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Born and raised in Moscow, Viktor Tsarniv was never interested much in war.

The men in his family had fought in various wars at different times. From the Great Patriotic War all the way back to Ivan the Terrible's Crimean War, there had been documentation of his blood putting their lives on the line. And being born a boy, Viktor was held to the higher standard in hopes that he, too, would become a legend among his bloodline. Surviving the conflict didn't matter much; honor was all anyone in the family truly cared for. Indeed, for many Russians, to serve their country was the highest honor they could possibly receive. However, Viktor didn't feel the same.

He didn't particularly understand why they wanted to protect the Motherland so damn badly. Why they would selflessly throw down their lives for a cause that higher powers cared about. Sure, sometimes the people had an opinion but in his eyes, they were merely chess pieces to bored elites. Expendable lives that were used for petty elite drama or entertainment. If Viktor never met a man with that much power, he would be happy. Such views were controversial and for good reason, so Viktor kept his thoughts to himself. He didn't need his father to start prattling on about how he was a failure.

Viktor didn't excel at anything. He was simply average, downplaying his actual abilities to convince people in his family that even if he did become a soldier, he would be a terrible one. Faking it could only get him so far for so long, though, and his hidden talent was discovered when his father asked him to help with the car. He has quite an eye for machinery and even with his stoic nature, he can't hide that it's his secret passion. His father essentially lured him into the military by saying that he'll be able to get his hands on a lot more machinery if he joins. With no other plan and an unsettling political climate, Viktor decides to jump ahead of the government and enroll into the force before he's drafted into it.

Viktor only knows two things for certain: his father is a lying bastard and he hates following orders.

He finds out rather quickly that if he wants to get his calloused hands on some of the new tanks being produced, he's going to need to behave. A seemingly simple task, yet a daunting one for the young man. He dislikes all of his commanders. They all take themselves way too seriously, each one of them with a different stick up their ass. None of them have given him a reason to respect them other than waving their rank around. A badge--maybe a few badges--decides that he's now no better than the very dirt they walk on. Viktor resents them. He'd love to get an opportunity to give them a taste of their own medicine someday. But they're crafty and hold Viktor's want to work with the tanks against him, forcing him to obey.

Among the sea of assholes and power hungry men, there was one that Viktor noticed. Ivan Serosky was a commander lost in the sea of others. He had only spoken to Viktor once, but his tone and whole demeanor are entirely different. Ivan seems to treat him as an equal instead of garbage, reminding Viktor of a worthy tovarisch and not some elite dressed as the common soldier. Still, Viktor only saw him in passing. He highly doubted Ivan was much more than a slightly nicer version of all the others.

Fortunate enough to work with tanks, it gave him a pass not to be included in any of the neighboring conflicts, Viktor found work with the engineers. It was funny how he became less of an active soldier and more of an overseer as time went on. With his job shifting from menial tasks to something meaningful, he started to become less of a stubborn pain and more of a productive worker. He would suggest various changes to blueprints of tanks, help repair the ones they had purchased from other countries, and even help with the purchasing of said tanks. This pride and diligence caught the eye of Ivan. In the young commander's eyes, he saw that Viktor had potential.

Much to Viktor's surprise, he was offered by a few scientists and politicians to come along on a trip to the Urals, where a secret workshop existed for German and Russian engineers. Tanks were conceived and crafted there, and it was a place he'd always wanted to go but had no authority to. He wasn't enthusiastic to go with politicians but his interest in tanks overrode his contempt. Soon, he was met with the finest minds from both countries, eager to hear their ideas and work with the best. Lacking qualifications that would've made him a more valuable asset, he wasn't in the spotlight during discussions but when he did get a word or two in, he found that his ideas were praised and might potentially be utilized. For the first time in his military career, he was getting along and behaving with others. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad.

