Nikolai responded with a loud laugh. There was a sense of weariness and resignation in his laughter. He took another drag on his cigarette, then slowly exhaled the smoke through his nose and muttered:
"Is that what you say? Actually, you're right, but who cares about health when you're living in this hell? We're not really living here, we're just delaying death. Dying a few years early sometimes feels more like a blessing from God than a punishment. And yes... this place really is hell. If there is a heaven, you have to pass through here to get there."
Then he patted me on the shoulder with one hand, but his hands were as hard as wood. His eyes bore the shadows of everything he had seen over the years. Anyone looking at his wrinkled forehead would understand that this man carried the burden of past wars on his shoulders, even when he smiled.
"Look here..." he said in a slightly hushed voice, then couldn't resist teasing me:
"Well, tell me, Mr. Woman Hunter, why did you go to the city so early in the morning? For the beauties of Tver? Hahaha. You sly one..."
I smiled but shrugged my shoulders slightly. Nikolai continued speaking, this time in a slightly slower and more serious tone:
"A friendly piece of advice. If you can find someone while you still have time, hold on to them. Marry early. Because this world does not favor those who wait. I waited... and in the end, all I was left with was an old, muscular man—filled with memories of wars and the ghosts of old friends."
He paused for a moment. His eyes seemed fixed on the distant past, perhaps on the memory of a woman he once loved. Then he shook his head, coming back to himself. He flicked the end of his cigarette onto the ground and crushed it with his foot.
"Above all, no matter what people use to fill the void within them... one day that void will speak again. So if you love someone, you must be able to hold their hand in battle, in the midst of radiation. Otherwise, guns, vodka, even ZELYONKA won't keep you alive."
He turned his head toward me, his eyes serious:
"You seem like a good son, Aleksey. It's hard for good people to survive in this cursed world. If you're going to stay, you need a reason. Otherwise, the wind will blow you away too.
Then he burst out laughing, but in that laugh there was both mockery, sincerity, and a touch of sadness. Then, with a wink, he issued his playful threat:
"If you don't invite me to your wedding, I'll organize a nighttime operation. I'll kidnap you from your wedding, do you understand me? Hahaha! Will it be a countryside wedding, or will you marry among the rubble, comrade?"
I burst into laughter at his words. Such moments eased the dark emotions that war and radiation had driven into us with rusty nails. I replied with a smile:
"I'll keep your advice in mind, Comrade Nikolai. But whether there will be a wedding, or whether I'll even be alive by then, I don't know."
Then I got serious and got back to the main topic. I stepped out of the shadows of laughter and back into military discipline:
"So, Nikolai, what do we have to prepare for the coup? What's the plan?"
Nikolai threw his cigarette on the ground and crushed it. His eyes looked up at the sky for a moment, then turned back to me. He bowed his head slightly and silently gestured for me to follow him.
We began to walk slowly across the concrete floor. The wind howled, and in the distance, a sentry's whistle echoed. The footsteps of the soldiers and the creaking of the boxes being carried echoed behind us. I hadn't walked in such silence for a long time. The weight and determination in my comrade's steps were palpable.
When we reached the front of Hangar 2, Nikolai pulled a thick key from his side pocket and turned the lock. The metal door creaked open, and first the smell of engine oil and metal, then cool, dusty air hit my face.
When I stepped inside, I couldn't believe my eyes.
As far as the eye could see, there were ammunition boxes, rocket heads packed in boxes, various electronic equipment, and most importantly: four sturdy Mi-24D attack helicopters... Each one stood there as if it were a monument to another time. Their hulls were armored, their windows bulletproof, and their rotors waited silently, as if ready to pierce the sky once more.
My steps slowed, and I moved forward with an instinctive sense of respect. My hands trembled slightly as I touched the nearest helicopter. The cold metal echoed through my fingers, each rivet and each layer of paint seeming to whisper the passage of time.
"This... Does this really work?" I said in awe. "God... This might be the most impressive thing I've ever seen. I think I understand now why you never married, Nikolai. Hahaha." — """"Now it's my turn for revenge, you old fool."""""
Nikolai's proud face twisted at my last words, a vein on his forehead bulged, but he acted as if he hadn't heard a thing:
"This is just the beginning, comrade Brusilov. Follow me," Nikolai said, his eyes flashing with pride for a moment. Then he walked out of the hangar with heavy steps.
I followed closely behind him. Our footsteps echoed on the empty concrete floor, and the faint light of the sun shimmered like a trembling curtain on the ground in the hazy air outside. In the distance, a patrol was changing shifts.
