Red Hammer 1994

A blend of self-deprecation and betrayal stoked the hatred brewing in Laptev’s heart. The reformists had so thoroughly destroyed the country’s weakened and fragile infrastructure that an attempt to turn back the clock was failing miserably. The civil glue that held man’s more primitive instincts in check was cracking. The prognosis made even the most hardened and cynical Kremlin bureaucrat tremble—civil war across the length and breadth of Russia. Once unleashed, the fighting would be uncontrolled and catastrophic, like Yugoslavia magnified one hundred times.

The Russian defense minister banged the door open and entered the smoke-filled room, waving a message over his head, incensed. An adroit old communist that had long ago sold his soul to the Liberal Democrats, the anointed head of the military was of medium height, completely bald, grossly overweight, and sour looking. His reddened face was puffy like he had just awakened from a difficult nap and his ample jowls jiggled as he shuffled toward his chair to the right of Laptev. He wore a drab brown suit that fit like a tent. Despite his shabby appearance and dull eyes, he was a clever survivor who had served many masters and had proved himself invaluable in military matters.

Laptev publicly applauded the old-party faithful who had flocked to his banner. Privately, he ridiculed them. To their credit, they worshipped a strong leader, despised democracy in any form, and rarely had an independent bone in their body. Orders were obeyed without question. Even many of the early Liberal Democrats exhibited a tendency to question Laptev’s more outrageous commands. Today the defense minister was the indignant patriot as he plopped into his chair.

“The latest dispatch from Ossetia,” he blurted out to no one in particular. “Traitors! They will be shot!” A buzz rose, and heads nodded in unison. A nondescript secessionist group in the so-called Northern Ossetian Republic had stormed an armory and made off with a cache of weapons including handheld surface-to-air missiles, leaving over twenty Russian troops dead. Such crimes were coming much too regularly. Laptev rightly suspected that some of the generals in this very room were encouraging such treasonous behavior, skimming a share of the spoils. A rash of executions had temporarily squelched such treason, but the lure of hard currency tucked safely in a foreign bank account provided a powerful inducement.

Laptev leaned forward slowly, shifting his weight to his thick forearms, resting on the table. His fat fingers were interlaced in a death grip. “Marshal Kiselev,” said the Russian president to a now-hushed room. “Perhaps you could explain how a ragtag mob of Muslim fanatics can snatch weapons in broad daylight right from under our very noses?”

Kiselev, the first deputy minister of defense and chief of the general staff, winced. He cleared his throat and cast a disparaging glance at the nearest army general, the one in charge of the Transcaucasus region. “Our forces are spread thin, too thin, President, and there are literally thousands of such armories throughout the nation, but the lapse of security is inexcusable.” The sentence had been pronounced—another “early retirement” from the ranks. The guilty officer accepted his fate dispassionately. The general staff had become a revolving door of late, and no one, even Kiselev, expected to last the winter.

Laptev chopped the air with his beefy hand. “These criminals must be taught a lesson.” He turned to his personal secretary, standing to his rear, a serious-looking mid-level bureaucrat, and the fifth in the last three months. “I want food and fuel deliveries to Ossetia cut by fifty percent immediately. I will show those ungrateful bastards.” He turned again to Kiselev, with a smug look folded into his face. “I want the missing weapons found and the culprits caught and executed. Understood?” Laptev had no patience for secessionists, or anyone that disagreed with him, for that matter.

No less than twenty-two separate entities within Russia’s borders were demanding varying degrees of sovereignty. The Caucasus Mountains just happened to be the latest flare-up. Besides chafing under the heavy yoke of their Slavic masters, the Muslim Ossetians were warring with neighboring Chechen-Ingush, also a Muslim hotbed of rebellion. If ethnic Russians weren’t caught in the crossfire, Laptev would gladly let the backward, filthy peasants slaughter each other. The northern and Siberian province breakaway threats presented a more severe headache. The Finno-Ugric speaking Republic of Karelia lay astride the militarily important Kola Peninsula, and the Republic of Yakutia-Sakha encompassed half of Siberia, including rich mineral deposits. It was like stamping out forest fires and chasing the band of arsonists at the same time.