Poland could pretend nothing had happened. After all, the militants were trained by the CIA; Poland merely provided the venue and cover. At worst, they'd get a sharp slap from the Soviet Union—but the Americans wouldn't stand for that. They'd already lost several special forces instructors near the Polish border. For now, Gates kept things quiet. This was the perfect moment to win the president's trust and climb higher. If Washington caught wind of these losses now, Gates' position as CIA director would be in serious jeopardy. The top priority was to regain momentum in the riot plan. Whether or not the uprisings succeeded, just sparking chaos on the Baltic mainland meant victory for him.
Meanwhile, at a port on Lithuania's Baltic coast, armed militants waited for a transport ship. They'd set up a secret base in an abandoned factory cluttered with screws and wooden planks, where smuggled Kalashnikovs were hidden, waiting for the order to strike the city, seize control, and battle Soviet forces.
These fighters were mostly fanatic Lithuanians, convinced that Lithuania belonged to Lithuanians—not Russia. Fueled by fierce nationalism, they planned to ignite rebellion across Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia to break free from Soviet rule.
The ship, scheduled to arrive at ten, was delayed by wind and waves. Nearby, the militants played poker to pass the time, unaware that police from the Ministry of Internal Affairs were silently closing in, surrounding the dock like ghosts, their footsteps muffled.
Patrolling militants carrying submachine guns were suddenly shot in the head by VSS sniper rifles, their bodies tossed into an empty factory. The police split into teams and stealthily advanced on the factory area.
Inside, the separatists unpacked weapons wrapped in oil paper—grenades, Kalashnikovs, RPG rocket launchers. Some maintained guns while others prepared improvised bombs and Molotov cocktails. High-proof alcohol was poured into bottles sealed with cloth strips and stuffed inside toy dolls to evade police searches.
In past Soviet crackdowns, Lithuania's opposition had shown minimal resistance—not because it didn't exist, but because it was hiding, waiting for the right moment. Now, with the bloodiest riot planned yet, the Lithuanians sought to awaken their resistance and fight back fiercely.
As preparations peaked, tear gas and stun grenades exploded through the windows. Dazed, the militants were overwhelmed by Ministry of Internal Affairs police, who burst in and ruthlessly shot anyone trying to resist. Guns flipped, the police warned the rest to stay still or face the same fate.
Faced with the police, many militants became cowards—trembling, begging for mercy, only to be beaten and kicked by the soldiers. Where was their fiery passion for democracy and street politics now? Had it all vanished?
Once the Internal Affairs police secured the dock, they found a large cache of weapons and military uniforms. Interrogations revealed the militants' plan: to disguise themselves as Soviet soldiers amid the chaos, then seize the central building and capture the Lithuanian Communist Party's General Secretary. The riots were only a cover for this coup attempt.
At sea, a transport ship neared Soviet waters. Declared as carrying meat by customs, it actually held armed CIA-trained soldiers gearing up for the Lithuanian riot. Some clutched weapons; others were unarmed but fiercely determined to break Lithuania from the Soviet Union and form a purely Lithuanian regime.
Originally, the CIA planned to ship weapons and personnel separately, but time constraints forced them to combine both. This careless decision led to an irreversible mistake.
As the ship neared the coast, a Hind helicopter suddenly appeared from Finland without warning. The ship's captain, secretly working with the CIA agent onboard, radioed the update.
"Hold steady—they won't attack immediately. Our priority: clear the weapons or kill those Soviets."
The captain's words hung heavy in the air. Killing Soviet soldiers was a grave provocation—an act of war.
But they severely underestimated Russian resolve. When the ship slowed for inspection, a Gazelle helicopter suddenly opened fire on the crew's cockpit, its cannon shells tearing through the pilots. None survived.
Seeing this, the guarding CIA agent knew these Soviets meant business. He ordered everyone to grab weapons and return fire on the Gazelle. But they were unprepared—armed only with submachine guns and rifles, no anti-aircraft weapons.
Of course, none of their weapons could penetrate the Hind helicopter's terrifyingly thick armor. Dominating the skies like a relentless reaper, the Hind tore through the armed personnel on the transport ship. Bullets shredded bodies and blasted a gaping, bloody hole in the white wall behind them.
After circling and firing, nearly all the gunmen lay dead under the Hind's assault. The unarmed ones scattered, fleeing into the ship's cabins. But the Hind pilot had no intention of letting anyone escape. Once all threats were neutralized, he radioed the navy: they could board.
Soon, an even more ruthless squad stormed the ship, ordered to kill every last person and leave no survivors. Inside the cabins, the disarmed militants panicked like lambs before slaughter. The navy troops came prepared with grenades; whenever they found armed men hiding, they tossed explosives before the occupants could surrender, slamming the doors shut in a ruthless countdown.
The separatists fled from cabin to cabin, frantic foxes trapped in a hunter's snare. Maybe in their final moments, a desperate thought crossed their minds: why had they become pawns in such a terrible game?
All the CIA operatives still capable of fighting were gunned down after brief struggles—even those who had planned the Lithuanian bombing. They didn't realize that once they set foot in Lithuania, their identities were erased—secrets known only to the masterminds.
Their sacrifice was never about patriotism; it was to secure Gates's promotion. They were nothing but tragic victims caught in the shadowy clash between the United States and the Soviet Union.
After the massacre, Soviet troops secured the entire ship. Every person onboard was executed without mercy. It didn't matter whether the ship hailed from Finland or Poland; any armed personnel trespassing into Soviet waters faced deadly force to protect the border.
This ruthless defense was why, aside from fanatical separatists, no smugglers or drug traffickers dared test the Soviet frontier. They faced far fiercer demons, and those bold enough to cross them often met their end under rocket launchers.
Though a dangerous gamble, the Ministry of Internal Affairs had scored a decisive victory. The US plan to infiltrate Lithuania through the border had been crushed. The months-long net laid by the bureau could finally close.
What came next would be left to the Ministry of External Affairs and the government to handle.