The Tragedy of Chernarus III: Beyond the Acheron

Poja · June 13, 2024

The Tragedy of Chernarus
Beyond the Acheron

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This thread serves as the third part in the anthology known as The Tragedy of Chernarus and concerns the events of June 2024 and later. Other threads lay the backstory for not only the Pojački Emergency and the subsequent Chernarussian Conflict but also the establishment and growth of Chernodrinsk both during that conflict and in its aftermath.

An unrecognized, breakaway state, Chernodrinsk was formally established by refugees escaping the Chernarussian Conflict and has since grown into a mafia state under the control of various criminal syndicates as well as the militant group the Chernarussian Red Star Brigade (Chernorusskaya brigada Krasnoy Zvezdy; CbKZ). Classified as a terrorist organization by the Pojački government, the CbKZ was born out of the militias of the Chernarussian Conflict and still fight that very conflict demanding Chernarussian independence. The CbKZ dominates the political landscape of Chernodrinsk but does not have so much power that it can oust the criminal syndicates - nor can it afford to do so. Long since a nuisance and an irritation to Rugi, the CbKZ have been a focus of many law enforcement and intelligence operations over the years. The CbKZ have made a number of criminal activities their primary source of income and many hardliners have accused them of "rejecting their roots," which has led to a minor power struggle within the group, bringing us to where we stand today.

This thread will serve as part of my Chernodrinsk expansion. For the other parts, please visit the links below as they are formed. This is a story in progress but all will be revealed to completion in the end, weaving a tragic story in Pojački history that goes back to time immemorial and will haunt our children's children's children.

With respect to this thread's title, Beyond the Acheron, imagery is drawn from the famous epic written by Dante, the Divine Comedy, specifically the first and most well-known part, Inferno about Dante's journey through Hell. The Acheron is one of five rivers of the Underwurld and its purpose does vary by source but for the sake of our purposes here, we are using Dante's version. Acheron, in Dante's work, forms the border of Hell and metaphorically forms the border between Poja and Chernodrinsk only here, Charon won't be ferrying souls across. I hope you enjoy.

Understanding that nothing happens in vacuum in a roleplaying community all are invited to take part in this whether it is posting their internal reactions or taking a more active role. Regardless, I only ask that you message me on our Discord just so we can iron out the specifics. I am not going to discourage anyone from participating but I can only ask that we adhere to the boundaries of realism and cooperative writing.

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Edited December 29, 2024 by Poja (see edit history)

Poja · June 13, 2024

Table of Contents

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Part I
- Prologue: Fireworks
- Chapter I: Disbelief
- Chapter II: A Shattered Peace
- Chapter III: Demands
- Chapter IV: Our Nightmare
- Chapter V: A New Dawn
- Chapter VI: "Check!"
- Chapter VII: A New Dilemma
- Chapter VIII: A New Doctrine
- Chapter IX: Consequences
- Chapter X: Fissures
- Chapter XI: The Moment of Truth
- Chapter XII: Victory or Defeat
- Chapter XIII: Revenge
Part II
- Chapter XIV: Fallout
- Chapter XV: Trepidation
- Chapter XVI: On Thin Ice

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Edited January 1 by Poja (see edit history)

Poja · June 13, 2024

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Prologue
Fireworks

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Poja · June 14, 2024

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Chapter I
Disbelief

Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 02:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernodrinsk, Lygorod | 50 km from Chernodrinsk-Chernarus Border

Ilya Salnikov was an old man in a young man's profession. Fifty-two, which was more than double the age of the men around him, Ilya had lasted so long thanks to an unhealthy mix of discipline, experience, and luck. Truth be told, luck was likely overrepresented on the pie chart of reasons why he was still alive and though it might run out one day, would certainly run out one day, that day had yet to come and so long as it was on the distance horizon, he wasn't very concerned with it on a day-to-day basis, leaving those thoughts only for the moments of darkness or drink, where they belonged. Nothing but business was on his mind now as he walked almost inaudibly through the thin whisps of fog that settled around the area on this chilly, crisp June morning.

In the mountainous geography that surrounded Chernarus, the temperature was always about five degrees cooler and even more so over the past week as steady rains brought the temperature down even further into the low teens and brought about late-night fog. If he'd been a more philosophical man, Ilya would have thought the crisp, cool air and the wispy fog was a foreshadowing on what was to come but he only saw the tactical advantages that lay before him, nothing more and nothing less. For now, the wispy fog was simply just something he had to walk through to get to his destination, a sizeable but formless building not eight hundred meters in the distance. Made only slightly visible because of its contrast against the background, it sat in a lot with no lights, bathed in a darkness that only a moonless night could cast. Metaphors upon metaphors slipped past him in the light breeze, swirling the fog but not his mind.

Of course, this wasn't to say that Ilya was a dimensionless being, he was simply too much business and not enough of anything else. Perhaps that was more of an affliction than it was a benefit but in his line of work, Ilya couldn't afford anything less.

When he reached the building, he went through a beat up, unmarked side door and found himself on the inside of a cavernous building that was open floor-to-ceiling, end-to-end. He stood on a cracked, concrete slab that was strewn with dirt and debris, the detritus of neglect. Once a 25,000 m² warehouse, it was hardly a sight anymore. The remnants of its old life still lingered, a broke down forklift, faded lane lines, overhead bay markers, inadequate fluorescent overhead lighting, and of course a small shipping office that was a structural engineer's nightmare. That office was to his left, empty and abandoned but not reappropriated like the warehouse had been.

Ilya let his eyes adjust to the change in lighting, which was in stark contrast to the moonless darkness outside. Here, the few still operable fluorescent lights cast columns of light against the backdrop of harsh shadows, illuminating some objects and ignoring others. Those objects happened to be thirty-two military trucks, a mix of cargo trucks and light armored cars, arranged and parked with neat precision in three rows facing what used to be the dock doors for semi-trailers. Ramps had been built to allow ingress and egress by these vehicles but any inspection of them would reveal shoddy construction and deteriorating stability. Ilya had personally done that inspection but deemed them "good enough." They only had to work twice and half of those obligations had been fulfilled when these vehicles entered this building so many days earlier, trickling in at the darkest hours of the night, headlights off, guided by care and patience. Illya had seen to the arrival of each and every one of these trucks and ensured that they were placed in the appropriate positions before inspecting each and every one of them meticulously. The success of the operation hinged upon each truck being an exact replica of another one down to the very serial numbers and markings.

With his eyes adjusted, Ilya checked his watch and looked out ahead. Men milled about, quietly talking amongst themselves. Some noticed his arrival, others did not. In the former was a man named Kiryl who was half Ilya's age and irritating beyond tolerance after two or three beers. To keep him occupied, Kiryl had been given the otherwise menial but important task of spray-painting over the few windows in the warehouse with several coats of black paint. He'd even been tasked to take care of a few skylights. Though everything looked good, Ilya knew the true test of his work would be tonight and as he saw the man and approached him, he could sense the pride in Kiril for a job well done.

When it was plain to Kiril that Ilya was heading his way, he snapped to and those around him did the same. He was within a cluster of eight other men, a complete rifle squad. He was his squad's deputy squad leader and would have carried the rank of mlađi vodnik or junior sergeant, had he been in a conventional man's military. Ilya would have been a general-brigadni or a brigadier general. Such was the vastness between the stations of both men that when Ilya approached the squad, no one dared speak, not even the otherwise ambitious squad leader. "Kiril," Ilya spoke, looking up at the skylights above, "I believe you've done an otherwise satisfactory job," his native Chernarussian carried with it the accent of someone from the countryside, not unusual for members of this outfit.

"Thank you sir," Kiril answered. Ilya had nothing more to say nor did he wish to dwell alongside Kiril too long for the man had an unusually strong odor of onions and cabbage coming out of his mouth. Whatever these men had eaten had been something foul and its traces apparently still lingered. Ilya had no other stops to make, no other men to address, nothing further to review. Each squad had their own checks and men in charge of them and those men were entrusted to do everything necessary so that those higher up would not need to bother themselves with the minutia and instead focus on things that mattered most of all.

Ilya worked his way through the vehicles until he came to the frontmost vehicles in the rows. Each row was neat and orderly, identical to the row beside it and at the very front were two light armored trucks positioned in such a way as to lead the rest out of the building. It was here that Ilya stopped and found the only man whose station was higher than his. "We're ready," Ilya said as he stood before the man who was using a redlight flashlight to read a map.

"Good, that means we're on schedule. Assemble the men and have a count done. I'll address them," he said without ever looking up from the map.

With a nod of assent, Ilya turned around and walked back the way he came, shouting, "Men assemble" on the way. Without gripe, without chatter, with only the sounds of feet shuffling and conversations ending, the men assembled in lines as Ilya walked past them. "Squad leaders, count your men!" Ilya shouted again, his voice echoing in the cavernous warehouse. Coming to a stop somewhere near the center of everyone, he waited in silence for a minute while squad leaders counted. "Sound off," Ilya called next and one-by-one, the squad leaders sounded off that each and every man was accounted for and thus, before Ilya, stood 213 men. He was number 214 and coming up beside him was the last man, the man in charge of this entire operation. "Men, at ease," Ilya said before taking a step back, at ease himself.

"Men, I don't believe I need to tell you the gravity of this operation. I may be leading it but it will be you who execute it. You have trained, you have trained again, and when you thought you'd had enough training, you trained yet more. Tonight there will be no training. Tonight we execute the real thing. Each and every one of you knows his role, each and every one of you knows the contingencies. You've memorized them over and over again and for that I couldn't be prouder. Tonight you will be me proud, you will make yourselves prouder, and you will make Chernodrinsk proudest. That is all!" He stood back and rendered a salute and those in front of him, all 213 men, rendered one in return. "Dismissed!" With little commotion, the men did as they were told and filed into their vehicles. The man turned to Ilya and put his hand on Ilya's right shoulder. "This is going to be historical. The traitors and the tyrants will feel our wraith like never before."

Nothing further was said. The man walked off, back to his vehicle, back to his map, back to his own thoughts. Ilya would enter the vehicle next to his. It would take another ten minutes before everyone was ready, before the vehicles were started and running. Only then were the lights in the warehouse cut off, casting the interior into darkness. No one turned on their vehicle's headlights and two bay doors were opened, each one bathed in the glow of a red lamp. Ilya's vehicle departed second and behind him, row after row, thirty vehicles follow. The doors were closed and those that remained behind began a methodical sweep for any remnants of the soldiers' presence. It would take hours before they swept through the entire place, took away the red lamps, and vacated the premise themselves and when they had it was as if no one had ever been there, as if no one had staged a thirty-two vehicle, 215-man fighting force there, as if nothing ever happened.

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Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 04:25 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernodrinsk-Chernarus Border

Ilya looked at his watch. We're still on schedule he thought to himself as he looked out at the road ahead. In front of him was the lead vehicle in the entire convoy. Thus far, the journey from Lygorod had been quiet. They took backroads that were sparsely traversed even during the daylight hours, let alone at this late - or early depend on how you viewed the clock - of an hour. We're still on schedule, he thought to himself again, pleased thus far with the uneventfulness of the journey.

Ilya had handpicked each driver in the convoy, having put them through significant driving tests. Graduation to the role required that one pass not one but two tests. The first test was to operate the vehicle of his assignment, at night, in blackout conditions, avoiding a number of obstacles along the way. The second was to do the same thing but in a five-vehicle convoy so that not only did the drivers have to pass individually but as groups. If each driver could do this in a group of five vehicles, they could do it in a group of thirty-two vehicles. Each man that drove was required to be able to see well at night without glasses or contact lenses and to be able to drive with both their natural vision and night vision goggles, a set of which was atop each driver's head, ready for use along the way since the entire journey from Lygorod to the border would be made without headlights or any lights of any kind, lest they get spotted.

This was just one piece of the plan that Ilya had been instrumental in developing along with a half-dozen others. For years, they had been planning this as a small group, compartmentalized amongst themselves taking in codes and having secret meetings out of the direct or peripheral vision of anyone not privy to the operation. Secrecy was the most valued aspect of this entire operation and that they were in the midst of executing it was a testament to their ability to maintain that compartmentalization and the secrecy required.

Ilya had fought to keep the execution of the plan as simple as possible. Complexity in combat lead to men dying and to failure. This wasn't meant to be a one-way suicide mission and thus the men who were taking part in it needed to be able to execute it properly without worrying about when their "glorious death" was about to be upon them. Yet, no matter how simple the plan could be, there were several waypoints along the way that could make or break the operation and one of those was fast approaching, the border checkpoint.

