The Central Russian Coup d'état

[Central Ruska]

It all started in late November, 2020. The failure of the 22nd economic plan had crippled the economy. After pouring millions of Platinovoyus into the weak industrial heartlands of the USSCR had failed to revitalises the already dwindling economy it was only set to get worse from there as the harshest winter seen for over 3 decades had begun to make it's presence known to the population. As the winter came into full effect, the price of food had soared. Millions around the nation had resorted to breadlines, unable to provide for themselves had turned to their last hope, the government. And the governments only hope was the west and on the 24th of December, their praisers had been answered. The Kingdom of Surdra had agreed to trade essential wheat products to the USSCR. This was the first time the USSCR had traded with the west, and many saw this as a humiliating blow. These events left deep-seated opinions within the communist and nationalist populations who saw the trades with the west as a sign of defeat. A sign that communism was losing its grasp. And now, with protests happening daily across the nation, the moment of opportunity had arisen. Months of planning now had to come together with surgical precision.

Over the weeks since the failings of the 22nd economic plan, hard-line members of the Communist Party of Central Russia known as 'The Red Eight' had gathered in secret. When formed, 'The Red Eight' was a group comprised of eight high-level officials within the government, KSB and Red Guard.

4th of January, 11:46 AM. Red Square, Chernyshevka.

Light snow drifted through the cold winter air as Mikhail and his fiancée Alisa entered the small café. For years now, it had been their favourite place to eat, even more so when Mikhail proposed to her. They sat down, they eat and they talked for almost an hour. “So. I was thinking after this we could go down to...um...” he paused, distracted by the flickering television in the corner of the café as it faded in and out of signal before quickly cutting to the test card. Alisa turned around, huffing at the sight. “Mikhail, its just the weather. You were saying?” she said, attempting to bring his concentration back from the TV. By now, the signal had been restored, Mikhail focused on the box, he could just pick out the announcers voice “...interrupt scheduled programming... special bulletin...”. The television had now turned the heads of several other people, including several staff members who had already descended on the box, fiddling with the antenna and turning up the sound.

The camera focused on a press conference, 8 men walked in and sat down at the table adorned with Central Russian flags. After a brief moment of silence, they began. “Today, January 4th, 2021. A day that we will no longer suffer under the oppression of Alexander Malashenko's leadership of the United Socialist States of Central Russia. A leader who, as we speak, is getting ready for talks with the capitalist dogs of the west. He has dealt a humiliating blow the USSCR and” the image quickly cut to black. The café had gone silent, everyone just stared at each other.

It wasn't until the rattling of cutlery broke the silence. Shocked and confused, Mikhail and Alisa scanned the room, her grip on his hand greatly tightened as the room shook, it wasn't long until they got their answer. As the rattling increased, it was accompanied by the roar of diesel engines. Outside the café, two massive T-80 tanks rolled down the road shortly followed by two trucks full of troops.

[Central Ruska]

4th of January, 17:00 PM. Premier Avenue, Chernyshevka.

The last five hours had been a stressful for ‘The Red Eight’, after having their earlier broadcast had been taken down by members of the State Committee for Television and Radio, they had been forced to declare a state of emergency. As the day began to draw to a close, all independent sources of media had been banned. The only source of information now came from the party controlled media, radio and newspaper. On the streets, people gathered to both celebrate and argue the events of the day. As protest against the Coup d'état began to condense towards government buildings, including the Kremlin Senate. When anti-coup protesters stormed the Kremlin Senate, aided by military defectors still loyal to the Malashenko regime had barricaded the streets surrounding the building. When Red guard units moved on the protesters, they were met by molotov cocktails and rocks. Meanwhile, The Red Eight again, prepared for a press announcement.

