Moscow, The Kremlin

  Senate Palace, Office of the President

  17:57 Moscow Time

  Yelena was wound as tight as a bowstring; she could not believe that her first term would be marked by such events. Reports from various agencies arrived incessantly in both digital and paper form. Data from satellites and civilian intelligence indicated that China was mobilizing military maneuvers intended to threaten Russia.

  For three days, meetings had been non-stop to find a peaceful resolution, all while bracing for the worst-case scenario: an imminent conflict. This was the final meeting before she had to go directly to the Chinese Embassy to demand answers.

  Seated around the room were the four individuals most relevant and influential at this hour.

  She sat at the head of the long table, her gaze fixed on Vostrikov, with Foreign Minister Melnikov by his side. To her left sat the First Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs and his assistant.

  The room was bathed in the glow of the setting sun streaming through the windows, filled with the analytical debates of the four men who had spent the longest time within the Kremlin's walls. She remained silent, carefully weighing every word to find a solution.

  "I am not sure what Beijing's intent is, but it is clear they are denying every related event. Look at this..." Kazimir pointed to a photograph sent back from a settlement in the Zabaykalsky region. "...PLA flags on our border, yet they dare claim the forces in Inner Mongolia and Heilongjiang are merely 'garrisoned for military exercises'? This is the most overt hostile move to date. I don't care what Beijing thinks they're doing, but this requires a more legitimate explanation!"

  "Steady, Mr. Deputy Minister... we have yet to confirm what China's next move will be. If we voice public criticism now, especially right after withdrawing all our vessels back to territorial waters, it could be seen as an act of aggression... If this truly is just preparation for upcoming drills, we would lose the moral high ground in the eyes of the international community." Melnikov calmly lifted a glass of water that had long since gone cold. His voice was neither flustered nor hurried; he had fully adapted to the current political rhythm. His composure was rare, but in moments like Crimea 2014, it manifested with absolute clarity.

  He was the one who understood China better than anyone. Five years of negotiations had never been easy, yet they were never impossible for a man of his immense self-esteem.

  Vostrikov swiped to another image, from a satellite near the Vladivostok area. It showed a combined arms brigade moving west, seemingly to rendezvous with other units.

  He leaned his weight onto the table, his sharp eyes scanning the image for any detail that might serve their advantage. But the results were poor; it offered no useful information at this juncture.

  "This will be difficult. Although a visit to Beijing has been announced, their attitude suggests they do not value it. In fact, their tone is indifferent—bordering on contemptuous."

  Though Vostrikov's voice remained calm, his soul was burning at China's treachery and their violation of the UN international treaties amended in 2011.

  "I'll be blunt," Vostrikov continued. "If we just sit here and issue statements of 'deep concern,' Beijing will treat us like a lame cat. Look at the map: from Kaptsegaitui to Chita takes less than two hours if Chinese mechanized forces cross the border. From Erenhot down to Ulaanbaatar, they only need a few more hours to shut down our entire southern logistics corridor. You know this, President."

  Yelena listened in silence to Vostrikov's words, knowing she could not remain quiet forever. She sat up straight, pointing to one of the photos—the one showing a Chinese armored brigade. Her voice was calm but razor-sharp:

  "I need a plan... Not analysis. Just give me a solution to break this deadlock, and we will be able to counter-accuse China..."

  Kazimir interrupted, his hand striking the table firmly as he posed a question:

  "Madam President, I know you are looking for the best solution, but please use your professional analytical skills, rather than such emotional language."

  Yelena's brow furrowed slightly at the remark, but showing emotion now would be unwise; it would cloud her judgment and make it harder to form sound arguments. She knew well: in this situation, she had to utilize everything at her disposal to counter-attack the enemy on every front.

  "Mr. Deputy Minister..." Yelena replied, her voice low and decisive. "My analytical expertise is exactly what I use to distinguish sophistry disguised as technicality. When I ask for a solution, I mean action. If you are still thinking in terms of 'considering, anticipating, consulting'... then do not expect me to remain silent much longer."

