The First Protectors: A Novel

by Godinez Victor

  A young captain with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder hurried up, snapping a salute that Leonov returned. The junior officer was thin and his dirty, battered fatigues hung off his frame, but he was alert and energetic.

  “Colonel Leonov, our forces are in position around the city. Shall we advance?”

  Leonov could sense the captain’s enthusiasm, his revolutionary spirit. It came off him in waves, like a fever. Leonov’s own enthusiasm was tempered by his battlefield experience, but he shared the urge to move forward. He wondered if this was what it felt like in 1917. Nevertheless, he knew the General was counting on him to lead these men with wisdom and passion.

  “Well done, Captain Ilyushin.” Leonov could see the man’s slender chest swell a bit with pride. “But we’ll wait until dawn. It’s getting dark and the men are tired from their march today. The southern approach is secured. Besides, our camps and fires will serve as a beacon for other men who wish to join our cause. Tomorrow we’ll take the city. We’ll enter under the light, on parade. Not thieves sneaking in the night.”

  “Yes, colonel.”

  A column of BTR-80 armored personnel carriers roared by on the M6, setting up a defensive perimeter to the north. The soldiers in the machine-gun turrets saluted as they passed.

  His army was getting bigger. Every day, a hundred or so soldiers arrived, abandoning their old units, looking to join this burgeoning movement. Not all of the new arrivals were fit to serve. Not yet. They bore the hallmarks of the old Russia. Many were overweight, poorly equipped, lacking necessities like clean, dry socks—trench foot was endemic—and ammunition. When they arrived, they had their names, ranks, and skills recorded, were issued equipment by the quartermaster and his squad, and reassigned in the 2nd Red Army.

  The 2nd Red Army now numbered some 15,000 men, fully equipped with tanks, helicopters, food, and fuel. They still lacked jets and other major weapons systems, a deficiency which Leonov had been sure would doom his force to a quick and violent death at the hands of the Russian army. The General had assured him he had other methods for dealing with those threats. Whatever those methods were, they were working. Other than the occasional reconnaissance flight, Leonov’s force had not seen a single Russian aircraft overhead. Still, he would be nervous until he had his own air support. His men saw Volgograd—once, Stalingrad—as a key objective. Leonov was eager to push on to capture the air base at Lebyazhye, about 170 kilometers to the north, where the General had assured him a sizable force of jets and bombers was waiting to be commandeered. First there was work to be done in Volgograd.

  “Captain, deploy your scout teams to the surface-to-space site and report back by 1930 hours. Reconnaissance only. Do not engage any sentries or enter the facility, or even approach closer than 100 meters. If the government forces have left any defense or booby-trapped the facility, we must know. That is our priority.”

  The young officer snapped another salute and departed.

  Leonov looked toward the city. Although every Russian knew Volgograd’s history as the turning point in the Great Patriotic War against Germany, Leonov had little use for the city’s heritage. Stalin had been a fool and a tyrant, and the blood of more than a million Russian heroes had soaked this land because the paranoid schemer had been too busy consolidating power internally to notice the Nazi threat creeping toward his doorstep. Indeed, blind greed had too often cost Russia the greatness that was its due. No more.

  Leonov walked toward the command tent that had been hastily erected in the grass near the highway, next to an overpass that rose over a train track. “Highway” was too generous a term for this two-lane strip of asphalt with dirt shoulders, but then most Russian highways were similarly glorified country roads. Leonov felt both contempt and shame at the degraded condition of his country.

  For all its boasting and wealth, Russia in many ways was a third-world nation. And this business about “alien invasion” had only siphoned off more of its treasures, while the treacherous destruction of Saint Petersburg had annihilated much of the nation’s spirit. That decline must be reversed. There was a sleeping giant in this land waiting to be awakened. He felt it in his soul, if there was such a thing.

