Dmitriy raises his voice at that commander, “The Babayev regime already tried to lock them up? Did it work, sir?”
“No, Mr. Volkov.”
“That is exactly why we need to use this execution. It will be a clear warning to any external and internal enemies of Dalabistan that they should not mess with our affairs or they will get killed.”
I agree with Dmitriy. Sabit does not and points out, “What if many of these accused are innocent? Many of these individuals’ guilt is not as easily proven as Babayev, whose guilt was obvious. Dalabistan could not repeat the same mistakes of mob justice and extrajudicial killings. It may be too cruel of a punishment.”
I take an old photograph of myself, my infant brother, and my parents out of my desk drawer. I show it in front of their eyes and describe, “Take a look. A peaceful family in this photo. Two of these people in this photo are not alive because of these extremists from Satanic cults of radical Islamic movements. The third person was murdered by state-sponsored racketeers. The fourth person is sitting in front of you, changing the past regime.” I take a breath. “Can’t you see why I have a problem with all these bastards? I am willing to kill because of these victims being present in my blood. And so do countless of ordinary people that we serve. With that in mind, I order to carry out the death sentences, Abzal, in service for our people.”
Sabit also asks me, “Wait, we are killing these individuals as well?”
Abzal touches his head and remembers, “Oh yes, I was about to tell you this! Today we are also executing troops and racketeers who took part in state-ordered pogroms, along with corrupt MPs of the Babayev-era.”
Dmitriy raises his hand and salutes, “I agree with Mr. President. The Ministry of Justice approves this decision.”
Abzal smiles and puts on his white Muslim skullcap on his head, “Roger that, Commander-in-Chief! I expected this conversation to end this way, so I started earlier. People are invited, so we can already head out to the square.” We walk from the Oval Office and leave the Presidential Headquarters. From the exit, I can see a large scene is quickly arranged at the Dalab Eli square. While walking into the square, there is a sea of yellow, cyan, and red people in front of me. There are no gallows this time, just a few knives and swords lying on the white fabric covering the stage.
I, Abzal, Dmitriy Volkov, and countless men and women grab white robes and skullcaps similar to the ones Muslim imams wear during their sermons. My sermon will be delivered not with faith and prayer, but with blood and iron. It’s morning again over Dalabistan. We stand while showering in applause.
The host of this ceremony greets the audience with an ecstatic voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, today we have gathered to witness the mass execution of Operation Artemisia evacuees! The executioners, including President Alisher Karabars, Minister of Defence Abzal Kylyshbayev, and Minister of Justice Dmitriy Volkov have arrived to carry out the death penalty against Al-Qaeda terrorists and to restore justice for 2004 Alakala bombings and for all of the other heinous terrorist attacks they have committed!”
Men and women below the stage applaud. Many cry in joy, “Allahu Akbar! Death to Al-Qaeda! Death to jihadism! Curse on the Babayevs! Victory to Dalabistan!”
The announcer energizes the audience again, “Please welcome our faithful men from the Hovlyk Asker, the KGB, the police, and the Armed Forces defending our country and helping us with today’s occasion!”
The armed men enter the huge compounds. Some of them carry assault rifles. Some are dressed in historical armor and hold spears. Many wear bulletproof vests. All of them have orange balaclavas. They either drag the repatriated jihadists to the stage or guard them from escaping. The terrorists they drag to the stage are in black robes, the very ones in which the jihadists have committed their terrorist attacks in. Many women in black hijabs are also among the ones to be carried to the place of their judgment.
I get the microphone and begin my passionate sermon, “Good afternoon, ye faithful Dalabistanis! Ash-hadu an la ilaha ill Allah, wa ash-hadu anna Muhammadan rasulullah! I testify that there is no god but Allah, and I testify that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah!” The pious men in their religious robes and women in burkas cheer together with secular people in Western-style clothes. It’s one of the only times I would ever employ religion and say Muslim phrases for others to get excited.
