incoming targets, including incoming aircraft and missiles, and firing 12.5mm depicted-uranium slugs at a rate of six thousand rounds per minute. This one car presented a formidable force by itself.
“They know we’re here,” com ms specialist Junior Lieutenant Yuri Ignatov said. He entered the information he was picking up by radio into his battle planning computer, which was similar to the BSY-1 used on nuclear submarines. In this case the computer would spit out weapons and tactical options based on real time information it was being fed, and relay it to Colonel Drankov and his unit commanders.
Even as the information came up on the display screen, they could see the troops spilling out of the bunkers to the southeast of Central Control. A pair of rocket launchers came up from a tunnel and started to turn toward the train.
“Take them out,” Chemov ordered.
Their weapons officer, Lieutenant Nikolai Zabotin, entered the new targeting data into his console, and as they got within two hundred meters of the rocket launchers, cannons on the lead car ripped both trucks apart, shredding metal, rubber, plastic and human flesh indiscriminately. Both launchers went up in huge balls of flame, scattering burning debris and ordnance over the FSK ground troops pouring out of the bunkers.
“We’re a hundred fifty meters out, prepare to dismount,” Chernov radioed Drankov. He reached up and braced himself against the overhead.
The others did the same, as the train’s coordinated braking system, which operated much like anti lock brakes on a luxury car, slowed them almost as quickly as a truck could be slowed in an emergency, and ten times faster than any ordinary train could slow down.
As soon as their speed dropped below twenty kilometers per hour, the battle doors on each car slid open, hinged ramps dropped down, and Drankov’s commandoes aboard their armored assault vehicles shot from the train like wild dogs suddenly released from confinement, firing as they made sharp turns into what remained of the FSK’s first response force.
Tarankov keyed his microphone. “This is Tarankov. Send Units Three and Four to blow the main gates.”
“The alert has been called to the main Militia barracks,” Ignatov said.
“The people will fill the streets before they can get here.”
“The Militia might run them over,” Ignatov said.
“Three and Four en route,” Drankov cut in.
They could see the two units peel off toward the west, while One and Two headed toward the main electrical distribution yard on the opposite side of the complex.
By the time the train came to a complete halt across from the Central Control building, Drankov’s main force had taken out the last of the FSK troops, and his men were racing through the building, blasting their way through doors leading into each level, then leapfrogging ahead. Within eight minutes from the start of the assault the main gates were down, and the first of thousands of people from the suburb were pouring into the compound, the main electrical distribution yards which covered more than fifty hectares were destroyed, the two reactors were shut down, the four water races were collapsed with heavy explosives, the control room with its complex control panel and its computer equipment was completely demolished, and every on duty guard, engineer or staff member was dead or dying.
“Five minutes and we’ve got to be out of here,” Chernov said. He’d donned a headset and was listening to the military radio traffic between the Dzerzhinskiy Militia and the main barracks downtown.
“Sound the recall,” Tarankov said.
Liesel was beside herself with excitement. “This’ll teach the bastards a lesson,” she said.
“One they won’t soon forget,” Chernov shot back.
Tarankov opened the hatch and climbed out onto the catwalk as the crowds swarmed across the vast parking lot toward the train.
“Five minutes,” Chernov shouted.
“COMRADES, MY NAME IS YEVGENNI TARANKOV, AND I HAVE COME TODAY TO OFFER YOU MY HAND IN FRIENDSHIP AND HELP.”
THREE
Have you had any sleep?” Tarankov asked. Chernov shook his head as he placed the last of three cases of Marlboros into the trunk of the Mercedes 520S parked beside the tracks. The top two layers of cartons actually contained cigarettes. He closed the trunk, leaned back against the car and accepted a cigarette from Tarankov, though he hated the things.
“It went well this morning,” Tarankov said. “Moscow is going to have to deal with power outages for a long time. It’ll make things worse for them.”
“Yeltsin and his cronies have access to emergency generators. And if things get too bad they can always escape to the dachas.”
“You don’t approve,” Tarankov said crossly. He was tired too.
“On the contrary, Comrade. I neither approve nor disapprove. But I’m a realist enough to understand that it’s the ordinary people on the street who make revolutions possible. Once the leader is in power, he can do anything he wants, because he’ll control the guns, and the butter. But if he loses the people in the beginning he will have lost the revolution.”
“A good speech, Leonid. But you failed to take into account the fact I was cheered.”
“By the people of Dzerzhinskiy who were afraid of the power station. By next winter when the snow flies again, and still there is not enough power in Moscow, the rest of the city will remember who to blame.”
Tarankov smiled family. “By then the power will be restored.” An event, he thought, that Chernov would not be alive to witness.
“That’s as optimistic as it is naive, I think,” Chernov said.
They were parked in a birch woods two hundred fifty kilometers north of Moscow. Tarankov gazed across a big lake, still frozen, his eyes narrowing against the glare from the setting sun, as he tried to keep his temper in check.
“Throughout the summer I will divert military construction battalions from as many divisions as it will take to get the job done in ninety days,” he said.
“You do have a timetable,” Chernov said, flipping the cigarette away. “If you’re right, Dzerzhinskiy can be turned into an advantage. And Nizhny Novgorod can be important if the situation doesn’t become untenable after tomorrow. But you still need Moscow and St. Petersburg. We can’t kill them all.”
“Only those necessary.”
“They’re not stupid. They’ll figure out your plans, and try to block you somehow.”
“It’s already too late for them,” Tarankov said. “You’re close to me, have you figured it out?”
Chernov smiled. “It’s not my job. I’m nothing more than a means to your end.”
“What about when we come into power?”
“I’ll leave, Comrade Tarantula, because I will no longer be needed. And we know what happens to people in Russia who are not needed.”
“Maybe I’ll kill you now,” Tarankov said with a dangerous edge in his voice.
Chernov’s gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t think that would be quite as easy as you might think,” he said in a reasonable tone. He pushed away from the car, and Tarankov backed up a half-pace despite himself. “I have work to do, unless you have second thoughts.”
“You’re confident you can do it?” Chernov nodded seriously. “Yeltsin could have been eliminated anytime over the past couple of years, but nobody wanted to take responsibility for it. He’s not been worth killing until now.” “Am I worth killing, Leonid?” Tarankov asked.
“Oh, yes. Especially after tomorrow,” Chernov replied. “And believe me they will try. Someone will almost certainly try.”
“You will see that they fail.”
“That, Comrade Tarankov, is my job.” Chernov pointed to the cigarette in Tarankov’s meaty paw. “But they