Lygorod had been fifty kilometers from the border but the drive had been closer to seventy with the snaking roadways and unideal route. They were now approaching five kilometers from the border and this make-or-break moment was upon them. Behind Ilya's vehicle was another identical vehicle but behind that was a truck with nine men. Right on cue, that vehicle shot out from its place on the convoy and accelerated past everyone and away into the darkness. We're right on schedule, Ilya thought to himself once again as the vehicle ripped past, the wind wake blowing right through Ilya's open window, adding to the diesel fumes that were already swirling the vehicle from its position as the number two vehicle.

The convoy itself drove on for another three kilometers before halting in an otherwise abrupt and surprise manner to anyone looking at it from the sidelines. In fact, none of these vehicles had visible brake lights, all of them having been taped up to prevent the light from leaking out into the night. This is why it was so important to train the drivers. They needed to be able to drive in these conditions without headlights or brake lights, without the moon, without streetlamps, with only their own vision or the aid of night vision goggles. Furthermore, it was important because the convoy itself needed to be operated in such a precise manner. The vehicles themselves had to be replicas of vehicles in the Chernarussian Territorial Army but so too did the driving tactics of these men. They'd memorized the Pojački manuals cover-to-cover and they were carrying them out now, driving the precise way that the manual stated. Nothing could seem out of place beyond. Even as large as the convoy itself was, military convoys on the highways wasn't so rare a sight that they would arouse immediate suspicion. So long as they could pass a basic litmus test, they could carry out their mission. That was what Ilya pushed for during planning and it was why they were starting off with a high degree of success.

Having stopped just two kilometers from the border, the convoy waited for several minutes. In Ilya's vehicle, all was silent except the rumbling of the diesel engine. His driver had his night vision goggles down and was scanning the area just as the two men in the back were. Ilya was focused on the radio, listening for the signal to proceed. He held his breath and waited for what seemed like more than minutes but not quite hours until finally, someone broke squelch three times in rapid succession. One…Two…Three… he counted in his head. Ahead of him, the leader's vehicle began to move and so too did his moments later. The convoy was moving again.

Two minutes later, the convoy reached the border checkpoint and passed unaccosted through the open gate. Anyone looking at the concrete shack that made up the border checkpoint would see no lights on, no sign that anyone was there, no indication that it was manned. That was because it wasn't manned on this night, of all nights, and that wasn't by happenstance. The organization had seen to it that money passed from one hand to another and the lieutenant in charge of staffing the checkpoint had his men stationed elsewhere on this evening, which was unusual in and of itself but he covered his tracks by simply stating that another unit was on duty for this night and that they had "swapped schedules." Instead of a four-man team sitting at the checkpoint with assault rifles and manning a general-purpose machine gun, there was no one.

That's one, Ilya thought to himself knowing that now they were beyond committed. There was no turning around anymore. They were on Pojački soil, more importantly they were on Chernarussian soil. It was here that headlights were turned on, to drive down Pojački highways without headlights was to arouse a significant amount of suspicion and any highway patrol officer would be well within his right to stop the convoy, which would mean a radio call that a "large military convoy" was being pulled over at a specific spot on a map. If the right person was listening, the entire operation would be tanked right then and there. That was why Ilya had checked out each vehicle personally, to see that their headlights were working, that their tires were properly inflated, that the unit insignia was stenciled on correctly, that the flags were in place, that nothing would suggest these vehicles weren't part of the Chernarussian Territorial Army. If someone looked further then the vehicles, they would find that each and every man was wearing the same uniform as his Chernarussian counterparts, even down to the unit insignia. This was as far as Ilya had prepared because it was as far as could be practically prepared. If someone pressed further, they had two choices, they could try to talk their way out of it or they could draw first blood. The former was preferable to the latter because whenever someone made a traffic stop, there would be a check-in and that check-in would happen long before they reached their destination. That would put every police officer for miles on the hunt for a "large military convoy," which could not be easily hidden. Thus, everything had to be perfect. The vehicles had to be driven accordingly and that meant headlights on and taillights too.

When the entire convoy had passed onto Chernarussian soil, they halted yet again. Two men from each vehicle got out and quickly uncovered the taillights, ripping the tape off and stowing it inside of their vehicles. It took less than a minute to accomplish and from there, they were back en route, looking like nothing more than a large military convoy driving on the open highway at an otherwise ungodly hour. It wasn't necessary usual but neither was it unusual. In and of itself, they wouldn't arouse too many suspicions.

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Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 07:45 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk City Hall

Ilya watched the sunrise from his seat in the vehicle and noted the way the light changed the landscape ahead and around him. They'd been driving for hours now, snaking their way through southern Chernarus. For the first hour, they'd seen only a handful of other cars and trucks on the road. Even tractor trailers, which often moved at night, were sparse in these rural areas though there had been a dozen or so parked alongside the highway in designated areas, their drivers fast asleep. Ilya, and everyone else for that matter, had been watching out for police vehicles but none had been seen. Ilya thought that he might have seen one around 05:50 but no flashing lights had materialized and so he put the thought out of his mind.

After dawn, the traffic did begin to thicken ever so slightly, just enough to be noticeable but not enough to slow them down. Per convoy regulations, they were already going slow enough, maintaining only 65 km/h on the highways and sticking to the rightmost lanes. This caused some issues for vehicles entering the highway at the wrong time, forcing them to halt and wait for the convoy to pass. One inattentive driver even wound up missing his exit as he found out that he could not cut through the convoy to make is exit. His gesturing and screaming from inside of his vehicle were largely ignored by the drivers of the convoy. What did he think he would accomplish anyway? These men had rifles; he had a cup of coffee. By and large, drivers kept to themselves. A few honked horns and the soldiers waved, like soldiers do. "We are normal" was the message they were sending and the message was getting through.

Close to 07:00, their destination began to materialize ahead of the convoy and signs whipped past saying the distance, BIROGARSK 50 KM. To the north, it was lit from the side as the sun rose above the horizon and climbed its way into the sky. The volume of traffic increased the closer they got and they were within the city limits at 07:25, right on schedule. Minutes later, as they exited the highway and entered the city itself, the convoy split up into three sections. Ilya watched from his window as vehicles peeled away, five here, five there, the rest staying in tow. Here we go he thought to himself as they stopped for a red light.

The first five vehicles to separate made up Echo Platoon. Thirty-nine men in one light armored car and four trucks bumped along the road adhering to local speed limits and traffic laws. They kept in formation and turned away from the outer ring road and towards the city center. Behind them, traveling a similar route would be another thirty-nine men in another five vehicles, Foxtrot Platoon. That left the other four platoons as the main convoy, heading to a third destination.

Echo Platoon was led by a man named Artemiy, a rough man in his mid-thirties with more tattoos than visible skin it seemed. He smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, and had never lost a brawl. His men were incredibly loyal to him and he was incredibly loyal to them. Perhaps the most favored of all of the platoon leaders in the operation, there was a reason his platoon had been given the honor of "kicking things off" and that entirely rested on the man's capabilities and the capabilities of his platoon. In each and every evaluation, he and his men scored the highest. There was no disputing it. Foxtrot Platoon almost always came in second and thus that was why they were operating independently as well but alas, it was Echo's "time to shine," so to speak.

From his seat in the lead vehicle, Artemiy looked at his rifle between his feet and unhooked his seatbelt. He picked up the handset for the main radio and broke squelch five times, his unit's signal that they were good to execute. One break came in return, the affirmation to proceed as planned. There would be no further communications. Artemiy put the handset back and saw their target materialize two blocks in front of him. They stopped for a red light and Artemiy reached to the radio mic affixed to his left shoulder. Keying up the transmit button, he said only a handful of words but each man listening, which was his entire platoon, knew what those words meant. "Echo, option one alpha."

The light turned green and the vehicles moved forward. A block later, they sped up and sped right through the light as it was turning from yellow to red. No one on the opposite side of traffic dared to challenge them and moments later, they skidded to a halt in front of their main target, city hall. Artemiy and the thirty-eight men in his platoon poured out of their vehicles in seconds. Without orders they split into four groups with Artemiy leading the first group. With nine men in tow, they blew through the doors of city hall and immediately began to open fire. Behind him, nine men waited, the squad leader counting in his head to 120 for when he would burst through the doors and begin to attack. The rest of the men formed up around the vehicles providing full, 360° coverage to protect both the vehicles and the rear of the attacking squads. Nineteen men would go into city hall and Artemiy wanted all nineteen men to come out and be able to move right into their vehicles and not get bogged down in a gunfight.

Leading the first squad into city hall, Artemiy and his men fired indiscriminately. Everyone who fell in their sights would be shot. Their assault rifles barked rounds one and two at a time, each man maintaining full trigger discipline. They moved quickly and purposefully as one unit and then as separate units were necessary due to choke points. They didn't fire from the hip or spray rounds everywhere, instead they fired from the shoulder in controlled shots. One man carried a large, automatic weapon and he fired in short bursts, his rounds tearing through everything they contacted, whether it be file cabinet, walls, or flesh. Where they came up to closed doors, they kicked them in and tossed in grenades but they kept moving. Those in the rear protected those in the front and in seconds, the ten-man unit was in front of the mayor's office. They burst through, Artemiy laying waste to the mayor's secretary who was frantically trying to find cover.

Most in the city hall were still stunned. The lightning pace of the attack meant that people had little time to think and many froze where they were. Some dove under desks only to be shot by rounds piercing through the thin metal or wood. In the mayor's office, his secretary was hardly reacting when she was facing the barrel of an assault rifle. Artemiy's round caught her in the chest and send her flying backwards onto the floor, dead before she hit the ground. The men moved forward, slamming through the doors to find the mayor and some of his aides in an early morning meeting. Artemiy and his men opened fired, raking them with rounds, killing everyone to the last man by which point the second squad of nine men was moving into the building to conduct "mop up operations." Plainly put, this was a more methodical search of the building to kill anyone left alive. Wearing gas masks, they threw tear gas around to bring people out of hiding, lobbed grenades into offices and where they expected people might take cover, and they carried cans of gasoline that they dumped onto everything and anything flammable. Artemiy and his squad joined them and the slaughter continued unabated for five minutes, at which point they'd done as much damage as they needed to do and began to exfil out of the city hall though not before Artemiy and his men tossed matches and lighters into the puddles and pools of gasoline, instantly starting an uncontrollable conflagration that would ultimately burn the building nearly to its foundation hours later. In their wake, they left twenty-nine men and women dead, including the mayor and his senior staff. Twenty-one were wounded, some critically, few escaped injury all together.

Outside, Artemiy and his men began the second phase of their attack. Some men got into the vehicles; others walked alongside. They had a three-kilometer drive to make and they would do so causing absolute pandemonium along the way. They shot at cars, sending drivers ducking for cover; shot into buildings, shattering windows and ricocheting bullets into bedrooms and kitchens; and, they shot at people in the street. Their objective was two-fold, the first being to cause as much chaos as possible as to paralyze the city's first responders and the second was to grab hostages. Artemiy and Echo Platoon would cause a significant number of casualties on their three-kilometer trek and in the process take 165 people hostage, all of them at gunpoint. At first, they threw them into the trucks and then piled them on top of one another until they ran out of room. The rest were marched alongside the trucks, cowering at each gunshot. Those that tried to flee were shot and left to die. Those who stayed were allowed to live. Three kilometers later, they reached their secondary objective and, in their wake, more than a hundred people lay dead, dying, or injured. Dozens of apartments had been shot through, dozens of cars lay stopped in the middle of the road, many with their engines destroyed and steaming, immovable except by tow truck. Blood stained the pavement for three kilometers and anyone who survived it could only look up from where they'd hid and realize that in the blink of an eye, the wurld before them had transformed from a quiet Wednesday morning, to the pits of Hell.

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Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 07:47 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Police Headquarters

In much the same way that Echo Platoon struck City Hall, Foxtrot Platoon would strike their own target. Like Echo Platoon, they moved through the city adhering to all of the local traffic laws and they had a slightly further journey to make though by their own luck, they didn't run into anything but green traffic lights along the way. Sitting in the back of the second truck but the third vehicle in the convoy, Gleb looked over the seven men of his squad who were seated around him. "Cold as ice! Lock it down!" He shouted to them as he heard over the radio his own platoon leader's execute code. "All right!" The truck sped up and he felt it, knew what would come next and braced himself as the vehicle skidded to a halt. As it did, the rear gate was dropped and out poured his squad. He was the last to go, ensuring that everyone got off safely and once the driver climbed out, his nine-man squad was complete.

They moved quickly, assembling up on the front door of their target, the city's police headquarters and where all of the city's cops were dispatched from morning, day, and night. They would be in the middle of morning roll call, every cop for an entire shift in one place at one time. Normally, this would be suicide but owing to a very - until now - safety-oriented policy, policemen weren't allowed to be armed in the station. In fact, Birogarsk was one of the few cities in the country that had such a rule, largely born out of one too many incidents. Policemen retrieved their duty weapons from their lockers only when they were setting off for patrol, not before, and when they returned, they were required to deposit them back into the lockers before they proceeded into the station. Until this morning, it had never been an issue but when the first ten men of Foxtrot Platoon burst through the door and opened fire, the cops found they had no means to defend themselves.

