World in Flames (WW3 RP)

[Surdra]

There were not many people in the world who were greatly surprised when they learned from early TV and radio broadcasts on the morning of the 21st of August 1989 that the armed forces of two of the great power blocs of the world, the United States of Columbia and the nations of the North Medius Alliance and the USSCR and the nations of the Atovatski Pact on the other, were at each other’s throats in full and violent conflict. Preparation of war, including the mobilization of national armed forces, had already been proceeding for some two weeks in the West (and for certainly twice as long in the countries of the Atovatski Pact) before the final outbreak of hostilities. Yet the magnitude of the assault when it was first felt in its full flood and fury was none the less astounding, particularly to those in the Western world (and these were the majority) who had paid little attention in the past to portents for the future. Bombs were bringing death and devastation on the ground, aircraft exploding into fiery fragments in the sky. Ships were being sunk at sea and the men in them hammered into pulp, electrocuted, burned to death, or drowned. Other men, and many of them, were dying dreadfully in the flaming clamor and confusion of the land battle. For the third time in the 20th century a great and terrible war had burst upon the continent of Europe and quickly spilled out to numerous other battlefields across the globe.

Future historians would most likely date the beginning of the Third World War as a day in 1989, but as far as the people living in the far flung reaches of the developing world were concerned, it had already been in progress for more than a quarter of a century. By the summer of 1989 a number of small undeclared wars had already been fought between the two superpowers in a score of countries with a variety of motives, methods, and participants. These far flung wars would feed into the mutual distrust and animosity of both sides until in August of 1989 it could no longer be contained. Events like the Columbian invasion of Saint Alagon in the beginning of 1987 and the brutal soviet response to the East Dinsmark democratic protests would serve as some of the first warning signs that the world had reached the point of no return on the road to war. It would perhaps be the February Constitutional Crisis in the beginning of 1986 that could be considered the start date of the third great war. The world had no idea that the scheming of five men would lead to the deaths of millions and the destruction of countless countries throughout the world. What most at the time considered minor military actions or international incidents would soon become the first act in the last great war of the 20th century.

But like before, this war would create its own heroes and villains on both sides. Names, that through victory and defeat, genius and folly, brutality and humanity, that would be etched into history. Names like Augustine II, Orlovsky, Chapman, Kruger, Lopatin, Mason, Dmitriev, Beaufre, and Zheng. These men would lead their countries and armies in the ultimate test of skill and nerve and sacrifice, in a war unlike any they or their countries had ever fought before. From the defense of Orlais, to the silent war under the artic, to the invasion of Karlinski and the siege of Suvorova, to awesome landing at Churneau and then the torturous campaigns of the Alyons, from the frozen forests of Brokilon to the devastated wastes of Val Lydes, they would be tested as none before. It would be a new kind of war, but they would lead a new kind of army, ready for battle and for glory...and they would bring the world to the brink of destruction.

[Central Ruska]

Ruskan Constitutional Crisis 1986

Over the course of the 1980s, Ruskan military dominance began to wane. Under the leadership of Alexander Kiriyenko, the USSCR passed through a phase of relaxation. Economic reforms had begun to change how the USSCR functioned, slowly opening itself up to the west. Even as protests and demonstrations began to go unopposed across Europe. It was almost as if the Iron Curtain was releasing its grip on the continent.

However, within the depths of the Ruskan government, discontent was brewing. The failures of the Kiriyenko government had forever damaged the reputation of the Union, a failure that could not go unreprimanded. As the 1980s progressed, the situation deteriorated, the Cold War with ANMO had been progressively heating up, and Kiriyenko seemed almost oblivious to it. Even as government ministers gathered to plan his downfall, he continued forward.

---

5th floor, Supreme Soviet of Central Ruska, Chernyshevka, December 12th, 1985

There was hussle and bussle within the building, ministers darted from meeting to meeting on the final day of the parliamentary sessions before it closed down for the winter break. The site was a common occurance to the Chairman of the KSB, Pavel Yakubovich, whose day to day usually consisted of this. However, today was to be different. For today, he moved a little more quickly, holding documents and dossiers close to his chest as he marched down the hallways, moving to a more secluded meeting room on the fifth floor.

He quickly checked his surroundings as he ducked into the small conference room, usually reserved for agricultural meetings during the summer. At this time of the year, the room would otherwise be abandoned, the chairs left upturned on tables and the projectors shut down and stored away. However, the room was aglow with the bright halogen light from the overhead projector. Around it stood four men, all huddled together around.

“Der'mo! Pavel!? Knock next time!” came the startled shout from one of the men, his hand darted to cover the documents on the projector, turning to face him. The other three men soon joined him, briefly saluting. “You know this is sensitive, what if you were someone else!?”. “What. It’s not my fault you’ve not got a doorman.” His blankly stated, his gruff voice penetrating the quiet as they returned to the projector. Pavel removed his peaked cap, placing it gently down on the table next to him. “Where is Sergei, he should be here already.”

“Sergei will be joining us when he can, last minute meeting with Kiriyenko.” came another voice, Yuri Turov, the Minister of Defence. “Something about issues in Artyukovskaya.” Pavel sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Chert. He’s playing with fire, he’ll get us all killed…”

“No no, this is all a part of the plan. Routines are important, we can’t just break from them.” Yuri retorted, “If we stop with our routines, Kiriyenko will suspect something. We have to maintain them!” There was a brief silence, before a short cough. The First Deputy Chairman of the Council of Ministers, Nikon Yakovlev spoke up, gesturing towards the projector. “Gentlemen, if we could get back to this, that’d be great.” he asked, clearing away the documents from the projector. The other nodded in agreement, moving closer to the projector. “Right, thank you. As I was saying, big thanks to Lev for grabbing a copy of Kiriyenko’s diary for next year, we should be able to confirm his annual February holiday.”

Vladimir Pozharsky rolled his eyes, the Chairman of the State Economic Planning Committee, pushing his way to the front of the projector. The warm glow of it’s light lit up his aging face. Years and years of service had given him a deep insight into the country, and how it ticked under times of pressure.

“So, Nikon. The “plan” is simple. We cut him off from the world, and just assume control? The people. The very thing this great nation is built by, are you sure that they’ll just co-operate?” he muttered, his weak voice breaking a few times. “Yuri, we need the military. I can trust that you’d be able to provide assistance?” Yuri turned to Vladimir, nodding in agreement. “Both the 9th Guards Motor Rifle Division and the 84th Motor Rifle Division will be on heightened alert during the operation. We’ll be expecting some civilian resistance, but given how Kiriyenko has treated the country, it shouldn’t be too much.”

