The Soviet Comeback by Jamie Smith (best ereader for academics TXT) 📕

his face as comprehension began to dawn. “The bombs…”

“Yes, they have been successfully moved to the caves. The operation has been in the planning for longer than you can imagine. The great forces of the world are moving, and we must ride the crest of the wave or else face utter destruction. It is our final roll of the dice.”

“So the treaty Petrenko signed…”

Denisov laughed. “A piece of paper we manoeuvred the Americans into signing. A masterful display of political fencing from our much-maligned general secretary. Yerin knew of the plan but lost faith; he lost patience. Fortunately, his ill-conceived bombing of the Capitol ended up being more smoke than fire; Burn failed him. While the US disarms, we will build our nuclear strength to unprecedented levels. Soon, comrade, we will strike, and the world will tremble at the Soviet might.”

Nikita sat in silence, the enormity of the global deception settling upon him. Only one thing ran through his mind; Elysia would be right in the eye of the storm.

“You will go to Afghanistan and oversee the nuclear armament operation.”

“But what of the neo-Nazis? What of the hidden power?”

“That is no longer your concern.”

“They murdered my mother! And probably my father! For nothing more than the crime of having a different colour skin!”

“Actually, I have received word that your father is awake.”

“What? You only tell me this now!” Nikita exploded, leaping to his feet, no longer controlling his emotions.

“Remember to whom you are speaking, agent,” Denisov replied, a warning in his voice.

Nikita slumped into his chair, his head in his hands. He looked up at Denisov. “Is he well?”

“No, but it seems he will survive.”

Nikita released an enormous sigh and a low chuckle born of relief and exasperation.

“Very well, sir. I will go to Afghanistan.”

“Excell—”

“But I do have one condition,” interrupted Nikita.

Denisov raised his eyebrows. “KGB agents do not set conditions, they follow orders. I thought I had trained you better than that.”

“I know my training all too well, sir. But I think you will agree that we find ourselves in a unique situation. The KGB failed me. The reason I joined was solely to protect my family. You did not do this. My request is not a great one, but will mean there are no distractions from my role in the Afghan mountains.”

“Spit it out,” Denisov said flatly.

“I want my family moved somewhere they can better fit in. Where Milena can enjoy a normal life, surrounded by other children. Somewhere they will not be targeted by Pamyat, or whatever other racist movement our beloved country spawns next.”

“You could use some further training in diplomacy, I think, Agent Allochka,” said Denisov.

Nikita said nothing.

“Very well. Perhaps Kazan? They may feel more at home there?”

“I was thinking rather further afield, sir.”

“Go on,” replied Denisov, rolling his eyes.

“Perhaps the United Kingdom?”

“The UK? You must be mad!” laughed Denisov.

“Nigeria?”

“Ah, there was the real request,” Denisov replied knowingly. “They cannot go to a non-communist nation, Allochka, you know better than that.”

“OK then, Cuba?”

“Cuba?” said Denisov raising his eyebrows. He looked as if he were chewing on his cheeks as he ruminated on all the pros and cons.

“They will be able to blend in, and they are our greatest ally in the west. You will give them a good home in a good neighbourhood, nowhere remote,” Nikita said assertively. “This is non-negotiable. Do this and I will of course continue to fulfil my duty.”

“Yes, yes, OK. I will make the arrangements,” Denisov responded with a great deal of obvious restraint.

Nikita laughed. “I’m going to need that in writing, sir.”

“Very well, now let us return to the mission at hand,” said Denisov, waving a hand in irritation and returning to the slide projector.

Nikita settled into the seat, and tried not to think about the devastation planned for the place he had called home for the past year.

***

The wind whipped and whirled around the three heavily-clad figures, silhouetted against the perpetual twilight of Bolshevik Island, a spit of rock and ice in the lost north of the world.

The Kara Sea rocked and churned far below them as they stood near the cliff edge and looked upon the peaceful face of Sophie Allochka, surrounded in brightly coloured traditional Nigerian garments, before two Soviet soldiers rested the lid of the coffin into place and began to lower it into the frozen ground.

Nikita had his arm around Milena, whose arms were wrapped around his side. Gabriel Allochka leant heavily on his other shoulder, his face grey and pale. They had advised against his attendance, but all had relented when they saw the look in his eyes.

“This is not where I would have picked for her to be laid to rest; it is not Nigeria, and there is no colour or singing. But it is as wild, beautiful and unique as she was,” Gabriel said softly.

Tears fell freely from the eyes of Nikita, and a shiver ran through his soul. “I am sorry I failed you, Mother. You were the very best of us all,” he muttered.

“There was no failure, Niki. She was so proud of you. She loved you both so very much,” said Gabriel.

The two soldiers stepped back, and Denisov stepped forward. “You lived with honour and integrity. May you find the peace in death that we were not able to give you in life. May you rest in peace, Sophie Allochka.”

Nikita leant in and whispered to him. “Of course. Rest in peace, Sophie Wadike.”

The soldiers raised their guns and fired two shots into the air, the cracks echoing over the icy ground before being lost in the swirling winds and slate-grey seas.

Milena sobbed heavily, and the three Wadikes embraced each other. Denisov signalled to the soldiers and they withdrew.

“When will