Of course, this didn't stop them. Many ran to get their duty weapons, others picked up whatever was closest to them and charged. Virtually all of them were in their vests and outside of civilian employees and a few detectives, this might have saved them except that their vests weren't rated for the high-powered rounds out of Foxtrot Platoon's assault rifles and light machine guns. Those rounds tore through these vests with little effort and cops were felled before any could so much as touch a shooter.

Like with Echo Platoon, Foxtrot Platoon would attack with two squads. The other two would remain in cover for them against returning police vehicles, since it was shift change after all, and any potential reinforcement threats. By this point, the attack on city hall was well underway and reports were flying into emergency line switchboards of gunfire. Radio calls to the police units on patrol were firing off as well and then came nothing more than a haunting silence after the only dispatcher on duty reported, "Shots fired at HQ…request…" That was her last transmission. Her body would be found later, slumped over in her chair, her hand still clutching the ancient microphone, half of her head missing.

Gleb and his men moved in right behind the first squad, hefting the gasoline cans that would be used to light the building on fire. Unlike at city hall though, they waited on thirty seconds, mainly because they were dealing with a significantly more capable enemy than bureaucrats and civilians in city hall. In fact, it would be second squad that caused the majority of the casualties at the police station, shooting many officers in the backs as they tried to flank the main element. Wearing a gas mask of his own, Gleb tossed a pair of tear gas grenades shortly after entering and members of his squad tossed a half dozen more. Then they switched to the fragmentation grenades, throwing them into offices and behind cover, well away from where the main element was. The attack, not unlike city hall, was fast, very fast, too fast to be countered. The closest anyone got to the firearms lockers was six meters. When Gleb stepped over the officer's corpse, he recognized the man and for the hair of a second felt some pity for him. Months earlier, Gleb had worn a hidden camera and gotten a tour of the police headquarters and it had been this man who'd given it to him. What a small wurld, he thought to himself in that brief moment of pity before he continued on, signaling to his men to pour the gasoline. It would take them a little longer than it did at city hall to finish their attack but eight minutes instead of five, while it might seem like an eternity, was not long enough for any significant reinforcements to appear. Two police vehicles approached, lights and sirens blaring, and both of them were shot up before they got within fifty meters of the headquarters. The single policeman in each car was killed, the only armed resistance the city's police force could have mustered was no match for the high-powered, 7.62×39mm bullets of a light machine gun banging away at 700 rounds per minute. After both vehicles had been stopped, a pair of RPGs were fired into them, turning both vehicles into giant fireballs. City services were paralyzed.

Gleb and his men vacated the headquarters leaving thirty-nine officers and eight civilians dead, including the dispatcher, not including the two dead cops in their burning vehicles. Twenty-one officers and another nine civilians were injured, left to flee the burning building. In the midst of it all, no one knew that the city's police chief had been killed in his office by the blast of a grenade, his body peppered with enough shrapnel that he died almost immediately. Along with him, the most senior officers in the city's police force were dead or dying, unable to escape the inferno that the police headquarters became. Like city hall, the building would burn for hours but firefighters were left helpless, unable to combat the blaze as pistol and rifle rounds from the station's armory cooked off throughout the course of the blaze, each gunshot sending everyone for cover though no one would be killed or injured from the ammunition cookoffs that happened.

With the station vacated, Gleb and the rest of Foxtrot Platoon began their trek towards the same destination as Echo Platoon so that the entire force would be consolidated at one location, all 215 men in one spot, digging in, holding down a target with as many human shields as possible. Foxtrot Platoon's job now was to get more. They loaded up their trucks with some hostages from the immediate area and began the trek, it being five kilometers instead of three. They would cause more mayhem than Echo Platoon, shoot through more cars, into more apartments, and take 142 hostages of their own, treating them much in the same way. When the vehicles were full, they were marched alongside and anyone who tried to flee was shot and left to die. The men made sure not to kill these escapees but rather to led them fall to the ground and bleed out, screaming in agony as a warning to the rest. When they reached their destination, their hostages were added to a rapidly growing total.

In the wake of both Echo and Foxtrot Platoon's march, they would leave 149 civilians dead or dying and another 232 injured. The morning was shaping up to be the bloodiest day in Pojački history, including during the six-year Chernarussian Conflict. Casualties mounted, chaos reigned, and the city's services were utterly paralyzed. Cars blocked access for ambulance and fire crews, people cowered everyone, the echoes of gunshots sent everyone for cover, and most of all, no one could reach the city's senior police or political staff. Phones rang and rang and rang or didn't ring at all. People asked, "Where is everyone? Why are they not responding?"

Social media was absolutely on fire with thousands of messages coming in every second from the city's population. From there it spread throughout the internet. News stations would pick up the story faster than the Pojački government. Birogarsk was home to 67,239 people and on that morning, every single one of them with a social media account who wasn't dead, dying, or injured, was posting in all caps to hide, to take cover, to survive, begging and pleading for rescue, praying to their gods of choice, and wondering where everyone was.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 07:50 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

The first bursts of gunfire almost startled Ilya. There's no turning back, he thought to himself, not that there would be any turning back once they crossed the border. The organization couldn't swing another bribe like it had, couldn't keep up the secrecy for too much longer, couldn't hold back the rage that it felt much longer. The first few pops that rolled through the city streets undoubtedly came from city hall. The crescendo of chaos grew over the next few minutes as the gunfire from police headquarters joined. All of these targets were within five kilometers of where Ilya and the main force was going, which was the Birogarsk General Hospital, the city's main hospital, where they hoped to capture at least 300 or 400 hostages. Combined with whatever Echo and Foxtrot Platoons grabbed, they would have enough human shields to grind the Chernarussian and the Pojački governments to a halt.

Moving on the hospital, they struck it five minutes after the first gunshots and three minutes after the city's police force came under siege. Twenty-two vehicles came to a halt around the hospital and out poured 137 men, Ilya included. They had four, thirty-nine-man platoons that swept through the front doors of the hospital. Ilya watched as the lead platoon, with the man in charge, went first and then another and another until three had entered the hospital. Ilya wasn't in charge of seizing the hospital, the commander was. Instead, he was in charge of ensuring that all of their supplies and ammunition made it into the hospital. With thirty-nine men under his control, he quickly assigned eighteen of them to unload the trucks and the rest to hold the perimeter. People poured out of the hospital's many entrances, some running for cover, others running towards the trucks. Anyone who fled away from them was ignored, no sense wasting bullets but those who fled to them were gunned down as they approached.

Ilya never fired a shot, didn't ever pull his rifle from his shoulder. His job was supervisory and he was fine with it. He wasn't uncomfortable with slaughtering civilians; in fact, he'd been one of the early proponents of this operation but he felt no particular bloodlust to take part. He was more focused on the success of the operation as a whole and so he focused on ensuring the trucks were offloaded quickly. Crate after crate after crate was brought through the front doors of the hospital. All twenty-two vehicles would be offloaded. Radios were taken out of them and each one was swept over quickly to ensure there was nothing left behind before Ilya strode through the doors of the hospital. By that point, the building was largely secure. For sure, the ground floor was secure and no one else would be escaping. He didn't know it then but they had just seized a significant number of hostages, 748 in all between 442 patients and 306 employees. When Echo and Foxtrot Platoons joined them, they would have 1,055 hostages, far more than they could have expected. They were looking at 300 to 400 with an upper limit of 500. Now they had a little more than double, which would certainly complicate matters but, to Ilya, that was a problem to solve in the future.

The men went to work quickly barricading themselves into the hospital and corralling the hostages into a few areas so that they could be more easily watched over by the soldiers. They were also doing another sweep of the hospital, moving through it again, checking every room and closet, every office and lab, ensuring that no one was hiding and could either escape or attack them when they weren't looking. "There will be no John McClane's here today," Ilya said, referring to a famous Christmas movie that was popular not only throughout Chernodrinsk and Poja but the entire wurld. There was truth though, a single man could derail their entire operation if allowed to move through the area unchecked, communicating with law enforcement, causing absolute havoc. Ilya wouldn't have it, no one would, and so a thorough search was made. They would continue to search throughout the entire ordeal, manpower not being much of an issue for them.

Twenty-five minutes after they first arrived at the hospital, when all of their men were present and accounted for and the first group of hostages rounded up, Ilya walked over to the nearest station and looked around at the mess that had been left behind. It was one of the many nurses station throughout the building but this one in particular was of special value to Ilya and his group for this was the maternity ward. Dozens of new mothers and their infant babies were now hostages and when it came to hostage negotiations, no one was more valuable than new mothers and infant babies.

The man smirked as his eyes drifted over blood-spattered paperwork as he tried not to trip over a dead nurse at his feet, her eyes wide open, shock and horror written on her face to characterize her last moments on Eurth. "Pity," his voice emotionless and uncaring. These people weren't people to him, couldn't be people to him. They were traitors, traitors to the very genetics that made up their bodies, traitors to historical magnificence of Chernarus. "Pity," he said again, mocking the dead nurse as he picked up a phone and dialed a memorized number. It rang five times before finally being picked up, "Is this the Pojački Broadcasting Network?"

"It is," a young girl said, probably an intern, her voice youthful.

"Do you have a pen?"

"No."

"Please get one."

"Okay," Ilya could hear rustling in the background, rolled his eyes at this, and yet listened in silence. "Okay I have it. Who is this message for?"

"This message is for the traitors of Chernarus, the filthy swine that inhabit the government," he talked quickly, could hear the girl writing as fast as possible. "In Birogarsk this morning, thousands of traitors have been executed and ridden from this wurld!"

"Can you repeat that? 'Biro'?" The young girl was obviously not thinking, not understanding Ilya's words. She was just trying to get the message down.

"I will not repeat myself!" Ilya roared and then did, "Birogarsk, write it down! Faster! Thousands, do you have this?"

"I do."

"Thousands more will die if the Pojački government does not grant independence for Chernarus and hand over the illegal Chernarussian government to the people for trial and judgement for their treason!"

She scribbled as fast as possible and Ilya waited. "Okay and who is this?"

"This is the Chernorusskaya brigada Krasnoy Zvezdy!" The Chernarussian Red Star Brigade, a group designated by the Pojački government as a terrorist group, had just laid siege to Birogarsk, killed hundreds, taken over a thousand hostage, and were now proclaimed to the wurld that they'd done it, that no one was safe anymore, that the entire wurld as everyone knew it had changed in the blink of an eye. Slamming the phone down, he looked around the empty corridor, at the dead nurse, and then he saw it in her eyes, saw precisely what she had seen in her last moments, as he last breaths came from her body, just before her mind shut down and she passed, disbelief.

• • • † • • •

Poja · June 23, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter II
A Shattered Peace

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 08:23 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

"It's all over the news already and we're just stepping into a briefing now," Chancellor Jelena Jurić said into her phone, "yes I'll keep you updated. Thank you for your time." She ended the call and put the phone back into her pocket for the short walk down the corridor towards the secret conference room, otherwise known as the "SCIF." In the basement of the House of Magnates, the room itself was a secure place for the briefing of the most sensitive of classified information, being protected against electronic and other methods of eavesdropping, accessible only by people with special clearance. As Chancellor of the Konfederacija Poja, Jurić certainly had clearance but she had no special privileges, which meant that before she passed through the entryway, she had to deposit her phone and her smart watch into a signal-blocking bin outside. A sentry standing guard ran over her with a special wand, looking for any transmitters or electronic devices and then permitted her entry. Inside was already a dozen people and many more joined into a virtual meeting, their faces on the screens before everyone.

"All right, my apologies at being late, I was just fielding a call. Are we all here?" Chancellor Jurić asked and to her right, a man nodded. "Okay let's begin with the situation in Birogarsk. We're clearly late to this event since it's already all over social media and the news. Who's got information?"

"That would be me ma'am," answered Dragiša Zorić, the Minister of State Security. "Early this morning, a force of approximately two hundred individuals, believed to be from the CbKZ, laid siege to the city of Birogarsk. Now please everyone understand that all information right now is preliminary and thus subject to change. The attacks began at 07:45 at the city hall where several dozen of these terrorists attacked the city hall and lit it on fire. Simultaneously, they attacked the city police station with similar results, and one of the city's hospitals. Terrorists from the city hall and the police station then moved through the streets towards the hospital shooting at civilians, killing and wounding many, taking many others hostage. They are now holed up in the hospital with hundreds of hostages.

