[Ukr] Make the World Blind

[GingeOrCringe]

Related RP:

Global Economic Crisis: Initial Ukrainian Response and Assassination Attempt on President Yushchenko
Red Scare, Ukraine: Start of the Ultra-Nationalist Coup With Other Development
Bitter Memory: Ultra-Nationalist Attempt to Gain US Support

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Nestled between Soviet block housing and some of Kyiv’s antiqued, brick buildings sat the National Academy of Internal Affairs. The institution was well known for priming Ukraine’s National Police Cadets. The north neighboring building happened to house the Russian embassy. Following the assassination attempt on President Yushchenko, Ukraine’s future militsiya officers had reacted with deafening patriotic songs and many, many bottles of horilka. With classes canceled for the week, the young men spent their morning nursing hangovers and watching Minister Kuzmuk’s emergency address.

“We should do something,” said Dmytro Oleksyuk. He was the youngest of the cadets but had made himself into something of a ringleader since their training began. The other young men looked at each other.

At around this time the Ukrainian Ministry of Defense would notify the Russian Embassy that they would be sending a representative at 11:30 to discuss a major security issue. This notification would be sent via a secure and encrypted email. Any reply from the Russians would go ignored. Any phone calls made to the MoD would be placed on an indefinite hold.

At 11:25 a black sedan would slow to a halt at the embassy gate. “First Deputy Minister Vasyl Sobkhov of the Ministry of Defense,” said a short, bulldog of a man. He would draw a wallet from the inside of his overcoat and flash a government ID. “I’ve come to speak with your ambassador.”

Inside the Academy, the cadets had gathered their weapons of choice into a couple of sturdy, black duffle bags. After disclosing their plan to one of the course instructors and convincing him to misplace a key, seven cadets made their way onto the icy roof. With balaclavas to mask their faces against the cold, they would crouch down in an attempt to go unseen as they approached the edge of the building. The expanse between the Academy and the Embassy grounds was narrow. Popping their heads just over the parapet, the trainees would arrive just in time to witness whatever interaction was about to unfold between the Deputy Minister and the embassy gatekeeper.

Alex

 

[Alex]

Viktor Chernomyrdin had woken up early today, it was difficult to have a good night’s rest recently, the events in his home country kept him tossing and turning. He had skipped out on breakfast and made his way to the embassy, hoping that work would be able to alleviate his mind but instead he ended up having his face glued to the television and the news for the majority of the day. There was communist support throughout the nation, from young adults who were ignorant to the sufferings of the ideology to the elders suffocated by nostalgia and ‘simpler lives’ - all led by Stalin’s grandson. But communism was not the only thing making Russia suffer. In the far east and European Russia arose support for the far-right ideologies: skinheads, neo-Nazis, fascists… it made his stomach turn. While the communists and the fascists protested their extreme ideologies, in St. Petersburg was a growing support for a Tsar, a far-gone world trying to be saved by the desperate. And in the south, the Chechens were steering again - something Chernomyrdin had hoped would not happen again after the negotiations he had held with them during the Budyonnovsk hostage crisis…

He wanted to help his country, his people, but instead he was stuck here, in Ukraine. A position that Putin had forced him into - removing him from the centre of politics and severing his political career. “We wanted the best, but it turned out like always.” He sighed, alone in his office, on the verge of tears when the email came in.

‘A major security issue’. It would appear that the political and economic crisis may have affected more than just Russia, although Viktor had not noticed anything too bizarre happening in Ukraine. But perhaps he was blinded by the situation in Russia to pay too much attention to Ukraine. He responded to the email, stating that he would be present at the time, although there was no reply.

He spent the next few minutes staring out of a window. There was an odd, foreboding feeling that gripped his soul, a similar feeling to the one that he had felt when the Union dissolved and chaos reigned in the attempted coup. Perhaps he was paranoid, but his gut told him that something about this ‘security issue’ was not going to be something the Russian government could ignore and Chernomyrdin had never gone against his gut.

The Ambassador used his encrypted phone to call the Kremlin and notify the government of what the Ukrainians had contacted him regarding. But… there was no answer, it simply rang and rang away. The frustration got to the man more than he would have liked to admit and banged the phone against his desk a few times before regaining himself.

Before the arrival of the Ukrainian, he had notified the embassy to be on high alert and for security to remain behind the fence and secure all entrances and exits - just in case.

Gervasii Kuzmin, head of the embassy’s security, would be the man to receive the Ukrainian First Deputy Minister of the Ministry of Defence. After verifying the man’s identity, he would open the gate and let him in. “The Ambassador is in his office. Please, follow me, Sir.” The security would close and lock the gate behind them and if there was no issue, the Ukrainian would be escorted to the Ambassador’s office.

GingeOrCringe

 

[GingeOrCringe]

On the roof of the Academy, Dmytro and his fellow cadets were still crouched behind the parapet. He held a hand up, signaling for the boys to stand by. That was a government car, and it would be best not to hit any Ukrainian officials.

Sobkhov had come unarmed. He would nod back at his driver just before entering the building--they could keep the car running, this wouldn’t take long. The First Deputy Minister would make no pretense at small-talk as Kuzmin led him down an embassy hallway. The Russians themselves had been silent since the riots in Moscow. There had been no communication regarding Ukraine’s offer to buy up Russian debt, nor any acknowledgement of the Ukrainian proposal to coordinate a joint economic emergency plan. If the Kremlin had shed a single tear in response to the shooting of President Yushchenko--the leader of their ‘brother nation’--they had not made it known.

“Mr. Chernomyrdin,” said Sobkhov upon entering the room. He glanced around the office, wondering if he might be the first Ukrainian invited to enter since they had granted the expansive building to the Russians in ‘92. “I’m First Deputy Sobkhov of the Ministry of Defense. You look tired, I promise this will be brief.” Sobkhov made no move to shake the other man’s hand.

Dmytro dropped his hand as the visitor entered the embassy. As they all leaned under the parapet for protection, he and Yurij Barabash would unzip the duffle bags. The cadets would pass the projectiles down the line one by one until everyone was adequately armed.

“Brothers,” said Dmytro. “If there has ever been a time for bravery, it is now. Ukraine never had such able sons as you. While we have yet to be dubbed National Police Officers, I know in my heart that there is no one who embodies the ideals of the Militsiya more than you men. It is our duty to protect our Motherland. The katsap threat continues to stir up pro-communist sentiment among our own people. We must do what we can to drive them from our lands. Slava Ukraini, Heroyam Slava!”

Deeply moved by the patriotism of their young but wise comrade, the cadets would jump to their feet and take aim at the nearest embassy guard. For one brief moment, their target may have turned and caught a glimpse of the toilet paper rolls as they arced gracefully across the sky like white, silky streamers, or he may have been completely unaware when the first of the eggs broke around him like tiny artillery shells. There was no opportunity to savor any terror the Russians might have been displaying, the cadets were already reaching for more one-ply and poultry products. "Go home to Daddy Stalin!" Somebody shouted. The second volley was about to commence.

