Superpower:

Noun/

1.

An extremely powerful nation, especially one capable of influencing international events and the acts and policies of less powerful nations.

2.

Power greater in scope or magnitude than that which is considered natural or has previously existed.

--

Superpower. That was the most accurate way to describe the CCCP, called the USSR by its NATO rivals. The Soviet Union was a vast union of nations formed from the flames of violent revolution, tempered by war, and bound together at its heart in Moscow by military strength and communist ideology. Stretching from the North Sea to the straits of Kamchatka, and down to the Euphrates from the arctic circle, it was the largest empire the world had ever seen.

Its military was the largest on Earth, capable of waging simultaneous warfare on four continents and win them all. Its soldiers were well trained, well equipped, and followed the doctrine of superior firepower nearly religiously. Tanks, planes, bombs, guns, and ships were produced in vast quantities, outstripping their rivals many times over by the sheer volume of weaponry at their disposal. It was rugged, durable, reliable, and easy to use.

Following the end of the Great Patriotic war in 1945, the USSR was in a unique position. It controlled nearly half of Europe, its rivals economies save for the United States were far too ravaged to effectively challenge them. They also now had unrestricted access to the worlds great oceans and seas. The had uninterrupted access to the Mediterranean from the newly integrated Turkey after defeating them when they joined the Axis in the second world war. Their naval Bases in Norway was their greatest trump card from the Great Patriotic war. Having liberated both Norway and Sweden from the Nazis, both states joined and were successfully integrated into the new Union. Yet the Union was tired and nearly spent from the war and needed policies put in place to help them recover. Under Stalin it instituted several policies meant to not only help them recover from the losses in the Great Patriotic War, but to make them stronger than ever before.

It became law for a family to have at least six children unless medically unable to do so, with rewards and lavish government grants to those who exceeded that number. There was some light resistance to this new law, but with large families the norm in the more rural regions and the knowledge that the Soviet regime could not be challenged, the law was complied with. Mostly that is. In regions such as the newly integrated Turkish SSR, there was still periodic resistance.

After the Great Patriotic War the Soviet Union had a population hovering somewhere around 400 million souls. Twenty two years after the war in 1967 the population had exploded to nearly 670 million, with estimates that the population would continue to climb at a birthrate near 16.5 and holding steady. Estimates were that by the new millennium the Soviet Union would possess a billion souls within its borders. The greatest population increase ironically being in the new GDR and the Ukraine, followed closely by Poland and Russia itself. The most popular theory as to why the Eastern European countries experienced the greatest population boom was due in large part to the economic need of the grants. They were the countries that were most damaged by the war and promises of generous government funds had spurred a baby boom like no other in history. It was not uncommon for families to have twelve children.

The one area that the Soviet Union lagged behind NATO in, especially America was computer technology. American warplanes despite the amount of money that the Soviet Union put into research and development could engage Soviet at greater ranges consistently. The same was true for armoured and infantry warfare. American targeting systems, night vision goggles, ECM, ICBMs, and body armor were both more numerous and of higher quality than their Soviet counterparts. The Soviets found that their hardware was equal to, if not superior to their NATO rivals, but they simply did not have a technological edge. In fact, one could say that they were lacking in that regard in comparison.

The newest Soviet air superiority fighter, the MIG 23, while an even match for the American F4 Phantom, would find itself at a distinct disadvantage against the likes of the new American F15 and F16 fighter craft. Talk was of a new American missile capable of engaging fighter craft at farther distances and more accurately than all previous models, though it was still in testing. This would give American pilots an already greater advantage in air warfare than they already had.

That was in part why the Soviet military had expanded the way it had. It was a steamroller, with well trained and well equipped troops that would be given a single order in the event of a war. Go forwards. Estimates were that even with all NATO defenses against them it would take only two weeks to reach the English Channel. Barring the use of nuclear weapons of course. The Soviet military was an unstoppable juggernaut that simply could not be stopped.

