(AN: So much happened in the last chapter! I hope that i'll be able to get everything told in this chapter without running too long and without missing out on any important details.)
(Thank you for the reviews. As far as "misidentified" vehicles, i had that problem with the Slava-class cruiser. The only difference with the two you mentioned is time period. The T-10 was designed between 1948 and 1952, with production beginning in 1953: this puts it during the time period of Red Alert 1, which, to me, would make it the double-barreled heavy tank from RA1 [which the Mental meisters gave to China and called the Qilin tank]. The Ka-50, on the other hand, is close enough to the Red Alert 2 time period to be a plausible candidate for the Wolfhound. My rationale would be that i just like the Hind better, since it's a flying fortress AND a transport helicopter at once. However, the KA-50 is close enough to having been made during the time period of this story that it might be introduced later on in the story as Soviet Russia's attack helicopter, what with tactical strikes becoming less a thing due to their overwhelming numbers. Also, sorry to disagree with you, but the missile base in California IS "Vandenberg", it's the place in New Jersey that's "Vanderburg".)
(In this chapter, we go back to the perspective of Yuri's secret army. There is a cameo from another Red Alert 3 character [the only other Soviet character i actually liked aside from Oleg and Moskvin].)
An Awkward Situation
1730 Eastern European Time. January 1st, 1982
The forward command center of the European theater, somewhere in western Ukraine. Krukov was standing before a viewing screen, listening to the speech just made by Premier Romanov on the destruction of the Statue of Liberty. Once the transmission ended, the image shifted to one of Premier Romanov in his office in the Grand Kremlin Palace. The General-Lieutenant addressed the Premier with a placating smile on his face.
"Congratulations on your success in the American front, Comrade Premier!" Krukov lauded. "Soon the capitalist dogs will bow at the feet of glorious Mother Russia."
"We have been meeting with success, da?" Romanov replied. "Our glorious crusade marches forward in victory!" At this, Bronislav appeared in the view-screen and handed the Premier a brown folder. After examining its contents, he handed it back to his aide and then turned his attention to Krukov.
"And what of yourself, Comrade General?" he asked. "How goes our European front?"
Krukov forced a smile onto his face. "We are pushing forward triumphantly."
"Is that so?" Romanov asked. "I have been hearing reports of resistance on your way through Ukraine. Is this so?"
"Only a few dissidents," Krukov replied with a dismissing wave. "Foolish opportunists who have been using the war to further their own selfish ends. But we have taken care of them. There is no need to worry: we are claiming victory after victory."
"This is very good!" Premier Romanov replied. "Soon the whole world will be liberated from the scourge of capitalism. There will be a hero's welcome for you when you return to Moscow, and possibly an elevation to the Order of Stalin."
"Good," Krukov nodded. "A true and loyal servant of the people should receive the honor and recognition due to his services. Now, Comrade Premier, if you'll excuse me, I have a war to win." With that, the transmission was ended.
"You didn't tell him, sir?" Colonel Cherdenko, who had been watching silently from behind Krukov, spoke up now.
"Nyet," Krukov replied. "I will not be made to appear out-done by this Czechoslovakian chuzak and that womanizing oaf Vladimir! I will defeat the Allied dogs myself."
"Would it not have been best, sir," Cherdenko continued. "To have requested more troops?"
"I decide what is best, Cherdenko," Krukov interjected. "Never forget that." He then paused, stroking his mustache pensively. "What news from the front-lines?"
"The Greek Army has noticed our march through the Ukraine, sir," Cherdenko reported. "They have para-dropped a large force that has barricaded the Verecke Pass against us. All attempts to breach the pass have failed."
"Have the officers in charge of the assaults shot," Krukov replied. "They are traitors to the people by surrendering the pass so easily to the Allied dogs."
"But the pass, sir," Cherdenko continued. "You told the Premier that there was little resistance. When he finds that our army's advance has been halted, it will look very badly on you. Especially in light of the success of Comrade Lazarev."
"Success?" Krukov sneered. "Bah! It was not success! He caught the Americans by surprise: any green cadet could have had such a 'success.'"
"Then, sir," Cherdenko replied. "Show the world what true success looks like. Defeat this army here. Let not the Premier think that anything is wrong. We will know the truth, but the world will see that you have won no less noble a victory."
Krukov nodded, then said with a sigh. "Get in touch with Belyy Vorobey."
The video paused. The agent known as Vasily stood before the viewing screen: beside him was Yuri, who had shown him the video.
"That was taken three hours ago by KGB surveillance in Krukov's command center," Yuri clarified. In his hand was the remote, which he pointed at the view-screen. It changed to a static image of a rally in the streets of Kiev. In the midst of the rally was a young woman in an olive green uniform, wearing a cap of the same color with a red star upon it.
"I am sure you have heard of the White Sparrow, proselyte," Yuri said. "Comrade Belova has been an important asset in the return of Ukraine into the USSR. Now General Krukov has...recruited her to lead the assault into the Verecke Pass." At this, Yuri turned about and faced his newly-returned proselyte.
"You have been selected for this assignment due to your success with Operation Peacekeeper," Yuri said. "Now we must prove ourselves before our comrades in Moscow." Yuri paused, straightening himself up. "Da, proselyte, I said 'we.' The Politburo has been critical of the Psychic Corps since its inception. We do not operate under the jurisdiction of the NKVD; but that is how it should be. Now we must defend the fool General Krukov in his assault on the Verecke Pass: ensure that Krukov and Belyy Vorobey, with their forces, make it through the pass alive. Prove to our comrades in Moscow that the Psychic Corps is not without its usefulness. That will be all."
Vasily nodded, then made his way from the room. Behind him slowly walked Yuri, pensively stroking his goatee. After following Vasily for a brief moment, the psychic turned and went to find a communications officer. There was one other piece that he needed to claim.
1040 Eastern Time. January 1st, 1982
On the eastern front of the war in America, General-Major Mikhail Lazarev was being transported from the Time Warner Center to the Soviet forward command base on Governors Island. The initial attack on the American position in New York had caught them widely off guard, but there were still pockets of resistance scattered throughout such a wide city. The General-Major had half a mind to order the Kirov airships to level half of the city in order that the remnant of the American defenders have nowhere to hide.
