A high noon loomed over the horizon the next day.
Not faraway, a pair of red M62 diesel locomotives pulled into Novosibirsk-Glavny, their engines clanking and clacking even as they came to a stop. Along the way, they tooted their horns, alerting staff, citizens, and other trains to their presence. Eventually, the mighty engines came to a stop with their ten passenger coaches.
Dismounting from the fifth carriage was the Comrade Commander, who was now wearing a suit and tie with a briefcase in tow. Outside, a black unmarked GAZ-24 was waiting for him. But when he boarded in the back, however, the vehicle didn't move, as the lone driver asked, "Where to?"
"Saint Petersburg." He stoically replied.
Once the car accelerated, there would be an unusually tense silence; however, that was surprisingly broken by the driver.
"Comrade Commander Mikhail Dobrynin. I been informed of your reinstatement. Seems like you had a falling out with the General Staff."
"It's a long story, but it all boils down to protocol."
"Of course, and of all people, Comrade Marshal Kulikov. I can't believe he would discharge a passionate and caring commander like you."
"He has his reasons, and I shall respect that. The Premier, however, thinks otherwise, which is why I'm here."
"As I've been informed. I'm not going to lie, I thought you were some stranger until you said the 'code'. Couldn't be more careful, you know, especially with the Japs at our doorsteps."
"For a KGB agent, you're awfully talkative."
"Eh? How could tell I was...?"
"You spill too much information. I believe the Americans has something called, in English, 'Loose Lips Sink Ships'."
"Ah, I heard of that phrase before. Surely, an unwise choice of words will definitely sink ships. I love to chat, though; you can lower someone's guard and know a few things on the way."
"I'm very familiar with the technique. My father would disagree, however."
"Oh?"
"You familiar with the name, Niko?"
"As in ... Niko Dobry-" The driver pondered, but he stopped mid-sentence, immediately realising something, "Wait ... net ..."
"Da."
"He's ... your father?"
"Da." The Commander dully nodded, "Not that I'm proud of."
"W-Well, I mean, you were raised and taught by the best. It can't be that bad..."
"To be ruthless? Yes. To be caring? No."
"Chto?"
"Let's just say ... I love the Motherland, least of all its people. Needless to say, I want to protect others."
"Da, especially now in this darkest hour."
"But I wanted to be a doctor, not a soldier."
"Oh..." The driver sighed, surprised with a shocked undertone, "I'm sorry to hear. But ... I don't get it. How could someone of such education land in the army?"
"You're a clever man. Take a hint." The Commander leaned slightly and shrugged.
"Well, okay, here's what I think. You're father got you conscripted, where you spent your time for some years, until your 'dismissal'."
"Hmm, very good ... if you believe him."
"Believe him? I'm only speculating."
"That I can tell. Reality is, I became an officer to get away from him, not please him."
"Oh ... net, I think I know where that may have came from."
"Net, it's not that terrible. He was more busy with his work than family. Now, as a father myself, I'm telling you this so you don't do what I did."
"Oh, but I love my job. It's a strong duty and purpose to weed out the snakes and rats among our ranks. I couldn't have found a more perfect job if anything."
"Are you sure?"
"Da, very. Comrade Commander, you and I know that there are spies everywhere, and somebody's got to stamp them out. You know, sacrifice a few to keep the peace."
"Da, as I was trying to do."
"Huh? Wh-What do you mean?"
"Nothing." He then looked over the driver's shoulder, "If I may inquire, that's the last roundabout up ahead."
"Da, that's the parking lot. But you're not going there nor the front. We're driving straight onto the tarmac."
"That's very overt, comrade."
"Da, but you're going straight onto the plane. No tickets, no check-in, no layover, and, most importantly, no crowds."
"Are we that deeply infiltrated? Certainly, I'm no Marshal or Admiral."
"Not yet, at least, Comrade Commander. Honestly, everyone's been real coy about who to trust lately."
"Well, with all due respect, you're one to talk."
"It's not the first time I heard your name. My brother served in the Mechanised Infantry regiment of your command."
"Your brother? What's your last name?"
"Aleksandrovich."
"Oh ... uh ... Sergeant Dmitri Aleksandrovich?"
"Da, da! That's my little brother."
