In early morning of August 19th a coup d'eat took place in Moscow---twenty years ago. I was a diplomat at embassy of Japan. In front of my apartment the rebel tanks ratteled by. I hurried to the embassy, driving my own car---.

It was a turbulent yet romantic time. There were hopes for freedom and a better life. But after almost 50 years of state monopoly of all production under autocracy any nation would struggle to come back to the normal. There won't be enough money to privatize all state enterprises, and what is more there won't be sufficient number of managers who are able to develop companies under market mechanism. So, the Russians are still undergoing the tedious process to reform their country, relying upon export revenue of the oil.

I present below a part of my epic novel (under the psydonym Akira KUMANO) about the fall of the Soviet Union, " Land of Legend, Land of Dreams". This is the part about how the coup d'etat looked like, and how the Russians felt like and acted. It is written from a Russian viewpoint, and the Russian translation was published in 2001 by Vagrius, Moscow.

(You can buy the English version on Amazon Kindle:
http://www.amazon.com/Land-Legend-Dream-ebook/dp/B003CFB53G/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1313841986&sr=1-1
)

Chapter 22
On the morning of August 19, 1991, Ilya, Yuliya and her son Igor, Uncle Yegor, and Aunt Vera were all in high spirits, relaxing at the Makoshins' dacha in Klin. Ilya had bought the dacha when he worked at the Moscow Courier. In truth, a local collective farm still retained property rights to the land, but for all intents and purposes Ilya was the owner.

"Look, Igor, Grandpa's on the roof. What's he doing up there? He's painting." Yuliya smiled at her father while carrying baby Igor, who was still too young to talk. "Grandpa is always hard at work, he rarely sees us, but little Igor keeps on growing and growing. Soon he'll become just as famous a journalist as his grandpa, right?"

From the porch came the sound of dishes clinking. Vera was cleaning up after breakfast. Yegor sat in an armchair, enjoying Made in Japan, a book by a Japanese businessman, Akio Morita. Although he was disheartened by the collapse of the Communist Party, recently, under Olga's influence, Yegor had started studying Western business methods.

"Yuliya, Yulenka, come here and give me some help. Or else I won't get everything done before Lyuba gets here," Aunt Vera shouted.

"No need to hurry, Grandma. The train's not until one."

Life was peaceful and happy--just like ten years earlier. But in Moscow divisive events continued as usual: negotiations about the Union treaty, Yeltsin's election as Russia's president, Prime Minister Pavlov's demands for more power. People were saying that Gorbachev was moving closer to the reform faction again. The stress created by all these events exhausted Ilya, and thinking with good reason that his most important work would come after the Union treaty had been signed, he took a leave from work and went to the dacha, which no one had used for a long time, in order to rest and make whatever repairs were needed there.

Lyuba's coming back today. Before she arrives I have to make the dacha look as good as before. Our life repeats the same pattern: we part, we come together again. Such were Ilya's thoughts as he painted the roof, but for a moment he also remembered the night he had spent in Madrid with Aurora. No, I'm over her for good. She was only using me to get information. That's finished and today Lyuba's coming back.

Trouble comes when you least expect it, however. All of a sudden Aunt Vera was shouting. "Yegor, something's going on! Come and listen. Yulenka, call Ilyusha. Yegor--it's a coup d'état."

Ilya almost fell off the roof together with the can of paint in his hands.

"We should have seen it coming. Is it really a coup? Who's behind it--Kryuchkov, Yazov, or Pavlov? Or maybe Lukyanov? The new Union Treaty is supposed to be signed tomorrow. So that explains it. The coup had to take place today. They couldn't let their chance pass. I need to go to the office right away. But Lyuba's on her way."

The female announcer's voice on the radio was emotionless, like a robot's, and she sounded like one of the announcers on the old news program "Vremya." The former Soviet Union was back. Brezhnev, Chernenko, hare-brained chatter, hypocrisy, and the dreadful grayness of everyday life. Would people really have to live without freedom again?

"...Mistrust, apathy, and despair have replaced initial enthusiasm and hopes. The country has in fact become ungovernable. The chaotic, disorganized transition to a market economy has led to an explosion of selfish interests in the provinces and in agencies and among individuals. As a result, there has been a sharp drop in the living standards of the people, and profiteering and the black market are flourishing."

"Who, who is behind the coup? And what's happening to Gorbachev?"

"Shhh. Be quiet."

"The state is plunging deeper and deeper into violence and lawlessness. Never before has the propaganda of sex and violence assumed such a scale."

