The fog was heavy at the Estonian border in the early hours of November 1, 1937.
Soldiers shivered inside their trucks, breathing softly, uneasily.
Colonel Viktor Shepilov crushed a cigarette beneath his boot, leaning out of the armored carrier.
His radio crackled gently to life.
"Colonel, we're in position. Awaiting orders."
Viktor stared at the dark, silent border ahead.
He raised the transmitter. "Begin."
Across the line, the single coded word spread.
"Zarya."
Engines came to life, and trucks moved forward smoothly.
No cheering soldiers, no singingbjust the advance of troops who had been instructed carefully.
Beside them moved KGB agents clutching neatly stacked lists of names and directives.
In Tallinn, Prime Minister Konstantin Päts sat stiffly at a table inside Toompea Castle, surrounded by weary ministers.
Defense Minister Laidoner rubbed his forehead in exhaustion.
"Communication is jammed entirely. They've cut us off completely," Laidoner said softly.