"Ah, I suppose my dismissal had became well-known."
"Every soldier in that unit had been going nuts since your dismissal. Now, as a KGB agent, I can't tell you what's happening, but for the sake of my brother, I can tell you that they want you back."
"I'm afraid they'll need to transfer westward; Leningrad is under siege."
"That I already know." The driver grimaced, steadily deaccelerating the vehicle as they drove past Tolmachevo Terminal B. Upon making a shallow rightward turn, the Commander looked over the driver's shoulder, this time with a curious frown.
"Is that ... a Boeing?"
"Net~, that is the Il-76. It's a brand new type of air freighters, first flown just last year." The driver enthusiastically confirmed, almost excited beneath his voice, "With four turbofans and a 50.5m wingspan, we have created our first 'Boeing' jumbo jet. Best of all, you're one of the first Soviet military officials to fly aboard this revolutionary beast."
"An Ilyushin 'Boeing' 747? Now I see why the Premier sent me here."
"It's a colossal airplane, but that's all I know." Moments later, the car came to a stop, just shy to the plane's left before the driver bid farewell, "Slava SSSR, Comrade Commander."
"Slava SSSR, Comrade Aleksandrovich." He saluted with a nod, promptly exiting the vehicle and boarding the Soviet airlifter via a side door.
Greeting him inside were two soldiers in dullish blue-grey camouflage, forgoing their overcoats and ushankas for a tunic and blue berets. Normally, he would physically salute them, but without his peaked cap, it would have been informal. Thus, he simply nodded as they saluted him.
As they shut the door behind him, an junior officer - equally dressed as them - approached and saluted him, "Welcome aboard, Comrade Commander."
"Salutations, Comrade Lieutenant." He nodded back, "Pardon the suit, I needed to allude the spies throughout town."
"You're not alone. The other paratroopers are on their way, albeit in disguise. We'll be picking them up at the terminal in a bit." The Lieutenant replied, explaining the empty cargo bay beside them.
"Are you the highest ranking official aboard?"
"Da."
"Then I need to change before we talk any further."
"Not yet, Comrade Commander. While we're about to wrap up the preflight checklist, the navigator needs to review a few things with the pilots. So, you're going to need to be briefed at once." He briskly informed, "Follow me."
Moments later, the Commander found himself in the nose compartment, seating himself at the navigators station with the briefcase opened again. Presented with a digital global map as a screensaver, he proceeded to open his notifications and found an encrypted message. Like before, he entered his ID card and voice authorisation code, but instead of a live feed, there was a electronic female voice, who informed him, "Preduprezhdeniye: The following message will be purge shortly after viewing. Please, listen closely and carefully, comrade."
Silently, he made himself comfortable...
"Welcome to war, Comrade Commander." Dasha greeted, appearing on screen as a pre-recorded message, "As you know, the Motherland is on the backpedal. Therefore, the Premier has chosen you to defend Leningrad. You will be leading an airborne assault a la your own airborne battalion."
As if on cue, a photograph of a dozen unnamed VDV paratroopers appeared, parachuting in the middle of the skies.
"The Il-76 is a new state-of-the-art transport; with it's double decker configuration, you and 225 soldiers will be over Leningrad in five hours. You will be joined by four others en-route; however, they will be landing in different areas to minimise encirclement. Though we know little about the Empire's invasion force, they are extremely mobile. They have surrounded the city, and are assaulting it by way of the canals." She briefed, with a digital photograph of three colossal Japanese battleships sailing leftward.
"Save our great metropolis. It is the symbol of the People's Revolution." Afterwards, she was followed by a bird's eye view photograph of the Peter and Paul Fortress, "We assigned a legendary sniper, Natasha, to your command."
"Sergeant Natasha Volkova." The Commander pondered internally, seeing a mugshot of the aforementioned battle maiden promptly afterwards, "Your name circulates much, indirectly so among intelligence affairs."
"She will help you to defend the city and eradicate the Imperialist invaders. Do svidaniya." She concluded, her pre-recorded transmission terminating thereafter.
However, the briefing was not over, as the map zoomed onto Peter and Paul fortress, where the same electronic voice added, "Leningrad is under siege! Repel the Imperial invaders and protect the fortress using our remaining forces in the vicinity. Natasha is available to assist in this dark hour. Your objectives are: Secure the fortress in the heart of Leningrad. Once secured, more forces will be available. Udachi tebe, Comrade Commander."