  The room suddenly went still. Kazimir tilted his head slightly, offering no retort. Melnikov chuckled quietly, as if he had seen this coming. Vostrikov looked at the President, then turned back to the large photographs.

  "Then we must draw China into a game they dare not continue..." Vostrikov began, as if launching a campaign. "We don't need a military strike. We only need to create a new point of tension right in the heart of Beijing, making it impossible for them to maintain two fronts: one internal and one external."

  "You mean Taiwan?" Melnikov asked.

  "No, I'm talking about the Xinjiang Autonomous Region," Vostrikov replied, his eyes cold. "They are overconfident, assuming Russia would never do such a thing. But if we simply leak word that foreign units are secretly in contact with separatist organizations there—and if a few fake reports are 'leaked' from unofficial media outlets—Beijing will be forced to shift its focus to their west."

  Kazimir crossed his arms, his face impassive. "Dangerous... If we do that, they will conclude we've started a hybrid war. Then it won't just be tension; it will be warfare at the level of information, cyber, and influence."

  Melnikov cut in:

  "But at the very least... we force them to be distracted, to temporarily suspend or scale back military activities near the Russian border. In the meantime, we gain more time and maintain our moral standing while calling for independent verification from the UN."

  Yelena nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving the military reconnaissance images displayed on the large screen. She saw the Type 15 tanks, the HQ-17 tactical radar systems, and most importantly, the logistics supply lines being established. Everything pointed to one fact: China was betting that Russia would not dare to respond asymmetrically.

  "We need to create a special commission..." she said slowly. "...to simulate a multi-layered media response. I want the entire system—from MERCY and SDSF to BIDATA—to coordinate and create a 'hypothetical public opinion storm'—something Chinese media cannot quickly control."

  Then she turned to Melnikov: "Foreign Minister, Deputy Minister, you two will go to Beijing. But this trip is not for negotiation. You will be the ones carrying the official declaration: if the PLA does not withdraw all forces from the border region within 72 hours, we will move for an emergency session of the Security Council."

  Yelena paused for a beat, then spoke each word with absolute clarity:

  "And if they remain silent after that deadline, Russia will no longer view this crisis as a 'misunderstanding during exercises.' We will treat this as an imminent invasion and we will act accordingly."

  Vostrikov clenched his fist, Kazimir gave a slight nod, and Melnikov only sighed.

  They all understood: Russia had just declared war on the first psychological front. But as many times before in history, Russia never waited for the enemy to knock on the door.

  Ikar had been sitting silently from the start, listening and focusing on the photos. Just as it seemed the meeting was concluding, he suddenly received a message. It was from the Ministry of Defense. The first line made his eyes widen in shock.

  Kazimir, noticing this, asked, "What is it?"

  Ikar whispered something to Kazimir, then turned to the others, delivering a statement that was utterly shocking:

  "Beijing has just accused us of an illegal attack on the PLA in Inner Mongolia."

  Melnikov frowned, leaning toward Ikar: "...How long before this is broadcast?"

  Ikar quickly checked the data board: "Just a few minutes after 17:50. It's been less than 10 minutes since our special forces signal re-established full contact."

  Melnikov rubbed his jaw, speaking slowly: "Too fast... almost as if they had the bulletin ready beforehand. This isn't a standard reaction; it's a preemptive strike on public opinion."

  For a moment, the room fell into silence. No one could react immediately.

  Melnikov blinked, slowly leaning toward Ikar: "...Did they specify it was an attack on the PLA? Or just a clash?"

  "The exact phrase they used was 'an illegal armed attack on People's Liberation Army forces performing peacekeeping duties in the disputed territory.' The news was broadcast over the domestic CCTV-7 network and has been reshared by major outlets like Xinhua and the Global Times within the last three minutes."

  Kazimir spat through gritted teeth: "Right out of the 'peacekeeping mission' playbook... That tone isn't something thought up in minutes. They wrote it in advance."

  Vostrikov nodded, his voice icy: "This is a setup; they were just waiting for our special forces to act to trigger it. It's even possible they intentionally provoked the contact in that so-called 'disputed territory' themselves."

