Battlefield Russia

Humpty Dumpty

President Petrov looked at the latest battle report from the front lines. He was not happy with what he was reading. “How could things be unraveling so quickly?” he thought. A year ago, the Americans and Europeans had been in their final death throes, and now it felt like the walls of the war were rapidly closing in on him. He wasn’t sure Russia could still win without using nuclear weapons.

Sighing, Petrov depressed the intercom button on his desk. “Send them in,” he said to his secretary, whose desk was directly outside his office.

In walked General Boris Egorkin, the head of the Russian Army, Alexei Semenov, the Minister of Defense, General Kuznetsov, the head of the Russian Air Force, and Admiral Anatoly Petrukhin. He’d wanted this meeting to be small and secretive for the time being. When the outer door closed, Petrov signaled to his Head of Security that he didn’t want anyone to disturb them. The agent nodded and made sure the outer guards knew not to let anyone in, no matter who they were.

Blowing air out of the side of his mouth in frustration, Petrov began, “Generals, it’s only the five of us in this room, so I need honest answers. I need to know how long we have left.”

The other men in the room almost visibly deflated in their chairs. Perhaps they had believed their own lies, or the half-truths their subordinates had told them, but in that moment, they realized Petrov knew the jig was up. Defeat was all but assured at this point. It was just a matter of how and when, not if anymore.

General Kuznetsov was the first to speak. “Mr. President, I am not confident our air forces are going to be able to prevent the Allies from eventually dominating the skies. More than seventy percent of our fighter and ground-attack planes have been destroyed. We still have most of our strategic bombers, but I’m not sure how long that will last. We have to rotate their bases every couple of days to prevent the Allies from locating and destroying them.”

He paused for a second, as if he was debating whether or not he should say what he wanted to say next. “Over the last couple of months, the Americans have used a new weapon to counter the advantage our S-400 had given us over the Allies up to this point. When they launch an attack on our integrated air-defense pockets, they send in multiple aircraft that launch a series of AGM-158 joint air-to-surface standoff missiles. These missiles have been specifically equipped with sophisticated jamming and electronic spoofing equipment. On radar, the aircraft appears to be an enemy fighter, which our SAMs rightly move to engage. While this is happening, the Americans release a series of small-diameter precision-guided glide bombs at our radar and missiles sites. These are small but effective little bombs they’ve come up with.”

The general paused for a second and sighed. “This new attack strategy is proving to be incredibly effective, Mr. President. The Allies have managed to destroy more of our SAM sites in the last three months than they had in the previous twelve months. These are not sustainable losses. It’s already having a hugely negative effect on our ability to protect our ground forces, as I’m sure General Egorkin can attest. We are working on figuring out how to counter this, but short of us completely disabling the world’s entire satellite network, which I might add would obliterate our own satellite capability, there just isn’t too much we can do.”

Minister Semenov added, “At this rate, Mr. President, the Allies will be able to largely fly anywhere in Russia with impunity within a couple of months.”

Clearing his throat, General Egorkin interjected, “When the Allies have full air supremacy, they’ll quickly isolate and destroy our remaining combat formations, making it virtually impossible for me to amass any forces or launch any major counterattacks.”

Admiral Petrukhin added, “Aside from our nuclear-capable submarines, we are essentially finished as a service. Our last major attack was at Bear Island in the Barents Sea. Those ships have since been sunk by the Allies; I have nothing left.” He looked down in shame, then continued, “Despite our losses, I would argue that the operation was a major success in that we successfully sank three Allied aircraft carriers, along with a dozen other warships.”

“And yet, the Allies still managed to land multiple divisions’ worth of soldiers in Severodvinsk, establishing a large beachhead and enemy base in Archangelsk. Even now, those forces they landed are threatening Moscow,” countered Petrov.

“Yes, Mr. President. But the sinking of those three carriers severely limited the number of aircraft that can support those ground forces. The loss of those Allied destroyers also limited the Allies’ ability to launch cruise missiles at us,” explained the admiral.

Petrov shook his head in frustration as he sat there listening to the raw truth his generals were telling him. His stomach churned a bit, and he felt a bit of bile build up in the back of his throat. Looking at his generals, he asked, “What are your suggestions? What can be done to turn the war around, or is there nothing more we can do?”

Minister Semenov hesitantly answered, “Unless you want the war to go nuclear, Mr. President, there isn’t much we can do to turn things around at this point. We could make heavy use of tactical nuclear weapons and probably wipe out the majority of the Allied combat forces in or near our borders, but the Americans would surely respond in kind. We saw what they did to North Korea and China. President Gates didn’t hesitate for a second in hitting China with a nuclear bomb once they confirmed the Chinese had provided the North Koreans with the ICBMs that hit their West Coast.”

“We know how Gates would respond, but he’s dead,” said Petrov. “How would his successor, President Foss, respond? Does he have that same resolve? Would he really have the guts to use nuclear weapons? Especially if it were just soldiers being killed and not American cities being destroyed?” He searched their faces for an answer.

“Mr. President, I implore you not to consider using nuclear weapons,” Semenov urged. “It will only lead to the complete destruction of our country. The Americans have invested too much into this war to make peace simply because we dropped some nuclear bombs on their military. They will level our remaining military bases and devastate our cities. We still have the support of our Indian allies and the Chinese. If we have to, Mr. President, we can move the government beyond the Urals and continue to wage an insurgency against the Allies.”

Petrov shook his head at that suggestion. He wouldn’t abandon Moscow, not while they still had the strength to fight. The Nazis had thought they could lay siege to Moscow, but they had lost that battle. “No. We won’t relocate the government,” he asserted firmly. “If we do that, we send a signal to the people and the military that we are abandoning them. They will lose heart in our cause and no longer fight. We’ll stay here and make our stand. I’ll speak with Minister Kozlov to press the Americans for a ceasefire. We will try to negotiate an end to the war, with acceptable terms that will allow everyone to save as much face as possible.”

Some of the military leaders in the room might not have liked Petrov’s decision, but they would never have contradicted him out loud. They had their marching orders. With the essential military strategy having been decided, the military leaders left to make sure the military could defend the capital. If that meant conscripting more people, handing them a rifle and a couple magazines of ammunition and dropping them off to guard a trench, then so be it. They would remind the Americans how deadly a street fight would be if they persisted in attacking Moscow.