Alex

 

[Alex]

Opening the door, Kuzmin would allow the Ukrainian minister into the office, shutting the door tightly behind him to assure that no one would be able to hear what was being discussed inside. Ambassador Viktor Chernomyrdin would be waiting behind his desk, extending his hand to greet the Ukrainian but it would seem that the Minister was too preoccupied with looking around the room to have such basic social intelligence. “Take all the time you need, First Deputy Sobkhov. The email you sent me earlier today and your current… stature makes me believe that this is far more important than I believed.” Hopefully the Sobkhov did not expect the aid of the Russian government, he couldn’t even remember the last time he had proper and official communications with them… let alone the government even listening to what he had to say. “Please, take a seat. I had just ordered lunch if you would like something, a drink perhaps?”

While the diplomats were having their meeting, the head of security had made his way back to the front office on the first floor and began flirting with the secretary. Outside at the front gate, however, it would appear that the security were meeting some local ‘resistance’.

The toilet paper floated down, hardly causing a disturbance, getting stuck on the fence around the embassy. The eggs on the other hand were a bit more effective; landing around one of the security guards, one of which hit his chest and stained his very well kept outfit. ’Go home to Daddy Stalin! one of them yelled from their rooftop. “Go join your local Hitler Youth, you dirty ukropy!” The guard yelled back before taking cover inside the embassy’s entrance archway.

At this point, the guard’s response could be heard from inside the embassy’s front office. Quite frustrated that he had to be taken away from his flirtatious encounter with the secretary, Kuzmin made his way outside and barked at the egg yolk covered guard. “What the hell is going on out here?”

“Some stupid kids are throwing eggs and toilet paper at the embassy.” The young man replied as he attempted to wipe the yolk from his uniform.

Peeking from the archway of the door, Kuzmin was able to spot the little shits on the roof of the neighboring building and decided that allowing things like this to happen would cause future vandalism. Thus he began marching from the embassy, assuring the gate remained locked behind him, continuing along the side of the National Academy of Internal Affairs and to its front entrance. Barging in through the front door, he reached the front desk. “There are people on your roof vandalizing my embassy, is this how you train and teach your people to act in internal affairs? Vandalize foreign embassies?”

 

[GingeOrCringe]

Watching through the tinted windows of the government car was Yan Viarcinski, Sobkhov’s driver. He tapped his fingers nervously to some Belarussian song as he waited for his passenger to return. He knew those eggs wouldn’t crack his windows, but they’d sure be a pain to clean off if one of them hit...

Three of the cadets would scurry to the other side of the roof as Kuzmin walked below them towards the entrance. He looked and carried himself like someone important, and the boys would jostle each other out of the way for the honor of egging him. The rest of their peers were too ruffled by the word Ukropy to turn their attention away from the guard under the entrance way. They’d continue to hurl eggs, along with every anti-Russian slur they could think of.

“Are you just gonna tremble in that doorway while your Cheka boyfriend goes to report on us? No wonder you pussies got bent in Chechnya!”

Without clear sights on their target, a few of them would turn their aim towards the embassy itself. Dmytro would rally his comrades to continue the offensive as he ducked back into the building. Fresh out of toilet paper rolls and with eggs quickly depleting, they needed to replenish supplies!

A gust of cold air would follow Kuzmin into the Academy. The young receptionist’s friendly smile would quickly fade as the Russian barked his questions. Stefan Ivanishyn had only planned to stop by the desk for a moment on the way to his office, but it seemed he might be needed here a bit longer. As Department Head of Special Physical Training, he was more brawn than brains.

“Sir,” he said. He would’ve had a pleasant baritone if not for those menthol cigarettes. “I’m going to need you to calm down. I can’t help you if you’re screaming at me. What did you say was happening?” The Academy had a code of conduct, of course, but boys will be boys. When you have a gaggle of grunts ranging from 17 and 6 months to just shy of 24 you can’t expect them to behave with the utmost poise at all times.

The ambiance within the embassy was growing even colder. If the Russians had wanted to break bread together, their invitation was over 60 years too late.

“No.” Sobkhov crinkled his nose, looking as if he’d just been offered roadkill. “No, Mr. Chernomyrdin, I’m not here to eat with you. I’m here to provide verbal notice of a change in your visa status. The Republic of Ukraine no longer recognizes you as ambassador.” He paused, drinking in whatever reaction the Russian displayed. “In fact, we no longer recognize any Russian as ambassador or consul. Your ‘diplomatic missions’ are obsolete. You have 48 hours to leave our country. After that time your diplomatic immunity shall expire and you will be placed under arrest. Do you understand?”


Alex

 

[Alex]

As the cadets on the roof continued to throw insults, the guard in the doorway would enter the embassy and find himself an umbrella. Opened, he began making his way below the cadets and would start taking a piss on the National Academy of Internal Affairs. “Yob materi vashi!” He yelled up to them as his pee darkened the building’s stone.

Viktor Chernomyrdin’s demeanor took an immediate change when the Deputy Minister began speaking. At first it was disappointing that he would not be joining him for lunch, then it was a worry that Ukraine apparently no longer recognized him as ambassador. But then he stated that recognition of any Russian diplomatic mission was no longer recognized. Chernomyrdin grew up in Soviet Russia and he lived in modern Russia, the man could sense when something was off from a mile away. Hell, he’d go as far to say he could smell it in the air. In this case he asked himself one question: why was the Deputy Minister of Defence giving him this notice of all people?

“I understand perfectly.” He told him before sitting down, bringing up his knee to rest his leg on top of his other. While doing so he assured that his knee would hit the small button that was located underneath the desk. “But I believe there’s something you’re forgetting, Deputy Minister.” The Ambassador’s gaze would turn dark. “We’re both members of the Global Assembly and there are ways of doing things. What you are doing is not proper, I am to be granted fourteen days to vacate this mission and I will take the entirety of those two weeks, Deputy Minister. Be assured to write up a correspondence for my government as well, it would be a shame for Ukraine to be in violation of a resolution.”

Kuzmin, head of the embassy guards, would receive a notification on his personal digital assistant regarding the Ambassador pressing the emergency button. “Ah, chush’ sobach’ya!” The man didn’t even reply to the secretary of the building, he simply ran back out the front door and back towards the embassy. On his way, he would notice one of his guards pissing alongside the corner of the building. He grabbed him from the back of the neck and began pushing him back into the embassy. “Durak! Get your head on straight and pull up your zipper!” With that said he pushed him through the front door.

He’d point at two other guards. “You two, with me.” They followed him closely as they rushed upstairs to the Ambassador’s office.

As he heard the guards coming, the Ambassador rose again. “Watch your next words carefully, sir. As an Ambassador, I will not be treated like a dog - dragged along the ground. You wish for me to be out of Ukraine and this embassy closed? Fine. But you’ll do it properly and be assured that your correspondence has the proper signatures.” At this time Kuzmin would open the door to the office, two embassy guards at each side. “I bid you goodbye, Deputy Minister. Don’t come back.”

