The room was lit by chemical lights only, casting an orange glow over the focused crew of the Gorbachev, electronic buzzing and the low hum of cooling fans filling the empty silence. Flags from a dozen country covered the walls over every console, mostly members of the ex-USSR, but Cuba, Korea and China were also present.

Members of the council had insisted these flags always remain in the Combat Information Center, to remind every soldier on board that, unlike the RDA lapdogs, they were patriots, doing what had to be done for their home country.

Sat in the center of it all, Captain Velasquez was studying the RDA's defeat with great interest.

The Gorbachev had no fancy holographic screens or tri-dimensional displays, all of the funding for it had gone into military hardware and troops, as well as covert protocols to keep their mining operation a secret.

Corporations like the RDA often clashed with free nations such as Russia, China and Venezuela. On Earth, both factions had their hands tied; the RDA lacked the manpower to do more than slow down a real military, but it hugged all the Unobtanium for itself and its allies, mainly the U.S. and European countries, leaving everyone else to struggle with the worst energy crisis in Earth's history.

Covert operations such as the Gorbachev were the only thing that allowed these country to keep the Corporations out of state business. In a way, this ad-hoc assembly of somewhat communist nations was quite close to the old Soviet Union, only not all that socialist in nature, when compared to their precursors.

By Captain Velasquez's side, Major General Konstantin snickered to himself, earning a puzzled look from the Cuban officer.

"A cavalry charge against an entrenched infantry line?" Scoffed the Spetsnaz, "That's so nineteen-hundred…" English had been picked as the default language aboard the Gorbachev, given the massive amount of dialects spoken by its passengers.

Viktor Konstantin led a Spetsnaz Alpha Group detachment, the deadliest fighters aboard the ship, and though he answered to general Bai, leading the Chinese battalion slowly thawing in cryo bays five to fifteen, the Major was given considerable operational freedom.

Captain Velasquez looked up from the tactical display the size of a kitchen table and frowned at Viktor, who looked at it from the other side. The Major was dragging his feet, avoiding the matter as best he could, but, realizing he had to get around to it eventually, cleared his throat and asked, "Has the General said anything?"

Velasquez nodded, blue eyes showing from behind mirror shades that never seemed to leave Cuban officers' faces. "Said you boys should head down there and have a chat with the people still at Hell's Gates."

Konstantin frowned and brought up the supposedly deserted RDA outpost. "There are still people living there?"

To which the other simply shrugged, "Hippies."

"Humans?"

"Avatars." Bad news, Avatars could provide significant firepower and some had spent years on Pandora, they knew the terrain and were adapted to it.

Of course, Viktor's men were far better trained, equipped with actual military grade weapons and none of them had less than a decade of combat experience.

Despite all this, he'd been against open conflict with the RDA and the natives from the start. The best fights are those you avoid completely, as they say, but it went further than simple caution; combat effectiveness aside, he and his Spetsnaz faced many difficulties when deploying to Pandora.

First, the air was saturated and their obsolete gas mask filters would clog up within half an hour, meaning every thirty minutes spent out in the field required them to carry an additional filter instead of ordnance.

Second, the Gorbachev had only two shuttles and they were not exactly cutting edge. Every atmospheric entry had a chance to end in a fireball and they could only fit a limited amount of hardware.

And third, the science teams had warned them time and again that too much stress on the ecosystem could trigger an immune response from the moon itself. Now, Konstantin was ready to keep an open mind, but the thought of a whole planet being sentient had never struck him as anything but nerd-boy fantasies.

General Bai disagreed from the start. Buddhist, what can you expect? Possibly, had Viktor vetoed the General's decision, he could have kicked things in motion much sooner, but there was a nudging doubt, coming from the childish part of his soul. What if?

Colonel Quaritch had certainly felt it too, the what if they were right? But as a good soldier, he proceeded with his mission, performed to the best of his ability until the end, until that doubt was confirmed and even then, he attempted to complete his mission. The Gorbachev had seen it all, hidden in the dark, and another commemorative plate was added in the mess hall, alongside dozens of fallen heroes. A small honor for an enemy, whom they considered the only true soldier on Pandora.