"They want to replace lawlessness with arbitrary rule," Yuliya noted.

"Only yesterday the Soviet people considered themselves citizens of a powerful and respected state. And now they have become inhabitants of a second-class country. Pride and honor must be restored to the Soviet people."

"How will they do it? With bayonets?" Ilya shouted.

"We call upon the entire Soviet people to acknowledge their duty to the country and render all possible assistance to the State Committee for the State of Emergency and help in every way possible to pull the country out of its crisis."

The phone at the dacha began to ring. It must be the man on duty at the office. What took him so long?

Ilya drove to Moscow on the Leningrad Highway and was there within an hour. On the way he was stopped several times at control points and columns of tanks, armored cars, and trucks filled with soldiers passed by. In Moscow everything seemed normal, however. At the park near Rechnoi Station an elderly man was jogging calmly and a team of bicycle racers was training on the highway. The only thing that seemed different were the longer than usual lines in front of the food and liquor stores. People were stocking up as a precaution.

Ilya had no problem getting to the New Era's office on Pechatnikov Street. At this time of year half of the workers were on vacation, but the ones who were at work cheered when they saw him come in. A shouting match ensued as everyone tried at the same time to bring him up to date on the situation in Moscow. Ilya disregarded them and headed straight to his office, which was separated from the main room by a glass partition. He called in the senior staff for an emergency meeting.

Leaving the editor's office, Ilya called out instructions to his staff.

"This is an extreme move by the conservatives on the day before the new Union treaty is to be signed. Call everyone who's on vacation back to work--the ones who don't show up are hedging their bets. The chief instigators of the coup are Kryuchkov, Yazov, Pugo, and Yanayev. Lukyanov is probably part of it, too. But today's KGB, army, and police no longer form a solid bloc. Police Deputy Chiefs Yerin and Dunayev are resisting their boss, Interior Minister Pugo. Mayor Popov is in Central Asia, but Vice-mayor Luzhkov is standing up to the State Committee. He's a great guy.

"In any case, this is a strange kind of coup. Implausibly feeble, somehow. Echo of Moscow has been cut off the air and the government phone lines have been disconnected. But ordinary phones and faxes are working. Is it possible to send messages to the West? Genya, you look into it. You can get Radio Free Europe on shortwave radio. They're declaring a state of emergency here, but everyday life goes on as usual. Who thought up the idea of making that drunken scoundrel Yanayev the acting president? No one takes the Emergency Committee seriously.

"And they let Yeltsin escape just like that. That's their biggest blunder. They didn't react even when Yeltsin arrived at the White House in broad daylight. That's how the White House became the center of resistance. Is Gorbachev alive? Does anyone know? Maybe they've isolated him from the world. Has anyone tried calling? What do you mean, not yet? Try to get through right away.

"The White House is surrounded by tanks now. Listen, Sasha, you fought in Afghanistan. Run over there and find out what kind of military forces they've assembled there. Some ten thousand citizens have already gone to there to defend the White House. Teachers from local schools are helping build barricades--under the direction of former soldiers who fought in the Afghan war. This is something major. There's been nothing like it since the Paris Commune.

"Yet not all citizens are showing resistance. While there aren't many who fully support the coup, there seem to be some who feel relieved. They think this will put an end to chaos and the country's disgrace. Some intellectuals have simply given up, thinking that their dreams did not come true this time either. They're the cowards who stay at home and grow vegetables at their dacha.

"What stand should we take? We'll condemn the coup outright, of course. Our newspaper won't survive if the old order returns. So we'll defend freedom with all our means. Everything depends on Yeltsin. There's no other choice--he's the only one capable of standing up to the Emergency Committee. What are the other newspapers doing? What? Are they going to publish an Obshchaya gazeta? Great, that's splendid. Yeltsin issued a manifesto? How many copies do we have? Only one? Idiots! Use the Xerox or whatever you can find and make as many copies as you can. Then go hand them out on the streets. We can't publish the newspaper now anyway.

"Collect information. We can't do anything without facts. We must not engage in empty talk. We're going to put out a special issue, "Report on the Failed Coup d'Etat." The key to success is speed. Sasha will listen to the Voice of America. Grisha will watch CNN. Galya and Kolya will man the phones. Volya will translate everything into English and send it by fax to the Western media's news services. Western support is critical. Don't think about the cost. The fate of our paper is at stake. Where are our other reporters? What? No one from our paper is at the White House? You waited for me to give orders? How stupid! And you still call yourselves reporters! You don't get information by following orders. You go out and get it on your own."