  The sun was sinking as Leonov reached the tent. To the east, the massive Volga River reflected the last glittering embers of the fading sun. While he felt no emotional connection to this place, its military history certainly fascinated him. More than a million Russians had been killed or injured defending this city, and the brutality of the war and the incompetence of Stalin had ensured that many of the dead, both German and Russian, had never been recovered from the battlefield. Ancient, decayed bodies and military equipment were still being found to this day in the countryside surrounding the city. Leonov thought there was a good chance that, even now, he was standing over the shallow grave of some German private still clutching a rifle. No matter. Eventually, everyone died. You could only hope to die fighting for something great.

  Aides were plugging in computers and communications equipment as Leonov stepped into the command center.

  Lieutenant Colonel Ivan Rodchenko stepped forward with two steaming mugs of tea, handing one to Leonov. Leonov knew without asking—and was thankful without saying—that each contained a splash of vodka.

  The two men silently tipped their cups toward each other and drank.

  “Good progress today, Vanya,” he said to his old friend with a smile. “The city shall be ours tomorrow, and then on to the airfield at Lebyazhye.”

  “Indeed,” said Rodchenko, sipping his tea.

  “Spit it out. I’m too tired to guess at your troubles.”

  “My trouble is the lack of trouble. No one’s fired a shot at us in nearly a week. What’s going on? The Federation troops have all but disappeared. And our air defenses are almost depleted, as they must know.”

  Leonov shrugged.

  “The General assured me he would take care of the jets and bombers, and he’s been true to his word.”

  “But how, Yuri?” Rodchenko said softly, so no one else would overhear his question. “We’ve made our intentions clear. We’re marching on Moscow. Why would the government not defend itself?”

  “They are cowards. They think the Americans can save them.” Leonov couldn’t have kept the sneer from his voice if he’d wanted to. “Cowards and weaklings. The Americans ordered them to burn Saint Petersburg and they obeyed like that.” He snapped his fingers. “This will be easy. Moscow is nothing but old women. Hell, worse than old women. My grandmother could overthrow this government.”

  Rodchenko nodded absently.

  “These so-called ‘surface-to-space’ defensive installations are interesting, yes? Have you seen one up close yet?”

  Leonov waved his hand dismissively.

  “Vanya, these are crude distractions. Don’t you see? There is no . . . alien invasion.” He spat the words, angry that he even had to say such childish things. “What evidence have we seen? Fuzzy telescope images of explosions in space and vague reports of some attack in Shanghai?”

  “The Chinese certainly seem to be taking it seriously.”

  “The Chinese can do as they please,” Leonov said, taking another sip. He wished his friend could see what they were building; how the American lies were just an attempt to thwart Russia’s deserved greatness. “Perhaps we will turn our attention to them later, in a year or two, once we’ve finished with our efforts here. Tomorrow we’ll take this installation outside Volgograd and you’ll see it’s just some American technological toy designed to slow us down. It will be a minor delay, and then we’ll press onward and finish the job.”

  Rodchenko finished his tea.

  “I’m sure you are right, comrade. Soon we will have set things right.”

  Rodchenko seemed satisfied. Leonov nodded.

  “That’s more like it. Now, let’s review tomorrow’s movements. We should be ready just in case there are a few stubborn malcontents remaining in the Federation army.”

  Outside,
the sun had gone down and the crescent moon was rising over the river, casting a silver reflection over the water like a blade.

  An hour later, tactical briefings over the next day’s plans were finalized and Leonov headed off to his tent. He hadn’t been lying to his friend. He was tired. He couldn’t show it while still out in public, in front of his men. Although it was late and most of the soldiers were exhausted, many were still awake, huddled around fires, talking and laughing, playing cards or clutching their own mugs. Leonov stopped at each group on his way back to his tent, offering a few words of encouragement, deferring the offered vodka from his officers. He would not have minded a sip or two, but if he took a drink at every opportunity, he would be drunk before he made it halfway to his quarters. He had work still to do.

  He was also still unsettled by his friend’s doubts. Rodchenko’s loyalty was beyond question. At the same time, he clearly was not completely satisfied with Leonov’s answers to his questions. In truth, Leonov himself wasn’t sure what was happening. Things were moving so fast. Lies or not, this business about aliens had been a spark in a pool of gasoline. Flames were everywhere. Had the Americans outsmarted themselves? Started a wildfire they thought they could control, only to see it leap over their firewalls? Perhaps, but why?

