Admiral Alexei Sukolov sat at his desk in his opulent office inside the naval headquarters building for the Russian naval base on Kotlin Island in St. Petersburg. The admiral was beside himself. He sat in a chair with a high turnover rate. His predecessor, who commanded the fleet before him, had gotten drunk and killed himself after falling off of the balcony of his apartment in Kronstadt. In modern Russia, such things did not happen. Admiral Sukolov knew with absolute certainty that his old boss had been assassinated, and he had been elevated to replace him. Sukolov lamented the condition of the fleet at anchor in the harbor, which was now his responsibility. The ships were mostly old, lacking maintenance, and their crews were poorly trained. He was responsible for whipping them into shape. He was also responsible for them being in such a sorry state to begin with. The admiral had engaged in the oldest and noblest of Russian military traditions: graft, corruption and theft of government resources. With one hand, he would commission a new ship into service, with the other he'd sell off the its fuel supply and line his own pockets with the money.
The Tsar, damn him, was now engaged in a superfluous war in eastern Europe that churned men and machines in a cauldron of stagnant trench warfare. That was what got his predecessor in trouble; the man had reported a 100% state of readiness when the premiere ordered the country to war. Imagine the surprise of the Kremlin when only 50% of the ships present were even partially operational. Sukolov had avoided the lightning strike that purged most of the chain of command. Likely because his own corruption was just petty enough as to be unnoticeable in the shadow of his peers crimes.
Sukolov stared sullenly at a wall, not sure what to do. He had delegated most of the work to his subordinates. Partly because he didn't want to do it, partly because he didn't know how.
Suddenly, the white double-doors to his office opened. In walked two uniformed members of the FSB security directorate. The admiral' eyes bulged with surprise when he saw them. Before the door could close, he shot a look to his secretary at her desk outside. She was supposed to inform him when such... distinguished, guests so much as stepped foot on the base. The badge of the agents of the Tsar inspired fear in all who met them. Sukolov immediately thought, "I'm next." but he was not a man without merit and possessed his own means of political survivability.
Immediately, he profiled the two individuals before they could sit before him. He may have been old, but he was still sharp. The two agents were a man and a woman. Both had blonde hair and similar facial features. They were young, probably mid-20's. Their skin was pale. He could tell beneath their well-tailored suits that they were not particularly muscular. They walked with calculated purpose, full of confidence, like they owned the entire building they were in. Sukolov's mentors had been the same ones who could sell off entire tank divisions to Africa and the Middle-East while leading Interpol inspectors around by the nose. He had picked up many skills from them.
They had not even opened their mouths and the admiral had already placed them. These were not real agents. These were the rich, spoiled, children of some pompous oligarch. Most likely thinking they could play spy with daddy's money and connections. Whatever they wanted, would be easy to mislead. He would still take them seriously, however. His own survival still depended on it.
"Agents." He stood up to greet them. He attempted to shake the hand of the male, but he simply stared at him. "How can the Navy be of service to you? I hope all is well in the intelligence community."
They each seated themselves in the ornate chairs opposite his desk. The female addressed him. "Admiral, thank you for your time." she said with a small sardonic smile. Her demeanor was pleasant, but Sukolov detected no warmth. The woman was cold as ice. It put him on edge.
"We apologize for not scheduling with your secretary, but we have come to discuss a matter of pressing importance with you." she said.
The admiral sat down. "What might that be?" he asked.
"We have need of a ship from your fleet here. Specifically, we'd like to utilize the Kommuna support ship. You needn't provide a crew, we have made other arrangements." she said. "It would be gracious of you to turn the ship over to FSB control with haste."
While she spoke, Admiral Sukolov reached into his desk and produced a bottle of American brandy and three glasses. Vodka would have been preferred, but when buttering up agents of the state the more expensive the drink the better. He also simply wanted a drink because he was about to ruin these two FSB blyats day. The 110-year old Kommuna was a one-of-a-kind vessel specialized for submarine support and deep-diving excursions. Asking for unofficial use of the ship was outright asinine.
The admiral offered them a glass, but they turned him down. He shrugged and took a sip from his own.
"I suppose you have submitted, verified and notarized the necessary paperwork for such a request?" he asked, knowing no such paperwork existed.
"No paperwork is necessary, Admiral. The word of Federation Security Bureau will-"
"What were your names?" He intentionally cut her off. She bristled at the interruption.
"Names are not important." she said. "But if you insist-"
"I insist." Sukolov said quickly, but made it clear he was disinterested in the conversation. He was beginning to draw the ire of the female agent.
"I am special agent Svetlana. My colleague is special agent Dmitry."
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Sukolov nodded. He knew both of those were fake names. "You know that is the President's ship, eh?" He gestured out his window, which overlooked the harbor and every vessel in it. "They all do. Perhaps you have made sure your department can cover the necessary fees and administrational costs of loaning such a vessel? The Navy cannot just go loaning out it's ships, you know." this was a subtle hint that he wanted them to bribe him.
"We operate on behalf of the President." She was growing frustrated with him.
Sukolov guffawed. "If you did, you wouldn't be asking." he sipped his brandy. "Tell me, what is it you are planning to do with my ship?" he asked. He already knew these two were crooked. They were probably going to turn the vessel into a party barge. He would not let them have the ship, whether they bribed him or not.
"I thought they were the President's ships?" Svetlana countered.
Sukolov made a sweeping gesture. "I am his appointed representative." He gestured for her to answer his previous question.
"I'm afraid, our purposes for the vessel are classified. You do not have a need to know." She said. She was no longer bothering with the fake smile she had entered with.
