Chapter 94 — Wind and Fire
Vrsov's legs were leaden. Each step across the frozen soil felt like dragging an anchor through ice. His breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles seizing from cold and exhaustion. He was still kilometers away from the nearest village. Could he make it?
He had to.
If he collapsed now, he wouldn't just freeze to death—he'd fail to warn command. The Vigilance would disappear into the Baltic, and Saberlin's uprising could succeed.
Just as Vrsov was about to collapse, he saw movement ahead. A man—a farmer—running toward him.
Relief flooded his chest. Vrsov shouted, "Comrade! Get me a phone! I need to contact Leningrad—Moscow! It's urgent!"
What he got in return was a solid boot to the chest.
Air exploded from his lungs. He staggered backward, ribs screaming in pain. Another kick slammed into his ribs. The farmer was shouting something about exhibitionists and mental illness as he raised his boot again.
On a day this cold, a half-naked man running through the snow could only seem like a lunatic.
"Stop!" a sharp female voice rang out.
Ekaterina rushed forward, coat whipping in the wind. She planted herself between the attacker and the collapsed man. From a doctor's perspective, what she saw was clear: the man's skin was reddening from frostbite, but his eyes were lucid—filled with desperation, not madness.
"What did you just say?" she asked.
Vrsov struggled to speak. "The Vigilance. Saberlin locked up the captain… plans to dock in Leningrad… give a speech…"
His words trailed off. His strength was gone. The earlier kicks had broken something vital. His arms dropped limply at his sides. His body slumped into the snow like a marionette with its strings cut.
"Warm him! Get him to my house—now!" Ekaterina shouted.
The "farmer" stiffened but complied. Ekaterina had long suspected her KGB escort. The man's combat-ready footwork and trained reaction time had been a giveaway. Now, he knew he'd made a mistake—and quickly stripped off his outer coat, wrapping it around the freezing Vrsov.
As he lifted the limp officer, Ekaterina turned and sprinted for the house. She didn't need confirmation. She knew.
The Vigilance. The strange warship Andrei and little Ivan had gone to visit—just for a harmless look. It was that ship.
Her hands trembled as she grabbed the phone.
There was no time to follow proper channels. If she called through the regional offices, it would take thirty minutes to climb the chain of command.
Instead, she dialed Irina's private number directly.
———
Within minutes, the news detonated inside the Ministry of Defense.
Vigilance—the Haiyan-class destroyer slated to rendezvous with Northern Command ships near Poland—was missing. Radio silence. Off-course. No contact.
Now, confirmation had arrived: mutiny. A full-blown insurrection.
Vice-Captain Saberlin had imprisoned the ship's commanding officer, Potoline, along with several loyal officers. He was en route to Leningrad, hoping to deliver a revolutionary speech that could ignite political unrest across the Soviet Union.
In the Kremlin, the lights burned into the night. The air was electric. An emergency session was already underway.
Brezhnev, still in his dinner jacket, stood at the head of the room. His usual stiffness was gone—he looked stone-cold and furious.
"This is treason," shouted Andrei Kirilenko, Brezhnev's loyal number two. "Dispatch bombers! Sink the ship! Immediately!"
"Comrade Kirilenko," came a calm voice from the end of the table.
Yuri Andropov.
His tone was cool, controlled. But behind his eyes—fire.
"There are loyal men still aboard that ship," Andropov said. "Captain Potoline and several officers are being held against their will. If we use bombers, we kill them all."
"We can't risk a broadcast!" Kirilenko snapped. "If Saberlin reaches Leningrad—if he stirs up the people—it will make us look weak!"
Andropov's voice lowered dangerously. "And what if we kill civilians in the process? Do you want to make us look like murderers instead?"
"Better than revolutionaries!"
"I propose we deploy A Group."
The room fell silent.
A-Group—the KGB's top-secret elite anti-terror unit—had been established just the year before. Trained in urban combat, counter-hijacking, and covert infiltration, it was the Soviet Union's answer to Munich, to Vnukovo, to the growing threat of domestic unrest. It was Andropov's personal project. And now, it was ready.
"I will take personal command in Leningrad," Andropov said. "We will reclaim the Vigilance without killing our own men."
Kirilenko's mouth twisted. He had long opposed Andropov's growing influence. Many in the Politburo believed Andropov was Brezhnev's natural successor—and Kirilenko intended to block that future.
Now, faced with a national crisis, Andropov had the perfect excuse to act directly.
And worse—for Kirilenko—Andropov's grandson was on the Vigilance.
That made this personal.
"You're too close to this," Kirilenko said, voice like acid. "You're compromised."
"I'm committed," Andropov replied. "And I'm the only one with the means to end this without bloodshed."
Brezhnev, silent all this time, finally raised his hand. Everyone quieted.
"Enough," the General Secretary said. "We'll give Andropov until dawn."
"If the Vigilance is not secured—"
He looked directly at Andropov.
"—we sink it."
Andropov nodded once.
He had until morning.
The clock was ticking.