  A pair of guards stood watch at his drab green tent, men who had served under him in Chechnya. Men he trusted with his life.

  That had been the beginning of his military career. Horrible place. You had to watch your back everywhere you went, no matter how many houses you burned or terrorists you killed. Leonov had wanted to be a soldier ever since he was a boy. Chechnya had made him reconsider. Then he’d met The General, who had counseled patience.

  He didn’t fear for his life here. The guards at his tent were watching over the contents inside, the laptop and its secure satellite connection. Leonov dismissed the men and ordered them to get some rest, and then went inside.

  The machine sat on a plain folding table, in front of an equally plain folding chair. A cot and small footlocker were set up to the side of the room, by a small mirror hanging on pegs over a minuscule sink. An electric lamp hanging from the center of the canvas ceiling was the only illumination. The tent and its modest contents had been set up in minutes and would be torn down just as quickly in the morning when the army broke camp.

  Leonov looked at the mirror, noting that stubble with flecks of gray were coming in, even though he’d shaved that morning. He shaved every morning. No gray in his close-cropped hair. Not yet. His nose was as long and slender as it had been since he’d hit puberty. Dark circles under his eyes, the shadows appearing even deeper in this paltry light. His nose was strong and his cheekbones sharp. A bit of a status symbol in this rotten age, when the faces of many men his age had already started to turn pink and mushy from too much vodka. His body was fit, too. He was a field commander, not a desk rider. He still ran five kilometers every morning.

  He splashed some water on his face from a canteen dangling next to the mirror and wiped it with a rough towel.

  The screen on the laptop was dark, but the blue and orange lights along the edge indicated it was powered up. Leonov stared at it a moment, then pulled a bottle of vodka and a single shot glass from his personal trunk. He poured himself a drink, but only one. He needed to be able to focus for these conversations, no matter how tired he was. Leonov took a sip, sat down, and moved the glass out of visible range of the camera embedded in the laptop. He rubbed his finger over the touchpad to wake the machine, and the screen came to life. Leonov activated the secure link, the satellite dish on the roof reaching out for a signal.

  ESTABLISHING CONNECTION>>>

  >>>

  >>>

  CONNECTION ESTABLISHED>>>

  CREDENTIALS REQUIRED>>>

  Leonov pressed his thumb against the scanner connected to the laptop through a USB connection and leaned closer so the camera could scan his retina.

  CREDENTIALS CONFIRMED>>>

  The screen was dark for a moment, and Leonov squinted, looking for movement in the inky blackness. Then The General’s face appeared. It was lined, but not old. The beard was still mostly dark brown. The scar on his forehead stood out even on the grainy computer image. Leonov had been there when he got that scar. Leonov knew his name, of course, but still thought of him mostly as The General.

  “Good evening, Colonel Leonov,” The General said.

  “General.”

  “So, are you in position?”

  “Yes, General, we will move into Volgograd tomorrow and secure the facility. I shall leave a company behind to guard it, and then take the rest of the regiment on to Lebyazhye. We’ll then begin preparations to move on to Moscow.”

  “Excellent. Contact me once you’ve taken the facility.”

  “Will you be joining us at the air base?”

  “Perhaps. I am still working to convince some of my colleagues to join our campaign. Our victory is inevitable, and I would prefer to ride into Moscow with fresh troops, but it is possible there will be holdouts. You may be forced to suppress some of the more reluctant elements of the Federation Army—in particular, the 20th Guards Army out of Voronezh seems to be mobilizing to confront your force.”

  Leonov quickly did the math in his head. A couple tank divisions and missile brigades, along with some other auxiliary forces.

  “We should be able to handle that.”

  “True, Colonel, but they may have supplemented their original forces. There are still many who fear a renewed Russia.”

  Leonov shrugged.

