by Attila Orosz
His wife, twenty years younger, glamorous, and used to the comforts only Brussels could provide these days, did not want to hear about leaving the house that would have passed for a small palace by any standard. And who could have blamed her for that? The borderlands offered nothing, no culture, sights, or pastimes. It was a live conflict zone occupied by army patrols and sub-citizens. The Colonel was quite used to living amongst them and dealing with them daily, but he could not have expected his wife to accompany him there. It was not meant for a sophisticated person of refined education and taste, like she was.
The buzz of his desk communicator brought him back to the present. He was informed by his secretary that the Captain was there as he had requested. He smiled to himself. The Captain was the right man to help him go through this. With the help of his aide, he would be able to pull through that little personal side project that had the potential of winning back his wife’s affections.
He trusted the Captain with all the secrets of the trade. The details of the local operations and the workings of the black-market had been made known to him in great detail, so that he could be even more indispensable, while at the same time becoming an accessory and ceasing to be a liability. The Captain was a worthy soldier and the Colonel often thought of him as a son of sorts: one which he could never have, not without all the difficult parts like childhood and destroying the perfect figure of his wife. He never wanted children, and neither did she, but he was quite enjoying the benefits of having a grown up ‘son’ without all the emotional attachments. He found a confident in the Captain, and that was most important for him.
After a short, firm knocking, the door opened. The Captain stepped inside only after being called. His features were the same as ever, hard and determined. His lips were tightly pressed together. A fine soldier, thought the Colonel, then he immediately made a mental effort not to seem or sound emotional.
“You’ve sent for me, Colonel?”
“Yes, son, I have serious business to discuss with you, personally. The less on record, the better.”
“Very good, Sir.”
“I have some grave news, and it is in your best interests as well that I will keep you informed. I received disturbing intel from Berlin. Secret investigations are under way by external agencies that affect some of our business partners. There is a pressure from international supplier lobbies. They frown upon local resourcing, and have been pressing for serious actions for years. This time they got what they wanted. Paris has reported three arrests only yesterday.”
The Captain’s face never moved. The Colonel was for a moment wondering if he had even understood what was being relayed to him. Naturally, he could not use plain language to explain his purpose, not even inside his own office, as one could never know who was listening. Still, the Captain would be more than capable of fitting the pieces together.
“Apparently more is unearthed than would seem comfortable, or maintainable for any of us here. For this reason, the next shipment should, and will, be the last. We cannot risk going on with the operation. We could lose everything if we do not act quickly.”
He watched the Captain intently and caught the slightest hint of movement in his eyes. Yes, it was the eyes that disturbed him, most of the time. That expressionless grey stare made him uneasy if he looked into it for too long, but now these very same eyes betrayed the Captain’s otherwise perfect masquerade of a stone statue.
“Captain, it is best that you know that I have already arranged for my transfer. We will have four weeks to clear things up after the last shipment. It is due in a little more than two days’ time, after that everything must be destroyed, all traces erased, like they have never existed.
“You know that the number of illegals arriving lately has been less than usual. This will make it even more difficult to clear up after ourselves than it would have been otherwise. We cannot count on the usual distractions. Anything out of the ordinary is more than suspicious now. All of Brussels’ attention is being turned towards the borderlands, the usual cost cutting bullshit of running an ‘effective operation’, and the rest of that nonsense. Like we didn’t all know that The Wall was the greatest business in the history of the US of E. Without it, the whole bloody economy would just collapse.”
The Colonel knew that he did not have to explain the situation; the Captain was well aware of the difficulties the international political landscape was facing. When the Russians and the Turks had teamed up to bring a forced yet effective calm to the Middle-East, the world had begun to change. Israel had been cut off from America, without whose support it could no longer afford the continued aggression against the whole region. At the same time the Arabic states were also forced into submission when Turko-Russia signed its strategic alliance with the steadily expanding China. The Americans refused to withdraw, which resulted in the near-destruction of the former United States when the combined forces of the Pan-Asian alliance threatened to invade the country.
The USA military was recalled for home defence, then subsequently cut to a fraction of their former size and might, as American foreign policy was suddenly reversed with emergency brakes applied. War was no longer considered America’s primary export, and the USA’s ambitions of ruling and policing the world had been quietly denounced, like they never even existed. Since the merger with former Canada, they re-built the country, re-based their economy, and became the supplier of quality goods of which the rest of the world was in dire need.
Not that there was anything wrong with their former ambition of being the dominant global force either. In the Colonel’s opinion it was a truly noble goal, but the Americans made a mess of it. They fought on too many fronts, confronted too powerful opponents, and generally over-estimated their own power, a fatal error to make. Times changed, and so did the means of war, but the former USA had failed to adapt. This of course set the scene right for the United States of Europe which, even after the blunder in Africa, managed to profit from the downfall of their American allies while simultaneously tightening the economic bond between the two super-states. An ingenious political manoeuvre, which in the Colonel’s opinion made the US of E the greatest power of all times.
