16 August 2021 --- 2:39 AM --- Zapadni Pokhod, ShtaThe local commissars turned off the streetlights after 11 every night. They said it was an energy-saving measure, to ensure that there was always fuel left in emergencies. And after all, it’s not as if anyone would be out so late at night anyway. Not when it was so dark.
Aflis Alanovich leaned on the outside wall of a precinct station, lighter in one hand, bottle in the other. He looked up at the stars, mouthed a silent prayer, tensed his fingers, and…
What was that? Not shouting, exactly. Just the sound of people, around the corner, knowing they won’t be heard. Aflis ducked into an alleyway. Three figures in the dark approached from down the road.
"See? No one's out." That was the tall one speaking. "We could just waltz right in and torch it."
"We could," said one of the others, idly swinging a stick, "or we could have a bit of fun first."
"Shut it, you two." That third one spoke with an accent Aflis didn't recognize. "Do you want the whole neighborhood to hear you?" Certainly not Yachese or Izhitsan. At least, not entirely.
The voices drew closer and Aflis realised his alley had no exit. They were going to pass right by him. He stuck the lighter into his pocket, tiptoed behind a dumpster and waited.
"Can you really believe we're finally seeing more action after all this time?"
"Yeah, to be honest I thought they'd just forgotten about us."
"Me too. But hey, here we are. And I'm told there's more work coming our way."
"I said shut it!"
They were just about to pass the alley now. If Aflis just took a little peek, maybe he could see what they looked like...
Damn! "Oh, hello, little man," said the tall one. The trio was clad all in black, balaclavas masking their faces. Aflis's heart pounded as they began to surround him. "Well now, someone's trying to spy on us. Yonash, what happens to people who spy?"
The one with the stick, which up close began to look much more like a sledgehammer, approached with a gleam in his eye. He raised it up. Aflis tensed…
And kicked him in the crotch. The yelp of pain echoed through the street as Aflis ran, swinging his bottle wildly and bashing the tall one in the stomach. As he rounded the corner, he heard the third one groan. "Damn it, Yonash, the whole city probably heard that bloody scream of yours. Just torch the place and get the hell out of here. You're lucky no one saw your face."
Aflis didn't stop running until he got back to his apartment. It wasn't supposed to be like this. All he had to do was toss a bottle bomb into the precinct house when the officer on duty went to the bathroom. It was a simple job.
And not only had he failed, but someone else had done it for him.
16 August 2021 --- 7:48 AM --- The streets of HrabohradaTadar Hamady was in town for a meeting with the Yachese delegation to the Federal Assembly. She only had a few minutes to chat before she would be expected elsewhere. "I don't understand why you wanted to meet today, Mr. Brazda.
Anton Brazda, walking beside, stirred the cream in his coffee. It had come out lumpy and sour-smelling, but he wasn't in a mood to complain. "I'll cut to the chase. Karamovo and Dzhavid are untouchable. Ever since the
blackouts last July there's been no question of who holds the real control here, and they're not going away."
Brazda and Hamady had
spent the last year gathering allies, leaking stories to the press, and doing everything in their power to convince the public that Karamovo and Dzhavid were dangerous men, hell-bent on centering power amongst themselves and too naive to use it properly. Yet despite everything they tried, nothing seemed to stick.
"I should have known after the blackouts last July," said Brazda. "There was just no turning back. Everyone seemed to think letting them do whatever they wanted was safer than letting anarchy rule."
Hamady kept walking in silence.
"Don't you understand, Mrs. Hamady? We've lost."
Hamady began to smile, and then she chuckled. Brazda looked at her quizzically, and she said, "
You've lost."
Brazda spat out his coffee. "
What?"
"
You've lost. I'm doing fine. Yach has its autonomy, hell, it even has a path to independence, which should go well at the October elections. Oh," she chuckled, "those aren't announced yet. But they'll happen. And the new constitution will last us a while. Possibly long enough for a Yachese Prime Minister to find herself nominated for Minister of Trade."
Brazda stopped, mouth agape. "But you—what—"
"Goodness, Mr. Brazda," she said, turning, "you really
are just as naive as you were 15 years ago. You seriously thought I would try to sabotage the country in order to take power? Well, I may have considered it, at the beginning. But as you say, after July last year it was just so
hard. So, I figured, why not use my network to help the constitution along, score points for Shaab Yach—"
"You betrayed me!"
"Come now, seriously? I'd hardly call it a betrayal. I haven't even told Karamovo what you tried to do. And I won't, I give you my word. You'll have enough fires to put out trying to run as a democratic party."
"Why, I ought to—"
"Ought to what, Mr. Brazda, and do consider seriously, because any dirt you think you have on me reflects just as poorly on you, and I will make sure it reflects. I'm sorry you had to find out this way, but to be honest I thought you would have figured it out by now. Now," Hamady said, resuming her walk, "I've got a breakfast meeting to get to, but I hope you have a good day.