After he finished, the young journalists cheered and eagerly rushed to carry out their assignments. Ilya took a look around the office and returned to his own office to watch CNN. The announcer's English was too fast for Ilya to understand, but as soon as he saw Yeltsin standing on a tank reading an appeal to the people, he knew that international opinion had condemned the State Committee.

To the Citizens of Russia

On the night of 18-19 August 1991 the legally elected president of the country was removed from power. Regardless of the reasons given for his removal, this is a rightist, reactionary, anti-constitutional coup.

Despite all the difficulties and ordeals the people have experienced, the democratic process in our country has reached the point of no return. The peoples of Russia are becoming masters of their fate...

These developments have given rise to angry reactionary forces and pushed them to make irresponsible and extreme attempts to solve the most complex political and economic problems by force. Even earlier unsuccessful attempts to carry out a coup were made.

We have never accepted, nor will we accept, such violent measures. They discredit the Soviet Union in the eyes of the whole world, undermine our authority in international society, and take us back to the Cold War era, isolating us from the world community...

Therefore, we are forced to declare that the so-called Committee's ascendancy to power is illegal. Accordingly, we declare all decisions and measures taken by the Committee to be illegal.

President of the Russian Soviet Federal Socialist Republic--B. N. Yeltsin
Chairman of the Council of Ministers of the Russian Soviet Federal Socialist Republic--E. S. Silayev
Acting Chairman of the Supreme Soviet of the Russian Soviet Federal Socialist Republic--R. I. Khasbulatov

In times of crisis people in positions of leadership have more unexpected free time on their hands than they know what to do with. As long the situation does not change, there is not much for a leader to do once the wheels of directives start to turn. Ilya reached for the phone. Lyuba must be worried. As usual, it was hard to get through to the dacha--only after five attempts did he hear her voice. Even so, he was glad he could get through. What a strange coup d'état.

"Ah, finally. Lyuba, it's me. How was your trip?"

"Ilyusha, Ilyusha, it's me. Where are you now, Ilyusha? For God's sake, don't get mixed up in anything dangerous. I beg you."

"I'm at the newspaper. It's perfectly safe here. They won't succeed, Lyuba. Are you all right?"

Lyuba was quiet for a moment and then, half-sobbing, she asked, "And you, how are you?"

"Lyuba, please forgive me. I'll never do anything of that kind again."

"I believe you. That's why I came back. And otherwise little Igor would completely forget me."

Lyuba wasn't able to say more. Ilya gently asked her to remain at the dacha until everything calmed down, and then he quickly tried to describe the situation in Moscow to Uncle Yegor, but the line went dead after he used the word "tank." With difficulty Ilya managed to get another call through. No matter how they justified such actions, Yegor said, it was shameful of the Communists to present their own people as the enemy. "You must support the fight there," he added.

Ilya sat down and began to write for the first time in a long while.

The State Committee for the State of Emergency is acting feebly and indecisively. It remains under the illusions of the past, when the whole country could be roused by one decree. The Committee has underestimated the rising political consciousness of the citizens that emerged during the perestroika years. Clearly the military forces that the Committee managed to mobilize are not sufficient to keep the people silent. Our citizens already have modern means of communication at their disposal--Xerox machines, radio, faxes, and e-mail connections. Yet it did not occur to the Committee to shut down those channels.

The scale of resistance has become apparent now, and the Committee has no other choice but to suppress it with force, thus risking bloodshed and the further opposition of the people and the entire world. According to information that our correspondents have received, there is no unity among the army, KGB, or police. In Leningrad power lies in the hands of Mayor Sobchak--a Yeltsin supporter. In the provincial administrations the number of Yeltsin supporters is also rising. All those who desire freedom and the transformation of our country into a civilized state should rally around Yeltsin.

Ilya wrote this piece in short order and immediately dispatched it to the editorial headquarters of the newspaper Obshchaya gazeta in Leningrad. To thunderous applause, someone read it over the loudspeaker of the Moscow News to the crowd gathered in Pushkin Square.

That evening the press conference that the Committee had announced earlier in the day was finally held at the press center of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Nadya, a young reporter from the New Era who was there, couldn't help laughing as she reported the details of the conference back at the office.