  “We are supplementing our forces, too. By the time we reach Moscow, we’ll be 50,000 strong, at the minimum. When we complete our political takeover, the rest of the military will fall in line. I am concerned, though, with the Americans. Have you received any indication of a possible response from them?”

  “Bah. They are all engaged with this foolish alien invasion business. They have withdrawn most of their forces from Europe and the Pacific in a vain attempt to subdue their own population. And the Europeans are in disarray. We have a free hand.”

  Leonov was silent.

  “Yes, comrade?”

  “General, I don’t understand. What is America’s endgame? What do they gain by spreading this fiction?”

  “Confusion and deception, Yuri. Their economy is weak and they are losing their standing in the modern world. This is nothing more than a desperate attempt to reclaim power and destabilize the rest of the world. Who knows who they are conspiring with? I’m sure the lie will be exposed soon enough, and they will admit their cover-up. In the meantime, we must not relent. We must not forget Saint Petersburg. Our dead demand justice.”

  Leonov nodded.

  “Indeed, General. You are surely correct. I will be in contact tomorrow as soon as the facility is secured.”

  “Excellent, Colonel Leonov. Sleep well.”

  The screen went dark. Leonov stared silently into the darkness for some time. Eventually, he drained his vodka and rose to find his bed.

  The battle the next morning turned out to be far fiercer than Leonov expected. Indeed, he hadn’t expected any battle at all. Volgograd had been completely abandoned by the Russian army, and he had no reason to expect the defensive facility to be any different. Captain Ilyushin had taken a company of 160 men in armored personnel carriers and a couple of T-90 tanks on the A-260 highway heading west out of Volgograd to the facility while Leonov was establishing a headquarters at the oblast Duma, the regional legislative building in the center of the city. Another company under Rodchenko’s command was establishing a post at the Volgograd International Airport. There were only useless civilian aircraft, but the airstrip might be helpful later when they did have military planes under their control.

  Leonov had observed Ilyushin’s movements through a live video feed from a camera mounted on the exterior of the captain’s lead vehicle. Many civilians used them to guard against insurance fraud by other drivers. Most importantly, the technology b
ehind them was cheap, effective, and reliable. A thousand times better than anything the military had ever produced.

  So, while Leonov busied himself with setting up his temporary headquarters, he also kept an eye on the video feed on his laptop. He expected no resistance, but he was restless. For the first 15 minutes, it was uneventful, as the vehicles trundled along the two-lane road through flat countryside, mingled with the occasional spruce tree. Leonov could barely contain himself, though, popping out of his seat, barking at his lieutenants, tapping his fingers on the side of the laptop. Finally, he stood up, scooped up the laptop, and had a sergeant drive him out to the airport. The two men hopped in a light truck, a freshly washed UAZ Hunter, and sped off. Leonov focused on his laptop while the vehicle bounced through the streets of Volgograd. Most of the residents seemed to be indoors, watching through curtains at the military vehicles crisscrossing the city. A few people were out and about, but most of the stores were shuttered, with nothing left to sell. There were a lot of beggars. They were impossible to miss, even as he focused on the screen in front of him.

  He watched as Ilyushin’s column rolled through the village of Gorkovskiy and turned right on a rural road just west of the town. There were no markings or signs on this road, much less any kind of indication that it led to a high-tech military installation. The trees were thicker, thanks to a nearby river. But The General had given Leonov precise directions, and he had no doubt they were accurate.

  Sure enough, two minutes later, a series of increasingly dire warning signs appeared along the side of the road, first instructing drivers to turn back and then indicating that they were in imminent danger of being shot. The company pressed on. A massive concrete wall soon loomed out of the scraggly trees and brush. The barrier was at least 15 feet high and stretched off in both directions, gradually curving away into a circle. The road ended before an equally high iron gate embedded in the wall. There was no guard shack or secondary entrance. A pair of security cameras on either side of the gate pointed down at the road. Ilyushin brought his column to a halt about 100 feet away from the gate. Leonov leaned in even closer to the laptop screen. He keyed open his radio and confirmed that Captain Ilyushin could hear him.