The balloon goes up in the next installment. I was hoping to all of this finished by Imaginarium next week but it does not look like it.

I’m still feeling my way through the rescue event. It’s dark and confusing what they are showing me. I’ll get it sorted, eventually.

Enjoy my content? Buy me a beer!

Halfway up the long stairs leading up Parliament Hill, Hardt had concluded his presentation.  Both military men, neither was the least winded once to the top.  Parliament was brightly illuminated to their left but after another handshake, they went their separate ways.  While not sure where the legionary was staying, Konev angled south toward a series of rooms their embassy had reserved for his ten-man team.

Daring to the point of recklessness, he thought.  But then, after Hardt’s talk with the PM, he knew that family has been nothing but reckless.  His mother attacking a Chinese outpost.  His brother taking the Imperial Heirs on a trip to Mars.  Nuking that city… St. Louis. 

“And now,” he said softly to the two AM dark, waiting for the light to change, “I am supposed to hold the noses of the gulag guards while he and three others effect this mongrel girl’s release.  Reckless.”

Back to the building with their rented flats, Konev stepped out of the elevator and went straight to Captain Gogol’s room.  The door opened after only one knock.

“She told me an hour ago,” the intelligence officer said, waving him in.  They both understood who she was.  “This sounds insane.”

He doesn’t know who Hardt is.  And our PM has not allowed me to address that. 

“I agree,” Konev began, taking a chair around a circular table.  “But this is the same legionary who got my men off that overpass in Medicine Hat, then later showed up when returning the Canadian officer to her unit.”

“None of this shit would have happened if these stupid mongrels hadn’t sent a woman into a combat zone.” Gogol shook his head.  “Tomorrow night?  Twenty-two hundred?  I think that’s also a mistake.  We should go the following morning at oh-four-thirty; time of least resistance.”

“That has the target’s execution barely three hours later.  I objected, too, sir.  Hardt said that was cutting things too close.”

“Fucking Polar Alliance.” Another sigh.  “If nothing else, get some sleep and we’ll plan this out for most of the day tomorrow.  I’ll tell the diplomats we’ve orders from on high.  They’ll shut up and take it.”

“Yes, sir.” Konev stood.  “Good morning.  I’ll see you…”

“At seven.  We’ll get some breakfast then take a car to the embassy.  Like hell we’re talking about this out in the open.”

Like Hardt and I just did.  But then, we knew someone was preventing any eavesdropping.

Konev nodded and left.

It was just after noon the following day, at the Russian Embassy, just a couple of kilometers east of the Canadian seat of government, that Konev and Gogol reached a rough version of what was to be their plan.  It was then that both of their tablets chimed.

“Sergei; go into the park just next door.  Boris; stay where you are.  Get lunch or something.”

Not signed.  But they both understood their orders.

With a four meter masonry wall blocking the south, Konev had no choice but to go out the front door and turn left into Strathcona Park.  Not knowing where, exactly, he was to go, he ambled on.  In the midst of a heavily wooded path, he saw someone he was beginning to not appreciate.

“Mister Hardt,” he managed to be civil.

“Y’all got your side worked out?” A nod.  “Good.  To confirm what I said last night, my team will drop in via one of our scout ships.  My family, and yes, I know you know, will disable security and we will force physical entrance.”

“In my head,” he pointed at his head then dropped his hand, “this is less than ten minutes.  Any more has the jailers reacting and converging on us.  You, Sergei, have the luxury of declaring diplomatic immunity; I might get shot in the back.  Worse, so might my men.  I’ll go down before they do.”

He speaks of his men ahead of him and the girl they seek to extract.  Their family is very odd about loyalty.  Saints Peter and Paul, pray to God we never fight the imperials.

“We,” Konev said carefully, “have an incident planned which should keep all eyes on us, on and in at least the entryway if not a meeting room.  I am sure we can, ah, bellicose is not the right word, bluff by force our way there and make trouble.”

“Thank you,” the centurion who was more than he admitted said.  “And besides what mom owes Reina, I shall be in your debt, as well, Sergei.  Once all this is over, we must talk.”

“We are soldiers doing a job.  But…” Konev had to ask.  “Our PM.  She really is married?  Children?”

“Yes and yes.  No details from me as family is private.  Ask her, Sergei.  She’s actually very fond of them.” Another odd tilt of his head.  “Anything else?”

Konev shook his head.  Without another word, the legionary – Crown Prince – walked away.  Eight hours to go.