Almost immediately, the screen went black and a notification appeared, which blinked:
ПРОЧИЩАТЬ
Before long, he was brought to the desktop; however, he barely had a moment to mind his own privacy due to a knock at the door.
"Da?"
Quietly, the navigator entered, bearing his distinctive blue jumpsuit as he saluted him, "Comrade Commander?"
"Da."
"I apologise for my intrusion, but I need to get to my post as soon as possible. We're about to begin taxiing."
"At ease, I've already been briefed."
"Then your presence is needed in the cargo bay; the Comrade Lieutenant has something for you."
"On my way." The Commander nodded, closing and grabbing his briefcase before heading out.
Upon reentering the cargo bay, the Lieutenant was holding a folded bundle of clothes, with a pair of sapogi, beret, and load-bearing harness atop, and a duffle bag underneath.
"Your actual uniform and equipment." He introduced, who the Commander acknowledged with a nod and took the bundle.
"Spasibo, Comrade Lieutenant." He thanked his subordinate, who climbed up to the cockpit and left his superior alone.
Moments later, he was in his VDV uniform, standing crisply and sharply for the upcoming hell. Though he had no mirror, the urban camouflage fit him like glove. Even with his telnyashka, beret, and headset breaking the pattern, he effortlessly fastened his load-bearing harness and parachute, eventually assembling and loading his AKM.
Before he knew it, the four-engine behemoth was ferrying on the tarmac, destination unknown until it came to a halt and the left side door opened. In came 225 men, all dressed in civilian clothes, carrying luggage and casual duffle bags. Standing next to the cockpit door, he watched everyone be seated.
Within the hour, the plane took the skies, but it was about three hours into the flight that he cleared his throat.
"Welcome aboard, Comrade Soldiers." He greeted himself, his voice audible via headsets as began to walk down the aisles, "I am Commander Mikhail Dobrynin. You may or may not know that the Motherland is in peril, not by the West, but by the East. The Empire of the Rising Sun thought it was a brilliant idea to not only stab us in the back, but sweep down from the north, en-route to the birthplace of the October Revolution."
Pausing momentarily, he watched as the paratroopers mumbled and grumbled to each other, apparently astounded by the development.
"The Soviet people have had enough of this dastardly invasion. They want us to retake the city and entrusted us with this task. Because of the speed of the invasion, the defenders have not only been stretched thin, but are encircled and on the verge of annihilation. We are coming to their rescue. Thus, here is what we're going to do. Take out your maps." He began to brief, "Our primarily objective is the Peter and Paul Fortress. According to recent intelligence, the Imperial Navy is make its way southward via Lake Ladoga. In order for them to pass, the army is leading multiple spearheads to take and hold the canals, with Leningrad being the last line of defence. Therefore, we're going to be facing high-speed infantry, tanks, and helicopters, many of them are the most elite units the Empire has to offer."
Giving himself a breather, he scanned the double-decker cargo bay before talking again, "Our secondary objective is to assist and gather any surviving defenders. Fortunately for us, we are not alone - four other airborne battalions will be joining us. Keep in mind, however, these battalions will be diverting the Imperialist invaders while we retake the fortress. Our landing zone will be the Petrogradsky District; it is the closest and quickest way to the fortress. Take note, however, that we will need to regroup as quickly possible once we're on the ground. Any questions?"
As if on cue, a hand arose on his right.
"Go ahead, Comrade Soldier."
"How are we going to get onto the island? Surely, all the bridges had been blown during the chaos."
"Good question. Intelligence from the 6th Army confirms that the 16th and 111th Motor Rifle Divisions have been attempting to conduct defence in depth. Unfortunately, they've reached the end of the line via Leningrad; however, there have been confirmed reports of those divisions holding out throughout the city. Therefore, we're going to be rescuing these divisions and use their APCs to swim onto the island."
Then, another hand rose among the ranks.
"Da?" The Commander queued the paratrooper.
"What about air support? Aren't there Kirovs in Leningrad?"