"It was really stupid. Not frightening at all--just a parody of the old Politburo conferences. A bunch of helpless males all sitting in a row at a table on the stage, with their necks stretched out. Some looked like geese, others like turkeys. No one could tell who was in charge. As for Yanayev, we could all see his hands were shaking uncontrollably. Good Lord, are these helpless old men really instigators of a coup? They even said that Gorbachev would return soon--as soon as he feels better."

Nadya's report cause great excitement in the office. But the last thing she said troubled Ilya.

"They said Gorbachev would return soon. Aren't they trying to overthrow him? Is the Committee planning to give the coup to Gorbachev as some kind of present? What's the meaning of this farce?"

The whole day long Ilya couldn't shake off a burning desire to head for the White House and act like an ordinary reporter. His sense of responsibility toward the newspaper kept him at the office, however. But his friend Sofronchuk, who was able to get inside the White House, called Ilya frequently from there to report on the situation.

"You really didn't know anything before the radio broadcast? What were your employees on duty doing? My boss Yakovlev saw it all coming several days ago and warned Gorbachev the night before he left for his vacation in Crimea, but Gorbachev didn't believe him. At four-thirty in the morning today Kalugin, a KGB agent who is now a parliament member, called Yakovlev to inform him that the coup had begun, but by that time KGB cars were already outside his building. Yakovlev was only able to escape by calling Yeltsin, who sent his own guards over. Now the two of them, along with Shevardnadze and others are planning to bring together all the liberals who have abandoned Gorbachev.

"Grachev, the commander-in-chief of the army's airborne unit, is giving his support to Yeltsin and passing strategic plans on to Yeltsin's supporters. At the Ministry of Internal Affairs Vice-Minister Dunayev has taken Yeltsin's side. The ministry itself is split--that's why the Moscow police are taking their time. It's a state of emergency, but there are no police on the streets. Did you notice? That's why.

"Inside, the White House is being defended mainly by civilians who believe in democracy. If the troops storm it, it will fall quickly. But the ranks of defenders are growing fast and their morale is high. And "Alex," the first private security firm--the one Konstantinov, the ex-police officer, started--just sent two hundred professional guards to help defend the White House."

Ilya was able to reach his father by phone. Academician Volkhov spoke passionately about his hatred of communism and Russia's need for spiritual rebirth. His words were later read over loudspeakers to the crowd in Pushkin Square. After spending much of the day running back and forth between the White House and city hall, Madame Miller and Doctor Valentei were at the square trying to stir up the crowd. From time to time they called Ilya with the latest news.

The evening news program, "Vremya," showed Yeltsin standing on a tank reading his address to the people. Ilya and everyone at the office were surprised and delighted.

"Lazutkin. It was Lazutkin, vice-president of the station, who organized it. Nice work!"

That night ten tanks from the Tamanskaya armored division showed up to protect the White House. Commander-in-chief Grachev also ordered a squadron from Tula's airborne division to go there. According to information given to Sofronchuk, Yanayev had headed home, drunk as a skunk, while Prime Minister Pavlov and his colleagues were getting pickled at their offices. In Vorkut the coal miners were preparing a strike to protest the coup. The Alpha commandos from the KGB's special forces were given orders to storm the White House, but they refused to carry them out, using the excuse of ill preparation. The worst was over, it seemed, and many White House defenders set out for home.

Ilya dozed off for a moment in a chair in his office. The young journalists were too excited to sleep: they kept phoning their friends, reading dispatches from abroad, watching CNN, and feeling that they were participants in the greatest event of their time. They knew that the whole world was watching them and that the whole world was on their side. On the morning of August 20, dawn broke to the rustle of cold rain that is typical for the end of summer.

During the afternoon negotiations took place between Yeltsin's supporters and the State Committee, but by evening conditions had deteriorated again. Ilya was sick of following events from his office. On "Vremya" Kalinin, the military commander of Moscow, sternly informed the public of a curfew after eleven p.m., but nonetheless Ilya now put his deputy editor in charge of the office and headed off to the White House to see Sofronchuk.

From the Smolenskaya subway station he could see a barricade of trolleybuses blocking the Sadovoye Ring road. Not a single soldier was visible, however. There was only a crowd of gawkers and passersby, who had been drinking, judging by the racket they made. A Buddhist monk in a saffron robe strolled in their midst, beating a drum and calling out loudly for peace.

