January 6th, 2015
1517 hours
Black Sea, south of Sevastopol

In the chaos of the Combat Information Center/Bridge of the New Russian Federation warship Admiral Nakhimov, Captain Volkov knew the fight was going badly. He had known it from the moment his escorting ships were blown to pieces by the surprise air assault, and when their escorting carrier, the Admiral Kuznetson, was sunk. Who could have expected it? The blasted Americans had come in under heavy jamming, struck, and dealt many blows to his ship.

One of the planes slowly lined up for his ship's bow, ready to strike again.

"Incoming, front!" One of the men on the bridge yelled.

"Redirect the defensive fire front!" Volkov yelled as he paced the bridge.

He never saw the second plane, an aging but powerful F-117, coming from the port side of the ship. It wouldn't have made a difference if he had. The two American-made Mk.83 bombs slammed into the superstructure below the bridge, enveloping the superstructure in fire, and critically compromising the Admiral Nakhimov's integrity. The entire center of the ship cracked, split, and rapidly took on water.

Five minutes later, and the ship had sunk beneath the waves. The American and Russian Federation loyalist aircraft circling overhead excitedly talked over the radio, unaware that their 'kill' would be experiencing an entirely different fate.

January 15th, 2015
1526 hours
Moscow, New Russian Federation

The dull roar of the rotors played above Sokolov’s head. He shifted in his seat to get a better view of the area around him, thanking the designers of the Mi-24D for including the bubble canopy. Even though the helicopter design was practically ancient at this point, it was still matching up to more recent designs, as well as being compatible with almost every weapon in the Russian arsenal, and being able to transport a large load of troops.

Which brought him to his current assignment: Ferrying four MVD Spetsnaz soldiers to the Kremlin. The complex had, only moments before, been secured by American helicopter units, and he had gotten the go-ahead to transport his cargo there.

He was only thankful he hadn’t been told to be in the assault wave. From what he had heard, Osa squadron had been annihilated by a combination of SAMs and low-flying Su-25s. He and the rest of his flight of three were moving forward, each transporting four members of the twelve-man team.

“Pilot,” He heard Lieutenant Vasilyev, the leader of the strike force, ask on the aircraft radio. “How much longer will this take?”

“Only a few more minutes, Lieutenant.” He replied.

He glanced up and behind himself at his Co-pilot, Bogdanov. Apparently he, like Sokolov, had nothing to do except watch the buildings move past beneath them. He was in no hurry, after all. Why waste the aviation fuel?

In back, Lieutenant Vasilyev turned around to look at his men. There were four of them, comprising a third of the assault group. Their objective was to storm the Kremlin as an advanced team, to prevent any organized defense against the forward Russian elements. Riga 1, Riga 2, and Riga 3 were already about to converge on the massive complex, to end the battle for Moscow. For the last time before they would begin, Vasilyev checked on his men and their equipment.

The newest private, Novikov, seemed the most nervous. This would his first taste of actual combat, outside of training. Kozlov, the other private in their group, was wearing his ever-present scowl. Both shuffled around, shifting their AK-12 rifles around and occasionally checking the ACOG scopes. Sergeant Petrov was shifting his sniper rifle around. Where Petrov has managed to find a SVU-A, Vasilyev would never know, but the sergeant had a tendency to work miracles. After all, the man had risen to command second squad for a reason.

Finally, Vasilyev checked his own assault rifle. The Steyr AUG A3 may have been old, but the bullpup design was ideal for the encounters he would face. The red dot sight on the top was in perfect condition, imported from Austria. His sidearm, an SR-2, was likewise in good condition.

Overall, his team was ready for any resistance they might encounter. Suddenly, a call came over the local radio in English.

“Cruise missile, Inbound!”

Sokolov’s head immediately moved to track the missile. It was hardly more than a speck, but even he could see the color at this distance, a brilliant orange-red.

Over the past several months, as the New Russian Federation waged war on the Russian Federation and most of NATO, the experimental weapon that the NRF had obtained had been much talked about. It was nicknamed 'Trinity', and it was possibly the most powerful non-nuclear weapon yet developed, capable of annihilating entire sections of cities. It was often encased in a bright orange cruise missile to visually distinguish it.

And one was heading for the center of the Kremlin

The cruise missile hit the ground roughly in the middle of the compound, the blast blinding Sokolov even as he shielded his eyes with his hand. He immediately wrenched the control stick to turn away from the blast, the aircraft slow to respond to his input. As soon as he and his now-panicking Co-pilot, the dust cloud and first shockwave started to head towards him. The first ones passed him and buffeted his aircraft as he moved away from the blast, engulfing his helicopter in a storm of dust.

The massive turbulence slung his aircraft to the right, causing it to turn and tumble. He began to spin towards the ground even as he and the Co-Pilot tried to counteract it. His helicopter spun down a street, headed right for the pavement. The Mi-24 smashed down on its side, the force of the impact slamming Sokolov's head into the side of the cockpit...

In the back, the men were thrown about as the helicopter spun. Vasilyev lost his grip on a bar and flew through the air as the gunship impacted the ground, violently throwing him into the side of the helicopter as he unconsciousness claimed him.

Author's Note

Original chapter completed on 6/30/2013 - 860 Words
Rewritten on 7/6/2014 - 1136 Words

This is the first chapter of the story, rewritten into a more tolerable state than it was previously.

Also, new cover picture.