  Kazimir stood up abruptly, both hands braced on the table, his voice as sharp as a blade:

  "Disputed territory? Please, say again what they just called Russia's Zabaykalsky territory?"

  Vostrikov glanced at the large screen, quickly entering the access code for real-time satellite data from SDSF. Seconds later, the entire border between Russia and the Inner Mongolia region lit up with red markers: military alerts.

  Ikar continued reading: "According to data just confirmed by the Russian Ministry of Defense at 17:41, an armed group with heavy weaponry, including rocket artillery and armored vehicles, attempted to expand their control zone at Kaptsegaitui. But these are not standard PLA forces. They are coordinating with the 'International Revolutionary Institute' posing as the PLA. This data matches an earlier report regarding a terrorist force attacking our international exclusion zone."

  No one in the room spoke for the next ten seconds.

  Vostrikov raised his head, his eyes glinting like cold steel:

  "Posing? No... Let's not lie to ourselves. If they are carrying Type PHL-03 rocket artillery, ZBL-09 command vehicles, and CH-92A reconnaissance drones with internal PLA encryption, then these are regular PLA soldiers, not some ragtag militia."

  "And if it is indeed regular PLA units providing cover for a pseudo-terrorist organization, then that accusation is just a mask. They want to turn the victim into the perpetrator and dump the entire moral burden on us before the battlefield even takes shape."

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Melnikov tightened his jaw, his voice grave:

  "They are playing both sides. Sending a 'peacekeeping' message while secretly supporting an international terrorist organization. That is a flagrant violation of treaties banning the arming of non-state groups, including the Geneva Convention and the 2011 amendments co-signed by Russia and China themselves."

  Yelena leaned back in her chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose—a habit when she was about to issue an order.

  "So it's clear. Russia's Zabaykalsky territory, which was thought to be partially occupied by an international terrorist organization, is actually being taken by the Chinese military. And they have the gall to call it a 'disputed territory'."

  She spoke with a growl, no longer maintaining diplomatic restraint.

  "There is no such thing as a dispute here. That is Russian territory, internationally recognized, with no gray zones or undemarcated boundaries."

  She turned to Ikar:

  "Confirm immediately: do we have our people there?"

  "Yes. This report was sent and compiled by special forces teams, only... their current fate is unknown."

  Ikar continued:

  "...They were out of contact for nearly an hour before re-establishing a secondary channel through the regional tactical network. All data is being decrypted by SDSF, but it is clear they made contact on the ground even before we officially ordered the regional deployment."

  Yelena froze for a second. A chill seeped into her bones at the phrase "fate unknown." She was not an emotional leader, but having served years in the emergency response apparatus, she knew that when a report used that phrase, it meant "possibly KIA."

  She took a deep breath, her voice echoing through the room.

  "Cancel all diplomatic contact plans. Put the entire Far East line on Stage 2 readiness."

  Kazimir tilted his head, astonished:

  "Madam President, Stage 2 means shifting all units to field combat status—that is a signal for war."

  "It is not war," Yelena said, enunciating every word. "It is the defense of sovereignty."

  She turned to Ikar, decisive:

  "Contact the Commander of the Eastern Military District, General Perezovsky, directly. I want all artillery bases, air defense radars, and landing forces in Primorsky, Amur, and Zabaykalsky ready to respond within thirty minutes. Authorization to fire is granted if directly provoked. No need to ask me again."

  Vostrikov went quiet. He had never seen Yelena this decisive before, but he did not object. Simply because she had voiced what no one else dared: if they did nothing, Russia would be nibbled away centimeter by centimeter by those who dared to play games of smoke and mirrors.

  Vostrikov nodded, as if a weight had been lifted:

  "Finally, someone calls it by its true name."

  Kazimir lit a cigarette, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, muttering:

  "The world will think Russia started the conflict..."

  "What they think is their business," Yelena snapped back. "But if my soldiers are dying while I'm still doing social diplomacy in Beijing, then I have no right to be the President of the Russian Federation."

  The clock on the wall struck 18:11.

  The crisis had officially entered the point of no return.

  *****

  The gunfire was relentless.

