Let's get ready to Rumble
Posted on Wed Mar 4th, 2026 @ 1:29pm by Major General Richard Lockhart (Raynor) & Colonel (полко́вник) Irina Zaitseva
Mission:
Echoes of the Fallen
Location: Major General Lockhart's Office
Timeline: currentish
3009 words - 6 OF Standard Post Measure
Colonel Irina Zaitseva left the meeting without ceremony.
The corridor outside was utilitarian and new—reinforced concrete walls still pale, seams sharp, conduit and ventilation ducts running in disciplined lines overhead. The air was cool, filtered, and faintly metallic on the nose. The sound of boots echoed, and somewhere deeper in the base, machinery thrummed like a distant heartbeat.
From a doorway along the corridor, Major Mila Sorokova pushed off the frame and fell into step beside Zaitseva, matching pace without being invited. “You look like you just drank some very bad vodka,” Sorokova said quietly. “Did it go that poorly?”
Zaitseva did not look at her. “It went clearly,” she replied.
Sorokova's mouth tightened faintly. “Clear is rarely good news when only one delegation leaves the room…So, Colonel, are we sitting at the table, or standing against the wall?”
Zaitseva stopped. Volkova halted a fraction of a second later and watched as her superior turned, her expression smooth, eyes glacial.
“Major,” she said evenly, “you are asking questions that presume you are part of this decision loop.”
Sorokova stiffened.
“You are not,” Zaitseva continued. "You are field grade. Your responsibility ends at observation, execution, and factual reporting.
That is the entirety of your lane. Stay in it, Major...and if you find that you are unsure where you might be, assume you have already stepped outside of it.” She replied coldly in rapid fire Russian. “If I require strategic speculation,” Zaitseva added, “I will ask for it.”
Sorokova held her gaze, jaw tight, then nodded once. “Understood, Colonel.”
Zaitseva turned away and resumed walking, her destination: A stenciled placard marked the door at the end: TEMPORARY OFFICE – R. DELEGATION LEAD. She stopped, keyed the lock, and stepped inside without another word. The door sealed behind her, leaving Sorokova alone in the corridor.
Once out of sight of any eyes, she started pacing in the confined space, a habit Irina utilized when consideration was needed before further action. She was already composing an email in her mind to be sent to her superiors when her office door was unceremoniously opened without the courtesy of a knock.
Two base security personnel stepped inside, boots crossing the threshold with procedural certainty. “Colonel Zaitseva,” one said neutrally, “you are required to come with us.”
Zaitseva’s forward momentum paused as she turned to face the uninvited ‘guests’ more fully. “On whose authority?” she asked.
“Command,” the guard replied. “Immediately.”
“Very well,” she said, the very vision of composed neutrality, and was summarily ‘escorted’ to the base commander’s office.
General Lockhart was already standing when they brought her in.
His office was functional in the way only senior command spaces ever were; clean lines, muted lighting, a single broad desk positioned to command the room without feeling theatrical. A flag stood to one side, a monitor display cycling quietly through system diagnostics on the other. The door shut behind Zaitseva with a firm, deliberate seal, and the two security personnel stepped back outside without a word.
Lockhart didn’t gesture for her to sit. He didn’t need to.
“Colonel Zaitseva, I am so glad to see that you returned on your own validity,"” he said evenly, folding his arms across his chest, “You walked out of a high-level joint command briefing.”
His tone wasn’t raised. That somehow made it worse.
“You didn’t request a recess. You didn’t signal an objection for the record. You didn’t stay to conclude discussion. You stood up and left like a twelve year old girl not getting her way,” He held her gaze. “That is not a small procedural breach.”
Zaitseva didn’t flinch. "My own validity? It is rather hard to refuse such an offer as I received, General."
She stopped exactly two paces inside the office, boots together, hands loosely at her sides, posture relaxed but formal.
“My presence in that room was as an invited partner, not a subordinate,” she said. “The discussion moved into decisions I was neither empowered to authorize nor consulted on in advance. I will not sit as ornament while outcomes are already declared. That is not partnership...that is something completely different.”
A slight lift of the chin. “So, I withdrew before my silence could be recorded as assent.”
"Colonel, you haven't been here more then what... twenty-four hours? You are not your government and haven't been part of this partnership for much longer than that. You maybe a liaison for the Russian military and assigned to Homeworld Command," the general took a short pause as he chanced his focus on handling the situation. "I highly doubt that your attitude maybe ok, but your actions and disrespect would not be handled lightly if back in Russia."
Zaitseva absorbed his words then inclined her head a fraction — not conceding, only indicating that she had heard him. “So,” she said quietly, “are you planning to punish me, General?” There was no challenge in her tone, just a clean line of a question laid across the desk.
She let the silence sit for a heartbeat, then continued, just as evenly: “You are correct in many things you have just said. I have been here less than a day. I am not my 'government' — but neither are you yours. We are instruments of mandate and my mandate does not include sitting through decisions already made--without any consideration or input--and pretending my presence implied consent. Yours,” she added, “apparently includes summoning foreign officers under guard to scold them for non-compliance with American procedure. But I ask you to consider what happens next when this..." Irina paused a moment to make a large circular gesture with her finger, "...fails.”
