1944

London

The old prison roared with the shouting and rattling and banging of whatever it occupants could get their hands on. It was a special day, in a way most grisly and morbid, for one of them, an American enlisted man was to hang by the neck until dead for the charge of murder.

Orlando sat in the Governor's office, waiting for him to finish mulling over the orders Orlando had brought with him. The governor looked up, displeased from what he'd just read.

"Any problem, Colonel?" asked Orlando, relaxed in an armchair.

"I don't suppose I can ask how and for what did the British arrange the release of an American soldier from this prison?"

"Unfortunately you can't."

"Very well." Said the colonel, disgruntled at his inability to control anything in the situation, "Take him away from here."

Orlando approached the cell's door, through the bars looking at the occupant nursing rat in his hands as he sat on the edge of his bed, barefooted and in just his khakis and an olive green undershirt. His age was not easily detectable, markedly older than most enlisted men, though could have been anywhere from his late twentes to his forties, he was pale, and had a week's worth of stubble and short black hair.

"Come to attention." said Orlando.

The soldier tossed the rat and it scurried out of the cell and between Orlando's polished boots. The soldier stood up, and offered a less than enthusiastic salute.

"Well, at ease, Sergeant." said Orlando, the soldier did not change his pose, which was at ease to begin with.

"It's Lieutenant, actually." Said the man inside the cell with an accent indicating that he'd spent considerable time in New York City, though was likely not a native.

"Not anymore you're not."

"I got busted down?"

"You knocked out an MP, broke a Captain's wrist and threatened to attack Field Marshall Lord Flashheart."

"Well I'm sorry about the MP, but the others deserved it, they were Airforce."

"I'm with the Airforce."

"I'm so sorry."

"If you were any other yank foot soldier, you'd have been court martial by now. But you're not, and that's why I'm here. I'm Captain Vito Orlando of her Majesty's Airforce, currently working with the Special Operations Executive. I'm to undertake a mission very soon, and you've been volunteered by Colonel Nash."

"Swell. Let's go."

"What, that's it? Don't you want to know what it is?"

"Do you want to tell me?"

"Not right now, no."

"There you go, then."

"There you go, then, Captain."

"There you go, then, Captain."

"Alright, the charges against you are hereby waved. Get ready, Sergeant Priest, you are to come with me immediately."

The four waited in the conference room at Hyde Park barracks, they'd been waiting for the man who'd called them there for the better part of thirty minutes. Orlando stood by the window, smoking a pipe and looking as life during wartimes continued outside. Priest sat slumped into an armchair, now cleaned up for the occasion, shifting endlessly, while the remaining two, a man and a woman sat whispering to each other in a foreign tongue, and worn formal foreign military regalia.

The door opened and a distinguished man of fifty walked in, wearing a naval uniform. All four stood up or straightened and saluted him.

"As you were." Said the commander. Orlando put out his pipe and remained standing, while Priest leaned sideways against a wall.

"Let's try to keep this brief, as I'm sure you'd like the rest of the day to yourselves before getting back to duty. I'm Commander Miles Masservy, Royal Navy. Each of you has been volunteered by your own superiors for this mission, each of you have your own considerable prowess that'll prove useful. In case you were too shy to get acquainted, I'll go around.

"By the window is Captain Lord Vito Orlando, RAF. Then we have Sergeant Jude Priest of the United States Rangers. And lastly, Lieutenant Vasili Zsitsev and Junior Sergeant Irina Zsitsev, Soviet Army."

Orlando could not help but raise his eyebrows as he learned of the identity of the last two, not only due to the oddity of whatever they were brother and sister or husband and wife when it comes to the kind of work they were undertaking, but the Lieutenant's name as well. Vasili Zsitsev was a hero of the Soviet Union, hailed as one of the best sharpshooters the war, or any war, has seen, his renown had even reached their western allies. Orlando gave Priest a brief look, to be returned by a brief glance that indicated that he shared his thoughts.

"You've all been volunteered by your respective superiors for this mission. And for good reason, as the success of this mission will prevent major setbacks inflicted by the Third Reich on all of our respective nations…"

"I know dark clouds will hover o'er me, I know my pathway is rough and steep… "

Priest sang to himself as he walked the dimly lit corridor of his hotel floor. He reached him room and unlocked it.