GingeOrCringe

 

[GingeOrCringe]

"Would you charge a woman with assault because she fought back against her rapist?” Sobkov pulled an envelope from the inner pocket of his coat and tossed it unceremoniously onto the former Ambassador's desk. "File with the ICJ if you wish, they will wonder at our leniency.”

Hearing the thud of boots, the Deputy Minister glanced over his shoulder in time to see the guards enter. He noted any weapons that were obvious, speculated at folds and bumps in the fabric of their clothes, then returned his attention to Chernomyrdin. Treated like a dog? He let out a short, bitter laugh. "I’ve informed you of your new status. If you remain here, we shall deal with you as you have always dealt with us."

He’d allow the Russian goodbye to roll off his back as he stepped out, leaving the envelope behind.

Russian Expulsion Letter

To Former Ambassador Chernomyrdin, President Yeltsin, and the Russian People as a whole,

We have no memory wherein the Russian Nation has refrained from abusing our Mother, Ukraine. You have heard her protests—any contrary claim is the result of willful deafness. Rather than address legitimate grievances, Moscow has always preferred to alleviate her cries with a tightened stranglehold, a steel fist. Your nation presents an eternal threat to our existence.

You have robbed Ukraine of her national treasures. You burned our books and suppressed our language. You treated our museum catalogues like auction house inventories to fund your communist cause. You sold the gate of our most ancient monastery, St. Mikhail’s, to some unknown buyer in America. Like maggots picking at a corpse, you chiseled off the frescoes and mosaics for yourselves before demolishing what was left of our sacred site. Your trophy brigades confiscated thousands of Ukrainian artifacts from the Nazis, only to hide them away in your archives or falsely display them as your own masterpieces.

Russian exploitation of Ukraine is not simply a thing of the recent past. Russia continues to assume ownership of Ukraine and her riches. Just this past year RusAr was profiting from counterfeit Ukrainian defense products. We discovered your theft of our intellectual property—we were never informed. When we voiced objections, you brushed aside our concerns like a parent with a petulant child. Ukraine is an independent state, you have no right to these designs. We should have brought the case to the International Court.

Then there is our land, the treasure in which we took the most pride. You took 2,600 square kilometers of the world’s most fertile earth and turned it abortive. A new rion of cancer and two headed calves. It will be 20,000 years before Prypit and Chernobyl can nurture human settlement again. You poisoned our rivers, the veins of our country. You poisoned our coastal waters in Odesa and Sevastopol. Still, it is not enough for you to merely defile our land, you insist on possessing it.

Even so-called liberals like Yeltsin and Voshchanov can only don sheeps clothing for so long. When Ukraine voted to leave the Union which had abused her for over 60 years, they threatened to redraw our borders. To dismember us like the butchers you are. You claimed it was your right to govern lands with Russian minorities. Was it also your right to deport and slaughter the Tartars, our citizens?

Just as an umbilical cord connects mother and infant, so too are Ukraine and Crimea linked. Today you hold Ukraine’s child hostage, the ransom you demand is our warm water port of Sevastopol. In other words, you desire a military presence within Ukraine. You would like to coerce us again, when we do not bend to the whims of your people, when we remind you we are not serfs. You would like to shoot us again, you would love to watch us crumple into hungry little husks that cannot fight back, you lust for a world where we are gone and everything is yours.

You claim Ukraine as your little brother, but the love you bare us is no different from Cain’s love for Abel. You embrace us in a fraternal stranglehold, cling as endearingly as a noose. Many of you refer to Kyiv as Mother of your Russian cities. Is it Russian custom to beat the woman who birthed and nurtured you? So many of your Tsars--even the red ones--have referred to themselves as father. They were never ours. A Ukrainian father protects, he does not hurt, does not take from his hungry children. How could anyone have been so surprised that we would choose to share barracks with Nazis rather than live under your barbaric rule? They did not offer us much safety, but it was more than we ever received from you. We would rather gnaw off an arm than walk with you, our hand in your bloodstained fist.

This past year your drunkard president, so representative of your people as a whole, has proposed another unification, another marriage of states. By God, do you not remember how you murdered our children--our little children? You forced so many of them to shrivel and die like unwatered stalks. As we grew hungrier and hungrier, some of us dared to pick a few grains from what were once our golden fields--you had them bludgeoned to death or shot. And when there was truly nothing but slow, hateful hunger and the flesh of our kin, you called us monsters for choosing to live. It was Russians who converted Ukraine to such a wicked practice. You cursed us to become a nation of cannibals. For sixty more years we ate any words, swallowed any keening moan, because if we spoke of the genocide there was no doubt you’d do it again. God has damned us to be near you, but we were never family.

Russia has deprived Ukraine of her unique and separate heritage, violated her sovereignty, and savored every opportunity to spill her blood. The above is an abbreviated and incomplete list of your crimes against us. With these abuses considered, and taking into account the rapid rise of Stalinist ideology in Moscow as well as the Russian designed assassination of President Yushchenko, we know the world will see that Ukraine is acting defensively. This is our last resort. We have no choice but to expel all Russian colonizers--government employees or private citizens, they are the same to us. All Russian diplomatic missions in Ukraine are to be closed within 48 hours of receiving this message. We shall remain at peace, but will no longer cooperate with the Russian terrorist state.

Signatories:
President Oleksandr Kuzmuk
First Deputy Minister of Defense Vasyl Sobkov
Head of Kyiv Malitsiya Volodymyr Koryak

Additional signatures were included from 12 senior members of the ministry of defense, 36 leaders within the militsiya, 7 Kyiv City Council members, and 4 Kyiv Oblast Rada Members, and 3 People’s Deputies of the Verkhovna Rada. In all, 65 men had endorsed the correspondence.

Alex

 

[Alex]

---

While the Ukrainians prepared their letter and signatories, the Russians of the embassy made their preparations. They shredded and burned all of their papers, deleted all of their hard drives before smashing them to bits with hammers, and when all information within the embassy had been destroyed or sent back to Moscow they packed up all of the Russian flags nicely and respectfully into briefcases before heading out of the embassy where a convoy of armored vehicles were waiting to escort them to the Kyiv Boryspil International Airport.

Viktor Chernomyrdin could feel it, there was something in the air… foreboding. Something was wrong not only in Ukraine but the whole of the post-Soviet states. Was it war? Political turmoil? He couldn’t tell, but it was on the horizon and he felt like there wasn’t much time left before it came unto them like the waves of an ocean storm.

But he was only an ambassador, an old politician pushed out of Moscow by the new generation, what could he do? He entered the convoy and he and his mission began to make their way home.

GingeOrCringe

 

[GingeOrCringe]

Verkhovna Rada Bomb Shelter,

Kyiv

Leonid Kuchma was not a patient man. Still trapped beneath the Rada, he would pace the bunker like a caged animal. The staffers with him knew better than to approach--he could get a bit neurotic when he didn't have something to do. It wasn’t yet noon when his footsteps came to a jarred halt. He jabbed a finger at the phone he’d used to assure SSU Director Radchenko he hadn’t been lynched yet.

