Commander Alexei Kroziev stood over the lavishly decorated balcony
and onto the harsh Arctic cold. A small flutter of snow dropped into his
extended hand, gloved in black leather. His hand tensed and formed up into
a fist, crushing the delicate frozen form. He gently wiped off the frost
from the gold and red Hammer-Sickle pin from his brown woolen collar. The
calm snow flakes and the writhing ocean was the only thing he had seen
lately, aside from the stark gray concrete and red and brown brick of the
construction sites.
His stare was rudely interrupted by Leon Yeveilska, his assistant.
Alexei turned his head towards the man, not clothed in a warm Russian parka
like him, but in a clean white and red official's suit. From the man's
identification, he had grown up in the deep reaches of Siberia, so he was
used to the cold. Leon handed him a clipboard of the happenings of the war.
Strong, Mother-Russia against the Empire of the United States. He had
expected, nor seen anything different, then straight losses from the
Allies. First Washington D.C., then the psychic invasion of New York City.
The naval defeats in Florida and Hawai'i, and the motherland
conquering areas reaching even into the center of the capitalist nation!
Alexei blankly looked at the yellow piece of paper clipped onto the
wooden board.
Comrade Commander Kroziev - - - Allied naval sightings near Navaya Noziev (current position), have guards posted at all times. Allied attacks may be unexpected. Dazvedanya, War Ministry.
he doubted it was true. The Allies? Here? After subsequent defeats in their homelands, they dare strike at Mother-Russia! Alexei handed back the clipboard, but before he could dismiss him, he asked for permission to speak. Alexei accepted.
"Comrade Commander, perhaps we should cut down the guard's duties by half, so that one man can get duty in the afternoon, then skip a shift to someone else, then go on in the next? Perhaps it will increase awareness."
"Nonsense. Our men are completely able as it is, Comrade! They are Russia's finest." Leon nodded and walked away with the clipboard. Alexei looked over towards the tossing and turning arctic waters once more. A heavy freighter had pulled up to the Naval Yard. He was expecting a Cuban officer. One lent from Castro's army and into Russia's to supplement homeland defences. Alexei frowned at the smoke billowing from the stacks of the ship, such a shame to see wonderous land such as this marred by smoke. Within fifteen minutes, Alexei was on the frozen docks, dressed in a heavy parka and a Russian hat, proudly bearing the golden Hammer-Sickle on red design of the Red Army. After Soviet dock-workers worked on bringing out materials and more recruits from small Red Army recruitment shacks in the depths of Siberia, he leaned from side to side, trying to peer into the cargo holds. And out he came. The man was dressed in two heavy jackets and other warm articles of clothing. Alexei wasn't surprised. Coming from the warm paradise of the Caribbiean to the Arctic Waters of northern Russia. The man cupped his hands together and blew into them, attempting to gather warmth from his breath. Alexei walked up to him, greeted the immigrant and put his arm around him, promising that he will become accustomed to the weather soon enough. Alexei, keeping the Cuban close to him, stepped into the underground barracks, decorated from the top only by a statue of a Russian soldier, modeled after a troop gloriously marching in Red Square. The underground was less glorious. The pipes inside of the bunker-like structure had frozen over, leaving icicles of dripping water hanging over the cracks and imperfections of the metal. Soviet troops scrambled out of their bunks and stood at stiff attention, saluting the oncoming commander next to their bunks. Alexei waved them off, showing the Cuban to his bunk. He began to sit, before the Commander had to pull him back to his feet, politely, however. He still needed to introduce him to the base. Alexei chuckled as the Cuban still moaned, clinging to himself for heat. After exiting the underground barracks, they strolled in between the concrete crevases decorated by the glittering snow. "Whats your name, Comrade?"