Nikolai and I walked slowly toward Hangar 3. The huge metal door rising above the rusted rails was open, and the morning sun was streaming in. As we stepped inside, we found ourselves in a dim but spacious area; the air was heavy with the smell of burnt oil, diesel, and metal. The hangar looked as majestic as a cathedral, thanks to its high ceiling and the silhouettes cast by the light reflecting inside.
Six Mi-17 helicopters were parked in a row, positioned right in the middle of the hangar. Each one looked as though it had just rolled off the assembly line yesterday—the body panels were brand-new, the glass surfaces spotless. The rotors were carefully folded, and maintenance platforms were positioned beneath them. Some of the doors were open, with a few technicians inside inspecting the cabins and conducting system tests using cables connected to the engines. Next to one helicopter, an old master was showing a young soldier how to change the oil, pointing to the cylinders and explaining something.
Nikolai watched the entire scene with a slight smile. He turned to me, gave me a brief but meaningful look, and said in a low voice, "This is just the beginning, son... The real work starts now."
As soon as he finished speaking, he turned his face toward the other door facing south. He began walking toward Hangar 4, his steps resolute. I followed him silently. A strange excitement was rising within me. It was as if what I had just seen was merely a preview of what lay beyond the curtain.
Shortly thereafter, we arrived at the massive steel doors of Hangar 4. Nikolai pulled a key from his pocket, turned the lock, and pushed the door open with all his strength. As the door creaked open, the smell of oil, gasoline, and metal hit my nose. When we stepped inside, the sight before me made my eyes widen in astonishment.
Thirty-two BMD-2 armored personnel carriers lined up in rows, interspersed with six 2S9 "Nona-S" self-propelled mortar launchers... Each one stood silently, as if ready to move at any moment. Carefully stretched tarpaulins covered the vehicles, some removed, others still in place. Ammunition boxes, fuel drums, and spare tracks lay on the ground. This was not a graveyard but a place of awakening.
I couldn't hide my excitement. My steps quickened, and as I passed by the machines, I lightly touched their bodies with my hands. The cold steel and armor instilled a sense of confidence in me. I immediately turned to Nikolai:
"Comrade Margelov... How is it that such heavily armored vehicles remain intact? Didn't a nuclear bomb fall here? This place is still standing, almost untouched..."
Nikolai shook his head for a moment, then smiled slightly. He lit his cigarette, took a drag, and began to speak in a slow but clear tone:
"Yes, son, this base was not directly targeted. NATO sent two missiles here, but our air defense systems—the S-300s—locked on in time. The missiles were shot down while still in the atmosphere." His voice darkened. "But that wasn't the only thing that saved us. Geography was also in our favor. We're very close to Moscow, and NATO's top priority was to destroy the decision-making centers. The Kremlin, the Ministry of Defense, the General Staff... All were targets."
He bit his lip, his gaze drifting into the void for a moment. He continued:
"The second reason... Perhaps the more painful one: Tver." He took a deep breath. "The eight nuclear warheads that fell on Tver... They didn't leave us intact vehicles, but a chance to survive. But at the cost of their lives. Tver is now just a name on the map, not a living city. What remains... is charred earth, melted iron, glassy craters."
The words caught in my throat. I looked around silently. The vehicles no longer looked like military machines to me, but like tombstones. These piles of iron had remained here at a price.
Nikolai threw the cigarette he had taken his last puff from on the ground and crushed it with his foot. Then he turned to me, his face bearing the stern but honest expression of a father:
"Sometimes, son, surviving isn't about winning... It's just about being able to endure others dying for us."
I remained silent. Because there was no answer to Nikolai's words. Sometimes, a person can only offer respect through silence.
To break the silence—or perhaps to lighten the weight in my heart—I changed the subject with a slight mocking smile:
"Well, Nikolai… Does the President even have any soldiers left? Does he even have an army, hahaha. If they don't value men like you, then they don't have any real soldiers."
A brief smile spread across Nikolai's face, then he turned to me seriously. He placed his hand lightly on my shoulder and replied:
"You're right about that, son. All the President has left is a handful—a guard unit of twenty, maybe thirty people. They were all chosen for loyalty, not ability. They're not trained, and they're certainly not disciplined. For them, a soldier is just someone who holds a gun. They're not a real fighting force, not a force that protects or sustains."