Ivan had been the one to recommend him to certain officers who were to go to the workshop. They had warned him of Viktor's attitude but Ivan shrugged them off and insisted that they take him with them. So, they did. Ivan himself didn't go, but he had someone keep an eye on Viktor and report on his behavior. Much to Ivan's delight and the surprise of other officers and commanders, Viktor was shining. He was a tovarisch among tovarischi, they said. Passionate about the craft and even about protecting their country. He treated everybody with respect and never once mouthed off. In the words of one commander, he was 'the perfect example'.

Whereas everything was turning up daises for Viktor in 1935, in 1936, all hell broke loose among the higher elites, particularly those who opposed Joseph Stalin. Something called the Great Purge started that year and when it started Viktor found himself surrounded by paranoia incarnate. It felt like egg shells replaced the floorboards. Those who had started to like Viktor suddenly shied away from him, every man he came across acting as if they could be plucked from their place at any moment in time. In the beginning, Viktor thought it was only political opponents who were in danger. Still wrong and corrupt, but as he was not interested in politics, Viktor didn't see why the military was so concerned. Stalin wasn't so stupid that he would condemn his own protection against other countries to its doom. Surely, he wouldn't destroy it from the inside out.

Then, Viktor woke up one day and found that his commanding officer was gone. He had been taken from his home and tossed into a Gulag. He hated the poor bastard, but didn't understand why he was chosen. When Viktor asked around he found nothing political about the man. He was only a commander in the Red Army doing his job to train the next generation of heroes.

The realization that soldiers were touchable made Viktor uncomfortable. Paranoia increased among his peers. Sometimes he was probed to discuss his political ideologies by people he assumed were Stalin's spies. He lied to them every single time and told them everything they wanted to hear. Anything that would get them off of his back. Viktor was able to continue working with tanks during this time, but men he'd worked with before would disappear without any notice. Sometimes they had been taken by Stalin and other times he'd heard they'd escaped with their families. Brilliant minds, whisked away to death or hiding. Even his own family was feeling the heat, several of his uncles moving away before their lives were stolen due to their differing ideals.

With the sudden opening of several positions, Viktor found himself with an unexpected promotion. Lack of experienced officers rocket-propelled him from a private to a sergeant and he found that his previous free time to tinker with tanks disappeared with his newfound duties. Despite no longer having the time to meddle with tank affairs, he was referenced quite a lot, particularly in the absence of previous experts. It was no surprise to him that he was approached by a senior officer and informed that his role in training soldiers was to be shifted to handling tanks entirely. Through this terrible year, it seemed there was a ray of sunshine after all.

The Moscow Trials haunted the back of many minds but no longer did it haunt Viktor's. As Russian and German relations crumbled from the Treaty of Rapallo, he was no longer able to visit the joint warehouse in the Urals and thus had to rely on what they had learned from those meetings. He tinkered with the tanks they'd bought and collected over the years and worked with what engineers he had left to create more tanks of their own design. New engineers with little knowledge of their craft started to flow in absence of the veterans. Each one infuriated Viktor with their ignorance, but each one earned a special place in his heart. Viktor was soon coined as a harsh but fair sergeant, one who treated privates with respect like none other.

Once his ever fluctuating team of engineers and mechanics got the hang of their profession, the more complicated tasks settled in the grooves. They soon surpassed Viktor's knowledge, and he learned with them as they did their jobs. He reported to his superiors that they were turning out to be fine Soviet tankmen. Yet, despite Viktor having spent almost all of his military career around tanks, he'd never been inside of one. He knew how to make a tank better for cold weather, how to add tracks that made it grip the ground and even how to keep it purring like a kitten, but never had he had the opportunity to put his knowledge to the test.

With the Great Purge still occurring, Viktor noticed that there was an increasing void of soldiers who had no idea what they were supposed to do. Not only was his production team feeling this, but the rest of the Red Army as a whole. They couldn't recruit and train soldiers fast enough, nor were there enough experienced soldiers to do it effectively. Soldiers who were considered 'combat ready' showed up looking like sorry bunches of men, clearly barely able to clean their rifle in ample time, much less be sent out on to a battlefield. Because of this growing need for soldiers who knew how to mentor privates, Viktor was once again given a change of direction: teach the next generation of tank operators.