---

The meeting continued for over an hour as the five men discussed plans, often bickering over trivial points. They would meet several more times over the next two months, ironing out the finer details and plans. On paper, it seemed simple. Alexander Kiriyenko would retreat to his Dacha in Kalamia for his annual winter retreat in February. At which point, his Dacha, and practically the entire country would be isolated from the world. He would be deemed an enemy of the state, conspiring against the state and her people. A new government would be formed to fill the power vacuum, before attempting to save face, and restore Central Ruskan power in the east. The group orchestrating the coup d'état attempt would later become known as the State committee on the State of Emergency, with Sergei Nikolaev at it’s head.

Although, the coup d'état would have far reaching effects. Not only changing the country, but the world itself. The strengthening of the union, and subsequently the Atrovatski Pact would alter a fragile balance of power that would ultimately plunge the globe into darkness.

---

Two months later

Kamerapol Airport, Kamerapol, Kalamia, USSCR, February 17th, 1986

05:25 UTC+3

The cold, dark February night had been largely forgiving. The clear, cloudless sky had plummeted temperatures across the peninsular. Save for the dim moonlight, it was otherwise total darkness. The weather was scheduled to hold firm, freezing cold but not a flake of snow. At least that's what the automated tannoy announcement droned out. Noone was particularly paying attention to it as the trucks turned up. They turned up in their droves, unloading 25 soldiers at a time as they barged into the terminal building. The night staff were quickly pushed aside as troops from 37th Guards Motor Rifle division occupied the airport, cutting it off from the rest of the country.

Checkpoints appeared overnight on the major highways and bridges coming out of the peninsular, as rail transit was suspended. The plans were in full swing, cut off the peninsula, then cut off Savinska. The populus of Kalamia were to be then told of the unfolding situation later that day, but for now, it was merely an exercise.

All across the country, similar events unfolded. At first the major airports closed, then the regional airports. What few aircraft populated the skies were grounded. The Ruskan skies became clear as the country went dark. Communications were severed as the politics of the USSCR came to a halt, even those within the Atovatski Pact were cut off. Television and radio was cut, replaced with nothing but classical music and old reruns of Ruskan theater.

The entire country had closed its doors. No-one in, no-one out. Life itself would seemingly freeze, just as the cold winter waged on.

Near Kiriyenko’s Datcha, Savinska, Kalamia, USSCR, February 17th, 1986

05:42 UTC+3

Just twenty minutes later, two trucks tore up the small dirt track that led towards Kiriyenko’s datcha. The cargo of men and equipment jostling around on the harsh roads, each pothole and rut rocking the men inside. Their headlights illuminating the small cliffside road as they approached a small military checkpoint guarding the road ahead. The trucks came to a halt, the sharp hiss of the air brakes penetrating the otherwise silent night.

Out stepped one of the commanding officers, lazily saluting the few guards stationed there. They talked for a few minutes as the rumble of the idle engines echoed into the night. The guards looked around, obviously shocked at the news that they had received. However, they stood down, lifting the small barrier, and allowing the trucks to move in.

It wasn’t long before the trucks would once again come to a stop outside the compound. The wrought iron gates glistened in the high beam lights. Even the detailed hammer and sickle design stood out in intense beam. The two vehicles quickly began to unload. A small handful of troops, as well as several heavy machine guns were offloaded, aimed at setting up a parameter around the datcha. The aim was simple, to “protect Kiriyenko”, but not from the outside world, but from himself.

The few lights that lit up the datcha were quickly extinguished, their power cut off along with the phone lines. Even within the closed country, Kiriyenko’s Datcha would become yet another prison. It would be a few more hours Kiriyenko and his family would realise that they were under house arrest. The gates were locked shut, a machine gun emplacement faced into the compound as snipers watched from the surrounding cliffs. If he made a move, they would know about it. This would be how Alexander Kiriyenko lived and breathed, until his death just a few years later.

---

The country itself would not be told of the unfolding crisis for nearly a day. By then, most had already assumed the worst. Vicious rumours began to spread, many had worried that war had finally broken out. Luckly, those rumours would be dispelled. Not because of the lack of bombs and sirens, but the sight of Central Ruskan tanks, APCs and other military vehicles in the towns and cities of the country. A staged coup d'état, or as the government would later refer to it, the Ruskan Constitutional Crisis.

[Surdra]

Part One: First Moves

Residence of the Commander, 8th Guards Army Corps
Kirolichkala Army Base, Outskirts of Chernyshevka
February 17th, 1986 05:53 UTC+3

The dacha of the Commander of the 8th Guards Army Corps clearly did not belong among the cold, grey, concrete, and wooden buildings on the Kirolichkala army base. The wide corridors, arched windows, and high ceilings with stained wood interior walls gave the building an air of faded tsarist elegance. The 8th Guards commander, Colonel General Yefim Rabinovich, had carefully siphoned off funds and materials marked for the construction of a new barracks to build his private home on a quiet wooden area of the base. He had even used some of the very soldiers the barracks was for to build his garden and attached bathhouse.

The General had made sure to ally himself with Alexander Kiriyenko early into his career and had used the man to not only to gain his current position but also to secure it. The 8th Guards, 25,000 men and all, were responsible for the defense of the capital, thus making it an especially important and desirable position within the Soviet Army. Kiriyenko had known that his planned reforms would make him unpopular within the party, and he had hoped that by giving Rabinovich a position as the 8th Guards commander that he would in turn provide the much-needed security Kiriyenko desired. Kiriyenko was not oblivious to Rabinovich’s corruption, in fact he had in some ways had encouraged it by not putting an end to it early on, believing that it would be in Rabinovich’s best interest to keep Kiriyenko protected, knowing full well that without him Rabinovich would quickly find himself without friends surrounded by enemies. However, Kiriyenko’s plan backfired, badly. Instead of protecting him, Rabinovich’s actions and overt corruption only served to anger and alienate the more moderate members of the party and military. Men who might have suffered through Kiriyenko’s incessant reforms, instead turned to other men, men who promised to end the corruption and return the nation back to its former glory.

