CHAPTER 37

“Power Vacuum”

August 19th, 2040, war-torn streets of Moscow, late afternoon

On a deserted street filled with burnt-out vehicles, unused molotov cocktails, police riot vans, and a few scattered bodies, a little girl--no older than seven, slowly walked, clutching a bloodied teddy bear close to her chest. With tear stains on her cheeks and red eyes, she looked around at the carnage. As she did, a distant explosion quickly followed by gunfire echoing through the air caused her to run to a nearby looted electronics shop, the bandit barricade across the front doors ripped off by a chain connected to a now abandoned truck.

Inside she slowly looked around the ransacked shop. Bare shelves and shattered display glass littered the ground. All the lights were either off or shattered, but to her right, through the bent and scratched bandit barricades that had stood strong, she saw two pristine televisions still broadcasting grainy images even though most of the communication towers had been shut down.

“Attention all civilians, this area is in lockdown. Do not leave your house or you will be arrested. The army is on its way to regain control of our streets. Soon you will be able to move freely again. This message will repeat.” declared one TV as the other played a pre-recorded message from President Isimov in his Kremlin office.

“My fellow countrymen, I know these are trying times we face, but we must face them as one. I have dispatched the National Guard and the army to re-establish order on our streets, in all affected regions. To those who thought they could take this as an opportunity to commit crimes, know this; We are coming for you and we will stop at nothing until you have paid for your injustice upon the motherland.” The screen shuttered before looping back to the beginning.

Concentrating more on the looping broadcasts than where she was, the sudden sound of breaking glass brought her focus back to her surroundings. Moving to hide behind some fallen shelving and cloaked by darkness, the little girl peaked out to see that across the street, three men in hoodies and bandanas had smashed a window to gain access to a jewelry display.

“Come on, come on! That patrol will be here any minute!” One man yelled, his head rapidly darting from the window then to his right as he glanced down the road.

“I’m doing my best! This damn glass is harder to break than you’d think! Another retorted.

“Out of the way moron!” The third man, wielding a crowbar, pushed his friend aside before smashing the crowbar against the display, completely shattering it. “Take what you can shove in your pockets and let’s get the fuck out of here.” Grabbing handfuls of rings, watches, earrings, and pendants they made a dashing escape. At the same time, a Russian Iveco LMV sped into the nearby intersection and came to a screeching halt, quickly followed by the gunner hatch opening up as a soldier laid out a PKP machine gun on the roof and then opened fire on the three men.

Within seconds dozens of rounds had been fired and two of the men, now riddled with bullets, dropped to the ground and died in an instant. The third, taking cover behind a wrecked car, tried to crawl away on his hands and knees.

“Go, go!” A commanding voice from the Lveco ordered, and three soldiers jumped from the vehicle; all wielding AK-15s. One soldier, a young and spry man, ran between the wrecked vehicles and quickly caught up to the remaining masked man.

“No, no! Wait, please! I surrender!” The man cried, but once in line of sight, the soldier raised his AK and fired a short burst, then silence.

“Fucking animals.” The soldier muttered. “They really thought they could hide from our drone?” Laughing, the other soldiers bantering as they converged around the Iveco.

The little girl, having witnessed it all, began to slowly back away from her hiding place. Unfortunately, more focused on keeping a watchful eye on the soldiers, she didn't see the broom leaning precariously against a shelf behind her. Brushing against it was enough to send it clattering to the ground. Sheltered in darkness she was still hidden but, looking back at the soldiers, all of them had their weapons directed at her building. Frantically looking around for another place to hide she ran over to the far corner of the store where, flanked by a piece of shelving, the store wall and with the majority of the aisle blocked by debris, she sank to the cold floor clenching her teddy bear even tighter, curling her legs into her chest.

It didn’t take long before the sound of slow boot stomps filled the air followed by the click of flashlights turning on and beams of light being directed around the shop. One set of footsteps started to grow louder and, as they got closer, the little girl could no longer contain her emotions and began to weep. As she did, the steps on the other side of the shelves came to an immediate halt. The light from the flashlight slowly rounded the corner and stopped on the opposite wall--a mere two feet away. The light then darted right as the soldier turned the corner, rifle ready. Though, just as fast, he lowered his rifle as the little girl sobbed.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright. You’re safe.” Slinging his rifle, he walked over and kneeled down. “It’s alright, I’m with the army. You’re safe with us. No one here will hurt you.” Putting his hands on her shoulders he gently hugged her to console her.

“Callout, Kozlov!” The commanding voice from before yelled.

“Still alive Moskvin! Found a kid!” Kozlov answered. Standing up he offered a hand to the little girl who, with some trepidation, accepted it.