“You didn’t make a recommendation, Colonel,” the general said calmly as he took his seat, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. “You issued a demand.”
He folded his hands, his tone even but unyielding.
“That distinction matters here. Just like it does for every officer assigned to this command. If you are transferred in and operating under my authority, you respect the chain of command. No exceptions.”
He met her gaze squarely.
“You are not more special than the next officer in uniform. You may be on loan, but until you are reassigned or formally relieved, you fall in line.”
A brief pause.
“And until that day,” he finished, “I am your commanding officer.”
Irina considered in a moment of pique to ignore Lockhart's directive to sit. However as quickly as it materialized, she tamped the nonproductive reaction into submission and took the aforementioned seat. “General Lockhart,” Irina answered; her tone completely level, “I recognize jurisdiction. I do not dispute that this is your base, your office...your security personnel.” She smirked softly, but it was but a small break in placid expression on her face.
"However, there are...outside pressures that I am up against, General. Forces that would like nothing less than for this...burgeoning relationship to flounder and fail. So for some clarity...regarding my 'demands...Russia requires naquadah. For reasons.”
“To start building their second BC‑304 and ramp up their F‑302 production,” Richard said with a small nod. None of this was news to him. “And it’s not just them. China, India, Britain; they’re all pushing in the same direction.”
He clasped his hands in front of him on the desk as he leaned slightly forward toward her.
“But nobody’s going anywhere until the purification and fabrication bottlenecks ease up. The key components, naquadah alloys, hyperdrive crystals & control lattices, still have to go through off‑world refinement. Those sites are already maxed out, and they’re juggling national projects and the private contracts we’ve signed off on.”
His expression tightened.
“So for now, everyone waits. That’s the cost of keeping unshielded tech out of the wrong hands.”
Irina listened calmly without interruption and when Lockhart finished, she exhaled once through her nose — a controlled release, not a sigh.
“Ah. Finally some truth.” she said quietly. “Do not call it, this...whatever this is...partnership and then tell us to wait in line. Call it prioritization. Call it control, hell, call it American risk management if you like...” A brief pause. “We Russians understand those words, but we do not have the luxury of elastic timelines, General. When you say ‘later,’ for us that means a 'winter' without margin. It means rebuilding decisions made with candles on tables and diesel rationed by hour.”
“So yes,” she continued, “I issued what you call a demand. Because from where I sit, this is not a question of convenience or diplomacy. It is a question of survival."
“It is not my place, or yours for that matter, to dictate the process,” the general replied, leaning back in his chair, voice steady and deliberate. “That framework was established through the U.E.O., not Stargate Command and not Homeworld Command. We are not architects here. We are custodians. Our mandate is to safeguard Earth’s assets and prevent strategic collapse. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
He let the silence settle before continuing.
“So I will ask you plainly, Colonel. Why are you here?” His eyes held hers without challenge or apology. “You arrived issuing demands as if you were negotiating from a position of authority you do not possess. In doing so, you have not strengthened your case. You have weakened it.”
His tone cooled further, precise rather than heated.
“You speak of survival. I understand that. But posturing does not accelerate production and pressure does not bend physics. When representatives of sovereign states behave as though procedure is optional, they do not look resolute. They look unprepared. That reflects not just on you, but on your country. Decide which message you intend to send.”
Irina absorbed the rebuke without visible reaction, eyes steady, shoulders still. The instinct to counter — sharp, surgical — rose and was set aside just as quickly. This was not Moscow. This was not her table. So, when she spoke again, it was quieter than before, and deliberately so.
“I am here,” she said, “because my government believed this arrangement meant active partnership - we did, after all cede use of our gate for the 'greater good' of all.” Oh how the words dripped of with the sweetness of jam.
“However, if the framework you describe is immutable — if allocation, prioritization, and pacing are already fixed by bodies my country does not meaningfully sit within — then you are correct.” Her gaze did not leave his. “I do not possess the authority I was led to believe I would have and I have...erred.” That was the closest she came to accusation...and apology.
“In that case,” she continued, “my role is not to negotiate outcomes that would benefit my people. It is to report realities.”
She folded her hands together in her lap, a small, controlled gesture. “And the reality I will report is this: Russia is not a decision-maker here. Russia is a claimant among many, waiting on processes designed elsewhere. That may be prudent. It may even be necessary. But it is not what was described to us as 'partnership.'”
Lockhart did not interrupt her. He listened all the way through, expression unreadable, hands still folded on the desk. When she finished, he leaned forward slightly, not looming, not retreating either. Just enough to signal a correction was coming.
“Colonel,” he said evenly, “Russia was not invited into this framework. Russia helped build it. The U.E.O. was founded with Russian signatures on the charter. Your government was not a passive stakeholder. It was a co-architect. And Homeworld Command is not an American shell organization wearing a multilateral costume. It is a joint command body. Your flag is on the wall. Your officers sit in its planning cells. Your intelligence feeds its models. Your industrial data shapes its timelines.”