Into the command center walked the General-Major, looking for his adjutant. He did not have long to wait, for the young Polish woman was waiting for him at her station. As soon as he entered, she saluted him.
"Pozdravleniya, Comrade General," she congratulated. "With Lower Manhattan in our control, total control of New York will soon be ours."
Mikhail smiled grimly. He was still unhappy with what had happened in the Holland Tunnel.
"In regards to your success," she added. "Premier will undoubtedly give you the rank in truth, not just in name. You will be able to have your choice of any front in our glorious crusade."
"Glorious crusade..." muttered Mikhail.
"Sir," Zofia spoke, taking a step closer to the General. "Is there something you wish to tell me?" Reluctantly, Mikhail relayed the news of Boris' death to the Lieutenant. With this, she too hung her head in sorrow.
"It is a tragic loss," she sighed. But her grief, it seemed, was not as poignant as Mikhail's, at least as he saw it: she cleared her throat and continued on, as formal as ever.
"However," she continued. "His sacrifice has not been in vain. You have won the day. The commander of Fort Bradley is captured and his forces are disorganized."
"The day is far from over," Mikhail added.
"That's true, sir," Zofia nodded. "There are still many things we must do. For instance, the capturing of the JFK International Airport has given our forces a much-needed air-base in the region. That will be useful in the second assault on Washington, as well as securing air superiority in the Atlantic." Suddenly she paused, touching the head-set on her ear.
"Chto?"
"Please stand by, Comrade General," she replied. "It's from Moscow." She walked over to her station and opened the channel. On the view-screen appeared the face of Premier Romanov."
"Comrade General!" the Premier greeted. "We are hearing of your success in capturing New York. You have proven yourself worthy of the rank we bestowed upon you. From the west, we hear news of Vladimir's success in California. Soon all the Americans will submit to us! You have done well. We are sending you the insignia of your rank, General-Major: wear it with pride as you lead the people against the capitalist war machine!"
"Spasibo, Comrade Premier," Mikhail nodded.
"I expect to hear a full report on the success in New York," the Premier stated.
But at that moment, Mikhail groaned, rubbing his temples. A strange sensation was coming over him. The lieutenant, keen-eyed as usual, stepped in front of her commanding officer.
"Pozhaluysta, love," the Premier interjected. "You will receive your own promotion in time. For now, I would like some time with my General."
"Your pardon, Comrade Premier," Zofia replied. "Comrade General is weary from the long journey. I believe the Americans call it 'jet-lag'."
"But did he not go by ship to America?" interjected the Premier.
"Da, sir," Zofia continued. "But he is tired nevertheless. I will deliver the report, sir." She pulled a folder that had been arranged by the KGB members that had been monitoring the General's progress. She then turned to him and gave him a knowing wink, then went about her business.
Mikhail had scarcely any time to ponder what this meant as he walked out of the communications center. Again the pounding headache overwhelmed him. But this time he heard a familiar voice inside his head.
It is as I told you, comrade, Yuri's thoughts whispered. I have not finished with you. The next stage of the invasion is about to commence, and it is in this part that you will play an important role. General Vladimir is engaged with the remaining American defenders on the West Coast. Though the city of San Francisco is already under occupation, there are still pockets of resistance in the area, especially on Alcatraz Island. Eliminate all resistance on the island and secure it for the Soviet Union. Obey.
With that, the voice faded and Mikhail's head cleared up slightly. He rubbed his head, wondering why the P-FAAC hadn't kept his head clear. Into his mind he heard the same words spoken over and over again: San Francisco, Alcatraz Island. He made his way out of the command center and towards the helipad. A short hop over the New York bay, and he would arrive at JFK Airport, which was under Soviet control. From there, an Ilyushin-76 would fly him over Canada and drop him off somewhere in San Francisco.
As he was leaving, Dasha gave a gentle bark at the General. He turned around and saw the dog wagging her tail, standing eagerly by the entrance of the command center.
"Come along, Dasha," Mikhail said. "We're not done yet."
1930 Eastern European Time. January 1st, 1982
The title of 'Hero of the Soviet People' was in no way exclusive to Boris. Around the various satellite states of the World Socialist Alliance, names were raised to almost divine status by the Communist Party. In Ukraine, one that had been so deified by the Party was Veronika Belova. She had ran away from home at a young age and joined the Ukrainian Socialist Party, at the time an underground organization due to the country being liberated by the Allies during the Great War. She quickly rose through the ranks as a revolutionary and a fighter, and in time the Party formed a cult of personality around her.
Despite having a wide public image, she was harder to find for most people. But not for the Psychic Corps.
The Zhytomyr Oblast was a long way from the Verecke Pass, but within two hours' flight from Moscow. It was here that Vasily and two other adepts were deployed. They were to meet with the White Sparrow as she she was departing for the Verecke Pass. They would be part of her team that would lead Krukov's forces to victory.
Outside of the town of Zhytomyr was the Ozernoye, the airbase where the helicopter was waiting. Vasily and two other adepts were making their way across the runway to the helicopter pad, trying to act as inconspicuous as possible. They wore brown coats with red arm-bands, some with the hammer and sickle and others with simply a red star outlined in gold: no one would suspect them of being anything other than loyal to the cause. After all, they were all comrades and brothers in arms. Nothing to fear from them.
As the hour of seven came to half-mast, the little group appeared. They were no more than eight soldiers in the group: but, to be fair, they were mostly very tall and very large. Most were armed with pepeshas, while some of the group had large cannons which they carried on their shoulders. At the head of the group was Veronika Belova, the White Sparrow: she was tall and slender, clad in olive green jacket and pants, and wearing a matching cap with the red star upon it. In her hands was an AK-47, and her face was set like steel. Into the Wolfhound they climbed and took their seats in the crew compartment along with the three PsiCorp troopers. It was indeed a tight squeeze, for the helicopter could usually only transport eight. With the cockpit full, the PsiCorp troops were forced to stand and hold on for dear life as the helicopter took off from the Ozernoye.
