If there was one thing Johann hated above all else, it was bureaucracy, which wasn't a good thing since Germany (and thus the Bundeswehr) was a part of the European Union, and thus had a lot of it. So, when he applied for a reassignment from his advisory role aboard the Bunker Hill, hopefully back to Kormoran or even the hinterlands, he had to sign two waivers, fill out four different papers from four different agencies, only one of which was German, and wait two to four weeks for a response, which wasn't even going be in the positive in all odds.

As he hit Send on the email to EU Unified Combat Command, he put away his PDA and sighed loudly, putting his hand on his head, then get up and left his quarters to try to distract himself in the ship's rec room.

Plink!

His shot was perfectly lined up, the little red and yellow balls potting with ease. Johann took a step back and examined his cue while the master-at-arms lined up. The guardsman pulled back the long stick, but then the radio on his belt bleeped.

"What is it?" he asked. A muffled voice rang back. He nodded, then turned the radio off and forfeited the game, quickly donning his armor vest as he left the room. Curious, Johann waited a few seconds, then started following him. If there was a developing situation aboard the ship, then as liaison to both the EU and Germany, he had a right to know. The Walther at his side felt a lot heavier now.

As it turned out, tailing the master-at-arms was easy. Johann followed a ways behind him, moving casually but with a slightly longer stride than usual to keep up with the hurrying Marine. Then, he turned a corner and disappeared. Johann turned that same corner, finding himself within the main cargo bay of the ship. Everything seemed to be quiet, except one of the massive cargo umbilicals was in motion, connecting to an outside vessel. The whole carrier shook for a split second as it made contact, and a rush of air nearly knocked Johann's cap off as the pressure equalized.

The airlock opened and a small detachment of guardsmen exited from the other craft to greet the Captain. Johann waited to see what was happening, but all seemed normal. Supposedly, this was standard procedure within the American Merchant Fleet and USSAC. He was satisfied with what he saw and he turned back as they began loading small crates onto the ship--wait a minute.

The umbilical's display said that this was a supply ship. Why were they putting anything on it? Johann looked a little closer. They were using CAST-standard military crates, and one was slightly ajar as it was loaded on. Just barely visible was the dark, shining veneer of a Poslushi mask.

If this was bound for anywhere in the EU, then as the only representative of the group aboard, he would've certainly heard about it. Instead, a creeping, sick feeling began to come over him, that perhaps the States wasn't being exclusively benevolent in its assistance to Kormoran. Quickly, he pulled out his PDA and covertly snapped a few photos of the mask as it disappeared into the airlock. Then, he quickly uploaded them to the Bundeswehr's anonymous tip service, which came preinstalled on his device.

Less than five minutes later, he learned that it wasn't anonymous at all, as someone emailed him back.

"Congratulations, Captain!

Your request for transfer has been approved! You are to report to the EU field office on Planet R-30-2098 ("Novoarkhangelsk") for assignment at the earliest convenience. A shuttle is en-route to the USS Bunker Hill to collect you. Be sure to bring all your things.

Best of luck to you,

Anton Schild, Army Command."

This was weird on several levels. The first was that transference messages were cold and impersonal as a rule. This was far too friendly to be just a notice of reassignment. Secondly, Johann had never seen an email from the military that was signed, personally, by a member of the German high command, much less the Heer's Deputy Inspector. That, and the quickness of the response, suggested that they meant a little bit more than just his things when they suggested that he pack. Still, he returned to his quarters to do so, stuffing a small suitcase with his clothes, PDA, and other possessions.

Johann pulled his suitcase along through the cargo bay, humming an old folk song from Lower Saxony, where his High German mother met his Dutch father while running away from her parents in Hamburg. He couldn't bridle his thoughts as he proceeded.

China pulled out of the Coalition in the name of peace and mutual discourse, but seeing as the People's Liberation Army started doing exercises on the Poslushi border the second they did so, it didn't seem likely that they were being sincere. Honestly, Johann couldn't really blame them; they had been bound into CAST via the Treaty of Seattle, which ended the Third World War, and never really adjusted to an existence that they called "wholly under the thumb of Western neoliberalism." In all probability, they had wanted to leave for a while, and were waiting until CAST didn't have the resources to stop them. Not only that, but now they could negotiate a peace with the Poslushi on their own terms, not having to worry about how High Command would divide up the territory after the war-

Wumpf. Johann smacked straight into a passing soldier, spilling the contents of his suitcase all over the ground.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

"Watch where you're going, deutschbag!" the guard barked as Johann scrambled to pick up his things.

"Sorry, sir!" Johann squeaked, zipping up his bag and continuing on his way. The man didn't notice that the manila folder he was carrying had gotten a few grams lighter, nor did he see that the science officer's unredacted report on the effects of Poslushi neuroforming on returned Kormoran civilians was now safely nestled within Johann's bundled-up spare undershirt. It was the best he could do; they would've certainly noticed the weight difference while carrying the boxes in if he had snuck a mask.

Acting as casual as he could while carrying documents that could get him shot, Johann continued towards the shuttle bay, where a space shuttle bearing the French flag sat pre-fueled and waiting for him. No one was the wiser as he quietly got on and the craft launched for the passenger cruiser Alsace-Moselle, on the last leg of the Volgo-Novoarkhangelsk Line.

---

Svetlana looked up from her self-pity when she heard a noise. Someone was talking to the guard at the jail's front. An ID swiped, a scanner beeped, and the guard said, "Go right ahead, sir."