The admiral set his drink aside. He interlocked his fingers and placed them on his desk. "Then, with no paperwork, no payment arrangements and no 'need to know'." he said the last part mockingly. "then you cannot take the ship and we are done here." He gestured to the door.
What pathetic fools. These rich snobs could not even negotiate or read between the lines. These sniveling bastards of the party bosses didn't know the first thing about anything. They thought they could just waltz in and take what they wanted. Oh, how far the new generation had fallen.
"Perhaps, Admiral, we can make other arrangements." the agent's smile was back.
Sukolov raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"I understand you have a child due soon. Your wife, Ana, is at home right now while you are working." she said. Sukolov's expression turned dark. "They should be getting the best healthcare they can right now. You know accidents happen quite often in hospitals in St. Petersburg." It was the thinnest of veiled threats. Sukolov was on edge, once again.
"As I said. I cannot help you." he pressed a button on his desk. "Vasiley." he said into a mic. The doors were opened by a member of the Morskaya Pekhota, Russia's naval infantry unit. Vasiley was the son of a friend, due to be conscripted into the Tsar's meat grinder. Sukolov pulled some strings to get the boy assigned as his personal bodyguard instead of being sent to the front. He wore an ornate dress blue uniform, a beret and had an AK-74 slung under his shoulder. Sukolov gestured to the intimidating soldier, "Please escort our guests out."
Both FSB agents straightened in their seats and stood up. "Thank you for your time, Admiral." Svetlana said. She looked to her partner, Dmitry. "I suppose, we must go to plan B, brother." She turned her attention to the admiral. Sukolov stared her down.
Suddenly, alarms sounded throughout Kotlin island naval base and the headquarters building. An explosion rocked the building. A panicked Sukolov picked up his phone, only to find the line was dead. The lights went out shortly after. Automatic gunfire could be heard just down the hall. The corrupt admiral reached into desk to for his Makarov pistol, but before he could, Volskaya jumped onto his desk and gripped his throat with inhuman strength and agility. With one arm, she lifted him from his chair. The admiral choked in her grasp. His eyes bulged. He tried to call for aid, but could not.
Vasiley shouldered his AK but didn't get a shot off before Dmitry grabbed the barrel of the weapon and crushed the metal tube in his hand. Thinking quickly, the marine let go of his broken weapon and drew his sidearm. He discharged three rounds into Dmitry's gut. The FSB agent didn't even flinch at the impact of the 9x19mm bullets. "Chto?!" Vasiley only had enough time exclaim before Dmitry, with immense strength, thrust the butt of the AK into the Morskaya's ribcage. Despite his ballistic vest, the FSB agent broke several of the soldier's ribs and forced the man to wretch in pain. He kneed the recoiling soldier, smashing his face. Dmitry gripped his head and twisted, snapping his neck.
Sukolov struggled in Svetlana's grasp. She smiled at him, this time it was genuine and wide. The admiral's eyes widened in terror. Lips parted to reveal stark white fangs. They gleamed in the light. Her predatory smile dripped with venom. The terrified Sukolov was offered no last words before they plunged into him.
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There was chaos in the streets of Kotlin Island and they ran red. This small island at the mouth St. Petersburg harbor, host to a small military town and a naval port, was fully under siege from within. Smoke rose amongst the town like weeds jutting forth from a field of grass. Vampires and their immortal thralls did battle with the island's security forces in the streets and alleyways. Military officers were assassinated as they went about their duties, defenses were sabotaged, or taken over and used by the dark attackers. The reign of confusion was so complete that many of the defenders were unaware of what had befallen their small naval base before razor-sharp fangs plunged into their flesh.
The vanguard of vampire immortals were followed by hundreds of their fanatical cultists. They swarmed over police cars and APCs. The soldiers and sailors that could put up a coherent defense mowed down hordes of mindless adherents to the vampiric cult. The armory building would be the final holdout. A ragtag group of conscripts, sailors and marines would hold out well into the night. They fired from the windows with Kalashnikovs and RPGs. The thralls brought up captured equipment to breach the building. A 2S19 MSTA self-propelled gun pivoted around a corner. It's long barrel was decorated with the corpses of their peers, their bodies hanging from nooses that been tied around the barrel. The red star markings had been painted over with a blood red pentagram. The 152mm howitzer boomed and brought down entire sections of wall. The night stalkers flooded into the shattered defenses and a desperate close-quarters battle ensued. It was all for naught. As soon as the purebred vampires got into their ranks, the defenders were torn limb-from-limb. Their claws cared not for Kevlar and their skin shrugged off the impact of a 7.62. In hours, the whole island was under the control of the vampires. The ships at anchor or moored to piers were unable to escape. One however, the Kommuna, set sail under the cover of night. Her crew had been slaughtered. A new one, of pale skin and bloodlust took their place.
On Kotlin Island, the drinkers of blood put all living beings to the sword. Anyone who dared possess warm blood was fed upon, civilian and soldier alike. The streets ran crimson as beasts of darkness reveled in the excess of death.
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On the bridge of the Kommuna, thralls operated the various controls and manned the helm. On the bridge wing, two individuals in FSB uniforms stared out at the ocean. Svetlana was bubbly and shuddered with excitement. The stoic Dmitry stood beside her.
"Finally, brother. Can you believe it? We stand on the precipice!" She said with excitement. Stone-faced, Dmitry only grunted. Svetlana continued ,"At last, we can begin his plan, his vision." She reached out with a hand and gripped at the image of the Moon on the horizon. "The world will be ours."