“What color is the smoke?” Kilo Base asked.
“It’s changing again. It’s now… it’s red. I confirm, the smoke has changed to red. It’s thicker too,” Drago answered.
“Copy, Firebird Alpha Red,” the voice said. Drago could almost feel the release of tension.
A few moments later and the voice came again, the monotone words haunting.
“Firebird Alpha Red, you are to proceed to ground level.”
“Say again, Kilo Base,” he asked.
“Red, Yellow and Green are to land. You’ll offload your men near the mountain’s base. The mission is now under the direct command of Colonel Kirov. He will instruct you next. Maintain radio contact and report from outside.”
“Am I to maintain altitude after the drop?” he asked, hoping, knowing what the answer would be before it came.
“Negative. You are to remain grounded.”
“Great,” Drago muttered softly, whispering to himself. “The fucking Muj will swarm us. We’re sitting ducks out here.”
That’s when he wondered yet again if they were meant to survive this.
“All teams, commence to LZ. There’s a flat piece, close to the base of the mountain. Follow me down,” Drago commanded the other pilots.
The three Mi-24s circled and landed.
13
Mikhail Ivanovich jumped in his seat as the door flew open. A half-dozen scientists, each a member of this project, had entered the room. They chattered in unison, their voices tense, yet excited. Huddled around his desk, they began speaking at once. They were anxious, wanting to know if their work had paid off. Would they be heroes, or would this project be a complete failure?
“It’s working, Mikhail. The compound has mixed,” one said, patting the scientist on the back.
No doubt it had. This chemical was volatile, unable to be carried together, which is why three helicopters were required. At this ratio of mix, anything and everything was possible.
“We didn’t have enough time to test it,” Mikhail said to nobody in particular.
“It’s mixed. Aren’t you listening? We’ve done it!” one of the younger scientists said.
“Months, years of testing are needed. I cannot claim this compound will work as desired. Not under these conditions, not within this time limit. We need more time,” he kept on.
But they ignored him. According to the broadcast, the chemicals appeared to have mixed exactly as planned. The colors, if reported accurately, had mixed. If not, the chemical would have turned clear, almost hard to see, and they would have known their failure. The three Mi-24s and their crews had done well, proven they were worthy men.
Stage two would be underway soon. They must know, they must ensure the compound worked. The Spetsnaz would guarantee them the facts they needed.
“They mixed,” another said. “This has worked!”
Everyone was excited. Everyone but Mikhail, who sat uncomfortably, feeling claustrophobic with the men huddled around.
“Perhaps it will,” he replied. His tone was drab, his voice unsure. “We don’t have the results yet. Only until we get confirmation can we celebrate.” He looked away from the huddle of men, staring at the voice box on his desk, listening intently. “The ground team will establish if it’s working.”
“We’re about to make history,” claimed a scientist.
“Not so eager,” Mikhail said, turning. He remained stoic, withholding his excitement. He hoped for good news, but wasn’t expecting any. Perhaps he was a pessimist at heart, perhaps he was fearful of what would happen if this didn’t work.
So many things could go wrong.
Why had they not listened, Mikhail thought. Why the rush?
The Soviet Union was intent on this program working, and had rushed his research. He needed more time. He begged for it, but they didn’t listen. Instead, they pushed hard, expecting results — results that Mikhail couldn’t be sure of.
He worried for his future, gulping at the thought of this not working. Perhaps the chemical was too much, perhaps it merely killed the men. There’d be no hard feelings about killing Mujahideen, but the Soviets had invested much time in this project, and failure was not an option. If it didn’t work, Mikhail would have hell to pay. If it killed the men, or if it did nothing to enhance their abilities, it would be deemed a failure. It seemed they wanted something that was untested, even in theory it had holes, and expected Mikhail to deliver a miracle.
He expected a tragedy.
14
Mikhail Ivanovich might have been the brightest mind of his generation, but few would know of his brilliance. Had he been born elsewhere, perhaps things would have been different. He would never publish in the top magazines or achieve world fame — not in the scientific community, not anywhere.
The scientist had been tasked with the impossible. He was to create a chemical that could be dispersed to Soviet troops in a gaseous state. This would be administered before battle, and transform even the most timid soldier into a battle hardened warrior.
A super-soldier, capable of great feats. They’d be faster, stronger, more confident because of this. But the chemical wasn’t merely to enhance their physical performance, it did much more.
The compound required multiple parts, multiple stages. For all intents and purposes, the goal was mutation. A human, yes, but with animal capabilities.
The inquiry had begun years prior, before the Afghani conflict. Mikhail had provided a theory, his research into DNA and genome structure far ahead of its time. Even decades later, as modern science advanced, Mikhail was ahead of the pack.
Modern science needed results. A step at a time, over the long course of science, the human body and mind would be better understood.
Mikhail had taken what he felt were the necessary assumptions. He viewed humans differently, perhaps. Mikhail’s résumé was in advanced molecular restructuring, but also with a background in the human mind, the psychology of what made soldiers tick. What caused them to act heroic? What caused them anger? What caused them fear?
He based his theories, his mixtures of the proper ingredients, on his viewpoint of the world. Spending many years in Siberia did something that took away a man’s very soul. The darkness, the cold, the lack of empathy — had Mikhail assumed all men were cruel?
Perhaps.
But the time. The time wasn’t enough. They had indeed tested the compound, spent many months doing so. Lab rats, monkeys and dogs, and finally prisoners were tested. Always in small doses, always adjusting the ratio of the active chemicals, for it never worked as needed.
The solution was not the mixture, but the delivery system. Injecting it directly caused it to decay quickly. This chemical needed a fast reaction, but straight pumping it into veins would not be enough.
They’d devised a better system, liquefying the substance. Multiple parts, multiple delivery systems. This allowed for it to act in stages, each stage a trigger mechanism for the next.
Over and over again they tried.
And failed.
Month after month, as the war raged on, they worked at it. Couldn’t quite get it right, though each time getting closer.
Then, 1984 brought about bigger challenges, and more pressure. Though they didn’t dare state publically, the Soviets would lose this war. They knew it, they grew desperate because of it. In the early weeks of the year, the KGB had requested — demanded — he fill missiles with the compound. They were to deliver it, to do its first trial run — on the enemy!
Mikhail didn’t know why. Couldn’t they keep using animals, prisoners? In other countries, it made sense not to kill your own soldiers by way of experiment, or at the very least, keep quiet about it.