Oleg Zolotov poured himself another glass of Russo-Baltique vodka, a truly remarkable drink. As he filled the tumblers, he caught a short glance of his prized possessions playing with some toys in the living room, near the fireplace. His granddaughter, Eva, had just turned three, and his grandson, Ivan, was being cradled in his wife Katja’s arms with his daughter looking on.

“I am truly blessed to have such a beautiful family,” he thought.

He placed the tumbler on the end table between the two oversized chairs, where he could still look at the fireplace and watch the children and his wife and daughter from his private study. His son-in-law, Dmitry Chayko, took the tumbler, examining the liquid within before taking a sip. “This must be the finest vodka I’ve ever tasted, Oleg,” he commented.

Oleg nodded, and he also took a sip of the extremely expensive liquid, relishing its rich taste before swallowing it. Seeing the apprehensive look on his son-in-law’s face, he leaned to the right on his chair’s leather arm, bringing his face closer to him. “What’s going on, Dmitry? You seem preoccupied with something.”

Shaking his head slightly, Dmitry looked like he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue. Sensing his hesitation, Oleg got up and walked over to the door of his study. He muttered something to his wife and then closed the study off. Before he returned to his chair, he walked around to his desk and pulled a small device from one of the drawers. With the click of a button, the shades on the windows closed and a slight electronic hum buzzed lightly.

Four years earlier, Oleg Zolotov had been promoted to major general and taken over as head of the FSO. This meant he was the man directly responsible for President Petrov’s security apparatus, and he reported directly to Lieutenant General Grigory Sobolev. He was privy to a lot of closely guarded secrets within Petrov’s office. Oleg and Grigory had been old KGB buddies from the Cold War days and had personal relationships with President Petrov that ran deep. It had been Grigory and Oleg who’d advised Petrov to liquidate Ivan Vasilek, his predecessor, for his colossal miscalculation of the American’s resolve to wage total war against the Eastern Alliance. His exposure as the mastermind behind the British prime minister’s coup was the final straw.

As the atmosphere in the room changed, Dmitry looked at his father-in-law quizzically but dared not speak a word until Oleg explained himself.

“Don’t be alarmed, Dmitry. When I took my new position as the head of the FSO in 2014, I had my home office turned into a secured quiet room, immune to electronic eavesdropping and surveillance. Anything we talk about in here right now won’t leave this room. It will stay between the two of us. So, Dmitry, what is troubling you so much that you can’t enjoy a rare day off with your family?” he prompted.

At the outset of the war, Dmitry Chayko had been promoted to the rank of colonel and given command of the Kremlin Regiment, which was responsible for protecting the Kremlin and other critical government buildings, in addition to the honor guard and ceremonial duties they traditionally performed during peacetime. When the war had started, the regiment had transformed itself quickly into a combat arms unit that would rival any other regiment in the army. When Dmitry’s father, Lieutenant General Chayko, had defeated the Allied forces in Ukraine at the outset of the war, President Petrov had placed Dmitry in charge of the Kremlin Regiment, with the explicit orders to turn it into his own personal protective army as a check against the FSO and FSB, if it ever came to that.

Dmitry took his new responsibility seriously, especially after the Americans had nearly killed Petrov in the first couple days of the war with the attack on the National Defense Building. Dmitry had cycled his twelve companies through intense close-quarter combat training, urban warfare training and small-unit tactics, training with one of the Spetsnaz schools outside Moscow. His regiment was also equipped with the best weapons, body armor, and other equipment he felt they might need. On numerous occasions, President Petrov had commended him personally on how professional and fearsome his regiment now looked. Dmitry valued that praise, and he made sure his soldiers knew the President himself was proud of each of them. The esprit de corps within his regiment was high, and so was their loyalty to him personally.

Dmitry briefly eyed Oleg, as if he were not fully sure if he could truly trust him. He looked as though he were carrying a tremendous burden on his shoulders. He sighed, gulped down the contents of his tumbler, and whispered, “I received some disturbing news from my father yesterday. As you know, his army group has fallen back to just outside Kursk. They’re preparing for another major battle with the Allies, but he isn’t confident they are going to be able to stop them,” he said in a hushed tone.

Oleg smiled. “I’ve been in enough meetings to know our army can no longer stop the Allies from invading our country, Dmitry,” he said, almost relieved. “I’m also not hopeful about Minister Kozlov securing a peace deal that wouldn’t humiliate our nation in the process. It’s not a matter of if we’ll be defeated so much as when at this point.”

Dmitry shook his head. “No, it’s more than that, Oleg,” he insisted. “My father told me he had been issued an ‘eyes only’ order directly from Egorkin and the President to ready a series of tactical nuclear weapons to be used when the Americans attack.”

Oleg felt like he had just been punched in the gut. He’d heard Minister Semenov implore the President not to use such weapons against the Allies. The man’s logic and arguments were clear; the use of such weapons wouldn’t save Russia. It wouldn’t end the war on more favorable terms — if anything, it would result in an overwhelming retaliatory strike by the Americans, and that counterstrike would necessitate yet another round of counterstrikes, each larger than the previous one until Russia and the rest of the world were obliterated.

“Dmitry, your father can’t allow that to happen!” Oleg insisted. “If he uses nuclear weapons on the Americans, they will destroy us all. The President must have been mistaken in issuing those orders.” A bit of fear was evident in his voice.

“You know my father, Oleg. He’s a soldier, not a politician. He will do as he’s told. If Petrov orders him to use tactical nuclear weapons, he’ll use them in a manner that will best serve his army. I’m sure he’ll only use enough of these weapons to accomplish his stated goal without going overboard,” Dmitry countered. He seemed almost bewildered by Oleg’s response.

Oleg sat there for a moment, absorbing what his son-in-law had just told him. He knew Dmitry’s father to be one of the most competent military leaders in Russia. It was only through his father’s tactical skill that the Allies had not already marched on Moscow. To hear that he was willing to use nuclear weapons if so ordered shocked him.

“I need another drink,” Oleg announced. He stood and walked over to the wet bar in his office. Rather than pouring himself another glass, he grabbed the bottle and walked over to Dmitry, pouring him another tumbler and refilling his own, then placing the bottle between them.

Oleg sighed deeply. “How much do I tell him?” he wondered. He pondered what Dmitry would say when he learned the truth, and whether or not he would be turned in or arrested and shot.