With the Middle-East thus belonging to Turko-Russia, Africa destroyed, Latin-America in a state of anarchy and practically owned by the United North America, there was no one left to blame. The false flag attacks of the early 21st century—New York, London, Paris, Brussels, Rome, Berlin, Washington DC, and the rest that served as excuses to start some of the most profitable wars in recent history—were exhausted to their full potential. The rhetoric of a terrorist threat was used for as long as possible, but was now history. There was no one to go to war with, not without risking too much. With half of the world destroyed, the UNA and the US of E had both run out of potentially manageable enemies.
While the Americans went their own way to keep their economy running, Europe’s best bet was The Wall itself, and the constant state of military readiness it required. It was important to keep the war machine going, as the whole of Europe depended on it, and it had worked out remarkably well, at least until recently.
Never in the history of the developed world had a situation so perfectly suited for its purpose presented itself before. Usually war efforts had to be kept either secret, or made popular. Public acceptance meant fewer problems with funding, and no energy wasted trying to explain the obvious. Even though their standards of living depended on it, people had a tendency to oppose the idea of war. Their reasons were the usual self-absorbed hypocrisy, like a sense of ‘conscience’, or ‘humanity’, all the usual crap the average middle class civilian liked to indulge in, but only after having reaped the benefits of an economy maintained by war itself.
Traditionally, popular acceptance was achieved by skipping a generation or two between any large scale military operations, so that not many of those who had experienced the ugly yet necessary destruction wars brought would still be alive. Next, soldiers had to be turned into heroes, an
d aggression re-classified as righteous self-defence; a fine lesson learned from their American allies, who pioneered the technique, along with the previously used narrative of a terrorist threat. Of course this all required considerable effort and money spent on propaganda, media attention, and all the works, which in the Colonel’s opinion were a waste of both time and energy.
The tables had turned, however, after the disastrous outcome of the water-wars. The US of E had lost position, money, man power and prestige, beaten by the Chinese army which was their equal in technology but far superior in numbers. The public could no longer be persuaded, and it had started to look like they might never recover from it when the opportunity came knocking on the doors, or, rather, the borders of Europe.
With the flood of illegals arriving in Europe, which made the mass migration of the 2010s look like a holiday, suddenly the enemy was at their doorstep. Self-defence made sense once again, and there was no need to explicitly justify it. And the irony of the situation was that their lost war in Africa was what had created the opportunity to keep the machine going, by upsetting and effectively destroying a whole continent, creating a new enemy in the form of illegal migrants. For decades, the most difficult part had been trying to find, or create a problem, to fit around an already existing solution. Now, however, the problem presented itself, it was suitable and readily available. It was perfect. The need to pose soldiers as heroes also diminished. Low ranking men were once again what they were always meant to be in an army: disposable tools of war.
Nobody talked of heroes any more this was a professional business, something you would think of a security guard in a bank to be doing. They are there, they do their job, but their presence is mostly taken for granted. Nobody talks about security guards as heroes for protecting people’s money, and nobody really talked about soldiers guarding the borders either. Those who did never spoke of them too highly; they were despised, rather than admired. After all, they were only border men.
The trick was to reinforce the image of the enemy as being evil and a danger to people’s standards of living. This was true, and the immediate threat meant that people were sold instantly. It was a lot easier than fabricating war-heroes, other than the high ranking officers, usually above the rank of Lt. Generals who, of course, posed as the keepers of the peace and protectors of wealth. After all, what people cared about most was their own pathetic little lives, and if they saw that in danger, they were ready to accept anything.
But as the borderlands fell quiet, with less illegals coming each year, the wall-operations were in jeopardy. No doubt Brussels had planned for the scenario and a new strategy was being planned to take over the role of the borders, so the war could continue undisturbed as it had since the middle of the twentieth century, but the Colonel doubted if anything could ever come even close to what the borderlands meant in their best days.
Re-basing operations now also meant replacing personnel, at least those in high offices. Controversial as it seemed at first glance, it all made perfect sense. They could not allow any one person to become too important, too knowledgeable, too indispensable; not below a certain status, anyway. They needed specific people for specific jobs, who could be rewarded to stay loyal, controlled while they were needed, and discarded when they were not.
The Colonel was fine with this. He had already squeezed the last drop of opportunity out of the system. For him there was nowhere higher to climb from here, not with his ancestry and past anyway, and he had made sure he would be taken care of by means of his little private side operation. It granted him wealth, a pension of luxury, and some powerful friends who shared his own interest in any shady business remaining undiscovered.