"So. Has the west and NATO learned of this...incident?" asked Dmitri Konev. Dmitri Konev was an average sized man in an above average sized office, with a high backed brown leather chair, a large hardwood desk, and a picture of the battle of Stalingrad behind his desk hanging above him. He bore a similar namesake, but no relation to Ivan Konev, one of the great Soviet generals of the great patriotic war. The south side of his office was taken up entirely by large windows that overlooked Red Square. He was also the Marshall of the Soviet Union and as such the highest military ranked official in the entirety of the Union.

He was a quiet military man, with service running back in his family to the time of the Czars and he was the fifth consecutive generation of his family to wear the uniform, three of his sons being in the sixth. He was a career man who had spent his career preparing for massive battles against the forces of NATO that would once again leave Europe and the rest of the world awash in blood and tears.

He had prepared for nearly any eventuality from a joint Japanese-American invasion of Sverdlovsk, to a surprise attack from Peoples Republic of China. Even a massed invasion from a coalition of African nations spearheaded by Turkey with heavy NATO support in terms of weapons and funding. What he had not been prepared for, was this.

"Most definitely giving the time frame that this happened nearly a month ago now. I would say yes. Something like this can not simply be swept under the rug, and no doubt their spies and simple word of mouth has carried the news to our counterparts in NATO, if not further."

"A redundant question I do admit. One can not cover up a battle in the city of Kiev and expect there to be no one who questions why T-55 and T-62 tanks were rolling down Ukrainian streets. Perhaps we could have written it off as a training exercise, but we can't make a justifiable excuse as to why SU 17 attack craft were dropping cluster and iron bombs in the city center."

Konev ran his hand through his thinning hair and appeared like a man engaging in a deep and unpleasant train of thought that one must nevertheless conduct.

"What of the invaders? How many prisoners did we capture?"

"Approximately 8000 combatants alive initially, 7000 of which are expected to survive and recover from their injuries. There was also a following of civilians following the army through the gate. Most fled when the army was routed, however 1000 were captured and are in internment as we speak. It appears that they were a mix from wives, cobblers, bakers, and whores. As well as...9 dragons, 32 orcs, and what can only be described as a pig man," said the intelligence officer like he was forcing himself to say it, knowing himself how ridiculous it sounded. "The latter have been taken by the 15th directorate of the red army for testing."

Konev nodded in understanding and even a little sympathy. The 15th was responsible for all biological weapons programs within the Soviet Union. They were probably going to test them for any new pathogens that any of the...prisoners or corpses could be holding. Possibly test some of their new weapons to see how they reacted to a foreign biology.

"I understand that they followed a feudal structure to their command, matching their weapons and tactics?" asked Konev, glancing over reports and photos from the incident on his desk

"A mixture Comrade Marshal. Some of the soldiers were professional soldiery and seemed to be organized in a similar fashion to that of ancient Rome. Even mimicking the manipular style of combat with small variations. Recovered equipment revealed square shields, short swords, javelins, as well as plate and mail armor. Others appeared to be the personal soldiers or mercenaries of lords, and armed similarly with bows, pikes, axes, swords, and various other medieval weaponry. From our reports however, there were no militia levies present in the fighting."

"Has the final death toll of our people come in yet?" asked Konev quietly.

"Yes Comrade Marshall. 704 civilians died in the attack along with 53 police officers and 21 soldiers. It breaks down to 294 men, 352 women, and 58 children among the civilians. Another 1034 civillians received various injuries from moderate to severe. 382 amputations had to be performed as a result of traumatic injury to the limb."

"And the final reports of their casualties?"

"12 000 estimated dead Comrade Marshal, we're still counting the bodies, but 12 000 is a conservative number. There aren't enough...whole bodies to positively identify them all."

Konev nodded again. He had heard the reports, the army had advanced slowly, with their dragon riders and inhuman mercenaries riding ahead of their main force. They had killed many unsuspecting people in the initial attack, but weapons fire from police units had stalled the much larger force as they had seemed baffled by the weapons being used against them. It had been enough time for the emergency reaction forces from the nearby military bases to arrive. ZSU-23 Shilkas had made short work of the dragons and the motor rifle regiments neutralized the ground forces with help from the armor regiments. Though neutralized was too soft of a word, systematically butchered described what had happened better.

