THE WOLF OF GROZNY:
Part One: Prologue.
November Second, 2005:
“Put that barricade up!”
“Watch the windows, damn it!”
“Ahmad! Stay in position!” The Zavodskoy Mosque was buzzing with activity, as Chechen resistance fighters milled about, fortifying their positions against an imminent Russian assault. Two days ago, these freedom fighters had taken over the building in a last-ditch effort to consolidate their holdings in the administrative district of their capital city of Grozny. Quickly besieged by the pursuing RFA ((Russian Federal Army)) forces, they had managed to hold this bastion against troops, helicopters, and armored cars, but as the afternoon sun blinked though the stained-glass windows above, the rebel lieutenant, a man known only as “Ramzan”, knew that their luck wouldn't hold out forever. The actions of the Russians just outside the Mosque's courtyard had been erratic, it seemed; though they had not even tried to negotiate with the rebels, they had also not committed to a full assault, almost as though they were waiting for...
With a startled gasp, Ramzan broke from his proto-meditative state; there was a sound behind the main doors of the building, a low growl that grew and grew in intensity, eventually morphing into the roar of a diesel engine. “Reinforcements!” Ramzan yelled to his cohorts, taking cover behind an overturned bookshelf, “Brace for the assault, brothers! We will not fall on this day!”
Seconds passed; with the sound of treads on snow now clearly legible, Ramzan clutched at his antiquated AK-47 assault rifle in anticipation, ready for what was bound to happen next. And happen, it did. With an earth shaking crash, the front half of a Russian Federation BMP infantry fighting vehicle knocked through the heavy wooden double-doors, opening fire with its coaxial machine gun. As men fell around him, Ramzan roared with anger, fruitlessly firing his weapon at the metal behemoth. Noticing that this was to no avail, Ramzan pulled back, diving behind a support column just as heavy 7.62 millimeter rounds tore up the ground around him. With a renewed drive, he raised his hand, and was about to yell for his men to press the attack, when, out of the blue, a cylindrical metal tube landed at his feet. Ramzan had seen this kind of object many times before, so when it burst in a flash of blinding light and ear-splitting noise, he was surprised, but not shocked. “Allah damn them! A Flashbang...” He managed to mutter, furiously rubbing his eyes. As his hearing began to clear, however, Ramzan heard a noise that he had hoped that he would never come across. Along with the ringing in his ears, he heard the distinctive “Pah-pah-pah” of silenced weapons, and, more horrifically, the thumping sound of his comrade's bodies hitting the ground, their lives extinguished before they could even cry out in pain. To his horror, he realized what this meant. As the cold barrel of a VSS "Vintorez" rifle pressed against his neck, he only managed to say one word:
“Spetsnaz”
An instant later, his face hit the cold stone of the floor, never to utter another word again. His executioner, a young soldier in a blue beret and black fatigues, wiped the blood off of the end of his rifle, then, with a sadistic smile, crouched beside the dead Chechen, “No mercy, comrade...” He whispered, “No mercy.”
This soldier, a cruel creature who seemed to feast solely upon an unquenchable blood lust, was Victor Andreyev. But, to rebels like Ramzan, he was known by a darker, more sinister title...
...The Wolf of Grozny.
This is his story.
((And, no, before you ask, Victor didn't do all of that alone. I just chose not to mention the other Spetsnaz troops... yet.))