A pause, measured.
“So no, Russia is not standing outside some opaque American process hoping for scraps. Russia is inside the same machinery as everyone else, bound by the same constraints and the same hard limits of production, purification, and strategic sequencing. What you were led to believe about your authority is not the issue. What your government is attempting to do through you is.”
Another small pause. Lockhart wanted to be clear. Deep down he felt as though this Colonel was either left in the dark or something more. But until her saw concrete proof that it was a hopeless cause, he was going to do his part and make things clear with sharing the proof.
“You were not sent here to negotiate logistics. You were sent here to apply pressure in a way that lets Moscow say it tried, while shifting blame when the answer is still no. You are being used as a lever to force reprioritization that every other founding member would immediately contest. And that is not partnership. That is destabilization dressed up as urgency.”
He leaned back again, hands opening briefly in a controlled, almost conciliatory gesture.
“I understand your winter margins. I understand your infrastructure stress. I understand your strategic anxiety. But trying to jump the queue in a multilateral war economy does not just move Russia forward. It unravels the trust that keeps this whole apparatus from collapsing into national hoarding.”
“And you should know this. Which tells me you are not here because Moscow thinks this will work. You are here because Moscow needs a record that it tried to bend the system before it decides how far it is willing to push it.”
He let that sit.
“So do not tell me Russia is not a decision maker here. Russia is one of the reasons this system exists at all. But being a founder does not mean being exempt from the rules you helped write. If you want to report realities, report this one accurately. You are not being sidelined. You are being held to the same constraints as every other major power on this planet. And if those constraints break, they will not break in Russia’s favor. They will break for everyone.”
Irina was silent for a long moment. She looked at him steadily, then lowered her gaze — not in submission, but in acknowledgment — and inclined her head once, shallow but precise. “It was a test.” She was silent again, not rushing the words...translating at times was an imprecise art. “And you are correct, General Lockhart” Irina continued. “Moscow did not send me here believing I would succeed in bending the system. If they believed that, they would have sent a general. They sent me because I am…acceptable collateral.” The corner of her mouth lifted slightly in a physical display of her own internal 'gallows humor.'
“I am senior enough to make some noise, and junior enough to be disavowed. If I am rebuffed, the record shows Russia pressed. If I am accommodated, the record shows that leverage exists. Valuable data, either way...” Irina slowly exhaled and used the moment to switch gears. “General, you say Russia is wanted at this table and I believe you..., the others?" She shrugged. "Although you may think the statement incongruous, but I truly do want this current arrangement to succeed. The alternatives are not nearly so...collegial."
Lockhart did not interrupt her. He watched, measured, then nodded once as if confirming a set of numbers he had already run in his head.
“You are not collateral,” he said evenly. “You are a signal. And Moscow knows the difference, even if it prefers the poetry of the former.”
He folded his hands on the desk, posture relaxed but deliberate. “Yes, this was a test. Not just of the system, but of me. Of how far pressure could be applied before it fractured trust or exposed seams worth exploiting. That much is obvious. What you may be underestimating is that the system you tried to bend was built by people who think in exactly those terms.”
His gaze held hers, steady and unflinching. “Russia is not outside this structure. It helped found the U.E.O. It helped stand up Homeworld Command. Your flag is already on the wall. What is happening here is not exclusion. It is friction. And friction is what happens when too many existential threats arrive faster than industrial reality can absorb them.”
Lockhart’s words settled into the room like weight — not hostile, not triumphant, simply immovable. The kind of certainty that came from someone who had already argued this battle a hundred times in quieter rooms. Irina Zaitseva sat very still.
For several seconds she said nothing at all, her gaze lowered slightly as if reviewing the conversation the way she would review a mission debrief — stripping emotion away, isolating variables, recalculating outcomes. The instinct to push back was there; he could almost see it. But it did not surface. When she finally looked up again, the sharpness in her expression had changed. Not softened — refined.
“I see,” she said quietly. The words were not surrender so much as conclusion reached.
“This whole exercise,” she said, tone even, “has been… instructive. You are right, General,” Irina said plainly. “If this structure collapses, none of us win. I will report accurately,” she added. “That the constraints are real. That the Americans are not gatekeeping resources for themselves. That the bottleneck is physics and industry — not politics.”
Her gaze held his, level and direct. “And I will also report,” she said, a faint edge of wry humor returning, “that General Lockhart does not bend easily.” There — just a hint of respect, offered without ceremony.
Irina straightened her uniform unconsciously, the gesture crisp and familiar. “I came here expecting to dislike this command,” she admitted. “Instead… I find it interesting.” Another small pause. “Perhaps even promising.”
By this, the general just shrugged and smirked slightly. "Yeah, we aim to please."
Richard Lockhart, Maj. General
Commander, SGC
(SPNC)
&
Colonel Irina Zaitseva
The face (and personality) of Russian leadership
(PNPC)
