Sartinov Evgeny the last empire. War with China. Background 90s of the twentieth century

The Last Empire - 01

annotation
History of Russia in the twenty-first century in episodes
Evgeniy SARTINOV
LAST EMPIRE
(History of Russia in the twenty-first century in episodes)
Book one
EPILOGUE
The dark grey, autumnal waters of the North Sea almost merged with the colors of the massive bulks of the ships of the NATO navies. The sun came out when no one was waiting for it, it illuminated the confrontation between two fleets, hundreds of thousands of tons of metal, explosives, electronics and an insignificant part of living human meat, the main element of the impending Armageddon. The ships approaching the ships of the North Atlantic Alliance, stretched in one line, could already be seen even without binoculars, but no one there could tear themselves away from the powerful optics, as if everyone was trying to figure out what to expect from the rapidly approaching Russian cruiser. A characteristic, high-turned nose hid what was now clearly visible from above, from the side of four helicopters circling a little to the side - the open hatches of cruise missile launchers. An atomic reactor with a power of one hundred and forty thousand horsepower dispersed twenty-four thousand tons of metal to a maximum speed of thirty-two knots. Six hundred crew members on this colossus seemed an insignificant appendage of concentrated death. Twenty cruise missiles could turn Europe into a radioactive graveyard, but the cruiser itself could become a grave for the crew in a second. But that was not the point. Opposition to the power of technology, weapons, ideologies - all this was just an external entourage of the conflict. In fact, everything, as before, was decided by a strange substance that could not be accounted for by any account called Will.
On the command bridge of the Peter the Great, everyone from the ship's commander to the last sailor looked askance at a tall man in the dress uniform of a lieutenant general. Lowering the binoculars, the general ordered:
- Set the radio to the NATO command wave. Maintain course and speed.
After that, he took the microphone and, without taking his eyes off the approaching line of enemy ships, began to evenly dictate:
- Sazontiev calls "Hawk", Admiral White, Admiral White ...
High above both fleets, above the open helicopter door, CNN reporter John Wright was shouting into a microphone over the roar of propellers and the sound of the wind:
- ... so everything is approaching the denouement! In a few minutes, we will find out whether this day will be the last in the history of mankind, or whether it will last a little longer on our small land ...
The strategic troops control bunker in the courtyard of the General Staff on Novy Arbat is not very suitable for long-term residence of its inhabitants. Usually in these underground halls, upholstered in wood and decorated with imaginary windows of artificial lighting, there was only a shift on duty, but for two days almost the entire leadership of the country had been huddled here. In one of the far rooms, hung with paintings of famous generals and marshals of the past, there were two. One of them slept on a leather sofa, casually throwing his tunic with the epaulettes of a colonel-general over the back of a chair. The second, young, black-haired lieutenant general, lost in thought, mechanically paced the soft carpet, limping a little and stroking his right temple. Time in this room flowed from the future into the past with the ductility of old Crimean wine. It seemed that even the big, old-fashioned wall clock, shining with noble brass, slowed down. The second hand moved a little more, the minute hand barely crawled, and the thickest and shortest, the hour hand, seemed to simply refuse to work.
Soon the man on the couch stirred, groaned painfully, and sat up. Unbuttoning his army shirt with one more button, he rubbed his chest with his hand and said in a hoarse voice:
- Still, there is not enough air. Such dregs now dreamed. As if I was still at the school and came to take topography without knowing a word. So it stood like a stump, no boom-boom.
Yes, you don't have much of a dream. I didn't like exams either.
- Are you coming?
- No, I wanted to, but I feel I can’t sleep. I'm trying to imagine how it will all be, I know everything, I went to the academy, I saw all these documentaries... And yet it is impossible to fully comprehend.
They were silent, then the colonel-general asked:
- Do you also think about whether we started all this for nothing?
- What exactly? All, or just this conflict over the Balkans?
- What's the difference. One stands for the other and one follows from the other.
- No, it's not in vain. I hope for the best.
- For better? Two world wars began in the Balkans, and now a third and final one may begin...
The conversation was interrupted by a voice from the speaker.
- Comrade Lieutenant General, Sazontiev on the wire.
- I will now. Everything begins, - said the lieutenant general, already at the door he stopped, waited for his colleague and quietly remarked:
- I would not like to be in Sasha's place now.
- That's why it's not you or me, but he.
BACKGROUND
90s of the twentieth century
On this summer night, police patrol cars tried not to show up on the streets of the city of En-ska. The Higher Military Combined Arms School graduated another batch newly minted officers. Young lieutenants played tricks around the city with bottles of vodka and champagne, shouted army songs at the top of their lungs, and none of the policemen wanted to mess with them.
Already in the morning, when the fun subsided, another company appeared on the main street of the city. Three newly minted lieutenants walked embracing and for the hundredth time shouted in hoarse voices to the company drill:
- Gunners, Stalin gave the order! Artillerymen, the Motherland is calling us. For the groans of our mothers, for our Motherland, forward, hurry! ..
The strength of all three was exhausted near the large fountain in the central square. The lieutenants plopped down on the curb and stared at the statue of Lenin, as usual depicted with outstretched hand, but in an army cap, traditionally put on on this day by each regular release of lieutenants. The largest of the trio, a tall blue-eyed blond reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a full bottle of vodka.
- Lieutenant Sazontiev, where do you get them, give birth or something? - his colleague turned to the big man, a chubby black-eyed guy with a parting carefully laid to one side.
His face was the most ordinary, there are seven such guys in Russia for every ten, they will pass by and you won’t remember in five minutes. Sazontiev, here he immediately attracted attention with his one hundred and ninety-eight centimeters of growth. For Vladimir Sizov, his one hundred and seventy was clearly not enough, and dress shoes increased the height of the newly minted lieutenant by another five centimeters. This already spoke a lot about his ambition, as well as the unchanging parting, adjusted to the hair.
Picking at the tin cork with thick fingers, Sazontiev smiled contentedly.
- While you were trying to glue those two friends, I drove to Aunt Masha and got everything I needed.
“You should have bought snacks from her,” remarked the third of the officers, a short, slightly plump blond with a good-natured face of a connoisseur and lover of good food. A short, slightly upturned nose, widely spaced eyes, the very head of Viktor Solomin, round, large in shape - everything expressed kindness and calmness in him.
- And you just have to burst, Straw. Give me a glass.
The three young lieutenants were friends from the very first day of their stay at the school. Behind their backs they were called "ES-ES" - Solomin, Sizov, Sazontiev. All three were completely different in character, temperament, outlook on life, but something connected them with an invisible thread. They seemed to complement each other. Solomin studied best of all, Sizov was a generator of ideas, and Sazontiev often brought these ideas to life with all his power and unpredictability.
From the first days of training, the nickname Sibiryak was assigned to Sasha, although he was born in Tajikistan, and came from Kiev to act. The nicknames of his friends did not differ in variety, Sizov was sometimes called Sizy, Solomin - Straw.
Meanwhile, Solomin produced a glass, a large piece of bread and a pickle from his large pockets.
- Oh, there's snacks for a box of vodka, and he's goofy! Sazontiev rejoiced. He banked in his own way. He poured half a glass for himself and Sizov, and half as much for Solomin.
- Why do we drink, Siberian? asked Sizov.
- How for that, for the first stars.
- Already five times they drank for them! Vladimir objected.
- So what? The more we wash them, the faster they will grow.
“I can’t keep up with your throat,” Solomin muttered, looking at the contents of the glass with obvious disgust. - Then you will carry me.
“It’s okay, we’ll put you under a monument, you’ll oversleep yourself,” Sizov joked.
“Or the cops will pick you up,” Sasha supported.
- You won't get anything good from you.
So what are we drinking for? - reminded Sazontiev.
“Let's drink to retire with marshal's stars on shoulder straps,” Solomin suggested.
His two friends immediately grimaced. Unlike the "civilian" Solomin, both of them were third-generation military men. Sazontiev's father and grandfather both rose to the rank of colonel, while Sizov's ancestor retired as a lieutenant general. All of them, according to tradition, graduated from this military school, which predetermined the meeting of three friends.
- I don't want to think about resignation. As soon as my father went into civilian life, he almost died from longing, ”Sizov noted.
“But I don’t want to be a marshal,” Sazontiev supported him. - Only as a generalissimo, and no resignations. To die in battle is the best death for a soldier!
- No, - Solomin grunted. - I agree to the resignation, and a cold bed that way in a hundred years.
- All right, - summed up Sizov. - You still can’t get the Generalissimo bypassing the Marshal, so let’s really get one of the biggest stars on shoulder straps.
They drank, and Sazontiev began to build a "giraffe" from a peakless cork. Having rolled a crumb of bread into a hollow tin, he stuck four matches into it, attached another one to the back with his tail, stretched out his long neck.
- What are you, Sashka, what else do you want to send for vodka? - Solomin was amazed, watching the birth of this exotic, but purely Russian beast. The cadets, who invariably drank the cheapest "no thread" vodka, used the "giraffe" to choose who should run for the next bottle.
“No, Vitka, I didn’t guess right,” Sazontiev explained, setting fire to his tail. - On whom the tail will show, he will be the marshal.
All three, involuntarily holding their breath, watched the rapidly burning match. At first, the blackened stub began to bend towards Sizov, but then, as if on reflection, it slowly turned upwards. When the flame finally went out, all three laughed, and Solomin faked the creator of the "giraffe":
- So do not see you, Sanka, marshal's epaulettes.
- Well, we'll see it! - Sazontiev grunted and knocked his friends into the fountain with one push. Climbing onto the parapet, he watched his comrades floundering in the muddy water for a few seconds, and then, with a mighty roar, jumped after them.
Part one
THE MAJOR CONSPIRACY
EPISODE 2