The Captain was of course well aware of all this. Being the Colonel’s aide not only meant a quick advancement in his career; it was a long term investment in his own future, through gaining crucial political insight which he could later use to build his own web of connections.
The Colonel made a mental effort to come back to his original subject, and continued, “The competition has its lobbyists everywhere, or so it would seem. I suppose they do not even attempt to hide their true intentions of investigating ‘other’ matters. And that could affect us deeply. We can afford no mistakes. I am counting on you.”
“Certainly, Sir.”
“Look… I did not want to act on your behalf, but it is still not too late to request for your own transfer. I can speed up the process of decision making if you like. You will be well covered. But what with your family being here, I was not sure if this is what you wanted. If you take my advice, this would be the best course of action, unless you can come up with an alternative way of covering up for yourself.”
The Captain nodded slowly.
“Now that we’ve been through this,” continued the Colonel in a slightly different tone, one that sounded more confidential, but also more secretive, “how is our little arrangement coming along?”
“Everything is under control, Sir, and according to plan. If you don’t mind me asking, what is your intention with the subjects?”
“All in good time. And for now, it would be a good time to get them moving.”
***
The Captain had left the Colonel’s office and was now heading back to his command post. His thoughts were only evident by the slight flicker of life in his grey eyes, and his thin lips having changed shape slightly from the usual thin, straight line to one that had its ends slightly curved down.
The Colonel’s words were most disturbing. All was going well so far, but this was bad news, and not only for his imminent promotion. In fact, he knew that the Colonel would arrange for that, probably even before they left their stations. It was his family, more specifically his mother, that he did not care to leave behind. Yet he could not find a suitable alternative to stay hidden from prying eyes, at least until the investigation was over, were it ever to reach this part of the borderlands. He could not decide what to do.
Family now meant Mother and Mother only. But Mother was everything to him. She had lived at the borderlands all her life and could not be persuaded to leave. Even though his father had come from the inlands so many decades ago, and his mother had always expected him to take her away, they had stayed there until he died. Mother never got to leave, and she would not leave now. He could have had arranged for her to move to the Inner Territories, long ago, but she would not hear of that; she said she wanted to continue her work here. He knew that quite soon she would have no work left to do, but he could not think of how to make her change her mind. And he could not leave her now.
He loved Mother; he loved her more than he could have loved anything, or anyone. Love, or other affections of the soul were usually as far from him as humanitarian work. He considered feelings a weakness, which a soldier could not afford, but Mother was different. Mother was love herself.
He tried to contain his excitement as he entered the control room. His men stood to attention as he rushed past them not even acknowledging their presence. He went straight into his private command centre, took the receiver of the broadcast communications device, switched to an open channel, and relayed his orders.
“Command to all units. Get ready for action.”
Chapter Nine
Jumaane was in pain. His head was full, he could not hear anything, and his eyes were blind. He could bluntly remember the soldier rushing at him angrily. He had expected to be beaten, but the man had jumped at him instead, he had heard an explosion, felt sharp pain in his shoulder, and they had crashed onto the ground, then he had lost consciousness.
He had been awoken by the other captive pounding on his chest, Jumaane could not imagine why. He was already hurt enough, his head was aching and full of something blunt and heavy, which made his ears ring and did not let him hear his own voice. Now he sat there whimpering, he understood nothing. This must be hell. I am dead. These were his first thoughts. Then he realised that the soldier was lying unconscious beside him. If he had not yet died
, then he would. All of them would. Still in shock, he cried to himself.
“We will die… All of us… We will die… This is hell…”
He felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. It was bleeding, his blood staining his shirt now. He saw something sticking out of it, but he dared not touch it.
He was aware of some movement, but could not see what was happening. The other captive was doing something to the soldier. Maybe he is killing him? He killed him, and he would kill me too! He is a demon. This is hell, and he came for us. Straight from hell! He is a demon! His head was racing, his thoughts becoming once again incoherent.
“Get away from me! Leave me alone!” he screamed while flailing his arms around violently to keep demon away.
“If you don’t leave me alone, I will kill you! I am not afraid of you, do you hear?” He was screaming even louder now, his fists closed, his arms punching at nothing in front of him.
Then the demon jumped on him. It yelled something at Jumaane and hit him across the face. It was snarling, with great yellow teeth in a big mouth. The demon had pale skin on its head, but was black underneath. Jumaane tried to shout at it, but he could not. His mouth was blocked by a great force; he felt the demon’s hand suffocating him. Now it wants to kill me, he thought. It will take me to hell! Jumaane fought for a short while, but his strength was failing him.
He gave up after a few feeble attempts to break free. He felt his life slipping away, as his blurred vision began to blacken. He could no longer see the demon, he could no longer feel the pressure on his neck. His breaths became shorter, and shallower, then finally ceased.