Rabinovich had yet woken that early morning or had word yet reached the rest of the country of the arrest of Kiriyenko. Had it maybe he would have been better prepared for what happened next. Rabinovich was woken abruptly, startled by the sound of metal crashing together. He was surprised to hear men shouting and diesel engines roaring outside early in the morning. Rushing from his bed and he threw aside the curtains of his bedroom window and watched as two armored cars drove across in the front courtyard of his dacha, followed swiftly by several covered military trucks. He watched as troops leaped from the vehicles and fanned out across the courtyard and began rushing towards the main house. At first, he mistook the troops as his own, but the twisted and mangled remnants of his dacha’s front gate told him otherwise. No, it was clear to him that these troops were here to arrest him or worse. When he saw the distinctive blue beret belonging to the airborne troops as they moved towards the house, he knew who was responsible for the attack.

Next came a crash as the troops breached his dacha’s front doors. Followed by the sounds of his bodyguards as they began fighting with the attackers. Rabinovich knew it was over, but he would not go down without fighting. Ignoring the cries of his wife asking him what was happening, he quickly left his bedroom and went to his adjoining office. As more gunfire echoed through the house, he moved behind his desk and tried to open the drawer he kept a spare pistol, but it was locked. Cursing out loud as he remembered that he had locked it and that he left the key on the nightstand next to his bed. Quickly he rushed back into the bedroom, where his wife now snow-white in terror, watched him as he retrieved his key. Neither had noticed that the sounds of fighting had ended until a terrible crash came from the next room. The attacking troops had reached his office and he could hear their muffled footsteps and hushed whispers as they prepared to enter the bedroom. There was nothing to do now but stand there and watch as the doors to his bedroom were kicked opened. A dozen troops burst into the room with their rifles leveled right at Rabinovich and as he just stood there, unsure what to do, the two nearest troops closed the distance and forced Rabinovich to his knees. As they began to place him into handcuffs, Rabinovich regained his senses and began barking at the troops.

“What is the meaning of this?” He shouted, spit flying from his mouth. “I am Colonel General Yefim Rabinovich! I am ordering you to release me immediately!”

None of the troops moved, the only sounds were the gentle sobbing of the General’s wife.

“Did you not hear me?! I am ordering you to release me! Damn you all, I will see that all of you are shot for this!”

“The only person here that has to fear being shot is you comrade Rabinovich,” came a response from an officer standing just inside the doorway. He was a tall muscular Captain with fair blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He also wore the insignia and blue beret that identified him as an officer of the 75th Special Reconnaissance Brigade (Spetsnaz) of the Soviet Airborne Forces.

Rabinovich was quick to respond, “And who do you think you men are?! I am the commander of the 8th Guards Army! I am protected! When the General Secretariat hears what you have done here, you and all of your men are dead!”

“I doubt that very much,” the officer said as pulling some papers from his breast pocket as he stepped towards Rabinovich. “I am Captain Mikhail Alekseyev, 75th SRB, under special orders directly from Minister Sergei Nikolaev on the behalf the State committee on the State of Emergency. I am placing you under arrest for crimes against the state. You are hereby stripped of your rank and relieved from your duties as commander of the 8th Guards Army.”

Before he could even respond, one of the troops shoved a gag into Rabinovich mouth and then another pulled a hood over his head. Alekseyev gave one quick nod and Rabinovich was unceremoniously dragged away out of his dacha.

As he followed behind Alekseyev looked towards his radio operator, “Inform the General that we have captured our target and that we are moving to the holding location.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two hours later
Kirolichkala Army Air Field

Captain Alekseyev stood waiting as he watched as Major General Misha Tereshchenko stepped out of his helicopter and ducked under the still rotating blades.

“Comrade General,” Alekseyev said as he snapped to attention and saluted as the man ran towards him.

“Where is he?” The General asked as he quickly returned the salute.

Motioning to the hanger behind him, “He is in there Comrade General.”

“Casualties?” The General asked.

“Four sir; three of the soldiers assigned to guard the residence received minor wounds during the assault, one of mine was also wounded. I am told he will take some months to recover.”

The older man’s demeanor changed as he broke out into a smile and quickly embraced the younger officer. This was no longer a superior officer pleased with the performance of his junior officer, but rather that of an uncle proud of the actions of his nephew.

“Outstanding work my boy,” General Tereshchenko wrapped his arm around his nephew and guided into the hanger. “Rabinovich was the greatest threat to this operation. Had he been allowed to mobilize his command, our plans could have been stopped dead in their tracks or at best would have resulted in repeat of 1918 just far bloodier. I feared that when I assigned you to this task that I would be sending you into the wolves’ den. Clearly I was mistaken.”

“I did only my duty and as my country required uncle,” Alekseyev replied somewhat quietly, slightly embarrassed by his uncle’s praise.

“So humble Mikhail,” his uncle said amused by his nephew’s embarrassment. “Don’t you worry, as soon as I can, I will inform Minister Nikolaev and Turov and the rest of the Committee of your success. Such success deserves to be recognized and rewarded. What of his Deputy? General Alexeyev?”

“Lieutenant General Yuri Alexeyev is waiting for you in the 8th Guards headquarters, under guard as you ordered uncle, he has been informed that the 8th Guards are now under his command and that you would be acting as his deputy for now.”

“Excellent work Mikhail, your mother and father would be proud of you as am I.”

“Permission to speak freely uncle?”

“As long as it is just you and I Mikhail, you may always speak freely.”

Alekseyev paused as he turned to look at his uncle, “Uncle I do not trust General Alexeyev, the man was too close to Rabinovich for too long. There is now way he is not part of Rabinovich’s corruption.”

“Of course Yuri cannot be trusted,” the older man nearly laughed. “Even Yuri knows that we should not trust him, that is why he is the perfect tool for us to use right now. For now, he is a useful puppet for the committee to wield, that is why I am here. Through me, the committee ensures that Alexeyev does as he is ordered to do and that the 8th Guards fight who we want them to fight. When the time comes Alexeyev will be quietly replaced, his cooperation will determine if it is to be a peaceful retirement or if he spends the next ten years breaking rocks in the east. Now come, I wish to see the look on Rabinovich’s fat face when he realizes that this is the end for him. Let me worry about Alexeyev. For now, I have your next orders.”

Alekseyev switched in an instant from a nephew talking to his uncle back to the good soldier he was. “Yes, comrade General.”

“You and your men are to return to the capital,” Tereshchenko said as he handed Alekseyev his new orders. “We still have much to do to remove the cancer that Kiriyenko allowed to grow. We must move swiftly to remove it.”

