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The crumbs danced and pirouetted once more as the greasy finger thumped the map once more. Colonel Voronin raised his voice, and not for the first time over the past few days. "Kraskovy"
He planted his finger on the map once more to emphasise the heavily circled town.
"That is where we should strike first."
One of the newer Captains looked at him, concerned.
"Sir, you are proposing an attack on our own country with a weapon that hasn't been tested."
The young Captain looked around the table.
"I, for one, want to know your reasoning for such an action."
The grizzled Colonel stood back from the map, the sickening scar on his face evident in the light of the paraffin lamp.
"Comrades, there is a sickness eating away at our beloved motherland: the politicos are taking over the military and are seeking to remove us from our powers. However, I and a few superiorshave vowed to undo this, and you lot are the best we can scrape together not in Afghanistan. Now... I will not delude you with the idea of free choice, since that is the job of American propaganda," A low laugh went round the room. "So I will tell you that anyone in this room who divulges information or does not go through with the plan will be killed. Don't fear, we are doing this for the Red Army, and hence for the motherland itself."

The room went silent, before a murmur of approval went around. The Colonel looked down at the map again, until a lazy and slurred voice spoke through the haze.
"Bullshit."
The officers stared at Major Galko in fear, wondering just what the colonel would do.
"Kraskovy is an urban fortress. Besides a formidable garrison, there's the prison block which is made of solid concrete and has line of sight over the whole town. There is no way anyone can get in by force"
Major Galko blew more cigar smoke into the air.
"Besides which, how do we know the Spetsnaz won't intervene?"
Galko looked around the table calmly.
"Get out while you still can."
Silence broke upon the room like a wave upon a beach. Voronin strode towards Galko, sniffing the air as he came closer.
"Mmm... Cuban?"
Galko blew cigar smoke into his face.
"Why of course."
"A shame..." Before Galko even had time to show his confusion, Voronin's fist connected with his cheek, the cigar tumbling from his lips, along with the shattered remains of one of his molars.
"...I hate wasting a good cigar" Voronin finished, his hand sailing down to his pistol holster, gripping the Makarov. Galko etched his way up the wall, cowed and bleeding profusely from his lip.
"I... I'm sssssorry!" he blubbered as Voronin drew the pistol.
"There's only one thing I hate more than that," Voronin said, raising the pistol, "And that's a coward." The bark of the pistol sprayed Galko's brains against the wall, Voronin holstering it once more before the body even hit the ground.
"We go tomorrow. Any questions?" The gathered officers shook their heads in unison, wary of the empty-headed corpse in the corner.

***

Alexandr Kurylenko gripped the bannister tightly. This was NOT the day to fall down the stairs from exhaustion. Natasha, his wife, yawned her way through her second cup of coffee, narrowly avoiding knocking herself senseless on the kitchen door-frame. The call had come at 3 in the morning... something about a KGB mole going missing within the military? Alexandr didn't care, but he did care that the call had interrupted him in an intimate moment with Natasha, one of the few they were able to enjoy between his being a Spetsnaz reserve and their four year-old daughter Nadia. He idolised them both and though strictly against Spetsnaz policy, kept their photograph in the heel of his left boot whenever he was called up.
"Come back soon." Natasha yawned, "Nadia will want a bed-time story."
"I can read her some Marx."
"Great, that'll really knock her out!"
They laughed, sharing the very private joke away from prying eyes.
"Besides which, you and I have unfinished business..." Alexandr grinned. Natasha rolled her eyes and hurried him out of the door.
"You're hopeless... Come on, the car's waiting."
Alexandr kissed his wife once more, before closing the door and walking to the waiting jeep, the driver nodding to the rear door and sparing every courtesy.
"Get in."

***

The snowy fields rolled past as the driver put pedal to the metal, and Alexandr's eyes failed to keep up. He did, however, see the group of startled ptarmigans flee the car's acceleration as they neared Engels air-base. After the usual rigmarole of checking of id and passes, Alexandr made his way to an old friend he spotted amongst the other hardened Spetsnaz, Sergei Darov, possibly the only man in the squad with a sense of humour- excepting him, of course.
"Hey Sergei... You awake?"
"Yeah, still awake. I think she was too..." Alexandr grimaced. Maybe a sense of humour was an over-statement for Darov.
"Any ideas what this is about?"
"Beyond a KGB moron going off the charts, nothing."
"Hmm... When's the brief..." Alexandr was cut off by a whistle.
"Now."

***

The briefing room was noticeably empty, most of the reservists being in Afghanistan on tours of duty, and in total only eleven men were in the room. Well, ten men and one Katya Szerenaya, who no-one in the Spetsnaz would ever really want to call a woman, not after the way she had treated those two first year conscripts who had asked her out...