“You have phone numbers,” he said. His carpathian-blue eyes had locked their sharp sights on one of the aids still clutching a briefcase. “You have a list, every People’s Deputy, yes? Give them to me.” He sounded like a starving man ready to shank someone for food. The staffer would open his briefcase immediately. The names and cellphone numbers were listed in alphabetical order. Party leaders and political allies had their names highlighted or underlined in pencil.

Kuchma would spin the rotary dial and wait under Poster-Lenin's dead stare.

“Hello, Ivan Andrichuk? Yes, I’m still alive, lucky for you. Listen. The Rada will meet at the Maidan today, exactly where the President was shot. Please dress appropriately for the cold, and if you wouldn’t mind calling the other Deputies for Cherkasy Oblast, it would be greatly appreciated.”

---

Elsewhere,
Kyiv

The Ministry of Defense was in a state of shock. Frankly, they had expected more pushback from the Russians. Not that they were complaining. Without any meddling Moskovites, the Kuzmuk Administration could get underway with their own agenda.

First, Militsiya would commandeer Ukraine’s greatest weapon of mass destruction: the Free Press.

At gunpoint, Ukrinform news anchors would read stories of Russian atrocities in the Donbass and Crimea. The Russian government, they claimed, had organized recent pro-Soviet protests which had resulted in needless death. Russian agents had vandalized the Holodomor Remembrance Museum and destroyed the statue that stood outside it. Stalin’s Grandson was gaining incredible support in their country, running on a pro-communist platform and vowing to annex Ukraine. The Night Stalker was actually a gang of several Russians who enjoyed murdering Ukrainian women. Russian soldiers were crucifying ethnic-Ukrainian children in both the Central and Southern Federalist Districts, as well as the Caucasus. They were the ones who assassinated President Yushchenko. And on, and on, and on...

At the same time, some Russian-Ukrainians had their shop windows smashed in, their stores set ablaze by the militsiya’s thugs. Men with red and black armbands raided Kyiv’s universities for copies of Dostoevsky, Pushkin, Tolstoy, and other cultural icons--nevermind the influence Ukraine had actually had on many of them. They’d burn them just like the Russians had burned Ukrainian books under the USSR. Within the Ministry of Defense building, a list of ethnic-Russian professors and journalists was being composed. The plan was to treat them as well as Ukraine's intelligencia had been treated.

At the Maidan things were different. After Minister Kuzmuk had announced his provisional government, protestors had quickly returned to the Independence Monument. Blue and gold flags were waved alongside banners of white, blue, and blood-red. Signs reading “we are for peace,” and “Russians--Our Neighbors, Our Friends, Our Family,” were displayed. Some were more blunt, one man had pasted a photo of Minister Kuzmuk onto poster board which declared, “сука, ти не Ющенко!” bitch, you ain’t Yushchenko!

By mid-afternoon, the Verkhovna Rada’s displaced People’s Deputies had also gathered beneath the Independence monument, as instructed by chairman Kuchma.


Alex

---

Oleksandrivska Hospital,
Kyiv

(Continuation of a private and encrypted call)

“That is exactly our concern. Do you have a line with them?” Yushchenko asked. “Not the Pols--we’ve always kept a good dialogue with them--I mean the Russians. Moscow hasn't uttered a word to us since the pro-Soviet riots, no reply to our purchase of Russian debt, nothing. I’ve just received a report that they’ve abandoned their embassy and consulates without notice. That usually means… well, I’m sure I don’t need to explain introductory political science to you.”

His head was starting to ache, perhaps just a lack of caffeine. He took another swig of shitty coffee as he contemplated the constitutionality of bringing in the Americans without the Rada’s approval. If they couldn't meet then they couldn't object, but it would set a precendent.

​

One or two American flags could be spotted in the crowd at the Maidan. Outside the US embassy in Kyiv, another group had gathered. Passing around a megaphone, the Ukrainians would chant pro-democratic slogans. One woman sang the United States National Anthem, a man with a heavy accent would take his turn after her. "Gore Al," the megaphone screeched as he held it too close to his mouth. "You help save our Republic, we help save your trees." The crowd would cheer.


Odinson

---

Polish-Ukrainian Border

Viktor Yanukovych stared out the airplane window as they passed over Lutsk Oblast, white with snow. He was in a bitter mood. After all, President Yushchenko had been shot and he hadn’t been the one to order it. If he’d had any say in the matter, he would have made sure he’d been in Kyiv when it happened, patting the soon-to-be late-President’s shoulder in the hospital as he died, or some other PR horse-shit. He could already envision Leonid Kuchma, standing at the podium in the Rada, counting the votes to appoint himself ‘temporary’ head of state. He was an eel in his past life, that one…

Being in flight, the Prime Minister had not yet received news of Yushenko’s stable condition. He wouldn’t know that Kuchma was currently hiding in a bunker beneath the Rada, or that the MoD was making a bid for power.

Yanukovych pulled the window shade down and leaned back in his chair as the commercial flight requested admittance into Polish airspace. He’d have the flight attendant bring him a shot of vodka before they made the descent. The plane would land in accordance with the Polish government’s direction.

On the ground, a truck driver was approaching the Polish-Ukrainian border.

“Just turnips and potatoes,” he assured the Ukrainian border guards. He’d provide all the proper paperwork, and they’d take their sweet time checking it over. They would also open the truck’s cargo hold, though they wouldn’t inspect behind the first three rows of crated vegetables where Lyudmila Yanukovych and the Prime Minister’s sons were stashed away.

At the Polish border entry the driver would pull his SSU badge from beneath his shirt. “My name is Oleksy Pipenko. The Security Service of Ukraine, under the leadership of the Yushchenko Administration, has entrusted me with the delivery of a special order to the Polish government.”


ManBear

---

Response to Inquiry

To: Matthäus Schäfer Dutchy

Cc: Viktor Yushchenko, Viktor Yanukovych, Konstyantyn Gryshchenko, Leonid Kuchma

Subject: Re: No Subject

Security: Private and encrypted

Warm greetings to you, Minister Matthäus Schäfer,


I will pass along your well-wishes to President Yushchenko. We are happy to announce he is in stable condition.

We are also happy to see the German Republic has quickly stabilized--although, it’s no shock to us. Over the course of this century, Germany has matured into a responsible and conscientious state. It is no wonder that you would choose the enlightened path that liberalism and representative government offer.

We would happily establish formal ties with your government once our internal issues are addressed. As you know, President Yushchenko was shot while giving a pro-liberalist speech and extending a hand to Russia in regards to their massive debt. Since then, the Ministry of Defense has wrongfully declared a ‘provisional government.’

When a legitimate President of Ukraine is unable to perform his or her duties, the constitution requires the Verkhovna Rada (parliament) vote on the appointment of an Acting President. That Acting President would be the Chairman of the Verkhovna Rada (currently Leonid Kuchma). But, again, since President Yushchenko is not incapacitated, and since the Rada is unable to meet inorder to conduct a vote, there is no temporary replacement or ‘provisional government’ as Oleksander Kuzmuk claims.