"But golden fields lie before me, where weary eyes will never weep…. Colonel Nash, fancy seeing you here."

Colonel George Nash, a high ranking official of a little known American government agency known as the DRI, sat in an armchair by the bed. Priest had first met him less than two years ago when he' kidnapped him as he left a Brooklyn bar and press-ganged him into working for the government, their relationship was an exercise in egoism, though considering its origin and what Priest was, it was relatively amiable.

"Sergeant. How did the debriefing go?"

"You already know how it went. Thanks for waiting until you had another suicide mission to hand me before you got me out of the brig you bastard."

"Priest. Oh, dumb, simple Priest. You threatened to kill the man in charge of the British Air Force, you're lucky everyone else present was too drunk to notice. Remind me again, why did you threatened to murder Lord Flashheart?"

"I spent a good deal of effort and charm trying to get this girl called Janet, the Viscountess of…. Somewhere or another to come back here with me and then I turned my back for one second and Flashheart has got her in his lap."

"Right."

"And with the mission tomorrow, I guess I have something like two hours to find a girl who's willing to contribute herself to the war effort, so if you'll excuse me, I need to get into my snazzier uniform."

"That can wait; tell me how the debriefing went?"

"We're being sent to track down and retrieve a Polish prisoner called Max Eisenhardt. He's seventeen years old and he used to be in the camps. God knows why he's so important, but all kinds of German scientists and SS officials are interested in him."

"He's possibly involved in a massively-destructive-weapons program."

"That so? When I was seventeen, the only thing I was involved in was highway robbery and lighting sheep on fire for kicks."

"I said he's involved. We don't know in what role. Tell me about the others."

"A RAFF Captain Orlando is in charge, and two Reds; Vasili Zsitsev, that sharpshooter that got Eric Koenig, and Irina Zsitsev, who has the best ass I've seen in ages but otherwise I don't know what use she's going to be. Apparently she speaks fluent German and French, but so do I, and so does Orlando, probably."

"She's Zsitsev's wife. He wouldn't go without her."

"And they indulged him?"

"Apparently they'd fought side by side since the Nazis invaded Russia. She's a trained radio operator and code breaker, so she's not completely useless."

"What about Orlando."

"Orlando's one of the Brits' best pilots. He's already earned the Legion of merit and the distinguished flying cross. He's a bonafide English lord, mostly lived in Orlando Hall in Gloucestershire, and he's over three thousand years old."

"Say more things."

"He was born in Thebes in 1260 BC, and he's fought in every major war or battle you can think of, and a bunch of others you've never heard of. Troy, Marathon, the third Crusade all the way up until the great war. Rumor has it he used to be part of an unofficial secret operations group for British Intelligence. He's unparalleled with a sword and is pretty competent with a gun. That's two things he's got you beat on."

"Amazing. Last month, I punched an Italian's head off his shoulders."

"You're not supposed to know any of what I told you, so keep it all close to the chest."

"Sure. Where does this intelligence is coming from anyway?"

"The Russians uncovered a mole in KGB, he gave up a lot of information so that he'd get life in prison. They couldn't pusue it themselves, so this is the part we all stand united against the venal German hordes."

Nash stood up.

"I'm leaving back to the states, so good luck. You might want to stop at the party at Blackadder Hall. See, Lady Jacqueline will be there, and she just… She really likes Sergeants."

"Thanks, Colonel."

"And then there's the thing I came here to tell you. See, the Russians are our friends and allies. God bless 'em, they're the hardiest fighters out there at the moment, no matter what the Germans did to them, they just keep coming at them. They'll be a big part of winning the war… And that'll be as far as our friendship goes.

"Once the war's over, we're likely be at war with the reds, one way or another, and we need to be ready for that even as we fight side by side. Savvy?"

"Yeah, I follow."

"So if it comes to it. The kid, Eisenhardt, whoever, whatever he is, he comes over to us, or no one at all. If it comes to it, you take out the Russians, and if that can't be done, you take the kid out."

"And Orlando?"

"He's fighting for the King, but he might have outdated ideas about what an alliance really is. Hopefully it won't come to it, but if it does… Well, you're a bit an authority on killing, aren't you? Goodnight, Sergeant."