The men cheered as the burly Captain Timoshenko entered. He was a man of few words, but one of those privileged few in 1984 who managed to keep a huge, bushy beard, akin to a mane and giving rise to the nickname passed from soldier to soldier with hushed tones, "The lion". This beard now visibly bristled as he spoke.
"Good morning all."
A low, reluctant murmur passed around the room.
"Now you all know that this a missing person mission: seems like the KGB, in their usual incompetence, fucked up and have lost contact with an operative working inside one of our military's upper echelons. This is the compound the operative last recorded hid position as: an old Moscow military district ammo dump.  Our target's name is Fyodor Selyenko, and he's a party member, so if he asks you to kiss his ass, you do it." Timoshenko moved around the board, pointing to a photograph, a lean man in his forties. The operatives committed the picture to memory, to quicken recovery time, before Timoshenko continued. "This is strictly an extraction mission: Do NOT engage any of our men. If confronted, use non-lethal force. I think that together you know enough martial arts to knock out Bruce Lee, so that shouldn't be a problem." Darov chuckled slightly, being a fan of smuggled Lee films himself.
"Insertion by Hind, you board in thirty. You will be armed as a precaution, but all actions are done under directive 75. Good luck."

***

The sleepy suburbs of Moscow had long since passed by the Hind's windows, the log cabins replaced by rolling fields of snow, and the odd homestead, which might occasionally light up as the occupants gazed out of the windows, seeking the source of the thundering noise hindering their sleep. Alexandr took notice of the lay of the land: this was the first time he'd been out of Moscow for several months, and his Uralic village heritage yearned to be at home in the wilderness once more. He looked around the Hind, the rest of the men asleep, checking ammunition or merely stating into space. He gave his Aks-74 the once over, checking it's  internals, before turning his attention to the first aid kit, his responsibility as medic constantly on his mind. As Dawn broke, he closed his eyes for a second, just to catch up on his missing few hours.

***

Beeeeeeeeeep!!!

The target acquisition light droned in the Hind's cabin as a missile system locked onto the lumbering gunship.
"What the fuck?!" The pilot yelled.   "I thought this was a silent op!"
The gunship jinked to the left with surprising agility, avoiding the Grail missile by a few metres, the smoke trail the only visible sign of their escape. The Spetsnaz let out a string of profanities as they collided with the doors and seats; the Hind was no passenger aircraft.
"They're shooting at us!" The pilot yelled over the intercom.
"Directive 75 applies! WASTE THOSE FUCKERS!" Sergeant Barev yelled back.

Demetreyev shouldered the Grail again. The pilot was evidently quite skilled, considering the roll he had just managed. The red light on the acquisition indicator blinked for a few seconds as the Hind turned slowly. It wouldn't be armed, the Captain had told the Interception teams, because of logistics shortages. But the whirring of the JAK-B gatling just before it opened up told Demetreyev that the Captain was a fool. The Hind opened up a furious hailstorm on the team, just as the Grail gave a solid tone indicating a lock, but he knew it was too late. His last thoughts as he was torn to shreds was unremitting hatred for that new-comer moron. The Hind flew on past the now-pockmarked ground, steam streaming from the JAK-B.

***

The Hind neared the compound more cautiously, emerging from behind an abandoned barracks block, before the Spetsnaz kicked the doors open and zip-lined onto the ground, the downwash of rotors sweeping up the dust of twenty years into the Dawn air as they fanned out.
"Fan out" Barev growled, as the hind moved into a holding pattern above the complex. The Spetsnaz slowly made their way across the barracks parking lot, sheltering behind old jeeps and Skodas as they moved. The first shot rang out, clear from above, as an inexperienced conscript tried to pick off one of the shadows moving against the snow. Belinski, the Marksman, raised his VSS and silently sent a round through his eye, but soon the rest of the compound opened up around them.

"One, move to Car left, 30 metres. Two, shed right, 20 metres. Three, Base of fire, my location, Four, Breach door, 25 metres ahead." The team split up, moving silently in the snow to their assigned locations, Alexandr, Belinski and Sergei forming the base of fire, as medic, sniper and support gunner, searching for targets as the fierce Katya and Degrev pressed through the hail of inaccurate fire to the compound's door, pressing the plastic explosives around the lock and blowing it open before letting rip with a hail of Krinkov fire. Several targets of opportunity popped up around the compound, trying to down the breaching duo, only to be riddled by the base of fire team, Alexandr propping his AKS against door frame of one of the cars, squeezing gently on the trigger and sending a few rounds through the conscripts' skulls.