“Good Evening Central Russia, I am Sergei Vakhrushev. As you may have heard, the regime of Alexander Malashenko is no more. I request that civilians should not intervene with military operations in the Cities of Chernyshevka, Nikolo-Pestrovka and Novoskakovskoye. I wish to address the protesters around the nation. Please, put your weapons down and surrender, there is no reason for you to be protesting. Please return to your homes. To enforce that. Within these cities, a curfew will now be in effect from 11 PM to 5 AM.”

by now, Alexander Malashenko had only just found out about the events unfolding back at home.

[Central Ruska]

5th of January, 21:19 PM. Kremlin Senate, Chernyshevka.

"Push! Push! Push!" The sound of metal dragging against pavement rang out through Kremlin Square. It was the sound of the burnt out remains of a truck being moved into position. The protesters surrounding the Kremlin Senate had all but finished barricading the entrances to the square with whatever they could find. The last twenty-four hours had been an intense stand-off between these protesters and the military.

Junior Sergeant Vitaliy Markovic, loyal to the Malashenko regime. However, for the past 19 hours he had been on of the hundreds who had occupied the Kremlin Senate and its square. He was from 9th Paratroop division, one of only 83 who had defied orders from Gleb Dubrovsky. Within the Kremlin Square, he was one of the few armed defenders. Over the course of the night, he had helped barricade the Square. “Comrades! We are here to stop these bastards! Don’t listen to them! The leadership of Malashenko is the best this nation has had! Remember, He secured the vital trade deals with the west! He is here for us!” He called out, the crowd cheered, chanting and singing the national anthem. Only a few hundred feet away, the military had surrounded the barricades, preparing for their assault.

Throughout the night, the protesters continued to sing and chant. Just past 4 in the morning, protesters had started lobbing Molotov cocktails at military units after they had been ordered to break down the barricades. The glows from the fires lit up the night, protesters kept throwing bottles whenever someone got close to the barricades. One soldier had been hit directly by a Molotov. The bottle shattered on his helmet, spraying him with petrol. He instantly caught alight, quickly rolling around as others tried to put the fire out. As the night went on, soldiers resorted to using stun grenades and tear gas in an attempt to disrupt the protest.

6th of January, 9:10 AM. Kremlin Senate, Chernyshevka.

The roar of diesel engine woke Vitaliy and a thick dark plume of smoke arose from the other side of the north barricade. The revving of an engine and shouting of men had begun to wake others, those who remained asleep quickly woke when the sound of crashing echoed through the Square. The north barricade came crashing down, a lone BTR-80 had rammed its way through the burning mess that was the barricade. Before Vitaliy could even stand, a small item had been thrown in his direction. By the time he realised, it was too late.

Flash. The powerful white flash blinded him, he screamed in pain as he rubbed his eyes. His hearing was destroyed by a ringing sound that penetrated the sounds of chaos around him. He stumbled around, falling over a pile of rubble. His vision slowly began to come back around, blurry and soundless. In his Confusion, he watched as protesters fled the fallen barricade, quickly pursued by the blurred figures of what he could presume was the military. The ringing persisted, Vitaliy continued to scan the area. To his left, another from the 9th Paratroop division, Vitaliy watched as he raised his weapon. The cracks of each shot briefly penetrated the ringing, three in total. Vitaliy continued to watch, only to see the gun flung out of his hand. The unknown blur stumbled backwards, visibly screaming in pain before falling to the ground.

As Vitaliy’s hearing began to come back around, the screams of the protesters flooded his ears, stumbling to his feet, he began to run to the Senate.

[Central Ruska]

6th of January, 12:00 PM. Pestrovka Naval Base, Nikolo-Pestrovka.

The morning snow flurries had only just begun to fade as the sound of roaring engines disrupted the calm. Over the course of two days, Nikolo-Pestrovka had yet to see any military action. The closest that it received was one minor protest, however, the naval base which housed Pro-Malashenko troops had refused to let go of the Pestrovka naval base. For hours, coup soldiers had gathered around the base, calling for an immediate handover of the base. After nearly an hour of waiting, it was clear to the coup troops that those inside will not relinquish control. The coup soldiers had lost their patients, they had requested that a T-80 to be positioned at the eastern wall of the base, waiting for the signal to go.