"And our advance force has already secured a position on the other side to prevent future attacks?"

"Yes Comrade Marshal. Approximately 10 000 combat troops with their supporting staffs and reinforced artillery brigades have set up defensive positions on the other side. They've encountered several attacks by indigenous forces, with reports saying that an army of an estimated 150 000 is approaching them."

"I see. Do they require reinforcements?"

"No Comrade Marshal, just requests for more munitions."

"Send more men anyways, I would like to potentially see our presence brought up to army strength on the other side of the Gate."

"Comrade? What do we need that kind of force there for? NATO will more than likely pick up the troop movements and possibly think we're mobilizing our military against them. Is that such a good idea?" asked the intelligence officer questioningly. Instead of answering, the field marshal took out what appeared to be a core sample in a bland metal container and put it on his desk. He unscrewed the top and poured it out onto his desk. Black dirt cascaded from the container.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Dirt Comrade Marshal."

"Exactly, but more than that, this is some of the most fertile dirt we have ever tested. It makes the break basket of Europe look like the Sahara desert. The amount of phosphates, nutrients, and composition of the soil means that it will grow anything that we throw into it. We're expecting an overpopulation crisis in the next forty years. The USSR is large, but even so, our population is growing exponentially and it is a population that we need to feed, house, educate, and provide for. While we have the room to support such a population, it will put a severe strain on the water tables and when we have a drought we will need to heavily rely on trade to import food into the Union. This isn't the case yet, but when our population crests a billion people and continues to rise we will start to see the effect more alarmingly, especially with the modernization of our infrastructure in the more remote regions."

"I'm going to be frank with you Fedor. There is talk within the proletariat of turning this tragedy into a new mass colonization event. This is a windfall like no other with the potential to raise the standard of living of many of our citizens. The ability to give land to families who have depressingly very little. Some of the more optimistic estimates are talking of putting over a hundred thousand to a million people through the Gate a year to settle on the other side."

"Comrade Marshal, I don't know how NATO or America will take this. At the very least they will demand to be allowed access to the Gate and equal opportunity to explore the other side."

"All requests of which will be denied. This is the largest trump card ever handed to the Union, greater even than our naval bases in the North Sea or Mediterranean. This is potentially an entire planet and its resources to develop and exploit. Believe me when I say that this Gate will be the most fiercely defended site in the Soviet Union. The new air defense grid around Kiev will be twice as strong as the one around Moscow and a hundred and twenty of our newest MIG 23 fighters are going to be stationed in the area. I do not exaggerate when I say that the Union is prepared to go to war over it."

"Comrade Marshall not to question you, but even for all the land, if the motherland is hit with nuclear weapons it won't matter if we need grain or not. And we have half a world worth of resources to use besides."

Field Marshall Konev stood up and walked over to the windows and pulled the curtains shut. After which he flipped a switch under his desk, allowing an almost imperceptible buzzing sound to fill the room. After which he pulled out a silvery metallic rock out of his wall safe and set it on his desk.

"Fedor, I'm only telling you this because you're my son and as such I trust you above all others. What I say can not leave this room."

Fedor Konev involuntarily swallowed and felt a flicker of anxiety. For his father to talk so openly of future plans in his own office, what would be considered top secret without worry, but activate all countermeasures at his disposal to avoid being overheard for this was of an entirely different gravity.

"I understand Comrade Marshal."

"We call this substance R-331. It is a metal we have found in abundance on the other side of the gate and in vast quantities. It also has a unique property to it. It's strong, it's light, and we're reasonably sure we can make it into a paint. It disperses heat quickly, lighter than aluminum, and strong once forged properly. The only drawback is the difficulty of working it into what we want. It is what is being called a magic metal. It's a whole new element of the periodic table. But it's most unique feature, is that it can not be locked onto by radar, barely even detectable by it. Even a piece of this size when put into the cockpit of a MIG 21 made all of our radar SA missile systems unable to secure a positive lock."

