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The plane slowly left the ground, the engines roaring their agreement with this ascent. The Polkovnik laid back in his seat carefully, making sure not to damage the interior of the Grand Marshall of the Soviet Union's personal aircraft, looking sour.

"You don't seem too happy to be meeting your premier." Ed probed.

The Polkovnik looked at him grimly.

"I lost my parents in the purges. But of course I am elated to see our glorious Premier" He added, the sarcasm laced in his voice not lost on Ed.

"I'd advise you to keep your sarcasm under tighter control, sir. Moscow isn't the front-line." The Sniper reprimanded him from up ahead while the pilot was engaged with radio traffic.

"Just you wait... I'll make Premier soon enough."

The sniper simply rolled her eyes and looked out of the window, but Ed smiled.

Just like in Amestris.

**

The Baglaitkommando troops kept their weapons steadily aimed down the hall, doing their best to make sure the Senior Nazis were safe from this new threat. Two ran forward, gripping their StG-44s tightly, trying to flush out the pair. Were they partisans? Or Soviet spies? Neither was sure as they rounded the corner.

Hawkeye fired through the eye of the first, while Mustang blew the other's head off, the revolver's barking retort ensuring that he wouldn't get up again.

Five.

They both kept their weapons ready, waiting for anyone else to attempt entry to the corridor. Since the concrete blast-door had shut behind them, there was no longer any way out, so they held their corner.

"Granate!" One of the soldiers yelled as he threw in a stick-grenade. Mustang reached out and tossed it out by it's long handle, glad they weren't cooking the grenades for a few seconds more, and giving a grimly satisfied smile when a few men screamed out as they were caught in the blast.

"We need to move... if they bring anything heavier, we're screwed." He uttered to Riza.

"We're not exactly in the best place to do so, sir: how do you propose we get out of here?"

Mustang looked at the fallen soldiers. Their weapons had magazines of some sort... so maybe... He grabbed one and tossed it to Riza, who quickly unloaded and reloaded the magazine, checking the weapon's design.

"If you can cover me, I might be able to draw their fire and you can pick them off one by one."

She nodded, quickly realising that it was their only way forward: Mustang was generally an average shot anyway, and he certainly didn't have the accuracy to pick off that number of men. She weighed the magazine in her hand, guessing that it had maybe thirty rounds. She quickly grabbed the one from the other soldier's assault rifle, and stood by the corner.

"On the count of three..." She said to Mustang as he crouched next to her.

"Three." Mustang pounced, and she cursed under her breath while sprayed the room carefully, eyes opening wide as she saw a man with a gas-tank and hose fall under her shots. She yelled at Mustang to get down and threw herself back against the wall, the flame-thrower exploding and catching several of the soldiers in its' flames.

Mustang peered from behind the table he had found for cover, seeing only flames in front of him.

A few shots rang out as the remaining soldiers reacted to the explosion, firing wildly.

This would be a long fight.

**

Pyotr carefully picked his way through the rubble of Koenigsplatz. After all the deliberation, his company was going to attack the Reichstag after all, having been seconded to a different unit. He gripped the PPSh again, looking at his men.

"You all know what's over there, what our men inside are fighting and dying for. We're going to end the fascists today, men, here in the remains of their lair. Paint that fucking building red! Urrah!"

The answering yell told him all he needed to know about the morale of his men. He stood on the brow of the crater and led the charge of the second wave.

"ZA RODINU!" (For the motherland!)

The Katyushas gave an answering roar, and riddled the roof with a series of explosions, while the two T-34s flanking his infantry surged forward, firing into the remaining machine-gun emplacements. The men surged forward, passing the ruins of another building in the square, not seeing the few blue uniformed bodies whose jackets fluttered in the breeze.

They charged inside, cutting through the German defenders with rifles, sub-machine guns, and bare hands.