"Net. The 76th Air Army's reports are grim: half if not most of the airship fleet has been decimated. On that topic, however, Comrade Commando Natasha will be joining us - she'll be acting as our SR and sniper support unit. Also, despite the Empire's aerial domination, she can call in airstrikes whenever necessary. Our only problem is trying to find her; however, if all else fails, we will proceed without her. Any other questions?"
For a moment, upon standing near the left side door, he observed all the aisles, watching for any hands. But at once, he humbly nodded, "Very well. Do you understand your mission as I have described it?"
"Da, Comrade Commander!"
"Khoroshiy. We are more than an hour away, so settle in, finish any final equipment checks, and until then, ura!"
"URA~!"
About an hour later, the rear bay door swung open. At the very front, the Commander - along with the other paratroopers - already hooked up, standing at attention for the signal. Once it was given, the Commander was the first to jump, greeted by chilly-warm afternoon air.
Down below, Kirov airships smoldered or burned over Leningrad. Riddled by missiles and plasma bolts, the Soviet bomber zeppelins were hopelessly sluggish and helpless to escape the Japanese onslaught. Though some of the airships tried to repel their attackers via belly-mounted and top-mounted machine guns, the Japanese were relentless and unforgivingly, especially the Tsunami Tanks and Striker VXs.
"Do not open your parachutes. Repeat: Do not open your parachutes until we're directly below all the Kirovs." The Commander warned, steadily steering rightward to avoid an incoming Kirov below.
The stench of molten plastic and ferrous fumes barely escaped his nostrils as he was veering away from the wounded airship. In fact, he only had a few seconds to hear the Kirov's machineguns before it was too distorted and faraway.
"Comrade Commander," A random paratrooper called remotely, "There's too many helicopters near the river! We're going to need to land inward within the district."
"That's fair enough. But do not, repeat, do not land on the rooftops! If you need to, keep quiet and don't stick around!"
"Da, Comrade Commander."
Before he knew it, the classical European skyline of the district scudded into view, some of the rooftops laced by fires or craters. But as he was about to deploy his chute, a low-pitched explosion flashed in his right peripherals. Alerted, he turned and saw a tattered Kirov airship in flames, huge chunks of strutting and plastic raining down as the airborne behemoth crashed nose first; however, the crash site in mind was gut-wrenching...
"Ah net ... not the Avrora ..." The Commander dreaded internally, mortified by the sight.
The lightly armoured pre-WWI protected cruiser stood no chance against the Soviet zeppelin ... or what's left of it. Though its entire payload had already cook-off and detonated, the weight and size of the airship was enough to smush and submerge the historical warship. Luckily, nobody was aboard the cruiser, but the Commander couldn't stand it any further.
"The signaller of our revolution ... gone." He uttered to no one in particular, "Now you just made me a little angrier."
Within seconds, he narrowly avoided a rooftop before landing in a central courtyard. Though he was caught in a tree, he briskly freed himself, landing and crouching behind a bench, where he pointed his AK up at the windows and scanned for hostiles. It was only a minute later that a fellow paratrooper slammed onto the roof, almost landing face first onto the slope.
Despite this, the paratrooper quickly rolled over, smashed a dormer window, and disappeared as a Striker VX flew across the street. Moments later, he came to a fourth floor window on the left, promptly saluting the Commander. Acknowledging him with a curt nod, the Commander cautiously entered, repositioning himself near the staircase once inside.
There were other thumps up on the roof, a total of seven that he could tell. Unfortunately, the ominous chopping rotors of a Striker VX dashed his hopes, especially since he heard rapid-fire plasma shots. It was suicide to try and save his fellow comrades; however, upon peering outside in the street, the underbelly of a Striker VX was gloriously presented to him.
Brandishing a cylindrical grenade, he pulled the pin and let it cook for a few seconds, where a small flame began to develop. Almost immediately, he tossed it upwards, dashing back inside as a few Imperial warriors appeared. Then...
Flames and smouldering shrapnel spewed all over the place, especially at and from Japanese rotor-bot. The sizzling of sparks followed not long after the molotov exploded, with desynchronised chopping-whooping whirring after it bumped into the building. As for the poor Japs on the ground, the mortally wounded Striker VX unceremoniously spiralled into the ground, pulverising and entrapping the trio.