The White House was surrounded by tanks and armored cars, a ring of taxicabs, and barriers made out of metal pipes and wood. Yet the atmosphere in general was festive, like something you would expect at a rock concert. Young people passed the time warming themselves at bonfires, listening to cassette players, and singing songs to the music of guitars. A middle-aged woman had brought an enormous pile of homemade pirozhky and was passing them out to the crowd. Meanwhile, the soldiers in the tanks and armored cars were having friendly conversations with the people, and some officers were reading the text of Yeltsin's address, which someone had handed them. Unbuttoning his shirt, a drunkard, probably someone out of work, screamed at the soldiers.

"Shoot! No, you'll chicken out! You won't shoot! I'm a Russian, just like you!"

The comic Khazanov stepped out on a stage that had been put up in a hurry. To great applause and encouraging shouts he imitated Yanayev, making his hands shake frantically. The poet Yevtushenko followed Khazanov's act. The youth gave him a cool reception. With a troubled look on his face he read a poem of his own that praised the anti-Committee forces. Deputies from the Democratic Russia faction, headed by Chegodayev, were shouting something into a megaphone. Ilya could hear Alliluyev's wheezy voice coming from somewhere in the crowd. In order to attract attention that guy has even butted his way in here, Ilya thought.

"My name's Alliluyev. I've never been one to hoard. Here, catch!" he shouted as he threw hundred-ruble notes right and left into the crowd.

Ilya had to go through a tough security check at the entrance to the White House. If he hadn't phoned Sofronchuk beforehand, he couldn't have gotten in. Nouveau riche operators like Alliluyev had placed their bets on Yeltsin. They had laid out a good sum of money to hire guards to protect the White House, most of them soldiers who had fought in Afghanistan. The soldiers took up positions in the halls in front of elevators and stairways, and even though they were armed with automatic rifles many of them looked confused and afraid.

Sofronchuk had dark circles under his eyes. He was happy to see Ilya and greeted him with open arms.

"Things will come to a head tonight. The Committee members are quarreling. Everyone's afraid to assume responsibility for bloodshed. If we can stand our ground today, the conservatives will be finished."

"And Yeltsin will take power?"

"I guess so."

"What will you do then?"

"Gorbachev will return--we'll see. Probably I'll stay through his last struggle and then resign. Can I come work for you?"

"My pleasure. Our salaries are not terribly good, though. Sasha, you know more than I do. Tell me, is this putsch for real?"

Sofronchuk, as always, tried to keep from showing any emotion, but Ilya noted his hesitation.

"Of course, it's for real. Isn't that obvious? Otherwise I wouldn't be here--I'd be at the Kremlin."

"Sasha, admit it. You know more than you're telling, don't you? And I've no desire to risk my life on a hoax."

"Neither do I, Ilyusha. Hmmm. It seems that a hoax turned into something real. Maybe this coup which was attempted for the sake of strengthening the Soviet Union has instead strengthened Russia and Yeltsin."

"What are you talking about? I'm asking you as a friend, not a journalist."

"I don't know everything that's going on. But I do know that early in July Gorbachev signed an order reinforcing the Kremlin guard with several dozen KGB reserve officers. I don't know what prompted the order. But I heard that on the eighteenth he intentionally phoned certain friends on a private phone and warned them to be careful. You'll agree that something seems suspicious here."

The half-open window suddenly squeaked and an unpleasant, cold, and damp blast of wind shook the lace curtains.

"What does it all mean?"

"I'd like to know, too."

"Oh, Lord! What goings-on! But what's done is done--and can't be done over, right?"

"Like it or not, nothing's going the way people imagined. The Communist Party and Soviet Union are finished now. They ruined what they planned to save."

After leaving Sofronchuk's office, Ilya went to look for the exit. From the opposite end of the dreary, dark hall a figure appeared. A slender, young woman in a raincoat and a hat that covered only part of her long golden hair. Aurora! She came to a stop when she saw Ilya. Then with tears in her eyes she ran to him and threw her arms around him.

"Ilya, Ilyushenka. My sun, my love, my warrior. I've longed to see you again. To see you one more time. For the last time! Forgive me, Ilyushenka. For the sake of our child, forgive me."

"Our child? I'm the father?"

Unintentionally Ilya raised his voice. Aurora didn't answer. Still crying, she pressed her lips to his. As they lost themselves in a long kiss, armed soldiers and bureaucrats carrying out documents rushed past them.

"We are expecting an attack by the enemy at any moment. We are expecting an attack by the enemy. All women must leave the building immediately. Men will be given gas masks. Please report to the person in charge on your floor."