About half-way to the Verecke Pass, Belova spoke up.
"I wasn't told that we were to receive any support in our mission," she said, speaking to Vasily. "Are you KGB?"
"We're here to aid you in your mission," Vasily responded. "But we are not KGB."
"And what support do you offer us?" Belova asked. "I don't see any weapons on you: not even a pistol. Are you part of Ivanovich's demolition squad?"
"Nyet, comrade," Vasily answered.
"Then you're only going to get in the way," she replied.
"He's KGB," a large, bald man said to Belova: he bore one of the large cannons, which was now sitting upright between his legs.
"We've been sent from Moscow to provide field support," Vasily insisted.
"And yet you're unarmed," Belova continued. "Maybe you should go back to Moscow and come back when you're a little better...equipped?" She smirked.
"Make jokes if you want, comrade," Vasily sneered in retort. "But you will soon see the fullness of our potential."
"Words are meaningless to me," Belova stated. "It was words that Stalin spoke that drove my people to starvation."
"Are you sure that's wise to say?" Vasily asked.
"I thought you weren't KGB," smirked Belova in retort.
"Just because I'm not," Vasily replied. "Does not mean that we're not being watched."
"This is not Moscow, comrade," Belova stated. "This is Ukraine. We have not forgotten what Stalin did to us."
"Like anyone cares about what you chert Ukrainians think," one of the Adepts shouted back.
Silence, proselyte, Vasily thought. It was the title used by the PsiCorp for all of those who were possessed powerful minds but were beneath 'Master Yuri.' It all stemmed from the markings upon Yuri's forehead.
"Bold words from an unarmed man," Belova commented. "Are you sure you're not KGB?"
"At this point," Vasily said. "KGB are the least of your worries."
"Hmm," she returned. "We'll just see about that, won't we?"
2100 Eastern European Time. January 1st, 1982
The hour and a half journey from Zhytomyr Oblast to the Verecke Pass was delayed by only a few minutes as the helicopter had to land at an airbase to refuel before continuing on southwestward. Night was already well underway by the time they flew over the Verecke Pass. The moonlight made the snows covering the pass to glisten and shine; and here and there were lights from where the Greek Army had set up their positions.
As they made their approach, the pilot called Belova to the cockpit. Colonel Cherdenko was on the line asking for the 'leader' of the strike force. She crawled her way up to the cockpit and placed the pilot's headphones.
"Comrade Vorobey," he greeted. "As adjutant to General-Lieutenant Krukov, I will be briefing you on your assignment tonight. The Greek Army has deployed six artillery guns along the Verecke Pass. Though their forces are well entrenched, they will not be expecting an attack from the mountains at night."
"Understood, comrade," Belova replied.
"Intelligence reports that the main base of the Greek Army is located on the southwestern end of the pass," Cherdenko continued. "We will need to destroy it once the guns have been taken care of, but be advised: do not engage the base before those guns are destroyed! The guns on the northern side of the pass may begin firing on you if the base is compromised. Also, there are several bridges crossing the pass near the Hungarian border: if the base is compromised, the Greeks may destroy those bridges, trapping you on the southern side of the valley. As we have no engineering teams to spare, this would prove disastrous once our army begins to march."
"Got it," Belova nodded.
Within a few minutes, the helicopter began to make its descent. Outside it was utterly dark, save for distant lights from the west. As soon as they touched down, Belova went to the back of the cargo hold and opened a crate: inside were night-vision goggles that had been provided for the purpose of the night mission.
"Slukhayte!" she called out to her squad. "General Krukov has loaned us these from Spetsnaz. They're not ours to keep, so make sure nothing happens to them. Rozumity?"
Cries of "Tak" and "Da" came from her company. Belova turned to Vasily.
"As you were a last minute addition to my company," she stated. "We don't have any night-vision gear for you."
"That will not be a problem," Vasily replied. "We do not need to see where we are going."
Belova laughed. "Shcho? Now I know you're not KGB."
"Why is that?" Vasily returned.
"You're far too stupid to be KGB," she retorted.
"We move as well in darkness as in light," Vasily replied, ignoring her comments.
"Whatever you say," Belova scoffed, rolling her eyes. "But if you get lost, don't expect me to go looking for you."
"Fortunately for you," Vasily commented. "I am not at liberty to return the favor to you, should you be lost. Which you would be without us."
"We will see," Belova returned.
Outside the helicopter, it was cold and dark. High up in the hills the winds were biting. Even with a heavy jacket over her olive green fatigues, Belova was shaking. The conscripts and the gulag gun-troopers put on their night-vision goggles and followed in the wake of their commander. Once the last of the Adepts disembarked from the helicopter, it took off in a torrent of biting wind that nearly drove them all to the ground. The running lights vanished as the helicopter flew off back towards Krukov's camp.
Behind the main company, Vasily and the other Adepts followed closely but quietly behind Belova's troops. Yuri trained his Adepts to resist great pain during their conditioning, and as such they ignored the cold. As for the darkness, their brains conquered this. The same psychic sense that Vasily used to find his comrades in Lompoc California, the Adepts used to track the progress and location of the Soviet soldiers. They could sense the brain-waves of the soldiers and where they were moving, whether they swerved to miss a tree, leaped over a fence, took cover behind a boulder, forded a frozen puddle, or went to ground. As such, the Adepts could move under cover of darkness without the use their eyes.
As they made their way, the Adepts came to a halt. The number of brain-waves of receptor brains changed from eight to twenty in almost a moment. They could sense Belova ordering her men to crouch down. Vasily sent his thoughts outward and noticed where the sudden surge of brain-waves came from. Four receptor brains were making marching rounds in a wide, squarish perimeter, and in the center of the perimeter were sixteen other receptors standing as if in battle positions.
"What is going on?" one of the conscripts whispered.
"Shh!" hushed Belova. "Not a sound or they'll hear us." She began to scan the area with her night-vision goggles.
"Allow me to spare you the trouble, comrade Vorobey," Vasily whispered. "There are enemies before us: four guarding a perimeter, sixteen within the perimeter inside a building. Most likely garrisoned."