“Dmitry, what do you believe will happen to Russia if your father follows Petrov’s order and uses nuclear weapons against the Americans?” Oleg finally asked, taking a calculated risk.

Dmitry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Oleg understood the struggle his son-in-law must be experiencing. Even if he wanted to be honest, it would go against everything he had been taught as an officer. Softly, he asserted, “Whatever you say to me now will stay between us. I won’t turn you in or have you arrested. You are my son-in-law, father to my grandchildren. This is a frank and honest conversation you and I need to have, and we need to have it without fear that either of us will report the other for his opinions. Is that understood?” A brief awkward moment passed as he waited to see how Dmitry would respond.

Finally, his son-in-law nodded. “If my father uses nuclear weapons, I’m confident the Americans will hit us back, and probably much harder than we hit them,” he admitted. “That attack will cause an even larger response, and then the Americans will probably obliterate the rest of our country. I believe a nuclear attack on the Americans now will lead to the complete destruction of our country.” He looked like heavy stones had just been lifted off his shoulders.

Oleg smiled. “That is right, Son. I was in the room when Minister Semenov pleaded with Petrov not to use these weapons. The Chief of the Air Force also made the case for us not to use them as well. That was two days ago. What has changed that calculus?” He paused for a second. “We can’t win this war using nuclear weapons, nor can we win by keeping the war conventional. Right now, the best we can hope for Russia is an end to this war that doesn’t result in the complete destruction of our country.”

“And how do we achieve that? If the President has made his mind up, then there is no changing it. We are soldiers, we must accept our fate,” blurted out Dmitry angrily.

“No, we don’t have to accept that fate,” Oleg insisted. “If the President is going down a path that will not only destroy our country but the rest of the world, then we as officers, sworn to the protection of our country, must stop him.” He paused, calculating whether or not to say his next sentence. “We must remove him from power,” he finally said.

Dmitry’s jaw dropped, and his facial expression registered a mix of shock and horror. He struggled to say something in response, but all that came out was a garbled muttering.

Leaning forward in his chair, Oleg looked Dmitry squarely in the eyes. “I’m about to tell you something — something so secret, only a few senior officers know. With what you just told me about your father, I don’t see any other course of action. We have to move now before it’s too late. Do you want to save your country? Will you save your children from the holocaust that is about to be unleashed on the world?”

Dmitry inched away from Oleg for a second, apparently attempting to wrap his mind around what had just been said. A moment later, he leaned back forward and looked at Oleg. “What do you have in mind?” he asked cautiously.

Oleg smiled as he looked at his son-in-law with new respect. “You’ve heard of Alexei Kasyanov?”

“Yes, I’ve heard of him. No one is allowed to listen to him on the radio or the internet, but from the small pieces I’ve heard, he seems to have his facts straight on what’s going on in the war. The state media is continually putting out counterinformation to what he is saying, but most of my officers don’t believe the state news anymore. I’m finding more and more of my men tuning in to what he has to say.”

Oleg nodded. “A handful of us have been in contact with him,” he admitted. “We’ve been trying to figure out when would be the most opportune moment to remove Petrov, but with what your father just told you, it seems we don’t have much time to act. When did your father say he might be ordered to use the weapons?”

Dmitry seemed to go into a sort of trance as he processed all of the information that was being shared. Oleg snapped his fingers to break him from his sea of swirling thoughts. “Hey, I know you may have a lot of questions about Alexei, but right now we don’t have a lot of time. I need to know what your father told you.”

Dmitry mumbled something, then answered, “My father said it would be at least two more days before the weapons were moved to his operational control. He wasn’t sure how long it would take the other weapons be transferred to their regional commander’s authority, but he was confident the Air Force was also being given access to nuclear weapons. He estimated that they could potentially be used in roughly 48 to 72 hours.”

Oleg’s mind raced. “We have even less time than I imagined,” he thought in horror.

“What is the status of your regiment? How loyal are your officers and soldiers to you?” he asked.

“You mean would they listen to me if I ordered them to secure the Kremlin and the various government buildings?” Dmitry asked, smiling coyly. Then his facial expression shifted, as though he weren’t confident in his answer.

“If I order the President to be seized and placed under arrest, would your officers attempt to interfere with that arrest, or would they listen to you?” asked Oleg more pointedly.

“I’m not certain. There’s something I need to tell you — when I was promoted to take command of the regiment, Petrov gave me and my executive officer a secret set of orders. Basically, we were told that our regiment might one day need to assume your office’s duties should Petrov ever catch a whiff of disloyalty from the FSO. Some of my officers may come to Petrov’s aid should you move against him, even if I ordered them to stand down. I could end up in a situation where I have some of my companies turning on each other to protect the President. How loyal are your FSO officers, and what would you do about Grigory and the rest of the FSB?” Dmitry countered.

“Remember when I said a handful of senior officers had been in contact with Alexei?” Oleg said with a crooked smile. “Grigory is one of those officers. He’ll ensure the FSB doesn’t interfere with our seizing of Petrov. Our main concern was how you and your regiment would respond. We had hoped we wouldn’t need to use the Spetsnaz to go against you, but if you are on board, then the seizing of the Kremlin and Moscow would go significantly more smoothly. We could bring a quick end to this bloody war before it turns nuclear.”

Dmitry shook his head in shock. Oleg understood the reaction — Grigory and the president had known each other for more than thirty years.

Dmitry held his hand up. “Why is Grigory involved in this coup? Surely he must be getting something out of all of this to betray Petrov.”

Oleg nodded and leaned forward as he answered. “I understand your concern, Dmitry, and it is warranted. When the President is deposed, Grigory is going to take his place as interim president for a two-year period until a new election can be held. These are the terms the Allies have secretly negotiated with him in the event that he successfully deposes Petrov.”

“Then what is Alexei getting out of this, if he is not going to become the new president of Russia? I thought that was the West’s plan all along,” Dmitry insisted.

“Alexei will become the president eventually. Grigory has cut a deal that will shield him and many others from criminal prosecution and other war crimes by the international community as long he doesn’t run for president when his two-year provisional position is over with. He will work closely with the Allies and Alexei to ensure the country is ready to return to democratic rule.”