Saluting, Alekseyev snapped to attention, “yes comrade General, at once.” Then he pivoted on his heels and walked away, leaving the General behind to deal with Rabinovich and Alexeyev. Alekseyev pushed all thoughts of those men from his mind and instead focused on the future. He knew that this would be a defining moment for him and his country. Alekseyev was a true believer that what they were doing was needed to save his country. As much as the west remained a threat, the damage Kiriyenko had done was far greater in his mind and he was willing to do what ever it took to save it.

[Central Ruska]

Kiriyenko’s Datcha
Savinska, Kalamia
February 17th, 1986 08:18 UTC+3

Word was quick to move around. The small detachment of guards had already begun to dig in. The small summer Datcha and its compound had been quickly transformed into a stronghold. The once pristine whitewashed walls were now topped with barbed wire and sandbags. The old wrought iron gate had been removed, replaced with a simple wooden checkpoint barrier. Spotlights and machine guns now defined the home of the former General Secretary. Alexander Kiriyenko blankly stared out of a second story window. The early morning sun would have otherwise awoken him, but now it illuminated his current situation. For just a few hours later, his world came crumbling apart.

The country, the second love of his life. The state he thought he was helping, improving, changing. Had turned its back on him. His mind jumped to history, to the old stories of Yakimov II, and his inevitable fate. Was he and his family next? Was he to become a footnote in history, sent to the depths of Sibeki and executed? Lucky enough, for him at least, this would not be his fate. Just minutes earlier, the soldiers of the 37th Guards Motor Rifle division had “politely” entered the datcha. The sounds of boots thumping through the hallways and rooms of the datcha, ruthlessly looting what furniture and wealth they could find. Doors were kicked down, furniture overturned and removed. Trucks loaded with the possentional wealth of the former head of state were taken from him. Every last piece. Even the few members of staff were carted off, taken from the compound.

Kiriyenko watched it all happen from his bedroom window. His wife and child were ushered away into a separate room by two guards, splitting the once strong family apart, and yet he stood still, powerless to stop it from happening. His mind continued to race, no longer thinking of his own safety, but for theirs. It was only when a quick rapping on the door, broke that solemn silence. Turning around, he briefly composed himself as best he could, long gone were the neatly pressed uniforms and suits, today he stood before fate, in just his white vest, and his pajama pants. He wasn’t even given the grace of addressing the visitor, within seconds, two guards barged in, and then stepped to either side of the door. There was a short pause, before a tall figure entered. In stark contrast to how Kiriyenko was dressed. The officer proudly wore his long, grey officer's greatcoat over his neatly pressed khaki uniform.

Kiriyenko could see it in the way he stood there, the way he almost smirked as he brought out a single sheet of paper from his dossier. It confirmed what he already knew was going on. It was the end of his career, his life. His everything.

“Alexander Kiriyenko,” the officer spoke, reading from the script in front of him. Every syllable felt like a gunshot in Kiriyenko's chest.

“You are accused of using your position as General Secretary of the Communist Party of Central Ruska to plot against the state and her people, with the goal of forwarding the interest of foreign powers to weaken the United Soviet States of Central Ruska, and her allies.”

Kiriyenko’s heart sank. How could it have all come to this, his life's work serving the state, and now it’s condemning him. “T-ten years! Ten years I have spent serving this country,” He spat back, his temper getting the better of him. It was only when the officer rested his hand on his hip, showing off the holstered pistol, that the reality of his current predicament became ever present.

“Ten years, and this is the thanks I get, chush' sobach'ya.” He sighed, his hands covering his face. “I swear, heads will roll for this. The people will not stand by and idly watch! They will rise!” he began shouting once more. The officer did nothing, other than clearing his throat.

“Sir. You are accused of treason, and anti-soviet behavior. You have been found guilty by the court, and are sentenced to exile from the United Soviet States of Central Ruska, and will be placed under house arrest until further notice. You will hereby be relieved of your duty.”

The officer turned on his heel, leaving Kiriyenko to think of his empty future.

---

Building of the Supreme Soviet of Central Ruska
Chernyshevka, USSCR
February 17th, 1986 16:29 UTC+3

The nation was in a quiet lull. Communications had been out since the morning, yet everyone knew something was going on. Rumours had spread quickly throughout the civilian population, spurred on by a few loose lips within the military and political ranks. Everything from impending war to civil war, yet little knew of the real undertakings of the government. To the State committee on the State of Emergency, everything was going according to plan. The entire peninsula of Kalamia had been sealed off from the world, radio and television was still suppressed, and the military was working as intended.

Minor skirmishes had reportedly occurred within several military bases around the country, but nothing like they had thought. The most important military power in the area, the 8th Guards Army Corps had been suppressed and their leadership replaced with that of Lieutenant General Yuri Alexeyev. The city of Chernyshevka was now safely under the control of the new state. In a few hours, the news would be broken to the civilian population, a simple televised report right from the Kremlin itself. It would denounce the leadership of Alexander Kiriyenko, calling him a traitor to the communist party and its people. It would hopefully be simple enough, it was well known that the people of Central Ruska despised his leadership, other than a small percentage of hardline followers.

However, this had been taken into consideration. As the afternoon progressed, KGB agents spread throughout the capital and other major cities and settlements. Rounding up the known sympathisers to Kiriyenko. Both military and civilian. It would be later referred to as the largest KGB operations since Zolnerowich and his death. All would be brought before the People’s court. Likely to be imprisoned, exiled, and executed under a multitude of charges raining from treason to corruption. Hundreds, if not thousands would be rounded up, and erased from history. It was a necessary task to prevent any civil unrest, and the coup d'etat needed to go perfectly.

Half an hour later

The cameras focused on the group. The five men preparing the last few papers and notes before they went live. The otherwise large auditorium used for The Congress of Soviets was nearly empty. The emergency meeting was only attended by a few of the ministers available at the Kremlin, however it did not matter to the state committee. All they needed was the attention of the nation. A single table was placed in the centre of the stage, adorned with the emblem of the nation, as well as several flags. Sergei Nikolaev was placed in the middle, with his co-conspirators to his flanks. He gently padded his forehead with his handkerchief, the light covering of sweat was showing that the stress was slowly getting to him. This would be his defining moment. The moment that he would become history.