“Forward!”. The call came over the radio and with that, the tank roared into live. The full force of the tank slammed into the concrete wall. The concrete stood no chance, the wall buckled under the immense pressure. Coup soldiers poured into the breach, many of those took cover behind the tank. As the tank slowly made its way forward, several soldiers threw stun grenades before moving in to subdue the remaining Pro-Malashenko troops.

Amidst the confusion of the stun grenades, both sides engaged in a small fire-fight, however it was to be quickly resolved when the T-80 came back around, turning its massive 125mm gun to face the remaining defenders. The guns fell silent, and slowly, individual soldiers began to drop their weapons.

[Central Ruska]

6th of January, 6:19 PM. Kremlin Senate, Chernyshevka.

“Throw another! Aim for the tank!”. Following the earlier attack on the protesters camps, they had fled into the Kremlin. They quickly boarded up the doors and windows of the ground floor with whatever they could find. Many had now taken to the upper floors of the Senate, throwing items out the windows at the surrounding soldiers. One thing the protesters continued to throw was molotov cocktails. To the troops outside, the rain of debris seemed endless. They had been ordered to fire warning shots to attempt to deter the protesters, it failed. The troops outside quickly switched to live rounds, even the BTR-80 had loaded its rounds.

10 minutes later.

It had seemed like forever since the last shot had been fired by the coup soldiers, however the protesters hadn’t let up with the molotovs, they continued to throw them from the upper floors. The explosive crack of the BTR’s 14.5mm main gun echoed through the square. Six rounds spayed the upper floors of the senate, shattering windows and smashing at the masonry. A brief period of silence was once again shattered by the firing of BTR echoed out again.

“Hand me another molotov, I’m getting that tank with this one!”, Vitaliy spotted the two protesters by the window, they were joking, having a laugh at the troops outside. The first barrage of rounds had spooked them, yet there they were, still throwing molotovs at the troops. As he was pulling back to throw, the BTR fired again. The bullet hit the molotov, shattering the fragile glass, dousing the protester in petrol. The force alone decapitated the man’s hand, tossing the limb to the other side of the room.

The fluid spontaneously ignited, raining fire down on the protester and the surrounding room. The flames quickly covered the man, burning away at his clothing and hair. He fell to the floor, screaming in pain. He started to convulse as the fires began to dance across his skin, completely frying the outer layers. Vitaliy looked on in horror, his mouth agape and his stare locked on the dying man. The flames quickly began to spread around the room, aided by the abundance of documents and broken furniture. It wasn’t long before the others noticed the fire, panic quickly consumed the protesters.

Vitaliy still had his eyes fixed on the charred body as he was knocked down by another. As he fell, he could hear nothing but the screams of men and women alike, crying for help. To the troops outside, the banging and screaming of the trapped echoed through the square, thick black smoke poured out of the broken windows, protesters called out for help, their waving hands penetrated the dark plumes. The troops quickly erected several ladders, reaching out to help those trapped.

The crack of gunshot halted the troops, a lone man had fired into the air, “Halt! Take down these ladders! These people are traitors to the state, the deserve this.” The orders came from Colonel Dmitrii Konstantinov, he was the one who ordered the troops in and now, he was the one ordering them to stop. As quickly as the ladders were brought in, they were taken down. The fire burned through the night, spreading through the building. The protesters had sealed their fates when they barricaded the ground floor, many of the burnt remains where later found clinging to the remains of the barricades, their last moments spent trying to break free.

89 bodies were discovered amongst the ashes, all that remained of many was the charred unidentifiable remnants of bones and flesh, among them, somewhere in the hellish remains of the Senates interior, was the burnt remains of Vitaliy Markovic's body.

[Central Ruska]

10th of January, 7:30 AM. North-Western Administrative Okrug, Artyukovskaya.

