Foreword
Of the many debates that my comrade historians have engaged in since the turn of the 21
st
century, few are as heated the subject of historical inevitability. With the collapse of the United States government and the Revolutions of 1994 decisively ending the Cold War, the superiority of our system of governance now appears obvious and inarguable. Yet, even today, we strive to achieve Communism. Even today, there persist capitalist classes in some parts of the world, along with subversive, reactionary elements that attempt to revive this system of exploitation abroad. Nowhere is this more true than in what Jacques-Bénigne Bossuet dubbed "Perfidious Albion", a subject I have written about at length in my earlier works.
The question at hand was put to me bluntly by a student several years ago - "do you think the Revolutions would have happened if the United States had not fallen first?" My initial reflex, the patriotic one you could find in the heart of any New Soviet Man was to say "yes". While I do not consider myself a hard-inevitablist, I do believe that over a long enough timeline, the inherent contradictions of capitalism would have led to it's downfall. But I am also old enough to remember how impossible the events of the 1990s once seemed, and educated enough to know the extents to which self-delusion and propaganda can warp the minds of the masses. My work has granted me extensive access to the German, French, and East-American archives, and the more one examines them, the more it complicates the traditional histories of their collapse. I am now firmly of the belief that these nations could not only have persisted into the 21
st
century, but may have posed an existentialist threat to our great Union if they had.
These beliefs have been controversial to many. My last historical work on the late American Empire was dubbed
fantastika
by some more juvenile critics. Others called it
perverse
, and one memorable review said it was "
sexually charged counter-revolutionary drivel
". It is plainly true that my conclusions frightened and upset them. The real and true facts of the sordid and corrupt American institutions offended their delicate sensibilities. They would rather bury the truth than face it.
To those who are not so limited by the cultural remnants of Christian prudishness, to those whose powers of imagination extend beyond the bounds of the proven and into the realm of the potential, I hope this work - one of genuine
fantastika
- can both educate and spark your curiosity. If you can suspend just a little of your disbelief, I will guide you into the world that could have been, if things were just a little different. A world where our steadfast socialist brothers have become reactionary bourgeois nationalists. A world where America, not the Soviet People, won the Cold War.
Translator's Note:
It has been my distinct pleasure to translate this great work for the English speaking world. Some common terms have been preserved in their original language - such as "
tovarish
" for comrade, or
da
for yes, depending on who is speaking or thinking them. The meaning of these are widely known and can be anyways inferred from context, however for those of you entirely new to Soviet culture, if you have access access to The People's International Network these terms can be translated in your trawler directly as of the 2018-04-22 update. Contact your network commissariat for further details.
Chapter 1 - The Papist Plot
December 2
nd
, 1998 - The Merchant Republic of Poland, 112.65 KM Southwest of Kaliningrad.
Sofiya modulated her breathing. The last thing she needed was one of the spotlights catching a glimpse of her warm breath on the winter air. In the distance, she could faintly hear soldiers laughing and rabble-rousing inside. She was counting numbers silently.
Nine. Ten. Eleven.
The lights swept past again, and with that she was confident they were running on automatic. She waited for the next cycle and dashed down the snow covered hill and through the small gap in the barbed wire.
The fence had been cut. It was almost certainly where Anna had entered. The military installation was built for the Red Army units that were stationed here until very recently, and as such the layout was immediately familiar to Sofiya. She knew exactly where the commanding officer would be sleeping, and exactly where their records would be kept. But she wasn't here for that, she was here for a person - a friend.
When Anna had failed to report in on time, it was immediately flagged by Moscow as an extreme priority. Sofiya would have volunteered for the mission, but didn't need to. They shared an apartment and an operational area, so she was the nearest asset available. The coded orders came through the fax machine at the same time as the news.
"Did you hear that?" said a voice a few paces away. It was a rural Polish accent, harsh on the ears. A fellow worker. Sofiya hoped she wouldn't have to kill him.
"It's just a rabbit again, Pawel. Hurry up," said another.
The first man looked around for a few moments, then sighed. He turned and started walking back to the barracks. Sofiya wasted no time - moving in the opposite direction to the voices, she shuffled past the base of a guard tower and located the detention area.
Reaching into her bag, she extracted a small device. She set the timer for ten seconds, lobbed it a few meters away, then took her place just around the corner from the door.
The noisemaker did it's work. A drunken man with three cigarettes in his mouth wandered out the door in search of it. When Sofiya was confident he was the only one coming, she leapt around the corner and delivered a single well aimed judo chop to his neck. He collapsed into the bush where he'd been sniffing around.
Inside the building it was warmer, and the laughter and merrymaking was drawing closer. She mouthed a silent, irreligious prayer of thanks to her KGB quartermasters for the standard issue fleece lined catsuit that was keeping her warm. Her boots however were going to be a liability in here on the concrete floors if she didn't want to interrupt the poker match. She slipped them off her feet and pulled away her socks as delicately as she could, placing them close to the front entrance. Her feet were almost numb by the time she reached the staircase at the end of the hall, but she had successfully evaded detection.
The bottom level of the detention area was wrong. It was supposed to be a dozen cells, capable of holding around fifty to eighty people if you crowded them in tight. Instead, when the automatic lights turned on, what she found was far more than a mere prison.
The walls were extremely decadent - an elaborate and gaudy style designed to evoke the image of ancient Greece. There was a reception desk, thankfully unmanned, above which a plaque was inscribed in ornate Polish lettering. It translated to something like "The Prometheus Research Organisation". On second read, she determined that "Promethean" was closer.
A single extra-wide elevator seemed to control access to lower levels. There was no button, just a key-card proximity sensor.
"
Blyat,
" she muttered to herself.
Just as she spoke, a siren sounded. She corrected herself - it was an alarm.
"
Blyat!
"
* * *
The guard shoved Sofiya through the door into a cell, smiling broadly. He tried to say something in Russian, but his command of the language was so poor she couldn't make sense of it. It was something about friends, or lovers. Sofiya was fluent in five languages including Polish, but not whatever
that
