The three commandos encircling Orlov could hear the sound of the safeties on the weapons trained on them being disengaged. Unsure of what was going on, they waited for their colonel to say something, to give an order to them or to their mutinous comrades. Anything would have been welcome at that moment as each man assessed the alarming situation.
The man they were protecting was carefully weighing that situation. Since the day he had assumed command of this special response team, Demetre Orlov had anticipated that something like this was more than a possibility. He often found himself wondering less about "if" the day came and more about "what" he would do when it did. He had always imagined that when faced with a traitor within the ranks of his own unit, he would instinctively know what to do. Unfortunately, at the moment, his instincts were failing him. For several tense moments, Orlov prepared" himself for a death not unlike that which he had meted out to so many other sons of Russia who had become, through no great fault of their own, victims of their times and pawns of forces greater than themselves.
When his mutinous command, holding all of the advantages, did not immediately strike the four of them down, it dawned upon Orlov that he had a chance. His agile mind began to assess the situation. With his self-appointed guardians pressing in on him, he reasoned that the longer this impasse lasted, the better their chance of surviving it. That his command had been whipped up into rebellion by a particularly persuasive instigator, or through some sort of collective agreement among the men he had handpicked, it didn't matter at that moment. What was critical was determining just how far he could go without provoking them. To do this would require both subtlety and diplomacy.
After taking a moment to compose himself, and carefully sling his assault rifle over his shoulder, the Russian colonel wedged his hands between Moshinsky and Spangen. Making sure that whoever held the flashlight saw his every move, he separated the two men and stepped forward. Though the flashlight was blinding him, he forced himself not to blink or to show any sign of weakness. "I would very much appreciate it if you would point your light elsewhere. It makes talking to you a bit difficult."
Without the slightest hesitation, the beam of light dropped to the ground at Orlov's feet. This pleased him, for it was a clear indication that he had an opportunity to assert a degree of control over the situation. "Thank you. Now, would someone be so kind as to explain to me what, exactly, is going on here?"
Now it was the turn of those facing him to hesitate and fumble about. While he waited, watched, and listened, Orlov could detect a sudden spate of whispering and shuffling about on either side of the person holding the light. One of the voices he heard belonged to his deputy, Major Petkovic. Another, though it was quite clear, was unfamiliar to him.
Finally, after he had taken a moment to collect himself, Petkovic responded. "Colonel, this mission is at an end. We are not going to attack the regional command center or assassinate General Likhatchev."
Orlov sensed that his deputy was both nervous and uncomfortable making this announcement. Given that, he decided to ratchet up the pressure on Petkovic by assuming a more authoritative tone. "On what grounds do you presume to make such a decision?"
"Colonel," Petkovic offered in a voice that betrayed a hint of pleading, "General Likhatchev is not our enemy. He is a hero. He is a true patriot."
"At this moment," Orlov countered, "he is in rebellion against the people and state of Russia. He has threatened the very nation that both he and we have pledged ourselves to defend. Eliminating this danger to Mother Russia is not a choice for us. It is our duty."
For the first time, the person possessing the voice that the Russian colonel had not recognized before spoke. Though the tone was both firm and passionate, there was no mistaking that it was a female's. "Comrade Colonel," she stated crisply, "our first duty is to the people. It is for them, and not for the benefit of gangsters and profiteers in Moscow, that we shed our blood. The real traitors are those who sit in the Kremlin."
Despite his best efforts, a hint of a smile crept across Orlov's face. It had been wise of Likhatchev to send out a dedicated and determined woman to rally the special-response team over to his side. A woman presents less of a physical threat, especially to men who are commandos. Not only can a strong woman wield words like a sword, she can do so in a manner that is often more persuasive and always easier for the male ear to take in. Russian history and legends are replete with heroines who rallied their men to overcome daunting adversities and achieve great and noble deeds. "I will not bother asking how it is that you came to find us, whoever you are," Orlov stated as he began his efforts to undo what she had done.
"Zudiev," she said. "Captain Anna Zudiev. I am a member of General Likhatchev's staff."
"Yes, well, Captain Zudiev," the Russian colonel went on, changing his tack to suit the new circumstances. "I suppose you think you are right in what you say, and that rebellion is justified. But I am afraid that no matter how well-intentioned your actions may seem, or how noble your cause is, treason is still treason." While he spoke to the female captain, he made sure that his voice had been loud enough so that the maximum number of his men would hear what he was saying.
Likhatchev's appointed messenger was no fool. She understood the dynamics of the situation and what the Russian colonel was up to. Her superior had warned her that the leader of these commandos was as skilled in the art of persuasion and deception as he was in meting out death, destruction, and mayhem. Rather than risk losing her tenuous grip on the situation by engaging the Russian colonel in a debate, Captain Zudiev decided to play her hand. "Who is right and who is wrong in this matter will be an issue for historians as yet unborn to decide. My mission is to simply bring you and your men a message from General Likhatchev." As Orlov had done before, the woman spoke in a voice that carried beyond the gathering with which she stood. "You can go on and try to carry out your orders without questions, without thinking about the consequences those orders will have on our nation and its people. Or," she added after pausing to catch her breath and let her preceding words sink in, "you can come over to General Likhatchev."
For a long moment, no one spoke a word or moved a muscle as the two parties in this lopsided standoff waited for the other to say something more. In the midst of this awkward silence, Orlov felt Moshinsky ease up against him. He could feel the commando's warm breath as he whispered in his ear. "I can drop her before anyone knows what's going on."
Instinctively, Orlov knew that this would be both foolish and fatal. Raising his right hand, he signaled his self-appointed guardian to back off.
"A wise decision," the female staff officer stated in a tone that was both confident and commanding. "I hope your next one will be just as shrewd."
Again there was a hesitation as Orlov assessed his position. Finally, unable to stand the strain, Major Petkovic spoke. "Colonel, one way or the other, we are all going to die. It is simply a matter of how and when. For myself, I have decided that I if I must do so, I will make my death matter for something that 1 can be proud of."
"Is not dying for Russia something to be proud of?" Orlov asked, incensed.
Now that he had committed himself, Petkovic's tone reflected his convictions. "Those who sent us out here are not Russia."