Luckily, there was no explosion, but pieces of the rotor exploded all around, shattering windows and shredding wooden splinters off the front door. Had he been inside for a couple more seconds, two arm-length shards of composite metal would have decapitated him, stopped only by the courtyard door and a wall. Nevertheless, he dove onto his stomach upon reentering the courtyard.
"Comrade Commander, you okay?" An unnamed paratrooper called on his headset.
"I'm unharmed." He arose and brandished his AK, "Who's hurt?"
"Aside from some scratches and minor burns, we're okay. I got four comrades with me, but we lost contact with three others."
"When was the last time you seen them?"
"They were about to land until the chopper began to crash."
"I'll check it out down here. The rest of you get out of sight."
"Da, Comrade Commander."
In a low ready position, he rushed onto the opposing side of the courtyard, stoically opening the door and finding no hostiles. But once he walked out front, he stood aback, peering through the windows from a distance to find a BTR-60 ... or what's left of its partially molten hulk. Blocking half of the street, much of the damage was from plasma cannons, but leftward plasma bolts continued to pepper the derelict APC, and the shouting of Russian voices behind it explained why.
"Conscripts..." He muttered ... grimly, spotting the telltale WWII style 'blood' camouflage and ushankas in the rightmost corner of the windows, "They must be one of the Motor Rifle Divisions."
Before he could act, however, the sound of ominous twinkling and crackling echoed in an adjacent room. Backpedalling a few steps and crouching, he managed to cloak himself in moderate darkness when a leftward door burst open. Passing him were four Japanese soldiers, sporting their distinctive khaki uniforms with a white armoured vest and 'samurai' helmets.
Upon seeing the fourth/last warrior run past him, the Commander raised his AK and fired, shoot them all in the back of the legs. Though they were all alive, they were wielding their energy katanas instead of their plasma rifles - a fatal mistake. Thus, he stood over and shot every one of them in the face.
Needless to say, he barely spun around in time to see another Japanese soldier charging at him. Between the two, the Russian trigger finger was faster; the warrior's face splashed open before briskly crumbling face first.
"Blyat..." The Commander sighed, relieved, albeit almost breathlessly, as he narrowly cheated death.
"Chto?" A familiar voice chirped behind him, belonging to none other than one of the five paratroopers, "Oh ... heh, grebanyye idioty. Bringing swords to gunfights since 1905."
Pretending that his subordinate never said anything, the Commander simply ordered, "There's conscripts directly outside. They may know something."
"Da, on your lead." The previously amused paratrooper recomposed himself.
Walking over and smashing one of the windows with the buttstock, he stepped back and leaped through it, harmlessly landing on the pavement before ten conscripts.
As there was no more gunfire, one of the conscripts jogged up and saluted, "Junior Sergeant Makarov reporting in, comrade."
"Commander Mikhail Dobrynin." He saluted back, "Are you their squad leader?"
"Net, that would be Comrade Sergeant Gregerov."
"Where is he?"
"He's dead." He pointed inside the gutted BTR-60.
"I'm sorry to hear. You apart of any Motor Rifle Divisions?"
"Da, the 16th."
"Then allow me to explain. As the acting Commander assigned to Leningrad's defence, we're gathering as many survivors as possible to mount a counterattack against the Peter and Paul Fortress."
"We're counterattacking?"
"Da, Comrade Makarov."
"Ah, we like to join you, but we're almost out of ammo. We were en-route to the Pavlov Medical University until those Imperialist dogs ambushed us."
"The State Medical University? That's four blocks north of here."
"It's the closest stronghold other than the Fortress; we barely escaped with our lives when it fell."
"Then let's get going."
"Comrade Commander ... on foot?"
"Come on, we need to get off the streets." He briskly ordered, jogging across the street and into an apartment complex.
But as the three remaining conscripts got inside, a dread whopping sound was heard overhead. In fact, it wasn't long until the street began to shower in plasma bolts. Thankfully, the stragglers managed to get inside, one of them losing his ushanka via a stray shot.
"Blyat, that almost took my head off!" The aforementioned conscript yelped, "Grebanyye vertolety...!"
"Stay close, Comrade Soldiers." The Commander calmly repeated, apparently within earshot of the cursing.
