Major Sergei Devenko adjusted his cosmonaut gloves, the metallic sheen glinting under the harsh sunlight. Seated on a lunar rover, a few meters away a red signal beacon illuminated the desolate landscape. He adjusted his visor and scanned the horizon again with binoculars. Despite the sound of the approaching spacecraft, its silhouette remained elusive against the stark backdrop. The binoculars struggled to pinpoint the source of the sound amidst the vast expanse of the lunar surface—the lunar environment distorted sound waves in unpredictable ways. Yet, Devenko persisted, relying on his instruments to guide him as he awaited the arrival of the final spacecraft.
Devenko never saw the spacecraft. Instead, he spotted the billowing parachutes. A few at first, then dozens, until the lunar sky was dotted with them. He deployed another beacon and initiated the rover. They were landing all around him, and he shouted instructions over the communication system as he navigated the vehicle across the gray terrain. Clad in identical white spacesuits—helmets, boots, gloves, and visors—they were secured with harnesses that held equipment and weapons. A single red star, the symbol of the Russian Federation, adorned their helmets, serving as the sole identifiable marking on their gear. They landed on the Moon's surface silently, swiftly destroying their descent pods and advancing toward the glow of the beacons. It was a moment of immense pride for Major Devenko. These were the elite—the most dedicated, best-trained, and best-equipped lunar troops of the Russian Federation—the 9th Moon Division, 51st Space Combat Brigade. The mission had proceeded flawlessly thus far. Devenko was confident that nothing would go wrong; they had meticulously planned for this operation for too long.
"Stop that yelling!"
Devenko maneuvered to avoid a moontrooper who had just touched down and stabilized on the surface. The major recognized him immediately. His spacesuit suit was marked with a light blue stripe to distinguish him from the others. He was Colonel Alexander Vorashin, brigade commander and leader of this specialized lunar strike force. The epitome of leadership, as far as the major was concerned.
"Welcome to the Moon, Colonel," Devenko greeted in a hushed tone, dismounting from the rover as Vorashin swiftly exited his descent pod. "It is a remarkable sight, all of our—"
Vorashin silenced him with a glance. "Your voice reverberates like a seismic blast here, Sergei," the colonel admonished in a quiet but commanding tone. "Lower your volume."
Devenko bowed his head, acknowledging the rebuke. "My apologies, Alex. The excitement—"
Vorashin nodded impatiently. "Of course." A muscle twitched at the back of his jaw. "Please tell me about the Moon vehicles, Sergei. We are wasting precious time standing here."
Vorashin had been a friend for nearly two decades. Devenko had never known him when he wasn't in a hurry. His expertise had always been in low-gravity tactics. Perhaps that explained his urgency. "Undamaged," the major reported. "All troop carriers and equipment vehicles landed without incident. However, two rovers refuse to initialize."
"Destroy them. We cannot afford to leave any trace behind." Vorashin glanced over his shoulder as two moontroopers troopers landed nearby. He then turned back to Devenko. "Ensure everything is secured."
"Yes, I'll handle it."
Another moontrooper approached, and Vorashin gestured for him to move toward the beacon flare. The colonel cursed softly under his breath as the moontrooper passed. Devenko eyed the newcomer with suspicion. He didn't recognize him. Although his suit bore the green stripe designated for lunar communications officers, the major had never seen him before. Devenko turned to Vorashin quickly.
"Who—"
"A last-minute addition," the colonel stated bitterly. "Nicolai Saamaretz. Major Nicolai Saamaretz."
Devenko furrowed his brow. "I don't understand, Alex. What—"
"He is Rudenski's agent. He is here to observe and report."
"Rudenski? What does the FBS have to do with—"
"This is an FBS operation," Vorashin whispered angrily, his eyes flashing with frustration.
Devenko was taken aback. "No one informed me—"
"It seems it wasn't deemed necessary for us to be briefed beforehand," Vorashin replied grimly.
"But Colonel, General Rudenski isn't our superior officer!" Devenko protested.
"He is issuing the commands, Sergei," Vorashin declared. "And we follow orders. That's the end of it."
The major nodded solemnly. "Yes, Colonel. Nevertheless, the FBS is not our adversary."
"The Americans are not our adversaries either," Vorashin emphasized quickly. "Keep that in mind, Sergei. Remember it well."
"And this mission?"
"A strategic defensive operation, as you were briefed. The mission's objective remains unchanged." Vorashin turned briskly towards the fading beacons, redirecting his frustration. "Come on, Sergei. We are not here as guests. There is much to be done and little time to do it."
"The clock is ticking?" It was one of Colonel Alexander Vorashin's favorite phrases, a signal to expedite action.
Major Devenko noticed a slight smile flicker across his commander's lips.
"Yes, Major, the clock is ticking."
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