Ar tufat!"
Brazda stood there, unable to process what had just happened. He stood there, watching Hamady walk away, then finally shouted, "
Ar tufat to you too, you bastard!" and threw his coffee as hard as he could at a nearby newspaper rack. And then he saw the headline.
Three assailants, one policeman critically injured? Has Karamovo seen this? He shoved several coins into the machine, grabbed a paper, and ran to the former king's palace.
16 August 2021 --- 11:10 AM --- A cabin outside Zapadni Pokhod, Shta
Dobroslav Pavlovich had spent the last year organizing a collection of decentralized cells to forward the good work. The day cells mostly did innocuous things like distribute
smuggled food from Tamora and identify possible recruits. The night cells did the more dangerous work, such as posting propaganda and surveillance jobs, but nothing more threatening than that. So when Stana Dushanka, the leader of one of the largest night cells, said she wanted to think bigger, he had been sceptical. They weren't terrorists, he had said. But her logic made sense. After all, the key was to degrade confidence in the provisional government. They had to ensure that people knew that bickering bureaucrats and populist warlords couldn't save them. So, she had said, it's not a terror attack, it's a directed strike against the morale of the other side.
And now she was saying she wanted to… what?
"We need to stop the bombing campaign," she said. "It's too dangerous."
"Of course it's dangerous, it's not as if you're handing out carrots. Hell, that's what you told
me, two weeks ago, when we planned the job. What's going on?"
"The bombing didn't go as planned."
"What do you mean," said Dobroslav. "Of course it did. I mean, look at this article in the Truth." He brought out a copy from a drawer in his desk. "Front page. They have no idea who did it. It happened right in front of the policeman on duty and they don't even have the right number of people! Hang on, you're not saying—"
"No, it's not that. It's just—look, it's hard to explain—"
"Just spit it out already!"
"That wasn't us, okay?"
There was an awful, uncomfortable silence. Finally Dobroslav said, "Explain."
Stana had debriefed Aflis that morning. She explained to Dobroslav everything he saw and heard that night.
Dobroslav was concerned. "So when they say they're looking for three culprits—"
"That's because there
were three bombers. Three
successful bombers. Three successful bombers who, by the way, saw my agent's face and might be able to identify him. At the very least, we need to get him and his family outside Zapadni Pokhod."
"Yes, absolutely."
"And we need to set up a team to try to identify these people."
"You're not serious?"
"What do you mean I'm not serious? These people are loose ends, sir! If they see more of our agents and put two and two together it could blow our operation apart!"
"And we're going to find them how, exactly? All we know, literally all we know, is that one of them is tall, one of them has an accent, and one of them screams when they're kicked in the balls. That doesn't exactly narrow down the suspect list, does it? Should I call up the police and say, 'Oh, I've got your man, you'll find he's got a sledgehammer and he's holding his crotch!'"
Stana sighed, and spoke in a low voice. "With all due respect,
sir, I do know one way we can get more information."
"Yes?"
"We keep up the attacks."
"What? But you said—"
"I know what I said. I've changed my mind. Look, if these people are doing the same thing we are, trying to undermine faith in the government, then they're going to attack the same targets we are. And if we start burning down valuable targets, they might be more likely to keep up their own attacks because they'll have cover. More attacks means more chances to meet and gather information."
Dobroslav considered for a minute. "It'll be dangerous."
"As you say, sir. But as you said before, we're not handing out carrots anymore. If we want to get ahead, we need more information."
"Yes." Dobroslav sighed. "Yes, we do. But if we're doing this, I think we need to split your crew off from the regular night cell."
"
My crew, sir?"
"Oh, yes, Stana.
Your crew."
16 August 2021 --- 4:56 PM --- Tibor Tower, KherhorodTadeush Marek packed up his things as he prepared to go home. It had been quite a long day. The office had received an anonymous tip the previous night that something big would happen in Zapadni Pokhod that morning, and, despite the doubts of his fellow writers, he actually went to check it out. And lo and behold! Mystery, politics, violence, all in one article! He’d had to dictate his article over the phone in order to get it out for the morning edition, but out it was, and he had a story to investigate for the rest of the week too.
For once, he had a story that even went up on the foreign edition. That made him proud.
“Mr. Marek, a word.” Ah. Mr. Otsel, the wet blanket with legs, had arrived.
“What do you need, Mr. Otsel?”
“I just wanted to congratulate you on how
early you managed to get your story out today.” Mr. Otsel smiled mirthlessly.
“Yes, I received an anonymous tip. Lucky thing, that.”
“Yes, lucky. Just try to make sure that’s all it is, Mr. Marek.”
“I assure you, Mr. Otsel, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s true. But for argument’s sake, if I knew a young, eager reporter who received anonymous tips about arson attacks, I would probably tell them to do their civic duty and call up the Kontrazvedka. Like a good citizen. You know.”
“Yes, Mr. Otsel. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I hope so, for your sake.”