“I would like to remember why I have decided to serve justice today. When people in the West asked me why I hate rehabilitation for dangerous criminals, I told them to look at what it results in! In March 2004, the disgraced Volkan Babayev began Operation Artemisia to ‘evacuate’ terrorists from Al-Qaeda and their wives who were from Dalabistan to ‘rehabilitate them and return them to a normal life.’ But that ‘rehabilitation’ did not work. For those of us who do not remember that or who do not know that, I would like to tell you that this scum of society from Al-Qaeda escalated violence in our country since this operation began. They continued to do their thing—except it was now happening in Dalabistan instead of on the streets of Baghdad or Mosul. They never gave up on their ideology. We had no control over them. On April 10, 2004, these very terrorists and their Al-Qaeda black widows, the very ones that our Motherland rescued from Iraq, have backstabbed us with their suicide vests and explosions. These traitors have whipped us. These Al-Qaeda whores wrapped in black stole our lives. Hundreds of people were martyred in the destruction of the shopping mall in Alakala. I personally lost my last remaining family members—my brother and my father. These infidel kafir cockroaches have infiltrated our society! Starting today, we will be committed to being destroying this infestation of radical terrorism, in the name of Islam, for Allah’s sake.”
The crowd is energized by my battle cry. Many chant, “Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!”
The blood of Babayevs is no longer enough for me. I have far more people to kill and to avenge for. Nothing would stop me from burning my enemies with hate, power, and wrath. Nobody will be spared. I continue, “I would like to thank Abzal Kylyshbayev, Dmitry Volkov, and their comrades for their hard work of retrieving data about all of the Al-Qaeda cockroaches that returned, as well as perpetrators of attacks driven by the destructive cults of radical Islamists that distort Muslim faith from religion of empathy to religion of violence.”
Around a hundred men in black robes are forced to kneel by the Hovlyk Asker troops behind them other executioners and I come in front of them. We grab our daggers.
The announcer says, “Bismillah ir-Rahman ir-Rahim! In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful, the Rebuilding Council of the Republic of Dalabistan has ordered to sentence these citizens to capital punishment by beheading for charges of terrorism, treason, sabotage, mass murder, defecting to the enemy’s side, attacking and capturing buildings, capturing hostages, participating in a terrorist organization, genocide, mercenaryism, use of prohibited methods of waging war, violations of the rules and conduct of war, enemy war propaganda, and public incitement to a war of aggression!”
The crowd gets excited. They love a good show. Volkan and Anar Babayev gave them too boring celebrations that the people did not care about, such as their coronations or cults of personality. My events seem to be more popular because they are more relevant and relatable for the people. They do not want to kiss anyone’s ass anymore; they want to get justice done. They do not want to watch themselves humiliate under the Babayevs’ heel. They want to participate in a fair punishment of traitors, thieves, and murderers for the better future of Dalabistan. Plus, by now, they may consider an execution with less than three deaths a dull affair.
Many men extend their fists from their necks into the air with their straight hands. I hear chants, “Down with jihadism!” and “Burn in hell!” Many women sobbing from joy, carrying images of their martyred relatives.
I shout, “Allahu Akbar! God is the Greatest! Oh, the irony of their deeds done in the name of that slogan! We should have never given a chance to live and to return t
o Dalabistan for these killers and breeders of new cockroaches!” I hold my dagger and place it close to my assigned jihadist’s neck. The announcer barks, “Cut!”
Abzal pierces his jihadist and finishes his deed within a few seconds. He definitely has a large experience with his military training. It is not so easy for me. My knife is stuck between my terrorist’s neck bones. Many jihadists shout in pain. Some of them yowl and cry. The black widows weep and moan. These sounds are like music to my ears. Dmitriy uses his knife to start the process from the back. His vertical movements make his knife chop off the head like a guillotine, crushing the neck with few clean passes. While I watch them do the beheadings very efficiently, I struggle to go beyond that neck bone with my dagger. I steer the blade into a different direction, going lower to circumvent the neck bones. The terrorist starts to buck, shaking to the left and to the right. This makes my dagger penetrate even deeper cuts into his rotten flesh.