“1 minute.” the call came out from the small camera crew in front of them. Sergei looked to his sides, nodding at those in attendance. He reached for the glass of water before him, doing his best to control his shaking hand as he drank from it. His heart felt like exploding from his chest. Movement caught his attention as he shifted his focus, one of the crew now signaled with his hand. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. The recording light flashed to life, the red light calling out to Sergei. It was now. He gulped, taking a deep breath.

“Good afternoon, people of the United Soviet States of Central Ruska…”

[Margaux]

Minister Headquarters
Triablo, Margaux
February 17th, 1986 15:19 UTC

The clicking of shoes is all Audrick Hemmel could hear as he walked back to his office. He had been busy with meeting all day, as the first quarter hit it's halfway point. He reached his door and unlocked it. He noticed he had mail, but he would ignore it for now. He went to his filing cabinets and started to separate the papers he had collected from his meetings. After he finished sorting the papers, he hit play on the messages on his office phone. As the voice machine droned on about the usual stuff he pulled up his email, and started to read the reports.

After sometime of reading through his reports he noticed one spoke of complete silence from the USSCR. He marked it for later, and then continued down the reports. He then started to notice more reports of the quiet USSCR from other nations. He separated all the USSCR reports and printed them all out. He grabbed all the files and slid them into a folder.

With the folder in hand he walked to the Minister of Defenses corridor. He was met with numerous employees rushing back and forth between rooms. Audrick made his way through the mass of people. He arrived at the Minister of Defenses office. The door was wide open as people made their ways in and out.

The Minister of Defense was on the phone. He was arguing with whoever was on the phone. Audrick ushers everyone currently in the room, out. He shuts the door behind them. He waits patiently as the Minister finishes. When the phone is placed back down, Audrick tosses the folder onto the desk.

"What the hell is going on?" The Minister of Defense opens the folder and briefly reads the papers.

"I don't know Audrick. I only recently received news of this strange quiet. The Emperor said not to worry about it. He said it was probably their government clashing."

"But, the USSCR's government has always seemed fine. They barely had problems that we knew of."

"That we knew of. The Emperor knows more than us. But, I have divisions already mobilizing. Just in case they are planning an attack."

"Would they attack us? We are the least of the threats in the world."

"But, we are a target all the same."

"What do we know so far, Eric?"

General Eric Pouer, Minister of Defense, sits at his desk.

"We know that the nation of the USSCR has gone quiet. No planes, communications, boats. Nothing. No one in or out. We are hearing rumours of soldiers in the streets, but that is it."

"Were they invaded? That could be the reason for the soldiers and the complete silence from the government."

"No, we would know about an invasion. For one, there was no fighting. No large scale fighting. It's just been quiet."

"Maybe the Emperor is right, and it is just the government acting up."

"It may be, but I will still have soldiers waiting. Just in case."

"Good enough for me. Good day Minister."

"Good day Minister. Have fun at your meetings."

Minister of International Affairs, Audrick Hemmel, starts his walk back to his corridor.

[Wille-Harlia]

Wyatt Rastman was tired. Just a few minutes ago, he had been awoken from his sleep by a persistent and loud beep, increasing in intensity until he got up. His wife woke up beside him. They shared a glance. “Work,” he mumbled. He looked at his watch. It read 2:31 AM. “Joe probably thinks the USSCR and Surdra are at it again.” An hour later, Minister if Defence, Wyatt Rastman, was in his office with a strong cup of coffee. “This had better be good, Joe. And by good, I mean so important it couldn’t wait until the morning.” He takes a sip of his coffee. Joe fidgeted nervously. “You see, sir. Something’s happened. The-,” Wyatt interjected, “Something better have happened all right. Sorry.” Wyatt regained his composure. “Continue.” Joe piped up. “It’s the USSCR. They’ve gone quiet. Nothing. No one in or out. Not even our satellites have been able to pick anything up. It’s as if there government just...disappeared.” Wyatt sipped his coffee again. “Odd. We’ll just have to wait and see what comes of this. Then Joe walked back down the hall, and left Wyatt with a half full cup of coffee, and a grouchy mind that knew he wasn’t going to get his sleep back.

[Dokansia]

The USSCR’s silence was being noticed in other nations as well…

The chattering and bickering at the board table was abruptly cut short due to the entry of Ernst Matthews, the head of defense. After wearily taking a seat and permitting the others to do the same, he begins the meeting:
“I have been called here to hear some important news. May I remind you gentlemen that I was on a holiday with my wife in Sarandia at the time, so what you tell me better be important.”

A young general pipes up:
“Sir, the USSCR has gone silent, no communication, no broadcasts, no government movement, nothing”
Ernst’s expression quickly became rapt
“Nothing? Have they really gone silent or are they just cutting us off? Has Leader Sandstone done something to offend them somehow?”
“We don’t believe so” The general replied. “Our, er, sources tell us that other nations seem to be receiving a complete silence from them as well, even the ones that have been known to be on friendly terms with the Ruskies. Our spies stationed in the USSCR are also completely in the dark. Though plenty of rumors are circulating among their civilian population that something sinister is afoot.”

“Rumors aren’t going to get us anywhere.” Ernst replied sharply. “We need facts in order to understand the full situation and act accordingly. Another reminder is the we rely on the USSCR for a good chunk of our natural gas imports. Meaning if they cut ties with us, we’ll have to rely on other less hospitable nations in order to survive. What we need to do is to start drawing up plans for all the possible outcomes. After all, it could only be a slight lull?” He could not keep the hopefulness out of his tone, and the rest of the board recognized it.

“In any case, we are not to bother Leader Sandstone with this unless this situation becomes serious. If we bother him with something as minor as a lull in activity, heads will roll. We will hold another meeting if any major developments follow, meeting adjourned.”

[Central Ruska]

Building of the Supreme Soviet of Central Ruska
Chernyshevka, USSCR
February 17th, 1986 17:34 UTC+3

Half an hour. Half an hour all was all it took to change the history of the nation. As the red glow from the single camera unit died, Sergei sighed with relief. His heart still pounding away as the lights changed, and movement once again filled the room. With a single televised broadcast, he had ushered in a wave of change across the USSCR. Years of mismanagement under Kiriyenko was on the brink of crumbling, he would once again see the nation to the head of the world stage. Sergei wiped away the fine misting of sweat covering his forehead, he tried to steady his hand as he dabbed away the sweat. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins. He was in charge of the show now. This was his moment to shine.