All the Na'vi did for him was let a pack of Viperwolves rip his carcass out of the AMP suit and spread it across the jungle.

So much for the whole sanctity of life thing… And now Konstantin had to prep his men to go meet Corporal Sully, an ex-marine who'd pretty much betrayed his country, not to mention his whole race, and they had to make nice with him and his new Neanderthal friends so they wouldn't sic the whole damn biosphere on their asses.

"Sukka… Oooh-kay." Growled the major, reviewing his forces on an arm-mounted holographic tablet.

He walked out of the rotating section and floated across the corridor absent mindedly, struggling to decide whether to bring air support, artillery, armour or transports…

He already had a platoon of "Wolverines", light infantry, and "Ogres", weapon platforms similar to the RDA's AMPs, slated for deployment, and there was just enough room for him to squeeze in some mechanized support.

He reached the heavy gravity area where his troops trained and lived and decided to have Master Sergeant Volkov's T-191 Heavy Tanks. Hell's Gate would provide open areas, and the seventy tons behemoths had little to fear from Avatar drivers, or anything on the planet, really…

His locker opened without problem, revealing grey white and blue camouflage fatigues, which he traded his dress uniform for, followed by thirty pounds of matching ceramic plates coated with carbon fiber.

Just as the RDA used the CARB platform for almost everything, the practically ancient AK platform served the Gorbachev's crew, albeit far more advanced now than it had been at its beginning.

Viktor's rifle looked just like any other guard's; black plastic and metal with a rail on top and another underneath for attachements, in this case, a shotgun and ORACL red dot scope.

The weapon had been baptised AK-47 even though it saw mass production only in 2092. The men just called it, and all its variants, Kalash.

Combat webbings full of fresh magazines would be available once they were past the atmosphere, as all explosives had to be kept in a separate compartment from the troops. A nightmare, really. At least there would be about five minutes for his men to gear up, rearm and refuel the tank and thank whichever god they prayed to for getting them safely through.

Once in the hangar, and back in zero gravity, he personally inspected every last strap and buckle like a paranoid mother short on Prozac as she tucks her kids in for the night.

This greatly amused his men , especially the ones in massive Ogre assault platforms, but nobody said a thing. From Venezuela to Canada, be it in a submarine or an orbital shuttle, Major Konstantin always kept true to that routine; checking every last man, looking him right in the eye one last time before battle. There was something reassuring about it all, not only in the ritual itself, but in the knowledge the their commander cared enough to at least pretend like he cares.

He strapped himself in last, his seat facing the rear of the shuttle. He watched the ramp rise until no light filtered through, then slapped his armoured face mask down, along with the infrared imager. Everyone did the same.

Everyone knew their duty, so there was no need for long briefing or speeches, but spending the ten to fifteen minutes before launch in silence would have been bad for morale, so Viktor spoke, his soft tone closer to an high-school teacher than a Russian Army officer.

"As you all know, as of last week the Resource Development Administration was forced off-planet by a coalition of native clans and what the brass call an immune reaction to human presence, so we are to keep things on the level down there. Should things go bad, you are to fall back to the tanks and provide covering fire while they mop up. Concerns?"

A shadow moved in one of the Ogres, at the end of the left row. "Sir, will the shuttle remain on site?"

Ah, yes, always nice to know your way home is two steps behind… "Negative, should things go wrong, we cannot afford to lose a shuttle, it will only come back once we've cleared the zone."

"Doesn't that amount to a suicide mission, sir?"

The Major's voice hardened slightly, "Your point?" But the Guard decided to drop the issue.

The rest of the time was spent deciding who would do what, taking bets on the outcome and, for the final few minutes, re-reading letters from loved ones.

Finally, the shuttle shook as jet engines ignited and all men raised their hands at once, even those inside Ogres, as though holding glasses that were not really there.

It was all part of the ritual, even the reading of letters, so everyone know exactly what Konstantin meant when he roared over the deafening rumble "Spetsnaz, live and kill for them!"

And they were pummelling down towards Hell's Gate.