And Out Came The Wolves

[Yamantau Em]

DISCLAIMER: Before you read, understand that this post, and the following posts deal with graphic depictions of violence, acts of terror, war-time atrocities, and other subject matter that you may find disturbing. If you feel you may be offended by this, do not read any further.

"For Svrtan."

The others nodded as they loaded their weapons, huddled together in the back of the van. It wouldn't be long until their message was delivered to the government of Yamantau, and the usurper, Szubrov. Tatiana pushed as many magazines as she could into the pouches on her vest before double checking the pistols that hung at her hips. She had waited for this day for months now.

"Ten seconds. Hold on tight."

The group gripped onto the benches that were bolted into the floor of the old delivery van and braced themselves. The van accelerated, before trembling as it demolished the glass doors of the shopping center, the sound of shattering glass and muffled screams everywhere outside the van. The group waited patiently as the commotion dwindled.

"Five seconds."

Tatiana looked to Riad, a burly man that sat across from her as he silently counted down on his fingers before throwing open the rear doors, and the group came pouring out. The now gathered crowd both confused and terrified as the heavily armed men and women swarmed to either side of the van.

"No mercy."

The group opened fire on the shoppers that looked on, mowing down everyone they could. The security shutters were already coming down from the impact of the van. They were locked in with nothing but targets. The apparent strike team moved slowly, shoulder to shoulder, firing into the crowd, and finishing off those who fell before them. Riad directed half of the group to take the escalators to the second floor, while he and the others continued to carve a bloody path below. Men, women, children, it didn't matter, every bullet and drop of blood served to send another message.

Tatiana sighted in on a fleeing man below as he tried to make as much distance between himself and the shooters as possible. Four rounds from Tatiana's rifle stopped him in his tracks. He lay on the floor screaming for help as Riad's group approached, Riad himself silencing the poor soul. She turned her attention back to the upper level, opening fire on a group of jewelry store employees desperately ushering people inside, under the security gate. The gate fell on top of one of the fallen employees, holding it open.

"Ivjan, clear them out." Tatiana ordered, pointing one of the men towards the store. Ivjan did as he was told, strolling over to the gate and lifting it just enough to get through, letting it drop unceremoniously back down on top of the shop clerk. He held his MG at waist level as he rounded the counter, and opened fire on the young family that cowered behind it. Their desperate objections falling on the deaf ears of a seemingly uncaring God. He took no pleasure in it, just another task that needed done. He checked the back rooms of the store, and finding nothing, returned to the walk way.

Riad had started ordering his team to throw grenades into the open stores, and fire rockets down the immense corridor of the shopping center. He wanted as much carnage as possible before they made their exit, if they made their exit. All he knew, is that he needed to follow Laon's orders. Explosions rang out, and rubble flew in every direction, for a moment, drowning out the screams of the stampede of people before them.

Tatiana kept pace with the crowd from above, keeping a steady stream of bullets firing into the masses, her team clearing the stores on either side as they moved. She could hear a baby crying somewhere in the sports shop to her right, and pointed to the store. Another of her people, Mara, nodded, and entered the store. After a few seconds, she could hear the screams of the child's mother, before both fell silent to the sound of gunfire. Mara shakily rejoined Tatiana as their group began to descend the escalators, and rejoin Riad's group. They were already almost to the southside exit.

The mob of people clambered over each other as they neared the locked down exit, security finally storming in from the service corridors. The small group of security guards barely stood a chance against their heavily armed attackers.

"Kristof!" Riad shouted, beckoning the body armor clad man that had trailed behind them the whole way. Kristof's heavy footsteps over the piles of bodies and broken glass filled the rest of the group with a feeling of dread they had never felt before.

"Left valve, right valve, center valve, top valve." Kristof said calmly as he stopped next to Ivjan. Ivjan went about opening the valves on the tanks strapped to Kristof's back as the large man readied for his only task. Kristof pulled the elbow length welding gauntlets snug as Ivjan slapped him on the back, signaling he was ready to go. Kristof began his death march forward, the rest of the group staying a dozen feet back as they followed.

Kristof held the handle and foregrip of the nozzle tight as he began making passes on the storefronts with the flamethrower. It roared and billowed as it poured out stream after stream of fiery hatred. The crowd at the exit gate now even more panicked, and desperate to get the gate open. The terrible groan of the gate as it began to bend gave them some hope, but that hope was soon extinguished by the dull thud of a landing grenade.

The blast threw people everywhere as Kristof focused the brutal weapon on the survivors.

Carnage. Chaos. Brutality.

Riad stood ready to carry out the next phase of the plan as the fire alarms went off, the thick black smoke and the smell of charred flesh filling the air. The group dropped their weapons as the security gate began to open, and stripped off their armor. "Extract is waiting two blocks up. Move." Riad ordered.

------------------------------------------------------------

News of the attack had reached Szubrov almost as soon as it happened. The Premier sat and seethed at his desk as Commissar Kroto and Minister of Homeland Security Petrenko sat and waited.

"Evgeny, how did you let this happen?" Szubrov asked, his breathing rapid and his broad shoulders rising and falling ever faster.

"I..it just happened, Premier! There was no warning!" Petrenko babbled, his voice full of desperation.

"Ignorance is not innocence, Minister. Your intelligence should have caught this long ago. Now answer the Premier's question. How did you let this happen?" Irena interjected, standing up and placing a hand on Petrenko's shoulder.

Petrenko put his head in his hands as he rubbed his face. "There was a failure in the monitoring process. These radicals must have slipped through the net." he sighed.

"This mistake...this slip, has cost lives, many, many lives. How many, exactly, Irena?" Szubrov asked, knowing the answer already.

"Two hundred and sixteen." she replied flatly.