"Based on this information, we could be looking at up to a thousand killed or wounded between the attacks. We have been unable to reach the mayor or deputy mayor and they are presumed killed or grievously injured. The same goes for the senior staff of the city's police force. Contact was made with one officer who has given us an estimate of just ten on duty, unhurt police officers in the entire city of over sixty thousand. Rescue personnel are combing through the area around city hall and the police station but so far have been unable to make significant progress due to the sheer number of casualties. Fire services are on scene at both the city hall and the police station but are unable to work the fire at the police station due to detonating ammunition posing a severe safety hazard.

"As we can see from the news and from social media, this attack was highly coordinated and planned and the footage out there shows just how devastating it has been."

"How can we limit the dissemination of this media? It's heinous and should not be circulating, victims' families will be seeing what no one wants them to have to see." All eyes shifted to Chancellor Jurić for what was a very peculiar and unorthodox question.

"Ma'am, what you ask is not possible. We would have to shut down the entire internet, television, and radio for this entire country. Beyond breaking dozens of laws, the task itself is impossible. We must simply live with the information as it is being shared." Minister Zorić certainly had the ability to shut down the internet in the entire country but it was not something that could be done easily or without significant consequence, plus it required an executive order from the President, the Chancellor, and the House of Magnates all working in collusion unanimously.

Premier Iosif Tarasov, visibly uncomfortable with the request, pushed forward slightly in his chair and unmuted himself. As Premier of Chernarus, he was the governing authority in the region and until a national emergency had been declared, the one responsible for issuing orders and directives. "Ma'am, our focus right now ought to be on isolating the terrorists at the hospital so that we can limit further attacks around the city as well as providing on-site governing leadership. I have already put in an emergency order to police forces of nearby towns and cities to send aid to the city and have requested the mayor of Chelyamovsk to be our on-site, acting executive in the city. Chelyamovsk may only be thirty thousand people but it is the closest large city and time is of the essence."

"Thank you Premier," Chancellor Jurić answered. "Are we positive this is CbKZ?"

"Not yet but I would say we are ninety-nine percent sure given the reporting of the PBN, which stated that an individual claiming to represent the CbKZ called the station to take credit for the attack. We're working on tracing that call as we speak," Minister Zorić was definitely in the hot seat and could feel the questions starting to come; after all, as Minister of State Security, he and his departments had failed to keep the state secure.

"How did we not see this coming?" The questions began and each one that came in rapid succession from both the President and the Chancellor kept him in the hot seat yet he had the same answer each time. There had been no warnings, no indications, and nothing to suggest that the CbKZ could pull off such a brazen attack.

"Whoever within the CbKZ, if they are the culprits, planned this attack, they did so in a compartmentalized manner using only their most trusted associates. It is unlikely that the individuals who carried out today's attack ever communicated with anyone else or even knew what the plan was until they were either en route or in Birogarsk. The level of planning and sophistication suggests to us that, if this is the CbKZ, they are not only aware of our level of penetration in the organization but also aware that we may have individuals in high places."

"What's our plan then? We can worry about this later in the inquiry."

"Ma'am," Tarasov spoke, "I have directed police forces in the area to conduct reconnaissance on the hospital area and to report back what the situation is. In the meantime, as city services work on treating casualties, we have called upon all off-duty personnel to provide support to those services. Reconnaissance on the hospital does not need a large force and would not benefit from a large force. Manpower is needed at the crime scenes to ensure evidence is collected properly and that civilians do not impede upon the ability of rescuers to treat casualties. Police from mutual aid will be directed to provide support for both taskings throughout this morning." Tarasov himself had been a police officer for fifteen years before he'd been injured on the job chasing a suspect. The injury was all his own versus being attacked but it still garnered him an early retirement, after which he'd gone into politics, swiftly moving throughout the Chernarussian legislature to become Premier. This was now his second term in that office.

"We're facing a nightmare scenario here," President Petrović said from his own office in the Predsjednički Dvori not but a few hundred meters away. "Birogarsk is under siege by a well-armed, well-trained, and capable terrorist force. They have hostages and will be releasing demands. We have to limit the ability of these terrorists to control the situation, harder said than done. As per our laws, the Chancellor remains the ultimate executive authority at the federal level and the Premier at the region level. We must ensure that party politics does not hinder this situation. I am requesting that a state of emergency be issued to the military forces of both the Chernarussian Territorial Forces and the Pojački National Forces. Birogarsk will not be able to handle this situation with just police forces."

"I will authorize this Mister President," Tarasov swiftly answered, he'd already done so in fact. The Chancellor, on the other hand, was a little slower to respond but relented ultimately when the Minister of National Defense explained it would take several hours to put the level of military forces needed and that time could not be wasted with any delay to that decision.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 08:45 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

Ten officers were all that Birogarsk had for a police force that, as a whole, numbered almost two hundred. With off-duty officers being called in and a mutual aid request sent to the entire region, there was help coming but it would take some time to get there, which meant that the most senior officer on duty in the entire city was Vodnik Kirill Shubkin who went by the nickname Sasha and who only had six years on the job. Sasha had been on his way back to police headquarters for the end of his shift when someone foolishly blew through a red light in front of him. He might not have chased the suspected otherwise except it was the morning rush hour and pedestrians were beginning to the enter the crosswalk. Stopping this twenty-nine-year-old who was running late to work had saved his life.

With little to go off of except their own radios, he gathered his nine officers about five hundred meters away from the hospital, well out of its line of sight, and against the backdrop of screaming and crying civilians - both injured and hysterical - and the sirens of ambulances and other rescue services, he took stock of what he had to work with, which wasn't much. Of the nine officers, three were just one rank below him with four to eight years of service, four were a level under with between three and five years of service, and the remaining two were rookies, with barely six months on the job and they had eight vehicles between themselves, the rookies riding shotgun with the more senior officers. Luckily, they all knew the area well enough but unlucky for them, they didn't have much in terms of weaponry.

"Two shotguns and our pistols, that's all we got," Sasha said as everyone gathered around the hood of his car. They'd turned off the lights to remove the annoyance. "We're going to split into two teams, three and three, I want the rookies and you two," he pointed to two of the three seniormost officers, "to hang back in case we get engaged and cannot retreat. This is a reconnaissance job, we're not looking to get into a firefight, which means no one shoots first I don't even care if one of them is sitting in front of the door picking his nose naked." Everyone nodded, "We go weapons drawn, no sense getting caught off-guard. Shotguns stay back, one per rescue team. We're going to roll up closer and then go on foot. I'm leading the first team, we'll advance down Fontan to the front while the second team advances down Zhemchug. We're not getting too close, just need to get sight on the hospital and see the situation. No one needs to be a hero; we've lost too many men as it is and we're all we got right now. Questions."

A few minutes later they were off with their vehicles advancing separately towards the hospital. They moved without lights and sirens to a point just before the hospital but still well out of its line of sight. The two rescue teams moved up as well but kept just out of view, engines running, cars in drive, with only the driver holding the brake to keep them from rolling further. Each rescue team was in a rough spot. The rookies took the passenger seat, shotgun in hand while the senior officers sat in the driver's seat. "Your only job if we get called in is to just pour lead towards the shooters, you got it," went the conversation in one car. Terrified, because everyone was, the rookie only nodded. "We'll be fine just do what I say," another nod.

The two teams moved on foot now, weapons drawn. They watched every direction, kept low, and moved quickly using the buildings for cover until they finally reached a corner. "Once we pass here, we're in their view and they're in ours. You got it? Fingers off the trigger but get ready." He leaned around the corner with just one eye and looked around. "I've got multiple trucks, all parked, view is blocked. We'll use the trucks for cover. On me." He moved out, keeping low and moved up to the nearest truck barely ten meters away. With the trucks between them and the hospital, they moved alongside, checking each one quickly for anyone sleeping but the trucks were empty, which was something of a relief. They needed to do reconnaissance, not get caught up before they even got there. Moving up to the frontmost truck, they were roughly fifty meters from the hospital now but still covered by the vehicles.

Using just hand signals now, Sasha indicated he was going to take a look and he did, peeking out from around the front of the truck. "I've got the front entrance, multiple terrorists inside no one outside, windows I see plenty of armed sentries, roof nothing yet. Looks like they have the front door barricaded." He popped back around into cover. Behind him, someone was relaying that all over the radio. A similar report came from the other team. Keeping in cover, he indicated he was going to look again but this time things were different.

The gunfire began almost the moment he peeked around the corner of the truck and it came from several open windows higher up on the hospital floors. "Get back!" He shouted as he popped back into cover and shielded himself against the hundreds of ricocheting bullets pinging off the trucks and the ground. "Get back! Retreat!" He yelled as the men pulled back, keeping the trucks for cover. Whoever was shooting at them continued the fire and walked the fire backwards, likely tracking their shadows or their feet underneath the trucks though they did not have a clear shot. "Rescue teams hold! Hold!" Sasha and his men were okay, they weren't pinned down, no one had been hit, and they had good cover, there was no sense introducing another element that would not have the same benefit.

The rear team did the same, pulling back amidst their own engagement though it was unlikely they were seen with the same level of clarity as Sasha's team as the gunfire did not track them the same way. Pulling back around the corner, Sasha and his men quickly rested and looked over one another. By some spate of miracle, no one had been hit, not even by a ricochet. "I think that's enough," he said as he caught his breath, "back to the staging area, they are probably listening to our comms," no way they were ready for me like that, I doubt anyone saw me that first look." Back they went, returning to their staging area just a few hundred meters from the hospital, all ten men and their vehicles intact and everyone asking, even if they didn't say it, "Now what do we do?" Sasha didn't have answers.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 09:30 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernodrinsk | Ozyorsk District

Sergei groaned as he reached out to his end table and silenced his ringing phone, his eyes never opening, his body moving only enough to do this one task. He let his arm go limp, hanging off the edge of the bed and was able to go back to sleep quickly but that lasted all of two minutes before his phone was ringing again. This time he opened his eyes to see the time, barely 09:30, which meant he'd only been asleep maybe three to three and a half hours. He rolled onto his side and grabbed his phone, looked at the caller ID, and answered it, "Hello?" His voice sounded like he was communicating from the afterlife and not the afterlife with harps and angel wings.

"Sergei Usatov," a woman's voice on the other end said. It wasn't his name.

"Sorry you have the wrong number."

"Am I calling three-two-seven, two-two, four-eight?"

"Yes."

"Then I have the right number Sergei Usatov. I am calling in response to a survey you filled out…" Sergei's brain suddenly clicked and in that fraction of a moment, the hazy drunkenness that he still felt suddenly washed out as his body filled with chemicals. He was listening now, "Concerning your interest in television monitoring has been pulled. I'm sorry to inform you that based on our responses, you would not make an ideal candidate. Thank you very much for your participation."

"Bummer," Sergei said as he tried to decode the message in his head. "I'll try again next year."

"I'm afraid that we are ending this program early. Thank you." The call ended and Sergei looked down at his phone before swinging his feet over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Of all of the messages to receive, this was the direst. He'd long since been told that if he were to receive any message from a "television survey" that it would constitute a major emergency of a nature so significant that nothing could stop him from uncovering the details, even if it meant his own discovery, which was indeed what the last part meant. The "ending the program early" meant just that, his days were numbered.

With significant pain and effort, he leaned forward and grabbed his pants, fishing out the pack of cigarettes before lighting one. He didn't have to look too far to see what was happening as it was all over the news, all over social media, and thus all over his phone. "Jesus," he said as he smoked the cigarette and willed himself to stand up and head into the bathroom. Covered in sweat that had a scent of alcohol to it as his body worked to expel the toxins of several drinks too many, he ran himself a cold shower if just to rinse off more than anything else. He didn't need to look pretty he just needed to be functional and right now he was barely that, thus of little use to the Konfederacija Poja.

Sergei was a double agent, a Liari by birth but a Chernarussian by genetics. His family had moved from Chernarus to Liaria during the Chernarussian Conflict and Sergei, whose real name was Anatoly Rychenkov, had been picked by the Ministry of State Security for this type of work. He excelled at it but to do so meant that he had to take the bad with the undesirable and last night he'd gone toe-to-toe with a "good friend" in the CbKZ just to earn another level of trust with the man. Nothing indicated that the group was going to do anything and Sergei, as he rinsed off, tried to replay the previous night, looking for any indication or hint in the conversation that could allude to Birogarsk. Nothing was his final conclusion but in truth, he barely remembered much, so potent was the moonshine liquor they were drinking. He'd stayed in the shower for a little longer if just in some vain hope that his body would stop expelling perspiration and start soaking up the water to rehydrate him and kill the hangover that was already a massive marching band inside of his skull. His stomach was raw and he felt like he was on the edge of vomiting, knew that he wouldn't be able to eat for some time but thought he might try a cup of coffee, if just to try to take away the rawness that ached within him.