He paused for a second. Sensing some hesitation by his son-in-law, he knew he needed to provide some context. “Dmitry, it has to be done this way. There’s no one else that will be able to carry the respect needed to get the military to go along, and furthermore, we need to be sure the country doesn’t break out in a civil war. Grigory knows he can never become a permanent president. He knows, as I do, that the only way to live out a long life and enjoy the rest of our time on earth for us and our people is to cut a deal, one that we can all live with. This is the deal that has been brokered by the West, and it’s been agreed upon by Alexei and Grigory.”

“What about you? My father and me? What would happen to all of us?” asked Dmitry.

“Your father will be offered to take over as the Minister of Defense, and I’ll take over as the head of the FSB, at least until the transitional government ends. Once that happens, I’m not sure what will happen to us, other than I know we won’t be prosecuted for war crimes or brought before any sort of international tribunal. This is a big deal, especially for your father. His army in Ukraine has not exactly been kind to the people there, and under Petrov’s orders, they’ve been destroying the country’s infrastructure, leaving millions of people without water, electricity, and heat in the dead of winter. This has not gone over well with the West. As to yourself, I suspect you will probably be promoted and will be around for many more years to come for your patriotic duty in supporting the coup,” Oleg explained.

Oleg could hear the faint sound of laughter in the other room. “Think of your daughter and son, Dmitry. I know you believe as I do that they deserve a chance to grow up and live a long, full life. I know that there are risks, huge risks — but this is the only way that there is a legitimate chance for their future.”

After a moment of contemplation, Dmitry answered, “OK. I’m in. You’re right, we have to do something to save the country before it’s too late. My father was pretty sure the authorization of nuclear weapons would be given within the next three days, and we can’t allow that to happen. What do you need me to do?”

For the next couple of hours, they talked in detail about what they would do and when it would have to take place. The timeline for when they had to move was short, and they had a lot of things to get moving.

Vladimir woke up, startled by a vivid dream he’d had. In his dream, he saw himself being lined up against a wall with some of his key leaders and shot by his own Spetsnaz forces. The fateful trigger was pulled by his longtime friend and the new head of the FSB, Grigory Sobolev. Shaking off the bad dream, he leaned over and kissed his wife softly on the cheek. She gently stirred, smiling at him before snuggling deeper into her pillow. It was still dark out, but he couldn’t sleep, not after a dream like that.

He glanced at the alarm clock. It was 0420 hours. “Might as well as get up and do some exercises,” he thought. It was going to be a big day.

As he swung his legs out of the bed, he looked around the bedroom, admiring the detail of how his wife had decorated the space. A frightening thought came into his mind. “Will this room still be here a week from now?”

He tried to shake away the idea as a holdover from his bad dream. Petrov proceeded to the bathroom and got ready to use the gym down the hall. During his workout, he kept replaying his last conversation with Grigory. His friend had urged him one last time to reconsider the use of nuclear weapons. He’d brushed off the warning and explained that they would only target the Allies’ military units that had entered Russia.

“We’d be using nuclear weapons on our own soil — surely the West wouldn’t view that as an attack on their own sovereign lands,” he reasoned to himself again. He turned up the speed on the treadmill. There was no room in his mind for changing directions at this point — his army would destroy the Allied armies in Russia with these weapons and then sue for peace. He would rebuild from the ashes and then try again in a couple of decades.

Still, he could not shake the dream, or his last conversation with Grigory. He knew it was preposterous to think that Grigory would depose him, but if there was ever a time he would do it, today would be the day. This morning, he was supposed to hold a special meeting with his senior military leaders to issue the release of nuclear weapons. Tonight, the Allied armies standing against Russia would be consumed in a nuclear fire that would hopefully end the war and return the world, or at least Russia, to peace.

“I need to speak with Colonel Dmitry Chayko immediately,” he thought. His Kremlin Guard commander had turned the regiment into a highly trained killing machine, and if Grigory and his Spetsnaz were going to depose him today, they’d need to get through Chayko’s men first. If that happened, Petrov wouldn’t be able to get additional army units from the local garrison to come to their rescue. Chayko’s men would only need to hold the fortress grounds for a handful of hours until help arrived.

“Of course, I could just be over-analyzing a nightmare,” he thought, conflicted.

At 0530 hours, after a hot shower and breakfast, President Petrov was handed the phone, which he eagerly took. “Colonel Chayko,” he began, “I want you to put your regiment on alert for a possible coup. You are to order your entire regiment to alert status, move the bulk of your forces to the fortress and prepare it to repel a possible attack. Is that understood?”

A slight pause took place on the other end. “Yes, Mr. President, at once,” answered Colonel Dmitry Chayko. “I shall report to your office within the hour. Shall I alert your security detail that this is happening?”

Petrov thought about that. Oleg probably should be notified; he didn’t want to alarm the FSO guards. If there was a coup, he’d need their help in repelling the attack as well. “Yes. Coordinate with Major General Zolotov, and report to me right away,” he said and then hung up the phone.

Feeling better now that he had put his fears at ease, Petrov headed to his office to begin packing a few personal belongings he wanted to bring with him to the underground bunker. After he ordered the release of nuclear weapons, he would order the government to move to their various secured facilities while they hoped and prayed the limited use of the nukes wouldn’t lead to an overwhelming retaliation by the Americans.

After finishing up his preparations, Petrov glanced at his watch again. It was 0750 hours, and the final meeting he’d hold in the Senate Palace was quickly approaching. At 0900 hours, his meeting with his senior military leaders would set into motion a series of orders and events that would either end the war by tomorrow or spiral it quickly out of control. It was a gamble, but if he hoped to stay in power and for Russia to prevail, he had to take it.

The air was cold, and a light dusting of snow blanketed the city as a column of eight T-90 battle tanks, twenty-six BTR-3s and thirty-two BTR armored personnel carriers made their way through the streets of Moscow. The morning rush hour was light since the city was still under a petrol restriction, but the sight of so many armored vehicles and tanks moving in the direction of Red Square certainly caught the eyes of many people, both on the road and on the sidewalks.

Colonel Dmitry Chayko had arrived at the Kremlin grounds at 0630 hours, appearing very much ready to repel an enemy force or coup should his men have to. He’d brought nearly all the armored vehicles and tanks assigned to his unit for this operation. Upon arriving at the Kremlin, he hopped out of his vehicle and approached his nightshift commander, a lieutenant colonel, and informed him of the increase in alert status.