"Two hundred and fucking sixteen. Do you understand that, Petrenko? Two hundred and sixteen lives were taken, because you, and your rinky-dink fucking department, despite all your funding, couldn't get it together. You are garbage, Vasyl. Human garbage, do you understand?" Szubrov asked, ending in a whisper as he circled the desk, and bent down to Petrenko's level.

Petrenko stared at the floor in shame as Irena's grip on his shoulder tightened.

"You are garbage, and you will face trial for gross neglect of duty." Szubrov continued. "As of this moment, you, are finished. I need someone who can actually do a simple task, and keep our people safe from these type of threats."

Szubrov's attention snapped to the door as Commandant Rosan entered the room and saluted. "Premier, sir, someone has claimed responsibility for the attack." Rosan stated.
Szubrov blinked slowly before answering. "Who?"

"Laon Solovenya, sir." Rosan answered.

Szubrov furrowed his brow as he thought back, the name sounded so familiar.
"Laon...Laon….." he muttered, before it finally came. "Laon! That little sycophantic bastard that was always in here talking to Svrtan? He would always run away when I got here."

"He has sent out videos to the news outlets, claiming this was done in the name of the Black Star." Rosan continued, stepping forward to hand Szubrov a small package. "This one...is addressed to you personally, Premier. We have already x-rayed and opened it, but found nothing dangerous."

Szubrov took the package and dumped it out on the desk, everyone in the room leaning in for a closer look. There was nothing but a few photos bound together with an elastic band, and a note. Szubrov ripped the band off, and looked through photos. He knew all the faces. Alyosha Bulgarin, Grigori Chernenkov, Lenid Nared, and Pietro Vera. His heart nearly stopped as he looked at them.

"What does the note say?" Irena asked, staring at the folded scrap of paper. Szubrov picked it up and opened it, as the color drained from his face. "Commandant, please escort the disgraced minister to Ruvik. Immediately." he said shakily. Rosan paused for a moment, before seizing Petrenko under the arm and dragging him from the office. Szubrov followed behind and shut the door.

"Irena, how much did Grigori tell you, about….Svrtan, and Bulgarin, that whole mess?" Szubrov asked. "Everything, Premier." Irena responded. Szubrov quietly handed her the note and went back to his desk. Scrawled across the note were 5 simple words.

"We know what you've done."

 

[Yamantau Em]

Szubrov had been sitting in the dark for the last six hours, staring out the window of his penthouse overlooking Hremansk Square as the snow fell gently. He clutched the note in his hand as he dangled it over the arm of the chair, slowly bringing his drink to his lips as he sat.

"We know what you've done."

The words replaying over and over in his head. There was the obvious answer, that Laon knew he had murdered Svrtan, but there was so much more. The things he had done under Svrtan, even during the war, any which one could drag him down, into the mire.

He rose solemnly from his seat and went to the shelves in his sitting area. He could see down the hall that his daughter, Sofija was curled up against his wife. His lips curled into a small smile before he refocused, pulling a notebook from the shelf, and returning to his seat, pulling the floor lamp over for light. He opened the notebook to a fresh page, and removed the pen he kept tucked in the pages of the notebook. He may as well take stock of his sins now.

He clicked the pen open, and began to write.

____________________________________

Spring 1985
Duva Prison, Zjetab Province, Yamantau

I remember sitting on my bunk, listening to the still silence of the night, well, except for my cellmate, who was busy jacking off, so I was trying to ignore it. We could see the smoke from the fires in Kimora, a town maybe 5 miles away, and it had been a few days since it first appeared. We figured the Nationals were fighting the so-called People's Army. They never told any of us why there was a war going on, but when you're fourteen years old with thirty more years locked up in a hellhole like Duva, a war outside the walls doesn't mean much, now at nineteen, I could see it was getting close.

It was probably two, maybe three hours after lights out, so ten or eleven at night when the first shots were fired by a guard in the southeast tower, and the response came as a hail of machinegun fire. After that, all hell broke loose. The People's Army started storming the prison. I know now that it was to recruit the prisoners against the Nationals, use us as cannon fodder. Maybe twenty minutes later, we hear gun shots inside the building, and these skinny kids, maybe ten of them, the oldest one couldn't be more than seventeen, come running into the block, firing at the guards. Hit a couple prisoners in the process, including my friend from downstairs, Marush. These kids start screaming that we're free now, and start breaking open the cells with sledgehammers and whatever, and the youngest one starts tossing rifles and fatigues to the men in the cells, telling them to suit up because "You're in the People's Army now!"

They got up to my cell and started working at the lock, door was open in a couple minutes, and before I knew it, me and my cellmate were out of our gray prison clothes, and into the olive fatigues this kid had thrown at us. Another one of the kids was waiting at the cell block door, handing out two fully loaded magazines to every man that passed him. This block was mostly home to theives and sex criminals, so most of them, including me, had no idea how to work a rifle. Turns out it's pretty simple. Most of the guards were only carrying batons, with the odd one carrying a pistol, so most of them surrendered fairly quickly. The People's Army was already parading them out into the central courtyard in a single file line. The kids that got us out told us to help them sweep the cell blocks and get more inmates out, and that we were now the Duva Officers of the People's Army. I figured they were just spewing random bullshit, but I went with it. We spent a few hours breaking locks and freeing prisoners, until the sun made its way through the windows. We went out into the courtyard where the People's Army had the guard staff sitting in neat rows on the ground. One of them in particular caught my eye, a fat bastard that would scream at us in Aleman, and beat us with his baton. We also knew for a fact that he raped and murdered a teenage girl in the women's wing in 1983, and another in 1984. He was sweating profusely, so badly that you could see the stains under his massive man tits and his armpits. The woman who appeared to be in charge of the raid called all the men and women who had been recruited, and were wearing officers uniforms over to her. One of the kids pushed me towards her. Thats when I realized they weren't lying. They had randomly selected entire blocks to serve as officers. The woman handed out white grease markers and told us to name our rifles. I thought it was strange, but I did it anyways. It took me a while to figure it out, but I took one more look at that fat pig of a guard...and I knew.