This order was brought directly to him by Ivan Serosky, the man he'd met once before. Ivan briefly told him his new instructions before giving him a healthy pat on the back and wishing him good luck. It bothered Viktor that he no longer ran his team of engineers and designers. They were the small team of men working to improve their tanks. Without this, other countries would leap ahead of their technology and they would be outclassed. Combined with a lack of prepared soldiers, they would certainly be doomed. So, Viktor spent many long hours working both jobs: he would spend all day training his men, making sure they knew how to operate a tank as if they were born in one, and getting together with his small team of designers to ensure that they were slowly, but surely, advancing their technology.

For the first time ever, Viktor was starting to take the safety of his country seriously. He naturally fell into the nurturing position as if he was the father and his men were his children, his country his adopted child. The results of the 1937 election flew right over his head. To him, nothing mattered but the lives he'd been entrusted with and their growing army of tanks.

The Trial of Twenty-One wraps up the previous two Moscow Trials. Viktor heard about it in passing but ultimately ignored it, way too focused on his weakening military. None of his new soldiers are touched for political crimes--the legitimacy of those who were highly questionable at best--but Stalin was still not done. His paranoia knows no bounds. He'd probably send his own doctor away if he so much as looked at him wrong. Viktor kept his head down, immersed in his work. He made sure to stay in a fine middle: not lazy or under accomplished, but not so successful that he's noticed by Stalin. His plan was to keep out of the sights of those higher up. Whatever it is they're doing, he doesn't want to be apart of it.

Then one day, Ivan shows up at his doorstep. He brings news that, because of Stalin's continued purges, more positions have opened up. Viktor's experience is extremely valuable, and Ivan has come to offer him a promotion. Not like Viktor has much of a choice.

Unlike all the other times that Ivan and Viktor had met, this was not the last. In fact, it was the start of a very long lasting friendship between not only them, but another man as well. Ivan knew that Viktor had been in charge of training soldiers before switching to his work with tanks, and now being in charge of training soldiers in tanks, he wanted to make the man acquainted with another soldier with whom he would be working with in later missions. Another man who had been recently promoted that day, Viktor was introduced to a man named Leon Yaroslav, a polite blond hair, green eyed man with a piece of wheat sticking out from his teeth.

From that point onward, Viktor and Leo worked together with increasing frequency. Viktor found out that Leo had been born on a farm and raised by his father, his mother having passed away tragically after his birth. He also found out that Leo had a passion for guns and kept two twin revolvers at his hip at all times. The other lieutenant was the fastest draw Viktor had ever seen and he could strip a rifle down to nothing in record time. Leo was definitely a man who commanded respect, someone who was made to lead a force of men into battle.

Unfortunately, he also found out that Leo could be downright annoying at times. A different man entirely when he was off the clock, he was a ladies' man, eager to flirt with any woman who would entertain him. And who didn't love a handsome man in uniform? Nights when Leo would ask Viktor to come out with him for a drink, he could be found flirting with some women at the bar. And Viktor, as much as the behavior annoyed him, couldn't really do anything about it. Leo was a gentleman in every sense of the word. Respectfully flirtatious. At least if he'd stepped out of line he could've got on his ass, but Leo wasn't a barbarian. He would flirt as a hook, and if he got some back, would continue.

Sometimes this behavior sunk in on the clock, especially when there was a cute nurse around. Multiple times Viktor had to find Leo and fish him away from a playful nurse, often scolding both nurse and lieutenant.

Nevertheless, Leo never gave Viktor a deeper reason to hate him, and he was a damn good soldier. Their back and forth relationship would continue onward but would never falter when it mattered most.

Everybody holds their breath.

Nobody is safe.