The Cuban shuddered at the cold. He must have understood Russian, for he answered "Carlos S-Santiago Ra-amirez." he managed to get off. Alexei brought him up into the command areas of the Construction Area. Though the outside was utilitarian, the inside offices were luxurious, provided by the state for their brave commanders. Leon brought Carlos a seat in front of the dark-wood desk just before the balcony. Alexei himself sat in a leather chair, though not swivling. Alexei picked a cigar out of a wooden case at the far side of his desk and pushed it towards Carlos. He shook his head and pulled out a small five-case pack of Havana Cigars as a gift from his island nation. Alexei put the Russian Cigar down and put the Havana one in his mouth. He snipped off the tip of the cigar, as did Carlos, who also took one upon Alexei's good wishes. Carlos lit Alexei's cigar and soon after, they both were leisurly smoking in his open office. Carlos seemed to forget about the numbing cold as they were both laughing and talking about occorences on the boat and at the base. He had a heavy hispanic accent, though Alexei ignored it.
"So, Comrade, where are you from?" I said, still puffing on my first Havana Cigar.
"Havana, of course. I haven't known anybody from outside the capital who had much of a choice between farming and military work."
"Did..hrm..Castro tell you to provide the cigars? Or did you manage to..," he motioned idly with his hands, "sneak them aboard?"
"Let me say this, Comrade, the officials are somewhat leniant when it comes to contraband, especially if they are convinced in some way."
"You bribed Cuban Customs Officials?" he chuckled.
"Befriended, is a way I'd better like to put it." he smiled. An hour later, Carlos was at the barracks bonding with the troops, while Alexei was puffing a cigar, looking up at the black sky. Only the few glistens of stars shone through the darkness. He let the light gray smoke seep through his cracked lips. He fell asleep in that chair during that night. Still holding onto the cigar, for he had done it many, many times before. Soon, the arctic wind, as benevolent as the old god January, extinguished the flames on the cigar. As the Commander carelessly slept, an American-British joint Construction Site was in the works. American Aegis Carriers and British Destroyers guarded the shores closely, watching to see if any Russian Patrols were nearby. Ospreys Heleplanes swept the area, only to find the material rich arctic lands streaching for miles. When the gray dawn of light first seeped into the sky, the collaboration between the two resulted in the quick construction of a basic Pre-Fab base. A barracks, construction yard, a War Factory and an Ore Refinery were placed firmly into the dirt. American GIs fortified the permafrost with a shallow trench, then placing sandbags to bulletproof it. No doubt, even a heavy tank battalion would be hard-pressed to break the line. Airfields spirred up Paratrooper planes and the War Factory churned out six of the mobile Grizzly tanks. NATO had established a fearful presense on the archipeligo of Novaya Noziev.
Comrade Commander Kroziev - - - Allied naval sightings near Navaya Noziev (current position), have guards posted at all times. Allied attacks may be unexpected. Dazvedanya, War Ministry.
he doubted it was true. The Allies? Here? After subsequent defeats in their homelands, they dare strike at Mother-Russia! Alexei handed back the clipboard, but before he could dismiss him, he asked for permission to speak. Alexei accepted.
"Comrade Commander, perhaps we should cut down the guard's duties by half, so that one man can get duty in the afternoon, then skip a shift to someone else, then go on in the next? Perhaps it will increase awareness."