That was the bombshell. The reason for so much Soviet interest on the other side of the gate besides the superficial reasons of more territory and things like grain and water. The biggest advantage that America and NATO had over Russia was their long range radar weapons and countermeasures. If the Union could get a hold of large quantities of this metal, the air power would be equal plane for plane between the two countries and the Union had many more planes than NATO. Their warships would be invulnerable to long range cruise missiles, their subs, undetectable, and nearly every major advantage NATO had would be moot. Kapitan Fedor Konev stood there, mouth agape for a moment as the gravity of what he had just heard sunk in.

"That is why we will not share the gate, why we will defend it so jealously. This is our secret weapon. With this, we can wage war against NATO. We can win."

Fedor had heard many such claims in the past, but coming from his father, a staunch believer in the MAD doctrine and the futility of a conflict between the two great superpowers, he believed it.

--

Senior Sergeant Feliks Volkov was currently sitting up in his foxhole, watching over the top lip at the burning horizon ahead, covering his ears. BM-24s and BM-21grads were flinging dozens, hundreds of rockets into the distance like shooting stars, lighting up the night sky while the heavy tube artillery pieces thundered their rounds into the distance. The so called medium 152mm and 130 mm guns raining death down of their enemies in the distance. The mortars and BM14s were silent for the moment, waiting for the enemy to get closer. The T-55s and T-62s waiting like steel behemoths, dug deep into the earth, waiting for their chance to join the fight. Their cannons pointed like inquisitive snouts towards the horizon, sniffing for a trace of their prey. Poking out as if trying to catch a whiff of their quarry.

Feliks checked the condition of his AKM for the hundredth time, opening his mouth to help equalize the pressure of the thudding artillery as he did so, even two hundred meters away from the guns they were hellishly loud. Once he had finished checking the load of his rifle again, he readied it again with a satisfying click clack. He seriously doubted that they would get close enough that he would have to actually use it. So instead, he hunkered down in his foxhole again and covered his ears, seeing many of the men in his section doing the same. So far, no one had had to really fight save for the artillery crews and some motor rifle troops who had the unglamorous duty to clear the battlefield of the dead. They mostly used tanks or engineering vehicles with dozer blades to push the remains into large piles and then burn them. Feliks had the feeling that this would be much the same. Just then the BM14s began firing, streaking away like fiery red comets into the night sky which meant that their foes were within ten kilometers. He wouldn't become overly worried until the mortars and tanks started firing though.

The rockets that they would be shooting into the distance would be a mix of frag, high explosive, cluster, and thermobaric warheads. Platforms such as the BM series were more of a saturation weapon, dealing heavy damage over a wide area. Not as accurate as other types of artillery strikes, but ruthlessly brutal against the closed formations and medieval tactics that their opponents were using against them. Feliks knew that they were of division strength on the hill, but they were equipped with artillery enough for nearly three with dozens of batteries of artillery reshaping the earth around them with thunder and fire.

He watched the artillery crews, sweating and grunting, laboring, stripped to the waist as they kept up an astounding rate of fire, loading and reloading their artillery pieces with rockets and shells to keep up the barrage. The hill stank of powder charges and burnt rocket fuel. As soon as they had finished loading their weapons they would begin firing again, with the thudding of guns and roar of rockets, the sound was a physical force that vibrated in his chest, threatening to shake him to pieces. Where they landed though was much worse, but from where Feliks was, the distant explosions were a muffled crump.

The barrage was turning the once flat plains into a cratered, burning wasteland with explosions of fire and steel lighting up the horizon with constant detonations. How such a force could continue advancing through that, Feliks could never know.

There was a vindictive satisfaction at watching these people get destroyed before even being able to see who or what they were fighting. They had declared war on the CCCP, the Soviet Union and the Motherland herself. Stole into one of her cities like murderers and killed men, women, and children without discrimination, without mercy. It had not been warfare, not combat, just plain and simple murder. Unjustifiable, unconscionable, and unforgivable. They were under standing orders that unless the individual seemed of significant importance they were not to be taken prisoner, not to be treated except by quick application of Kalashnikov. Their presence here was about more than defense. It was about vengeance. To show these barbarians that you did not slap the bear and not expect it to rise and crush you beneath its unfathomable might.

