-December 12, 1941 ~ Stalingrad, Russia-
A woman's screams echoed throughout the small shack. An angry roar followed, and the sickening sound of an axe slicing through gristle was the last of the commotion. A bloodied, hat-wearing Russian stepped out of the shack and threw the axe on the ground. He muttered, "She was bitch." Nikolai Belinski, a quiet yet violent Bolshevist. He kicked snow over the axe, and yawned. He began to walk towards the center of Stalingrad.
Josef Stalin rose behind his desk. "I hear, comrades. Nikolai Belinski must be brought to me. Do so quickly, comrades, or you will face execution in the name of the Motherland." The elite soldiers nodded and said, "Da, Stalin." The two soldiers marched out of the room, Mosin-Nagant rifles in hand. Stalin sighed, and waited patiently, sitting back down. He picked up his vodka bottle and took a long swig. He slammed it back on the desk with a content sigh. Vodka always made him happy.
Nikolai was escorted in by the rifle-wielding soldiers, and Stalin watched the Cossack sit. "I call you here for a reason, comrade. Fascist Germans have been nearing Stalingrad by the hour. I want you to be on those front lines. I believe that is clear, comrade?" Nikolai nodded, and said, "Da, I do." Stalin sighed grimly, and said, "You should. Now, my soldiers will escort you outside Stalingrad, they will arm you with a PPSh-41 and a scoped Mosin-Nagant." Nikolai felt himself picked up by the arms, and dragged out. He was tired.
-December 19, 1943 ~ ????, Russia-
Nikolai took a swig of vodka. The fascists hadn't been in sight for days. He set down his vodka and reloaded his weaponry. He watched Petrenko and Reznov converse nearby. He had a feeling they had much more to go through than he, Nikolai Belinski, did. He looked over at the pair, and Reznov caught his gaze. Reznov said, "Come, comrade, I have some news to share." Nikolai stood, and walked over to the sergeant. "Da?" Reznov murmured grimly, "Massing fascist forces have been appearing nearby. Among them is a feared German scientist. I want you, da, you, to sneak into their camp and kill the scientist. Am I clear, comrade?"
-December 20, 1943 ~ 1630, German Camp-
Nikolai slipped in quietly, Tokarev pistol in hand. He screwed on the silencer, and jammed the pistol back in his pocket. He quickly moved behind a building when he heard footsteps. He heard two soldiers conversing. "Die Russen werden leicht fallen." The other soldier nodded, and said, "In der Tat, wenn auch ich nicht vertrauen kann Richtofen. Er macht mich nervös." The other soldier laughed, and replied, "Mach dir keine Sorgen, er ist nur ein bisschen verrückt." Nikolai waited for the soldier's footsteps to fade, and he went back out into the open. From what he had gathered, he was hunting someone named Richtofen. He murmured quietly, "This will be bitch." He slipped into a tent noiselessly.
He saw a German hat sitting atop a sleeping form. He assumed it was Richtofen. Nikolai noticed he was thirsty. Damn, he needed vodka. He drew the small flask of vodka from his pocket, and threw back the contents into his mouth. As he swallowed and sighed contently, he didn't hear the movement behind him. Nikolai felt a sharp pain reverberate throughout his back as a needle was driven in. He suddenly felt a burning need for vodka, and as he fell to the floor, the fascist standing over him laughed maniacally. "You weren't so subtle, Russian. I am Edward Richtofen. Pleased to meet you...Belinshki."