And then the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact is signed, and everyone relaxes again. As if Stalin's bout of paranoia suddenly meant nothing, and as if Nazi Germany's new leader doesn't have his sights set on the massive expanse of land that is the Soviet Union.

Working with Ivan and Leo for over a year now, Viktor has come to find out that Ivan's father is Stalin's right hand man, which puts him in an extremely vulnerable position that he can't get out of. Ivan is a good person, this Viktor knows. He disagrees with Stalin's purges and thinks there is a much more efficient way to run a country. But being in such a position gives him a unique insight to information that other commanders may not have access to. As such, he's been effectively running the Red Army with the knowledge of Stalin's insanity, giving them an advantage where Viktor thought they had none. It's not magic, but it's certainly better to have been somewhat prepared for the outcome than not.

Ivan is a man who commands respect without demeaning those around him, and for that reason among others, Viktor is actually proud to serve under Ivan. As tensions between Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union seem to melt, they're replaced with tension from Poland and the Baltic States.

Viktor had never felt true pain until that moment in time. When Ivan told him that commanders had been sent to fight Poland. When he'd been invited to listen to the invasion live over radio. Viktor felt a sickness in his stomach that night as he listened, meanwhile others were celebrating. He couldn't stomach their lavish victory feast and he couldn't swallow his vodka. When nobody was in the room, he remained around the radio, listening to gunfire, even hearing some familiar voices. Voices of those he had personally trained. Tanks ran in the background. It was as if he'd never realized that the men he trained would use his same methods against other people. But it wasn't the concept of destructive war that bothered him.

It was the fact that it was against innocents.

The Polish had not done anything to deserve this onslaught from either side. They were not enemies, they merely existed. If anyone should've deserved an invasion, it was surely the monster that had became Nazi Germany. Their greedy claws dipped into every pot they could find, yet happened to sign a peace treaty with the Soviet Union. How long would that last? And what of the citizens? Did they want Poland to be invaded? What purpose did it serve to them? Knowing that he had became not only a pawn, but something more on a giant chessboard for the bored elites was repulsive.

But, both fortunately and unfortunately, that would soon change.

Various military leaders mucked about, cleaning up their mess from the Winter War with Finland and their unwarranted ambush into Poland, who is now split asunder. Propaganda of Poland crudely torn in two by a red, bloodstained sickle was common among those who didn't agree with the move. If Viktor could've freely expressed his disdain for the idea, he would have. But one misstep and his head would've been on a silver platter. Stalin had been good for nothing thus far except instilling fear into his own. Despite this, Viktor continues onward with the one thing he believes in: defending his country against Nazi Germany.

Sure, they'd been nice enough so far, but it was only a matter of time before they snapped, according to a few insiders. Even Ivan had heard that they were planning a secret assault on the Soviet Union. Something called Operation Barbarossa. Nobody who could influence Stalin worth a damn seemed to care about it, waving it off. Viktor didn't care about their meaningless opinions. He continued to work to churn out divisions of young men ready for combat, even if the going was slow. After all, at this point he was one of the few "senior" tank experts left--if you could even call someone who'd been working on something for only four years a senior.

Among the bullshit of everyday came a new face. Ivan introduced into their trio a young boy named Makar Smirnoff, a teenager who was drafted into the army. He expressed willingness and joy to being in the army, but Viktor couldn't help but feel bad for him. His eyes sparkled and his being was so full of optimism. After Viktor met him, he took Ivan and slipped into another room to ask his commander a few important questions.

Makar certainly was skilled at delivering messages. He was also learning to intercept and decode messages which made him an important asset to the team. Viktor had never bonded with someone so quickly the way that he did Makar. Always levelheaded around the boy and willing to answer his questions. Leo teased him about his paternal instincts coming out for the boy and Viktor simply retorted that he could shove it up his ass.

Makar's addition to their trio was not the only big change to occur. They had received news that Ivan's father had fallen ill, and due to his declining health, was resigning from his position. Ivan feared the worst: a power vacuum. Fortunately, when Ivan went to meet with his father and subsequently Stalin, he was met with the good news that there was already a replacement picked out for Stalin's righthand man.