Stepping out of the shop, the duo were greeted by the two other soldiers. With a black balaclava covering his face, one stepped forward then knelt down to the girls' level.

“And who might you be, young lady?” The man asked.

“Mila.” she replied in a near whisper.

“Well Mila, I’m Moskvin. Would you like a tour of The Kremlin?” Immediately Mila’s eyes lit up at the prospect of being able to do such a thing.

“Um, commander. We still have our patrol to do.” Another soldier, Voronov, pointed down the street to where Mila had originally come from.

“I’ll hand it off to Leopard Company. Alexei, you’re driving again.” Turning around and walking back to the Iveco as the first soldier, still half out of the gunner hatch, gave a friendly wave. “Alyosha! Pack in, we’re leaving.” Climbing into the front passenger seat, Moskvin toyed around with his radio while everyone else got into the vehicle. Turning around they sped off towards The Kremlin leaving three more bodies for the stray dogs to feast on.

It didn’t take long for the roads to go from somewhat usable to near impassable due to vehicle pileups. Retracing their steps, they passed through alleyways, along cleared roads where bulldozers had made a path, and across parks.

“Want me to go around checkpoint Katyusha?” Slowing the vehicle at a major intersection Alexei turned to face his commander with a somber look in his eyes.

“That will take too long, just go through it.” Moskvin replied, not bothering to move his focus from the map he was holding.

“You sure commander? With Mila here, it might be better to go round.” With a loud exhale, Moskvin turned to Alexei.

“That section of the city hasn’t been secured yet, we would be risking our lives unnecessarily by going through it. Continue on to Katushka, Alexei. Being a Captain has its perks.” With a nod of compliance, Alexei slowly pressed his foot back on the gas pedal. After making one more turn they were immediately greeted by a row of concrete blocks with barbed wire placed at the bottom and top. A simple road gate had been placed at the center but just past that a BMP 2 had become an improvised roadblock as well. As they slowly inched up to the gate, two soldiers stepped out from behind the concrete blocks. Rolling down his window, Moskvin took out an access passport and handed it to one of them. Taking a few seconds to look over the passport, the soldier then looked into the vehicle to see Mila.

“Who’s your plus one?” He questioned, his tone less than ideal.

“Found her while on patrol, family wasn’t around so we went with protocol. That won't be a problem, will it?” Moskvins stared coldly at the soldier, who glanced at Moskvins's rank before handing back his passport.

“Not at all, sir.” Backing up, the soldier whistled. Not long after, the BMP's engine started up and reversed. The simple barstop was raised next and Alexei was waved through. After that, it didn't take long for everyone, aside from Moskvin, to become queasy at the sight around them.

Hundreds of body bags, all filled with someone, were either stacked in the back of trucks awaiting transport, or placed on the ground in piles; and all around them, soldiers were moving bodies around the checkpoint.

“Christ. I thought Katyusha was one of the few good ones.” Kozlov muttered.

“It was until some of the other checkpoints got hit with bandits. Transports needed to be redirected to aid the cleanup, so this checkpoint has been on the back burner for a while.” Moskvin replied, though he seemed more concerned about the map than anything around them. “Once we're through here, take the Bolshoy Moskvoretsky Bridge. After that, it should be a clear shot to The Kremlin.”

Once through the checkpoint, it was indeed more quiet, and a lot clearer. Crossing the bridge, Alexei rounded The Kremlin to the vehicle entrance, then suddenly slammed on the brakes.

“Woah, woah. What’s going on here?” Making the final turn, Alexei and Moskvin had front-row seats to something that neither expected. Outside the vehicle gate to The Kremlin there appeared to be a standoff between Russian police with outdated AK-74s and unknown soldiers dressed in black tactical attire and wielding a wide range of assault rifles. Neither side looked like they had any intention of being the first to back down.

“Shit, this is the last thing we need.” Opening his door before any of his soldiers had time to object, Moskvin steeled himself for the worst.

“Wait, commander, what are you doing?” Voronov questioned but did not get an answer as Moskvin was already out the door. Walking closer, it quickly became apparent who the mysterious soldiers were when one continued to shout commands in a thick British accent.

“I said put down your fucking weapons!” The lead foreign soldier shouted.

“No, you put down your weapons!” A Russian police officer retorted in very broken English.

“No, you will lower your weapons, officer.” Entering the conversation, Moskvin raised his hands. “We have a bigger threat out there than to be fighting amongst ourselves.”

Outgunned, and a superior officer ordering him, the Russian officer slowly lowered his rifle as his squadron followed his choice. In turn, the Foreign soldiers lowered theirs.