Nikon Yakovlev was the first to congratulate him, almost jumping onto stage to praise the speech and to praise the hand of change. However Sergei didn’t acknowledge him, the pounding sensation had moved up to his head and the room began to spin. A sharp ringing began to penetrate through the cheering and jubilations in the room, Sergei’s hearing began to fail him. Reality snapped back briefly as he excused himself, hurriedly exiting the room. He moved fast through the empty hallways, finding the closest restrooms. He gasped for air as the cold water hit his face, looking back up at himself in the mirror. All the colour had drained from his face as the cool water spilled out onto the floor.

“Come on Sergei, you can do this. They’re all looking up to you now.” He stuttered.

“It’s not going to look good if you’re talking to yourself Sergei.” Sergei jolted in place, his hand clutching at his chest. He hadn’t noticed his Minister of Defence, Yuri Turov, step into the bathrooms.

“Blyad’!” he cursed, desperately trying to clean himself up as the Minister stood before him. “Have you not heard of knocking! You could have given me a heart attack!”

“I’m sorry, General Secretary. I saw you run in here, wanted to make sure that everything was okay.” Turov tried to reason, stepping further into the restroom. His hand resting on Sergei’s shoulder.

“Do I look okay!? Blyad’... We’ve just changed the fate of the nation and you’re asking me if I’m okay!?” Sergei retorted, still staring at himself in the mirror. “How the hell am I meant to he okay with this… All eyes are on me.”

Turov simply smiled, patting his back, doing his best to try to reassure the almost panicking General Secretary. “Sergei. It’s going to be tough, but this is what the people want, this is just the natural flow. We can do this, nothing is going to stop us.”

“I hope you’re right Yuri. I really do.”

---

Around the nation, people gathered in their homes, their eyes and ears glued to the televisions and radios as the news broke. Months upon months of planning had finally come to a peak. As the broadcast ended, the massive news network of the USSCR kicked into gear, spreading the word far and wide. The nation was to remain on a lockdown, curfews were in place, and public gathering was prohibited, at least until things were more secure. This didn’t stop the more vocal populs, those who still supported Kiriyenko’s way of life. Protesters gathered in the streets around Chernysheva, mainly outside the Kremlin's walls. However, units of the 9th Guards Motor Rifle Division and the 84th Motor Rifle Division had already moved into key positions around the capital, and tanks replaced cars on many of the city's bridges and roads. It would become an iconic scene that would circulate around the globe. The might of the Ruskan armed forces, numerous BMP-2s IFVs blocked the streets, guns and turrets aimed into the crowds.

The coup d'etat was underway. The years of political, economic and military incompetence under Kiriyenko’s regime had finally come to a head. The country had just watched on live television the broadcast that would change the fate of the nation, unbeknown to them, this was just the match that would ignite the fire that would burn for years to come.

[Wille-Harlia]

Wille-Harlian Intelligence Headquarters (WHIHQ)
Cavaliersburg, Wille-Harlia
February 18th, 1986 12:34 UTC-3
Minister Wyatt Rastman was sitting at his desk on the top floor of the WHIHIQ building. He had his feet propped up on his desk, and he was eating lunch. He had just gone down to the building's cafeteria to get some food. Noodles again. Would it bother the Food & Infrastructure Ministry so much to spice it up a bit, he thought agitatedly. He was sticking his fork into his bowl of noodles once again when somebody knocked. "Come in." he warbled through a mouth full of food, kicking his feet off his desk, in an attempt to make himself look presentable. All he got in return was the somewhat bemused yet bewildered glance of the staffer who had knocked. "Well, what is it?" Wyatt asked the staffer. "This." the staffer said, spreading out multiple pictures of tanks, troop transports, and armed soldiers, all proudly displaying the USSCR star emblem. Wyatt glanced at the staffer then down at the pictures again. "These from our satellites?" Wyatt asked, still looking down. "Yes, sir." the staffer replied. Wyatt said to himself, "On the one hand, this is nothing new, the USSCR has always been quite dictatorial, but . . . they did completely lock down a few days ago, so . . . you think there was a coup?" The staffer replied, "Yes." Wyatt said, "Alright then. Forward these images to the Emperor, and inform him of that conclusion. As of now, I think we should sit on this information, wait to see if anyone else knows." "I will do that immediately, sir." the staffer replied, picking up the photos, and placing them in a secure envelope. "Thank you." Wyatt answered, and the staffer left. Wyatt kept eating the now-cold noodles, and he started to think...

[Surdra]

By the evening of the 17th the response from the western nations had transformed from confused to resolved. When word of the coup first reached the King of the United States of Columbia, George III, who was vacationing in New Hampton, made a blunt demand for Kiriyenko's restoration to power and said the United States did not accept the legitimacy of the self-proclaimed new Soviet government. He decried the coup as a "misguided and illegitimate effort" that "bypasses both Soviet law and the will of the Soviet peoples." He also then immediately canceled his vacation and rushed home to the Executive Palace in Washington. The King then issued a strongly worded statement that followed a day of consultations with other leaders of the Western alliance and a concerted effort to squeeze the new Soviet leadership by freezing economic aid programs.

King George’s statement, drafted after a series of meetings with top aides in Washington, was much more forceful than his initial reaction that morning in New Hampton. It was in keeping with a unified Western effort to apply both diplomatic and economic pressure to the group of Soviet officials seeking to gain control of the country. He added, "There seems little doubt that General Secretary Kiriyenko has been removed from power by an unconstitutional seizure of power. I believe that the whole world has a profoundly serious stake in the events currently taking place within the USSCR. The reform process there is of vital importance to the world and of most vital importance of course to the Soviet people themselves and I hope that is fully clear. There is a great deal of information we don't yet have, but I would like to make clear above all that we would expect the USSCR to respect and honor all the commitments that General Secretary Kiriyenko has made on its behalf."

The response from ANMO (Alliance of the North Medius Ocean) followed a similar fashion. Newly promoted Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR) General John Chapman, USA, immediately put the forces under his command on full alert but did not authorize any movements towards the Inner Belkan border. All troops not on post were recalled and all units made ready to move to their predetermined staging areas along the border. Until any further provocations from the Atovatski pact forces ANMO would hold short of mobilization. In the east ROTA (Remus Ocean Treaty Alliance) followed suit, going to full alert and readiness but no movements towards Soviet territory were authorized.

