The Coup
A frozen street in urban Petrograd, January 11th, 6:00 A.M.
He rubbed away the snot which had trickled down his lip and into his cold mustache. His numerous layers did nothing to protect his face from the harsh winds which coursed through the streets and alley ways of Petrograd. The makeshift barricades which had been erected in some road ways around the block diverted the winds somewhat, but it all was still bitterly cold. He didn't mind though, the elements would not deter him from his mission. He, accompanied by some 40 other brave activists had claimed this road way and blocked all access to it - effectively shutting down yet another section of the Capital city, and taking it away from the control of the corrupt and bourgeoisie Duma.
This particular road way was a haven for the Left SR's - seized after a brief skirmish with a band of Kadets. There were numerous such roadways all throughout the city seized through numerous skirmishes with a great many different victors. So few parts of the city could be claimed by the so called, Legitimate, government - the local army division hold up in their fort or scattered across the city's many governmental facilities was a sure sign that the transition to a truly free and fair was soon underway ( just as soon as the reactionaries, bourgeoisie liberals, and blowhard nationalists were beaten away ).
More snot had dribbled down his nose, he reached up to wipe it away but stopped himself midway. He hadn't heard any motor travel in the last two days - couldn't be, most roadways were closed down by barricades such as this one. His comrades could hear it too and turned to face the direction of the sound. The sound was coming from down a roadway, whose site was obscured by an erected barricade. The curiosity of the men was not great enough to pull them away from their bin fires, so they starred in silent curiosity at their barricade. A minute later it sounded as though the truck had parked itself right outside the barricade. The rhythmic hum being the first thing all night to block out the sound of the blowing wind.
Eventually, the man did wipe away the snot from his nose, and he would finally move away from the warmth of his fire. His fellow comrades would watch as he moved forward to, and finally begin to climb up over the top of the barricade. As his head peeked over the top of the barricade, he did a rather odd thing... both of his hands suddenly shot up into the air, and he held completely still. His observing comrades would be momentarily perplexed as to the reason for their compatriots odd behavior... only to understand a few moments later as a man wearing green military fatigues and pointing a pistol at their compatriot's face rose up from behind the barricade a few seconds later. Following close behind his lead, a dozen more men in fatigues carrying rifles rose up form behind the barricade as well and leveled them towards the many surprised squatters. The man with the pistol shouted above the sound of the truck and the wind. " Nobody move! By order of Marshal Kornilov, we are busting this illegal protest and detaining all present individuals. Any attempt at resistance or retreat will be met with capital punishment! "
The Presidential Palace ( formerly called the Winter Palace ), 6:32 A.M.
What an ungodly hour. Popov thought to himself. The sky outside was still pitch dark, broken only by what few of the city's lights were on. His... rather, the president's office, seemed so large and lonesome - like there was some kind of suffocating nature to the isolation it provided. He was in his pajamas, but he had not slept all night. He had been up for the last 36 hours, his sweat, anxiety, and terror keeping him up every waking hour. The nation was collapsing and he was the one supposed to keep it together. In the distance, he could see the numerous fires set up by squating rioters... rioting because of his weak leadership.
He awoke every day at 6 a.m., but it was not usually till 8 that he had any kind of official business. Today was not a regular day. He had been informed by a messenger within the few seconds proceeding his awakening that Marshal Kornilov had requested an emergency meeting. Popov tapped his fingers slowly against his... the president's desk. The dread of national chaos giving him uclers, he could feel it.
A knock at the door...
He looked up to see that a messenger had popped his head through the door. " Mr. President, Field Marshal Kornilov is here. " Popov sniffled before answering. " Send him in please. " The messenger nodded and opened the door fully, revealing the uniformed marshal. His back was held up straight, his chin held high, his mustache neatly trimmed. He seemed oddly awake and prepared for a man at 6:30 in the morning - a stark contrast to the Pajama clad and sleep deprived Popov. " Mr. President, thank you for seeing me on such short notice. " Popov sniffled again, unaware of the Marshal's true intentions. " What's this about Marshal? Why couldn't this wait till a more godly hour? " Kornilov took several steps into the president's office, closing the doors behind him.
" Because it concerns actions which are transpiring right now, sir. " He had taken several more steps forward, to the point where he as now standing directly in front of the president's desk. He adjusted the Kiril cross round his neck. " As of 0600 this morning, martial law was declared and the division stationed at fort Aleksandor was been deployed across the city. They are, as we speak, arresting rioters and reclaiming the city. " Popov looked at Kornilov, puzzled, his mouth slightly open. " I -uh, I don't recall... I don't think you are permitted to do that Marshal. Is that not a violation of- "
" Mr. president, " the words tasted sour on the tongue of the Marshal, " the situation across the city has spiraled out of control, and the local government has proven completely ineffective in containing it. If allowed to progress, the rioting surely would have reached the city's numerous political entities - guards or no guards. " Kornilov rested his left hand down onto the president's desk, a move which Popov timidly noticed. " However, Mr. president, this will not be enough. Riots such as this are occurring all over the Motherland, in cities much less apt at dealing with them than Petrograd. As you stated earlier, my actions are unconstitutional, but they are necessary. In order to prevent national collapse, I will need to exercise greater martial power. " Popov looked the marshal up and down, his demeanor revealing nothing.
" That... that certainly makes sense. I am sure that once your action is explained to the Duma, they will fully support you. " Popov smiled at this, Kornilov did not. " That brings me to my second point. " A new sense of dread fell over Popov, somethign entirely unrelated to the Duma and entirely with the man standing in front of him now. " The suppression of the rioters will only be treating the symptoms of the greater illness... It will not treat the root cause of our national sickness. The reason for these riots, for this dissent and anarchy, is the inaction and stagnation of the Duma in selecting a new president. " Now, both of Kornilov's hands rested upon Popov's desk. " If we wish to prevent total national collapse, we must make a selection now. "
Popov shook his head slowly, his lips trembling at the idea. " I-I-I can't... the-they won't even agree to a means of selecting the new president. I am afraid that this will all take some... " And it finally dawned on the timid old coward. Kornilov, his frame outlined by the fireplace behind him, his stiff and prompt looming posture, finally, the old man understood. " Oh God, this is a coup. "
The marshal straightened himself up and held his hands behind his back. " It doesn't have to be, which is why I asked for this meeting - to make it all... legal. I am here to, request, that you resign as interim-president and name me your successor: immediately! " Popov sat completely still in his seat, his mouth fully open and sheer terror in his eyes. " I-I can't! " Kornilov, never losing his composure continued, " You can and you will. And to be entirely frank, you have no choice. " The marshal proceeded over to the window and looked out at the slowly brightening sky. Those men out there, guarding this palace, and the offices of every government official in the city, are there by my orders - and will do as I say, what ever I say. " Kornilov looked back towards the astonished Popov in his chair. " I don't need your permission, I could seize the whole government at this very moment. Your signature though would just make this all a lot more pleasant for everyone involved. "
Popov looked down at the carpet, and for the first time in the last 9 days, he didn't feel utter terror anymore. His terror had now been replaced by the feeling of defeat. He had failed, failed democracy, failed his nation, and failed the memory of Kerensky. He was defeated, and he knew it... and in a way, the weight of the motherland seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders. He could see the polished leather shoes of Kornilov walk up in front of his chair. The interim-president looked up at the downward stare of Kornilov. " Well then Mr. President. What will it be? Ink or blood? "
Popov looked into Kornilov's eyes for a moment more, before turning towards his desk... and begin looking for his pen...