“See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Sensing the smile behind the black balaclava, the British soldier walked up to Moskvin, and offered a hand.

“Jaxon Thomas, I.N.S.A. Appreciate the assistance.”

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“Captain Moskvin. International Security Alliance. What are you doing all the way over here? Last I heard, you were still bogged down in Germany.”

“That operation is wrapping up. Orders from the top said my section was to be deployed to Moscow for security and peacekeeping, while the Russian army goes round doing the heavy lifting.” Hearing that, Moskvin let out a laugh.

“You Englishmen, always sending others to do the hard work.” Joining in with laughter of his own, Thomas gave a playful punch to Moskvins's shoulder.

“Oi, yer cheeky bugger!”

Waving in Alexei, Moskvin then turned back to Thomas. “How’s home?”

“A bloody nightmare that’s what. The Commonwealth is banding together the best it can, but our resources are stretched. If we don’t stop this ship from pissing in water, we’re all fucked. You lot should consider yourself lucky.”

“That bad huh? Well, I hope The General will be pleased with my report.” Once the vehicle reached them and stopped, Moskvin walked around the front to his seat, only stopping when Thomas called out.

“Word of caution, Moskvin. General Isimov is in a bad mood, China’s been riding his ass for the past few weeks and he’s at his limit with their antics. Choose your words carefully.” Returning a silent nod, Moskvin stepped into their vehicle and drove through The Kremlin’s gate.

“What was that about commander? Who were they?” Alexei questioned.

“I.N.S.A. Guess Isimov wants to resolve this unrest problem as fast as possible. Stop over there.” Pointing to a spot in the unloading area, once the vehicle stopped, Moskvin stepped out again. “Go get Mila cleaned up then bring her to the stadium. Have the rest of the day off.” Shutting the door, he began the long walk to The Presidential Office.

As Moskvin walked on the footpaths, the air was filled with tension and a wave of uneasiness washed over him. This was The Kremlin, a fortress within Moscow itself, yet it felt more like a cage. Looking around he could read it in the posture of the patrolling soldiers. None in a relaxed state, but rather poised and ready to fire their entire magazine at the drop of a pin.

Inside The Kremlin it was somehow worse, everyone was on edge. Continuing into the labyrinth and down a hallway, he passed an open door--then doubled back and looked on in confusion. Nearly a dozen people, soldiers and civilians. All huddled around a television watching some foreign news network.

“This just in from Great Britain, Prime Minister Hangton has announced on social media that, with the help of I.N.S.A. and the army, order has been restored to The Greater London Area. However, there is still much work to be done around Liverpool and Manchester--Excuse me?” The female reporter stopped dead as she held her right hand to her ear. “W-what? Are you sure? Oh god…” She visibly paled and did her best to regain her composure as the background wall screen changed to a startling image. One of gunfire, mass violence, and destruction. “This just in, the German Government has fallen. We are unsure what transpired but from what we can currently gather. I.N.S.A and German military personnel have assumed control over the nation. A message from the German military given over social media reads as follows: “We have watched as our government officials continue to drag their feet during a time when people need support more than ever before. In light of their failure to act upon the crisis the total disappearance of the United States has brought us we, the armed forces, sworn to protect this nation, will uphold that oath. With the help of our allies and I.N.S.A. much needed supplies will be given directly to the people of Germany. Please standby for further information.”

“They’ve got their work cut out for them, huh?” One soldier commented.

“Last I heard, I.N.S.A completely pulled out of Africa and The Middle East after they plunged back into war. Can’t say I blame them.” Another added. “Although, they aren't exactly hiding their intentions now with this.”

“What do you mean by that?” One of the civilians turned to face the soldier, who then pointed to the television as it showed semi-trucks with the I.N.S.A ensign on the side of the trailers loaded with supplies and I.N.S.A soldiers giving handouts to civilians.

“In just the past few months, they’ve embedded themselves in the U.K., Canadian, Mexican, Polish, Balkan, and now Germany’s government. They’re quickly becoming the next world police force, a new United States one could say.”

“A private military becoming the new world police? Ha! These fools dare to challenge our might?” a younger soldier laughed. Though only a few returned it.

This was too much for Moskvin. Stepping into the room as everyone turned to face him, he stared down the young soldier.

“You joined after the influence wars, correct?” Moskvin's cold, emotionless voice questioned.

“Uh, y-yes sir.”

