A Game of Chess

Chapter 29: Underestimated

His gaze hardened as he slammed open the thick metal doors, men scurrying around like they were startled cockroaches. His expression soured at the sight of them, spinning his heels to head upstairs. Whatever was happening, whoever it was that was about to attack them, he didn't have the slightest clue of who it was. Though they must be pretty dull, choosing to pick a fight with him of all people. And really, not even his Alfred was dumb enough to do that.

Unless, he really underestimated his stupidity that is.

He reached a large pair of lab doors and stormed inside to see the control unit just as the soldier stated, 'in chaos'. Multiple lights were flickering on and off frantically, men in the room trying to make the alarms stop. Some papers scattered the floor in their carelessness, but no one could really focus on cleanliness in a time like this?

Just as he entered the room, Lieutenant Orlov turned from the main monitor and in shock, gaped his mouth at the sight. "General Ivan-" He spoke, immediately being cut off as the Russian moved the large radar screen, staring at it in fury.

There. There on the screen was a green layered background that acted as their map, absolutely covered in small blinking red dots. He gritted teeth tightly, clicking his tongue as he turned towards the short man struggling to keep up behind him. He knew that Alfred was quite reckless, but never to this extent.

"Who's the ambushers? The Americans?" He yelled.

"W-We don't know sir, they're flying too high in the air to spot in this weather! But why-" The man exclaimed, hiccupping on those last couple as Ivan cocked his head to glare at him.

"Then go and find out." He snapped. The man may have fallen down in fear or stumbled back in an attempt to get away, but Ivan didn't care enough to see which one he did. That American was really the only one who could afford to let out these many fighter jets in one wave. His fist clenched itself tightly as he looked at the screen. All the red dots were scattered in every direction, slowly inching their way across the board. But they weren't headed towards this building. There was another spot they were aiming at.

Quickly, he swung towards the nearest person, almost knocking off his own cap. "Find out where they're headed!"

"Yes sir!" The random soldier flinched, hastily typing away at his computer, moving his mouse frantically before pausing in a fearful panic. It was notable to Ivan that wherever that American's jets were flying, it wasn't somewhere good. "The map.. They're heading to the Kremlin *Arsenal!" He stammered, watching as the Russian's eyes turned into one of uncontrollable anger.

"Call their station officer! Prepare for an aerial attack!" He barked, walking away quickly to use a nearby phone to contact the Supreme leader. Surely he would get a kick out of this.

The soldier winced and fell out of his chair, desperately trying to catch up to the tall General. "Sir," The soldier interrupted, "Sir, please wait!"

Ivan paused in his steps, letting out a long sigh. His head turned slightly to the side, a pair of glowing purple eyes with an intent to kill staring back at the trembling soldier. "What is it now?" He seethed .

The room turned quiet, everybody's attention on them and them alone. The poor man who had detected where the planes were headed was shaking, knowing the rumors about the general in front of him. What he did to incompetence, and exactly how he disposed of it. He shut his eyes, praying to himself that his family be safe without him. "The telephone switches.. All of their internal wires were cut out hours ago!" He cried.

Silence.

Ivan stared at him. He stared at him for a long time, letting the cogs in his mind twist and turn. 'Cut out? They were cut out.. Hours ago?' For a moment, his eyes flipped to the ground, visibly confused. If that were true, wouldn't they have to have called him long before he had received the initial call? And if so, then what was that call thirty minutes ago that had alerted him here? He froze in realization, spinning to Lieutenant Orlov in horror.