Work with me here.
The Old Man is losing it. Age hasn’t been kind to him and Covid knocked him sideways. He used to be paranoid in a good way, the way you’re paranoid. Now he’s practically psychotic. He sees conspiracies everywhere and he can’t stop talking about restoring the glory of the Motherland and how the ghost of Stalin whispers to him every night.
The Old Man has got to go.
You know it. And you think the others know it too. But you can’t be sure. One or two might have gone down the rabbit hole with. One or two more might be loyal, truly loyal, hard as that is to imagine. And the rest? The Old Man has something on all of you. He knows every bank account and every kickback. He knows how you honeymoon in Sochi with a new 10-year-old girl every year.
You will only get one chance at the Old Man. And you need to know who is with you.
Which was impossible.
But now you have a chance.
He’s allowed his fantasies to get the best of him. He’s authorized this insane invasion.
You can’t say no. But you and the others can throw sand in the gears. Send the wrong units forward first. Make sure they are undersupplied. Tell him that the nuclear threat will scare the West.
What should have been easy becomes difficult. If the world catches on at all, it thinks you’re exposing the Old Man for who he is, what he’s become.
But that’s not the reason you’re doing it. Every failed move is part of the conversation you and the others are having, a murmuring only you can hear. Are you with us? Are you ready?
You won’t be able to wait much longer. The Old Man is angry now, and not just at those who are fighting him. How long? Days, maybe, and then you will have to choose: move ahead with the attack in force, no more half-measures - or tell the Old Man the show’s over. No exile for him, either. No soft landing.
It’s time to decide, friends.
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