On one side, I wrote "Tara" and on the other, I wrote "Tatijana". I'll never forget the terror in his eyes when he saw it. After a few minutes of standing around, the woman in charge ordered the officers to stand in a line about twenty feet away from the guards, facing them. She then ordered us to take aim into the crowd of sitting men, so we did. We knew what was next.

We didn't fire the first time she ordered it. Not until we could feel the cold steel of rifle barrels on our own necks. If we didn't shoot, we would be the ones to die. I sighted in on the fat guard, and waited for the order. As soon as she screamed at us again, I fired, watching his pig-like face vapourise as he fell back into the next man's lap. After that, I just swept across the crowd until my magazine was empty. A Zakhaev Arms ZK-77 can empty an extended seventy-five round magazine in nine seconds on full auto. That was the longest nine seconds of my life. I felt the barrel against the back of my head move away, before a hand pushed me forward.

"Finish off the survivors. The rest of you, watch him!" the woman shouted.

I let the spent magazine drop into the dirt and grass, then loaded the next. Seventy-five fresh rounds at my disposal. It felt like it took hours to poke through the pile of dead and dying men, but by the end, I only had thirty-nine rounds left. That was the first time I took lives. I kept it together until I was allowed to move away from the group, and vomited behind some bleachers that sat in the western corner of the yard. When we left Duva, we marched straight for Kimora to reinforce the People's Army stationed there. It was there that I met Svrtan for the first time.

____________________________________

Szubrov laid down his pen and quietly reached over to the side table, grabbing a cigarette from the case and lighting it. He knew he would have much more to write before he could confess all his sins to the pages of this leather bound notebook.

 

[Yamantau Em]

Spring, 1985
Kimora, Zjetab Province, Yamantau

We had been in Kimora for what felt like days already, hiding in the bombed out buildings that scattered the town. To say that Kimora may have been nice once was basically the same as comparing a prostitute to her younger self, once full of hope, but now you don't want to get within a mile. I had gotten to know my men on the march from Duva, and they were all pretty solid. Mostly petty thieves who faced the same sentence I did. There was Ragla, a skinny Balkha kid from Graznei, and his cellmate Maro. Then there was Kia, a hard looking woman from Tagtaryeva, covered in more tattoos than me, even all the way across her face. I would wager almost any money that she may have been quite a looker at one time, before the meth. Our squad rounded out with this mean little bastard from somewhere in Predice, guy named Paolo Vera.

It wasn't the constant rain or the shelling that bothered me here, it was the sound of the children trapped in the houses. The Grey Guard didn't seem to give much of a shit about civilian casualties, nor did they mind using them as shields every so often; especially when we got close. We were lucky enough to be assigned to rear guard, manning a mortar emplacement on the roof of the medical clinic, so we were sparred most of the horrors that loomed North of Teranicz Plaza. I still remember the constant rush of air coming out of the mortar, that moment of dread as the hanging round fell and you'd hope it didn't just drop in front of you like a lame frog.

The nights were usually fairly peaceful, with both sides taking the time to collect their dead and wounded. More civilized times, I guess. One particular night, I noticed the guys from the next rooftop over were missing, so I went to look for them, left Ragla and Kia to watch for movement in the alleys below. Maro and Paolo came along just to stretch their legs, both of them happily musing about what they would do when they were dismissed from this bullshit fake army. I knew we would likely be killed or hanged as traitors long before that. I caught sight of one of the guys I was looking for ducking back out of a half destroyed house, a great big grin on his face. I could hear the others inside as I neared, they seemed to be laughing and carrying on, having a grand time.

The man's gaze met mine, and he gave me a solid slap on the shoulder as he passed, making some manner of comment about "Enjoying the small pleasures." or something similar. I brushed it off in that moment, thinking they must have found a bottle of booze in the rubble, or maybe some weed to smoke. I pushed my way into the building with Maro and Paolo, and saw a couple more guys just hanging out, sitting on a beat up couch in the corner of the room. I bummed a smoke off the fat one of the pair, and chatted with them for a bit before Maro called me over to a nearby room with a concerned look on his face. I'll never forget the sight of that poor girl pinned down to the table while they took turns at her. She couldn't have been older than fourteen or fifteen, and she was barely alive. I remember shouting and startling their commanding officer, this rat faced bastard named Kili. He spun around and smiled at me, and offered me a turn. I turned to Maro, and told him not to let the other two leave. He and Paolo both just nodded and went to distract the other two sitting on the couch. I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me, making sure to lock it, and making sure Kili knew I had done so.

Kili knew what was going to happen next before I made a move toward him. The stupid bastard tripped over his own pants, which were down around his ankles. I rushed him, and jumped on top of him, putting my hand over his mouth, I can still see the terror in his eyes. No man should ever lay hands on a child in such a disgusting way, and I aimed to make sure that Kili would never do it again. I tore my knife from the sheath on my shoulder, and went to work on his hands, his muffled objections growing louder as I did what I had to. Once I got rid of the hands, I removed something much lower.

Kili rolled on the floor screaming in pain as I exited the room, giving Maro and Paolo a nod as they turned to look. They knew what to do. Good boys. The two on the couch were dead before they could even realize what was going on. Tonight would be a night of bloody knives for us. I told Paolo to go and take care of the one on the roof, and he didn't even question it. Paolo was a good soldier until the day he died, and he always had my back. I turned back to Maro, and told him to go tell our section officer to meet me back here.