2004
- ... We will stop at nothing for this lofty goal. Sevastopol, like the whole of Crimea, should be Russian. Historical mistakes must be corrected sooner or later ...
The face of the president that day looked as complacent as possible. The red color of his skin was accentuated by the badly tuned TV and seemed more sinister than ever. The three officers sitting in the modest hotel room were in a depressed mood. They were among the few who knew that the president's threats were not words at all. Everyone studied in the capital at various military academies and long ago realized that there was a systematic and active preparation for a big war.
The first face of the country was still broadcasting from the screen when there was a knock on the door. Another major entered the room. The past years, actively advancing fullness and baldness, nevertheless, did not change Viktor Solomin too much. Over the years, he managed to make a good career and was now listed at the General Staff. It was from him that Sizov and the rest of the officers learned about the impending adventure. Solomin's open face was alarmed, a feeling of depression was read in his eyes.
"I'll be here for a minute," he said, sinking into an armchair and throwing his cap on the coffee table. - The hour "H" is appointed.
- When? - hastily asked all three.
- Next Wednesday, at eight-thirty in the morning.
- Madhouse! - Major Doronin, a tall blond with a tankman's buttonholes, groaned, clasping his head in his hands. - Don't they understand that this is the end of everything, the end of the country?!
What do they care about the country? To our blood? - The short, round-faced major who spoke these words, it was Sizov, out of habit began to pace the room from corner to corner, without interrupting his speech. - Vitya, everything is confirmed. Yelistov pumped his connections in the Kremlin, their plan is simple. This whole gang understands that they cannot win new elections. That's why they need a war with Ukraine. Introduce martial law, cancel the elections and at least a little longer linger at the feeder.
- What to do now? asked a late visitor.
- And what we've been talking about for the last six months. We must get ahead of them.
“You take it really well, Sizov,” Solomin shook his head.
- And what, Vitya, do you have any other suggestions?
He shook his head, then rose from his chair.
- And when? he asked in farewell.
“They set the deadline themselves. If in a week, then we should be ahead of them at least a day.
Sizov detained the General Staff officer on the threshold:
- Straw, Sazontiev should be involved. Pull out of his hole at any cost, it would be nice together with his special forces. We will need him very soon.
- Okay, I'll try to do it.
After Solomin left, Sizov turned to the rest of the officers:
- Well, what are your thoughts, ideas, doubts? Just let's be honest, no equivocation.
The first to start was Zimin, Sizov's classmate at the academy.
- To be honest, it is hard to believe in the success of such a case. We are not in Egypt after all. It was Nasser who could carry out a coup by the forces of lieutenants or Gaddafi in Libya, but this is unlikely to happen in our country. We can capture the Kremlin, even Moscow, but not for long. We will be crushed in a maximum of half an hour.
- Who?
- Well, who? Kantemirovtsy or Tamantsy, what's the difference. In theory, even military units within the city should be enough to suppress the rebellion. All these special groups like Alpha, OMON, SOBR. The Kremlin regiment, after all.
“Yes, we will be crushed if we act slowly and hesitantly. It is necessary to strike quickly, cruelly, so as to plunge the whole country into shock. The people have lost confidence in politicians. With their election campaigns, they achieved the opposite, only half of the voters came to vote in the parliamentary elections, and now there is also a presidential race. So I don't see a strong opponent from the civilian side. And the troops must be addressed through the heads of the generals, guided by lieutenants, captains, majors. These should support us. You know the situation in the country and the mood in the army. The most authoritative generals are either retired or in the Caucasus. And as for the "court" divisions ...
Sizov fell into thought, walked up and down the room, then turned to his listeners.
- If you blow up the bridges, how much will it delay their march?
- I think not much, they will bring pontoons. For an hour at the most,” Doronin answered.
- But still, every second will be important to us. The main thing is communication centers, to block the communication of all power ministries, so that only we are on the air. Well, it goes without saying, Ostankino, Shabolovka, in short - television. As for Egypt... You can't believe it, but it just inspires me. For these, - he nodded upstairs, - no one will go, as in the ninety-first. The country is now in another dead end, neither forward nor backward, like a horse on a landing. One foot in socialism, the other in capitalism, a complete mess. Their mistake also lies in the fact that in the heat of the pre-election struggle they covered everyone with mud. All these ratings of theirs are inflated, like holey condoms ...
They knocked again, and Sizov himself opened the door. On the threshold stood two men in civilian clothes, FAPSI Lieutenant Colonel Nikolai Yelistov, a tall, thin man of about forty with an oblong, ugly face, and a young smiling guy of about thirty, whom Sizov had seen for the first time. The newcomer looked at the majors with the curiosity of a child who had entered the zoo for the first time.
Yelistov shook hands with everyone present and introduced his companion:
- Meet Andrey Fokin, journalist.
Seeing obvious bewilderment on the faces of those present and a certain wariness in Sizov's eyes, Yelistov laughed.
- I have known Andrey for ten years, so I can vouch for it with my head. And everything you talk about Last year, he has long stated much more interesting and entertaining.