  The situation worsened after the decision to attack. Initially, the strike by Russian special forces had gained a temporary advantage as the enemy was caught off guard. Just as it seemed they had the upper hand, a PLA force suddenly launched an assault from across the Great Rift, using pontoon bridges to cross the Argun River.

  Waves of Chinese infantry flooded into Kaptsegaitui to support the units besieged in the town. In less than 15 minutes, hundreds of Chinese soldiers arrived to reinforce their "allies."

  What began as a tactical counter-raid transformed into a high-intensity clash, far exceeding initial projections.

  Chinese mechanized units appeared unexpectedly from the other side of the river. It was only then that the Russian soldiers realized that during the time the enemy had occupied the area, they had laid pontoon bridges into Russian territory and were poised for an assault.

  "Vesker! Where the hell are you guys?!"

  Voron's voice roared over the radio while he took cover inside a house. He stayed as low as possible as 5.8×42mm rounds suppressed his team, making it impossible to return fire.

  "Woo-hoo... Screw you, Chinks! Eat this...!" Kamarov yelled, tossing an RGO grenade outside to intercept several enemies attempting to approach the building. "How's that? You MIR traitors!? Die, all of you..."

  "Keep your head down, you idiot..." Pyotr pulled Kamarov down, cuffing him on the head while maintaining suppressive fire. He scanned the surroundings, noticing the enemy closing in from three directions. One from the old warehouse to the north, one from the technical alley to the west, and a group flanking from the open field directly to the southeast.

  Pyotr immediately shouted into the radio:

  "Alert the whole team! Three simultaneous prongs from the North, East, and Southeast! They're trying to encircle us! Vesker, if you don't get here in five minutes, my whole squad is going to be strangled in here!"

  The radio crackled with static before Vesker's voice cut through like a sweeping fire:

  "Hold firm! Our armored vehicles are on the way, two minutes to the central market! But don't let them get too close—if you're surrounded, we won't dare use supporting fire!"

  "Copy that... stay in touch, move it!"

  Pyotr ducked down, swapped magazines, and signaled Kamarov to move to the second floor. "We have to hold this house; if it falls, the entire southern defense line shatters!"

  Just then, a mortar shell exploded less than ten meters from their position, hurling dirt and debris into the house and grazing Pyotr's arm. He let out a roar as he tore a piece of his shirt to wrap the bleeding wound:

  "Damn it, it's getting worse by the second..."

  Kamarov rushed to his side, staying low to provide cover. He fired downward; many enemies were trying to charge through the blind spots of the building row, forcing him to fire single shots for temporary suppression.

  Frustration was evident in his voice as he glanced at Pyotr:

  "We really need to find a better angle; too many blind spots..."

  Pyotr finished binding his wound, stood up, and peered out the window. He spotted about fifteen men firing at the house. Other teams were in similar straits; requesting support at this moment was nearly impossible.

  "The longer we stay here, the more disadvantaged we are." Pyotr fired a burst downward and quickly ducked behind the wall.

  "How should I know..." Kamarov replied vacantly, his eyes darting around constantly for enemies trying to breach the house. He could only fire back at those shooting at him. "Let's just keep going..."

  The two continued up to the second floor.

  At Voron's position, he dropped two more enemies. Another fired an RPG toward his location. The explosion was less than 3 meters away; the shockwave knocked him back from the window. A fragment of glass from his night vision goggles embedded in his face. His helmet also bore several new gashes.

  Voron lay flat on the rubble of the house, grunting as he shifted aside to take cover behind the wall.

  "Captain!" Zaton ran to his side, checking his wounds. "Are you okay? We should move..."

  "No..." Voron shook his head, leaning against the wall. The pain in his side from a shrapnel wound made him groan as he replied. "We have to hold until Vesker's team arrives... No retreating!"

  The sound of gunfire throughout the settlement was incessant. Zaton watched his captain struggle to stand after such an injury, causing him to hesitate.

  The enemy outside was drawing closer; movement routes to other teams had been cut off, and they could only huddle in a few houses on the edge of the settlement.