About fifteen minutes later, she came running in with Maro right behind her. I snapped to attention and informed her that I had killed the two men on the couch, and had maimed Kili. She just stared blankly for a moment, before I realized that she wasn't looking at me, but more at the girl now wrapped in my jacket, standing behind me. The section commander walked over and took her gently under the arm, trying to guide her out. She just clung to me, as if I were the only solid stone in the entire ocean, and she was about to be washed away. The commander let go, and asked if I could take care of her until the medics arrived. I told her yes, and took the girl outside. Medics came maybe an hour later.

In the morning, the deaths had been chalked up to enemies sneaking behind our lines, and Kili's brutalized body was used as a propaganda tool against the Grey Guard. The girl ended up joining us on the roof later on, all decked out in YPA gear, ready to fight. I'd never have guessed that she would fight on the side that hurt her so badly, but apparently she had asked to be placed with my squad. We called her Slasa, or Mute in Mercanti. She was fearless in the heat of battle, and never said a word until 1990 when she waved goodbye to us from the crowd in front of Hremansk, and shouted that she loved us. I never knew what happened to her after that.

________________________________________________________

Szubrov pulled another cigarette from the case and looked out the window, the sun would be coming up any time now.

 

[Yamantau Em]

Late Spring, 1985
Kimora, Zjetab Province, Yamantau

Slasa and I had been up most of the night on watch. The Grey Guard hadn't moved from their position at the hospital for a couple days now, nor had they launched any attacks since last week. It had been all too quiet, almost like they were planning something.

Right as the sun was coming up, Slasa nudged my arm and pointed to a lone Grey Guard passing beneath us. He looked like he was injured and unarmed. I told Slasa to stay there until relief came as I ran down to intercept him. He looked so scared as I rounded the corner with my rifle pointed at his head. He was young, maybe in his twenties. He dropped to his knees almost immediately, begging for his life. I could see he had been shot in the shoulder, and he wasn't exactly in fighting shape. I pulled him against the building and asked him what he was doing here, which took a second to register for him. Apparently he had gotten separated from his squad, and one of our men had tagged him with a random shot. He got scared and started running, unaware he was running deeper behind our lines.

I made up my mind there to get him back to his lines. He was no threat to me, or my men, so what was the point in killing him? We walked for a while, I asked him questions about his family and what he did before all this, just to break the mistrustful barrier, and he seemed almost happy to have a conversation with me. He had been a mechanic in Tjar, apprenticing under his uncle, mostly working on foreign imports. It didn't take long to get back to Mirkonon Boulevard, the street we recognized as the border between us and the Grey Guard. He stopped thanked me and walked to the middle of the street before he stopped. What was he doing? Just run, man. He looked all around, at the destruction this battle had brought. He turned back to face me, and said "You know, we are not so different. We just want what is best for our nation."

I nodded and asked him "Then why do the people rally behind Svrtan?" He paused to think for a second, and began back across the street to me. I could see something in his eyes that told me he did not want to go back across that line. "Take me to your commander, Ygor."

The walk back was easier than the walk to Mirkonon, as we no longer had to hide. I simply had to tell the sentries that I had picked up a defector. His shoulder was starting to give him some issues now, but hopefully the doctor would be able to patch him up. It was a clean through and through, so it wouldn't be so bad. I suddenly realized I had never caught his name. When I asked, he answered "Vadim. Vadim Kroto."

And yes, THAT Vadim Kroto, father of my dear friend Irena Kroto.

My section commander greeted us as we returned, a little shocked that Vadim held his hand out to her. She shook it, and guided him to the medic tent to get patched, telling him that she would obviously have questions later. Vadim didn't seem to mind.

I rejoined Slasa on the roof. I told her I made a new friend, to which she smiled and shook her head, not pulling her gaze from the scope of her rifle. I told her to push over and catch a quick nap while I took over. She silently rolled away from the rifle and let me take her place as she got comfortable against the sandbags, and she was quickly off to sleep. I know I have said she never spoke until the very end, but that is a bit of a lie. She often spoke in her sleep, probably an after effect of the trauma she endured. She would whimper and cry, or sometimes weakly call out for me, or Maro, or sometimes even Paolo. I would just put my hand on her shoulder, and reassure her I was still there. Paolo and Kia had just returned from their patrol, and quietly came up behind me, sitting on either side of Slasa, who let her head fall on Kia's shoulder. She had taken to Kia as somewhat of a maternal figure, even letting Kia give her her first tattoo. A large eagle clutching two ZK-77s, that took up most of her upper back. We all had the same tattoo. Mine was on my left forearm.

It was starting to get bright out when we heard Vadim make his way up the stairs. I remember looking at him and asking "What the fuck are you wearing?"

Vadim stood there with his arm in a sling, and a jacket draped over his shoulders, the jacket and pants that the commander gave him were a blue tiger camo pattern that looked like it was meant more for sailors. He chuckled and told me it was all they had. Slasa made a flippant hand gesture before motioning to her own uniform, as if to say she liked his more, and I had to agree with her. The muted blues and blacks did look kinda sharp. When the relief squad showed up, we all quietly made our way to see Piotr, our logistics guy. To say Piotr was fucking old didn't do justice to the words, we were pretty sure he knew St. Czerna personally, but he was still sharp as ever. I asked if he had anymore of the blue tiger pattern uniforms, to which he nodded and quickly examined all of us. He didn't even have to ask, he knew what size we would need, and even threw in the belts and helmet covers to match. He asked of we needed anything else, and Slasa just sort of pushed in front of me, and rubbed her hands together as if they were cold. Piotr smiled sweetly at her and returned to the shelves, bringing back a pair of insulated shooting gloves, the kind that look like big mittens, but pull back to reveal gloves with the trigger finger missing. She seemed pretty happy about that.