The Lieutenant Colonel pulled out a small pamphlet from his pocket and threw it on the table. Sizov read with curiosity the catchy headline: “Why does Russia need Pinochet?”
- Andrei writes well, he will bring to mind the whole ideology.
"Very well," agreed Sizov. - Let's try. What's the news?
Yelistov, throwing off his cloak, sank into an armchair, lit a cigarette, and closed his eyes for a second. At the same time, the fingers of his left hand mechanically massaged, stroked and fiddled with a large, convex teardrop-shaped mole under his ear. It did not look very nice from the outside, but the colonel could not help himself, in moments of the highest excitement, his hand itself reached for the devil's mark.
Sizov did not fully understand this man. Nikolai Yelistov headed one of the FAPSI divisions listening to the city center. When he got a recording of a conversation between several officers in a departmental hotel, Yelistov thought that this was ordinary chatter. But something in the intonations of one voice made him give the order to establish a constant listening to Sizov's number. He soon became convinced that, unlike the rest of the talkers in uniform, this guy could do something that none of his interlocutors believed in. The leaders of Yelistov did not even imagine what ambition gnawed at the colonel. He knew that for the disclosure of this "conversational" conspiracy, he could receive another rank ahead of schedule, or even a promotion. But this was not enough for him. When the political situation in the country deteriorated sharply and things clearly began to aggravate relations with Ukraine, Yelistov, having carefully considered everything, himself made contact with Sizov. Without his support, the "conspiracy of the majors" would not be worth anything.
- Presumably, Ugarov, Dementiev and Korzun can support us, - said Yelistov.
All these generals were retired for a long time, but still enjoyed authority in the army and the country. The Lieutenant Colonel continued:
- Let's make a challenge to them on the day of X, we will offer them to formally lead the rebellion, put their name under the appeal. Someone will agree.
- What about the FSB? asked Sizov.
- Support will be. Several FSB officers have formed three assault groups from former professionals, they do not lack weapons and are ready to take on the most important objects.
At this time, Sizov pulled out a large sheet of Whatman paper from behind the cupboard.
- Here are our sketches. I am inclined to think of attacking the President in the Kremlin after all. It is easier to intercept him in a country residence, but it is important here psychological aspect. The country must experience a strong shock, this will paralyze everyone for a while. Here I have all the phases of action ...
But no one had time to consider his notes plainly. There was a loud knock on the door, Sizov shuddered and turned the paper upside down.
- Who else is there? he shouted.
- Open, otherwise I'll take down the door! boomed a deep bass from the hallway.
- Sasha! Sizov exclaimed joyfully. - How timely!
Indeed, it was Sazontiev. In the years that have passed since that memorable graduation night, he has become quite mature and now looked like a walking statue of a Soviet soldier in Treptow Park. Raising his friend, he squeezed him so that Vladimir's bones cracked. Sizov smelled alcohol and grimaced slightly. In his opinion, Sibiryak went too far with this indispensable component of army life, which in many ways hindered Sasha's career. Until now, captain's stars shone on his shoulder straps. But Sazontiev did not climb out of the hot spots, literally exploring the entire Caucasus on his belly. Over the years, he retrained as a special forces soldier and felt like a fish in water in these specific troops.
- Are you on vacation?
- Who would give it to me? All vacations have been canceled, - Sazontiev grinned, placing a three-liter decanter of branded vodka on the paper. - They sent for equipment, they promise ten new infantry fighting vehicles. I'll take the documents from the ministry and wave for cars to the Urals.
Following the vodka, the captain laid a loaf of sausage on the table and famously cut it into hefty carriages.
- What are you waiting for, give me glasses, - he ordered the owner. - And introduce me to your friends.
- Alexander Sazontiev, while the captain, but in the future by all means the generalissimo. An ardent admirer of Napoleon, he does not part with his books even at the front.
Soon, everything that should be on the table for such an occasion was on the drawing paper: bread, herring, pickled cucumbers. Under the pressure of Sazontiev, those present quickly persuaded half a decanter, during which time they talked a lot and well.
- You tell me the main thing: does anyone want to fight with Ukrainians? asked Sizov.
- Fools and generals, and even then not all. There are a dozen zealous ones, but everyone understands what this will lead to. Everyone immediately remembers Yugoslavia. The same parsley will be. But take the commander of my district, he is directly eager to fight. He was pressed here for fraud with apartments, he made four mansions for himself and his son in different parts of the city, plus a country palace. This bastard is rushing to the Crimea. All the same, he will not go under the bullets, they will throw the boys.
- And if the same thing happens as the eighteenth Brumer? Sizov asked cautiously.
- Is it possible?
Vladimir silently pushed the whole appetizer aside and turned the drawing paper over.
During this time, round imprints of glasses appeared on a clean sheet of paper, in some places the fat from the sausage and spots of rossol were soaked through, but Sazontiev had a minute to understand the meaning of everything inscribed on this sheet.
- But! visibly sober, he said. Shaking his head, he swore long and harshly, rubbed his face with his palm, once again carefully examined the paper.
- Well thought out. - He pointed his fingers towards Sizov. - Yours, Gray, idea?
- My. Like?
- Yes. And here I will be with my abreks!
And Sazontiev pointed his finger at the square with the inscription "Kremlin".
EPISODE 5