Then, the opaque glass hemming her in turned transparent, and Admiral Georgy Kuznetsov entered the room.

"Uncle?" Svetlana asked.

"Hey, Svetka. I heard what happened and came as quick as I could. Supposedly, you've gotten yourself in quite the spot of trouble."

"Before you even ask, no, I didn't do what they say I did."

"Ah, Svetka, you really haven't changed since I caught you with your hand in your aunt's cookie jar... twenty-three years ago? Twenty-four? The problem with what you're saying is that there's two people in the universe, save for the General Staff, that know the master security code to Khrushchev Base, and the other one wasn't on-site when the raid happened."

"And I'm telling you that I didn't do it."

"You know, I was like you once. Young, impressionable, those were good days. When we made contact with our first alien species, I wanted so badly to believe that we could live together as allies and comrades. It almost led me to the path that you have fallen down. But then, I realized that they hadn't traveled for thousands of lightyears, their engines spitting nuclear pollution and their guns blasting aside all that stood between them and Earth, to sing Kumbaya with the world. So I repulsed them, and the wrecks still float through space as a reminder of why you do not fight a space war in Russia.

"Think about it, Svetka. The Poslushi are just the same, another species with minds built on psychological concepts wholly alien to our own, out to shove us onto reservations or work us in camps or finish what the Nazis started. So, when they told you that there could be peace, that there could be diplomacy, no matter how convincing, how seductive their words may have been, they were lying to you. I don't blame you for falling under their spell; I almost did the same when I was in your shoes. However, the rest of Russia does."

"What does that mean?"

"In a few days, you'll be extradited to Moscow to face charges. When you do so, you must confess. It's the only way that you can reduce the sentence enough to allow me to help you with the sentencing. A confession, and a guilty plea, will let me keep you from being stuck in Siberia for the rest of your life. If you don't, Svetka, I can't protect you from what the courts will do. You could die."

"What, and you'll bribe the judges to get me out of trouble?"

"What other choice do I have? Svetka, you must understand. Our family's military history is more important to me than you'll ever know. Your mother met your father while on duty in Chechnya. Both gave their lives fighting creatures just like these. My wife--" then, Georgy's voice cracked and he bowed his head, obviously trying to hold back tears.

"My wife was taken from me because I hesitated in giving an attack order. Svetka, you're the only family I have left, and I won't let some filthy, malevolent, pillaging ants take you too!" suddenly, he was yelling at the top of his lungs, and Svetlana was crying again, suddenly made fully aware of the precarious situation she was really in. If they found her guilty, it wasn't a question of if they would execute her. It was a question of when and how. She was a traitor, a sympathizer, and soon to be a dead woman.

"Okay. I'll do it. I'll say it." she whimpered.

Then, someone outside clicked their boot loudly.

Both of them looked up to see a young man in a light gray uniform, the insignia of the German military on his breast. The door opened and he walked in, closing it behind him.

"What do you want?" Georgy asked. The man whispered into a translator.

"Unified Combat Command sent me. They've heard about what happened and they want to say something.""Well then, spill it!"

"Approximately twenty minutes prior to the raid on the Brezhnev Dam, an intrusion was detected by the field office upon the military frequency utilized by Russian early-warning systems in the sector. Now, this would be heavily worrying in and of itself, and there still is no doubt regarding Lieutenant-Colonel Kuznetsova's culpability--" he fetched a small roll of papers from his pocket and handed them to Georgy. They were written in English.

"We think that we know precisely why she did what she did."

Georgy muttered something to himself, fetching a cellphone out of his pocket and holding its camera up to the papers. The words automatically translated and he began to read.

"'A study into the effects of Poslushi neural affectors upon returned captives aboard the USS Bunker Hill..." he mumbled the rest of the words, his eyes going a little wider with each sentence. Then, he dropped down the document.

"So you're saying..." his mouth hung agape. The German nodded, a somber look in his eyes.

"Oh." he took a second to collect himself. "My apologies for not believing you, Svetka. And also, my preemptive apologies to the Poslushi; they clearly didn't know precisely who they were dealing with. Let's just say that they picked the wrong oligarch's niece to hijack. If you need me, I'll be on the phone with the President." he stood and hurried out of the room, leaving Svetlana and the German staring at each other.

"So, you're from the Bundeswehr?" she asked, speaking the language with fluency and trying to distract herself from the whole fiasco. The German raised his eyebrows, mildly surprised. "Yes, indeed I am."

"Studied German for a few years. It's not my favorite, to be honest." she said half-jokingly. The German bowed his head, trying to conceal a smile.

"My American compatriots have informed me of such as well." they shared a laugh over the matter. Then, Svetlana remembered to ask the most important question.

"What's your name?"

"Captain Johann Hess, German Army. I was informed of your identity when I was sent here."

"So, how do you feel about all... this?" she gestured to the cell walls.

"If I were in charge, knowing what I know now, I would have had you released by now." then, a guard showed up at the door and opened it. "It appears that my time here is up." Johann said, holding out his hand. Svetlana hesitated for a moment, then shook it firmly. "I hope we meet again." she said. Johann left the cell, and as the door closed, he said, "As do I."

Two hours later, the documents had been transmitted to the Politburo. As dawn came over Moscow eight hours after that, President Leonov read them, digested their facts, and signed an executive order. Thus, in the middle of the night, Lieutenant-Colonel Kuznetsova was grabbed from her cell and practically thrown out onto the freezing streets, free once again.