We returned our old uniforms to Piotr later that day, before we went back on shift again, all decked out in our new uniforms. We might have looked like idiots to the other soldiers, but we thought we looked pretty sharp. The squad we relieved informed us that there was a Grey Guard patrol roaming around our sector somewhere, apparently looking for someone. Vadim wagered it was his squad looking for him. I figured he was probably right. Vadim was a welcome addition to our squad, he was a happy, funny guy back then, not all serious and cranky like he is now. Old bastard.

It was Squad 4's turn to do sector patrols tonight, so we all sat around our mortar emplacement, and took turns either napping or manning the rifle. It was probably around midnight when Ragla pointed out the Grey Guard patrol down the street. It was pitch black, so there was no way for Vadim to tell if it was them from this distance. He told me he had an idea. He waited for them to come closer, until they were almost right beneath us before he sternly said "Crown" to which the men below stopped and looked up. Vadim again said "Crown". This time with a more urgent tone. One of the men below replied with the word "Ring". Vadim nodded, it was his old squad. I took a moment before telling him to get them up here. He paused a moment, not knowing what would happen when they got to the roof. I assured him not to worry. The rest of us got into position, trying our best to stay out of sight as we listened to the men make their way up the stairs. When they got up to us, we could see they were actually unarmed. We all still sprang up, pointing our rifles at them. All 6 men put their hands up and surrendered, identifying themselves as defectors as well. Vadim breathed a sigh of relief as we all relaxed. The man in charge, a tired looking guy named Misak, handed me a folded up map, and told me it was imperative that my commander got it. I handed it to Paolo and sent him on his way. I asked the men why they had chosen to defect, and they gave me an unexpected answer.

"Svrtan has promised amnesty to any Grey Guard in Kimora, Novisibraskaya, and Kiroyev that lay down their arms and joined him. Apparently there were about three hundred more Grey Guard looking for People's Army troops to surrender too. I asked how they couldn't know where to find us, to which Misak replied "The capital has cut us off. There's been no contact, no food, no supplies for six days now. We don't know what's happening." I asked how many of them were left in Kimora after the other three hundred would surrender, and it turns out, that was all of them. There were five thousand People's Army troops in Kimora at this moment, and we never even knew we had our enemy outnumbered ten to one. I asked where the rest of them went, because there had to be more, and he just shook his head. Many had simply dropped their flags and ran, or had already defected. I next asked him what was on the map, and he told me it was the locations of landmines, supply caches, and locations where strategic intel was being kept. Apparently the Grey Guard commander for the city had made up a copy for every squad preparing to surrender as a peace offering. The commander had also apparently shot himself in the church the night before, and nobody knew until morning when they found the stack of maps, the letter he had left, and his brains painted over a fresco of St. Ivjan.

My commander came over the radio, telling all units to hold their fire on the approaching Grey Guard. I looked at Misak, and reached into the pocket on my thigh. He flinched for a moment, probably believing I was reaching for my sidearm, but relieved when I offered him a cigarette and a granola bar I had squirreled away. He happily accepted both, and collapsed into a sitting position along the sandbags with his men. My people offered them rations, water, and smokes while we waited to find our what to do with them.

Our "captives" were all asleep by the time morning came again, didn't even wake up with the sun in their eyes. I radioed command and asked them what the plan was, to which the commander simply replied "You make the call, Captain." It was odd to have an official rank now, but I would take it. I shook Misak awake and offered him some of the coffee that Slasa had made, and waited for him to take the first few sips before I began to harass him. He deserved that much. He looked at me over the rim of the tin cup and asked what the plan was, what was to become of them. I pointed to the stairs and gave him directions to get to Piotr. I told him "Ask the old man, politely, for a blue tiger uniform, a ZK-77 with two standard magazines, if he doesn't have anymore 77's ask for two 309's and three ZA-56's. Report back to me on Mirkonon when you're done."

He gave me a smile and nodded before waking his men. They didn't care that I had just conscripted them, they were just happy to be alive. My radio crackled for a moment before the commander announced that Svrtan was inbound. It would be the first time I would see him in person.

My new unit strolled through the city, standing out from the rest of the People's Army in our oddly colored uniforms and larger than average group. One of Misak's men, Shurhat Aleksandr, and I had managed to find some common ground and had been talking about cars for the last hour along with Vadim, debating V6 versus V8. Aleksandr was a large man, not quite as tall as me, but twice as wide and built like a Goyanean freight train. He was young, only 16, and it looked like Slasa had taken a liking to him already, any time he spoke to her, she would blush and get a little flustered. I hear rumors that the two of them live in Sagdiyev now, but any attempt to track down Slasa proves fruitless. We taught her just a little too well.

Everyone had gathered outside the old church in the center of the city, across from to the city hall, which was neither as big or as grand as the church. I could see a well dressed man standing at the top of the steps, looking out over all of us. He had this look of pride mixed with a bit of...I want to say, fury. That was Svrtan. He was handsome and confident back then, not all fucked up and neurotic like he ended up being. He spoke to us from the steps for a while, telling us how proud he was, how what we were doing was for a brighter future for the people under the banner of true socialism. I was never one for politics then, so it meant nothing to me. I was here because it kept me from being locked up, and because it kept my men from being killed.

He ended up moving through the crowd, giving words of confidence, and appreciation, until he ran directly into my men and I. He looked up at Aleksandr and I for moment, like he was making a mental note before moving on. He was a hell of a motivational speaker, I can tell you that much. We all dispersed and awaited our orders on what to do next, some of the squads were already busy clearing landmines or hunting down the intel and supplies from the maps, and I assumed we would be doing the same. My commander came to us as we were cleaning our weapons and saluted, which I was unaccustomed to, you did not salute your subordinates in the People's Army. She looked at me and said "Commandant, Svrtan wishes to see you and your men."