"Layno!" Belova hissed through her teeth. "It will be difficult to assault in the dark. Our cannons could probably get off a few hits, but we'd be shooting blindly. Those scouts will make things harder."
"Perhaps I can be of assistance," suggested Vasily.
Belova chuckled. "And what are you going to do? Talk them into surrender?"
"I can be very persuasive," Vasily retorted. "But no matter what happens, do not shoot or reveal yourself until you hear from me. Is that understood?"
"Whatever you say," Belova returned. "Dasvidanya, honey."
Vasily rolled his eyes, then began to walk forward into the darkness, his hands held up with palms open. At least eight paces away from the hiding place he walked before one of the perimeter guards caught him in their sights: apparently they were also equipped with night-vision goggles.
"Pavo!" the Greek soldier shouted.
There is no reason to be alarmed, comrade, Vasily thought. We are all friends here.
Behind Vasily's back, Belova was watching the exchange through her night-vision goggles. Her AK was aimed at the Greek soldier in case anything should happen. What she saw instead was the soldier walking back into the darkness, with Vasily following behind him. They came almost to the edge of the vision range of the goggles, when suddenly one of the figures dropped. The last standing figure vanished. There was dead silence for at least two minutes.
Layno, thought Belova. We're probably going to have to rescue him.
Suddenly there were loud cries of agony breaking the still night air. The perimeter guards suddenly started shouting and, in Belova's night-vision goggles, could be seen turning inward towards a dark structure in their center. There was a sudden burst of gunfire and one of the perimeter guards dropped. Shouts were heard from the building as another burst was heard, then successive shots: in the night sky, bright flashes from the barrels of the machine guns showed where the perimeter guard was shooting. Not outward, towards any intruder, but inwards, towards the building he had been trying to protect. There was another chorus of screams heard, then suddenly all was quiet.
"What just happened?" one of the conscripts quivered.
"Shh!" hissed Belova. "Not a sound, remember?"
The sound of a door being kicked open was heard. Belova turned her AK towards the noise, but did not fire. A lone figure suddenly appeared.
"Come inside, Vorobey," Vasily invited. "See what your 'useless' comrades have done for you."
0955 Mountain Time. January 1st, 1982
William Cartwright, Vice President of the United States. A former member of the American Socialist Party, he had been a very vocal member of the opposition front during the 1950s. With a catastrophic war with Japan less than five years ago, many in the United States were uninterested in wasting lives in another war, especially one that had little to no repercussions for them here at home. This was one of the main reasons why the United States did not officially join the Allied Nations of Europe in their war against Josef Stalin's Soviet Empire. As a front, people like Cartwright, then the senator of Vermont, argued that it was an unjust waste of American lives to send men overseas to fight the Soviet Union.
In truth, Cartwright had never left the American Socialist Party. During the 70s, he had been a proud advocate of the World Socialist Alliance, and frequently praised Alexander Romanov as a prime example of the benefits that socialism could bring to the people of the world.
At 0500 hours Eastern Time the previous day, Cartwright had received a phone call from an informant of his in the Soviet Embassy in Quebec. Within thirty minutes he was on board a private plane headed for Peterson Air Force Base, then by car to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. An hour later he had closed the blast doors and barricaded himself inside the base. No more than a handful of people were present at the base: the VP, seven Secret Service agents, and a technician. The Vice President had warned them that they were not to share anything with anyone outside of the base without express permission from him first.
For one whole day they waited. The Secret Service agents knew no more than what they were told, and the technician no more than what was monitored from NORAD. The Vice President waited anxiously for news to come in. All that day and into the night there was precious little news. During that day, he made several phone calls to friends of his, informing them of where he was if they needed to contact him.
At 0600 hours local time today, it began. Phone calls came in from the governor of Oregon and California, as well as from Charmain, the mayor of San Francisco. Soviet forces had invaded California. To these, the VP had given only one answer:
"Stand down the national guard. Capitulation is our best option at this point."
Then came the news from the east coast. The Soviets had invaded New York and Washington DC. Cartwright had said nothing in all of this, only speaking to answer phone calls from his associates on the east coast. In each case, the answer was the same: surrender to avoid lives being lost. Then came the news that the Statue of Liberty had been destroyed. A smile appeared on Cartwright's face.
"Get me a secure channel to the Pentagon," he ordered the technician.
That transmission had only lasted a few minutes, and Cartwright hadn't been able to say everything that he wanted to say. Nevertheless, it felt good to give the War Room and this young upstart a piece of his mind. After the transmission ended, he left the command center for a cup of coffee. Several minutes later, the technician found him in the break room, pouring over a notepad.
"Mr. Vice President," the technician spoke. "We have the secure feed ready."
"Good, good," said Cartwright. "I'll just be another ten minutes. I need to look over my notes for this speech."
"Um, sir?" the technician asked. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
"I really don't have time for questions, Blake," Cartwright replied.
"It's only," Blake stated. "We've been intercepting NORAD information reports. If the nation is under attack..."
"Then this is the safest place to be," Cartwright said, a smile on his face as he turned to the technician. "A nuclear bomb couldn't break through those blast doors out on the North Gate. Now then, if you don't leave me the fuck alone, I'll have to find myself a certified comm-tech who can do your job without a bunch of stupid questions."
"Sir, shouldn't we be doing something?" Blake asked. "You know, to try and stop this invasion?"
"That is precisely what I am doing right here and now, son," Cartwright replied. "Now if you really care about your country, you'll leave me to my job and let me finish it!" Blake nodded and left the break room, while Cartwright rolled his eyes.
Only idiots are patriots, he thought to himself as he continued writing.
Fifteen minutes later, he had written his speech. He walked out to the presentation room, which had been made to look like the Oval Office in the White House. Blake was behind the camera and the Secret Service agents were at attention on the sides outside of view. Cartwright took the podium, making sure his papers were hidden beneath the lip of the podium, and then began his speech.