It wasn't long until he saw another courtyard outside the windows. Raising his right fist, everyone stopped, positioned in a hallway beyond outside viewing. Cautiously, he turned left and opened a door, almost tiptoeing into the room as he scanned for hostiles.
While clear, he said nothing as he crept towards another door up ahead. But once he barely creaked it open when he heard Japanese chatter on the other side. Fortunately the five Japanese warriors in question had their backs facing him, apparently preoccupied in setting up a plasma machine gun.
Sneaking back, he peered his head around the corner and whispered to his troops, "Japs in the following room. You, private, come with me."
"Da, Comrade Commander." The unnamed conscript whispered back.
Stealthily, the duo positioned themselves near the doorway, where the Commander calmly ordered, "Grab a molotov, but throw quiet."
In sync, they brandished a cylindrical grenade apiece, pulling the pin and slowly discarding the safety lever. With a underhand swing, the Commander threw first, with the conscript immediately following suit. The Japanese warriors barely registered the door slamming shut behind them before the room was engulfed in flames and shrapnel.
"Let them burn." The Commander simply said as he held the door with his right hand.
Mutually, the conscript held the door with his left hand as well, adding strength to the blockage as there were desperate Japanese cries inside. No one was surprised to feel and hear pounding and kicking on the opposite side, but the alcoholic and caustic stench of synthetic incendiary fuel and smoke began to seep under the door. After a long minute, the room fell silent.
Still suspicious, however, the Commander nodded to the conscript, who immediately crouched in the corner. Once the Commander was pressed against the wall himself, he released and pushed the door open, where a sluggish flow of carbon and ashes poured inside. Crouching himself in a corner as well, it wasn't long until rapid and staggering footsteps were heard on the other side, belonging to none other than a moderately scorched Japanese soldier.
But surprisingly of all, a Japanese soldier with a scorched conical hat limped behind the warrior, otherwise untouched by the molotov grenades.
"Tankbuster!" The conscript cried, gunning the wounded Nips in the head within rapid succession, "That's the same 'ublyudok' that smashed our APC."
"Calm down, Comrade Soldier." The Commander sternly soothed ... before placing an addition bullet in the back of their heads, "We will avenge our comrades. Let's not lose ourselves, okay."
"Da, da..." He nodded a few times as he erected.
"Tell me something, though."
"Da?"
"What do you know of these 'Tankbusters'?"
"They use cutting beams as oppose to our RPGs. Why they would have that metal rice hat? I don't know."
"Huh, curious ... though. Those hats have considerable density and an all-round cutting edge. Engineering expertise."
"D- chto? What do you mean?"
Softly kicking the Tankbuster's corpse, he added, "What kind of soldier has mining boots? And mining gloves?"
"Ah chert, no wonder they look like they were everywhere. They're like gophers!"
"Da ... even more reason to stay off the streets. Come on, call the others, we need-"
A rumble interrupted him mid-sentence, complemented by the faint crackling of the nearby windows.
"Sounds like another Kirov..." The conscript grimaced.
"Net ... I felt more of a shockwave than a tremor." The Commander nodded rightward, inferring the gutted room. With windows shattered and walls riddled in blood, holes, and scorch marks, it was utter carnage. In fact, it took some urge for him to resist the scrunch in his nose, which paled compared to the toasted Japanese corpses inside.
Just as he was about to step inside that room, his headset vibrated...
"Comrade Commander," Dasha called, "We're getting reports of incoming artillery fire. What's happening down there?"
"I asked the same thing. The Imperial Navy couldn't have got here already; they're still stuck westward on the canals."
"Da ... interesting. Aside from amphibious tanks, the Neva River is clear."
"Khoroshiy. According to the 16th Motor Rifle Division, the only other strongpoint than the fortress is the Pavlov State Medical University. I need to get there and regroup as soon as possible."
"Negative, Comrade Commander. New orders just came through."
"Chto? From who?"
"The 76th Air Army is detecting an anomaly near your vector. They need you to investigate it at once!"
"Da, will go. Two question, though. First, where is Comrade Natasha?"
"Southwest end of the Vasileostrovsky District. Expect her ETA in 20 minutes, however, she has a lock on your GPS."
"Get me on the line with her. I'm running blind without sniper support."
"Negative, all attempts have failed, but she's under fire, nonetheless."
