Fury From Within

Chapter Two

A rain induced haze intermittently obscured the Kremlin’s distinctive “onion dome” as the early morning showers moved obligingly from one unsuspecting area to yet another. This simple act of nature allowed the government complex to majestically appear in full view, presenting one with a sheer sense of awe when viewed from afar.

The streets were missing their normal traffic. With the upcoming May Day celebrations, many officials were settling in for a three-day weekend at one of their dachas outside the city limits.

The lone exception this night was a Soviet military truck that carefully weaved its way through Moscow’s moonlit streets.

Lieutenant Yuri Stenko slowed his vehicle as he approached each turn not wanting to disturb his precious cargo nor his unit of six heavily armed Soviet Marines in the rear of the truck. With their blue berets tilted to one side and AK-47’s at the ready — they were the pride of the Soviet military.

The truck continued along a well-lit road that ran parallel to the Kremlin’s red brick walls before slowing for the first set of security gates. Lieutenant Stenko smiled as he flashed his identification card at the heavily armed guard who approached him.

The immaculately dressed State Security Guard snapped to attention upon seeing the distinctive red-bordered identification card of a ranking Party Member, begging forgiveness for even stopping the Lieutenant’s vehicle. The second guard swiftly followed suit, saluting and allowing the truck to proceed without the usual, thorough search.

As the truck rolled past the guards, a bolt of lightning streaked across the early morning sky as if announcing the trucks arrival to those below.

Cigarette smoke hung eerily in the air above the hand carved mahogany conference table as if it were an angel of death awaiting its cue before striking. Gathered around the table at this early morning hour were two of the most powerful men in the Soviet hierarchy; Soviet Premier Alexi Brezhnev and KGB Chief Luc Andropov. Both were of the same mold — tall, brooding, sadistic, and merciless in their actions. They rarely doled out rewards to their subordinates, mostly punishments for what they perceived as failure.

For several hours they had toasted to the demise of their American nemesis by drinking glass after glass of Vodka in celebration of Russian TV images showing the victorious Vietcong standing in the lobby of the American Embassy in Saigon.

Of course it didn’t hurt that the Soviet government supplied most of the equipment and missiles to the North Vietnamese Military.

Alexi stood and raised his glass, gripping the table for support, feeling the impact from drinking almost half a liter of vodka. “To our Mother Russia, may she always counter the American swine in their quest for global domination,” consuming the contents in one quick swallow.

Luc Andropov did the same. When finished, he proceeded to fill the Premiers glass, then his own. He stood gazing at his boss for the moment, pondering the potentially fatal step he was about to embark on. He felt the time was right to brief the Premier on his plan, one he had kept hidden for 4 long years. It was Luc’s turn to raise his glass in celebration. “May we once again assume the role of superpower in the game of world domination with the Americans.”

Both quickly consumed the vodka in their glass.

“Come, come, Comrade Andropov; we both know the Americans will win this marathon race we have endured for some 30 years — allowing us to choke in their dust. We will be forced to withdraw from the world stage in order to concentrate on more pressing matters within our own borders. Mark my words my friend, you will see.”

Luc smiled knowingly at the Premier, realizing he was correct in his belief — but only if the Soviet Union continued on its present course. Luc had greater ambitions for both himself and Mother Russia. On numerous occasions he had wanted to broach the subject with the Premier but decided it best to wait until he had a working prototype. He had no desire to be portrayed as some fool in front of his lifelong friend, a friend who controlled both the purse strings and the ability to crush his dreams.

Luc paused for a moment, reflecting back some 30 years to a time when they first met as political commissars thrust together during the battle of Stalingrad. The savagery of the battle bonded them as no other single event could. After the war, their motivations pushed their careers onward and upward. Now they sat across from each other, both having risen to top positions in their government — only Alexi had progressed one step further.

Focusing back on his friend, Luc realized the potential to solidify his position in the Communist Party, possibly even allowing the premier to recommend him when he chose to step down.

Pointing to the now empty vodka bottle, he laughed aloud before speaking.“Comrade Alexi, in our younger days we would polish off three or four of these and then the party would start in earnest. Dancing,caviar, women. Blondes, redheads, brunets! We had so many choices that you could pick the size, shape and color that you wanted,” slamming his fist down on the table for emphasis. “Those were the days my friend.”

Alexi could only nod in agreement. At his age, he was only thinking of his nice, comfortable, warm bed. Looking at his watch, he hoped to motivate Luc to speed his plans along.

Luc took notice, picking up the red phone at the center of the table, speaking rapidly before turning back to the Premier. “I have something I would like to show you, Comrade.” He rose up from his leather chair and walked over to the conference room’s main entrance. “This is a surprise for you, Alexi.”

Leaning into the hallway, Luc focused on the officer in charge, beckoning him over. “Lieutenant, it is time.” Luc held the door open to accommodate the marine who carried the one-meter by one and a half meter black suitcase, him followed by his fellow marines filing past, weapons at the ready.

The marine sergeant nervously eyed his lieutenant, then Luc, wondering where he should place the black case.