Neither Aurora nor Ilya heard the warning. And now, frozen in shock, Lyuba stood beside them, staring in disbelief. She hadn't been able to make herself stay at the dacha and had come to Sofronchuk's office in order to find Ilya. As soon as she came to her senses, she quietly headed for the exit.

Ilya caught sight of Lyuba and rushed after her. Aurora remained standing there, in despair, tears streaming down her face.

Ilya lost Lyuba in the vast crowd in front of the White House. She was practically racing, trying to get far away from such an abomination as fast as possible. From somewhere in the direction of the Kiev train station came the crisp crackle of gunshots. Ilya was running at full speed to get to the subway station before Lyuba. He didn't even hear the growing ominous roar of armored cars and the clank of caterpillar tractors. He knew if he didn't catch up to Lyuba now, it would be all over. It was a misunderstanding, such a horrible misunderstanding. "Lyuba!"

The bridge at the intersection of Kalinin Avenue and the Sadovoye Ring road was filled with people who had chosen to ignore the curfew. Ilya took a right turn and pushed his way through the crowd. He could hear the deafening roar of engines and a burst of gunfire. Then an armored car shot out of the tunnel and came to a sudden stop.

"Watch out! Get off the road! What happened? They killed someone. They killed a man!" A series of heart-rending cries came from the crowd. In front of the armored car lay the bloodied body of a young man. The pressure of the crowd forced Ilya into the street. Near the body on the ground stood a young man with a bloody rag in one hand. The color had drained from his face. He was gripping one shoulder and staggering in the street. Ilya thought his face was familiar. Could it really be Roman? His son-in-law had disappeared without a trace. And to find him here!

"Roman, what happened?"

"Ilya Ivanovich." Roman was stunned. "Ilya Ivanovich, I've been hit."

"You fool, what are you doing here? Think about Igor and Yuliya. Show me your wound." There was no time to catch up to Lyuba now, he had to help Roman or else Igor would also end up as a fatherless child.

Ilya carried the wounded Roman to Sadovoye. "I'll need to find a car and get him to a hospital as fast as possible."

By August 21, it was obvious that the putsch had failed. During the preceding night the ranks of the army and KGB had split, and the Committee lost its control. Early in the morning, while an extraordinary session of the Russian Supreme Soviet was beginning, the main leaders of the Committee were rushing by car to Vnukovo airport from where they would go to Foros to see Gorbachev. That afternoon state radio and television drastically changed their position and began broadcasting information favorable to Yeltsin.

Ilya felt totally exhausted from the strain of the past two days. When Gorbachev returned to Moscow Ilya could only wonder apathetically what might happen next. He was so overwhelmed by the events in his own life--Lyuba had gone straight back to her parents in Sukhumi, Yuliya had been badly shaken by the news about Roman, and Aurora's words about their child kept haunting his mind. Then Ilya lost consciousness.

The rain ended by evening and the setting sun shone brightly on the wet, red bricks of the city's buildings. At a nearby intersection a young girl on roller skates, dressed in a tee shirt and yellow shorts, gaily handed out passersby flyers about the failed coup. Even the sad tune that a beggar sitting on the curb was playing on the accordion sounded merry somehow. The faces of pedestrians shone with joy. They were proud that their support had helped pave the way for a new era. They were enjoying a honeymoon with Freedom and Reform.

There's a great emptiness in my heart, Ilya thought, but at the same time a sense of something fresh and unfamiliar. A new era...

------

The next day at dawn the Hell's Wolves, with Aurora in the lead, raced along Komsomolskii Avenue to the Lenin Hills. Once there they turned their cycles around and formed a line. The city of Moscow, still asleep, stretched out below them. In the east the sky was gradually turning red as the sun of a new era rose.

The Wolves tooted their horns in farewell to their leader.

"Take care of yourselves, guys! Good-bye!" Aurora yelled as she stepped on the gas. Her red BMW flew like an arrow out of the deep forest of Lenin Hills and shot high into the air.

On the other side of the river Moscow still slept, harboring her eternal desires, despair, and dreams. Beyond the city the green meadows and fields of Russia extended far into the distance. Aurora and her red bike plunged into the Moskva River, her golden hair sparkling in the sun for the last time.

The chain is broken. The dog bound to the Little Bear is free and the end of the earth is nigh.

Ilya, Ilya, long did I wait for you,
But our encounter came too late.
I have sinned and go to face God's judgment.

O earth, you are mother and father to me!
I entrust my child to your care.
Though conceived in sin, of the Russian earth
He was born--for happiness and not for suffering.