He knew what he needed to do, without even being told. He had to get with his contacts within the CbKZ and find out not only what was happening but how the hell it had been pulled off without so much as a peep. Sergei hadn't been apprised of the attack beforehand, he'd never even heard so much as a whisper about it or seen anything to indicate that it was coming. Had he, he certainly would have alerted his handlers to it.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 10:10 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

The scenes in Birogarsk remained chaotic. There simply weren't enough rescue personnel to deal with the catastrophe and even with the addition of fifty-two off-duty officers, it wasn't enough. Officers were on the way from other cities and they'd been trickling in but there was still significant coordination to be done. The ten-man group led by Sasha was still holding near the hospital while the fifty-two were being dispersed around to support the rescue efforts around city hall and the police station as well as en route to the hospital but they could only get so close themselves. By 10:10, Sasha's force was now bolstered by an eleven-man SWAT team from Chelyamovsk as well as fifteen other officers from Birogarsk, Chelyamovsk, and three nearby towns. With thirty-six, Sasha's force was essentially the largest concentration of police within the entire city. It also meant that Sasha wasn't in charge anymore, that fell to Poručnik Stepan Gusarov, a man Sasha knew well and respected enough.

Gusarov was now the third highest-ranking cop in the city, propelling him way up the list and essentially giving him the role of a kapetan. He was also now under tremendous pressure to make a move on the hospital, one that Sasha himself did not agree with given his own experience there just over an hour earlier. Still, he was outranked and Gusarov had the ear of everyone around him, even the rookies.

"We have a sizeable force now," he said looking at the men around him. "Reports of almost two hundred in the hospital mean we're not going to break the siege with just us but we cannot let these terrorists dictate the terms. They need to know that we're not afraid of them and we're not going to let them sit in the hospital with their hostages. If we can create enough chaos outside that might help those inside. SWAT is going to lead the way on this and I'll let Štab Vodnik Zhutov tell you what our plan will be."

Zhutov, the head of the SWAT team, was no stranger to these situations. "The front of the hospital on Fontan is inaccessible so our point of entry will be the ambulance entrance on Zhemchug. We'll advance fast down the road and then reverse through those doors with our armored vehicle, we do it all the time with drug raids. Once we break through the doors, flash bangs go out, and we move to engage the terrorists inside and free as many hostages as possible before exfil. Your job will be to cover us for exfil and make sure the hostages aren't shot in the back. Understood?" The officers, blinded by their helplessness and desire to do something, largely agreed. Sasha didn't nor would he and as Zhutov and Gusarov broke up the briefing, he took the lieutenant aside.

"Sir, this isn't a good plan," he said plainly but in a low enough voice that no one heard him.

"No shit but it's all we got. If we don't act now and keep them on their toes, they'll likely believe they are in a fortress and hole up here for days and possibly even longer. They're trapped in there so we have to treat them like they are."

"What if they execute the hostages? They've left hundreds of bodies in their wake coming here."

"They need them as bargaining chips, especially if we're able to get a few dozen away and get them to doubt their own ability to protect the hospital. Once we knock through that wall, they now have to guard that point and move everyone off the first floor. That gives us an advantage to trap them inside and work this before they can get too comfortable. Now are you onboard vodnik?"

"Sir." Sasha said and nothing more, knowing full well how poor of a plan this was. Minutes later, SWAT was leading a column of police vehicles, lights and sirens off, heading towards the hospital. Their vehicle was an armored truck, capable of withstanding small arms fire up to and exceeding assault rifles and general-purpose machine guns thanks to its one-and-a-quarter to four-centimeter-thick armor plating. Used typically in bank robberies and drug busts, one such vehicle had taken hundreds of rounds from three heavily-armed bank robbers with not one round penetrating the hull. It was the closest thing to a tank that civilian law enforcement had and it had proven invaluable countless times.

This SWAT team, in particular, was well experienced with bank robberies and drug busts, almost all of which involved heavily-armed criminals but heavily-armed criminals weren't the kind of shooters that were in the hospital. To say they were outmatched was an understatement that rapidly became apparent. The vehicle closed on the hospital rapidly, screaming down Zhemchug at nearly one hundred kilometers per hour. From the hospital, small arms fire lit up the vehicle but, true to its performance in the past, those rounds ricocheted off causing only cosmetic damage to the truck. Inside, the SWAT members held cool but some had a laugh at the pinging of the rounds, feeling invulnerable in it and their heavy body armor.

Behind them, the unarmored police cars were a different story. While the fire was concentrated on the SWAT vehicle, some was coming their way and the officers were largely ducking as rounds poured into their vehicles. Almost all of them stopped short and were relieved to see the SWAT vehicle close to its point where it would reverse into the doors. What came next could only be described as pure terror. From an upper floor, two men leaned out of separate windows and aimed what could only be described as tubes down at the armored truck. As it came to a halt and the driver threw it into reverse, those two tubes belched fire. Rockets streaked away from them and smashed into the roof of the vehicle just as it began to reverse. The armor plating, which was good against small arms fire, was useless against the high-explosive, anti-tank warheads of the RPG-22 rocket launchers. Each rocket was capable of penetrating forty centimeters of steel armor, never mind just four centimeters. The vehicle and its occupants stood no chance as it exploded into a massive fireball that blew the doors off and windows out from the sheer pressure of the explosion.

Two SWAT members tumbled out of the back, both completely engulfed in flames, getting less than a meter before they collapsed over, dead. The police vehicles, now getting chewed up, were quickly trapped as two more RPGs streaked down and nailed the last two vehicles in the convoy, killing the two occupants in each car. Sasha and his men poured out of their vehicles and quickly used them for cover while they attempted to retreat. A twenty-nine-minute gun battle would ensue leaving the entire eleven-man SWAT team and nine additional officers dead. Two more would be injured, one of whom was alive only because Sasha dragged him out of the line of fire and covered his body while an RPG detonated nearby. Bullets came from everywhere and even a response force, sent in to provide rescue, found themselves driven back by the gunfire. The CbKZ terrorists had trapped the cops and hoped to kill all of them in a funnel of fire and would have succeeded had they not had the forethought to break through the front doors of two buildings on Zhemchug and hide inside for cover while their vehicles burned outside on the street. It was a disaster, an unmitigated disaster, worse even than Sasha expected. Until now, no one knew that the CbKZ terrorists had RPGs let alone the ammunition to fire as much as they had. They didn't know just how much ammunition they'd brought with them but if the engagements of this morning were any indication, they certainly had more ammo than their opponents.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

OOC: By this point, the entire wurld would probably know some inkling of what was happening here since it'll be all over social media and basically the only thing being covered on Pojački television, especially the Pojački Broadcasting Network. If people want to post in any government reactions it might be about a week before I get to the next post so please have at it.

• • • † • • •

Edited June 23, 2024 by Poja (see edit history)

Poja · July 20, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter III
Demands

Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 10:55 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

Chancellor Jurić stared at the television screen on the wall, something of a blank expression on her face as she struggled to process everything she was being told by the President's senior advisor on security, Ružica Rak, who the President had personally designated to be his liaison in the unfolding crisis. A rising star within the party, the President had brought her into his administration shortly after his victory. Whispered rumors throughout party offices and the hallways of the Predsjednički Dvori attributed her success to a sordid affair between herself and the President but that couldn't be further from the truth. In fact, the real truth of why she was in that position had everything to do with her background, a background that only a handful of people knew. Shortly after her graduation from college, she applied to join the Ministry of State Security (MDS) and she was accepted but not into just any program but rather a very hush hush program for undercover agents.

It was in this capacity that she helped bring down one of the largest sex trafficking networks in the KP and she did it all from the inside. Having never been on the official books of the MDS, she took her leave of the organization after eight years undercover and found a significantly more stable and less threatening way of life in corporate security. It was from there that she had come to the attention of the party, chiefly because Dragiša Zorić knew her name. The rumors could swirl all they wanted but if anyone knew the truth, they would be terrified of just what she was capable of and even more terrified to cross her. No one survives eight years undercover in such an organization without doing any number of unsavory and despicable acts.

Ružica had only just started to explain the scope of the casualties between city hall and the hospital when she was quickly interrupted, "One moment," she turned away from the camera and towards someone else in the room, someone off camera, "Madam Chancellor, you're going to want to turn on PBN right now." Someone in the room with the Chancellor did it automatically, which snapped the Chancellor's attention right out of whatever endless hole she was falling into listening to the sheer scope of terror rampaging Birogarsk.

PBN was running around-the-clock footage from the hotel with a camera positioned on a rooftop a kilometer away from the hospital. The elevated position showed the carnage outside of and around the front of the hospital as well as the convoy of trucks that were now blocking the roadway. That footage was now minimized to the small graphic over the anchor's shoulder, otherwise known as the over the shoulder graphic or OTS. The stern faces of Rajko Popadić and Natalija Zebić were overshadowed by the voice that was coming through the audio. It was the first time that the wurld was hearing the voice of Ilya Salnikov, the same voice that had called the station hours earlier to proclaim that the CbKZ had orchestrated the largest terrorist attack in Pojački history.

"…We are in control of the hospital and all of the surrounding areas. Any further attempts to assault the hospital will be met with a wall of rockets and bullets! We have just demonstrated our capabilities to the police who foolishly attempted to storm this fortress! Now their bodies shall be burned beyond recognition, a just punishment for their betrayals against the people of Chernarus.

"We have two thousand hostages in this hospital including hundreds of women, children, and newborn infants. Do not test our resolve! They are mere human shields to us and we will throw them all in front of the bullets before you get to any of us. Do not call our bluff.

"In order for this situation to end," the two reporters were just letting the terrorist speak, afraid to interrupt him but also afraid to allow his message to be broadcast unchallenged. It was a no-win scenario for them. "The Pojački government is illegally detaining the following people…" Salnikov rattled off several dozen names, continuing to do so uninterrupted, "Next, the government in Chernarus must resign for 'treason against the Chernarussian people,' thirdly, there is to be an independence referendum in Chernarus that is to be held free and fair without meddling from Rugi or the traitors to the Chernarussian people, and lastly, the Pojački government in Rugi that oppresses the Chernarussian people must forgo any and all military objectives against the independent nation of Chernodrinsk.

"Our demands are non-negotiable. We have wired this hospital with two hundred kilograms of Semtex and we will destroy it and this entire block if we have to! Do not test us!"

"May I ask who we are speaking with?" Natalija asked, her voice almost trembling.

"I will only speak with Chancellor Jurić directly!" With that, the call abruptly ended.

"Did we lose them? Did the connection…" Natalija said to someone off camera, "It appears that the call was disconnected by the other end. There you have it folks, the demands of the CbKZ, the release of dozens of prisoners, the resignation of the Chernarussian government, an independence referendum in Chernarus, the cancellation of any future military plans against Chernodrinsk, and lastly, they will only speak with Chancellor Jurić directly. I implore the Pojački people to stay safe and let us hope that this situation can be resolved without further bloodshed. Continuing our coverage…"

The television was turned off and for a few moments there was total silence and then the room erupted with conversation. The same was happening with the President's office as well. "How could they air this shit; they're just playing into the hands of the terrorist letting their air their demands" were commonly spoken themes in both offices. The rooms were mixed between rage at PBN for airing the terrorist's phone call and acknowledging that they were in a no-win situation.

Then everyone's eyes fell back on the Chancellor and an uncomfortable silence lingered. "Madam Chancellor," Ružica spoke up, shattering that silence, "it would be unwise for you to negotiate directly with the terrorists. We have trained individuals for this."

"Thank you," she said, a rush of relief flowing through her. She'd looked ghostly pale until that moment and now color began to flush back into her skin, "Yes I would think that is the best. What are our real options right now?"

"Right now? None," Ružica said plainly, "we're not in a position to do anything at the moment but allow this situation to unfold further. Police and military units are en route to Birogarsk but we must take this terrorist's threats seriously. We have no way to independently verify the number of hostages or if they've wired the building with explosives, which means we have to assume that these claims are true, even if these claims are almost always an exaggeration solely meant to deter further action. We know there are hostages, we know they are well-armed, and we know they have no problem killing anyone who threatens them. We don't have much choice but to wait this out for now."

"We need to stand firm," Premier Tarasov answered from his own office, "the people of Chernarus must know that the government is not only on their side but that they have a solution for this crisis. They must understand that, in a time like this, it does not matter what political party anyone is or whether they are right or left of center. They need only know that there is complete and total unification against these terrorists. That we will protect every Chernarussian city and civilian from this madness."

"Mister Premier, we're working on that, I have an emergency session of the House of Magnates meeting shortly. We will stand firm against this threat and grant the necessary powers needed to resolve this situation effectively and quickly. We should have an announcement in the next two hours." Everyone looked at their watches. It was a little after 11:00 in the morning. "In the meantime, Mister Premier, what is the current situation on the ground?"