June 15, 2004
United States President John Updike was resting in his room after a long flight across the ocean to Europe. This visit to Spain was the most routine and ordinary thing. In the evening there was a meeting with the king, then negotiations with the prime minister. Updike was a long-time admirer of Winston Churchill and faithfully fulfilled one of his commandments - an indispensable one-hour sleep during the day to maintain the best shape and longevity. At sixty, the former governor of Texas looked much younger, only his gray hair betrayed his age. A thin, slightly elongated face and an aquiline nose made him look like the film actor Paul Newman, and this largely determined the image of the president, his boyfriend, a man from a ranch, a cowboy in politics and in life.
The dream of the first person of the richest and most powerful country in the world was interrupted unexpectedly and unceremoniously. A short, plump man in big glasses and with a slight, starting bald head, with a quick nervous step, simply burst into the president's bedroom.
- Sir! he called. - Wake up!
Updike was asleep, and National Security Adviser Harry Lynch took the liberty of patting the president on the shoulder and making some familiarity:
- John, wake up!
- What's the matter? Updike asked in bewilderment, lifting his head from the pillow with difficulty. Lynch had already stepped aside and turned on the TV and tuned it to CNN. Barbara Hurst, the most popular TV reporter, literally screamed from the screen:
- ... This has not happened in Moscow since 1993! Shooting has been going on in the Kremlin for five minutes already. Blocking the entrance to Red Square, there are armored personnel carriers, now we see that people in military uniform form something similar to barricades out of cars! ..
The view of the Kremlin from the top floor of the Rossiya Hotel confirmed everything Barbara had said. More than two dozen cars huddled together in a large herd, blocking the entrance from Vasilyevsky Spusk. Above the bright, lacquered roofs of the Zhiguli, Audi and Mercedes rose the sloping turret of an armored personnel carrier. Several people in camouflage, blocking traffic, threw their owners out of passing cars and drove more and more cars into this man-made traffic jam. Soon they had to leave this occupation, three police cars and a large service bus flew out from the embankment. Both the policemen and the riot police, who got out of the bus, opened fire on their opponents on the move. They immediately disappeared behind an unusual barricade, and immediately the machine gun of an armored personnel carrier came to life. Its turret began to move jerkily from side to side, spitting out long bursts.
* * *
At that time, in the Kremlin, the battle was already taking place directly in the building of the Grand Kremlin Palace. A special forces company under the command of Sizov managed to break through and take the first floor, but the presidential guards did not let them go up to the second. Replenishment did not approach Sizov either, dagger fire from the windows of the second floor did not allow anyone else to approach the palace building. The attackers did not expect such resistance to be overcome. Most of the Kremlin regiment was that day in Sheremetyevo, at a meeting with the Prime Minister of England, the rest were blockaded in the barracks. But the professionals from the president's bodyguard knew their business, even the special forces that had passed through the Caucasus could not suppress their desperate resistance. For five minutes the soldiers had been trampling around the front stairs. Four of them paid with their lives for this risky step.
Sizov gritted his teeth. The most important thing was running out - time. And then upstairs, on the second floor, there was a powerful explosion, then another.
- From erpege from the street they spit! - Ensign Tatarnik, a two-meter giant, personal adjutant and favorite of Sazontiev, shouted into Sizov's ear with admiration in his voice. - This is the commander, I say for sure!
But the explosions did not stop, plaster and pieces of gilded stucco flew on the heads of Sizov and his people. Finally, a familiar thick bass rumbled from the entrance:
- Well, what are you doing here! Grenade launcher for me!
- Still broke through! - Tatarnik said with obvious adoration.
The Siberian really broke through, but out of the twenty people of his group, only five survived. While Sazontiev was loading the heavy RPG, Sizov managed to ask him:
- How is it outside?
- We'll stay for half an hour.
Sazontiev's battalion formed the basis of the shock group. Two companies held the defense around the Kremlin. These guys went through all the hot spots of the country with Sibiryak and believed in their captain as in God.
Meanwhile, Sazontiev took careful aim and pulled the trigger. Explosions knocked out a heavy, three-meter door. The fire choked for a few seconds, but again met the soldiers rushing forward. The attackers rolled away, leaving two more bodies on the stairs. Gritting his teeth, Sazontiev picked up a bulky AGS heavy-duty grenade launcher from the floor and, holding it in the air like an ordinary light machine gun, moved forward. He walked as if conspired, he was not wearing a helmet or body armor, bullets whistled nearby, one of them tore off his shoulder strap, but the captain moved forward, firing from a grenade launcher on the move. It seemed that he was not aiming, but the flashes of explosions on the upper platform did their job, the leaden shower began to weaken, and after the tall figure of the Siberian, the spotted lava of the assault group rushed forward.
It was all over in five minutes. Sazontiev kicked open the door to the president's office. Contrary to expectations, the owner of the office did not seem either frightened or confused. His face seemed to be petrified, and, waiting for the last of his unexpected visitors to enter, the President sharply and firmly asked:
- By what right do you organize a pogrom in the Kremlin?! As the Supreme Commander, I order to vacate the premises, the soldiers to hand over their weapons and return to the barracks! I suggest that all officers go to the guardhouse themselves, only this will save you from the tribunal and immediate execution!
Confusion arose in the crowd of soldiers, they began to exchange glances. Sazontiev saved the situation. Putting a grenade launcher on the floor, he pulled the president out of his chair and, with the help of Doronin, threw him against one of the walls. The face of the first man of the country turned purple, he was clearly suffocating.
