Burning Sea of ​​Fire

The Tu-95 strategic bomber—NATO's ominous "Giant Bear"—loomed over the rugged mountains bordering Dagestan. Its massive frame, like a prehistoric Haast's eagle, cast a shadow over the tiny figures below. From its cockpit, the pilots saw the landscape as if it were a battlefield of ants beneath their wings—lives poised precariously on the flick of a finger, the slightest thought.

The thunderous roar of the engines shattered the stillness. The Chechen fighters halted, scrambling for cover beneath twisted tree trunks and deep snowdrifts. Basayev, ever cautious despite his confidence, pressed himself into the cold grass, waiting for the bombers to pass overhead. He knew the planes' crews couldn't see their hidden column—but instinct urged vigilance.

One of his men muttered doubtfully, "Why are those two strategic bombers heading into Dagestan? Shouldn't they be bombing Chechnya itself?"

Basayev frowned but dismissed the thought. The forced march had been tightly controlled—radio silence maintained. Even Grozny's highest echelons lacked exact knowledge of their position.

Above them, the Tu-95 pilot reported quietly, "Arrived at target area. Awaiting bomb release authorization."

Putin's terse command crackled through the radio: "Permission granted. Destroy."

There was no mercy in that voice. Terrorists were to be crushed utterly, without hesitation or remorse.

The bomb bay doors opened, and iron rain poured from the giant bomber—dozens of bombs plummeting toward the mountain valleys below.

Basayev's shout cut through the growing roar, "Take cover! Now!"

Before his command even ended, the first explosion erupted—a fireball blooming like a second sun, splitting trees in half and igniting the dry brush. Fighters caught in the blast were consumed by searing flames, their agonized screams swallowed by the crackling inferno. The blast wave threw Basayev off his feet, the world tumbling in a haze of smoke and heat.

One after another, fiery blasts scorched the mountainside, a merciless chain of destruction spreading along the rebel column. Those who survived the initial shock were swallowed by the advancing firestorm.

Even the reconnaissance team, stationed a kilometer away, felt the earth shake beneath them. They turned away, unable to witness the hellscape unfolding—the screams echoing like the tormented souls trapped in a nightmare.

The scorched earth, the broken trees, the blackened remnants of men—they painted a grim testament to the bombers' wrath.

"This is hell," whispered one scout, clutching his cross in silent prayer.

The fiery tide ravaged the mountains for hours, leaving a scarred wasteland—mountains flattened, cratered with conical pits littered with charred remains.

Villagers near the Dagestan border woke to the infernal glow lighting the night sky, flames licking the heavens like a warning.

Back in the bomber, the pilots exchanged grim banter. "If we get Basayev's head, is that $1 million reward real?"

The co-pilot smirked, "Don't get greedy. Maybe a few hundred thousand—if he's even down there. How do we split the prize if multiple planes claim the kill?"

Meanwhile, the pilot sent a final report: "Command, bombing mission complete. Majority of hostile forces neutralized."

Putin's reply was cold and concise: "Excellent work."

Two days later, Ministry of Internal Affairs troops surveyed the charred battlefield—twisted trunks, smoldering soil still radiating heat through winter's chill.

"No one survived," one soldier muttered grimly. "Not a single soul."

Putin oversaw the grim aftermath, ordering collection of remains for identification—hoping to find Basayev's body among the ashes through dental records. The truth, for now, would be withheld from public knowledge.

But the news of nearly 2,800 militants wiped out by a single strike would rock Moscow's headlines, delivering a devastating blow to the Chechen insurgency.

Yanayev, watching this play out, felt a quiet satisfaction. He planned to slow the offensive now, waiting for internal fissures within Chechnya to widen.

Kadyrov's simmering rivalry with Dudayev and Maskhadov was no secret. Yanayev knew the temporary unity held only under external pressure. Soon enough, the factions would fracture—pitting Chechen leaders against each other.

Then, a pro-Soviet proxy government could be nurtured. With internal enemies divided, Moscow could crush separatism from within.

Step by step, plan by plan—the separatist forces would unravel completely.