"Nonsense. Our men are completely able as it is, Comrade! They are Russia's finest." Leon nodded and walked away with the clipboard. Alexei looked over towards the tossing and turning arctic waters once more. A heavy freighter had pulled up to the Naval Yard. He was expecting a Cuban officer. One lent from Castro's army and into Russia's to supplement homeland defences. Alexei frowned at the smoke billowing from the stacks of the ship, such a shame to see wonderous land such as this marred by smoke. Within fifteen minutes, Alexei was on the frozen docks, dressed in a heavy parka and a Russian hat, proudly bearing the golden Hammer-Sickle on red design of the Red Army. After Soviet dock-workers worked on bringing out materials and more recruits from small Red Army recruitment shacks in the depths of Siberia, he leaned from side to side, trying to peer into the cargo holds. And out he came. The man was dressed in two heavy jackets and other warm articles of clothing. Alexei wasn't surprised. Coming from the warm paradise of the Caribbiean to the Arctic Waters of northern Russia. The man cupped his hands together and blew into them, attempting to gather warmth from his breath. Alexei walked up to him, greeted the immigrant and put his arm around him, promising that he will become accustomed to the weather soon enough. Alexei, keeping the Cuban close to him, stepped into the underground barracks, decorated from the top only by a statue of a Russian soldier, modeled after a troop gloriously marching in Red Square. The underground was less glorious. The pipes inside of the bunker-like structure had frozen over, leaving icicles of dripping water hanging over the cracks and imperfections of the metal. Soviet troops scrambled out of their bunks and stood at stiff attention, saluting the oncoming commander next to their bunks. Alexei waved them off, showing the Cuban to his bunk. He began to sit, before the Commander had to pull him back to his feet, politely, however. He still needed to introduce him to the base. Alexei chuckled as the Cuban still moaned, clinging to himself for heat. After exiting the underground barracks, they strolled in between the concrete crevases decorated by the glittering snow. "Whats your name, Comrade?"
The Cuban shuddered at the cold. He must have understood Russian, for he answered "Carlos S-Santiago Ra-amirez." he managed to get off. Alexei brought him up into the command areas of the Construction Area. Though the outside was utilitarian, the inside offices were luxurious, provided by the state for their brave commanders. Leon brought Carlos a seat in front of the dark-wood desk just before the balcony. Alexei himself sat in a leather chair, though not swivling. Alexei picked a cigar out of a wooden case at the far side of his desk and pushed it towards Carlos. He shook his head and pulled out a small five-case pack of Havana Cigars as a gift from his island nation. Alexei put the Russian Cigar down and put the Havana one in his mouth. He snipped off the tip of the cigar, as did Carlos, who also took one upon Alexei's good wishes. Carlos lit Alexei's cigar and soon after, they both were leisurly smoking in his open office. Carlos seemed to forget about the numbing cold as they were both laughing and talking about occorences on the boat and at the base. He had a heavy hispanic accent, though Alexei ignored it.
"So, Comrade, where are you from?" I said, still puffing on my first Havana Cigar.
"Havana, of course. I haven't known anybody from outside the capital who had much of a choice between farming and military work."
"Did..hrm..Castro tell you to provide the cigars? Or did you manage to..," he motioned idly with his hands, "sneak them aboard?"
"Let me say this, Comrade, the officials are somewhat leniant when it comes to contraband, especially if they are convinced in some way."
"You bribed Cuban Customs Officials?" he chuckled.
"Befriended, is a way I'd better like to put it." he smiled. An hour later, Carlos was at the barracks bonding with the troops, while Alexei was puffing a cigar, looking up at the black sky. Only the few glistens of stars shone through the darkness. He let the light gray smoke seep through his cracked lips. He fell asleep in that chair during that night. Still holding onto the cigar, for he had done it many, many times before. Soon, the arctic wind, as benevolent as the old god January, extinguished the flames on the cigar. As the Commander carelessly slept, an American-British joint Construction Site was in the works. American Aegis Carriers and British Destroyers guarded the shores closely, watching to see if any Russian Patrols were nearby. Ospreys Heleplanes swept the area, only to find the material rich arctic lands streaching for miles. When the gray dawn of light first seeped into the sky, the collaboration between the two resulted in the quick construction of a basic Pre-Fab base. A barracks, construction yard, a War Factory and an Ore Refinery were placed firmly into the dirt. American GIs fortified the permafrost with a shallow trench, then placing sandbags to bulletproof it. No doubt, even a heavy tank battalion would be hard-pressed to break the line. Airfields spirred up Paratrooper planes and the War Factory churned out six of the mobile Grizzly tanks. NATO had established a fearful presense on the archipeligo of Novaya Noziev.