She returned his smile and shook her head. “I doubt I’d do anything too extreme — at least across a large area. The government might find itself losing a few obstreperous members, though.”
Boris shook his head. “Unfortunately, here in Russia, that would only focus anger on the West. Perhaps with catastrophic results. The reflex reaction of most Russians would be to decide that the West was assassinating our leaders. Whoever took over would likely ride the emotional wave of anger to advance their control and agenda. Even if the new leaders tried to resist, the popular pressure might become such that there was no choice.”
Bethany Anne pointed to him and said, “See — I knew you were the right person to be in charge of this area.”
Boris looked at her concern evident on his face and put up a hand, “As long as someone else looks after China. I want nothing to do with that ratfuck.”
Captain Janna Dmitrievna was really pissed off. Her mission for Russian military intelligence had started simply enough. Infiltrate Nashi, find out any armed or militant formations that might be recruiting. Report back. When her reports indicated that radical factions were developing in the Nashi, it earned her a promotion and orders to organize and lead a more comprehensive infiltration of those groups.
That was when she found out that military-grade equipment was being diverted to the factions and that they were training on company and battalion-sized operations.
Then Janna learned that a reinforced company was being sent on an ‘internal removal’ operation against a town known to be populated by White Russian descendants. It was the Nashi’s political rhetoric that there were only Russians. No Reds, Whites, Greens or other factions. That for Russia to be strong, unity was needed.
Nashi in and of itself wasn’t an issue. It was the fanatics that joined this armed wing, the NVG, that were a concern. They were careful in their recruitment. It had taken three months to get a single person inside, out of the thirty people she had assigned to the operation. But something had leaked to destroy her information sources. She’d been told a week ago that the agents’ covers were blown, that they were in the cold.
Within hours of Janna’s finding out about the problem, the NVG were moving against a small town in Siberia. She had no contact with half her operatives since then, not even on tertiary channels. Her only hope was they had scattered to their individual safe sites. She set up a rallying point for the remaining operatives that could be contacted since her first duty was to them.
She also felt a responsibility to do what she could for the town under attack. They were Russians. They had been loyal. There was no reason to attack them purely because of their ancestry.
For three days she’d been traveling, knowing the NVG would beat her to the town. Bracing herself for a massacre. When she passed an abandoned militia base, it was apparent that combat had taken place there. She pulled off the road, got off her motorcycle and looked around. She recognized at least two destroyed APCs and a couple of wrecked military trucks. It looked like mortar fire damage.
Which side had mortars?
She needed to go into town and gather more intel. Getting back on her motorcycle, she rode forward into town. As she approached the edge of town, she was waved to halt by one of the local police.
Shit.
Things did not look good if the police had sided with the NVG. She slowed down, thinking to turn her bike around and head back. Maybe try to infiltrate after it got dark, or go back to her team and see what they could do as a group. As she slowed down, three men rose from concealment pointing their rifles at her.
Shit on a stick. She was screwed.
One of them shouted, “Turn off your engine, get off your vehicle and keep your hands in sight.” She quickly estimated the odds in her head and decided that her best option was to comply and attempt an escape later on. They were not likely to know that she was in intelligence since she carried nothing that was distinctly military. There was definitely a better chance of escape than dodging bullets from three assault rifles. Following their instructions, she got off the bike and waited.
Deciding to be as non-threatening as possible, she started to shaking slightly, as if in fear. One of the men slung his rifle and approached cautiously, keeping clear of the other’s line of fire. He gave her a professional pat down, and she was glad that her sidearm was hidden in the bike saddlebags. That would have been a giveaway to what she was and caused her more difficulties. Then she was handcuffed.
The man who had waved her down had been talking to someone on the radio, and a police car was quickly approaching from town. It looked like the NVG had lost whatever disagreement had occurred between them and the townspeople. That meant, logically, that the NVG had been staying at the old military base that she had passed. It also meant that the mortars had been used by the townspeople. Shit, again.
Talk about your intelligence fuckups.
What information she had been able to access before being dumped in the cold had shown maybe forty or fifty active mercenaries living in the town, supplemented by an equivalent number of retired mercs. At least half of the active ones could have been away on operations. So seventy-five professionals, and maybe another hundred or so former recent conscripts had been her estimation. Not the battalion with indirect fire that she estimated would have been needed to attack the base without suffering massive casualties. And from the looks of the base, there was a well-armed, well-trained militia here that the local military intelligence had not picked up on.
The police car pulled up, and she was put in the back with a uniformed police officer next to her. “Take her to Boris,” was all that was said as she was put in the car. She wondered who this Boris was. The Chief of Police was not named Boris. The only person of note by that name in the town was a mercenary. Well, THE mercenary she supposed, although the file was somewhat confusing. It had a history going back to the fifties, but the photo of him dated only a couple of years in the past showed a man in his thirties. He was known to have trained all the other mercenaries currently active from this region, but the file included no details on where he had received his own training.
As the car drove off, she saw one of the four there take her bike towards a nearby barn. It was evident to her they were manning a rather subtle checkpoint.
At least her clothes and equipment wouldn’t get wet.
There was a knock on the door. Boris looked towards Bethany Anne and spoke, “They would only interrupt now if they felt it was something I — I mean we — should look into.” He turned to the runner. “Inform the meeting of the proposed Czarina’s conditions. If they agree, get the elders to organize the volunteers. Make it clear I have final approval on any who volunteer, and they will have to be fit in order to serve. The Czarina would have my head if I accepted anyone who could not provide a contribution with a good chance of survival.” Bethany Anne nodded at his last comment. “Enter,” he said more loudly, as the runner headed to the door.
A police officer, one of the retired mercenaries, entered the room. He said “We brought in a woman approaching the town. Considering the timing, I felt it was suspicious enough to bring her to you. No one else unexpected or from outside the locality has arrived today.” He saluted.
“Let’s see her. It’s probably nothing, but the timing is odd. I can make sure she can’t hurt you in any way,” Bethany Anne said.
The woman entered the room. She was tall, about five feet eleven inches tall. With long blond hair and pale skin, her face was strong with Tartar features, displaying an exotic beauty. Bethany Anne felt Boris tense beside her. She looked at him and saw his face, never normally very tan, was whiter than usual. His expression wasn’t giving anything away. In fact, he seemed to have frozen it into one of non-expression.