  Zaton helped Voron up, dragging him away from the danger zone. They moved to another corner of the room that offered a wider field of fire. They both fired bursts, watching several more enemies fall, which seemed to lift Voron's spirits.

  He continued using his one remaining night vision lens, determined not to let the enemy get any closer. Reaching for his radio, he checked if there was any progress from Vesker.

  "Vesker... how much longer?"

  "We're here, don't worry."

  From the distance, he could hear the thwack-thwack of helicopters approaching fast. Simultaneously, the roar of 20mm cannons echoed from the ground.

  The battlefield was taut as a wire; constant gunfire mingled with screams and the clang of metal, echoing through the silent Zabaykalsky night. Mortar strikes from the PLA side were relentless, each shell exploding like a burst of fire, creating thick black smoke that slowly blanketed the settlement.

  From the second floor of the fortified house, Pyotr watched the enemy's every move. Vesker's special forces had yet to appear, and every passing minute felt like a death sentence drawing nearer. The prong from the North, at the old warehouse, was advancing with slow but steady speed; the mechanized and light infantry units coordinated closely, using ZBL-09 armored vehicles as shields to advance meter by meter.

  To the South, a group of enemies lurked in small alleys, moving like venomous snakes, utilizing the darkness and terrain to approach. And to the Southeast, squads laden with modern gear—including CH-92A small reconnaissance UAVs—circled overhead, constantly reporting Russian positions so PLA artillery could fire with precision.

  Pyotr saw clearly the extreme danger coming from three directions. He knew that one small mistake and everything would collapse. He took a deep breath, his voice hard over the radio:

  "Vesker... how much further?! The situation is incredibly complicated. If reinforcements don't arrive, my team will die here in ten minutes!"

  Artillery fire continued to shake the house. A large fragment from a shell slammed into the window; glass shards showered the floor like a rain of knives. Kamarov immediately ducked back, then stood up to fire back at the RPG position that had just engaged them.

  "Screw you all! Where are there so many of you?" Kamarov yelled, his voice choked with exhaustion but unable to hide his rage.

  "Shut up. Just shoot, you mangy dog."

  "Shove it, you moron!" Kamarov looked down at Pyotr, pointing at his mouth while parts of the house rained down on the man below under the pressure of the hail of bullets.

  Neither wasted any more words, continuing to return fire at the enemies below. An APC entered the settlement, crushing every obstacle in its path, with Mi-28Ns and Mi-24Ps flying low overhead. The cannons roared, and smoke covered the dark Zabaykalsky sky.

  Bursts of machine-gun fire erupted continuously, like the secondary sirens of the Mi-28N "Night Hunter" and Mi-35M "Universal Warrior"/"Flying Tank"(1) attack helicopters cutting through the air, creating a chaotic and murderous scene. Armored APCs, like metal monsters, plowed through the roads and ruined walls, pushing back waves of Chinese infantry flooding the settlement.

  Pyotr and Kamarov, though exhausted in the fortified house, kept their eyes strained on every enemy movement despite the blood still seeping from Pyotr's arm. The central market, where Vesker and his comrades were heading, was still several minutes away on foot. However, time had become their greatest enemy.

  Voron and Zaton, downstairs, stepped outside to see the reinforcements moving in to retake the settlement. He saw Vesker disembark from a BTR-80 and walk toward him with his team.

  "Current status?"

  "Couldn't take the market; the enemy used mortars to push us back... I'm not sure about the other teams, but thanks for coming."

  Vesker looked around, assessing the situation as the armored units gradually moved in. Voron peered toward the market, sensing something odd about the enemy. He turned back to Vesker with a frown:

  "Why is the enemy response so slow?"

  Vesker was speaking to someone else but, hearing Voron's question, realized the man was in the dark and explained:

  "The entire communication system is under severe interference. I can reach you only because the distance is short enough. We've lost contact with headquarters in Moscow. It seems the enemy is in the same situation."

  Vesker pointed toward the house. "How is your team?"

  Just as he asked, Pyotr and Kamarov stepped out of the house, Kamarov supporting the injured Pyotr. Seeing this, Zaton stepped forward to assist them, examining the wound and asking for the cause.

