Extract from Conflict of the Throne: Rogue Battalion by Vivika Widow and Paul Connelly
Ivan Borkov had always aimed for greatness. He knew, even from an early age, that one day he would become head of the Borkov family. The Borkov’s were extensive throughout Russia. As native Moscovites, the capital city had quickly become one of their strongholds without their enemies even knowing it. In fact, it had been a stronghold for years. The Borkov name had been present in circles of importance dating back to the revolution. Although Ivan wasn’t the eldest, he had been chosen to lead them in a shift in the balance of power in Russia.
Ivan had met President Munterov on many occasions. He was an amiable man for the most part, but his geniality bordered on naivety. Ivan was sure the United States were taking advantage of this. He was regretful that such kind man as President Munterov would have to suffer but sometimes in wars, especially wars with such beasts as the United States; there were causalities. President Munterov was collateral damage.
As kind as President Munterov was, he was also a very stubborn one. Already the Borkov’s had their support both at home and abroad which rivalled his own and yet he still refused to hand the government over to the Yugasov regime. The people in most cities in Russia herself were crying out for Ivan to become their première.
Ivan reflected on this as he sipped a glass of vodka he enjoyed best in the late afternoon. His large home in Moscow offered excellent views of Red Square. The dark red curtains trailed the ground although the window didn’t begin until further up. The snow was falling heavily again, and it wouldn’t be long before a heavy winter was upon them. He felt the people could sense this foreboding.
The door opened, and a man in handcuffs scuffled before him. Ivan’s young cousin, Viktor Borkov, had gripped the man by the neck and threw him onto his knees before the Yugasov Première.
“This man has committed treason against you!” announced Viktor. “He claims to be loyal to our cause but we find he has been passing information to our enemies.”
Ivan still held the small glass of vodka in his hands. His cousin was only a young man but Viktor’s black hair had streaks of grey. The stress of his job as ‘The Enforcer’ Ivan presumed. The man on the ground at his feet looked pleadingly into his cold grey eyes. “It’s not true!” he claimed.
The man was Lev Ranovic. He had been a keen supporter of Ivan’s rise to power in the beginning but as the time drew nearer for the final struggle he had sensed Lev’s loyalties weakening. Viktor had been watching him closely for the past month or so.
“We are not animals!” called Rudislaw Borkov from the desk where he was reading correspondence from China. “This man has long been our friend,” Rudislaw; also Ivan’s cousin was the most level headed of the Borkov’s. He had been by Ivan’s side throughout the campaign, and his democratic approach had won favour of people more often than violence was necessary. He filled another glass of vodka and brought it to Lev. He placed the glass to Lev’s lips and allowed him to take a small sip. “Is any of this true Lev?” asked Rudislaw. Lev shook his head. A tear began to form in the corner of his left eye. His skin had paled to a shade of grey usually only seen on the deceased. Rudislaw raised his eyebrows. “You do know the penalties if we find out you are lying?”
“I swear I’m telling the truth!” Lev cried. Viktor grunted and kicked his back causing the prisoner to fall face first on the floor.
Ivan looked down on him. “What information has he shared?” he asked Viktor.
“One of our contacts in the United States tells me that a team is being dispatched to Minsk.”
“They know about Minsk?” Ivan pressed.
Viktor kicked Lev again. “Thanks to this rat.”
Ivan gestured for Viktor to lift Lev onto his feet again which Viktor did by gripping his thinning chestnut brown hair. Rudislaw shook his head. “I’m sorry Lev, but you have condemned innocent Minskovites to die, the American soldiers dispatched there will die and now you will have to die too. It is a breach of trust that we cannot ignore.”
Viktor dragged Lev back out of the room. They could still hear his screaming as he disappeared down the hall. Ivan returned to the window, and Rudislaw returned to his reading.
Two more Yugasovs met Viktor and Lev outside. Lev fell against the wall with a painted Yugasov symbol. Its bright red background almost glowed through the haze of the snow, and the central yellow star shone brightly. A bullet fired into Lev’s forehead. He died instantly. Viktor had awoken that morning feeling merciful. The police had ceased dealing with Yugasov executions, a policy installed by Police Commander, Nikolai Borkov so they left Lev’s body in the cold of the Moscow street to be devoured by the stray dogs.