Commandant? What the fuck? What had I done to earn that title? I had been sitting on a roof for the last month or so. A quick run behind enemy lines every now and then, but that was it. We got our uniforms on and headed off to the command post where Svrtan was waiting. He was leaning on a table in the middle of the room, looking over a map of the Kiroyev-Tagtaryev area. He stood up as we entered, all ten of us, and shook our hands, ending with me.

"Ygor, right? Ygor, I have a need for men of your caliber. This war needs a face other than mine, and I gotta say, you and your people fit the bill. I want you to lead a battalion in Tagtaryev. You have the look, you have the style, and the leadership capabilities of the perfect propaganda tool. From what I hear, your squad has captured more prisoners than anyone else in Kimora. You also seem to do fairly well in the combat department, as well as the...following orders department...yeah, your former commander told me about the prison. You're a good soldier, Ygor, and I want you to answer directly to me."

I was dumbstruck. This would mean I would be sure to stay out of prison, but it also meant putting my men's lives at risk on the frontlines. I looked to them and they all looked back at me. They all slowly nodded. They all knew the risks, but they also knew the rewards. Better pay, better food, better lodgings, better weapons. We may all die, but at least we would have some small human comforts before we did so. I shook Svrtan's hand and gave him a salute as I looked at him and said "Premier, it would be my honor."
I wish I would have walked away some days, but if I did, Yamantau would still be in his grips as he dragged us further down.

In a few days, we were riding in a convoy to Kiroyev, where I would meet my battalion, and from there, we would move to Tagtaryev. Kiroyev wasn't the capital back then, it was just another city, a large, important one, but just another city. Tagtaryev was the seat of power at that point, and it was the focal point of the fighting. I would spend the next year there as the war raged on before moving all over the country, fighting wherever I was needed.

But for now, allow me to focus on Tagtaryev.

It is not every day that a man gets to see the gates of Hell long before he enters them, usually, you would just wake up in front of them, but this was not the case. We rolled into the city's southwest side shortly before 3 in the morning on June 3rd, 1985. The People's Army had this area locked down against the Nationals, but were struggling to break through. Between constant bombardment and night raids, they had managed to take three blocks in four weeks. My command post was in an old bomb shelter, built during the Fascist War that was never used. It had this constant petrichor to it, even though there was no soil, only concrete and steel. This was also the first time I had ever seen an Ephyran. Scared the living shit out of me. Nobody expects one of their soldiers to be a nine foot tall slate grey monster, but Taz was alright. Very gentle person for a giant monster-man. Taz was the first one to greet me after the shock of seeing him wore off. Slasa thought it was funny that I had never seen one before, but in my defence, I had been in prison before they came to Meterra, fleeing their home country. Taz brought me up to speed on the situation in Tagtaryev, which was grim at best, but I had the perfect idea.
____________________________________

Marija put her hand on Ygor's shoulder, pulling his attention from his writing. "Did you sleep at all last night?" she asked, moving towards the kitchen. "Uh, no, I guess not." he answered, pushing himself up from his chair and crossing to the window overlooking Hremansk Plaza. It was busy today, lot of shoppers and touristy types. A black van drew his attention. Most of the delivery vans here were white or red, so this one seemed out of place. Marija handed him a cup of coffee and leaned against him. He smiled and rubbed her arm lovingly as he took a sip.

The loud bang down below startled them both before the black van he had spotted earlier exploded, bringing down the side of the building it was parked next to, and hurling debris in every direction. A large piece of metal sailed up towards the window, smashing it out. Another explosion rocked the plaza. Ygor staggered to his feet, he could feel the blood running down his face from the shattered glass as he looked around. Marija laid on the floor, not moving as Ygor stumbled towards her, dropping to his knees as he pulled her onto her back.

"No, no, no, no…" Ygor panicked, seeing the shard of glass buried in her throat. Her eyes were already cold and fading, and the blood wouldn't stop coming out. She coughed and gurgled before closing her eyes and going limp in his arms. He let out a scream that would strike fear in the bravest men's hearts as she passed, clinging onto her for dear life.

Through his tears, he turned to see Sophija standing in the hallway, her eyes filled with terror and sorrow. "Baby stay there, don't look!" he cried out. He gently laid Marija's head back down and rushed to his daughter. "Are you okay? Are your hurt?" he babbled. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut as Ygor swung her around. Over the screams below, and the sound of sirens, a silence fell upon him, and as he looked upon the body of his wife, he began to tremble with a great rage. He would have the heads of the people who did this by the end of this day.

 

[Yamantau Em]

"Sir…" Irena said softly, approaching Szubrov as he gazed upon the throne. Ygor and Sophija had been moved to the old palace in Tagtaryev in order to maintain their safety.

"Ygor." she whispered, reaching out and putting a hand on his arm. He flinched under her touch as she pulled him from his thoughts. "Yes?" he asked, his voice hoarse and shaky. Irena gave his arm a gentle squeeze as she motioned towards the back of the room, pointing out a broken, bloodied pair. "Are you sure?" Ygor asked, to which Irena nodded. "We managed to intercept a phone call between them and Leon, when we moved on them, Leon got away, but these two didn't stand a chance." Irena remarked.

"Mm….bring them." Ygor muttered as paced before the throne. The sound of their shoes dragging across the marble floor echoed through the high arches, accompanied by the dull thud of the combat boots that carried them. Sophija looked on from the steps leading up to the throne as she sat quietly, she knew her father would show them no kindness, nor mercy, and if she was being honest with herself, she wanted nothing more than to see her father kill them. "Sophie, you should go, sweetie." Irena urged. "No." Sophija replied, the venom in her tone taking Irena by surprise. Ygor considered having Irena drag her away, but really, she may as well learn the realities of this life.