He looked around for a moment, at the cold concrete walls of the hangar, at the lined-up vehicles... Then he continued:
"That's why, despite all these armored vehicles, we can't use them. Fuel is too valuable, resources are limited. Without a real army, tanks are just empty cans. We'll discuss the plan in detail tonight at dinner, when everyone is ready. Because tomorrow morning, our fate will change."
After speaking his final words, he walked out of the hangar with heavy steps. Only the echo of his boots remained behind.
I stayed inside for a while longer. Then I began cleaning my weapons to ease the tension. I tossed aside my broken gas mask and took a spare from the box. I checked the filters; the lenses were intact. These small preparations felt like the calm before the approaching storm.
Finally, it was time for dinner. As I walked toward hangar number 1, the sky had turned a reddish gray. When I entered, the long steel tables were lined up as they had been yesterday. On them were steaming soup pots, fried meats, vegetables, boiled potatoes, and bread. Soldiers began to trickle in slowly—their faces showing fatigue but also anticipation.
But there was a noticeable change.
There was no alcohol on the table. The reason was clear: they had to stay sober for the coup operation.
The meal was eaten in silence. Nothing could be heard except the clinking of cutlery. Everyone's eyes were fixed on their plates, but no one's mind was there. Tomorrow was the only thought buzzing in their heads. This silence was not a lament, but a waiting.
After the meal, Major Nikolai Margelov was the first to break the silence. He rose slowly from his chair, his voice loud and clear, but without his usual humor.
"I assume everyone is ready for tomorrow's operation," he said, his eyes scanning each soldier seated at the table. "We have observed that the enemy is outnumbered. They are poorly armed, and we do not expect serious resistance… However, this should not lull you into complacency."
He raised his voice slightly, did not pound his fist on the table, but his words had the same effect:
"The civilian population is our people. I do not want a single one of them to be harmed. This is a matter of honor for us."
He paused for a moment. Then he began giving orders:
"Makarov, Ivan, Gulyakov, Morozov, Petrov! The five of you are tasked with evacuating the civilian population from the government building. Do not harm them, but guide them firmly. Serve as a shield if necessary. This task will be far more challenging than combat, but equally important."
He took a short breath. The weight of his words settled over the room.
"Four BMD-2s will be used in the operation. Each will be fully equipped with fuel and ammunition. But let me make this clear: firing on civilians is strictly prohibited!"
Finally, he turned his gaze to an officer sitting at a distant point:
"One Mi-24D helicopter must be made combat-ready immediately. It will be our eyes in the sky. It will intervene if necessary, or simply deter if needed. This war will end in our favor. And by tomorrow morning, this city will be cleansed of its curse."
Everyone in the room stood up at once. They nodded silently in agreement, but their eyes betrayed both determination and anxiety.
About ten minutes later, a massive Mi-24D helicopter, painted in combat colors and with a weathered fuselage, was waiting on the runway. Its engines had not yet been started, but its hull was as silent as a warrior holding his breath in the night. Four BMD-2s were lined up beside it. Two of them had AGS-17 automatic grenade launchers mounted on their turrets. The BMDs' camouflage paint was worn, but they harbored deadly power within.
The soldiers carried ammunition boxes on their shoulders, connected fuel hoses to the engines, and tested the machine guns inside the BMDs one by one. Some attached silencers to their weapons, while others calibrated their scopes. Everyone knew their duties.
After preparations were complete, everyone quietly retired to their beds. That night, every soldier under the metal roof of the hangar experienced the loneliness of a warrior. No one pretended to sleep; they truly tried to sleep. Some prayed, while others simply stared at the ceiling, waiting for morning. I returned to my own bed and began to sleep.
At 6:00 a.m., everyone woke up to the sound of the alarm. I got out of bed, put on my boots, clothes, steel vest, and helmet. Then I went to hangar number 1. Behind the hangar door, soldiers lined up in four rows, fully equipped and ready. There was determination as well as tension in their eyes. Major Nikolai Margelov stepped forward. He spread the paper map he was holding on the ground. Everyone leaned in attentively. He summarized the plan one last time. His voice was clear, but the anxiety he carried in his heart could only be read in his eyes.
"At 08:00, each group will proceed along its own route. Each group has been assigned a BMD-2. Communication will only be via encrypted radio channels. The main objective is to surround the government building. We do not expect fierce resistance, but be prepared. Remember, I do not want any civilian casualties. This is not an invasion, it is a rescue."