- You lost your mind! Do you really think that you can get away with all this?! Soldiers, arrest them!
On the still recently confident faces of the special forces, Sizov read obvious confusion. The President still possessed extraordinary inner strength. Then Vladimir stepped forward and turned to face the crowd:
- Gentlemen, officers, I think that we should do it.
There were six of them. The youngest was a lieutenant, Sazontiev was a captain, the other four were in the rank of major.
"Don't shoot in the face," Sizov warned. - Aim, plee!
Five submachine guns spewed out oblong, deafening flames, and the president fell. In the silence there was a thick obscenity of Sazontiev. There were no cartridges in his Kalashnikov, borrowed from some soldier. Inserting another horn, the captain came close and fired point-blank at the already dead body of the president. This gesture of the Sibiryak jarred some, but Sizov understood his friend. He, as it were, signed under everything that happened and agreed to share the fate of the rest of the participants in the execution to the end.
- Where is our operator? Sizov turned to the silent crowd.
"I'm here," a short dark-haired guy in unrumpled camouflage and clearly civil manners replied.
- Take it off, Eisenstein! - Sazontiev boomed and went to the walkie-talkie attached to the large presidential table. He did not know that Vadik Shusterman had been filming everything that was happening in the room for a long time, imperceptibly, on the sly, without raising the camera to his shoulder.
- Valera, how are you? the Siberian shouted into the microphone. - Hold on, we're done!
Meanwhile, Sizov grabbed the lieutenant's arm and said quietly:
- Belov, do whatever you want, but this tape must be delivered to Ostankino. There you will find Major Zimin and Fokin, then they will organize everything. Take as many people with you as you want.
- Ten is enough for me.
- Okay, no fluff to you!
- Volodya, Straw on the wire! Sazontiev exclaimed with delight.
- What does he have there? Sizov asked anxiously.
"It's all right," the speaker said clearly. - Our General Staff, there were no shootings.
- How is the minister?
- Sitting in his office under arrest.
Has our appeal been passed on?
Yes, they spin continuously. The sixth kept his word, the White House, the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the FSB were turned off.
"Well done Yelistov," thought Sizov with some surprise. Still, he's not a talker.
- Tell them that the President is dead. This will energize many.
- Well, I'm trying to persuade Khaustov to turn to the troops.
- And How?
- He hesitates.
Chief of the General Staff Khaustov was the most prudent of the top military leaders of the country. Everyone knew he didn't want to Crimean War, which is why Solomin paid so much attention to conversations with the colonel-general.
* * *
Two hours later in Madrid, the President of the United States, Secretary of State Catherine Jones, and Harry Lynch were still sitting in front of the TV. The meeting with the king went down the drain, but none of this trio even thought about the consequences of non-compliance with the protocol. On a movable table in front of them were a bottle of whiskey, ice, soda, and a pot of hot Turkish coffee.
"Yeah, it's sad," Updike muttered as he stared at the image on the screen for the umpteenth time. dead Russian colleagues. - He was such a respectable person, and now ...
The bodyguard who entered the room handed Lynch a piece of paper. Running his eyes, the secretary of the Security Council grimaced.
- Radio interception, they refuse to fight with Ukraine and offer them negotiations.
- What about those?
- Most likely they will agree. The Russian president needed the war, not the Ukrainian one.
“Most of all, we needed this war,” the Secretary of State, a fat woman in her sixties with a swollen, toad-like face, interjected into the conversation. As she poured herself a cup of coffee, she remarked with a sigh:
- If we pushed these two countries head-on, then in a year Russia could be written off from the accounts of world history. She would not have endured such a war, the Russians would have crawled to us on their knees for handouts.
"What shall we do now, that is the question," said Updike.
- I hope that after all this rebellion will be crushed, - said the secretary of state. "What do you think, Harry?"
- Undoubtedly, they have no chance.
“In the meantime, we need to get back to Washington,” the president summed up.
“But the Spaniards might be offended,” Jones said. “Besides, I don't think we should show our concern about this mess.
- Well, we remain, only we work on a minimum. Meet the king, the prime minister, and that's enough. The dinner party and the opera will have to be cancelled.
EPISODE 6
For the advanced reconnaissance detachment of the Kantemirovskaya division, the blown-up bridge did not prove to be an insurmountable obstacle. All five IFVs rolled down the embankment and roared into the water in turn. The armored vehicles had not yet reached the opposite bank when the main forces of the Kantemirovites approached the river.
- Build a pontoon bridge. And watch me - quickly! - ordered the head of the engineering service of the division, Colonel Glebov, the commander of the elite unit.
Stepping aside, he stopped over a cliff and lit a cigarette. The commander was nervous. Everything that was happening in the capital now did not fit into any framework. Guards divisions near Moscow have always been considered the last stronghold of any ruling regime. Even the famous "Dzerzhinka" could not now help the president and the government. Most of it was in the Caucasus, and only the Tamanians and Kantemirovites, despite the absence of an order, left their camps. In addition to the possible order, there were secret instructions that Glebov carried out. He was worried about something else. We had to fight against our own, and it's always hard.
From the staff car, the deputy approached him. for educational work, Colonel Sinitsyn, who in the division was called the familiar word "political officer".
- Well, what is there? - asked Glebov without turning around.
- All the same. Ugarov's appeal is continuously read.
- I fought with Ugarov in 1986 near Kandahar. Then I was still a lieutenant.
- And I'm in the eighty-eighth under Khost.
