It was a cold morning in Siberia, though here every morning was cold.
A Siberian polar bear reluctantly raised her head and looked toward the dimming sun, as if to glimpse the fading glory of past years.
A chill gust of wind passed by, and she retreated inside the cave.
Now she was old, unable to escape the death sentence that would surely come. Just like her motherland, her bones would be ground to dust by the tide of change.
Her children still clung to illusions of heaven. She wanted to believe in that too, but deep down she knew there was too much blood on her paws.
Surely, she would go to hell. Just like the crumbling red empire, it was up to fate whether she would be consumed by the devil or fall under the shadow of some greater evil.
She knew the the truth, in this frozen land, there was no heaven for the defeated.
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Moscow_ August 16, 1991
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At seven o'clock in the evening, the old bronze bell, weathered and wrinkled with age, on the Kremlin's clock tower struck seven times.
The streets were already sparsely populated, almost desolate.
The empire built on this long and twilight land is like this gradually thinning sunset, with the last ray of light dissipating, it exudes a silent but desolate sigh.
At that moment, Andrei, holding a goblet at the banquet, was surrounded by an air of melancholy.
He looked out the window at the decaying red square, then back at the young, hopeful faces at the banquet, faces full of dreams of reform, the future, and hope.
Andrei understood that his negative emotions were not suited to such a joyous gathering.
But he couldn't forget those hungry young faces that were sure to return, just as in his previous life.
He stood up slowly, and the laughing crowd immediately fell silent.
Following bureaucratic custom, everyone began to rise with him, but Andrei quickly motioned for them to stay seated.
Lifting his glass, he spoke slowly under the puzzled gazes of the audience:
"Gentlemen, as you know, our motherland is undergoing many crises and tests. Not everyone understands or supports us. But for her sake, and for the people, we must unite. Her brilliance still shines on each of us, guiding us forward, forever."
Clap. Clap. Clap... Clap. Clap. Clap...
When he finished speaking, applause echoed through the hall, mechanical and perfunctory, like the grinding of a machine.
Andrei knew it was hollow. Even If they do it from the heart, it still felt empty.
So he simply closed his eyes and said nothing more.
It had been four months since he had arrived here. Even now, he still couldn't decide what he truly wanted.
(Is this my destiny?)
Andrei questioned himself silently.
He wasn't the real Andrei Ivanov.
He had no stake in this race. Forget his last life even in this one, he had no love for the Soviet Union. He wasn't even Russian. He had no problem with the collapse of the USSR.
(Why am I doing this? As a red prince I could flee to America and live a comfortable life.)
After all, he had once been nothing more than a dirt-poor reporter in a dirt-poor third-world country.
(Was it to stop the fall of a shitty idea like communism? Was it some idealistic fantasy? Was it because I cared about the common people? Or was it for world peace, or some other crap like that?)
Andrei didn't want to know. But deep down, he already knew the answer.
"So, in the end, I'm just another bastard who couldn't control himself in front of power."
A cruel smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
(Finally, I've become just like them.)
As a reporter, Andrei had once seen the true face of this world. He despised the ruling class, yet now he was one of them.
It was quite an ironic change.
____________________________________________
Then someone spoke, Andrei's thoughts were cut off.
"Comrade Andrei, can you announce what you want to say now? It seems you also invited Comrade Pavlov, Yanayev, and Pugo.
I called all the members of Alpha according to your instructions, although I don't know what you are planning."
Next to him was a middle-aged man with a Mediterranean hairstyle, wearing thick black-rimmed glasses. At first glance, he looked like an amiable intellectual but those who knew his identity would unconsciously take a step back.
The speaker was Vladimir Alexandrovich Kryuchkov, infamous Chairman and Head of the First General Directorate of the KGB.
Though his tone now more than a little confused. He knew Andrei was a Red Prince (the son of a Politburo member) but he couldn't understand how a minor deputy commander had the authority to summon so many heavyweights and rising stars to such a luxurious banquet.
But Andrei remained calm as if seeing a office colleague.