Also in the East, the Kannexian government appeared tacitly to support the coup when it issued a statement saying the move was an internal affair of the USSCR and the Imperial Ruling Council released no immediate comment. Within Kannex more hardline leaders strongly disapprove of Kiriyenko's program of political liberalization, blaming him for "the loss of Eastern Europe to capitalism." Especially those within the Imperial military feared what would happen if both the West and the USSCR continued to build closer ties. Maybe the two would even ally themselves against Kannex. So it was decided early on that the Empire of Kannex would do whatever it could to exploit the current situation.




Headquarters of the National Signals Office
Fort Dalton, Potomac
February 17th, 1986 19:23 UTC/14:23 Local

Mark Campbell frowned at his cold coffee. It was his seventh of the day and it was not really helping him. It had been a long day for everyone in the Columbian intelligence community. The ongoing Ruskan coup d’état had come as complete surprise to Surdran intelligence just the same as the rest of the world. He had just left his house when news of the coup had been announced. Somehow, he had managed to not crash his six year old station wagon in the snow as he rushed into work. The intelligence analyst had spent the entirety of his day going back through months of old signal intercepts and decrypts trying to see what they had missed. The coup was too large had too many moving parts for there to not have been some sort of warning sign. He had already called his wife and told her that he probably would not be home for a couple of days.

“What do you think is gonna happen with all of this, Mark?” a coworker asked.

Campbell’s head snapped up from his coffee, he was surprised as he had not seen his coworker sit down at the table with him, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“What do you think is gonna happen with what’s going down in Chernyshevka?”

“The coup? I don’t know,” Campbell replied leaning back in his chair. “I see three possible outcomes; first and best case, they fail and Kiriyenko gets his house back in order. Second and best worse case, they succeed and the USSCR gets some hardliners in charge for the next few decades. Third and worst case, Ruska gets a new civil war.”

Campbell’s coworker seemed to shrug at the last one. “No skin off our backs if the Ruskans start fighting themselves, might even let some of the Pact break away, we know the last few years the independence movements in East Belka and Polska have been building steam.”

“You forget that the USSCR has the largest stockpile of nukes in the world,” Campbell cautioned, “Last thing the world needs is bunch of warlords fighting each other of control of them. Or even worse selling them to any third world dictator or terrorists that can afford to pay for them.”

His coworker seemed satisfied with that explanation and moved the conversation onto another topic. The two men shared a polite conversation in the National Signals Office’s commissary for a few more minutes until Campbell excused himself and returned to his office. Greeting him were piles of folders with everything that had come across his desk in the last six months. Campbell sighed at the pile on his desk, and already he decided another cup of coffee was going to be needed.

[Margaux]

Bering Military Port
Nikolaen, Margaux
February 17th, 1986 20:35 UTC

General Thomas Verter watches as sailors run around the port. The snow slowly drifts around him. The bleak overcast sky that sits above him. The cold hard concrete that he stands on.

The general watches as ships are filled with supplies. From food to shells.

"The Emperor has ordered the Navy to mobilize." The General turns to the person who spoke.

A young looking woman steps next to the General.

"Empress Augusta. A pleasure to see you."

Empress Tatiaza Augusta, the Emperor's sister. Her black hair has specks of white dotting it. Her cool green eyes watch the bustling port. She stands a few inches shorter than the general, but has an air of authority hanging around her.

"General. How are you?"

"I am well. If you don't mind me asking, miss. Where is the Emperor?"

"He'll be here. I know you had a meeting."

"I'm sure you did. Could you tell me, why the Emperor did not mobilize all branches of the military?"

The Empress flicks a glance at the General.

"Because, the current situation in the USSCR. Has nothing to do with the Empire. And the Navy was mobilized so a tight line was set in our waters. The other western nations seem to be agitated with the news."

The General nods.
"That is fair. But, then why did the Emperor want to meet with me?"

"You are one of our highest Generals. My brother has already spoken with the Minister of Defense, and General Berkings. You are next."

"Then why did he not get all of us into one meeting? Instead of meeting us in different places."

The Empress shakes her head.
"The Emperor is very busy as of now. With the other Western nations starting to aim their sights East. We have an opportunity to expand our borders..."

The General is quiet for a moment.
"I see."

The Empress nods.

The sound of clicking shoes on concrete is heard. The Empress and General turn to the noise.

A man dressed in a black suit, with a red tie, is seen walking towards them. The man stands decently tall. A sword hooked to his waist, and a small silver crown sits on his head.

The General and Empress bow.
"Emperor."

[Central Ruska]

Koyanskaya Ulitsa, Tikanskiy rayon
North Chernyshevka, USSCR
February 18th, 1986 06:04 UTC+3

“Affirmative. Responding now. Out.”

“All units, be advised: Reports of civilian occupation along Koyanskaya Ulitsa are confirmed. Over.”

“They’ve set up barricades, they’re not letting this one go.”

“Unconfirmed reports suggest that the police station has been occupied. Be advised: Weapons may be present, how copy?”

“Blyad'! 2-1, this is 2-2. We are taking shots, repeat. We are under fire! There! Ublyudok is on the fourth floor, take him out!”

“Command, this is Zhenya 2-1. Confirmed weapons in AO. Proceeding with caution. Out.”

The echoes of gunshots had replaced the normally quiet February morning. Armed units 9th Guards Motor Rifle Division had replaced the police on many of the streets of Chernyshevka that morning. Dealing with sporadic pockets of resistance to the new regime. Civil unrest was far from what most had expected that crisp morning, even those along Koyanskaya Ulitsa were surprised to wake up to the dull thump of grenade launchers, shooting off smoking canisters into the densely packed crowds.

The situation was developing fast, the local police had been replaced with riot police, and not before long, they had been replaced with the military. The 9th Guards Motor Rifle division had swept in quickly, replacing the police cars with armoured ones, BMPs and BTRs now roamed around, doing their best to cut up the protests and push them away. However, it was not all smooth sailing. Police units along Koyanskaya Ulitsa had been pushed back and enveloped by the chanting crowds, their shields and limited armament not stopping the mob. The local police station had been overwhelmed within minutes, their weapons cache taken from them. What were only a few rifles and shotguns were quickly taken, the building ransacked and fortified. Now fairly well defended as the mob continued to flow into the old square around the building. It was around 06:00 when the first units of the 9th Guard showed up, astonished at the sights of the crowds, until the first round ricocheted off the lead command vehicle's hood. The men surrounding it dived to the ground as another crack rippled through the air, it wasn’t long before the flurry of messages were transmitted around.