I hope my explanation is satisfactory. This is a matter we are currently addressing, and will soon have under control. In the meantime, we simply ask foreign governments not to recognize unconstitutional dictators.

Thank you for your patience,
Ihor Yúriyovych Kharchenko
First Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs

 

[ManBear]

GingeOrCringe

Upon receiving proper flight clearance from Polish Air Traffic Controllers to enter Polish Air Space, two Mig-29s were scrambled out of the 23rd Tactical Air Base to intercept the aircraft and provide security. After a half an hour, the two MiG's could be seen on either side of the cockpit of the commercial flight.

"Commercial Flight this is Raptor 2-1. Commercial Flight this is Raptor 2-1. Please maintain course and respond immediately. Over."

They would maintain their spacing with the commercial airliner whilst trying to make contact with the Pilots. They would speak in English to insure the Pilot of the commercial airline would hopefully understand them.

__________________________________________

Upon seeing the SSU badge, the Polish Border Guard looked confused. He pointed to a pullover spot on the Polish side of the border that was utilized to inspect vehicles. There were two black Mercedez-Benz G-Wagons and a silver Mercedez-Benz Sprinter van already at the inspection spot with several armed men looking at the opened vehicles. The guard was armed with a FB Beryl rifle and kept one hand placed on the pistol grip.

"Move there. We must inspect cargo. Was told to insure all cargo is accounted for."

 

[Odinson]

"I don't think anyone has a clear dialogue with the Russians at the moment," President Gore said. "We are prepared to help your government in whatever way necessary. As of now, we have no evidence to suggest that the Russian Federation intends harm on Ukraine in any way shape or form. I imagine that a certain amount of fear mongering is being used by others to try to take control in your country, but I'm sure that's something you've already deduced. Mister President, I imagine that you must be busy, but if there's anything the United States can do please contact my office as soon as possible - I wish that there was some way we could help you in the moment right now. Is there anything I can help you with before I let you go?" he asked.
GingeOrCringe

 

[GingeOrCringe]

“Kurva! I told you to request clearance when we entered Polish airspace!” Captain Yarov shouted, whipping a finger from one fighter jet to the other. He had been in the lavatory when they crossed the border. The inflight salmon had not agreed with him...

His much younger copilot, Kosmen, shook his head in a frantic rebuttal. “I did, I did! You always assume things are my fault!”

Though his shoulders remained tense, Captain Yarov would use his smoothest airline-captain voice to respond to the MiG pilots in English. “This is UIA flight 244, confirming that we have received your message. Raptor 2-1, please further advise. Over.”


Meanwhile, on the ground, Agent Pipenko would walk to where he was instructed, keeping a close eye on the truck he’d been assigned to shepherd out of Ukraine. He noted the firearm on the guard’s hip. He felt naked without his own pistol, but had been specifically instructed not to take any weapons on this mission.

Lyudmila Yanukovych would remove a small icon of St. Christopher from her pocket and kiss the image. Beside her were her and the Prime Minister's two sons, Oles and Vitya. At 26 and 18 they were certainly old enough to comprehend the importance of remaining silent in this situation. They had felt the vehicle come to a halt and could no longer hear the engine, but they were unaware of friends or foes beyond the three rows of vegetable crates.

ManBear

---

Muffled whispering, the Americans could conclude that Yushchenko was giving instructions to someone, though they likely couldn’t catch every word. After a moment, the President would hold the cellphone to his ear again. “Our Spetsnaz groups were originally revived by Russian funding. They fall under the command of the SSU--not the MoD. We trust Director Radchenko’s loyalty and leadership, but these units haven’t seen real combat before. We would like assistance securing the Ministry of Defense building, as well as the Verkhovna Rada. Is that possible?”

Odinson

---

Sleet ran down the gilded face of Berehynia. Despite the cold, 401 of the country’s 450 members of parliament had arranged themselves at the base of the statue’s column, one group for every oblast. Everyday Ukrainians in fur hats and winter coats circled around them in the Maidan, observing as silently as they would any normal session of the Verkhovna Rada.

“And how do the Honorable People’s Deputies of Zhytomyr vote?” The crack of a megaphone broke across the stillness of the square. First Deputy Chairman Viktor Musiyaka held a cellphone in his other hand as he waited for the last votes to be tallied. He was acting more-or-less as a mouthpiece for Leonid Kuchma.

A woman detached from the Zhytomyr circle, paper in hand. With a raw throat she would declare, “The People’s Deputies of Zhytomyr vote as follows: none absent or abstaining; six in favor; none against!”

“How many?” Kuchma asked, tethered to the Rada bunker’s only working rotary phone. His staffers had stopped counting long ago.

Musiyaka couldn’t hear him over the cheering crowd, but continued with a full account of the votes as was procedurally required. “Honorable Deputies, My Fellow Ukrainians, the votes for this motion tally 49 absent or abstaining; 401 in favor; none against. The motion is passed, and it is passed unanimously!”

“All of them?” Kuchma asked, staring at the phone receiver in disbelief. “401? All of them?” Some of the staffers behind him would hug, others toasted with canteens full of ration water they had found within the depths of the bomb-shelter. Taras (the laziest but most endearing intern Kuchma had ever encountered), had made him a paper crown and declared him ‘the Temp Tsar!’

Musiyaka would bring the block of a cellphone to his ear. “President Kuchma, allow me to congratulate you on your appointment. You are now Ukraine's acting Head of State. Would you like to say a few words?”

The new Acting President would have it known that he certainly would. Musiyaka would request several times for the crowd to settle. When the Maidan was as close to calm as it would get, Musiyaka would hold the cellphone to the megaphone and allow Kuchma to speak.

First, he would recite the oath of office--which he had well memorized.

“I, Leonid Danylovych Kuchma, elected by the will of the people as the President of Ukraine, assuming this high office, do solemnly swear allegiance to Ukraine. I pledge with all my undertakings to protect the Sovereignty and Independence of Ukraine, to provide for the Good of the Motherland and the welfare of the Ukrainian People, to protect the Rights and Freedoms of citizens, to abide by the Constitution of Ukraine and the laws of Ukraine, to exercise my duties in the interests of all compatriots, and to enhance the prestige of Ukraine in the world.”

Again he would have to wait for the crowd to quiet. “My Fellow Ukrainians…” There was a brief chuckle from Kuchma as he came to the realization, “I have not prepared a speech.” Unable to read the reaction of the far off crowd, he would instead turn towards his staff as he spoke into the phone.

“Ukrainians,” he began, speaking to the everyday citizens. “You are the nation’s burning heart, and without you we would have collapsed. You performed a pilgrimage to Independence Square in order to voice your love for Republicanism. Men with guns have seized the Rada Building in order to stop us from conducting this vote, but they forget that the Verkhovna Rada is not a building--it is a representative-body elected to serve the People. Tomorrow, we may host our parliament on the steps of St. Mikhail’s, or on the banks of the Dniper as our Kozak forefathers did. It does not matter where the spark of liberty is carried, Ukraine’s people are ignited.

