what they have and not take a step further east.  Unless provoked.

No one said anything about annexation or changes of sovereignty; why make trouble?  The Canadian PM, another mongrel socialist from the Trudeau family, listened with a vapid smile on his face before seeing us out.

Konev sighed.  “This is all so stupid.”

“Politics is, Sergei,” said the young man who just sat down next to his left.  Also in civilian clothes.

“Centu…” He stopped as a young couple crossed in front of them.  “Mister Hardt.  I’d say I’m surprised but that would be a lie.”

“You’ve changed not just your clothes since we last met, Sergei.” Bob Hardt inclined his head just a little.  “And forgive the familiarity.  We are probably being monitored.”

“Not at all, Mister Hardt.  One of the reasons I had my previous assignment was taking a Tier One in English.  While I find many of American – excuse me – imperial mannerism unduly familiar, I try to keep up.”

“And now you report personally to that woman,” Hardt continued, looking ahead at the Memorial.  “And in a diplomatic capacity.”

“It has been some months since we have seen one another, Mister Hardt,” Konev replied, his face a mask.  “You continue to be unreasonably well informed.”

“True,” is all the imperial would allow.  He also produced a water bottle and opened it, taking a long drink.  “If your boss could, she’d be raping my mind for what I’ve seen in the last few months.”

“The consolidation of our forces…?” Konev began.  Who is this young man?

“Mars.  The future.” Now he looked over and smiled.  “She’s furious with us, Sergei.  Expect to catch hell from her when you get back to your hotel room.”

“All of my interactions with you, Mister Hardt, barring that breakfast, have been to my consternation.  Did I use that word correctly?”

“Perfect.  Since I know why you’re here, can I preempt you about why I am?”

“The mongrel Canadian Army officer, I assume,” Konev replied.

That got him another look from the imperial.

“I don’t look it, but I’m a quarter Min Chinese, Sergei,” he said before another drink of water.  “I’m a mongrel, too.”

He cannot possibly mean…  Konev stilled his breathing and looked about at the others strolling or having a late lunch at this monument.  Is he part of that family?

“But, even to whomever might be monitoring us right now,” Hardt said with a smile, “yes.  That gal’s gonna be shot in two days as a traitor.  I will not allow that to happen.”

“You intend to provoke a war?”

“I intend to show these stupid socialists that to cross the imperium leads to one thing and one thing only:  smoking, irradiated craters,” he said with more heat than he wanted.

“You are in love with her?”

“No.  I am fond of her.  Is your English good enough to understand the difference?” A nod.  “Good.  But she is in love with me and for reasons I see in your eyes already, has my protection.  The locals consider her a spy, for both of our countries.”

He stood, tossing his plastic bottle into the litter bin to his left.

“Meet me on the riverwalk, just below north of their parliament building, at twenty-three-hundred.  Bring your tablet so your boss can run interference for us.” He paused before turning around.  “Polar Alliance.  I need your help.”

Konev stood with his hand out. “Understood.”