"My fellow Americans," he began. "Today, at eight o'clock Easter Time, an attack was made upon the United States by unidentified forces. Now, we don't know for certain, but we believe that this may be the action of some Russian extremists, lone wolf types, operating outside of the jurisdiction and support of the Soviet Union. As your Vice President, let me assure the American public that we are not at war with Russia. Premier Romanov has shown the world time and time again his dedication to peace, and his humanitarianism and goodwill to all nations, whether socialist or capitalist. This attack by the Russian military elite is an unprecedented accident, but we must not be quick to make harsh judgments or to point the finger of blame on anyone. The destruction of the Statue of Liberty is a regrettable loss, but it was caused by the United States military's incompetence and insistence on engaging the Soviet military elite in open combat. Which is why we ask that no such foolish acts of aggression be carried out by the American people. Any attempts at aggressive action, no matter how well intended, we believe will be met with violence from the military elite. Therefore we advise you all, citizens of America, to remain indoors and not to take action against the Russian military elite. Compliance with occupying forces is, for now, the safest option for the people of America. We must proudly declare, by our actions, that America is determined to promote peace."
2125 Eastern European Time. January 1st, 1982
Belova's company entered the two-story house that the Greek Army had garrisoned but five minutes ago. What they found was shocking and disgusting to at least most of them. Bodies of Greek soldiers lay upon the ground of both levels, around the windows where they had been watching for intruders. But each of them had their heads exploded, with blood, gray matter and shards of skull lying about where they had fallen and splattered upon the walls. None of the bodies inside the house looked as though they had been shot. Walking among the slain, with a disconcerting smile upon his face, was Vasily.
"Don't look so surprised, Vorobey," he said to Belova. "I told you that I had my usefulness."
"What did you do to them?" she asked, eying him with distrust.
"I killed them," Vasily said, as though he were discussing the weather or going down to the local bar.
"Without a gun," she remarked. "And without a scratch on yourself. What about the first soldier?"
"What about him?"
"I was watching you," she said. "He didn't even call out for his comrades once he saw you. How did you get past him?"
"As I said," Vasily returned. "I can be very persuasive."
Veronika Belova said nothing. Her eyes turned back to the bodies as Vasily walked over to the other two he brought with him, those he called 'Adepts.' Though she had no pity for 'capitalists' and 'fascists', as those who were not comrades were called, she appreciated how difficult it was to kill an armed man. She had seventeen notches upon the stock of her AK-47, each for a kill she had made. Getting to each of them had been more or less difficult, and it was pleasing to make the more difficult kills. Killing someone in the heat of battle may have been seen by some, especially those in Moscow, as a 'romantic' and 'unnecessary' sentiment, but, to Belova, it meant something to kill someone who was gunning for you. It meant that you were quicker, faster, more accurate and, if nothing else, luckier than they were.
But this was different. So many armed soldiers had died, almost instantly. Something that could kill with that great frequency was greater than any conventional soldier, certainly greater than she was. It made her worried that three Russian agents with that ability were now marching with them.
While the soldiers searched the house, they came upon a map of the Verecke Pass, which was presented to Belova immediately. From this, they were able to discover the location of the guns, the Greek army's main base, as well as most of the entrenched positions along the two sides of the pass.
"Uspikh!" exclaimed Belova. "One of those guns is nearby." She began giving orders to her troops, that three of them, two conscripts and a cannon-bearing soldier, remain in the building while she took the rest of the squad to scout out the location of the first artillery gun. She was checking her ammunition as the soldiers were preparing to leave when Vasily approached from behind.
"How do you expect to take out the guns?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" she replied.
"We have no demolition team," Vasily stated. "And even if we did, we are near the Greek army's base on this side of the valley. If they hear, or see, the destruction of one of their guns, they will send patrols to investigate."
"Too much for you?" Belova asked. "You cleared this house out rather well on your own: one man against sixteen. What's there to fear for you from the Greek army's patrols?"
"Don't you remember what Comrade Cherdenko said about the Greeks' demolition teams?" Vasily asked. "We may evade the patrols for a while, and if we're lucky, we might claim the element of surprise, as I did in this house, and destroy one patrol. When those patrols fail to report in, they will send more patrols. There are three guns on this side of the valley, and if we begin to destroy them, soon the Greeks will know what we're doing and destroy the bridges here." He pointed on her map toward the bridges that stretched from the southwestern end of the pass to a little plateau near the Hungarian border, then back northeast to the northern side.
"Then what do you propose we do?" Belova sighed in frustration.
"We take their artillery positions by surprise," Vasily continued. "Surely they have gunners to man their machines, da? If we capture one of them, we can sabotage the guns quietly."
"I'm not sure if that will work," Belova shook her head. "If the Greek Army is anything like ours, they will check in with their artillery crews every hour. If one does not report in, they will send their patrols to investigate."
"Hmm," Vasily mused. "Then we sabotage each artillery gun after they've checked in. That way we'll have at least an hour before they start looking for us. If we're fast enough, we can get two of the guns on this side of the valley before they check in."
"Alright, we'll try that," Belova nodded.
"But don't leave anyone behind," Vasily added. "We can't let them know what we're doing until it's too late to do anything about it."
Belova had her men drag in the bodies of the perimeter guards, which were then deposited inside the house. It would be too long to clean up all the blood of those whose heads had mysteriously exploded, and they needed to be out of here and in position to disable the first artillery gun within thirty-six minutes. As they worked, Belova eyed Vasily and his two comrades suspiciously. Most of their time had been spent standing around pensively, gazing at the others without saying a word.
She was still suspicious about them. Anyone who could kill sixteen armed men that easily was worthy of suspicion from anyone. How did Vasily do it was her greatest wonder. Second to that was that if they could be trusted: her first instinct, bred from years in the Ukrainian Socialist Party, taught her that no one could be trusted, not even party members. They claimed to not be KGB, but they could be reporting to the Commissar of Internal Affairs just the same. With that kind of power, she feared for her life and the lives of her men: were they expendable?
There was, of course, something else. Very briefly, one of these unarmed commandos, that Vasily had called Adepts, had removed his cap to wipe away the sweat from his forehead. In that moment, she had seen a mark upon his forehead, a mark of three letters. The letters jogged her memory, but she could not recall where she had seen them from before. This made them even more intriguing.
