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Ira's Blog

My favourite books and the books I write. And the daily life.

Die Bücher, die ich lese. Die Bücher, die aus meiner eigenen Feder stammen. Das tägliche Leben.

I'd like to present my newly launched e-book "January Storm". It's political/historical fiction, which doesn't mean, however, it would do without some romantic or thrilling moments.


Back to the USSR in 1991, to Vilnius, Lithuania. The Afghanistan veteran Algirdas Kalvaitis is given the order by his superiors in the Ministry of Defense to investigate the incidents of January, 13, when 13 civilians were killed at the TV Tower, as Soviet troops tried to regain control over the seceding Baltic Republic.

His wife Ieva also travels back to their Lithuanian homeland and during the trip, memories return – one of them is her lost love relationship with the man, which both owe much. Algirdas sees himself, the more he tries to find out about those responsible and the exact circumstances, in a larger conflict between instruction completion and conscience...


Here's an extract from the chapter "The Thoughts are Just so", to be continued.


The wind was howling around Algirdas, as he approached Rodyonnov across the snow-covered area at the TV Tower. The comparison with a shroud pushed him on, white and smooth. Only the firmly frozen, scattered morass lifted off like crinkles. Now the tanks were still standing in a row, soldiers in the cleft of the OMON formed little groups, while they were not letting the happenings around them through the eyes.

“Did you really sleep well last night?” Algirdas inquired.

“Yes,” Rodyonnov replied. “Come on, Comrade General. Now have a look at it. Here – ” He waved his hand to the entrance guarded by OMON soldiers. “Everything was full of protesters. They were pretty aggressive, they were screaming and there was a scuffle. I affirm you again, I gave no orders to shoot. I just followed the instruction.”

He accompanied Algirdas to the entrance and looked at him there, when he asked him finally to an acquittal of all. Algirdas was still biting on Savilov’s teachings. He had done so before, find out more, but he was already thinking of coming to terms with his report and of waiting for Ieva.

“If that’s the truth, Colonel,” he said.

Close to the round of the concrete he looked up, like giddy up the gray needle reaching for to the sky. Its peak disappeared in the clouds. Bullet holes, close to another, from top to bottom, or from bottom to top, sieved the wall at the entrance. Algirdas felt the wind whistling in his ear. He heard a whistle in the air, which tore up the heat of the afternoon, a blast shattered panes and fireballs moved across the runway. He took the ID card from his pocket and opened it on the page with his picture without a smile on, showed it to the guards.

“Do you really need to get in?” Rodyonnov wondered, and he sounded incredulous.

“Of course,” Algirdas replied.

On tapping of a gloved fist, the swinging door slightly opened. A look under a visor and Algirdas entered the hall.