“Look here.” Removing his balaclava from his face, a few of the civilians let out a low but audible gasp. Moskvins's face, marred by a chemical burn on the entire left side, and a deep scar across his right jaw became center stage. ”This is what it looks like you overestimate your own abilities.” Taking a single step forwards, the young soldier looked at Moskvin, then at the floor.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Were you there sir?” A different soldier asked.

“Cairo, ‘31. International Security had been giving us the run around for months at that point and the American bombings weren’t helping the situation either. Once we actually reached the city what armor we had left couldn't make it more than a few blocks in before they had their tracks blown off or were outright knocked out; and our lighter vehicles fared even worse. In the end, we encircled the city and waited for their surrender.” Pausing for a moment, Moskvin closed his eyes. Met with the silence he’d wished for all those years ago, he clenched his fists. “Do you know what it’s like to watch a friend lose control of their own body in front of you? If I could’ve traded spots with any of them, I would have…”

“Weren't you given antidotes for VX?”

“Naive of you to assume that they were of quality. Out of the 2,000 soldiers in our regiment, fifty returned. None wishing to live.” Backing up, Moskvin rolled up his balaclava and tucking it into a spare pouch on his vest, he made for the exit.

“How did you get over it, sir?” The younger soldier asked, only for Moskiv to stop in the doorway.

“Never said I did.” Moskvin replied emotionlessly as he left the room.

Continuing with his original task, Moskvin reached the final turn in the hallway to see a wooden door at the far end with two soldiers on guard. As he got closer, the half-asleep soldiers straightened up at the sounds of footsteps.

“What time is it?” One soldier questioned.

“Sixty seconds to midnight.” Moskvin replied, and with the correct answer, the soldier motioned his head towards the door.

Entering the presidential office he shut the door behind him. A wave of stress immediately washed over him. Sitting at his desk with a stripped-down ‘udav’ handgun, Isimov looked up from his task.

“Ah, Moskvin! I was starting to think you’d gotten lost. How are our streets faring?”

“We neutralized a group of looters in sector seventeen and picked up a lost child. I have my men taking her to the stadium as we speak. We also passed through checkpoint Katushka, and another load of bodies have come through. Roughly two hundred from what I saw.” Standing at parade rest, Moskvin stood as still as a statue.

Isimov stilled, closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Setting down the barrel and brush he was holding he leaned back in his chair and looked over at the far corner and a sitting area with a very welcoming bottle of vodka and matching glassware. “What is the general sentiment with the floor?” He questioned. In response, Moskvin could feel his heart in his throat.

“I believe the correct word to describe it would be terrified. Terrified of what happened to America, terrified of what is happening to the world, terrified of what is happening to our home.” Answering with a simple nod, Isimov stood up.

“And what about you? What do you make of this?” Walking over to the sitting area, Isimov poured himself a drink.

“What do I think? Well, I believe that once order is restored we should--”

“Oh don’t give me the political bullshit Moskvin!” Anger rapidly filled his words as Isimov swung his glass. An awkward silence filled the room, Moskvins’s eyes shifted around before responding again.

“I’m… also terrified of what has happened, and about what is happening. I hate Americans just as much as you, but I won’t disagree that they did indeed keep the status quo. Not just against us, but against many other nations. Without them, the world would be a much darker place.”

Moving to stand in front of a tall window overlooking the courtyard, Isimov poured himself another glass.

“I’d wished for this day.” Speaking in a low tone once more, Isomov swirled his drink. “The complete dissolution of America. The country, its influence, its ideals, everything…” Raising the glass to his lips he tipped his head back and downed the whole drink. “Now I don’t know what I feel.” Setting the glass down onto a nearby side table, Isimov turned to face Moskvin. “What do you think happened to them?”

“Secret weapons test gone horribly wrong, alien abduction, a mere figment of our imagination. I’ve even heard of some people speculating that God had plucked America for himself.” Hearing that last one, Isimov let out a low chuckle.

“Hmm, are you implying there's a war in heaven? Now that would be interesting.” Sitting back down, Isimov opened his mouth to speak but stopped short when the sound of rapidly pounding footsteps echoed outside the office door.

“Yes sixty seconds to midnight--now move before an actual bloody war kicks off!” A familiar albeit muffled British voice shouted, followed by the door swinging open. Isimov raised an eyebrow.

“Thomas, I thought you would be halfway to the airport by now.”

“I was until my sat phone went off. Then I raced back here cause your damn comms towers are all down. My contacts in Beijing are saying that China is conducting massive military movements. And I’m not talking about the ‘march of confidence’ shit they did a month ago. It sounds like they’ve been spooked by something--I don’t know what yet.” Now interested, Isimov leaned across his desk.

“And why am I hearing this from you first, and not my agents?”