Ivan.

He was promoted on the spot, receiving his father's old badge and Stalin's blessing. Ivan returned to his group a colonel, then passed out three new insignias.

And so, they are. Ivan, Viktor, Leo and Makar, now a well-known group at this point. With Viktor now uncomfortably close to Stalin and his paranoia driven whims, the previous weight on his shoulders seems like feathers in comparison. He can't make a mistake or else he'll be thrown to the wolves. Meanwhile, on the western front, things are brewing and nobody is listening to the obvious signs. Nazi Germany grows closer like a stalking cat, waiting to pounce on its prey, and all Viktor can do is prepare for the worst.

What good was having unfettered access to Stalin's right-hand man if not even he could persuade Stalin to listen to warnings aplenty?

Slaved over the radio, intercepting every letter that came his way, Makar had brought grave news that Nazi Germany was planning something disastrous. Worse than that, this wasn't the first time they had seen the words Operation Barbarossa. Ivan had both received word and seen for himself prophetic letters from the United States and England that warned of a nasty plot from Hitler. It was dubbed Operation Barbarossa, its plan to sweep across the steppes and right into Moscow. And yet, despite all the credibility in the world, Stalin wouldn't have a word of it and he wouldn't have his generals put stock into such blatant 'propaganda' from the West.

After that conversation, Viktor did not know peace. Days passed by with no rhyme or reason, and whatever the news said flew over his head like the birds in the sky. Each waking moment was a reminder of the unease and torment he lived in. So much so, that other comrades had noticed and tried to abstain the darkness away with no success. No woman could please him enough; no bottle of vodka could make him inebriated enough. Every day, through every meal, every shift, every piss, he endured another moment of anticipation. Another ticking second of wondering when it would all fall down. When the false sense of security they had built with the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact would fall down like the dominoes it had been signed on.

He wasn't patient and didn't like waiting. Not when he was waiting for the axe to fall on his neck. So he came to Ivan every day, always with the same question.

And every day, Ivan answered him in the same exhausted voice. A voice that didn't want to acknowledge Viktor's correct intuitions.

Other soldiers would have responded with something more positive. A jest or a scolding. How could Viktor be so negative in times like these, when positivity was as valuable as gold? It was his fault for not sleeping enough. Overworking himself. His problem for being too high strung and too worried. But not Ivan. Because he knew the atrocities that lay beyond their borders and he knew that it would only be a matter of time before they were defiled with that evil. Pounced on like a panther and ripped apart like prey.

The panther pounced.

Viktor, bleary eyes adjusting to the sunlight in his room that day as he prepared to step into his frigid room and resume the lie he lived, was jarred further awake by Makar bursting into his room. Horror in his eyes, wide and scared, Viktor knew before the boy could even deliver his message.

No sooner did he get his uniform on was he thrust into chaos. Split up to carry out preparations faster, the four men set off to wake up the nation with alarms of betrayal. Ivan with his top generals to decide their next move, Makar with other messengers to spread the word and Leo with his men left Viktor to tend to his battalion. His baby, the Snow Leopard Brigade, now had its time to shine.

He stood in front of his tank operators, both senior and fresh, and gave them a speech from his heart. From the very atoms that made up his body, the air that gave him life-- from his very soul did he deliver a speech to his men in which he spilled to them his truths, he beliefs, and most of all, the unyielding loyalty he held toward his comrades.

Yet, despite the fire that lashed from his tongue, despite the hope that he spewed to his fellow men, in the back of his mind, he knew that it didn't matter. Only a quarter of their tank force was operable. Of their 4 million strong army, they were *lucky* if a quarter of them were trained enough to be of use in combat. While information from Makar and The West suggested that their tanks were on par with what the Germans would be throwing at them, their aircraft was lackluster.

They simply were not prepared to fight back.