Sirens rang out across the city. Several groups of armed protesters had occupied several administrative buildings across the North-West Okrug. The smoke from burning barricades filled the clear skies, wafting south in a light breeze. The pro-coup unrest had spread towards Artyukovskaya. Pro-Coup crowds stormed and occupied the Administrative headquarters, singing the national anthem.

At 10:09 AM, the Artyukovskaya military base was raided by pro-coup militia. The forces stationed at the base had defected to the pro-coup side, handing out weapons and moving vehicles to militia controlled zones. Local security forces from the southern Administrative Okrugs began an offensive on the militia held zones at 10:59 AM. The security forces began moved in on the zones via both helicopter assaults and ground attacks, with several hundred troops pushing through the main avenue towards the Administrative Headquarters. Meanwhile, several helicopters airlifted men and supplies to outlying zones.


10th of January, 11:10 AM. Kadach, North-Western Administrative Okrug, Artyukovskaya.

The sound of an approaching helicopter had the militia on high alert. Reports had flooded in from outpost in the west, some only 8 miles away, that the security forces had moved on their positions. The rumble of the rotor blades became louder and louder, several militia troops had began to move several 9K38 Iglas onto a nearby roof when the Mi-8 was spotted flying low above the suburbs of Kadach. “Sergei! Quickly, there it is!”. Sergei quickly aimed the launcher at the aircraft, pausing briefly for it to lock on, and pulled the trigger.

The missile roared out of the Igla, flying at 800ms, it quickly covered the 2.1 mile distance to the advancing Mi-8. The missile struck the tail boom, throwing the aircraft into a harsh spin. The Mi-8 quickly fell towards the ground, smashing its way through a small building, bursting into a massive fireball. Thick black smoke rose from the crash site, as the surrounding militia prepared for the next advance.

[Central Ruska]

11th of January, 8:31 PM. Kadach, North-Western Administrative Okrug, Artyukovskaya.

The pro-Malashenko forces had been fighting the militia for a day now. Much of the fighting was street to street, with the pro-coup militia pushing the security forces back a street or two, only to have an hour later the positions to chance hand. However, help was coming.

The pro-coup military forces in the capital had sent a convoy of 10 Ural-4320’s, loaded with men and equipment. For many, the long road to Artyukovskaya had worn them out, the only thing keeping them up was the occasional pothole. As they got closer to the city, the soft crackle of gunfire caught the attention of the men.

Pro-Malashenko forces had set up an ambush, only miles away from the militia headquarters. They had received information on the inbound convoy and they had set up appropriately. Down a narrow street, they had set up a small barricade. On both sides of the road, the men had been spread throughout the stores and businesses. As the first truck rounded the corner, the Pro-Malashenko forces moved into positions. The squealing of brakes echoed through the abandoned streets.

The cab doors swung open, two men stepped out, moving to the front of the trucks, their back illuminated by the headlights as they stared at the blockade. “f**king Militia! Always blocking the god damn roads.” “I know, Oleg get your men out, help us clear this…”

As the last of the soldiers stepped out of the truck, the ambush was sprung. The Pro-Malashenko forces opened fire on the first two trucks, spraying them with machine gun fire. One of the soldiers raised up an RPG-7. He quickly took aim at the first truck and pulled the trigger. The rocket flew out of its steel container, The warhead slammed into the side of the first truck, detonating just behind the cab. The explosion sent men flying, killing 4 instantly as they climbed out of the truck. The canvas cover quickly became engulfed in flames as the truck burned. Those in the other trucks scrambled to get out, only to get pinned down by the suppressing fire. Marksmen with the Pro-coup soldiers made quick work of the threats standing on roofs, now with much of the shooting coming from the shops surrounding the convoy.

Those supplied with PKPs provided suppressing fire, while other soldiers took cover in doorways and shops. Those who were not involved in the current firefight move around back, traversing the alleyways towards the backdoors of the shops that the Pro-Malashenko troops were in. When the signal was given, the troops kicked down the doors, throwing flashbangs and grenades. They waited for the explosions before flooding in shooting what remained.

