[u][b]Yastreby, Russia[/b][/u]

"It's Vyazma, right?" 

"No, no. Vyazma was taken over, we're Muscovite's now." 

"No, that's not right. It was those democratic folks in Smolensk, they freed us from that tyrant." 

"Are you sure? I thought it was the Tsar." 

"Yes, the Tsar in Moscow." 

"No, no. Not that pretender, I mean the real one, up in St Petersburg." 

"What, no, their borders are way too far... Right?" 

"I don't care... As far as I'm concerned, they're all Russian. Eventually one of them will kill the others, and Russia will finally fix itself." 

"So you don't care if we end up being stuck under another tyrant?" 

"At this point, I just want a reliable meal every day. I couldn't care less who provides it." 

"Ah, yeah... I can understand that. I miss those imported snacks from England... They were my favorites." 

"Does England still exist? I thought something like this happened over there, too." 

"I heard the Germans rule all of Western Europe now." 

"Oh, come now, that's ridiculous." 

"No, really. The Germans took over Europe, and the African's have united." 
"You need to lay off the alcohol, man. There's no way that's true." 

"Yeah, next thing you're going to tell us is that Siberia is Chinese, and that the Byzantines rule Greece again." 

"I mean, it could. For all we know, the world ended, you know what I'm saying? We don't even know what country we live in anymore. Who knows what's going on in the rest of the world." 

"Yeah... I suppose you've got me there." 

"… God, I miss those English snacks." 

 

[u][b]Moscow[/b][/u]

The Tsar sat in a dusty old office, her feet up on the desk, as she read through a stack of letters that had piled up over the last week. 

"Hmm... Smolensk is demanding we surrender, again. The St Petersburg front is requesting more men... Oh, what's this?" 

Sitting up, she read over the parcel in her hands once more and burst out laughing.  

"Oh, that's rich. That old crone wants to make a deal. How does he expect to pay for this venture of his? Muscovite money, or Ukrainian? Then he has the nerve to invite those bastards in Smolensk? Oh, that's rich. He expects us to make a truce so he can have a line to his sponsor. Fantastic!" 

Letter clutched in her hand, she stood, and walked out of the room, heading towards another office in the building, and opening the door. The man on the other side seemed startled by the sudden entry but straightened up upon seeing who it was. 
"Yes, my Tsar?" He asked. 

"Yulian, take a look at this, and tell me it's a joke." The Tsar said, passing the letter off. 

After reading it over, and then rereading it for clarity, he looked up at her, confused. "No, my Tsar. This looks to be official. Maybe even written by Yukarev himself. I..." 

"So, what do you think? Is he just getting senile, or is he really trying to scam us so he can get some oil?" 

"I... Sadly, think he's being quite serious. He invited Smolensk, as well. Does he have nog rasp of the political situation outside of his snow and trees?" Asked Yulian, incredulously.  

"That's what I thought, exactly. He might as well have invited the boy up North, honestly. My God..." Wiping a small tear from the corner of her eye, the Tsar let out a sigh. "Well, that said... I got a letter from the men on the northern border. They need more bodies if they want to make any progress. Can we spare anybody?" 

"I... No, I don't think we can, unless you want to pull some from the Nizhny front. We do have a truce with them, after all." Replied Yulian, looking a bit flustered by the tone change. 

"No, we shouldn't. We have a truce, not peace. If they see us pulling away, they'll strike. It seems that old man is the only one who doesn't want to sit in Moscow-" the Tsar said with a sudden stop, looking at Yulian, who had the same look in his eyes as she had in hers. "Yulian... Prepare to have our men on the Cold Front prepare to move to St. Petersburg. I'm going to write a response to Yukarev. These plans of his will take some time to even kick in. If we can make the old dog sit at our heels for a while, perhaps we can actually move on the St. Petersburg front. While we have Yukarev bending over for access through our territory and begging for our funds, the soldiers we take from his border will prove more than enough to reinforce St Petersburg. If we can take the Jewel while playing him a false hand, we will become the strongest players in this shattered country. Then, when St Petersburg falls, we can take him up on his offer. Our soldiers will walk to his office and greet him cordially. I doubt Anastasiya would mind much if we cut out the old dog and gave her a much bigger cut." 

"Wonderfully put, my Tsar. I'll relay the orders at once." Yulian said, rushing out of his office. 

Sitting down in Yulian's desk, the Tsar picked up a small picture frame with his family portrait in it. She specifically focused on teenage boy smiling awkwardly, and smirked.  

"Looks like the game is finally beginning. All I have to do now is crush the boy-king, and all the other pieces will fall into place. Once we establish an alliance with Ukraine, Smolensk, too, will fall. After that, it's a straight shot East- No more need to watch our backs.  

 

With a smile, the Tsar looked out a nearby window, facing the North, and threw Yukarev's letter in a garbage can.  

"Rossiya prinadlezhit mne, poetomu ya voz'mu yeye. Vse, kto protiv menya, upadut."