He then proceeded to issue orders for his various companies to move the armored vehicles to encircle the Kremlin fortress in a defensive circle, ready to defend the grounds if so ordered. He had his soldiers expand the perimeter around the grounds and placed heavy machine guns and snipers in the various guard towers surrounding the walled compound. Next, he placed soldiers at every entrance to each building and made sure he had multiple quick reaction force groups ready to move to any potential breaches in their perimeter. They ran through this deployment of forces just as they had in their training scenarios; everything was running like clockwork.

Once his troops had been deployed, he met with several of his key lieutenant colonels and majors, who knew about the special instructions from Petrov but were clearly nervous about what it all meant. Several of them looked at him apprehensively. Dmitry knew he needed to allay their concerns.

“The President called me very early this morning. Apparently, he had a premonition or dream that he somehow might be deposed by some rogue army generals. Accordingly, he wanted me to have the regiment ready, in case his dream did in fact become reality. We’re going to treat this like any other drill, and make our President feel safe and secure. As you know, my father-in-law is the head of the FSO. If there were more to this, then he would have told me so himself. So, please, let’s use this as an opportunity to drill our men to be prepared for anything. I want everyone to go along with our initial plan we had for the day. The code word for the day will be ‘morning glory.’ When you hear that, initiate our prediscussed plans. Understood?” he asked.

A chorus of “Yes, Sir” echoed back from his officers.

All but one of them had been read on to the real plan. They’d all agreed that if the President’s orders to release nuclear weapons were allowed to happen, their country, families, and everything they held dear would soon be destroyed. They had stood by and supported their President in the war against the Allies, but this next step was too much for them. If they didn’t take a stand now, there wouldn’t be a country left to serve or protect.

With the morning briefing done, his officers went about getting the fortress ready to repel an attack and tightened security around a variety of sensitive government buildings across the city.

It was nearly the end of January, and the full might of the Russian winter was on display in Moscow. The temperature had dropped significantly, and a winter storm was threatening to blanket the city in heavy snow that was sure to add to the already-terrible traffic of a major metropolitan city. When Oleg Zolotov’s vehicle stopped at the Borovitskaya Tower entry control point, he immediately noticed the increased security his son-in-law had warned him about. Instead of the eight soldiers that stood guard with a BTR parked at an angle that would allow it to close access to the Kremlin grounds, there was a BMP-3 blocking the road and a T-90 main battle tank, along with nearly a full platoon of soldiers.

The guard walked up to Oleg’s vehicle. “Papers!” he demanded.

Oleg passed his official papers over, along with his driver’s. The guard looked at the documents briefly, then snapped to attention and rendered a crisp salute before returning them. He twirled his hand in the air briefly to let the man driving the BMP know to move back so Oleg’s vehicle could pass. Seconds later, Oleg’s vehicle drove through the checkpoint and continued toward the Senate Palace, the personal residence of President Petrov and the seat of power in Moscow.

As the vehicle drove briefly past the Cathedral of the Archangel, they came to the Ivanovskaya Square, where he saw another four tanks and eight additional BMP-3s. It looked like Dmitry had moved a large portion of his regiment into the walls.

“Good, he’ll have plenty of soldiers here in case there’s trouble,” thought Oleg.

His driver pulled up to a parking spot that was reserved for him. Getting out of the vehicle, he saw the first signs that the anticipated snowstorm was finally arriving. He set out at once for the Senate Palace, confident in the plan and what he had to do. When he reached the first checkpoint inside the building, he saw a number of his key guards present — men he had personally picked to work this specific shift. The outside of the building might be protected by Dmitry’s men, but the inside was all his.

Making his way to the upper floor, where the President’s office was situated, Oleg walked past several of his senior guards. They quietly cleared the floor, as well as the way to the bunker deep underneath the building. They needed to dispose of Petrov quietly, and thus contain any potential immediate fallout from his removal from office. When Oleg gave the order, his bodyguards, who protected the other senior members of the government, would also move into action, gathering them all in the basement bunker. Once everyone was present, his men would effectively remove them from office.

Oleg made his way to the small monitoring office near the President’s residence. As usual, several of his men were looking at the various computer monitors, scanning them for anything out of the ordinary. Of the five men manning this room, four of them were already on board with the coup; the fifth man would either go along with them, or he’d be dealt with quickly.

Turning to look at the senior man on duty, Oleg asked, “Are all the parties present for the meeting yet?”

Boris nodded. “The senior military men have just started their meeting with the President. The other agents guarding the cabinet members have all reported in. They’re ready to move when you give them the order.”

Oleg nodded. He noticed the perplexed look on the face of the one man who hadn’t been read in on what would be happening next, and decided it was time to find out where he stood. “Aman, the President is about to order the release of nuclear weapons so that tactical nukes can be fired upon the Allied forces currently inside Russia. When he does that, the Americans will surely retaliate with nuclear weapons of their own, and if they do, Petrov has ordered the military to respond with additional nuclear weapons aimed at the Allied countries.”

Aman’s eyes grew wide, and then a look of fear spread across his face.

Placing his hand on Aman’s shoulder, Oleg asserted, “We can’t allow the President to destroy Russia and the world. A plan has been put in place to make sure that would never happen, and now it needs to be implemented. Are you with us in ensuring Russia survives?” he asked. Of course, Boris had cleverly moved his right hand to his silenced pistol, in case Aman didn’t respond to his liking, or anyone else chose to back out at the last second.

Aman looked a bit like an animal that had been backed into a corner. He gulped. “When you put it that way, General, there’s only one choice to be made. We must protect Russia and prevent the world from being destroyed,” he answered.

Oleg smiled and patted the man on the back. Then he took Aman’s weapon from him and handed it to Boris. “Good choice. We’ll keep your gun for the moment, until we know for certain that you are fully on our side. In the meantime, do as you’re told by Boris, and we’ll all live to grow old with our families.”

Turning to face Boris, Oleg stood up straight and tall. “Initiate Morning Glory,” he ordered. “Have everyone moved to the various bunkers around the city. Seize their phones and electronic devices at once. We need to make sure they’re not able to transmit anything until it’s time.”

Boris immediately sent a coded text message to his heads of security and the bodyguards to round up their charges. The move to depose President Vladimir Petrov was underway.