By the end of the firefight, the Pro-coup force had lost 9 men, while the Pro-Malashenko forces had lost 13.

[Central Ruska]

18th of January, 12:00 PM, East of Chernyshevka.

The rumors had been correct, what was apparently Operation Hard fall was true. Pro-Malashenko forces had begun amassing in the surrounding regions east of Chernyshevka. Current Pro-Coup estimates placed up to 10,000 men, with 2000 supporting vehicles, possibly more. They had started to arrive only a day earlier, only suffering from light attacks from the Pro-Coup forces.

However, today was the day.

Pro-coup spotters overseeing the amassing troops had spotted the movement of heavy artillery and other supplies that suggested that an attack was imminent. They quickly relayed their information to their headquarters. However, it wasn’t enough. Just as they had finished sending their message, the artillery opened fire. The first shells screamed down on the unaware city, slamming into buildings and the streets. The shells left gaping craters in the roads, massive holes in buildings and cars tossed aside. Chaos filled the streets, civilians ran for cover as soldiers moved forward, preparing for the upcoming assault.


3 Sukhoi Su-25 had been scrambled to remove the threat of the Artillery, they roared through the sky above Chernyshevka in a tight formation, designating targets and lining up for their runs. They began their descent, speeding towards the line of artillery, opening fire with their 30mm cannons. The strafing run had decimated the artillery pieces, causing ammunition to explode and soldiers to dive for cover. After regaining significant altitude, they circled back around, dropping bombs and firing rockets on tank formations and logistical vehicles before turning back for base.
Suddenly, a sharp rapid beeping alert threw the pilot into a panic. “Wha- lock on!” he shouted, rapidly looking over his shoulders, “f**k, f**k, f**k! He’s got a lock on---” a single R-27 missile had been launched against him, it slammed into the rear of his aircraft, causing it to instantly explode, raining debris down upon the fleeing civilians. “f**k, 2’s down, Break!”. But it was too late, a second MiG-29 had joined in the chase. The familiar sound of the lock on warning sprung up again, “f**k! They’ve got a lock on me too!” Flares out!”, four balls of burning magnesium fell from the aircraft, the missile quickly switched target, aiming at the falling magnesium. The pursuing MiG-29s switched to their 30mm cannons, bursting as the Su-25 weaved through the sky. “They’re on my 6! Get them off!”. Another spray from the 30mm cannon saw enough to rip the left wing off, causing the Su-25 to roll uncontrollably out of the sky, slamming into the 8th floor of a building.

The last Su-25 had managed to get behind the two MiG-29s as they shot down his comrade, he bursted his cannon, using up what ammunition he had left. He was lucky enough to strike one in one of the two engines, causing it to explode in flames. The aircraft plummeted to the ground, crashing down an empty street, skidding along before exploding. The pilots victory was short lived, the last MiG-29 had pulled up hard, slowing down enough to get behind the Su-25. The pilot quickly began evasive maneuver, pulling into a short climb before he was quickly gunned down, the 30mm cannon peppered his tail, locking its controls and setting the engine ablaze, the pilot quickly ejected. His plane flew for another 300 meters before it exploded.

Thousands of pro-coup soldiers poured from westernly districts, quickly setting up defenses in the east. Roads were blocked, buildings fortified and vehicles rushed around. The first attack came in the form of a dual pincer attack from North-East and South-East that was to be quickly followed up by a direct attack from the East. Initially, both attacks came under heavy resistance with both sides taking heavy casualties, that was until the North-East attack, spearheaded with T-80 MBTs shattered initial defensive positions.

As the T-80s pushed forward, the second, larger attack began. A combination of Main Battle Tanks and Infantry Fighting Vehicles began their advance towards Chernyshevka. Quickly advancing over the first and second defensive lines, before they came under significant fire as they made their way into the streets of the capital. As the central attack continued, defensive forces in the south had started to recover from the earlier attack, they already had begun the preparations for a significant counterattack that would hopefully push them back, taking pressure off other areas.