Luc realized the young man’s dilemma, walking over to the sergeant and nodding as he relieved him of the lightweight case, choosing to place it directly in front of the premier.

Luc snapped open the cases five quick release latches as if a magician with a magic box. He deliberately chose not to remove the units cover — not wanting its contents to be revealed to anyone but the Premier.

“Lieutenant, you will station your men outside of each exit with yourself at the front door. If anyone tries to pass you or one of your guards, shoot to kill. Do you understand your orders? Shoot to kill!”

The Lieutenant nodded. “I understand Comrade Andropov.” Behind the lieutenant, his marine subordinates performed an about face, following him out of the room.

Satisfied with the new security arrangements, Luc proceeded with part two of his carefully prepared plan, one that was four arduous years in the making. Luc stood over the suitcase as if a proud father about to debut his newborn child to the world. He reverently lifted the cover of the black suitcase, toggling the power switch to the on position.

“Premier Brezhnev may I be the first to present an option to seize the moment and once again allow us to be on an equal footing with the Americans, quite possibly even allowing us to move ahead.”

Alexi scanned the unit, taking in its complex dials and analog technology, obviously impressed with the manufacture of the unit. Alexi quickly accessed the situation, realizing the potential of the unit in front of him. He toggled the unit to the off position, allowing the gages to return to their dormant status.

“I can see why you have been busy avoiding my meetings for the past several months, Comrade Andropov. I see your small group of sequestered scientists at Rostov finally succeeded in producing the material for our Operation — Fury from Within.”

A look of shock spread across Luc’s face, him wondering how Alexi could have known about his closely guarded operation.

“Of course, I never thought we would actually get that Hitler prototype working,” Alexi said, referring to the weapon they captured in the closing days of WWII. “Sometimes I underestimate my own people.”

Luc suddenly felt ill with the Premier’s knowledge of his work at Rostov. Luc had taken extraordinary precautions, even eliminating the entire staff after the tests were completed. This would have left no one but himself with knowledge of the project. That was until now. He gripped the edge of the table for support as his mind raced.

“You look pale, maybe the vodka did not agree with you? Please have a seat my friend.” Alexi waited several seconds before Luc took a seat beside him. “Yes, I also have sources my friend. Nothing is a secret in this country. I am the Premier am I not? And I have a good security chief who keeps me well informed,” chiding Luc’s duties as KGB chief.

Alexi directed his attention to the unit in front of him. He withdrew a pair of well-worn reading glasses from his shirt pocket before closely inspecting the unit’s details and diagrams.

He paused for a moment as he read the general outline of the unit’s capabilities. The papers suddenly slid out of his hands — falling to the floor. Visibly shaken, he stood up, the potent vodka having lost its desired effect the instant the case was opened and its ruinous demons exposed.

“This will upset the Americans to no avail Comrade,” Alexi said. “They could choose to launch a first strike if word leaks out of this weapons existence. That’s what I would do if I were the American President. Are we willing to take the risk?”

Luc held his ground, nodding, “Yes, we should Comrade.” He leaned forward to touch the case as he spoke, pushing it closer to his friend. “Think of it Alexi,”— reverting to his given name instead of the less personal title he had been using up to that moment. “This one, bold, master stroke can put us back in the game. We could have the Americans by the proverbial balls. No longer will we have to back down from them like your predecessor did over Cuba. This is our chance Comrade. It may be our last.”

Luc removed a dagger from his jacket pocket, holding it up so Alexi could see the Nazi swastika emblazoned upon its wooden handle. It was the same dagger Luc had removed from a dead German officer during the battle for Stalingrad. Luc sliced his palm in one, swift stroke, handing the dagger across the table, motioning for Alexi to follow suit.

Alexi took the dagger, holding it in his right hand. The mere thought of the traitor Khrushchev made him cringe, his bottom lip curling up. He alone had allowed the Soviet Union to be humiliated before the world’s stage as if it were some second rate nation bowing before its master. Upon Khrushchev’s death, his name was struck from every Soviet history book. The mere mention of his name in conversation, private or public, meant an automatic 5 year sentence in a Siberian prison.

Alexi looked down at the dagger he held in his hands before slicing his palm, then he reached for Luc’s outstretched hand, ceremoniously intermingling their blood, and once again swearing an unspoken allegiance to mother Russia.

Alexi returned the ceremonial dagger to Luc, but not before wiping away the excess blood from its blade on his shirt. Neither spoke for the longest moment. Alexi’s hand trembled as he poured himself a glass of water.

Realizing his friend was only looking out for the good of his country, Alexi walked around the table to where Luc sat.

“Madman you may be, but allow this operation to proceed.” He hugged his old friend before turning to leave. Pausing once more before he left the room, looking back at Luc, a smile breaking out on his face. “My friend, I feel as though we are back in the marathon we call a Cold War.”

Luc resembled a young child on Christmas morning as he stood watching his friend depart for the night, enthusiastically banging on the conference table as if it were a child’s drum set. He tried to contain his excitement as he snapped the suitcase back into place, hastily fastening a lead security breaker to seal the unit. Looking about the now empty room, he turned to face the door where the Premier had already departed.

“You are right my friend — we are back in the marathon!”