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The plane finally touched down in Moscow, the trio heading into the car surrounded by NKVD guards. They were swiftly taken to the Kremlin, heading up the steps to the Premier's office, waiting to be accepted inside, while hearing low muttering.

"Are you sure? Can you see it?"

The reply must have been afirmative, because a voice echoed out. "Then we have won, Comrade Marshall."

A phone reciever was replaced, and the three let inside.

"Premier, Edward Elric, Polkovnik Goncharov and Sniper Natalya Simonova are here."

The aging Soviet leader sat in an armchair, smoking his pipe.

"Mr. Elric, a pleasure to see you at last."

Edward ignored his churning gut and proceeded with all formality.

"And you, Premier Stalin."

"The Red flag flies over the Reichstag this evening, Edward; Marshall Zhukov just gave me the news."

"So congratulations are in order, Premier?" Goncharov questioned.

"Indeed they are, Polkovnik." Stalin walked over to a bottle of vodka, pouring four glasses, and handing one to the three guests. "Comrades, a toast... to the Red Army."

Ed shuddered as the drink slid its insiduous way down his gullet, and noticing that neither Goncharov nor Natalya even flinched.

Stalin walked back to his desk, putting the glass down calmly.

"Which brings me to my second order of business. Mr. Elric, from what we have learnt of the Thule Society's work, you are not from our planet." He turned around, inhaling from the pipe thoughtfully. "Now then... perhaps you would care to explain who you are and where you are from."

So it was that Edward found himself explaining his Amestrian heritage to the Premier of the Soviet Union.

**

She picked him up gingerly.

"Sir... we need to find out where the hell we are..." Something cold slid onto her fingers as she picked him up. A tear. She looked into his eyes, concerned.

"Are you ok?"

"I recognise them. They were part of a group who I got to know in the North... They all disappeared one night. They must have been taken by an alchemist and found here... to open the gate... I should have done something!"

She turned his head to face her.

"You couldn't have changed anything. You weren't to know."

He wiped his eyes, and looked down at one of the soldiers lying on the ground, a round lodged in his skull, noticing a leaf of paper in his pocket. He took it out, glancing at it, before replacing it, horror-sticken. He stared back at the revolver, pulling the hammer back once again.

"Time to find the bastard responsible."

She nodded, hoping he wouldn't take his lust for revenge too far.

A terrified deputy ran from his cover behind one of the over-turned tables, trying to reach one of the offices, but she wheeled round, firing a round into his knee-cap, before walking over to him and resting her foot on his chest as he wailed in agony.

"Tell me where the hell we are, or the next one's going in your head."

**

Hitler got up from behind the desk, the sound of firing having ceased.
"Sheise!" He turned to Eva, taking hold of her pill. "The Soviets are coming for us, Eva... They will do worse things than lynch us." He paled, thinking about the images of Mussolini's body swinging in the plaza. With a frantic burst of energy, he thrust the pill into her hand. "I'm saving us."

"Mein Fuhrer..." She replied and eyed the tablet, turning away from him while slowly trying to open the pill and pour away its' contents.

"Eva... I'm sorry." She looked up, to see him grabbing the pill and trying to force her to bite it.

"No! NO!" She screamed as he pushed it in, and pushed her lower jaw against it, before her pulse ceased and she slumped on the floor.

Hitler picked up the Luger on the table and lifted it to his head. No poison for him...

A shot outside startled him, as the body of an aide fell through the door, pushing it open.

One.

He gripped the Luger, pointing it at the door, while backing up against the wall.

"Stay back, Russian dogs!"

A man in a brilliant blue uniform stepped forward, a great-coat hanging loosely from his shoulders, black hair ruffled, with an eye patch that only enhanced the sensation that the other was burning with anger, determination and the need for revenge.

The Fuhrer stared at him.

He was no Russian...

"Shamballan! You have come! Groebel was right!" He bit his fist, mind rapidly turning over the possibilities... the chance to turn the tide...

He slammed his fist on the map in front of him, the red circles and arrows around Berlin driving ever closer to the centre.

"Shamballan, I order you to destroy the Russian horde!"

The eye continued to burn, and the man's hand gripped the revolver even tighter, before raising it to the Fuhrer's head.

"I killed a Fuhrer before... And I will do it again."

Hitler's eyes opened wide, the last gambit lost while Riza yelled out and reached for the revolver as the hammer slammed down and the old man was thrown against the wall, a gaping hole in his forehead.

Zero.