23rd of January, 02:34 AM, South-East Chernyshevka.

After five days of fighting, much of the front had ground to a halt. However, that was about to change. In the south of the city, the defending forces had prepared a counter attack. Following a brief artillery barrage on the attacking forces, defensive troops began their counterattack on the weakened Southern forces. The attack began with a push to remove troops entrenched within buildings along Suzdal street. Supporting the advance was two
T-72s and a handful of BMP-2s. Initially, they made significant progress, however, fighting quickly became street-to-street combat, greatly reducing the advance of the counterattack. Soon enough, Pro-Malashenko forces began retreating towards their original starting positions. As the defensive forces advanced, reinforcements pushed North and started to encircle Pro-Malashenko forces. As the Central and Southern forces collapsed on themselves, the Northern attack was forced to a halt, calling the retreat soon after the complete encirclement of Central Forces.

As the entire attack began to crumble, the defending forces quickly turned into the attackers harassing the retreating army with whatever they could.

[Central Ruska]

10th of February, 2:05AM, Malahenko’s room, The Royal Crown Hotel, Avalon.

The moonlight flooded into the room, the occasional cloud blocked its path before it flooded back in, Alexander was slumped in his chair. His mind racing with all that happened over the past few weeks. All that he had done for his country, unravelling before his very eyes, he knew that the events unfolding in his country threatened his very existence, and in his darkest hour, he turned to an old friend. Drink. He looked out the window, weary eyes scanning the skyline. Here, he knew he was safe.

He sighed as he lifted his bottle, taking a brief sip, as his weary eyes glazed over at an open newspaper on the table next to him. “MILITIA SEIZE CONTROL, 21 DEAD IN FIRE-FIGHT, JET SHOT DOWN OVER VITSYEBSK, GOVERNMENT CRUMBLES”.

With a heavy sigh, he slumped further into the chair, dropping the almost empty bottle onto the soft carpet. “Why, Why, Why…” He moaned, everything that he had done to save his country was gone, and deep down, he knew that he could never go back. At that moment, reality came crashing down upon him. He realised that his family was still in the country, with the coup threatening to engulf them, pulling them away from him. “I can’t leave them behind, they’re all I have left.” He groaned. He shifted in his chair, the faint glow from the television caught his attention. “--fighting in Mikhaylovskoye as coup forces stage major att--” The television went dark as did the room. Alexander sighed again, scanning the dark room, again, his eyes spotted the newspaper. “I know what I need to do”. Alexander slowly stood up and walked over to the door. Outside were his KSB security detail, four men idly stood around the corridor when the door opened up. “Mikhail, Call for the car. We’re leaving for home.” he said, closing the door, going back in to pack.

The flight back from Surdra was anything but peaceful for Alexander. Throughout the nearly 10 hour flight, he managed to get about an hour of rest. The aircraft was scheduled to land in one of the last Pro-Malashenko cities in the country. They would then drive to his estate 16 miles north Vitsyebsk, from there, him and his family would pack and leave the country for the last time.

After the aircraft had landed, he was moved into a vehicle. As the car drove through the towns and cities of the southern USSCR Alexander got a taste of how bad the situation was, passing countless burnt out buildings, cars and even a helicopter or two. Everything that he passed caused him pain. As they got closer to Vitsyebsk, the cracks of gunfire got louder and louder, with heavy fighting still continuing on in the city. With every shot, Alexander would jump out of his skin, a once confident and brave individual was now nothing but a emotional wreck.

An hour of driving later, he had arrived at his home. Stepping out of the car, he could see his wife’s face peering through the closed curtains, her face lit up when she saw him. The front door burst open, “Alexander!” she screamed, running at him. “Anastasia! I’ve missed you so much.” The embraced in a long hug, before he ushered her inside the building.