Ten minutes later, Oleg was standing outside the briefing room, where Petrov was speaking with his senior military leaders. He waited until he heard the president give the orders to release nuclear authority to his generals, and then he sent a text message to his son-in-law.

A few minutes passed tensely, then he heard the sound of automatic gunfire and an explosion outside. That was his cue to rush in.

Bursting into the briefing room, Oleg shouted, “We have to move you to the secured bunker now, Mr. President!”

The bodyguards in the room quickly ushered the generals out into the hallway and down a set of stairs that led to the bunker. As they walked briskly, more gunfire went off, and then some soldiers yelled loudly.

“What is going on?!” demanded Petrov.

“There are reports of gunfire near Red Square, Mr. President,” Oleg replied calmly. “I heard from one of my sniper teams on the roof that they spotted a column of vehicles heading to the Kremlin fortress from the Sokolniki District.” They moved swiftly, ever closer to the bunker.

“Damn that Grigory! I knew my dream was a warning.” Petrov cursed angrily under his breath as they made their way to the bottom floor of the building.

Once in the basement, Oleg’s men led the President and the senior military members into the command bunker, which was already up and running, teeming with officers and NCOs updating the Allied positions on the various maps. The men in the room seemed surprised to see the President and the senior military leadership suddenly show up.

“Get me General Sobolev now!” demanded the President as he walked up to the operations officer in charge of the command center. Several of the other generals made their way to various phone banks to begin making their own calls.

“Sir, the phone lines are dead!” replied one of the young officers.

Petrov fumed with anger. He smacked his fist on one of the desktops. “Can you get through to Colonel Chayko with your radio?” he asked Oleg.

Oleg nodded. Had it not been for a series of upgrades to the FSO’s radio systems, their radios never would have worked down there in the bunker. After a couple of minutes, one of his guards was able to track down Colonel Chayko and handed Petrov a receiver.

“This is Colonel Chayko, Sir,” he answered. Through the radio, they all heard another short burst of gunfire in the background.

“Colonel, what’s the situation? What is happening?” demanded the President angrily. The other military men looked on, attentively listening for the reply.

“Sir, it would appear General Sobolev’s men are attempting a coup. I have the fortress on lockdown, and my forces are engaging his men outside the perimeter walls. We’re experiencing a lot of signal jamming right now, so I’m not able to place a call to any other outside units. I’ve sent runners to those bases, but it will be some time until we’re able to get some additional help. I recommend you stay in the bunker for the time being, until my men can resolve the situation,” Chayko suggested.

“Keep us apprised of what’s going on, Colonel,” Petrov said.

He handed the radio back to Oleg. “You go find out what the situation is, and get us some additional help,” he ordered.

Then the President turned to several of the other soldiers in the room, directing them to work with Oleg’s men in securing the bunker, making sure no one else came inside.

Once Oleg left the bunker, he ordered his guards, “Make sure the door stays locked, and don’t let anyone out.” These men knew exactly what that meant. With the bunker effectively cut off from the outside world, Oleg and Grigory could assume control of the government and then liquidate the men who would have destroyed not just Russia but the entire world.

It was 0750 hours as Grigory met with Colonel Gennady Troshev, Commander of the 45th Guard’s Independent Spetsnaz Brigade. Colonel Troshev had just returned from the front lines when Grigory sent for him with a simple message: “It’s time.”

Grigory knew that his friend would have one of his most trusted battalions ready. Gennady shared Grigory’s vision; he too did not want to see his country destroyed in a nuclear fireball. He’d fought too many years and lost too many friends since the fall of the Soviet Union to lose what remained of his country.

“Are you sure Oleg’s son-in-law is going to be able to pull this off? I don’t want to have to fight through his regiment if I don’t have to,” Gennady said as he looked at the city map of Moscow. He already had his men in their vehicles, ready to roll as soon as they were given the order.

It hadn’t been an overnight progression that had brought Grigory Sobolev to be in this position. Ten years prior, the thought that he would be standing in that spot doing what he was about to do would’ve been completely out of the question. Grigory was fiercely loyal to Russia, to a fault.

Lieutenant General Grigory Sobolev had joined the KGB in 1975 and had worked in a variety of locations across much of Europe and North America. In the 1980s, he’d worked as a case officer in America, recruiting sources that would provide him with valuable information the KGB often used against the Americans. His main job was to oversee a small cadre of high-end escorts in the D.C. area. The working girls would secretly bug their clients’ houses or have them come to hotel rooms his technicians had previously bugged. During the course of his escorts’ interludes with their clients, many of whom were either politicians, defense contractors or military members, they would gather intelligence from these men, who would invariably confide in their mistresses and divulge some of their deepest secrets. This information would be used against them later on to manipulate or coerce them into giving up more secrets or face the possibility of being publicly exposed.

Grigory had risen to the rank of major when the Soviet Union collapsed and was considered a rising star in the KGB. His ability to develop an intricate honeypot trap in D.C., and then later in New York, had earned him many awards. When the Soviet Union had fallen apart, he had been ordered to return to Moscow. Many of the former KGB men were simply laid off when the great collapse happened, and Grigory thought that might’ve become his fate, but when he arrived, he was pleasantly surprised to see that not only was he being kept on, he was promoted and given a new assignment.

He was placed in charge of a counterterrorism directorate and given the mandate of rooting out those who sought to further break Russia apart. He took a leading role in creating a number of specialized Spetsnaz units to deal with the threat of terrorism and counterinsurgency operations, mainly focusing on the provinces of Dagestan and Chechnya. Throughout the 1990s and into the early 2000s, Grigory had built a name for himself as the go-to person when there was a terrorist group that needed to be dealt with. In the late 2000s and early 2010s, Grigory was promoted to major general and put in charge of FSB’s European operations. He’d led many of the FSB’s efforts in countering NATO’s expansion into Eastern Europe as well the EU’s effort to bring Eastern Europe into the Euro.