“Because they're all busy either chasing women in Vladivostok, or incompetent--anyway, not the topic of discussion. Point is, whatever--”

“General! We have a situation in the Tai--oh.” Bursting through the door and nearly taking out Thomas with it, a surprised Levka took a small step to the side.

“Oi! I’m standing here ya bloody muppet!”

“What is it now, Levka?” Ignoring Thomas’s angry mumbling, Isimov's mind began turning faster as Levka looked like he had just run across the entire Kremlin.

“I’ve received reports of a complete Chinese withdrawal from the Taiwan strait, with the naval fleets assigned to that region heading across the Pacific.”

“What?” Now standing, Isimov's eyes lit up. “Did you find a reason?”

“Nothing definitive, but I believe it has to do with the findings from the Canadian expedition teams into America. Heightened radiation levels, electronics becoming unstable, unknown sounds. This has to be an expedition team of their own.” Following a short silence as Isimov’s mind rapidly tried to shake off the rust from his military years, he looked back at Levka.

“Get in contact with Markov, have him coordinate with Lavrov to get an air section ready to depart for Canada and Mexico.” At the same time as throwing out orders, Isimov began preparing a phone call with the Prime Minister of Canada.

“Yes sir. What are you doing, General?” Levka, with one foot already out the door, questioned with a confused look.

“Unlike Zhong Yi, I don’t have a problem negotiating with The West. I may not have liked America, but I dislike China more. Especially after what they did to us in Kazakhstan and Mongolia.”

“I’ll bark up a few trees and see what falls out. If the Canadian government gives you any trouble, I’ll see if I can negotiate something.” As Thomas left with Levka, Moskvin remained, torn between leaving and not.

“What would you have me do, sir?” He asked.

“Pack-up. You’re going to Canada as well. I need someone there that I can trust. Any objections?”

“None, sir.” Spinning on his heels, Moskvin raced out of the office. Moments after the room emptied, the landline came to life.

“Prime Minister Quince, my sincerest apologies for the sudden call but… I have an urgent matter that commands your immediate attention.”

“President Isimov! how… unexpected. I thought after the disastrous UN council meeting, we had cut ties.” Recalling the failed attempt to unite the world a few weeks after the disappearance of the United States, Isimov steeled his voice.

“I acknowledge the unsteady current we lie upon right now, but, Unlike my predecessors, I care for the Russian people, and I am not afraid to admit when I require assistance. The Western nation has given me far more aid than Zhong Yi ever did after my justified takeover.”

“While those are joyful words to hear from you, they are nothing but words. So my apologies, but I don’t see why this conversation is even needed--”

“Zhong Yi has ordered a fleet to the west coast of America.” A short silence followed before the Prime Minister gave a simple reply.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I have credible information from both my own contacts, and I.N.S.A, that China has taken great interest in your published findings of the deserted lands the Americans once controlled. They are sending an entire fleet to most likely conduct research.”

“And most likely keep anything they do find to themselves, leaving us in the dark… I presume you wish to beat them there and fly in teams of your own.” Sensing a tone of annoyance, Isimov changed gears.

“Coordinated with The Commonwealth of course.” Turning around to face a window that overlooked much of Moscow, a long silence followed.

“Alright, I’ll agree to this--but any Russian personnel must be in the company of Canadian forces. Do you have a problem with that?”

“None. Anything else I should be aware of?” Once again, a long silence followed. Isimov could feel an uneasy pressure building in the air around him.

“There is one thing. Something we chose to leave out of that public report for fear of what damage it could cause with the general public, and to be honest, the whole world itself. After reports of disembodied voices and sounds, the expedition team set up a microphone and camera where The White House once stood. There, right as midnight struck, a white orb appeared within a meter-or-so of the camera… and the microphone picked up a single, very distorted word before it vanished.”

“And what exactly did this, orb, say?”

“...I think it might be best if you hear it for yourself”

Before Isimov could respond, Prime Minister Quince had played the audio file.

“...Я̸̡̛̤̫͕̳̈́͐̇͝ɘ̵̧̛̳̞̯͎̽̈́̅̚m̴͖̬̜̯̖̈̈̈́͋̈́ɘ̷͔̖̣̼͈͊͗͐̌̕m̸̱͙͈͍̳͋̌͌͌͌d̸͈̺̳̏̑͛͘͝ͅͅɘ̷̡̨̣͕̇́̊̔́ͅɿ̴̖̺̬̤̫̃͐́̊͛…“

Instantaneously, Isomiv felt as if his heart had been gripped by a force beyond comprehension, and dropped the phone to the wooden floor in shock.