- The General Staff is silent?
- Yes. Or they got him...
- Either he is behind this coup, - the colonel finished the thought of the political officer.
Glebov sighed heavily, threw away his cigarette and immediately lit a new one.
- What are you crazy about? Sinitsyn asked.
- You weren't in the capital in 1991, were you? And I went through it all! I still remember the feeling that we are some kind of fascists, invaders. Fucked us then great. Yes, and for these goats above, I don’t really want to shed blood, what they did Lately out of bounds...
- Comrade Colonel, television has begun to work! shouted the lieutenant on duty, leaning out of the staff car.
Five minutes later, Glebov and several other officers saw the body of the dead president on the screen. The picture changed, and the familiar face of General Ugarov appeared. Everyone was already perfectly familiar with the text of his appeal. The radios in all tanks and infantry fighting vehicles were tuned to this wave only.
- Residents of Russia, I ask you to remain calm and neutral. What is happening in the country now is being done for your benefit and to stop a pernicious idea. fratricidal war with the Slavic people...
One by one, the officers began to leave the interior of the staff car.
- Comrade Colonel, the bridge is ready! - reported the commander of the sapper company.
- All right, now let's move, - said Glebov and lit another cigarette. At this time, the commander of the forward company approached him. Igor Norkin was considered the most promising of the last graduation of officers who came to the unit. Even his great-grandfathers fought for Russia, and the Norkin family gave the country five generals and two Heroes Soviet Union.
- Comrade Colonel, allow me to apply! - worried, but firmly said he.
- Yes.
- Comrade Colonel, I think we should not continue moving towards the capital.
- And why is that? Glebov raised his eyebrows. He wanted to add something more obscene, but restrained himself.
- The president is dead, no one wants to fight with Ukraine. In fact, they did what everyone thought. We need to support these people.
- Lieutenant, in addition to the president, there is also a prime minister, there is a Duma, there is a constitution and, in the end, an oath! Are you clear?
"I wouldn't want to die for those talkers from the Duma," the young officer said stubbornly.
- Lieutenant Norkin! Go to your unit and start moving forward, otherwise I will shoot you!
The lieutenant silently saluted and went to the BMP. Glebov also moved to his "UAZ", but, opening the door, he heard somewhere very close, behind the massive headquarters "Ural", a single pistol shot. The Colonel looked around in surprise and hurried to this disturbing sound. A pale Sinitsyn was already running towards him.
- What's there?
- Norkin, - only the political officer answered.
Parting the crowd, Glebov knelt down in front of the lieutenant's body. Igor lay in an unnatural, arched position, his temple pierced to the ground, and his face was calm and impassive. The gun that flew off to the side seemed like an ordinary toy.
- Oh, damn you! What have you done, boy!
Taking off his cap, the colonel froze for a minute over the officer's body.
When Glebov got up, it seemed to Sinitsyn that the division commander had aged ten years.
- Leave the nomination. The reconnaissance platoon should continue its march to the city, not engage in battle, and report on the situation in the capital. As before, call the General Staff, and find me on the air the commander of the Tamans, damn it!
* * *
An hour after that, in a large, very famous building on a famous square, a gray-haired man was leisurely and apparently even calmly smoking by the window. His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Yelistov. He, unlike the owner of the cabinet, was excited and clearly angry.
“The Tamans also stopped and limited themselves to sending intelligence,” he reported.
- That's how. What is it that we get, the first part of the plan with brilliance, and the second to hell?
We will analyze later. What should we do now?
The owner of the office, director of the FSB Demin, looked intently at his interlocutor. The lieutenant colonel, dressed in camouflage on the occasion of important events, sitting in an armchair, out of habit, fingered his mole, but Demin could not stand this. Therefore, his answer turned out to be somewhat sharper:
- We'll have to involve our special groups.
- Alpha? They won't go, neither they nor Vityaz.
- Why?
- You should be asking why you brought them up like that! All these bulls are in awe of the majors, they take the rebellion seriously and no one will go against them. I foresaw this, so we counted on the Guards divisions. How many people do we have from other special forces?
Demin shrugged.
- Well, we'll get a hundred, maybe two. Let's collect soldiers from all units existing in the capital, it will be decent.
- At what time?
- Specialists within an hour, all the rest - two hours.
“A long time,” Yelistov decided. - They will snap a hundred of your specialists in no time, this battalion is also not a bastard. Two thirds are veterans of the Caucasus.
He thought for a long time, Demin was also silent. In silence, the door opened slightly, and the director's adjutant, Palin, quietly said to the patron:
- Nikolai Mikhailovich, turn on the TV.
Demin clicked the TV remote and saw on the screen the swollen face of the Chief of the General Staff, Khaustov. Apparently, he was already finishing his short speech.
- ... stop the bloodshed in the country. I rely on the common sense of the generals, soldiers and officers of the Russian armed forces.
“Well, that’s all,” Demin said. - Now they are the masters of the country.
EPISODE 9
The US president and his entourage were already watching the press conference of the new leadership of Russia on board a Boeing flying over the Atlantic. It was led by Andrey Fokin dressed in camouflage. The journalist, even in these nervous conditions, beamed with his unchanging, slightly impudent smile.
"Let's start in order," he said. - That is, by ranking. Colonel General Uvarov, Colonel of the General Staff Zinoviev, Lieutenant Colonel Yelistov, Major Sizov, Major Solomin, Major Sazontiev, Captain 1st Rank Kurakin...
When Sazontiev was announced, he involuntarily glanced at his shoulder straps. They made him a major fifteen minutes before this talking shop, they decided that it would be more impressive that way. Meanwhile, the press conference began.