Throughout the many years Grigory had served the FSB, he’d constantly made sure his predecessor, Ivan Vasilek, and President Petrov knew he could be trusted. Like them, he was old-school KGB, and he wanted to see Russia return to its former glory. All three of their paths had crossed on many occasions while they’d served in the KGB, but unlike Ivan and Oleg, he had never served directly with Petrov. When the war with NATO had broken out, Grigory had been named Ivan’s deputy, and he was read on to Operation Red Storm for the first time. While the plan looked solid on paper, Grigory knew the Americans far better than Vasilek or Petrov did. He’d spent nearly a decade in America and traveled there on many other occasions, and he knew the Americans wouldn’t be dictated to by Russia or China. He also knew the new American president, Gates, wasn’t a person to be trifled with. He was a hothead, and when he became focused on something, he was like a pit bull that wouldn’t let go.

When the tide of war started to turn against Russia, Grigory knew it was only a matter of time before things ended for the Motherland. He also knew Petrov wouldn’t allow Russia to be defeated. He would use whatever weapons were necessary to win. When Vasilek’s plan to depose the British prime minister fell apart and was exposed, Grigory knew this was his moment to seize control of the FSB and try to bring the war to an end in a way that didn’t involve the destruction of the nation he’d spent his entire life serving.

First, he needed to get rid of Vasilek. His utter failure in the UK, along with his faulty assessment of the Americans and their willingness to wage war, gave him the opportunity he needed. With Vasilek out of the way, he could then work to establish a separate peace with the Americans that would save Russia, assuming, of course, that he was able to depose Petrov himself. After months of hunting down Alexei Kasyanov, he was finally able to secure a private meeting with the man. A secret pact was formed to bring an end to the war. Now it was time for him to put into place the means to do just that. He loved his country even more than the man who led it.

With the snow falling outside his window, Grigory shook off his memories. He looked at his friend Gennady, who he’d known for fifteen years. When he’d taken over command of the FSB’s antiterrorism branch, he’d leveraged Gennady to help him build an elite antiterrorism unit within the FSB. As Grigory had risen in rank, he’d brought Gennady along with him.

Grigory nodded. “I spoke with Oleg ten minutes ago,” he said. “Dmitry is with us and has the Kremlin fortress already on lockdown. No one will be able to get in or out of there once the plan goes into effect.”

“I’m more concerned with what happens if one of the generals is able to make a call to one of the military barracks,” Gennady countered. “If they’re able to call for help, it could be a real problem for us.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Grigory answered. He stood and looked out the window. The snow was starting to fall more steadily now, and the BTR and BMP parked just outside his building were being covered in snow.

An hour went by, and then Grigory’s phone chirped. “Begin Operation Morning Glory,” the text message read. Grigory smiled. His time to seize power had finally come.

He looked at Gennady. “It’s time,” he announced. “Get your troops moving and let’s secure the capital.”

Walking outside Lubyanka, Grigory heard the sound of gunfire, right on cue. He walked over to the BTR that would take them to the Kremlin fortress and climbed in, closing the hatch. Through the thick outer shell of the vehicle, he heard more gunfire, and then a couple of explosions went off.

“All part of the plan,” he had to remind himself. They had to make the President and the generals believe the Kremlin was under attack by the FSB. It was the only way to get them all into the bunker. By the time they realized what was happening, it would be too late.

Ten minutes later, his BTR and a couple of other Spetsnaz vehicles arrived at the checkpoint leading into the Kremlin fortress. The soldiers manning the roadblock saluted smartly, letting them pass. Driving up to the main entrance of the Senate Palace, Grigory got out of the vehicle and was pleasantly surprised to see that Colonel Chayko had assembled a line of soldiers standing at parade rest, leading into the building. The soldiers snapped to attention, presenting arms as he exited the BTR and made his way to the entrance. Major General Oleg Zolotov and Colonel Dmitry Chayko were also standing there waiting for him at the entrance to the building.

After rendering a salute, General Zolotov extended his hand. “It’s good to see you, Mr. President. Everything is in order,” he said.

Grigory liked the sound of that. “Mr. President,” he thought with a smile.

“I assume you have everyone locked up in the bunker?” he verified.

“Yes, Sir. I also have the rest of the cabinet members being rounded up and moved to the other bunkers as well. I should have confirmation in the next five to ten minutes that they have all been successfully secured. Once we have them in place, do you want to have them liquidated before or after you announce that you’ve taken control of the government?” Oleg inquired.

“I want all of them brought here to meet with me,” Grigory asserted. “I’d like to address them as a group and explain why we’ve done what we’ve done. Anyone who is not willing to accept the truth and work toward a new Russia, I will gladly have you liquidate. As to Petrov and his central leadership in the bunker, I want you to bring them outside the building and have them shot. Line them up against the wall of the Senate Palace, video the execution and give it to me. We’ll figure out how to use that video to our benefit to solidify our power. Once I’ve assumed control of the government and the armed forces, I have to make contact with the Americans and our friend Alexei. For that, I will be relying on you, old friend.”

The two men talked for a couple of minutes while they made their way into the building. Oleg had the men in the bunkers disarmed and brought to the courtyard. Oleg and Grigory watched from the gazebo as the senior generals of the armed forces, along with the Minister of Defense and the President, were marched outside the building. It was amazing to see how these ruthless men of power, the very men who had ordered the deaths of so many tens of thousands of people, begged for their lives.

Grigory walked up to the former leaders of Russia, approaching Vladimir Petrov fearlessly. “You had a chance to lead Russia into the 21st century as a real world power,” he said with disdain in his voice. “You squandered that opportunity on a war we had no chance of winning, and for what? To bring back an empire that will never rise again? Your time is over, Mr. President. We won’t let you destroy our country and rain nuclear death upon us or the rest of the world.”

In response, Petrov spat in his face. Grigory shook his head in disgust and walked back to the gazebo, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping away the saliva on his face. He nodded toward Colonel Troshev, who barked a series of orders to his men.

They held their weapons at the ready, waiting for the command to fire. Troshev looked at Grigory for the go-ahead, and he gave a slight nod. Then Troshev yelled, “Fire!”

His Spetsnaz soldiers unloaded on the former leaders of Russia. Each of them was riddled with bullets, collapsing into a heap on the ground. Colonel Troshev personally walked up to each of the bodies, firing a single shot to the head to make sure they were truly dead.

With the formalities of assuming control of Russia now complete, Grigory walked back into the building and proceeded to walk up to the former president’s office, where he would make his call to the CIA contact that would put him through to the American president.