"Fine, then the 'anomaly'. Where is it?"
"Directly south of the Sampsoniyevskiy Bridge - the western Petrogradskaya Embankment."
Unexpectedly, the Commander fell silent.
"Commander?"
He didn't reply, as his lips hung open.
"Comrade Commander, are you still there?"
"The Avrora."
"Da..." Dasha confirmed, albeit slowly, "Are you there already?"
"Net. An airship crashed into her when I was coming down. But that was twenty minutes ago."
"That's the thing. While communications are fine, we can't see you - that area is completely blotched."
"Then I'm on my way." He nodded, terminating communications thereafter.
Turning around, he saw most of his troops present, having already maintained vigilance in the meantime. Seeing his subordinates in his presence, he cleared his throat, surreptitiously recomposing himself before he could talk to them.
"Comrade Soldiers, intelligence suspects that the Empire is using jammers to disrupt and disorient our command and control capabilities. Fortunately, there's one not far from us on the Petrogradskaya Embankment. This is a Priority One objective - we are ordered to make way as soon as possible."
"Comrade Commander?" One of the conscripts chirped.
"Da?"
"We blown the Sampsoniyevskiy Bridge hours before you arrived, but there's still a bunch of helicopters in that area. How are going to get over there?"
"We'll cut our way through the buildings and sneak inside a former synagogue from there."
"A Jewish temple?" Another conscript blinked, "How do you know it was there?"
"This is my hometown, Comrade." He deadpanned ... warmly, "Let's go."
Exchanging curt nods, the ten conscripts and five- no- eight paratroopers followed him. Moments later, the group crept and stacked towards an outdoor gate lined with wrought iron panels. But before he could open it, there was a lingering rumble outside.
"Blyat, tank." He cursed under his breath, which his comrades heard, "Stay here, I'll be back."
"Comrade...?" One of the conscripts gasped in a whispering voice, "It's dangerous."
Pretending he didn't hear him, he creaked the door open and slid rightward, narrowly missing the Tsunami Tank in his left peripherals. Fortunately, the Japanese tank was driving away from him, but there were eight warriors surrounding it. Sighing defeatedly, he pressed himself against the corner of a wrought iron fence, peering around it to find an empty street.
Looking both ways, he dashed across and slid behind a parked car. Adjacent from him was a gated parking lot, separated by a wrought iron gate. While it was closed and locked, the glass doors on the opposite side said otherwise.
Sprinting inside the right entrance, he peered out the door, looking back at the wrought iron fence he hid behind.
"Sergeant Kuplinov." He called on his headset.
"Da?"
"Tell Makarov to split his squad into five. You take half and he takes half. After that, tell the paratroopers to form up, I'm on my way back."
"Da, Comrade Commander."
With the Japanese oblivious to his presence, he went back the same way he came, where he founding his comrades stacked into three groups.
"Okay, here's what were doing." He briefed upon reentering, "We're going to 'leapfrog' towards that building. I need all of you to watch carefully, because we need eyes on both sides of the street. Airborne troopers, on my lead."
"Da, Comrade Commander."
"Okay, here we go..." He peered out the gate, briefly scanning for hostiles, "Tri, dva, odin, go!"
Brusquely, albeit softly, the Commander and the seven paratroopers dashed across, reaching to safety in less than nine seconds. Once everyone was inside, he activated his headset.
"Comrade Makarov?"
"Da?"
"Are you ready?"
"Da."
"Okay ... tri, dva, o-"
Another distant explosion rippled across the ground, disrupting his count.
After a few seconds, he resumed, "Okay, let's start over. Tri ... dva ... odin, go."
Within moments, the striking red camouflaged conscripts ran over within ten seconds.
"Comrade Kuplinov?"
"Ready to go."
Not wanting to waste any more time, upon scanning the street, he simply barked, "Go."
But a few seconds after he said that, a lingering rumble echoed straight down Malaya Posadskaya Ulitsa.
"Blyat!" He vulgarly spat, spotting an incoming Tsunami tank in the distance, "Get into the parking lot, now!"
Seeing his subordinate just mere metres from him, he frantically waved at him, all the while as the others fled deeper inside. Once the remaining six others were inside, the Commander turned and took a few steps ... just as a giant plasma bolt whooshed and slammed behind. Had he been a few centimetres closer, his back would have been blow open; however, there was no escaping that immense heat, which pressed against his uniform as he fled.