“Anastasia, I’m so sorry that you’ve been stuck in this godforsaken place. It’s time to leave. Come on, we have to pack.” He said, closing the front door. “I knew this time would come,” she sighed, “but Alexander, where would we go?” she questioned. “Globexanter wouldn’t be safe for us, they’d turn us over. The only place that I can really think of is west. Surdra,” he replied, kissing his wife gently on the cheek. “Come on, get the children and start packing. We need to leave immediately.”

11th of February, 8:19PM, Malashenko Estate, 16 miles North of Vitsyebsk.

The front gate to the estate was rammed off its hinges by a VPK-3927. The vehicle sped passed the unhinged gate, with 3 others following behind it. The vehicles pulled up outside the residence and the doors of the vehicles burst open 40 soldiers took up defensive positions around their vehicles, before moving towards the building. “f**k, they're here” Alexander said to himself. He had to move and he had to do it now. Running into the next room, he called for his wife and kids. He had to leave.

Alexander ran to the desk in the corner of the room, rummaging through, looking for what he wanted. “Come on, you’re here somewhere” he mumbled, his MP-443 Grach. Shuffling through papers and books, he searched for the gun when gunfire came from outside. He panicked, pulling draws out and pouring the contents onto the floor. “Found you!” grabbing it he ran out into the hallway as more gunfire echoed through the house. Him and his family made a move for the stairs.Gunfire continued to echo through the empty halls, along with the shattering of glass and the occasional shouting.

Outside the house, the soldiers prepared to attack. The few guards who had remained to protect Alexander’s family had engaged them with little success. The soldiers outside lobbed several flash bangs and grenades through the windows on the ground floor. The grenades exploded first, sending deadly shrapnel throughout the ground floor, second came the flash bangs, disorientating the remaining guards. The call to move in came quickly after the final explosion. The house was plunged into silences, the only sounds were the occasional gunshot and the crackling of glass underfoot as the soldiers began to spread out, searching for the family. To Alexander, his options for escape quickly began to dwindle. The last option was the garage.

Alexander and his family moved as quickly towards the garage. As they rounded the last corner to garage door they ran straight into a soldier. Without even thinking, Alexander raised his pistol, shooting the soldier a mere 4 foot away. The bullet embedded itself into the man’s left shoulder. He fell to the floor screaming in pain, blood poured out of the open wound as he grasped at it. Alexander and his family stepped over the soldier as he withered with pain.

They ran through the door into the garage, flipping the door switch on the way passed, Alexander and his family threw themselves into the only car there as the garage door sprung to life, gears clanking as it slowly lifted up. He slammed the key in the ignition and turned it, slipping the car into gear he waited for the door to open just that little bit more. However, the side door swung open, they had been spotted. The lone soldier shouted out, calling for others as Alexander floored it, wheel spinning out of the garage, clipping the fibreglass bottom of the garage door, ripping the lower panels off. The soldier sprayed the car with his assault rifle, shattering the windows and popping the front tyre.

The car flew out of the garage, kicking up stones and gravel as it sped towards the gate. However, Alexander quickly began to lose control, throwing it into an unavoidable course with one of the parked VPKs. The car slammed into the side of the VPK, Alexander’s head flung forward, slamming into the steering wheel. As he slipped in and out of consciousness, several soldiers approached the totalled car. “...couldn’t get away from this one…you're going way for a long time… Malashenko…” These were the last words he heard before he passed out.

For 36 days, The United Soviet States of Central Russia tore itself apart. Fighting engulfed nearly every part of the nation, ending with the massive attack on Chernyshevka and the capture of the Malashenko Family. In total, it has been estimated that over 20,000 had died. Alexander Malashenko and his family were arrested by Pro-Coup forces at his estate on the night of the 11th of February, their whereabouts unknown. The future of the country now lay in the hands of the Red Eight, with many of them retaining their previous positions within the government. The new Premier of the United Soviet States of Central Russia was Sergei Vakhrushev.