“This vote would not have been possible without our Peoples’ Deputies. When I called this session of parliament, they departed from warm homes into the freezing rain and winter cold alongside you. Like sentinels tending signal fires, they face the elements in the name of Ukrainian Liberty. They have bridged party lines in order to ensure our country’s highest seat of power is not vacant or usurped.
“With private patriots and People’s Deputies taking action, I have no doubt Ukraine will make it through this winter storm. As acting President I will also do my part, working with you and for you. Let us remind Mr. Kuzmuk that although Hetmen were military leaders, they were empowered by the people, not the sword.”

 

[GingeOrCringe]

private

“They can’t get in,” Leonid Kuchma, Acting President, would assure his staff. The Militsiya were ramming something against the bombshelter’s metal entrance. It was a fool’s errand, they might as well try to carry water in a sieve. Kuchma returned to his phone call, though the banging continued. He was trying to determine which People’s Deputies would be most suited for-

“We have one of your people!”

Kuchma would snap his head up and count his ducklings. Five. Everyone who had been working with him the previous evening was accounted for, including Intern Taras. “They’re lying. Don’t engage with them,” he muttered.

“Who?” asked Musiyaka over the phone. “What’s going on?”

“The Militsiya want to crash my election party. It’s a Soviet bombshelter, they can't get in, it's fine. As I was saying--”

“We’ll kill him!”

“Would you shut up?” Kuchma shouted back. He would toss the phone on the table as he marched towards the door. “I’m not dumb enough to fall for that. I have my whole team with me.”

An agonized scream echoed in the concrete hallway outside the door. The staffers shared horrified glances. Everyone was accounted for, but it was impossible to ignore the cry.

“Don’t give us that bullshit,” scoffed one of the men outside. “We found him in your office, hiding under your desk. Now come out here if you want him to go home to his family. We just want to talk.”

“Let go of me!” Said another unknown man.

Kuchma furrowed his brow and put his ear to the door. Like distant music, there was something vaguely familiar about that voice. He counted one more time; Four staff, one Taras, and himself. Everyone who had been in his office the evening before... “Blyat! You’re that son-of-a-train-station-whore from Pravda! What the hell do you think you were doing behind my desk?”

Another scream.

“Reporter or political aid, his blood will be on your hands if you don’t open up.”

“Blyat!” He repeated, slamming a hand against the door. “You think I’m gonna stick my neck out for one piece-of-shit journalist?”

A third Scream.

“He has seven more fingers. We’re going to break one every minute this door remains closed.”

Kuchma glanced around the bomb-shelter. His staff were avoiding his gaze. “I just told you, I’m not going to let you murder me and my team in exchange for one tabloid reporter. Besides, you would just shoot him after us.”

“A warrant has been issued for your arrest, not your death. The others will be investigated. It will look better for them if they come out now, rather than waiting.” There was another scream from the journalist.

“We can’t let them do this,” said Artur Baran. They had been through three political campaigns together--now was not the time to grow a heart.

Kuchma would walk over to him and, with two fingers, tap him between the eyes. “That is where you should hope they shoot you.”

“There has to be something we can do, Leo. We can’t just sit around listening to them torture that man!”

“The SSU are already sending people. We’ll call again, tell them to hurry up, but none of you are touching that door. Do you understand me?”

“Um, Mr. Kuchma, sir," Taras peeped. He was standing at the table with a broken phone receiver in his hand. "I... I think you might have thrown it a little too hard..."

Damn fragile thing. But why was he suprised? It was Soviet, after all...

 

[ManBear]

"Commercial Flight UIA 244, This is Raptor 2-1. Change bearing to two-four-niner and descend to ten thousand feet. Begin preparations to land at Warsaw International Airport. Repeating. Begin preparations to land at Warsaw International Airport."

The two MiG fighters would take up positions on either side of the commercial airlines wings to insure they could be seen from the seating areas.

"Flight UIA 244, this is Raptor 2-1. Are you able to confirm that a passenger is on board the flight at this time"

____________________________________________________

As the SSU agent parked the vehicle and walked away he would see the armed men immediately pull balaclavas over their faces and proceed towards the unattended van. Their uniform camouflage pattern marked them as Polish Military but upon closer inspection of the uniforms they had no identifiable patches or name tags. These men would be ghosts to anyone trying to identify them without blood, hair, and facial recognition match. Two of the men moved quickly to the rear of the van before swinging the doors open.

"Mrs. Yanukovych. My name is Igor. I am with Polish Special Forces. You are safe now. We will be coming in to retrieve you." They spoke in Ukrainian so as to avoid any communication issues.

As this was occurring in broad daylight, the guard raised his rifle at the SSU Agent and ordered him into the back of the silver Sprinter Van.

"This is just for show for the Ukrainian soldiers across the border." A man said from inside the van. "Please get in, Agent."

GingeOrCringe

 

[GingeOrCringe]

“Flight UIA 244 speaking: we copy. Presently beginning preparations,” said the captain as the plane began to descend to ten thousand feet. He paused, “affirmative: we have multiple passengers--130 souls on board.”

In the cabin, travelers would lean over each other to get a better look at the impressive jets.

“That’s more like it,” muttered Prime Minister Yanukovych as he reclined. He was thankful for the Polish escort, but it was a disgrace that foreign countries provided him with a better security detail than Ukraine did.

---

Agent Pipenko's fingers twitched for his absent Makarov. The last person to point a gun at him had been a heroin lord. Pipenko, remembering himself and the current situation, would slowly raise his hands in ‘surrender.’ He would comply with any further Polish showmanship and enter the sprinter van as directed. “You had me fooled for a moment there,” he told the other men with an uneasy laugh.

In the back of the other van Mrs. Yanukovych would kiss both of her sons on the forehead and would exit with the Polish special forces, feeling very relieved.

ManBear

---

There were so many guns, thought Olena as she and her family followed the Svoboda members into the Lviv television studio.

“Ukrinform and the Militsiya wanted to coordinate the best security for you,” said Navolsky.

Pavlo hadn’t had a drop of gin all day, yet he was all smiles. Earlier, he and Navolsky had come to her, ”We’re just asking you to give a brief statement.” A brief statement, a small welcome dinner, one stop in Lviv--they weren’t huge requests, but they added up and made Olena feel ancient.

“I’m not a politician,” she had responded. “I never have been, and I don’t want to get involved in this.”

“But we already are,” had been Pavlo’s reasoning. “We inherited this country and the duty of caring for it. Will you really do nothing while your father’s nation falls back under communist control?”

She had wanted to ask her son just when he had become responsible for anything--but Navolsky had spoken first. “Just a brief statement, it’s already written. We think it’s important for the people to hear you.”

“To hear me?”

“Yes, you, the heir to Hetman Skoropadsky--the embodiment of Ukrainian nationhood and freedom.”

She had stared at him for what must have been a full minute. “I cannot fill my father’s boots or carry the Bulava, but I will make sure I’m heard.” As Pavlo said, they had a responsibility.