Thirty-five minutes passed and the little group was now barricaded outside of the first gun emplacement. There were eight Greek soldiers about the gun: three rocket troopers, five light infantry armed with semi-automatic rifles, and the three-man gunner crew. It was more or less evenly matched, as far as Belova could see. Now they played the waiting game, trying to discern when the radio check-ins were complete and they could make their attack.
While she was watching the Greek soldiers through her night-vision binoculars, another figure walked slowly into view. Suddenly there was a burst of gunfire: all the Soviet soldiers ducked low, fearing that they were under attack. Yet no bullets struck them. The three Greek rocket troopers were gunned down almost immediately, and the other soldiers turned their guns on their supposedly treacherous comrade. There was another burst of gunfire, then silence, followed by a series of single shots into the darkness.
Attack
Belova did a double-take as she thought she heard a voice speaking in her head. Only a gentle whisper, but she could have sworn that the voice that spoke was none other than Vasily's voice.
"V'ataku!" Belova shouted in Russian.
Taken by surprise, the Greek soldiers were no match for the Russian ambush. They charged the gun emplacement, only to find Vasily standing in front of one of the artillery crewmen.
"Stoporit!" Vasily ordered. "This one is mine."
"Idiot!" Belova chided. "You might have blown it for all of us."
"Why?" Vasily returned. "I sensed that they had already checked in. I felt best to act quickly, so we would have more time to find the other guns."
"Just remember who's in charge, comrade," she added, eying him warily.
"I would never dream of doing otherwise," Vasily answered with a suspicious smile. He then turned his attention to the gunner. Still suspicious of him, Belova watched as Vasily said no words to the gunner, yet the Greek man swiftly went to work on the artillery gun.
"Who is this man?" she asked. "Some kind of inside contact?"
"He is a loyal soldier of the Greek army," Vasily replied. "He has no ties with anyone in the Soviet Union. In fact, he hates us and would shoot us on sight. Something about his parents dying in Athens during the Great War."
"Then would you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?" Belova asked again. "You said he was yours, but he's certainly taking his time trying to shoot us."
"Yes, of course," Vasily nodded. "He is sabotaging the artillery gun. This way there will be no explosion that the main Greek base will detect. But, once our army marches through here, the Greeks will try to fire the gun, and it will be to their ruin."
"Shcho?" she asked. "Why is a Greek nationalist helping our cause?"
"It is as I have said, comrade Vorobey," Vasily replied. "I can be very persuasive." A minute or so passed and the Greek gunner finished his work on the gun. Suddenly he gave out a cry and collapsed into the snow, his hands clawing furiously at his brain as if to rid himself of some great pain inside his skull. After a moment or two of struggle, the man fell limp and moved no more.
"What the hell did you do to him?" Belova asked.
"I persuaded him to die," Vasily replied. "Come now, comrade Vorobey. We have much to do this night."
0104 Eastern European Time. January 2nd, 1982
At the Soviet command base in the Verecke Pass in Ukraine, Krukov was getting impatient. He was pacing inside the command tent, sipping coffee from a porcelain cup: part of his private collection, which were permitted to Party members, though not to any else. Cherdenko, meanwhile, was busy at the consoles, coordinating with the commanders here in Ukraine and northward, towards Poland.
"Dostatochno!" groaned Krukov. "We've given Vorobey and her team time enough. The Soviet war machine must not halt."
"Sir," Cherdenko interjected. "We have not received confirmation that the Greek artillery guns are disabled. Our soldiers will be marching into a death trap."
"The soldiers of the Red Army should be honored to give their lives for the Revolution," Krukov stated. "Their names will be immortalized once the World Socialist Alliance becomes global in fact as well as in name."
"If your forces fail," Cherdenko continued. "It will look very badly upon you."
"It will look worse," Krukov barked. "If we sit here with our thumbs up our osly, while that chuzak prances through America like some kind of hero!"
"As you wish, sir," Cherdenko resigned. "What are your orders?"
"Tell my tank commanders to begin the assault," Krukov said. "The Verecke Pass belongs to the Soviet Union."
Meanwhile, in the field, progress was going at a mean pace: neither swiftly nor slowly. Within the first hour two guns had been taken care of, and a third followed shortly thereafter. The hardest part came after the second gun was taken out. The gunner, in an act of defiance, had shouted something at one of the PsiCorp Adepts that caused Vasily some concern.
"You'll never reach the guns in time."
As they made their way across the plateau near the Hungarian border, they found that, true to the warning, the eastern bridges had been set to blow. This delayed the sabotage of the fourth gun until midnight as they combed the bridge for explosives and Vasily, through whatever abilities he refused to share with Belova, "convinced" Greek engineers to disarm them.
Further delays were caused once they crossed the bridges to the other side of the pass. Here they encountered a troop barracks of the Greek Army that was heavily fortified and further delayed sabotaging the fourth gun. In the end, instead of directly assaulting the barracks, they skirted through a patch of woods around the northwestern side of the barracks and bypassed it entirely. With darkness as their cover, they reached the fourth gun and completed their sabotaging. Now they were on their way towards the last two guns.
All of them were cold and shivering: despite being used to winter, it wasn't any fun being stuck on the side of a mountain in the dead of night in winter with little protection from the howling winds. However, Vasily and his Adepts stood erect, walking forward as if the cold had no power over them. By now Belova was convinced that there was something different about them, and planned to put an inquiry in with the NKVD.
In the distance, a rumble was heard. All eyes turned southeast as bright flashes were seen in the center of the valley.
"Duryty!" exclaimed Belova. "Your General Krukov has sent his forces out ahead of us. They will be slaughtered!"
"Hurry!" one of the cannon soldiers exclaimed. "If we don't get those guns out, we'll all be in for gulag!" With that, he heaved his cannon, rose to his feet and started running forward.
"Nyet!" Vasily ordered. "Podozhdite!"
Vasily's mind had been busy moving across the twilit hillside. He could sense others about eighty yards away: receptor brains, but well-trained ones. Their concentration was on the ground ahead of them, and they were all of them keen-eyed. Therefore it was that when the cannon-bearing soldier broke ranks and charged forward, Vasily's thoughts could not immediately control him and force him to stop.