I started writing this book in 1999, at the beginning of the Yugoslav conflict. The unwitting initiator of its creation was the bombing of Belgrade by the Americans. The thought arose, what would happen if the history of Russia went a little differently? I did not take everything to extremes, I have described the best version of such events. I finished it just on December 30, 1999, to the words of the President: "I'm tired ..." It is gratifying that I guessed a lot: the struggle of the new leader with the oligarchs, the division of the country into districts, the terrorist attack on America.

Evgeny Sartinov, July 2007.

A Brief History of Russia at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century

BOOK ONE

Wednesday, June 15, 2004

The capitals of European countries were melting from an unprecedented heat for the beginning of summer. All political life the planet froze, paralyzed at times holidays and summer holidays. But at noon CET, the faxes and computers of the world's news agencies seemed to explode.

... Shooting in the Kremlin began half an hour ago, ten minutes ago there were frequent, powerful explosions, but now everything is quiet. At the same time, fighting is still going on around the Kremlin. Soldiers in camouflage reflect the attack of policemen and special forces.

… Radio interception confirms rumors that the Russian president has been assassinated.

... The putschists seized radio and television channels. The same text is constantly transmitted over them: "... Residents of Russia, we ask you to remain calm and neutral. What is happening now in the country is being done for your good and to stop the pernicious idea of a fratricidal war with the Slavic people."

... The most controversial reports about the composition of the military government are coming, but almost all Western analysts agree that the hand of the KGB, shamefully renamed the FSB by the former regime, is behind the coup.

... Already twelve hours have passed since the beginning of the coup, and the fact that the rebellion has not yet been suppressed suggests that more serious forces are behind a handful of officers.

… Well-known political scientist Zbigniew Krzesztowski said that he was not surprised by what is happening now in Russia. "I always knew that this country would sooner or later return to totalitarianism. Russia is a country of slaves, and it cannot live without the master's whip. All attempts to get used to Western-style democracy are meaningless for this Asian country."

... "The new leadership of the country declares that all legislative and executive power in Russia passes into its hands. The leadership of the country will be carried out collectively, by the Provisional Military Council. The Duma is dissolved. All parties and other political organizations, as well as newspapers and other party organizations, are subject to dissolution and prohibition. media. Censorship is introduced on television and in the press, borders are temporarily closed, airports are closed."

… Now, after the press conference of the new leadership of the country, we are forced to acknowledge the fact that an event has taken place that has turned the entire course of world history. What the West feared, nevertheless happened. People from power structures came to power in Russia. The seriousness of the situation is confirmed by the urgent unscheduled summit of the G7 countries in Washington. In addition, NATO defense ministers gathered in Brussels. Parliamentarians from most European countries have interrupted their holidays and are gathering for unscheduled hearings on the legitimacy of the new Russian government.

... From a statement by US Secretary of State Catherine Jones: "A week has passed since the military coup in Russia, and we regret to admit that whether we like it or not, we will have to deal with these people."

BACKGROUND

90s of the twentieth century

On this summer night, police patrol cars tried not to show up on the streets of the city of Ensk. The Higher Military Combined Arms School produced another batch of newly minted officers. Young lieutenants played tricks around the city with bottles of vodka and champagne, shouted army songs at the top of their lungs, and none of the policemen wanted to mess with them.

Already in the morning, when the fun subsided, another company appeared on the main street of the city. Three newly minted lieutenants walked embracing and for the hundredth time shouted in hoarse voices to the company drill:

Artillerymen, Stalin gave the order! Artillerymen, the Motherland is calling us. For the groans of our mothers, for our Motherland, forward, hurry! ..

The strength of all three was exhausted near the large fountain in the central square. The lieutenants plopped down on the curb and stared at the statue of Lenin, as usual depicted with outstretched hand, but in an army cap, traditionally put on on this day by each regular release of lieutenants. The largest of the trio, a tall blue-eyed blond reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a full bottle of vodka.

Lieutenant Sazontiev, where do you get them, give birth or what? - his colleague turned to the big man, a chubby black-eyed guy with a parting carefully laid to one side.

His face was the most ordinary, there are seven such guys in Russia for every ten, they will pass by and you won’t remember in five minutes. Sazontiev, here he immediately attracted attention with his one hundred and ninety-eight centimeters of growth. For Vladimir Sizov, his one hundred and seventy was clearly not enough, and dress shoes increased the height of the newly minted lieutenant by another five centimeters. This already spoke a lot about his ambition, as well as the unchanging parting, adjusted to the hair.

Picking at the tin cork with thick fingers, Sazontiev smiled contentedly.

While you were trying to glue those two friends, I drove to Aunt Masha and got everything I needed.

You should have bought more snacks from her, - remarked the third of the officers, a short, slightly plump blond with a good-natured face of a connoisseur and lover of good food. A short, slightly upturned nose, widely spaced eyes, the very head of Viktor Solomin, round, large in shape - everything expressed kindness and calmness in him.

And you just have to burst, Straw. Give me a glass.

The three young lieutenants were friends from the very first day of their stay at the school. Behind their backs they were called "ES-ES" - Solomin, Sizov, Sazontiev. All three were completely different in character, temperament, outlook on life, but something connected them with an invisible thread. They seemed to complement each other. Solomin studied best of all, Sizov was a generator of ideas, and Sazontiev often brought these ideas to life with all his power and unpredictability.

From the first days of training, the nickname Sibiryak was assigned to Sasha, although he was born in Tajikistan, and came from Kiev to act. The nicknames of his friends did not differ in variety, Sizov was sometimes called Sizy, Solomin - Straw.

Meanwhile, Solomin produced a glass, a large piece of bread and a pickle from his large pockets.

Oh, there are snacks for a case of vodka, and he's goofing off! Sazontiev rejoiced. He banked in his own way. He poured half a glass for himself and Sizov, and half as much for Solomin.

What are we drinking for, Siberian? asked Sizov.

As for what, for the first stars.

Already five times they drank for them! Vladimir objected.

So what? The more we wash them, the faster they will grow.

I won’t keep up with your throat, ”Solomin muttered, examining the contents of the glass with obvious disgust. - Then you will carry me.

It's okay, we'll put you under the monument, you'll oversleep yourself, - Sizov joked.

Evgeny Petrovich SARTINOV

Evgeny Sartinov, July 2007.

A Brief History of Russia at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century

BOOK ONE

Wednesday, June 15, 2004

The capitals of European countries were melting from an unprecedented heat for the beginning of summer. The entire political life of the planet froze, sometimes paralyzed by vacations and summer vacations. But at noon CET, the faxes and computers of the world's news agencies seemed to explode.

… Radio interception confirms rumors that the Russian president has been assassinated.

... Already twelve hours have passed since the beginning of the coup, and the fact that the rebellion has not yet been suppressed suggests that more serious forces are behind a handful of officers.

BACKGROUND

90s of the twentieth century

Artillerymen, Stalin gave the order! Artillerymen, the Motherland is calling us. For the groans of our mothers, for our Motherland, forward, hurry! ..

Lieutenant Sazontiev, where do you get them, give birth or what? - his colleague turned to the big man, a chubby black-eyed guy with a parting carefully laid to one side.

Picking at the tin cork with thick fingers, Sazontiev smiled contentedly.

While you were trying to glue those two friends, I drove to Aunt Masha and got everything I needed.