They had given her notecards to review, had her read them over and over several times, going so far as to correct the tone and inflection in her voice. Ukrinform's hair-and-makeup team would pin her long, white, white locks into a bun--just the way her mother used to wear hers. The station director--a man with a steady, stern voice, but whose hands shook like he was in some kind of withdrawl--would position the petite old lady at a podium. She would review her notecards one last time before the green 'on air' light flicked on.

 

[Odinson]

President Gore could sense the intensity of everyone else in the Oval Office staring at him. No doubt there were about thirty different opinions on the room as to what he should say. "Mister President, if we sent in American special forces to help recapture the Ministry of Defense and the parliament building, how confident are you that this would end the conflict? It seems like the situation may have progressed past who controls what buildings in Kiev. You have to understand from my point of view that if we send in a tactical team, we need a reasonable expectation that it wont be a suicide mission and they'll make it out a live, under our custody. If the Ministry of Defense is compromised, is the high command of Ukraine compromised as well, or are they still loyal to your legitimate government? I can't send a few dozen Americans to their deaths if it wont make a difference - I hope that you understand that. I need some concrete reassurances here," the President said before he waited for a response.

GingeOrCringe

 

[ManBear]

"Flight UIA 244, this is Raptor 2-1. We have an affirmative of one, three, zero souls on board flight. Confirmed. Please inform the passengers that their flight is being delayed and that the Poland apologizes for such an inconvenience. Once you land have all passengers remain on board and sitting in their assigned seats. You will be met on the tarmac by Polish Police and Armed Forces. Allow them to board the plane without hindrance. Do you copy that information, Flight UIA 244?"

While the lead MiG would converse with the pilots of the aircraft, the wingman would wave through his cockpit glass at the passengers, make sure to wave at any children on board.

______________________

While 'Igor' entered into the van and began throwing boxes of vegetables aside until a pathway was cleared for the mother and two sons to leave but he raised his hand to them to stop. He keyed a radio attached to his vest and began speaking. "Tygrys get the van. Lew, Mis, watch the border to make sure our friends dont try anything. Keep your rifles down and don't do anything unless provoked." Once he was done issuing orders, he offered the three cloth bags to place over their heads. "Very sorry about this ma'am. It is to protect your identities." He spoke in Ukrainian with a heavy polish accent. A van quickly squealed its tires as it stopped just outside the rear of the truck. The Polish Special Forces were not taking any chances today.

______________________

"If we had you fooled, Agent, then we should definitely have the soldiers across the border fooled." The voice went to a small round man wearing a cheap suit. The compliment came from a mouth that held a lit cigarette loosely in his mouth. "Don't worry about Mrs. Yanukovych and her children. GROM is more than capable of handling anything between here and our destination." As the Agent clamored into the van, the border guard also got in. "Welcome to Poland. Sorry you had to meet GROM this way. We would have preferred to have a joint operation taking down terrorists than faking a kidnapping."

______________________

In a field roughly thirty minute drive away from the border sat a PZL W-3A helicopter painted in Polish Green. Two soldiers were standing outside of it waiting for the arrival of their package.

GingeOrCringe

 

[GingeOrCringe]

Polish Airspace
ManBear

“This is UIA 244 We copy loud and clear,” said the Captain before making the announcement to his passengers.

In the cabin, six-year-old passenger Pylyp would remove his finger from his nose and slowly draw it towards his mouth before he accidentally locked his gaze with the second MiG pilot. Pylyp decided it would be more polite to wipe the booger on the back of the headrest in front of him. He did so with all the stealth of a six-year-old. He would then wave back at the pilot.

The Ukrainian pilots would continue to prepare for landing at the instruction of the Polish authorities.

---

Polish Border
ManBear

Mrs. Yanukovych and her sons would stand once Igor reached them. “Happy to meet you Mister- oh,” she said as Igor held up his hand and spoke into his radio. She stared for a moment at the cloth bag he had handed her. Had his accent not been so strong, the Ukrainian speaking stranger, the black bag, and the absence of Agent Pipenko would have caused her greater distress.

“It will only be for a short while,” Oles, her oldest son, would assure. Like many city-dwelling Ukrainians who had grown up in the USSR, he spoke mainly in Russian, but understood what Igor was saying. The family would comply with instruction.

In the van, Agent Pipenko would eye the stranger’s cigarette enviously. “I saw that televised demonstration--the Shoot House Experiment. I’m happy we have your assistance.” He paused and excused himself for a moment. The agent drew a pager from his pocket and sent a 5 digit number sequence confirming to SSU HQ that the cargo had made it safely over the border.

---

Verkhovna Rada Bombshelter,
Kyiv

They were gathered around him in a tableau, like hospital residents observing their first neurosurgery. Rather than the beeping of a heart rate monitor, the screams of the Pravda reporter served as accompaniment for the procedure.

"Are you sure that's not supposed to reconnect there?" Taras asked again. He had attended each introductory physics course Shevshchenko University had to offer, and had impressibly failed each one.

Kuchma inhaled sharply through his nostrils. “Yes." He repeated for the final time. The wires in the phone’s audio-earpiece were miniscule, but the design was easy enough for any first year engineering pupil to understand. "I was a Testing Director for Tsyklon-2 and I have a Lenin Prize in Engineering, I know how to get a goddamn phone to work.”

"Sorry," squeaked Taras, only trying to help.

Kuchma shook his head. He had the team--the best--but they were masters of political science, not physics. “You have a ballpoint pen?" He asked, knowing the young man liked to feel helpful. “And a lighter, while you’re at it.”

Taras would hand him a pen. “I don’t smoke, remember? Gotta keep my lungs clean for tennis.” He would give a deep inhale-exhale for effect.

After some eye rolling from everyone else, another staffer would hand Kuchma a lighter. He flicked the tiny flint-wheel a few times, trying to melt plastic from the pen cap onto the phone wires to secure them. The lighter sent forth a few sparks, but no reliable flame. “Useful as tits on a nun,” he muttered.

Everyone present suddenly wanted to give their input. They began talking over each other like a flock of jabbering starlings. “Alright, let me think. I need you to all shut up and let me think,” Kuchma repeated as some of the team members began arguing, and the Pravda reporter’s screams grew more agonized.

Baran had wandered away from his colleagues and the phone. Of everyone, he seemed the most disturbed by the torture going on just outside the bunker walls. “I can’t stand for this anymore.” His hand went for the lock.

Taras was the only one who had heard him. “Hey, wait a second,” the intern reasoned as he rushed to stop the swing of the door. He got there within seconds, but not before a Militsiya officer jammed his boot in the crack to secure the opening.

For a moment it sounded like firecrackers in a pot, then there was a ringing, the shouting of Militsiya officers... A hideous gargling came from the concrete floor where Taras lay. His hands pressed to his throat as red bloomed through his fingers.

---

Ukrinform Television Station,
Lviv

"We're going back on air in five minutes," Navolsky's voice was calm but his teeth were clenched. "You're going to read that damn script."