"Police are trickling into Birogarsk from other cities to reestablish law and order in the city though, truth be told, the emergency services line has been quiet. Not even the city's criminals want to take advantage of a situation like this, which goes to show they have more class and respect than these terrorists, imagine that," he shook his head in disbelief. "Right now, we have a cordon set up around the hospital for several blocks, no one in and no one out, though we are going door-to-door ensuring that people are aware of the situation and recommending they stay inside and keep their doors and windows locked. Anyone who doesn't feel safe we're transporting to a central point where we can offer resources and support. Schools are in lockdown. Once we have enough personnel, we're going to coordinate with office workers and other city workers to return to their homes in phases to ensure that the streets do not become gridlock, which would be an enticing target for further terrorist attacks."

The meeting was ended and the Chancellor found her way to the floor of the House of Magnates where the magnates were gathered, waiting on her arrival. She'd call the emergency session to order and put to task a major piece of legislation that granted emergency powers to the Chernarussian Premier as well as any military and law enforcement personnel on scene. The purpose would be not only to end the crisis but also to ensure that the terrorists didn't manage to get their hands on even more hostages as well as deter any vigilantism that might arise from the population of Birogarsk, including the family members of those trapped inside the hospital.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 13:18 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

For the past several hours, the House of Magnates had been abuzz with activity, all related to the unfolding crisis in Chernodrinsk. The Chancellor had taken the floor shortly before 11:30, looked at the magnates before her and thought momentarily about the hostages, "Today marks a dark chapter in our nation's history. I think I speak for all of us when I say that such acts of terrorism have no place in this or any society nor would anyone look upon the cause of these terrorists and sympathize." Heads nodded around the room. "It befalls upon us to fight this scourge today not in a faraway land but rather within our own borders where thousands of men, women, and children lay dead, dying, wounded, hostage, or forever scared by these heinous and cowardly acts. In order to do that, I stand before you with a request that is simple to ask but grave to comprehend.

"As Chancellor of the Konfederacija Poja and the representative head of government, the domestic policy of this nation is my ultimate responsibility, as it is yours as this nation's legislative body. Together, we guide this nation through our bills and our debates. We act within the confines of our laws, the guidance of our predecessors, and always in the best interest of our people. Therefore, I come before you this morning to ask that we open for debate and subsequent vote a bill that will grant myself and members I designate with certain emergency powers to end this crisis, protect the Pojački people, and rectify the crimes of today.

"I request these powers not lightly but out of necessity. As Chancellor, I am bound by limitations that you are all aware of, limitations that hinder the rapidly progressing situation in Chernodrinsk. I request that these powers be granted for the duration of this crisis and not one minute sooner or longer than is necessary to resolve this situation, free the Pojački people, and punish the cowardly terrorists holding them hostage, thank you." She stepped back from the podium and looked out at the magnates before her. From the start of this crisis, each and every one of them expected this moment to come before them and now that it was here, there was still some sort of disbelief amongst them. Is this really happening? They asked themselves over and over and over again.

Chancellor Jurić knew what she was asking and knew precisely how the press would play it but she had no choice. The situation was unfolding rapidly and even though she was the head of government, there were certain actions she could not take without consulting with the House of Magnates, without getting buy-in from the President, and so on and so forth. Overall, about two dozen such limitations hindered her ability to respond, which included her deployment of military assets. Even though warning orders had been sent out and military units were being moved into place, they could not physically act without getting authorization from the House of Magnates. With emergency powers granted, she wouldn't have to consult them on these decisions. It was a big ask, the kind of ask that many opportunists used to cement power that they would never give back. The Chancellor was not of that type of personality but it was a crisis that truly showed a people what someone was really like. Granting her emergency powers might be something that was never rescinded and could easily be abused to keep Poja in a perpetual state of crisis. It had, to a point, happened once already with the Pojački Emergency and the subsequent Chernarussian Conflict. When the Pojački Emergency was finally lifted in 1976, the country had forever changed because of it.

Still at the podium, the Chancellor waited for her first response, which came from one of the five Chernarussian magnates, a man in his late-forties who was something of a Chernarussian nationalist himself being the child of a militia leader. If anyone could see eye-to-eye with the CbKZ it was him but in truth he loathed them because he didn't see them as Chernarussian nationalists, he saw them as criminals looking to harm the Chernarussian people for their own gain. It was thus fitting that he should click on his microphone and with his loud, booming voice proclaim quite simply and quite succinctly, "I am in favor and I motion we skip the debate." One-by-one, the magnates voted and one-by-one, the vote was in favor to the point where the last vote came down to one of the few female magnates, the Dosniman Elmedina Besic who was in her third term as a magnate.

"It would appear we stand on the edge of unanimity," she looked around the room, "I feel a necessity to vote 'nay' to represent the Pojački people who would oppose this motion, as small a minority as they are but I trust they will understand my vote of 'yea' because even though they would not agree with emergency powers, they perhaps do not understand the necessity for them. A vote of 'nay' would have no impact upon the passing of this motion but it would represent them. I can only hope they will forgive me. I am in favor."

"Thank you," the Chancellor looked upon the magnates before her, "together we will end this crisis peacefully, with as few lives lost as possible, and we will punish those who did this. Our criminal justice system shall treat them fairer than they have treated their victims but such is the sacrifices we must make for legitimacy."

The session broke up while the paperwork was formalized, each of the magnates personally speaking with the Chancellor during the recess. When all was said and done, each affixed his or her signature with the Chancellor signing last. From there, they had only one more thing to do, which was to proclaim to the country and the terrorists that the Pojački government would not raise the white flag of surrender. At 13:10, they gathered, in totality, on the steps of the House of Magnates with cameras pointing towards them and journalists itching to ask questions, none of which would be answered. This was not a press conference; this was a statement.

Holding the signed legislation in her hand, Chancellor Jurić spoke to the cameras at precisely 13:18, the magnates flanking on either side of her. "This afternoon, the Pojački government stands unified against the threat of terrorism. In my hand is a signed bill granting emergency powers to my office for the duration of this crisis. I assure you, the people of the Konfederacija Poja, that I will use these powers solely to resolve this crisis and upon its resolution, I shall introduce a bill rescinding these powers and call for a vote. Each and every member of the House of Magnates has affixed his or her assent to this piece of legislation with unanimous approval. Let this be a message to the terrorists in Chernodrinsk.

"You will find no quarter; you will find no sympathy. Release the hostages and surrender immediately. You will be treated to a fair trial and a just punishment commensurate with your crimes. You will be treated better than those you have killed, maimed, and permanently scared today because the Pojački government is not the government of your propaganda but the government of a legitimate nation-state. We believe in fairness, equality, liberty, and justice. Release the hostages now." Her statement was significant if just because of the conditions it was made but truth be told, it lacked the kind of authority she wanted it to have. The CbKZ had all of the leverage and she had none. Surrendering to face justice was hardly a desired outcome, especially considering that many of the CbKZ terrorists had killed people, which carried the death penalty as a sentence. There was no incentive for them to surrender and as they planned this operation to be a bold and crushing statement against the Pojački government, they were hardly going to be swayed by the Chancellor's theatrics.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 13:25 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

Ilya Salnikov fished into his pockets for a lighter, a cigarette already smack between his lips but he was coming up empty, checking each pocket and then checking them again, patting himself down as if he were entering a high security area. "Who's got my lighter?" He finally asked and looked around to the men near him. He was one of five people, which included the man in charge of it all, standing in front of a television watching the speech from Chancellor Jurić. Faces hidden behind their balaclavas, their eyes focused on the screen and the words of the Chancellor save for Salnikov, who was more concerned with finding his lighter. It was distracting enough that the man immediately to his right, without removing his eyes from the screen, reached into his pocket, removed his own lighter, and held it out for Salnikov. "Much appreciated," Salnikov said as he took it and lit his cigarette. "That's better." He handed the lighter back.

"They take us for a joke," their leader said, his voice calm yet full of rage. "This Chancellor thinks that she is in charge, that we will listen to her, that our cause is but that of a petulant child throwing a tantrum on the floor. What must it take to get through to the leaders of this country? Is this not enough?" He finally turned away from the screen as the image cut back to the PBN studio.

"This 'condemnation' is just paperwork. It's so the government can provide something to its people, say it's doing something about this. It means nothing, of course they were going to do this. We've broken a number of their laws after all," Salnikov added, somewhat comedically, "I guess we'll just go surrender then. I'm sure they'll treat us fairly." The men around him shared a light chuckle only, their leader wasn't laughing, he wasn't feeling the same level of levity that they were.

"If the Pojački government cannot see the seriousness of this situation or of the validity of our demands, we're just going to have to make them see it. I would have thought this was enough but clearly they are thicker than I would have imagined," he turned to the men beside him, "I hardly expected them to just cave to our demands but to take this seriously, yes. These theatrics are nothing more than a pathetic attempt to tell their people that 'they are in charge.' We'll have to bring them back to reality." The man was fuming underneath his balaclava and it was plainly evident. "We must prove to the government that our demands are serious, that this situation is serious, and that we have the strength to do what is necessary to achieve our goals."

Salnikov swallowed as he knew precisely what was coming up next. "There is only one way we have envisioned that scenario."

"Only one way," the leader repeated. "Perminov, Krupin," he said to two of the men standing on the other side of Salnikov, "gather some support and see two of our guests to the roof. We must do what we've planned for in order to make it apparent to this government that we are not to be trifled with and treated like an act of teenage rebellion."

"Yes sir," the man named Perminov said as he straightened his back and, in a way, came to attention, the lighter still in his left hand. "Let's go," he said to Krupin and they left the room, their assault rifles in their hands as they excited into the hallway. He stuffed the lighter back into his pocket to free his hand. That left just Salnikov, their leader, and the third man who volunteered to assist, leaving only the other two remaining.

"Do you disagree with what we are about to do?" The leader asked, sensing the moment of hesitation that Salnikov had exhibited only seconds earlier.

"I do not, if I expressed any hesitation before it was only because I expected the government to take us more seriously. I remain committed to our cause."

"Good Ilya, very good," the leader patted him on the shoulder, "we must become the barbarians that we never intended to be in order to achieve victory. There is no other choice but you can sleep easily knowing that this decision wasn't ours to make. We are simply carrying out the only course of action available to us." Whatever justification their leader had didn't quite make it easier for Salnikov but they'd resolved to this when they signed onto the operation so many months earlier. "Come, let's keep our eyes on the television."

In the hospital, Perminov and Krupin had gathered three other men with them and found the nearest collection of hostages, who just so happened to be on the floor below. They had taken a total of 1,055 hostages since the start of their action and those hostages were scattered all around the hospital, grouped together to make them easier to watch over and to control. The group on the floor below was situated in an empty conference room, the table having been used to block the windows as makeshift armor while the hostages sat restrained on the floor. Perminov hadn't stepped into this room yet and, as he did, the first thing he noticed was the pungent smell of urine and sweat. Some of the hostages had soiled themselves and it was uncomfortably warm with all of those bodies in the room. Combined with fear, stress, anxiety, and every other emotion that the hostages were feeling, the pungent odor was hardly a surprise.

Two men stood guard in the room, each armed with a submachine gun and orders to kill everyone in the room if any one of the hostages tried to launch a revolt. Extra magazines and grenades hung from their bodies and two blocks of Semtex plastic explosive sat affixed high up on the walls of the room, a remote detonator plugged into each. Each block weighed 500 grams, which was enough to kill and maim not only everyone in the room but also to cause its collapse as well, which would surely kill everyone who happened to survive the initial blast. The detonator was in the pocket of one of the two men but the hostages wouldn't know which one or even if either of them had it.

When Perminov entered, the two guards straightened up and looked his way. "I need two volunteers," he said, looking over the hostages. They were a mix of men and women, adults all of them, ranging in age from their twenties to their seventies. "You," he pointed down to a man in his mid-forties who had been a patient though clearly not hurt enough to need to be in a room, "and you," he turned now to a woman on the other side. She was in her twenties, perhaps early thirties, it was hard to tell. "Both of you, stand up." They hesitated and Perminov, who lacked patience on a good day, pointed to his men who stepped through the crowd of hostages to get to them, kicking anyone who didn't get out of their way. Forcing the two hostages to their feet, the men swore and spat at them as they dragged them out of the room, following Perminov and Krupin to the stairwell.