And you just have to burst, Straw. Give me a glass.

Meanwhile, Solomin produced a glass, a large piece of bread and a pickle from his large pockets.

Oh, there are snacks for a case of vodka, and he's goofing off! Sazontiev rejoiced. He banked in his own way. He poured half a glass for himself and Sizov, and half as much for Solomin.

What are we drinking for, Siberian? asked Sizov.

As for what, for the first stars.

Already five times they drank for them! Vladimir objected.

So what? The more we wash them, the faster they will grow.

I won’t keep up with your throat, ”Solomin muttered, examining the contents of the glass with obvious disgust. - Then you will carry me.

It's okay, we'll put you under the monument, you'll oversleep yourself, - Sizov joked.

Or the cops will pick you up, - Sasha supported.

You won't get anything good from you.

So what are we drinking for? - reminded Sazontiev.

Let's drink to retire with marshal's stars on shoulder straps, - suggested Solomin.

His two friends immediately grimaced. Unlike the "civilian" Solomin, both of them were third-generation military men. Sazontiev's father and grandfather both rose to the rank of colonel, while Sizov's ancestor retired as a lieutenant general. All of them, according to tradition, graduated from this military school, which predetermined the meeting of three friends.

I don't want to think about resigning. As soon as my father went into civilian life, he almost died from longing, ”Sizov noted.

And I don’t want to be a marshal, - Sazontiev supported him. - Only as a generalissimo, and no resignations. To die in battle is the best death for a soldier!

No, - Solomin grunted. - I agree to the resignation, and a cold bed that way in a hundred years.

Okay, - summed up Sizov. - You still can’t get the Generalissimo bypassing the Marshal, so let’s really get one of the biggest stars on shoulder straps.

The Last Empire. Fall of the Soviet Union Sergey Plokhy

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Title: The Last Empire. Fall of the Soviet Union
Author: Sergey Plokhy
Year: 2014
Genre: Foreign educational literature, Foreign psychology, Foreign publicism, Publicism: other, Social psychology

Sergei Plokhy, a professor of Ukrainian history at Harvard University, is also a specialist in the history of Eastern Europe. He is rightfully considered an expert on Soviet-Canadian-American history. Sergei Plokhy has Ukrainian roots, although he was born in Russia, but was educated in Ukraine and moved to Canada in the 90s, where he continued his scientific work and the work of a professor of history at the university.

Sergei Plokhy devoted one of the most interesting works to the history of the collapse of the USSR. This book is called The Last Empire. Fall of the Soviet Union".

It is always interesting to read the opinion and views on the reason for the collapse of the USSR by a non-Russian author. Although Sergei Plokhy was born in the USSR, his version of the collapse of the Soviet Union is considered the version of a foreign specialist historian. Much is written about power these days. former USSR, about that " happy life”, which has gone forever for almost a quarter of a century ago, and a new generation of people has grown up who do not know what the USSR is and why it collapsed. Who or what caused the fall of the Soviet Union? Disputes on this topic continue to this day. Politicians of various stripes blame each other for the collapse of the USSR and its disintegration, and therefore reading the book by a Canadian-American professor of history will be interesting for everyone interested in this topic.

Sergei Plokhy in his book describes in great detail the events of the last five months of the existence of the Soviet Union, until its collapse in 1991.

For more than half a century, the USSR and the USA have been the main ideological opponents on Earth, leading the so-called " cold war". Each of the opponents claimed to the whole world that their system was better. For almost 50 years, the world has been on the brink of a nuclear catastrophe more than once. And here the USSR is falling apart into separate states.

Perhaps the US politicians themselves did not expect this. After the fall of the USSR, the world changed, Russia changed, the former Soviet republics changed, they began an independent life. Sergei Plokhy in his book offers the reader his balanced picture of the collapse of the USSR. He also talks about the views on these events - from Moscow and from Kiev, from other capitals of the former Soviet republics.

The Last Empire book. The Fall of the Soviet Union” is an interesting story about the last months of the life of the USSR, based on documents, speeches and transcripts of politicians. The author does not impose his opinion on the reader, does not express his views on those events. All this should be done by every reader who wants to understand what is happening now in the post-Soviet space and what it will lead to.

The book will come as a surprise to some readers and will dispel some of the legends and myths about those times. Is Gorbachev to blame for the collapse of the country of the Soviets? Or maybe some other, more global reasons are to blame for the collapse of the USSR? There was an insane arms race, there was an economic recession, there was an ideological defeat of the communist ideology - wasn't this what led to the collapse of the USSR?

On our site about books lifeinbooks.net you can download for free without registration or read online book"The Last Empire. Fall of the Soviet Union" by Sergey Plokhy in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and a real pleasure to read. Buy full version you can have our partner. Also, here you will find last news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors.

I started writing this book in 1999, at the beginning of the Yugoslav conflict. The unwitting initiator of its creation was the bombing of Belgrade by the Americans. The thought arose, what would happen if the history of Russia went a little differently? I did not take everything to extremes, I have described the best version of such events. I finished it just on December 30, 1999, to the words of the President: "I'm tired ..." It is gratifying that I guessed a lot: the struggle of the new leader with the oligarchs, the division of the country into districts, the terrorist attack on America.
Evgeny Sartinov, July 2007.

A Brief History of Russia at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century

BOOK ONE

Wednesday, June 15, 2004

… Radio interception confirms rumors that the Russian president has been assassinated.

... Already twelve hours have passed since the beginning of the coup, and the fact that the rebellion has not yet been suppressed suggests that more serious forces are behind a handful of officers.

BACKGROUND
90s of the twentieth century

Artillerymen, Stalin gave the order! Artillerymen, the Motherland is calling us. For the groans of our mothers, for our Motherland, forward, hurry! ..

Lieutenant Sazontiev, where do you get them, give birth or what? - his colleague turned to the big man, a chubby black-eyed guy with a parting carefully laid to one side.

Picking at the tin cork with thick fingers, Sazontiev smiled contentedly.

While you were trying to glue those two friends, I drove to Aunt Masha and got everything I needed.

And you just have to burst, Straw. Give me a glass.

Okay, - summed up Sizov. - You still can’t get the Generalissimo bypassing the Marshal, so let’s really get one of the biggest stars on shoulder straps.