"Irena, pistol, please." Ygor asked, holding his hand out to receive the weapon as he looked into his daughter's eyes. He wrapped his fingers around the grip as he felt it hit his palm. He turned on his heel, and looked at the captives, examining then. "Where are the rest, Irena?" Ygor inquired. "Killed." she said with a smug expression. "And you saw to this yourself?" Ygor's line of questioning continued. "Yes, Premier." she responded. Ygor nodded, before turning his attention to the male captive, and pushing the barrel of the pistol into the large gash on the man's forehead. "What is your name?" Ygor asked, already trying to fight back the tears.

"Riad….Riad Ahman." the man gurgled, the blood from his throat mixing with saliva, and stringing down to the marble floor in pinkish strands as he spoke. "Mm...do you expect to leave this room alive, Riad?" Ygor asked, somewhat rhetorically as he moved the pistol under Riad's chin, pushing his head up, forcing eye contact. Riad looked into Ygor's eyes before his gaze dropped back down to the floor, his head shaking. "You can change that, Riad. Tell me where Leon is. Tell me where Leon is, and I promise you, you will walk out that door." Ygor assured him, lowering the pistol. "Riad….don't tell him...a fucking thing…." the female captive drawled through her broken teeth. "And what's your name?" Ygor asked, turning his attention to her. She let out a gentle laugh before she responded "Well...I'm sure as shit not Marija Szubrov."

Ygor hung his head and similarly let out a small laugh before he quickly and violently delivered a brutal backhand across her chin, the loud snap of the pistol against her jaw resonating through the room as she fell from the grasp of the guards. The men holding Riad quickly pulled him away, off to the side, as Ygor pushed the woman over onto her back. "I already know your name. I'm asking to make sure you're clear enough to answer the fucking questions, you ignorant bitch!" Ygor shouted, stomping on her chest. "Tatiana Menkovich! Leon's disgusting little call girl! Sophie! Do we abide harlots?" Ygor bellowed, turning around to look at his daughter. "No, father, we do not." she growled, pushing off from the steps and quickly making her way to her father's side, snatching the pistol from his hand, and shakily leveling it at Tatiana's head.

The room fell silent. The guards looked to Irena, and Irena looked to Ygor to stop it. Ygor could see that Sophija was shaking so terribly that he could hear the magazine rattle in the well. He looked over to Irena, who shook her head, her eyes wide. Ygor knelt behind his daughter and wrapped his hands around hers, steadying the weapon. "Take your time. I know it's hard." he whispered, to the dismay of all those in the room. Sophija locked up, looking at the fear in Tatiana's eyes. "YOU FUCKING BITCH!" Sophija shrieked, before several loud pops echoed through the room. Irena covered her mouth as she watched on, the first shot killed Tatiana, the next five were nothing but rage induced overkill. Ygor let go of his daughter's hands as she yanked away, storming over to Riad.

"WHERE?!" she screamed, pushing the barrel back against the gash in Riad's forehead. He winced from the pain, and weighed his options. He looked to Ygor, and back over to the teenage girl with the pistol pressed against his head. "She still has another nine rounds in that magazine, and I haven't even taught her what a bullet in the back of your knee could do." Ygor taunted him. "If I tell you, I leave this room alive?" Riad asked. Ygor nodded slowly. "Sagdiyev, six miles northeast of Sagdiyev. He's going to try to fall in with the Suavidici to the south." Riad said with great shame as he looked across the room at what was left of Tatiana's head. Ygor nodded firmly. "Get him out of here." Ygor hunched over and whispered something to Sophija as the guards dragged Riad from the throne room, into the foyer. Sophija gripped the pistol tight and followed the guards, Ygor and Irena close behind.

"Ygor, please, what is she doing? She's a child!" Irena urged, trying to reason with him. Ygor turned and grabbed Irena by the collar, pushing her against the doorframe. "We buried my wife three days ago. HER MOTHER. She couldn't even look at her to say goodbye because we couldn't have an open casket. I will deal with MY daughter." he spat, before rapidly releasing her collar and following his daughter.

The guards stood Riad up, and opened the door for him. He staggered down the steps, getting maybe halfway down before Sophija opened fire on him, causing him to tumble down the steps. His cries of anguish fell upon the deaf ears of all in the vicinity as pulled himself through the gravel. Sophija kept firing, hitting him in the back and shoulders, causing him to yelp loudly every time. "Please! Please, God!" he cried out. Sophija kept pulling the trigger, even though the gun was empty. Ygor stopped next to her, and placed his hand on top of the weapon, gently pulling it from her hand. "Guardsman, magazine." Ygor demanded, the nearby guardsmen immediately handing over a spare magazine. Szubrov let the empty magazine fall into the gravel, and slammed the fresh one into the well before pulling back the slide. "I promised you would make it out of that room, Riad. I never promised you'd make it past the gate." he said, his tone icy and cruel. Riad held his hands up to shield his face as Szubrov took aim.

"Goodbye, Riad." he sighed. Riad let out a small scream as Szubrov dumped the magazine into Riad's chest and face. He stood and inspected the scene for a moment, before he heard Sophija begin to wretch and gag behind him. The adrenaline was wearing off, and she was beginning to understand what she had done. Szubrov quickly moved to hold her hair put of her face as she doubled over and began to vomit. "Its ok. I did the same thing. Get it all out." he told her.

He guided her gently back towards the palace, handing Irena her sidearm on the way past. "Clean up those messes." Szubrov commanded the Guardsmen. "Irena, with me."

Irena hastily tucked her sidearm back into the holster and followed Ygor and Sophija. Ygor was carrying his daughter now, who was sobbing and clinging to him. Ygor carried her to one of the bedrooms next to his, and placed her in the bed. She was crashing hard, and she was out in a matter of about half an hour.

"Ygor, we need to talk." Irena said quietly.

"About what?" he replied.