Perminov led the way with Krupin just beside him and the rest of the group of men following, the hostages nestled between them, mostly walking under their own accord but certainly not moving at the pace that the terrorists wanted. There was thus a lot of pushing, shoving, and dragging as they went up towards the roof. "Let's go!" Perminov would shout at them as they ascended flight-after-flight, finally bursting through the door at the top and holding it open for everyone. It was there that the hostages, perhaps individually, perhaps through some telepathic connection, realized what was happening. Both immediately broke down, collapsing to the ground, becoming dead weight to the soldiers. Perminov cursed at them in his mother tongue, cursed their existence and their weakness as they were dragged, truly kicking and screaming, towards the edge where there was no ceremony, no fanfare, and no grandstanding.

The man was thrown first, his restrained body simply dragged to the low wall and lifted over by his feet, his body tumbling through the air as he tried to free his hands and grab onto something, anything on the way down. The woman followed seconds later. To the top of the roof it was about twenty-three meters, enough of a height that there was no chance either hostage survived impact and the dull thud that both of their bodies made onto the pavement echoed all the way up to the rooftop where the soldiers now looked down, completely expressionless through their balaclavas.

Inside of the hospital, Salnikov and their leader watched as the cameras had quickly cut from the studio to the roof, zooming in on the soldiers as they walked towards the edge. It was plainly evident that they were dragging people but because of the one-meter wall height, whomever they were dragging wasn't visible until they appeared over the edge and fell. The execution was caught on live television, images that would go out around the wurld, igniting a firestorm on social media and throughout the Pojački government yet, at that moment, their leader turned to Salnikov, his facial expression not unlike those who'd just killed the two hostages and said, emotionlessly, "Now they will know we are serious."

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 18:28 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Tactical Command Center

The afternoon had been rough, not just inside of the hospital for the hostages but outside of it for the entirety of Poja also. Government leaders scrambled, newscasters aired and reaired the footage over and over and over again, blurring out the bodies as they fell, as if that would somehow reduce the vileness of the act. "What you're about to see is disturbing," they would say and then air it again, "Truly horrifying images," they might add afterwards. From their studios all around the country - and the wurld - the journalists played up the attention in front of the camera while online it was a very different wurld. Rage and anger filled chatrooms, social media posts, and message board forums. Interactive gaming communities and chatrooms exploded with rage and emotion. Mods banned people in real-time by the gross, struggling to pull water out of a leaking boat with nothing more than a drinking cup.

On the ground in Birogarsk, the futility of the situation had become even more apparent. Attempts to retrieve the bodies were met with gunfire, a final act of cruelty that the CbKZ terrorists showed to the Chernarussian people, their government, and the Konfederacija as a whole. Police and paramedics would ultimately give up on their attempts, which had even included makeshift white flags of surrender, leaving the two bodies on the street in front of the hospital. The woman's eyes remained open, looking in blank and unnerving horror outwards as her corpse lay only three meters in front of the hospital's front door, blood pooled around her from where it left her body. The man was a meter away, hardly recognizable as who he had been before being thrown off of the roof.

A makeshift command post had been established two blocks away from the hospital inside of an electronics store, the owner graciously allowing the police to do so. He had a sizeable stock room that had allowed the police a good place to rest and recuperate from their multiple attempts to get to the hospital. Civilians and journalists crowded outside where police had established a cordon to keep them from interfering. To the civilians, the officers would say, "Go home, why are you here? Do you not have anything better to do?" To the journalists they would just shake their heads, "Why do you spread their messages?" Emotions ran high.

It had been that way all afternoon and now it was evening with the sun beginning to set on the western horizon. Streetlights would be coming on soon but the crowds surely wouldn't disperse, especially when a growing thunder and rumble echoed in the distance, growing into a crescendo until finally a military column of armored personnel carriers turned the corner, revealing themselves. Painted in dark green, forest camouflage, the eight-wheeled, steel-hulled vehicles with their heavy machine gun turrets and military markings moved in a neat column up the street towards the command center. There were fourteen armored vehicles in all, neatly arranged in a line with one light armored utility truck and two six-wheeled cargo trucks taking up the rear. The group halted just in front of the command headquarters and idled, the diesel engines rumbling and drowning out any regular-volume conversations. Journalists swung their cameras and yelled over the noise from the opposite side of the street to give their on-air narrations of what was just behind them and what had appeared.

From the lead vehicle emerged a tall officer with a slight potbelly bulging underneath his uniform. It was the uniform of the Chernarussian Territorial Defense Force and from the patches on his arm and his insignia, plus the obvious arrival of armored vehicles, he was with the land component of the TDF-CH, as it was known. The man walked into the command center where most of the police had gathered to see the spectacle and found the man in charge, introducing himself, "Major Pavel Kurochkin, Alpha Company, Fourth Battalion, 242nd Infantry Brigade, Motor, reporting." It was a lot to say but he was a man who'd said it many, many times.

"Major, I'm Jaromir Lytkin, mayor of Chelyamovsk, here on authority of Premier Tarasov. We've been expecting you for a while now, please come in the back and I will bring you up to speed." The two men, along with a handful of others, retreated into the stockroom of the store over to the makeshift command center. "Major, situation is really rough. City hall and the police station have been secured since you were last briefed by my team. The police station burned itself out and all casualties have been removed from the streets and treated. We've restored law and order to this city and crime reports are non-existent. Even the city's criminals don't want to take resources away from this."

"How kind of them," the major said matter-of-factly, "how many men do you have?"

"Two hundred in all from fifteen or sixteen different forces around Chernarus of varying ranks and places. We're using at least half to hold the cordons here, around city hall and the police station, and around the hospital. The other half are operating in two shifts around the city. We're expecting another hundred men by dawn to assist with the cordons. Everyone's pretty tired major but they're holding up."

"And what of the hospital? Give me the SITREP there."

"Are you aware of the executions?" The major nodded. "Well, they won't let us retrieve the bodies and we know they have rocket-propelled grenades so even your armored vehicles are probably vulnerable."

"They are," the major answered, having been apprised to the destruction of the SWAT team earlier, "and we can't bang away with our weapons without killing hostages. We have a potential solution though."

"I'm all ears major."

"Smoke grenades during the night and then we'll move up to get the bodies. They're likely to think it's an attack so it will be hazardous but we're willing to give it a go."

The mayor thought for a second but shook his head. "Let's table that for now. As much as I want those bodies off of the street, I don't think it's worth the risk. They're too well armed and fortified."

"Yes sir but we're here when needed. What do you need us to do?"

"How many men again?"

"Including myself, 131 sir. I have three platoons with thirty-seven men each and my twenty-man headquarters element, who will be setting up next door I believe?"

"Yes, that's got enough room for your men. Rotate your platoons around the hospital cordon, that's where they'll be needed the most. The men there are the most taxed."

"Will do, now do we have a direct line to the hospital?"

"We do but they only want to talk to the Chancellor."

"We'll see about that," the major turned around and issued orders to his men and then walked over to the phone. "Get me the hospital then." The phone rang and connected, Salnikov picking up on the other end. "Who am I speaking with?" The major asked.

"Who do you want to talk to," Salnikov toyed with him. "I want to talk to the Chancellor."

"This is Major…" The line went dead. Kurochkin fumed, "Dial it again." He did this eight times in a row, never getting past "Major" until finally on the ninth attempt, Salnikov let him introduce himself before hanging up and so the major continued and continued. He'd try all night long and Salnikov would keep hanging up, sometimes not even answering, toying with and trolling the man and the entire country.

"When the Chancellor calls, I will answer…"

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

OOC: As with the last post, there is no hiding this from the wurld. The events witnessed here would have been broadcast on the Pojački Broadcasting Network television channel, which I am sure is carried throughout the wurld. In addition, other news agencies inside of Poja would be in a frenzy with such an event. Please feel free to post reactions from your government, a random citizen watching television, a news agency, et cetera. Whatever your heart desires.

• • • † • • •

Edited October 21, 2024 by Poja (see edit history)

Poja · August 16, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter IV
Our Nightmare

Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 22:10 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Tactical Command Center

"We have to get the bodies off the street," Lytkin said in a rushed and panicked voice to Major Kurochkin. The major happened to be in the midst of an important phone call with a colonel in military intelligence and had been for the better part of the last ten minutes, the phone's handset wedged into the crook of his neck. He held up a finger to Lytkin, directing him to pause for a moment while he focused on the colonel.

"So far none sir but they're clearly watching the full sphere around the hospital," Kurochkin responded when asked about if they had any perimeter sentries posted. "One second colonel, I'm being handed something important," he pulled the phone away and immediately felt the stiffness and soreness from having been stuck in that position for the better part of the past ten minutes, "what did you say?"

"Major, we need to get the bodies out of the street."

"Just a few hours ago you squashed that idea. What's changed?"

"Just got a call from Tarasov," Lytkin had clearly been put under immense pressure by the premier, that much was evident on his face. "The Premier would like the bodies removed from the street so that we can begin the process of notifying the families."

"Bullshit," the major said, still holding his hand over the handset's receiver, "why wasn't that said before?"

"I don't know major but that's what he said."

"It looks bad on television that's why. Give me five minutes," he turned back to the phone call, "my apologies colonel. I've just been informed that Premier Tarasov would like the bodies of the dead removed from the street. What can you tell me about this? Anything? Yes, I know it's not recommended right now but are we able to do anything? Jam radios perhaps?" The major was looking as annoyed with the request as well as with the responses he was getting from the colonel. "No sir I don't think we can push back ourselves." Lytkin took to pacing around the room, nervously fidgeting. Clearly, Tarasov had impressed upon him that he could not fail in this task but just a few hours earlier, when Kurochkin brought up the idea, Lytkin tabled it. Kurochkin wondered if the mayor hadn't told Tarasov that minor detail and now didn't want to have egg on his face. "All right Colonel, give me whatever you got, thank you." Kurochkin hung up the phone and stretched out his neck, trying to work through the stiffness and soreness.

Lytkin was over in a heartbeat and his voice still panicked but his volume hushed, "What are our options major?"

"Come outside with me," Kurochkin grabbed a pack of cigarettes off of the table, plucked one out, and put it in his mouth. He lit it from his own lighter and returned the pack to the table before motioning for Lytkin to follow him. "We need more cigarettes, there's only two left," he mentioned to someone on his way out, which was the courteous thing to do and done throughout the military when it came to "community cigarettes," which was as much of a fixture in Pojački military TOCs as were headsets, keyboards, television monitors, et cetera. Jokingly, they were often referred to as the "T00 Cigarette," a play on the infamous "Mark I Eyeball."

Outside, Kurochkin walked over to a quiet corner with Lytkin so that they could speak in more hushed tones. "Level with me, why the panic? Not what, four hours ago? Three? We discussed this…"

"I hadn't consulted Tarasov. The bodies are being flashed on television and CbKZ propaganda all over social media."

"Ah ha," Kurochkin pulled the cigarette from his mouth and waved it at Lytkin, "now we get to the root of it. It is 'bad PR then'? Well, it is bad PR, I agree. Those bodies will start to decompose and rot, which will look even worse for PR. God forbid someone's child or mother or wife or husband or whomever catches a glimpse of their loved one's corpse. Listen, I agree we need to get the bodies but we cannot simply rush in gung-ho otherwise we'll be adding more to the pile."

"What can we do?"

"There's no moon tonight," he looked up at the cloud cover overhead and felt the damp crispness in the air. It was a cool night for early June and rain was on the horizon, he could feel it in his ankles and his knees. "That gives us the cover of darkness. We can kill the power to the area for starters. They might have night vision; we have to assume they do. That's why we'll need to use considerable amounts of smoke in the front and the back. They might take it for an assault and begin to fire wildly into the smoke. We'll need to make sure that we keep the smoke up for several minutes so that we can give them time to fire, reload, and consider whether to keep wasting ammunition. It's not a good plan by any stretch of the imagination but…" And at just that moment, someone appeared frantically in the doorway and looked towards both Kurochkin and Lytkin.

"Sir, they threw another one off the roof," the young non-com said loudly, his face ashen white even in the yellow glow of the door's overhead light.

"Dammit," Kurochkin cursed, standing up and tossing the cigarette on the ground. "C'mon let's get these f*cking bodies."

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Wednesday, 5 June 2024 | 23:18 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

"Cease fire! Cease fire!" The calls went throughout the hospital as the smoke outside began to thin and clear. "They've pulled back," someone else shouted.

"I want an ammo check, that was a lot of shooting," the leader said as he stood amidst a group of men who had all been brought together by the fusillade of outgoing gunfire. "And a SITREP, I want a SITREP, what the heck just happened?" Salnikov nodded and disappeared while the leader left the area with a few men in tow and went to what had become their own, makeshift command center inside of one of the hospital's numerous operating rooms. "I'm getting sick of this waiting!" He fumed. "They continue not to take us seriously. I am not sure we'll ever get through to these politicians in Rugi. How many of these mongrels must we throw from the rooftop?" Looking around the room at the half dozen men around him, Salnikov noticeably absent, their leader was starting to run into a wall. "Men, I think I am clearly running out of ideas. I suppose we can all hit our limits. Tell me, what do you think?"