Colonel Chayko’s regiment secured the remaining members of Petrov’s cabinet and gathered the remaining members of the government for an emergency meeting at the State Duma Building at 5 p.m. that evening. With the city effectively on lockdown, it would be hard for any Petrov loyalists to escape. General Sobolev had also placed several calls to some of the senior military leaders who had not been rounded up yet and told them they needed to report to the Kremlin immediately. While some of them balked at being ordered to meet with him, a few of them might have suspected they knew why and breathed a sigh of relief — no one more so than the general in charge of Russia’s strategic rocket forces.

With the wheels of change in motion, Grigory Sobolev was ready to talk with the Allies and begin the process of ending the war. An aide had arranged for a 3 p.m. call to take place with President Foss — however, the one caveat to the call was that Alexei Kasyanov had to be present. Alexei was considered by the Allies to be a key part of this peace deal, and despite the Americans agreeing to Sobolev taking Petrov’s place, the future of Russia would be Alexei Kasyanov and his Free Russia party.

Walking into what had previously been Petrov’s personal office, Grigory saw Alexei there, along with several of his trusted aides, Colonel Chayko, and General Zolotov. “The call is connected, Mr. President. We’re just waiting for the American president to join,” explained one of the colonels.

Grigory nodded. He was glad to see that Alexei had been able to safely make it to the Kremlin grounds. The group chatted for a few minutes, going over some items that would need to be discussed when there was a click on the other end.

“Hello, this is President Wally Foss, the American president,” Foss announced. “To whom am I speaking?”

Everyone looked at each other for a second before Grigory responded. “I’m Lieutenant General Grigory Sobolev, the Head of the FSB and now the current leader of Russia. I have several of my key advisors and military leaders present as well. Of note, Mr. Alexei Kasyanov is also present as requested.” The rest of the people in the room introduced themselves briefly.

“General Sobolev, am I correct in assuming you have taken control of the military?” asked Foss.

“Yes, Mr. President. I’ve made contact with the senior leaders of all branches of the military, and all but a couple of division commanders have recognized my authority as the new president. The two units that have not yet specifically accepted my authority are based in the Far East. Let me cut to the chase — what I’m sure you are most concerned with is our nuclear arsenal. I have spoken with the head of our strategic rocket forces and the head of our naval submarine command, and they have all acknowledged me as the new president.”

They all heard President Foss let out a deep breath. “General, this is good news. I’m glad the two of us are finally able to speak,” he replied, clearly relieved.

“Mr. President, if I may, I would like to move forward with discussing terms of surrender. Our countries have bled enough; it’s time to end this war before it spirals any further out of control,” Sobolev offered.

“Yes. Yes, General, I agree,” Foss answered. “I believe the CIA and Alexei presented you with the original terms of surrender. You, of course, will be allowed to remain for a two-year period as president of a caretaker government until a proper election can be held and a government can be formed.”

The general grunted. “Yes, I remember the terms and accept. I do have one caveat — I request that my government be allowed to retain at least 300 of our nuclear weapons. I fear that a complete denuclearization of the Russian Federation would leave our country far too vulnerable to future enemies.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line while the Americans discussed this. They couldn’t hear every word, but essentially their sentiment was that, while reducing the number of nuclear weapons down to 300 would be a remarkable feat, the goal was complete denuclearization.

“General Sobolev, I understand the reasons why you feel you need to keep some nuclear weapons,” Foss acknowledged. “However, I do have to question at what point you believe you would need to use them. Because this war has shown the world that their use not only is abhorrent but will lead to an escalation of further use. I don’t see a future enemy of Russia against whom such weapons could possibly be needed. Do you?”

Sobolev took a moment to formulate his response. With the mute button on, he talked this over with General Zolotov.

“If we wouldn’t use them now, at this juncture, then when would we use them, Sir?” Zolotov inquired.

“It’s not that I want to use them, but I do want security guarantees,” Sobolev answered. “I need to know that we won’t be hung out to dry in a couple of decades when the wounds of this war have healed.”

After some further discussion, General Grigory Sobolev took a deep breath, then depressed the mute button to return to the conversation. “Mr. President,” he began, “if Russia is to fully denuclearize, then I need a security guarantee from the United States that if Russia is attacked by an outside power, the United States would be militarily obligated to come to our aid. I would like that guarantee to be in writing for up to twenty-five years, along with a $100 billion economic aid and reconstruction package for our nation. You are, after all, essentially buying our entire stock of nuclear weapons, which I might add is still quite vast.”

The others in the room with Sobolev nodded in approval of his approach.

The Americans had clearly decided to utilize the mute button themselves, because a few moments of silence passed. Then, after a pause, President Foss came back on the line. “General Sobolev, I’ve spoken with my military advisors about your proposition. In principle, we agree with the security guarantee. However, I’m not willing to give Russia a $100 billion economic aid package. Our nation has suffered horrifically from this war, including the major cities on our West Coast that were completely obliterated. Millions of my people have been killed or displaced by the war. We can agree to give you $25 billion in hard currency to aid in your reconstruction. Is this acceptable for the complete denuclearization?”

General Sobolev looked at the men around the table. They all nodded in agreement, elated that they had been able to elicit even $25 billion in aid and a 25-year defense agreement. These two things would allow the country to focus heavily on rebuilding before they had to think about defense again.

“Yes, this will be a win for the people of Russia,” thought Sobolev. He hated to think about how much his own people had already suffered during the war.

“Mr. President, I can agree to those terms, and speaking for my nation, I thank you for allowing us to end this war on mutually agreed-upon terms that respect both of our nations.” He paused for a moment. “Let’s move on to the occupation and when that will begin. If I may, I would like to suggest a three-day cooling period before your forces move to occupy our cities. I would like to order my armies to return to their garrisons, where they will wait to be greeted by your forces. They can then work out the best way to manage the occupation,” Sobolev proposed.

“General, these are agreeable terms,” President Foss answered. “I will leave you with my generals and advisors to go over further details. I must excuse myself to consult with the rest of the Alliance and inform General Cotton to cease hostilities with your forces. I look forward to talking with you again soon.”

The military leaders talked for a while longer, going over more details of the occupation. They agreed that a contingent group of Allied officers would fly to Moscow immediately to begin work on coordinating a full ceasefire across the country. It was time to end the war and stop the killing as quickly as possible. With millions of soldiers on both sides still locked in battle, it was critical that things start to deescalate.