Chapter 290: Do not simply manage. Erase them.

Words : 1068 Updated : Oct 1st, 2025

The fog was heavy at the Estonian border in the early hours of November 1, 1937. Soldiers shivered inside their trucks, breathing softly, uneasily. Colonel Viktor Shepilov crushed a cigarette beneath his boot, leaning out of the armored carrier. His radio crackled gently to life. "Colonel, we’re in position. Awaiting orders." Viktor stared at the dark, silent border ahead. He raised the transmitter. "Begin." Across the line, the single coded word spread. "Zarya." Engines came to life, and trucks moved forward smoothly. No cheering soldiers, no singingbjust the advance of troops who had been instructed carefully. Beside them moved KGB agents clutching neatly stacked lists of names and directives. In Tallinn, Prime Minister Konstantin Päts sat stiffly at a table inside Toompea Castle, surrounded by weary ministers. Defense Minister Laidoner rubbed his forehead in exhaustion. "Communication is jammed entirely. They’ve cut us off completely," Laidoner said softly. Päts nodded solemnly. "Mobilization would be futile at this point. We’ve missed our chance." Foreign Minister Piip sighed bitterly. "London is silent. Paris busy elsewhere. And the League is merely debating." Finance Minister Lattik folded his trembling hands. "We stand alone, then." A younger minister, face flushed, struck the table angrily. "We should have prepared better! We saw their agents months ago..." "And we did nothing?" Päts interjected, voice sharp. "We alerted everyone. Britain, France, the League. They chose silence." Päts stood slowly, eyes scanning his ministers. "But let history know clearly,Estonia did not surrender willingly." They nodded silently. The decision was made. Resistance would not be suicidal, it would be symbolic. Captain Erki Leemet, commanding Estonia’s 5th Infantry Reserve near Toompea Hill, woke suddenly as Private Kaarel burst into his office, panic written plainly on his face. "They’ve crossed, Captain," Kaarel gasped. "Checkpoints at Misso and Narva are silent. They’re here." Erki stood quickly, buckling his holster. "Any orders from the Ministry?" "Nothing, sir." "Then alert the men, but quietly," Erki said calmly, eyes serious. "We must decide how we’ll be remembered." Across town at Radio Tallinn, technician Arvo checked his equipment, anxiety twisting his stomach. Footsteps approached. He activated his microphone, breathing deeply. "This is Estonia. We have not surrendered.." He abruptly disconnected the transmitter, heart pounding as Soviet boots came down the hall. In Moscow, Stalin sat unmoving in the lamplight as Beria approached cautiously, a dossier clutched tightly. "Comrade Stalin," Beria began, voice carefully steady, "We’ve crossed without resistance. Tallinn will fall before evening." Stalin spoke. "Any complications?" "Minor whispers of student militias. Easily managed." "Do not simply manage," Stalin murmured coldly. "Erase them." Beria nodded stiffly, backing away. On Tallinn’s cobbled streets, the first Soviet vehicles rolled through, greeted by blank faces in windows. An elderly woman stepped onto her porch, watching silently. A young Soviet soldier shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing toward his sergeant. "Why aren’t they resisting?" the boy whispered. "What did you expect?" the sergeant replied harshly. "Celebration?" Outside the central bakery, a teenage girl stared fixedly at the passing tanks, ignoring her grandmother’s urgent warnings to step away. A Soviet officer caught her gaze briefly and lowered his eyes awkwardly. Nearby, an old church bell tolled deliberately, mournfully. Soldiers approached carefully, nodding to the elderly priest ringing it. "You must stop, Father," one said quietly. "Must I?" the priest replied gently, ringing once more before placing his hands calmly at his sides. At Estonian military headquarters, Captain Leemet’s men waited silently in the basement, tension thickening the air. "We can head to the forests, fight back," suggested a lieutenant anxiously. "No," Erki answered steadily. "We’re not fighting tanks, Lieutenant, we’re fighting silence. Our battle is memory." He rose slowly, laying his sidearm and Estonia’s flag neatly on the command desk. Outside Tartu, KGB agent Nadya Polivanova scanned her reports in exhaustion. Pavel approached hesitantly. "Three teachers refuse the new textbooks. Very influential men." "Replace them quietly," Nadya instructed. "They teach poetry Estonians love them dearly." "No poetry now," Nadya said softly, looking away. Pavel shifted uneasily. "Comrade...do you think they would have done the same to us?" Nadya sighed deeply. "We never let ourselves become small enough to know." Late afternoon, Beria inspected checkpoints near Võru. "Any issues?" "Some propaganda, pamphlets. Nothing serious. A few local organizers identified." "Quietly remove them," Beria instructed. "Replace everything." He stared thoughtfully into the forest. "We are repainting their country. Soon they’ll forget it was ever theirs." As twilight fell over Tallinn, the red flag rose silently above the parliament building. In the Kremlin later, Stalin received Voroshilov and Beria calmly. "Any gunfire? Riots?" "Nothing," Voroshilov replied. "A grenade found unused. Presses burned quietly. They surrendered in silence." Stalin smiled faintly. "Tomorrow, Europe wakes to find nothing changed. We have taught them well." In the midnight darkness near Tallinn, a boy stood clutching a roughly carved wooden tank. He placed the toy carefully at his feet as real tanks rumbled past slowly. He didn’t wave or cry, only watched as a young Soviet soldier returned his gaze silently from within the machine. At the British Embassy in Tallinn, junior attaché Nigel Hayworth scribbled hurried notes, anger tightening his jaw. Wilkes entered. "Another note from London. ’Observe discreetly,’" Wilkes said quietly. "We’re not intervening." "Then Estonia is lost?" Nigel asked bitterly. Wilkes nodded slowly. "A small price to London." Nigel shook his head angrily. "It won’t stay small forever." Across Estonia, in quiet villages like Võru, small acts of defiance stirred. An elderly villager refused to remove Estonia’s flag until gently persuaded by a Soviet soldier. Tears glittered silently in the old man’s eyes. "I raised that flag myself decades ago," he murmured softly. The soldier placed a comforting hand briefly on the man’s shoulder. "You’re still Estonians. You just won’t stand alone anymore." On university grounds in Tartu, an aging professor stood defiantly at a podium, addressing empty seats about freedom, identity, and resistance. A single KGB officer watched silently. After finishing, the professor asked softly, "Will I be arrested?" The KGB officer shook his head. "No, Professor. You’re already forgotten." Later at night Stalin leaned back in his chair. Beria stood nearby, silent. "Maps redrawn quietly, governments shifted invisibly," Stalin whispered. "No war, yet victory." Beria nodded stiffly. "Another nation beneath our shadow." Stalin exhaled slowly. "And the West sleeps. Good." As the day ended the worst is yet to come. Stalin ruthlessness will soon find its way into Estonia.

Chapter 290: Do not simply manage. Erase them.

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