  "What happened to you? How did you get hurt on the second floor?" Zaton took out a bandage and began treating Pyotr.

  Pyotr suppressed the pain, answering through gritted teeth: "Near-miss mortar shell; fragments flew into my position. It's just a gash, but it's bleeding a lot. If we don't clean it fast, it'll get infected."

  "Understood, don't move..."

  Kamarov hopped down the steps, reporting to Voron and Vesker: "I saw MIR and the PLA trying to bring ATGMs (Anti-Tank Guided Missiles) into the settlement. They might be planning to seize the border..."

  The roar of GSh-23L cannons from the nose and wings of an Mi-35M drowned out Kamarov's words. Vesker cupped his ear and shouted:

  "What?!"

  Kamarov pointed and shouted back at the top of his lungs: "MIR... and the PLA are... trying to bring... ATGMs... into... this settlement!" Finally, he pointed toward the border, feeling as though he had exhausted all his strength just to make Vesker understand.

  "Got it... but we can't do anything yet. First, we retake the settlement, then we'll figure it out!"

  Vesker pointed behind his team, his voice loud enough for them to hear. Voron looked at Kamarov, fully understanding what he was trying to convey. It was clear Kamarov wanted to keep fighting while the situation was still unstable.

  "Then stay behind the armor, don't break off on your own... especially you..." Voron pointed directly at Kamarov's face before walking over to Zaton.

  Kamarov simply shrugged, then picked up his AK-12 and chambered a round with a remark: "Time to go hunting..."

  A member of Vesker's team looked at Kamarov with confusion and turned to Vesker, but before he could ask, Vesker's cold, somewhat helpless reply came:

  "You'll get used to it..." Tapping his radio, he announced to the entire special forces unit present in the settlement: "Prepare for counter-attack, stay tight on the armored units..."

  "Ego Team, loud and clear. We are moving. Out."

  "Kratshov Team, copy. Still surrounded, send a bird over here. Out."

  "Vemon Team, we've neutralized an APC. Driver confirmed as MIR, with a PLA corpse... But it seems electronic weapons are all disabled... likely magnetic fields in the area. Does this match the previous report? Out."

  Gunfire rang out incessantly, mixing with the roar of war engines in the black night. Dust and smoke from burning houses rose into the night sky, completely blinding the soldiers advancing in waves.

  The Zabaykalsky sky remained the domain of the Russian Air Force for now. The Kaptsegaitui settlement was no different from a chaotic battlefield; the sound of guns and the smell of blood permeated the air as if dyed by the mutual hatred of both sides.

  "All right, it seems the Great Rift really isn't normal, just like the scientists said..." Vesker whispered, glancing toward the Voro-12 team as he calculated.

  Pyotr had been bandaged by Zaton. He stood up and began to walk—a bit slowly, but fast enough to keep pace. He approached Vesker and said:

  "How long do you plan to delay? The PLA will flood this place soon." He swept his gaze toward the market, now the site of the most vicious fighting. "I don't like how you're dragging your feet."

  "Fine, you know the plan. Encircle the clusters and push back. We have to wait until dawn for the army to move in."

  "Understood..." Kamarov smirked, giving Vesker a mocking grin, but he knew the score. He turned toward Voron as if waiting for the order. "You heard him, boss—just until dawn."

  "Good..." Voron projected his voice, looking at all three of them. "We're moving Northeast to join the unit there... Remember, electronic equipment is glitching, so leave behind what isn't necessary. Zaton..."

  "Copy..." Zaton took off his backpack, discarding the UAV gear.

  "Kamarov, Pyotr... no breaking off."

  "Understood," Pyotr replied immediately, his tone serious. Kamarov was a bit flippant but accepted the order. "Copy..."

  Footnotes:

  (!) Senate Palace: The official working residence of the President of Russia in the Kremlin.

  (1) Mi-35M: A Russian attack helicopter, a modernized version of the Mi-24. It combines attack capabilities with the ability to transport 8 soldiers. Known as the "Flying Tank."