Once he got outside into the parking lot, he took a moment to recompose himself.
"Po sapogam Stalina, that was close...!" A conscript sighed, winded by the adrenaline and terror that once gripped him and the others.
"Comrade Commander," Kuplinov walked over and inspected, "Are you alright?"
"Da." He acknowledged the black-haired sergeant, "We need to keep moving. That tank is going to be here any second."
"Agree. We'll find cover in those offices." The Sergeant pointed, "We're on your lead."
Curtly nodding, they proceeded inside, eventually peering through the windows upon the other side.
"Da, there it is." One of the conscripts grinned, seeing the demolished Sampsoniyevskiy Bridge in pieces, "Try crossing that, eh~"
"Comrade Sergeant." The Commander turned, looking over his right shoulder.
"Da?" Makarov and Kuplinov replied ... almost comically in unison.
"Not you, Makarov, but since you're here, what's your ammo count?"
"Oh, I got a molotov, and a magazine-and-a-half left."
"Okay, give me a count from your comrades as well."
"Right away." He turned and jogged away.
"Kuplinov." The Commander redirected his attention, binoculars in hand as he commanded, "What do you make of this?"
Brandishing his own binoculars, the Sergeant stood beside his superior, peering through the window at the Avrora's stern ... or what's left of her.
"Bozhe, there's nothing left..." He softly hissed, almost cringing within his teeth, "What better place to hid a jammer than near a giant wreckage on another?"
"Unsurprisingly ingenious."
"For a beloved Comrade Commander, like you." The Sergeant jabbed, albeit verbally, "All we got to do is get to that synagogue and we'll scratch one Japanese scrap heap."
"Mhm." He hummed to his subordinate, "Just two more blocks and we're there. For now, I don't wish to get us into combat until we have the element of surprise."
"Absolutely. Hopefully we-"
A brilliant flash of light appeared outside, blinding the Russians, especially the Commander.
"Blyat." The Commander growled, reflexively dropping his binoculars and cupping his face.
"I can't see!" One of the conscripts cried, who was lying prone.
As suddenly as it appeared, there was an illuminous blue explosion, surprisingly flameless and noiseless ... at least from inside. The Commander hardly managed to open and uncover his right eye when he saw the alien spectacle unfold outside. Shooting high in the sky was a barrage of shiny azure orbs, whooshing past the smoldering airship struts and gondola with enough velocity to spew the flames upward.
"What the hell is happening...?" Makarov groaned behind him, apparently looking over his shoulder the whole time.
"Tell me I'm just hallucinating." The Commander wearily murmured.
"Net, I SEE IT TOO!"
Then, those same orbs showered into the river. But strangely, they formed a twister, spiralling until they were concentrated onto a singular vocal point in the middle of the water.
"Comrade Commander, come in!" Dasha called in his headset, "What the hell is happening?"
"Looks like ... some kind of Imperial superweapon..." He deduced, watching the twister as it rapidly grew in size, "A tornado generator."
"Kamikaze..."
"Chto?"
"Kamikaze. Divine Wind. I don't believe it ... perhaps these Imperialist dogs are more advanced than we thought."
"I hate to believe that as..." He muttered; however, he abruptly trailed off when the tornado shrunk, as there were no more orbs, "Uh, Comrade Dasha, something weird just happened."
"I'll say."
"What do you see?"
"Uh ... standby."
"Comrade Dasha?" He paused and repeated, more stern than before when a full minute transpired, "Comrade Dasha? Please tell me it's nothing."
"Huh?! Well, the good news is ... the anomaly is gone - we can see you. Bad news is..."
"Da...?"
"You're not going to like this, but that typhoon created something."
"Okay, what is it then? Tell me."
"It's ... uh ..."
"Hmm?"
"It's-"
A loud boom billowed from the river before she could reply, courtesy of seven thunderous artillery guns firing in chronological order.
"That sound..." The Commander gapped, spotting seven 152mm shells soaring across the sky, decimating three Striker VXs in the process, "The Avrora..."
"Chto? What are you talking about?" Dasha frowned on the other side.
"It's her..."