As the gunshot rang out, reporters and civilians stampeded for the exits. The panic turned deadly as stray bullets cut through the crowd, and soon the sporadic cracks of pistols were joined by the deafening rattle of automatic fire.
In the chaos, while every other journalist fled, the beautiful female reporter stood her ground, camera steady, broadcasting the entire violent spectacle live to the world.
....
"Your Excellency! Your Excellency! Are you alright? Your face is very pale."
"Y… yes? P… Putin? I'm fine. It's okay. Continue."
Andrei, who had just regained consciousness, struggled to form the words.
An officer approached, snapping a sharp salute. "Sir, my apologies! The civilian airliner transporting soldiers and the camouflaged cruise ship carrying armored vehicles failed to coordinate their assaults on the airport and pier. This caused a delay in securing the perimeter. I await your orders, sir!"
Though it was a routine report, Andrei sensed something strange. He looked around. Every officer, every soldier was staring at him with a mix of awe and reverence.
Putin answered his questioning gaze. "Sir, Your Excellency, we are in awe. Your courage, your foresight..everything unfolded exactly as you planned. Even under direct fire, you never flinched, knowing full well they dared not harm you. With a leader like you, the Soviet Union is saved!"
Plan? What plan? I nearly had a heart attack!
Andrei nearly bit his lips. This gunfight was definitely not his plan. He literally saw a bullet pass by his nose.
Originally he wanted to awe the Bultic leaders and force them to submit , coming so close to death was definitely not in his mind. When the firefight started he froze out of fear. Thus he stayed put like a sculpture on the table.....which made him look, to everyone else, like a statue of unshakable resolve.
Unbeknownst to him, the President of Lithuania had explicitly ordered his guards not to shoot the Soviet leader. Ironically, the moment he shouted that command, he exposed his position and was immediately cut down. His last act had inadvertently given the KGB strike team a colossal morale boost.
Andrei's apparent fearlessness under fire forged an instant legend an image soon broadcast worldwide by a free press.
The only person who had noticed Andrei's true state was Yor, who had quietly slipped him a sedative and chose not to shatter the illusion. Andrei was deeply grateful.
The fight was brief and brutal.
Over a hundred people lay dead in under five minutes. Half were civilians.
Putin himself took two bullets but wore a grim smile of satisfaction. He had finally redeemed his earlier failure.
The shooting only stopped when Soviet airborne troops, who had seized Tallinn International Airport, surrounded the conference building.
As a disheveled Arnold was brought before him, Andrei waved a hand, signaling the soldiers not to humiliate the Estonian president further.
"Congratulations, Andrei. You've won. What a magnificent plan. Enjoy your victory over an ant. Are you satisfied? Are you happy? You have crushed another nation that dared to dream of escaping your evil empire."
"I gave you a chance," Andrei replied. "You placed your faith in NATO. That was your mistake. Entrusting your destiny to others, without strength of your own. It's the height of stupidity."
Now, with nothing left to lose, Arnold let his bitterness pour out. "Look at how you aggressors rule! For over 200 years we were ruled by Tsarist Russia. We declared independence in 1918, and a day later the Germans occupied us. By November, you Soviets claimed sovereignty. The purges, the famines, the thousands who died under Soviet boots—one day, you in the Kremlin will face judgment. One day, our people will rise up!"
His final words were a roar of righteous indictment.
The room fell silent. One young soldier nearby muttered under his breath, "Are… are we the baddies?"
I am definitely sending him to the gulag for ruining my scene.
Andrei's expression remained unmoved. "The strong do what they can. The weak suffer what they must. Stop crying like a child. If you seek justice, go plead with God. Go complain to Stalin, to Khrushchev, to Lenin. The only thing I can do is send you to meet them. The fate of your little nation does not interest me."
He tossed a document onto the table. "But you should have read this before you sat down to discuss independence."