"I told you over and over," argued Olena, shaking two tiny, balled up fists. She was such a small woman, barely 155cm. "I told you I did not want to be involved in politics! I won't be a part of this silly scheme of yours!"

Pavlo stood off to the side with a wrinkled brow as he tried to process what was unfolding in front of him. "Everyone here just wants a stronger, safer Ukraine. Don't you want our country to prosper?"

His mother gave him a look he hadn't seen since he had ripped up one of the family photo albums as a child. "You think you're going to be a hetman, and you think they're willing to give you that. They want a dictatorship."

Pavlo shook his head, "What do you want people to do, hand power to a former Soviet leader? This is a state of emergency. Kuzmuk supports Svboda. He just wants a strong Ukraine with, eventually, a Skoropadsky in charge. What's so horrible about that?"

"Get back behind that podium," Navolsky pointed.

The little old woman shook her head "No, I--"

The room was deafened with a ringing. Pavlo stared at the barrel of the Glock 17. He had seen the flash when it fired. He turned his gaze down for a moment. No pain. No blood. Navolsky had shot past him into the wall. When Pavlo looked up again, the gun was just inches from his forehead. Navolsky was saying something, but it took a minute for Pavlo’s hearing to return. " --brains all over the floor, you're going to do what I tell you! We only need one heir alive."

Olena nodded vigorously, holding up her hands as she backed towards the podium. She'd read it if they promised not to hurt him. She'd read it, she repeated. Two militsiya officers approached Pavlo, each taking one of his arms as Navolsky lowered the gun. Olena wiped at her eyes, trying not to ruin the makeup they'd put on her. "I'll read it," she repeated, shuffling the papers into a neat stack. She exhaled shakily as she glanced around like someone who had misplaced an heirloom wedding ring. "First, please, where have you taken my granddaughter?"

---

Oleksandrivska Hospital,
Kyiv Odinson

“I assure you, Mister President, the majority of Ukrainians support our republican system. Military dictatorship is too reminiscent of the Soviet regime, it can't succeed. Kuzmuk only has police and radicals as support. They… Well, they don’t have the funding to be doing this.”

President Yushchenko shifted painfully in his hospital bed. “Free Ukraine did not inherit the Red Army. Our country underwent four leadership changes between 1991 and the end of ‘95.” If the Americans had done their homework, they would understand that Ukraine had not only undergone changes in leadership, but systems of government. From Soviet to free state, free state to neo-soviet in 1995, then a free republic once more, but now...

Yushchenko continued, “Each time there were very different ideas of what the military should be. Equipment and personnel were decommissioned each time. You can draw a conclusion as to the strength of our Ministry of Defense, yes? I'm confident we'll be able to stop all of this with a little assisstance. I should add that while Kuzmuk has support from the rest of his ministry in Kyiv, the military outside of Kyiv has not mobilized to assist him—despite his order to do so.”

“If we can retake the Rada Building and take Kuzmuk into custody this will quickly end. He’ll be put on trial, of course, and we’ll reward your--” The Americans might pick up a few whispered words, but not enough to understand what was being said. “Bozhe mir, what else?” President Yushchenko would return his attention to the cellphone. “I apologize for the interruption. President Gore, we are incredibly short on time. I need your answer now.”

 

[ManBear]

The lead raptor would push his throttle forward enough to propel himself to be within view of the cockpit. “Flight UIA 244, this Raptor 2-1. I will be transferring communications to Air Traffic Control Warsaw. They will guide you in safely. Again, we apologize for the inconvenience.”

The lead MiG slowed backdown to be within view of the passenger compartment before the two MiGs began separating from the aircraft. Once a safe distance was achieved, the two aircraft banked hard away from the aircraft and deployed flares, giving the passengers a small theatrical display before climbing high above the aircraft. They would remain within fighting distance of the commercial aircraft until it had safely landed.

Not long after the MiGs disengaged from the airliner, the radio would begin speaking again. This time is was the probably familiar voice of an Air Traffic Controller from Warsaw international airport. They would begin relaying directions and orders for the flight to land. As the pilots neared the ground they would see a contingent of Police and soldiers standing nearby the runway.

________________________

Once the Family was on board the van, their hoods would be carefully removed by the soldiers. “Here eat and drink. You must be hungry.” In the man’s hands were a couple bottles of waters and sandwiches that had been wrapped in wax paper.

In the other van, the round man pulled a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket and offered one to the undercover GROM soldier, who refused with a hand wave, before offering one to the Agent.

The border guard/GROM operator, smiled at the mention of the shoot house experiment. “Mother always said I’d be famous one day. Never thought it would be because of a publicity stunt of the Land Forces.” He laughed as he eyeballed the pager. Hopefully they weren’t be double crossed.

After roughly half a hour driving, the vans pulled to a stop as the sound of a helicopter spinning up could be heard outside. The special forces operators would disembark and scan the area with their rifles at low ready, ensuring they area was secure before calling the packages out of the vans

“Agent, you will stay with the family while they are in Poland. GROM will get whatever equipment you feel is necessary to protect them while they are here. Once you get to the safe house, expect another team to arrive carrying another HVP.”

If the Agent took a cigarette earlier in the van, the round man would offer him the remaining pack and the zippo lighter with it.

GingeOrCringe

 

[GingeOrCringe]

In the cabin of the plane passangers were in awe of the MiGs' were demonstration. The flight attendents would come through to collect any cups or empty peanut packets before desending. One of them stopped near Prime Minister Yanukovych's seat and stared for a moment. "You know," she began, "this whole flight I've been thinking you look exactly like... Nevermind." She said, putting two and two together.

Inorder to land the plane as quickly and as safely as possible, the Ukrainian pilots would follow Air Traffic Control's instructions exactly..

"Ah, kurva," said the co-pillot as the plane came to a stop on the tarmack where it was directed. "Do we have someone important on board? Here I was thinking we were getting stopped because of a bomb, or a big drug investigation, or something." Ukrainian authorities had purchased the Prime Minister's ticket under a different name to avoid any unwanted attention or orders to land while in Ukrainian airspace.

Before the passengers could rush to retrieve their carry-on luggage from the overhead compartments, the captain would once again ask them to remain seated. Polish authorities would be allowed to board.

---

"Dziękuję," Agent Pipenko would thank his counterpart for the cigarette. This was true slavic hospitality. He could feel the GROM operator's eyes on him as he finished the pager message. "HQ," he said plainly, as if that explained everything. He was not one for small talk and would spend the rest of the ride in silence unless prompted to speak. Once they exited the vehicles, Pipenko would nod and listen closely to what the Poles had to say. He would request the following items:

• A hand gun and a submachine gun--any would do, he was in no position to be picky. If possible, a briefcase to conceal the submachine gun would be appreciated.
• A first aid kit
• A radio or another type of encrypted communications device to coordinate with the Polish team

Agent Pipenko would smile and accept the cigarettes. "We already owe you so much. I hope Ukraine can repay the kindness one day. At the very least I can buy you a few drinks if you're ever in Kyiv."


ManBear