"You actively participated in assisting your thirteen year old to take a human life. She could have gone her entire life without knowing that feeling. And I know what it's like to have you standing behind me, your hands steadying a weapon. Grigori's face still haunts me every day, and yet, you let her kill that woman."

"Irena, not.."

"FUCKING LISTEN TO ME! YOU WILL NOT TURN HER INTO ANOTHER SLASA!"

Ygor began to speak, but instead, hung his head.

____________________________________

Masjin District, Tagtaryev, Winter, 1985

"GET SOME GOD DAMN FIRE DOWN ON THE LEFT FLANK, KROTO!" Szubrov screamed, firing blindly at the Nationals pinned down behind a burnt out cargo truck. The balcony was littered with spent brass, and Aleksandr had already swapped the barrel of his ZK-27 six times since the Nationals started advancing. They were finally making their push after twenty something days with no supplies.

And they were pushing hard.

"Kia! Help Aleksandr load! Kroto! Keep up the suppressing fire! Paolo! Get that fucking mortar sighted in danger close! Come on people, put these assholes in the ground!" Szubrov continued. Two sharp chirps from the radio let him know that Slasa was waiting for orders up on the roof of the museum.

"Just keep dropping bodies, Slasa!" Szubrov barked.

The first mortar round came crashing down on the right flank, sending men flying through the air, a second and third coming soon after. Paolo was laying down the hate with that mortar, and the Nationals were starting to scatter around the combat area, trying to seek refuge from the MG nest 9m the balcony, the mortar emplacement on the roof, and the sniper in the bell tower of the church across the way.

"Vesik, Breszk! Take your boys and push in! I want these bastards gone!" Szubrov ordered. Thirty some men came pouring out of the building on the ground floor, charging the enemy.

"Hey Slasa, if you're gonna shoot at them, you might wanna actually kill them, not just scare them." Paolo came over the radio.

"WHAT?!" Ygor roared. "Vesik! Change of plans! Capture as many enemy combatants as possible!" he shouted, glaring up at the bell tower.

"Affirmative sir!" Vesik called back.


Once the smoke cleared, and all was said and done, Szubrov demanded that Slasa meet him below. Paolo ran alongside him, desperately trying to talk him down from his furious state.

"Ygor, c'mon, she's just a kid. She doesn't want to hurt anyone." he jabbered.

"We are fighting a WAR, Paolo. She doesn't have a choice!" Ygor barked back.

Slasa was already standing in front of the line of prisoners, rifle in hand, and a terrified look on her face. Ygor seized the rifle from her and chambered a round, quickly executing the prisoner nearest to him. Slasa jumped back, thinking Ygor was about to shoot her. Instead, he roughly forced the rifle back into her arms.

"See? Easy. Simple. Your turn." he said angrily.

Slasa's eyes grew wide, and she shook her head.

Ygor drew the revolver he kept on his hip and aimed it at her, cocking back the hammer. "Now." he growled.

She slowly raised her weapon, level with the first man's head. She hesitated as the man looked up at her. She pointed to the ground, as if to say "don't look at me."

"No. Look him in the eyes. It's the least you can do." Ygor spat.

She closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger.

"Again." Ygor demanded.

Slasa moved down the line, executing the prisoners, punctuated only by Szubrov handing her a fistful of rifle shells when she ran out.

In the end, there were 26 corpses in a neat little row, with one man left. She brought the barrel up to his forehead before Ygor stopped her, tearing the rifle from her hands, and handing her a large knife.

"Show me your artistry. Take your time. Enjoy it. Picture him as the men that raped you. Take out that anger, Slasa." he said firmly.

Slasa examined the knife in her hand, and looked up at the tired man. She let her mind wander until his face was replaced by the first disgusting pig that had laid hands on her. She smiled, and made her way behind him, looking Ygor in the eyes. She matched his gaze as she plunged the knife into the man's neck. Over and over and over, until she was too tired to keep going. She stood up, covered in blood and dirt, before tucking the knife into her belt.

"Good. Be better next time." Ygor said blankly, before turning away.

___________________________________

"You ruined that girl's life, Ygor. She lives for the kill now. It's all she knows." Irena said quietly.

Ygor looked back through the door at his daughter, and let out a deep sigh. "You're right. I fucked up. And...yeah, maybe I did ruin Slasa's life…." he trailed off.

"I wouldn't say ruined. Complicated, is a better term, Szubie." a voice as soft as summer rain said from behind him. Szubrov turned around to see a fair skinned woman with silvery hair and a soft smile, wearing a black leather jacket. Accompanying her were
an older Balkha guy, and a tired looking Ephyran.

"Slasa! Taz! Ragla! What are you doing here!?" Ygor cried, rushing towards them. Slasa gave Ygor a hug, as did Taz and Ragla.

"Well, your little sweetheart of a Commisar gave us a tip that you might need some help finding someone in a combat zone. So, we came as soon as we could. Kia and Shurhat are on their way as well. I pulled some strings to have him pulled off the frontlines at Sagdiyev, so him and his loader will be here. Couldn't get ahold of Paolo, though." Slasa explained.

"Paolo….Paolo has been dead for almost a year." Ygor said sheepishly.

"Shame, he was a fucking riot, man." Taz chimed in.

"Im surprised you're still alive, don't most of your people only live to 40ish?" Ygor asked Taz.

Taz rolled his eyes and laughed. "Takes more than old age to kill ol' Tazzy boy." he chuckled. "Running up on 65 now, thanks."

The group shared a laugh and caught up a little before Ygor directed them to somewhere downstairs. Irena leaned on the doorframe looking on until Ygor approached her.

"Thank you, Irena." he said as he embraced her, planting a friendly kiss on her forehead.

"Just….be more careful with Sophija, ok?" she asked with a hopeful tone.

"I'll try."