"Of course, Comrade Kryuchkov," Andrei said smoothly. "In fact, I assure you it will be a wonderful speech."
Andrei smiled mysteriously and took a gulp from his glass. Kryuchkov, however, did not smile. What was more troubling, this was a crucial time and yet he hadn't been informed of anything. Kryuchkov was alarmed.
Andrei walked toward the group, still holding his wine. In a calm, almost casual voice, he asked:
"Do you believe in democracy? Do you believe that freedom can save the Soviets?"
In an instant, the air turned frigid. Everyone's breath felt like walking on thin ice. These people discussed democracy and freedom in private, criticizing centralization and dictatorship but to speak of such things openly before the top leadership was dangerous.
The members exchanged uneasy glances. They dared not answer casually. Whether yes or no, their future and perhaps their lives hung in the balance.
............
Andrei hadn't expected them to reply anyway. He continued, half to them, half to himself.
"Democracy, democracy… I'm sorry, but democracy doesn't grow overnight. For nearly a hundred years, the Americans have tried to force it to take root in other countries through shock and awe. It has never worked.
Instead, they built up a parade of third-world dictators Ngo Dinh Diem, Syngman Rhee, Saddam, Pahlavi. These countries didn't even have the most basic conditions needed to establish democracy.
So tell me what makes you think we are any different?"
One man answered with absolute confidence. "Those were just Asians or Africans. You can't compare them to blue-blooded Europeans like us."
(These fucking racists…)
Andrei bit his tongue. What stung more was that many around the table hummed in agreement.
He ignored them and pressed on.
"Do you really think the Soviet people, in their current state, need fundamental rights and lofty principles?
Do you think throwing a few bombs and toppling a dictator will magically create democracy? Wrong. The people want security. They need order, rules, someone to defend them against foreign invaders.
All they want is a full stomach and a smile on their children's faces.
Democracy cannot exist on an empty stomach.
Have any of you thought, even for a moment, about what will happen after the Soviet Union collapses? Yeltsin is a traitor, he is going to sell his own country ! Can you even imagine the devastation?"
Andrei's voice grew fierce. He wasn't preaching lofty ideals he was shouting the truth of an ordinary man who had seen it with his own eyes.
He remembered the horror after the collapse: parents selling their children, families torn apart, violence everywhere.
He shivered at the memory and looked at these so-called leaders with pity.
It was this group , dreaming that democracy and freedom would solve everything, who would later refuse to carry out the order to assassinate Yeltsin during the White House siege, dooming the coup to failure.
He wondered: would they regret it later, when Yeltsin shelled his own parliament?
(Sigh… What the hell am I thinking? Isn't this all inevitable? Who am I to judge morality? After this, I'll be one of them…)
Andrei forced himself to calm down.
The banquet had grown icy silent. No one dared speak, no one dared move.
That was the nature of power it could turn even an unarmed man into a king in an instant.
His gaze swept across the room, and finally he asked, slowly:
"I too want to reform the union. But that traitor must die, are you with me?"
This was his final plea. He hoped, desperately, that someone , anyone , would stand up. That history could be changed.
Instead, the first weak voice of resistance answered:
"No… I won't agree."
The words struck Andrei's heart like a hammer blow, shattering his last hope. Soon others followed:
"Never agree."
"I refuse."
Soon the hall echoed with rejection. Murmurs became curses, shouts, even thrown glasses. The security guards didn't stop them.
The flame of hope in Andrei's eyes quickly dimmed. In truth, he had never truly believed. He had given them a chance, and they had wasted it. Their refusal even brought him a strange sense of relief.
Andrei smiled faintly, took a few steps back, and raised his empty glass.
"Very well then, this is a tribute to your freedom... and to the sacrifice of freedom."
He let go.
The crystal glass fell in silence, then shattered on the floor with a sharp clang.
It was the signal. Even Kryuchkov, Vice-Chairman of the KGB, stared in confusion.
Then the masked men who had been lying in wait burst into the hall. They drew submachine guns from under their coats and leveled them at the banquet.
RAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT!
The sound of screams and gunfire filled the room..