Fourteen hours later, Feliks and his men were relieved and the guns had fallen silent. The latest attempt to push them from the hilltop by the indigenous armies had failed and Feliks and his men were finally being allowed to get some much needed rest.

"Comrade Senior Sergeant, think I'll ever actually get to use this?"

Feliks recognized the voice immediately and saw its owner, the big and burly junior sergeant Boris lugging around his trusty RPD, weapon still gleaming, seemingly much to the dissatisfaction of its owner. Boris was older than Feliks by at least a two decades and had seen combat in Turkey during the secessionist war of 62 and before that the Swedish rebellion in 59. Before even that he had been involved in multiple border skirmishes between The Union and China. He was a big bear of a man, hailing from Leningrad where he had originally been a sailor in the Baltic. Having gotten into some sort of trouble the man had been offered two choices. Join the Army, or go to prison. Figuring the prison that let him out once and a while that also paid him preferable to the other, Boris had joined the army. Turned out he had a knack for it and never left. He had been promoted and demoted numerous times, but it never seemed to faze the man.

"Probably on the range," said Feliks with a short chortle.

"Damned artillery gets all the fun. I'm telling you Feliks, once you get a taste for combat you'll get addicted to it. Maybe put that spetsgruppa training to use. Tell me again, why did you leave?"

Feliks groaned loudly, as much for exaggeration as the big mans amusement and made a show of rolling his eyes and sighing loudly.

"Because I failed the fitness test the year after I got my qualification," said Feliks. At one time he had been extremely bitter about it, now he found it hilarious in a way, but not so much as Boris.

"Too much good cooking huh? Little too much vodka maybe? Or maybe it was you spending all of your time playing chess eh?"

"A little of all that I suppose. That and I didn't do the training I should have before hand."

"Bah, excuses," said Boris waving his massive paw of a hand for emphasis. "Still, at least you can shoot because if you had to run you'd make it about ten steps before you keeled over eh?"

"More like nine," said Feliks, eliciting a guffaw from Boris. "I'll just use the moves that they taught me in training. Systema's a pretty good fighting system," continued Feliks.

"I'll stick to what I know, don't need nothing fancy," said Boris.

"So headbutts?"

Boris grinned at that, revealing a row of steel capped teeth and rapped a fist against his bullet shaped head. The helmet giving off a thud each time his scarred knuckles rapped against it. The tight fitting, almost too small helmet just added to the impression that his head was really a large steel capped bullet.

"You're quite mouthy for a young pup, you know that?"

"Well I learned from my elders quite well."

"Ha! My youngest is as old as you and he made all the same jokes until I taught him a little respect. If only I could teach you to hold your liquor maybe I'd have respect for you. I swear my grandmother could drink you under the table."

"Oh probably," agreed Feliks. "Anyways I think it's time for me to get some sleep," said Feliks yawning expansively.

"Same reveille time as yesterday?"

"Probably, the lieutenant will most likely get us up earlier for inspection before that. Make sure that the other guys know to keep their boots polished and buttons shone."

"Goddamned idiot if you ask me, having us get dressed up in parade uniform out here."

"Maybe, but orders are orders. Just don't say that to his face, I don't want to start calling you private any time soon."

"Ha! I'm a junior sergeant for life Comrade. Never get demoted below it, and never go above it for too long. Don't know why they keep promoting me honestly."

"Probably so they can demote you again."

"I wouldn't doubt it. Anyways I should head and get a quick wash before I have to wait."

"They don't have the showers set up yet do they?"

"A bar of soap and pail of water will be good enough," said Boris dismissively. That was one thing about the veteran, he liked to be clean and every opportunity he got, he would use it to have a wash. Feliks had asked him about it once and Boris had said that after the grime and slime of the Baltic, Boris hated being dirty any longer than absolutely necessary. Though the old veteran was usually right, a quick hot wash could do wonders for your mood.

"You should wash too. Don't want to get crotch rot, that is hell."