Finally, I behead my jihadist after struggling with a puddle of blood, hard bones, and rough meat of that terrorist. I hold his head, only to drop it on the ground the very next second. It rolls from the stage, crashing onto the concrete of the Dalab Eli Square. The other executioners soon wrap up as well. The national anthem starts to blast. People place their right arms on their hearts, wave their small Dalabistani flags, and sing the lyrics of the anthem.
My country Dalabistan
Belongs to just Dalabs
Not Soviets or Chinese
They shall not exploit us!
We’re oppressed for many years
Yet we don’t gave up our pride
The seeds have been sown
Dalabs, our time has come!
My country, my country
May it prosper for the future kins
Finally let’s end our sufferings and
Build a better future for Dalabistan!
Looking back to the past
We can see corruption
Has destroyed us and our
Chances to prosper!
But we still long for freedom
And for justice for all
We achieved it in the past
We can do it today
My country, my country
May it prosper for the future kins
Finally let’s end our sufferings and
Build a better future for Dalabistan!
If the citizens changed the word “Soviets” with the word “jihadists,” it would perfectly suit this occasion! The country no longer belongs to these radical Islamists or servants of teachings that destroy our country. It now completely belongs to us, the Dalabs, the true masters of the Dalab vast steppes.
The announcer gets up to the podium next to me and exclaims, “Dear citizens, we are not over yet! In an hour, we are going to resume the trials and the procedure of carrying out the sentences, now for the violence committed during the Volkan Babayev’s 1992 pogroms and illegal raids! Then we will have a round for corrupt MPs of the Babayev-era Parliament! Stay tuned!”
I wave to the audience members, then leave the stage to massive applause while the loud Dalab traditional music blasts through the giant speakers. The maintenance team enters the stage. They remove the white fabric, several bloody carcasses of the terrorists, and heads of the infidels. They carry the nooses and install the gallows on that very stage. I go down from the stage. Sabit questions Abzal and Dmitriy to double-check, “Wait, did you order the executions of the state-sponsored racketeers and their superiors as well?”
Abzal reports, “Yes, we found them all. They are sentenced to hanging.”
Dmitriy continues, “They are already on the way.”
I am still confused, “What about the corrupt MPs and officials in the government apparatus sentenced to hanging for embezzlement and large bribery?”
Abzal takes a breath, “Well, they are coming as well. They were the ones that were sentenced to death the day after you captured the MPs and officials in Parliament.”
“Thanks for letting me know. Do you have any information about any specific individuals who will be executed?”
Abzal looks at his notes and replies, “From the case on Babayev’s pogroms, I know about Colonel Dinmukhamed Bektemiss, Lieutenant Aman Kenzhibayev, Captain Madyar Smagulov, and Major Rustam Kelimbetov. They were orchestrating the pogroms in Alakala and targeted Chamyr. I guess they could have killed your mother that night. From the case on corruption and embezzlement, I guess there are a lot of familiar names: Erzhan Sharipov, Kambar Yusupov, Kaharman Aidaharov, Zhandos Amirov, Ali Babayev, Hamit Arystanbek, Musa Basharov, Ansar Akhanov, Nurlan Niyazov, Kuat Bakytbai…”
“Wait, that very Erzhan, Kambar, and their gang are coming to the scaffold?”
“I think so, Alisher.”
Sabit adds, “The ones who used to beat you up so badly in front of Elena and me that I, Zuhra, and Mr. Kimmelman had to call the ambulance and get you to the intensive care unit. I support their execution because they received a proper trial…”
I vividly picture Elena standing by Erzhan’s side, holding his hand. Zuhra warns Elena to stop and urges her to leave the scene, but she is ignored by her older sister. Kambar and the rest of the gang surround me and beat me on the ground. I could only watch at how Elena was accepting this and not standing up for me like she did before. I hear Kambar’s chuckles before seeing a chair coming in my face and watching the blood river flowing from my body. I bleed tears of shame, pain, and hopelessness. I stare at Elena hugging and kissing Erzhan with the gang clapping, cheering, and chanting gibberish at me. Then everything becomes completely black. I no longer have physical scars from that day. I removed them a long time ago in a Los Angeles plastic surgery clinic. Today I will remove the remaining emotional scars from Erzhan’s blows.