Arnold picked it up with trembling hands. As he read, his eyes widened. The document outlined terms for extensive economic autonomy, the right to form political parties, and to hold local elections—all within the Soviet framework. Only diplomatic and military sovereignty would remain with Moscow.
"Why?" Arnold whispered, his voice cracking. "Why didn't you offer this before? This… this is almost what we wanted."
This was Andrei's true strategy: the big stick and the carrot.
First, military deterrence to crush immediate defiance.
Then, economic and political concessions to secure long-term compliance.
Moscow had made real compromises. Endless high-pressure occupation would only breed resentment, ensuring the next storm would be even worse.
Andrei, a man from a democratic future, knew trying to crush the tide of nationalism was impossible. The only thing an autocrat could do was subvert it by exploiting democracy's great weakness: the will of the majority.
The invasion was necessary to create a collective memory of suffering, a lasting deterrent against future separatist dreams. So even under democracy, the majority would think twice about secession. Meanwhile, loyal minorities would be rewarded, ensuring a built-in base of support.
Of course, he would never explain this to Arnold. Under the dumbfounded gaze of the room, Andrei simply shrugged.
"Because, i didn't feel like it."
______________________________________________________
The Soviet Union's brutal resolution of the Baltic crisis and Western Europe's subsequent acquiescence sent a chilling tremor through the remaining republics.
For Georgia, Armenia, and Moldavia three republics bent on tearing down the red banner it was a devastating blow. Moldavia and Armenia immediately fell silent, their separatist slogans fading overnight. Georgia hesitated, weighing the cost.
Other member states with milder separatist leanings lodged formal protests against the unilateral constitutional revision. But their complaints were muted, tempered by the significant economic autonomy Andrei had granted. Previous Soviet "autonomy" had meant political theater with little economic freedom. Andrei had flipped the script: less political independence, but real control over trade, resources, and development. For many local elites, that was the dream. Independence suddenly seemed less urgent.
…
President Bush was not having a good night.
He had just settled into bed when the call came from the Pentagon. Soon he was on a secure conference line with British Prime Minister John Major, French President François Mitterrand, and German Chancellor Helmut Kohl—a tense, after-hours NATO summit convened over a storm brewing thousands of miles away.
"We've received urgent appeals from the Baltic leadership," Bush began, voice tight. "Time is short. I want options. Keep them concise."
"What is there to discuss?" Kohl's voice was strained, almost mournful. With East and West Germany freshly unified, the last thing he needed was a vengeful Soviet leader looking across the Elbe. "The Soviets have stopped pretending. This isn't 1968 it's more desperate, more reckless. We must be careful not to provoke a madman."
"They seem to have given up on the Idea of equality and unbreakable alliance between nations by invading an alliance country.
They have stopped beating around the bush and showed their true colours, just as they did when they entered Prague." said the British Prime Minister John Major.
Mitterrand's tone was pragmatic, almost detached. "Stability is what matters now. We should acknowledge the reality on the ground and seek compensation elsewhere like North Africa."
"François!" Kohl's voice rose sharply. "This isn't about your colonial nostalgia. This will cement Soviet dominance in Eastern Europe for a generation!"
Old Franco-German grievances resurfaced in the tense exchange.
In the background, CIA Director Robert Gates tried to steer Bush toward a harder line. "We shouldn't let Europe retreat now. Our intelligence suggests the Soviet show of strength is a bluff. They're exhausted. If we push, they'll fold."
"Enough, Gates!" Bush snapped. "You don't make foreign policy from Langley. And after your last 'brilliant' suggestion, our satellites picked up activity in Soviet ICBM silos. Land-based ballistic missiles, being activated. If we'd confronted them head-on as you advised, we'd be discussing evacuation plans, not diplomacy!"
Andrei had, in fact, ordered the silo activation a dangerous piece of theater designed to show resolve.
The moment Bush received that satellite report, he knew the red line had been touched.
"Get me a secure line to Moscow," Bush said, exhaustion finally seeping into his voice. "And notify our European allies. We're going to the negotiating table."
At least now, he might finally get some sleep.