"I suppose I should," said Feliks, now wanting to have a quick wash and change into fresh fatigues.

A short while later Feliks was shaving the stubble off of his face with a straight razor and using a small compact mirror to guide his work. Boris was doing something similar, but shaving his head as well.

"Think we'll get those new MI-24 helicopters in here?" asked Boris, his large scarred hands rock steady as he cleared stubble from his head with even strokes at the edge of his combat knife. His large scarred hands rock steady. Boris kept his blade razor keen and his skill with a knife made Feliks believe that he had been more than a simple fisherman before he had joined the army to escape a single misdeed.

"Don't know, you think that they'll be any good?"

"I'm pretty hopeful. I've heard that they're bullet proof and even a DHsK can't punch through them. A pilot, gunner, crew chief, and room for eight full grown men in the back and it can be used to carry litters. If I knew what I know now twenty years ago I would have joined the air force. Helicopters are just so damned neat."

"A helicopter than can take a .50 cal? Come on Boris that's absurd," said Feliks dismissively. "The thing wouldn't fly if you put that kind of armor on it."

"Ah, say whatever you want. I would've said the same thing about putting a man on the moon when I was your age, but look what America did. Man that's something. Anyways back to you my suckling babe of a friend. When are you finally going to get a girl?"

"I don't know. Six mini Feliks' running around isn't too enticing right now."

"Look on the bright side, they might take after their mother and not be hideous as a result. But if they take after you, well," said Boris with a shrug of his shoulders as if resigning the fate of the children to something dire. "And besides, you don't have to marry the girl right away. I mean you were spetsgruppa for gods sake. A man made out of steel and the manliest of men, and yet you've never been with a girl."

"So what?" said Feliks, feeling his anger begin to rise just a little, a combination of his lack of sleep and the topic of the subject.

"So I'm gonna start thinking there's something wrong with you if you make it to twenty three and you've never been with a girl. It's easy. Next time we get leave I'll take you to a bar in Kiev and I promise I'll get you a girl, all you have to do is be your charming self."

"I don't want a prostitute," said Feliks.

"It won't be a prostitute, I promise it'll just be a nice girl. Well, not a prostitute at least," said Boris contemplatively. Feliks threw a handful of foam at Boris. The big man merely took the foam off with an unhurried swipe of his hand and flicked it to the ground.

"Fine. Well on the bright side you'll live forever," said Boris.

"How's that?"

"Because virgins never die, it's a movie fact."

"Oh shut up," grumbled Felix. The men finished their grooming in silence and Felix found his way back to his tent, but stopped short, suddenly alert, muscles tense and hands ready to bring his AKM around. He didn't know why he stopped, but it was as if his body was reacting automatically to some unseen danger. He looked around carefully.

It was nearly midday and the sun was high in the sky and all Feliks saw was exhausted soldiers trudging this way and that in loose marching order, while Ural trucks filled to the roof with munitions trundled by the long row of military tents. The mountain stretched up high behind them and the gate, with a white capped peak on the solitary giant of stone. Involuntarily Feliks had flipped off the safety for his AKM and found his muscles nearly quivering, ready to bring it up in an instant.

Seeing nothing though, Feliks flipped the safety back on and slung his rifle. He wasn't usually jumpy, so why was reacting like this now? After the battle had been fought, he should be tired, which he was and ready for sleep, but he was on edge like he was on sentry duty in a hot zone. Feliks ran a hand through his short cut auburn hair that most people mistook for being brown in the dark and sighed. Maybe the constant shelling had worn away his nerves so they were like frayed, exposed wires? He just needed some sleep.

Wearily, Feliks went to his tent and fell onto his cot, falling asleep quickly, but with his rifle clasped firmly upon his chest.

--

AN: Obviously I've played around with history a bit and hugely expanded the population of the USSR as well as pushing technology ahead at least a half to a full generation in some regards to the Union, and maybe two for NATO and America to make it somewhat fair. I mean F15 Eagles wouldn't find MIG 23 fighters too much of a threat when they can engage them before the MIGs even know that they're there.