There was the sound of tearing flesh from a gunshot, though no report was heard. The soldier dropped his heavy cannon to the ground and fell with him.
"Der'mo!" one of the conscripts shouted. "What happened to Sergey?"
"Greek snipers," Vasily replied. "They're entrenched just west of the sixth gun. They will be able to spot us as we go for the fifth one."
"We're out of time!" Belova snarled. "We can't let the Greek guns destroy our comrades in the valley."
"Podozhdite," muttered Vasily. "I have an idea." Overhead there roared the engines of an Il-76. "We might still have a chance. Belova?"
"Da?"
"Give us cover," he ordered. "Fire towards that hill..." He gestured towards where he had sensed the sniper. "...but stay down and don't advance until I give the word. Have your cannons aim at the fifth gun." A loud boom from a nearby rocky hillock between them and the sniper's nest told where the fifth gun could be found.
"What will you do?" Belova asked.
"Call for back-up," Vasily replied.
Vasily got down to cover and began to turn his mind towards the skies. Because of the immense space between the air and the ground, and the speed at which most planes flew, even the most powerful of transmitter brains could not send brain-wave signals potent enough for control to those altitudes. However, Vasily was unique among those initiated as proselytes of Yuri's Psychic Corps. Most of them had been conditioned for service only: given enough control over their mental faculties to dominate the minds of others, but nothing greater. Vasily had been designated for command, as had the one who now called himself Mikhail Lazarev.
Among the many things which this indicated, it meant that Vasily's mind was more suited for advanced, tactical thinking. In this instance, it proved to be invaluable for the stranded group. Under pressure, Vasily remained calm and collected. While Belova and her men were taking cover from the snipers, he turned his mind skyward, sending out a subtle wave of psychic energy. Nothing potent enough for control, but strong enough that even the radios on-board the Il-76s could pick up his message.
Send reinforcements.
Back in the camp of General Krukov, his aide was pacing the floor of the little command tent. The General had gone to sleep and left him in charge of overseeing the assault. The incentive was on Lieutenant Colonel Cherdenko not to lose the assault to the Greek Army, as the sole blame for the loss would go to him in the General's report to Moscow (of course, sole credit for the success would go to the General). Despite this, there were other reasons to remain vigilant, especially during the midst of the assault. Here in the command tent, working the communications stations, Cherdenko guessed if not outright knew, where members of the KGB. They were watching and listening, as always. They could, if Krukov wanted, call upon their reports to corroborate his accusations of incompetence.
"Comrade Cherdenko," one of the technicians called from his radio station. "One of our planes is making an unauthorized delivery."
"What are the coordinates?" Cherdenko asked.
The technician read off the last known coordinates of the plane: it was still within the vicinity of the pass.
"Raise the plane," Cherdenko demanded. "Order them to cease the drop or they will be shot." The technician made the call, then turned back to Cherdenko.
"We can't raise them, sir," he replied. "There's some kind of interference with their radio."
"Can you pinpoint the source?" Cherdenko asked.
"It seems to be coming from the hills north of the Verecke Pass," the technician stated.
"What could possibly cause this kind of interference?" groaned Cherdenko.
One of the other technicians rose from his post, approached Cherdenko and whispered something into his ear. The colonel's eyes widened in amazement, after which he turned back to the first technician and ordered him to continue trying to raise the plane. With this done, Cherdenko and the second technician left the command tent and entered a nearby radar van. They entered the vehicle and the technician closed the door behind him.
"Alright, it's safe to speak," Cherdenko said. "Now, what is it you wanted to say that couldn't be spoken in the command tent?"
"Comrade Cherdenko," the technician began. "I know what the problem with the plane is. It's the Psychic Corps."
Cherdenko chuckled. "Come now, comrade. This is war, not bad science fiction film."
"I know how it sounds, sir," the technician continued. "The Chairman of KGB said the same thing. But there were...incidents around Moscow. Disappearances, interference with radio signals, that sort of thing. Usually it's just KGB activity and no one talks about it, but then KGB commissars started disappearing and it became our problem."
"Our problem?" Cherdenko asked.
"We have file on all activities believed to be linked to this Psychic Corps." the technician replied. "I can pull some strings in Moscow to get you access to those files on need to know basis."
"You're KGB, aren't you?" Cherdenko asked.
"My loyalty is to the party and the Motherland, Comrade Cherdenko," quoth the technician. "I would assume yours is the same."
"Da, of course," Cherdenko returned. "But the KGB is not known for glasnost. Why would they be willing to divulge this information to a simple lieutenant colonel of the Red Army?"
"The Chairman decides what information is shared with whom," the technician cryptically answered. "And right now, he wants the Premier to know about the activity of the Psychic Corps. Do we have an understanding?"
Cherdenko nodded.
Out in the snow-clad mountains, a loud roar of an Ilyushin jet plane boomed overhead of the beleaguered assault squad, amid the roar of cannon-fire. Veronika Belova, the White Sparrow, ducked behind a rock covered in snow on the safer side of the hill. The enemy were heavily entrenched on the other side, and the Greek snipers were slowly taking their toll. Worse still, the Greek Army still had at least two artillery guns that were now firing down into the Verecke Pass. If the Greeks didn't kill them here and now, they would be taken as prisoners of war and, with anti-Soviet sentiment still high in Greece what with Stalin's destruction of the Parthenon and most of Athens during the Great War, would not last long. Their superiors certainly wouldn't ransom them or try to break them out of prison after this failure. If they managed to survive and return to General Krukov's command center, they would be shot for their failure. Succeeding in their mission meant crossing the line of enemy fire and taking out those guns in short order before the Red Army was decimated. Hope seemed lost.
Belova lay prone in the snow, trying to make herself as small a target as possible. A quick glance over her right shoulder saw that odd man Vasily lying on the ground, his gloved hands clutching his head.
"Get down, idiot!" she shouted. Vasily made no reply.
Holding up her AK, Belova sent a burst of covering fire over the snowy hill and then dove across to where Vasily was lying. She tried to get his attention, but he seemed in a state of shock. He kept muttering to himself a stream of words in Russian; though she knew the language, they made no sense to her. "Uchitel", "nedostatochnost", "slishkom mnogo" and a name kept popping up over and over in his frantic ramblings. Frustrated with someone who had, for the most part, seemed to radiate an air of command and control throughout the mission, almost condescendingly so, only to crack under extreme pressure, Belova slapped him across the face.