And Sabit snaps his fingers while droning in his quiet voice, “Alisher, are you alright? Did something happen?”
I open my eyes and return back to 2014. “Yes, everything is alright. Just had a few thoughts that made my blood boil. Thank you very much for rescuing me that day. I would be certainly dead if it wasn’t for you three.”
“Always, my brother!” salutes Sabit, shakes my hand and hugs me. He is indeed a loyal brother, a trusted comrade.
Abzal looks at his watch and instantly blurts out, “It’s noon, the Babayev-sponsored racketeers are supposed to have arrived already! Get on your positions and be ready to execute!”
“Roger that, Minister of Defense!” salutes Dmitriy. We all return to the stage, and the announcer blasts into his microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, please greet the executioners for one more time! Now it’s time to execute the perpetrators of the 1992 illegal raids that illegitimately slaughtered countless innocent lives!” The audience claps and chants, “Never forgotten bastards! Never forgiven murderers!”
Tens of condemned are escorted by more Hovlyk Asker troops. Many of those sentenced to death are wearing their military uniforms from the Babayev-era. I put the noose on an old man with gray hair whose patch says Colonel Dinmukhamed Bektemiss. Abzal grabs a soldier named Captain Madyar Smagulov. Dmitriy places the noose on Major Rustam Kelimbetov. Sabit puts his rope on Lieutenant Aman Kenzhibayev.
The announcer tells us, “Ready!” The crowd throws pebbles at the former genocide orchestrators. Then he says, “Set!” The people cannot wait.
Finally, he screams, “Drop!” We all push the levers. This time the condemned instantly fall to their deaths by neck—quick and easy death without honor after raiding and destroying countless innocent families and houses of the poor.
The maintenance workers quickly remove the bodies and the ropes from the gallows, and then the announcer calls to the crowd, “Citizens of Dalabistan, we have one more major execution coming up today! This time it would be for embezzlers and the corrupt people in Babayev’s administration and the Parliament that labeled themselves as ‘civil servants’ but did anything but serve you, the people of Dalabistan!”
The black vans arrive on the Dalab Eli square, with Hovlyk Asker and police troops escorting these white-collar criminals again. This time I see Erzhan crying with fury, Kambar trying to escape the guards but failing miserably, and Hamit just walking to his fate.
The announcer reads off the paper that Dmitriy just gave to him, “In the name of the Republic of Dalabistan, and in accordance to the Penal Code of the Republic of Dalabistan, the following citizens are sentenced to the death penalty through on charges of corruption, mass bribes, and large-scale embezzlement from the government funds: Erzhan Sharipov, Kambar Yusupov, Kaharman Aidaharov, Zhandos Amirov, Ali Babayev, Hamit Arystanbek, Musa Basharov, Ansar Akhanov, Nurlan Niyazov, Kuat Bakytbai…”
The security forces drag the convicted individuals to their gallows. I get Erzhan Sharipov. Sabit gets Kambar Yusupov. Amidst the noise of the crowd, I hear Erzhan spitting in front of me, “I wish you were dead, son of a Chamyr whore!”
Oh good. He recognizes me. In the Intensive Care Unit hospital ward eleven years ago, I swore that I would kill them all. The day I became the leader of Dalabistan, I knew that I would hunt Erzhan. I would find him, and I would painfully kill him without honor as well as all of my enemies and bullies… in front of Elena’s eyes. Hanging seems to be the best option for that. Beheading is too honorable for Erzhan. Firing squad is a too light punishment for everything he and his goons have done against me.
I whisper in Erzhan’s ear, “Erzhan, welcome back to a place you belong to. Eleven years ago, you were kicking me in your head. Now it’s my turn to play a game with these ropes.”
“Alisher? Are you kidding me? You do not belong here! You are just a woman who is hiding behind your powerful friends from the Hovlyk Asker and the Army, just like you hid behind Sabit and Elena whenever you had any issues.”
“Same goes for you in Alakala. And Sabit is putting his noose on your accomplice Kambar as well! Today Elena is glad to see me kill you before her eyes!”
The Outcast Presidents Page 19