Degrev turned, signalling to Barev that the coast was clear. The two flanking groups moving through the door, and covered the base of fire team as they in turn moved in. Outside the fire died down, and tramping echoed around the compound as the conscripts moved to storm the Spetsnaz operatives' location.
"Sergei, set up facing the door, the rest of you, fan out and search for the target." Barev looked around at the squad. The likelihood was that this KGB idiot was dead; he only hoped that the paperwork wouldn't be too severe.
"Sir, body here" Katya declared, prodding it with her Krinkov to affirm her assessment. It was clear that the man had certainly had something more pass through his head than a dirty thought, and cigar smoke hung thick on the body. Taking a copy of the photo out, Barev compared it to the corpse to be sure, as Alexandr looked on.
"The resemblance is remarkable, sir." He joked.
"Yeah... It's him..." Barev wiped his face; command was not going to like this. "Alexandr, since you're such an expert on dead bodies and our medic, you can carry him to the Evac point."
Alexandr's grin died away, as Katya patted him on the back, her  voice one which would break a monk's heart.
"Tough break."

***

The hailstorm had definitely intensified as they emerged, the Spetsnaz now diving between pieces of cover. When they had emerged, there had been a DSHK trained on the entrance, but a lucky round by Belinski had killed the man who seemed to be the only able operator. That didn't change the fact that Alexandr still resented carrying a dead body through this density of fire, and he cursed as another round sprayed the earth next to the KGB agent's corpse. This was NOT a good day, one of his worst, if not his last. As the inexperienced troops continued their harrying fire, there was a deafening roar as the Hind swept out from behind the barracks block and opened up with JAK-B, Tearing the exposed Conscripts to bloody shreds. The Spetsnaz continued through the parking lot, sprinting to the extraction point as the Hind covered them with a barrage from it's rocket pods, explosions rippling across the roof of the compound as the gunner engaged at will. Through the swirling dust from the downwash and falling grains of concrete, Barev led the squad to the Hind, as the pilot slowly hovered a few feet off the ground, most of the members entering in short order, with Sergei and Alexandr taking up the rear, one weighed down by  ammunition, the other by the body. Sergei jumped in first, but an RPG exploded behind the gunship before Alexandr could make it in.

"Too close! We're taking it up!" The pilot yelled, Alexandr tossing the body into the Hind as it slowly lifted off. The Hind slowly began it's ascent, the pilot uneager to waste more time in the extraction point with RPGs being fired, and Sergei dangled a rope for Alexandr to grab hold of. He grabbed on just as the Hind pulled away from the car park and  passed onto the rolling fields of snow beyond. He glanced up at Sergei to see him offering a hand up into the passenger compartment just as the RPG round collided with the rotor block. Alexandr yelled in fear, anger and grief as the explosion ripped through the Hind's internals, and Sergei's body were replaced by flames for a second. Then the force keeping him aloft twelve metres off the ground suddenly vanished, and he fell backwards into deep snow as the body of the Hind plunged into the ground ahead of him, a twisted hunk of burning metal.

***

When he came to, he lay in the snow, still incapable of thinking. Ten people had just been blown to pieces in front of him, his entire squad, with two aircrew. He stared up at the grey skies, his mind completely blank. After two minutes? Or was it ten? He had no clue... His Spetsnaz training kicked in and he stood slowly, reasoning the way all soldiers did: They were dead, he wasn't. He limped away from the Hind, careful not to get caught in any secondaries if the ammunition hadn't already gone up.

***

Treyev looked up from the wreckage, the snow swirling around the two snipers. They had got there late, and so Lutov and he were the ones checking out the Hind's carcass, not the conscripts. He looked up from the ruined cockpit, perceiving movement halfway across the field.
"Lutov! We got a survivor!" he yelled, running for the Uaz jeep "We gotta run him down!" Lutov nodded, jumping in next to him as they kicked the jeep's engine to life and sped off in pursuit.

Alexandr could tell his leg was broken; he hadn't graduated from Moscow medical school for nothing. What he feared more was the jeep's engine he heard stirred to life from around the Hind, and he started running, yelling profanities as a splinter of bone ground against his calf muscle. His salvation lay in the woods only twenty metres away, where there was ample cover. The car pulled up as he got closer, obviously giving up the chase. The single SVD shot told him that he was wrong, even before he was hit. The round entered his knee joint from behind, piercing through his left knee-cap and nerves, shattering the skin in a spray of blood. The pain coursed through his body as Alexandr crumpled in the snow, screaming in agony.

Lutov lowered the SVD, his satisfied smirk staying firmly on his face.
"Leave him for the wolves." he muttered, as the duo clambered into the Uaz and headed back to report no survivors.

Alexandr yelled into the air, his blood staining the once perfectly white snow bloody crimson, screaming the only thing he could think about, his wife and daughter. As he did so, the pain overwhelmed his mind and he collapsed into the snow, his tears freezing on face as the cruel winter carried on, pouring snow onto his frozen form.