"Get a hold of yourself!" she shouted. "We have a job to do!"
"It's too late," muttered Vasily. "I couldn't reach them. It's over!"
Suddenly there was a loud clang of steel, then the burst of heavy gunfire from PKTs was heard from the top of the hill. Though the cannons still roared, the sound of gunfire halted for a moment before the conscripts from the assault squad broke cover and fired into the air, crying "pobeda!" at the top of their lungs.
"What's happening?" Vasily asked. "Why have they broken cover?"
But Belova was speechless. She knew where those PKTs were coming from, but she couldn't believe that it had actually happened. Vasily had no radio; how could he have raised the Soviet air-force and requested reinforcements so quickly? Why was he acting as though he hadn't and was cowering on the ground, raving like a madman? There were so many unanswered questions, not least of them the mark upon the foreheads of Vasily and his Adepts (well, what was left of them, that is).
"Comrades!" the driver of the Tsivil cried out from over the hill. "Someone order can of ass-whooping?"
The squad broke cover and approached the Tsivil, whose running lights were on and pointed at their position. As Belova approached the vehicle, she noticed in the light that her glove had been stained with blood. She seemed surprised, as she couldn't remember being shot or even feeling the hit. She removed her glove and saw her hand, uninjured and clean of any blood. Relieved that she hadn't been hit, she turned her attention to the Tsivil driver and filled him in on their predicament. Thankfully the armored transport had engaged the sniper nests without taking significant damage. The path to the last guns would be a walk in the park.
"Double time, now!" she shouted back to her men. "We're not done yet!"
The rest of the squad made their appearance one by one to make the last leg of their assault. As Vasily came into the light, she noticed two trails of smeared blood dripping down from his nose into his large beard. At least that answered the quest of the bloody glove. But why was he bleeding? He didn't look like he had been shot, for his face and nose were otherwise intact: if it had been a head-shot, he wouldn't be walking at all. For the present, she had to place these thoughts aside and lead her company on the last leg of their assault. But all of these strange occurrences couldn't just be coincidence. Each and every one was pointing back to Vasily and his Adepts. But there was no possible rational explanation for these events.
Veronika Belova swore. She'd have quite a bit to tell her NKVD officer in her report on this assault.
An hour passed and Krukov was once again beaming proudly at the view-screen in his command tent. Romanov was on the line and he was giving his proud report of the triumphant march of the Soviet war-machine.
"Comrade Premier," Krukov said. "The ruthless opportunists have been dealt with. They have been shown that nothing can stop the will of the people in their march to freedom."
"This is good news," Romanov nodded. "Soon the conquest of Greece and Germany will be underway. As our comrades on the American front must make the capitalists pay for their crimes, so too here on the eastern front must we wage war against those who have dishonored Mother Russia. The people of Greece and Germany must be made to feel the terror that their military leaders brought against Moscow before they will be allowed to surrender."
"It is a pity, Comrade Premier," Krukov added with a confident smirk. "That Gunter von Esling is dead. I would have relished the chance to defeat him in battle and bring him back to Moscow as my prisoner."
Just then, a female aide approached the Premier's desk and handed him a folio. Krukov rolled his eyes as he noticed the Premier's following the off-screen departure of the aide: likely staring at her posterior, he thought. Once the door was closed, the Premier opened the folio and examined the documents within.
"It seems there was more than a little resistance in the Verecke Pass, Comrade General," Romanov stated, his tone serious. Krukov's eyes darted to the floor as his mind was abuzz with worry. He wondered if the Premier was about to burst into a fit of rage and order his execution. "Why was this information withheld?"
"Comrade Premier," Krukov turned about as Cherdenko approached the view-screen. "You needn't worry about these rumors. The Verecke Pass has been secured by the Red Army; uh, with the assistance of the Psychic Corps., of course."
"The Psychic Corps. was involved in this?" Romanov asked, more intrigued now than grim. "I will inform Yuri of the effectiveness of his corp. In the meanwhile, Comrade General, do not be keeping any secrets from me again. You are one of our finest generals: it would be a shame if anything happened to you. Udachi." The transmission ended.
"Sir," Cherdenko hastily interjected. "I apologize for my interruption. I thought it best to inform the Premier of the Psychic Corps' involvement in the success..."
"And here I thought my only concern was from that chuzak," Krukov muttered. "Now it seems that even Yuri wants to make me look bad!"
"What do you plan to do, sir?" asked Cherdenko.
"Continue with our previous operations," Krukov stated. "The European theater awaits us. As for Yuri, I want you to find out all you can about him and his Psychic Corps."
"Yes, sir."
(AN: Perhaps I didn't clarify the fact that i can't get the beta of Mental Omega at all! Running it causes my copy of Red Alert 2/Yuri's Revenge to no longer work. I've had this happen twice before, and the only answer that i seem to have gotten is that it's not supported on the Origin version of RA2 [which i HAVE to use, since, thanks to Windows 8, most of the games i have don't work at all: this includes War of the Ring, Robin Hood, the Commandos games, all the stand-alone copies of Command and Conquer games AND The First Decade])
(I didn't know Moran Atias [the one whose RA3 character made the cameo here] was so tall! 5'9" is an impressive height [unless you're 6'3" Brienne of Tarth from Game of Thrones]. I also dropped the name of another Red Alert 2 character. Since he has no last name that we know of, i cheated and called him "Ivan Ivanovich", since obviously his first name, or last name, is not "Crazy". I also think it's cool that, as far as i've heard, his name is properly pronounced "ee-vahn": also that said name is derived from the Norse name "Ingvar".)
(I've also researched the eight-eight, what is commonly known as the flak cannon [at least the WW2 German one, that the RA2 flak cannon is based off of]: it is quite literally a cannon. So the flak troopers would be a bit more lethal in real life than their in-game counterparts, who shoot black clouds that do almost nothing against ground troops and tanks.)