“2-2, this is 2-1. Be advised, friendly units entering AO from the south-west, along Prospekt Kollontay. Friendly IFVs on route, ETA 10 minutes. Out.”

It was to be a show of force, nothing more. Arrive with the heavy equipment, scare them off. The rules of engagement strictly prohibited armed conflict, baring warning shots. The last thing the coup wanted was a bloodbath on their first day, and to ensure that, the safety switches would remain on. It wasn’t long before the heavy rumble of 300 horsepower engines echoed through the streets. The smarter individuals in the crowds began to quietly vacate the square, those who could remember that familiar roar. The sight of two BMP-2 infantry fighting vehicles was enough to instill fear in the crowds. The two armoured vehicles were positioned on either side of the street, slowly but methodically moved forward. Flanked on their sides, the men from the 9th Guard, weapons drawn as they moved up.

“Hold positions.”

A lone cry echoed out. The troops stopped, dropping down to their firing positions, their automatic weapons pointed at the crowds. An eerie silence quickly took hold, until the roar of the BMP engines ruptured that silence, the vehicles spewing out a thick black smoke as they lurched forward. The immediate crowd began to fall back as the IFVs slammed into the side of a parked car, the metal warping under the strain of the collision. Rocks and bottles quickly began filling the air as the crowd hurled them at the advancing vehicles, which made quick work of the erected barricades.

Another shot rang out, the unknown marksman took another potshot at the approaching soldiers, enough this time to break the crowd into a rout. Many had heard of things happening around the continent at the time, it was only last summer that riots in Polska and East Belka were brutally repressed by Pact forces. The last thing they wanted to be was yet another statistic on paper. The crowd broke away in any direction that they could, much to the disdain of the 9th Guards, now doing their best to control the panicked crowd as the shooter fired another round. This time, his round found its mark. The 7.62x54mm round slammed into the right side clavicle, shattering the bone. He fell to the ground, grasping at his shoulder as his squadmates dragged him away behind the armoured vehicle. He screamed out in pain as a medic began tending to him. The troops began shouting, calling for the shooter to stand down, which only resulted in another shot.

“Viktor! Aleksei! I want eyes on that building! Shooter on the fourth floor! If he sticks his head up, I want him dead!”

The two men ran forward, taking up positions behind the now stationary IFV. Peering out around the side, they both fixated on the old building, which was still a flurry of activity despite the arrival of the military. Viktor caught a glimpse of a silhouette, before the now familiar crack of the rifle firing again. The bullet ricocheted off the side of the IFV, narrowly avoiding him.

“Aleksei, fourth floor, second window from the left. Wait for him to step out, then fire one warning shot.”

“Da, I’ve got it.”

Aleksei stood up, resting his Dragunov SVD rifle along the back of the BMP, steadying his hand as he toggled the safety switch, aiming just slightly to the side of the window. He could see the faint outline of the shooter, behind him people could be seen moving from room to room, most looking like they were trying to escape the building. Suddenly, the figure stepped out from behind the curtain, lifting his rifle up ready to take another shot. However, Aleksei was quicker, his finger gently pulled back the trigger, engaging the firing mechanism of the SVD. The slight recoil fed back into his shoulder as the bullet left the barrel, colliding with the aging concrete wall, sending shrapnel flying in all directions as the shooter ducked back behind the curtain, bolting through another door, into the adjacent room.

“Blyad', target moving.”

He squinted down his scope, he could just see the muzzle from the rifle protruding from the wall. The shooter wasn’t really going to try again was he? The area was surrounded, he was outnumbered, outgunned, he had nothing left; Aleksei thought to himself, almost pulling the trigger as the adrenaline coursed through his body.

“Easy now, you’ll get your shot.”

“Shut up, Viktor. I know what I’m doing.”

Movement. There he was again, stepping out from behind the curtains, rifle raising up. Time seemed to slow down as Aleksei exhaled, that shooter was aiming directly for him. His finger tensed up again, pulling back on the trigger. The bullet once more left the barrel, traveling at 830 metres per second as it cleared the distance in milliseconds. It had found its mark, almost dead centre in the shooter's chest. He stumbled backwards, before falling down.

“Target neutralized.”

---

Building of the Supreme Soviet of Central Ruska
Chernyshevka, USSCR
February 18th, 1986 20:41 UTC+3

Sergei Nikolaev had almost worn a groove into the floor with the sheer amount of pacing that he had done that day. The entire day had been spent receiving word from this detachment and that regiment, rumours both confirmed and denied of uprisings and protests. 15 dead here, half a dozen wounded here. Possible protests in Arstokia and Estovakai. Hundreds of thoughts racing through his mind, it was one hell of a day to start leading a country. When Yuri Turov, Minister of Defence, eventually strolled into Sergei’s office he was slouched in his desk chair, an exhausted expression plastered across his face.

“Tough day, wouldn’t you say?” he joked, a quiet laugh followed, as he looked over and out the window.

“Tough day? Der'mo! I thought we agreed, this would be peaceful! I’ve spent the entire day hearing of this crap! Why the hell are you here anyway Yuri?” Sergei sighed, sitting upright in his chair, doing his best to seem somewhat in order as he began to clear away the stacks of paper on his desk.

“Well, I thought you’d like at least some good news tonight. But, I guess it can wait until the morn-”

“Get it over with.” Sergei interjected, his weary eyes still able to shoot daggers towards Yuri.

“Well, reports suggest that minor civil unrest has been quelled in Polska and Estovkai. But all Pact nations are welcoming the new leadership. Bar this slight issue, all seems well in the union, Sergei.”

“Well thank the heavens for that. But what of here, in our country.” Sergei sighed, his hands covering his face.

“Minor issues again, Chernyshevka is largely secured thanks to the 9th Guards. The only real issue is in Nikolo-Pestrovka, but I’m hearing from the 31st Motor Rifle division that it’ll be cleared up in a few hours, something about students occupying the government buildings there. Nothing we can’t handle.”

Sergei stood up, running his hand through his hair as he adjusted his tie, loosening it slightly as he walked over to the window. The evening view of Chernyshevka did something to at least put his mind at ease, at least for a few seconds.

“What about the west, Surdra and those damn ANMO dogs? Anything from that?”

“Nothing yet, but I’m sure they’re watching.”