At 08:00, the operation began. Four groups split up, each advancing from a different direction. I was in the first group. Our task was to surround the government building from the south. Leading us was Major Nikolai Margelov himself—a commander who was with his soldiers on the battlefield, not someone issuing orders from headquarters.
Ahead of us, the BMD-2 moved slowly and heavily. The sound of its engine pierced the morning silence. The headquarters left behind us had fallen into a deathly silence. No human voices, no animal sounds… Only the shadows of destroyed buildings and the howling of the wind through the roof debris.
We advanced street by street. There were no civilians. I guess our men inside had successfully completed their mission. There was still no sign of government soldiers, no fighting, no movement... Was this silence a trap, or had they fled in fear?
We were almost at the government building when Nikolai stopped. He took the megaphone from his waist and pressed the button. A harsh voice echoed from his throat:
"I am addressing the troops at the government building. Do not resist. Lay down your arms. This is a coup, but we want it to be completed without bloodshed. We have come to listen to you, not to kill you. If you surrender your weapons now, you will be pardoned. But if you resist, we will have no choice but to respond."
After Major Nikolai released the megaphone's button, an absolute silence spread around. This silence was enough to realize that something had gone wrong. The building was not responding because those inside had already made their decision: to resist.
Less than half a minute later, a gunshot echoed from the roof of the government building—a sniper had aimed at the commander's hatch of the BMD-2. The bullet grazed the armor, but the intent was clear: They had no intention of surrendering.
Major Nikolai shouted loudly:
"Take your positions! Sniper on the roof! Don't fire indiscriminately, identify the target!"
I immediately took cover behind the pile of debris next to me. I rested my AK-74 against my chest and raised the scope. I saw him—lying in the half-shadow on the left wing of the building's roof. I held my breath. I gently touched the trigger. Before the bullet reached him, another shot came—this time from our sniper. The target was neutralized.
But this was only the beginning.
From the front of the building, the sound of fully automatic fire erupted suddenly. The enemy's PKM machine gun had been positioned at a window on the second floor of the building. Bullets tore through the asphalt, walls, trash cans, even a tree. Soldiers took cover on the ground. The air filled with the smell of gunpowder and the sound of gunfire.
Nikolai shouted, "Smoke grenades! Shield team, forward!"
As the smoke grenades fired from the BMD-2's turret exploded on the ground, a gray mist began to envelop us. A thick, suffocating cloud restricted our field of vision but also paralyzed the enemy's ability to aim. This was our opportunity to advance.
When the command "Full ahead!" was transmitted over the radio to the BMD-2, the armored vehicle roared forward with its engine blaring. The asphalt crumbled beneath its tracks, and the antennas hanging from its armored hull cut through the smoke as it advanced. The 30mm cannon targeted the right side of the building. Eight shots were fired in rapid succession. As the windows shattered with a loud crash, part of the facade collapsed, sending stones and concrete debris scattering into the street.
However, the enemy did not retreat. These men were not trained, but they were fearless. Perhaps they had received orders, or perhaps they had decided to fight to the death out of desperation. Kalashnikovs were firing from the building's windows, and the PKM machine gun was spitting out bullets nonstop. If I had stuck my head out for a moment, I was sure I would have been shot in the forehead.
Screams, coughs, and the sharp sound of bullets mingled among the exploding walls.
Major Nikolai's patience had run out. He grabbed the radio, and his voice echoed this time with a tone that was more commanding than authoritative:
"Send in Eagle 1. I want this building reduced to dust."
There was silence. A momentary pause in the midst of battle. The soldiers knew what it meant. Those inside the building did not yet know that hell was just beginning.
A heavy rumbling was heard from the sky. Then, a black shadow appeared in the gray — the MI-24D, our heavily armored attack helicopter. Its arrival was like thunder. As it approached, the details became clearer: the nose gun, the rocket pods under its wings, and its deadly silhouette.
The MI-24 suddenly rose, adjusted its angle, and fired a full salvo of S-5 rockets. Dozens of small rockets roared through the air, tearing through the sky toward the building. Then, a few seconds of absolute silence... And then:
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The building shook as if struck by a giant fist from within. The rockets hit the walls, each bringing its own hell. The columns cracked from the force of the explosions, and glass shards flew like a storm. The final rocket struck the center of the building—and in that moment, everything collapsed.
Stone, brick, iron, and blood. The building, collapsing with a deafening roar, raised a massive cloud of dust. The brown and gray mixture of dust rose before us, stretching into the sky. The street was covered in dirt, smoke, and the smell of fire.