At first glance, the youngsters chopping firewood and gathering around campfires on the picturesque shores of Lake Seliger in western Russia might be taking part in a perfectly ordinary outdoors gathering. But, apart from an activities-packed programme, these 3,000 raw recruits to a Kremlin-linked youth group are also being coached by seasoned officials and experts in how to head off a revolution against the Russian president.
"You have to be careful," Gleb Pavlovsky, a pro-Kremlin political scientist and one of several prominent academics and officials invited to give lectures, tells an audience of some 200 "Nashi," which translates as "Our Own," huddled under a canopy.
"If there is an attempt to topple Putin, Nashi should go into the streets and prevent a coup," says Pavlovsky, conjuring up the possibility of mass unrest during the 2008 presidential election.
In the last two years, popular revolutions in the former Soviet states of Georgia, Ukraine and Kyrgyzstan have toppled entrenched regimes, sparking concern in Kremlin circles. "Nashi," many observers believe, was set up earlier this year to prevent similar unrest in Russia. In May, a month after being formally established, this well-funded movement massed 50,000 young people on streets of Moscow for a World War Two commemoration.
Sasha Yevsyukov, a law student in a black T-shirt and camouflage trousers, who served eight months with Russian special forces in Chechnya during his army service, says he was hired by Nashi to provide military training in case things get violent.
"We control various universities, so we would know if any demonstrations are being prepared and we can prevent them from happening," says Yevsyukov as he cuts open a can of condensed milk with his battle knife. "We're ready."
Nashi members idolise Stalin's leadership, are officially termed "commissars," like Soviet-era Communist Party army officers, and call each other "comrade." A row of drawings strung between the pine trees at the camp shows Soviet heroes fighting capitalists.
But "Nashi" also calls for the dismissal of the country's corrupt Soviet-era elite, modernisation of the economy and the strengthening of civil society. "Nashi" say they want to train a new generation of bold leaders like President Vladimir Putin to bring about renewal in Russia.
The main threat to the country's burgeoning democracy, according to "Nashi" literature, is a "fascist" coalition composed of Russian liberal politicians, radical youth groups and business tycoons.
At a debating workshop on a grassy knoll close to the camp, Zhenya Ivanov, a 26-year-old agronomy graduate with closely cropped blonde hair who is keen to get into politics, argued for turning the movement into a political party. The assembled "Nashi" voted in favour.
"We don't want a democracy imposed from outside, we want our own democracy," says Ivanov, with an intense stare.
One of five "federal commissars" in the movement and a former leader of another pro-Putin group called "Walking Together," Vasily Yakemenko, 34, says: "We have moral support from the Kremlin and financial support from Russian companies."
"Nashi" provided free travel and food for the camp participants and laid on activities including sailing, rock climbing and mountain biking. The July 11-25 camp also has an Internet centre, a gym, a small library and two fully-equipped sound stages.
Asked about sources of funding, Yakemenko says he is holding out for a two-million-dollar grant from Russia's education ministry. The organisation, he says, will have hundreds of thousands of members by the 2008 presidential election.
The "Nashi" movement is widely believed to be the brainchild of Vladimir Surkov, a deputy head of Russia's powerful presidential administration. Surkov's arrival at the camp by helicopter on Wednesday left ripples of excitement among camp participants.
"With our visit we want to say we value you and we hope the feelings are mutual," the camp's own newspaper NashiIzvestiya quoted him as saying.
Despite regimented days, starting with a five-kilometre (three-mile) jog at 8:00 am, Nashi members say the fun at the camp really starts in the evening.
"It's better than sitting at home with a beer in your hand watching television," says Dima Pukka, 20, tucking into a breakfast of buckwheat porridge and tea as recordings of patriotic songs waft through the pine trees. "And the girls are cute," he adds, smirking, as a bikini-clad brunette wanders past.
Two famous Russian rock bands, Zemfira and Umaturman, have played at the camp, card games are popular and some budding counter-revolutionaries have, apparently, smuggled alcohol past the camp's brawny, camouflage-uniformed security guards.
"A few people were expelled for drunkenness," says camp director Valery Gogoladze, explaining that participants signed a written promise not to bring vodka into the camp. "What can you do, kids will be kids."
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