A few ideas floated around but none were too significant or noteworthy. Outside of mass executions to get the attention of the Pojački government they had nothing to contribute. He dismissed them with some frustration and then took a seat in his chair and lit himself a cigarette. He was alone a few more minutes before Salnikov was knocking on the door. "SITREP."

"All right what happened?"

"Some sort of operation, perhaps diversionary, perhaps an assault, no one is sure. Power went out, smoke charges went off front and rear and kept going off while heavy vehicles moved forward. Sentries engaged with several clips each, one to four on average, the most was six, a particularly trigger-happy junior. Ammunition count isn't too poorly impacted but we'll have a speaking to with everyone. They just started firing blindly, no signs of any breaching attempts."

"They panicked. We lost power? I hadn't noticed." He had been resting with his eyes closed when the assault happened, awoken by the gunfire.

"Generators kicked in quickly, less than five seconds. We certainly didn't expect that when we planned out assault defense. We won't need the night vision."

"Let's not get too hasty, they could still knock out our power and those generators run out of fuel eventually. No, I doubt it was an assault," the leader said, "maybe body retrieval?"

"One possibility and a theory but it's all we have. Could have just been a probe to test our response."

"Could have been," he mused, "tell me something. I asked the captains but they came up empty handed. We're clearly not getting through to the government as well as we'd like. How to grab their attention?"

Salnikov thought for a moment, "We're confined here. The time to get their attention was when we were moving to the hospital this morning, before we stated our demands. Now we're hunkered down and they know we're not going anywhere."

"I'm working on that actually," the leader said, "our initial plan needs changing but go on."

"It's about pain compliance, we just haven't been dealing enough pain, believe it or not. They expect us to do this because we've already signaled that this is what we're willing to do. It's time to up the ante."

"I'm all ears."

"Beyond this brief moment of spark, I can't offer many details," Salnikov retreated. "I guess I'm better at the ideas than the execution."

"You certainly leant a considerable bit of thought to this operation. If only we could…" The leader stopped mid-sentence, "I know! I need our best RPG gunner."

"Shikhov, not a doubt in my mind."

"Bring him here. I have an idea." Salnikov left quickly to find where the young Grisha Shikhov was. Barely twenty-three, he'd joined the CbKZ as a teenager to make extra money for his family and he soon found that he had a love of violence. He grew within the organization and he was famous for being a crack shot with an RPG, so much so that Salnikov recruited him for the operation personally. It took Salnikov the better part of the next ten minutes to find him but when Salnikov succeeded and brought him up to the leader, he finally laid out the plan. Without any haste, the three of them moved up to the roof, the leader and Salnikov carrying their assault rifles, Shikhov carrying his submachine gun and around his back, a single-shot, disposable RPG tube, which weighed almost fourteen kilograms.

The leader and Salnikov moved onto the roof first in a low crawl, keeping down, scanning the buildings for snipers, knowing that they had to be out there. By keeping low, they used the roof's low wall for cover and, in doing so, were able to advance to the opposite side without giving any sniper a target. "Grisha, come," Salnikov ordered, "stay very low." The young grenadier complied and moved over to them, carrying the RPG instead of slinging it on his back where it would stick above the roof's low wall.

Once there, he prepared the rocket tube by flipping up the sights, arming the weapon, and removing the covers. While he did that, the leader stuck his eyes over the wall and spotted their target. "All right, this tall building there," he pointed, "right side there's a light on about halfway up the building, put it through the window."

"Yes sir," Shikhov answered, putting the rocket launcher over his shoulder. He got himself ready and then quickly popped up, sighted the target, and called out, "backblast clear!"

"Clear!" Salnikov yelled as he put his head down and stuck his fingers in his ears. The leader did the same and Shikhov pressed the firing button on the tube, immediately filling the still, crisp night air with the thunderous roar of a 125-millimeter rocket igniting and flying across the street into the apartment building. The round itself tore through the lit window less than two seconds later, exploding at virtually the same time, or so it seemed. In reality, there were a few microseconds between the penetration of the window and the rocket impacting something hard enough to trigger its fuse. The result was more than the men bargained for as a massive fireball erupted out of the now shattered window and every other window for that apartment unit followed by billowing, thick, black smoke.

"Holy shit!" Shikhov said as he dropped the tube onto the roof and got down, "the whole thing blew up."

"Hit a gas line I bet," the leader said, "good shooting. C'mon let's get out of here fast before they start shooting at us." In a hurried low crawl, they moved quickly to the door and then into the protection of the stairwell. For Shikhov, moving quickly without hefting the near fourteen-kilogram tube had been made a lot easier. The leader turned to Salnikov in the stairwell as soon as the door was shut, "When the fire trucks show up, I want a dozen guys and only a dozen guys to shoot at them. No more than ten rounds a piece, make them count and spread out the rounds, force the fire trucks around the other side. They won't be able to fight the fire."

"Genius," Salnikov answered with a smile.

At the command center, the inferno that had been unleashed was clearly visible over the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. Kurochkin was lamenting the failed attempt to retrieve the bodies, mostly angered that they couldn't even get one body for all of the trouble. The volume of incoming fire had simply been too great. Lytkin, who'd seen enough, grew a backbone and let Tarasov know that they wouldn't be attempting again, they simply couldn't guarantee a successful operation with how much firepower the CbKZ terrorists had. No one wanted a suicide mission to retrieve a dead body. For Premier Tarasov, the attack on the apartment building had been his final breaking point and he promptly called Chancellor Jurić and President Petrović to make the formal request for the deployment of special operations forces. That call was 23:40 and at 23:48, after mulling it over with the President, Chancellor Jurić saw she had no choice and authorized the immediate deployment of a special operations team to Birogarsk. Already on standby, the moment they'd get the order, they'd be on the move within minutes, having already prepped a light transport with all of their gear. It would simply be a matter of them flying to Birogarsk and getting transport to the tactical command center.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 02:19 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

It had been a long and trying day for the CbKZ terrorists and an even longer one for their captives. Most of the men had been up over twenty-four hours, some even closing in on thirty-six and forty hours. They'd all been instructed to sleep well prior to their departure from Chernodrinsk but many of the men found that their nerves had supercharged them with unwanted energy and thus didn't sleep. Since they'd stabilized the situation in the hospital and secured both the building and the hostages, the terrorists had been rotating sleeping cycles with men sitting down in quiet areas to try to get two or three hours of sleep but almost every attempt was interrupted by gunfire, hostages screaming somewhere, or the need for more men. To combat their utter exhaustion, not just from their lack of sleep but also from their many adrenaline crashes, they had one of Chernodrinsk most notable exports on their side, amphetamines.

The CbKZ made a considerable amount of money selling illegal drugs, chiefly those that they could manufacture in laboratories or in confined spaces. Amphetamines were their highest earners, which they produced very cheaply and sold for considerable sums to the criminal syndicates distributing illegal drugs throughout the Konfederacija Poja and elsewhere in the wurld. Five amphetamine tablets had been included in every man's basic kit for this operation. Salnikov had lobbied for more but he'd been overruled by the more cautious planners who worried that the men, many of whom were already frequent users of amphetamines, would abuse them and become difficult to control. It was noted that psychosis was a side effect of taking too much and any episodes during the operation could endanger its success. The men had been thusly told to use their pills sparingly. Most did but some were already down to just two or three pills, quietly inquiring with others as to whether or not "they'd need all five pills."

Yet, at this late hour, just over twenty-four hours since the operation kicked off, most of the men were exhausted beyond measure, pills or not. Those that were racking out in hallways and patient rooms, sleeping on the floor or against the wall, fighting for space on a bed, were in incredibly deep slumbers, their bodies craving for rest. Salnikov and the captains knew that times like these were the worst, it was when the men were at their weakest and when mistakes could easily happen. They made sure to keep themselves awake, taking shifts, patrolling amongst the men to make sure no one was catching any unauthorized naps when they should have been watching hostages or the perimeter.

Perminov had only just completed one of his rounds when the sound of a scuffle and of a fellow terrorist yelling caught his attention. Submachine gun in hand, he rushed down the hallway and around to another wing where he found one of his men and a hostage engaged in a fistfight. Perminov quickly shouldered his submachine gun and waded into the fray, kicking down into the hostage's leg and sending him crumpling to the ground in tremendous pain. "Thanks," the terrorist said, "son of a b*tch caught me in the nuts and got away."

"Because you're careless," Perminov dressed him down, "this wouldn't happen if you followed protocol. Where were you taking him?"

"The bathroom."

"Sir," Perminov corrected him again.

"The bathroom sir," the man straightened up, "to the bathroom."

"Let him piss his pants next time."

"It wasn't that sir and it smells god awful in there already," Perminov nodded at this. "I'll be sure to be more vigilant next time sir."

"See to it. Come, let's bring him to see the boss." Perminov lifted the hostage up but he just collapsed right back to the ground. "Stand up!" He yelled.

"I think you broke my knee," the hostage cried, gritting his teeth through agonizing pain.

"Yeah? Good! Stand up!" They hefted the hostage up and dragged him, screaming in pain, to see the leader who happened to be catching another nap. Perminov explained the situation and the leader walked over to the hostage, who had been leant against the wall, one leg off of the ground since he couldn't put any weight on it.

"Hurt badly?" He asked, a voice that was comforting and disarming, not at all what the hostage expected.

"I think he broke my knee."

"Well then let's get you treated. I'd take a look but I'm sure you'll just kick me in the face. Come," he led the three of them into a room and sat the hostage down in a chair, his hands still restrained around his back but now on the opposite side of the chair back. Escape would be impossible without getting caught up on the chair. The leader looked over to Perminov and to the other terrorist who'd needed rescuing. "You have to do better than this," the leader said to the man who was standing ramrod straight at full attention. "You've let this man become seriously injured because you needed help."

"It won't happen again sir."

"It certainly won't," the leader moved around behind the hostage, "come closer. I want you to apologize to this man, to his face. Of course he is going to try to break free, he is our hostage, it is his duty as it would be ours as POWs. You must respect it but not give them a chance. Come closer." The man obeyed and as he knelt down, the leader quickly pulled his knife from his belt, grabbed the hostage's hair, yanked his head up, and dragged the knife clean through his neck. Blood shot out of the wound like a burst pipe, covering the terrorist's face and clothes while the hostage, mortally wounded, struggled in the throes of death. The leader let go of the man's head and stood behind him. "You caused this." Perminov wasn't expecting that and stood, watching, understanding the lesson that the leader was teaching. "Now get rid of the body and I don't want to see your face for something like this again otherwise you'll be in this chair, understand me?"

The terrorist righted himself, wiped his eyes as he held back the feeling of vomiting, "Yes sir," his voice was fragile, shaky, filled with fear.

"Good and see to it that this mess is cleaned up too." The leader left, leaving Perminov and the terrorist to deal with the mess. The lifeless body would be tossed out of a window a few minutes later and the exhausted soldier would find himself cleaning the bloody floor and walls for the next few hours.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 05:48 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

Morning was coming to Birogarsk as the hostage crisis bore on with no end in sight. On the ground, soldiers, policemen, and government employees were growing weary with exhaustion as they kept constant with the situation. They'd split amongst themselves into varying shifts so that men could sleep while others kept the command center staffed and running but no one was sleeping well, especially not Lytkin who had spent the dark, morning hours drafting an emergency order for the city. With Tarasov's blessing, he'd long since enacted a state of emergency over the city and now he was expanding on it to force businesses within one kilometer of the hospital to remain closed for the duration of the crisis as well as force businesses to allow employees work from home if they had the capabilities to do so. He also added an extra measure to the order that would levy severe penalties on any businesses preventing this. The goal was two-fold. Firstly, they needed to keep the roads around the hospital clear so that official vehicles could move to and from without impediment; and secondly, they wanted people to stay in their homes, where they were safe.

The order came on the heels of a report that the cordon around the hospital had been breached at least nine times. Even with all of the soldiers and policemen guarding it, there was no way they could watch every meter of it at once. The reason the statistic was "at least" was because they'd caught nine people, there was no telling if more had breached the cordon and not been caught, which worried Lytkin and the senior decision makers, lest someone act too rashly or too stupidly and get themselves or others killed needlessly. It was one of two reasons that a pair of sniper-spotter teams had been deployed into the cordon. One was watching the street behind the hospital, focused more on the street than the hospital while the other overlooked the hospital itself.

That team consisted of the sniper, Mlađi Vodnik Yefim Dudin, and his spotter and team leader, Vodnik Leonid Sochinsky. They'd chosen a building across the street from the hospital, which had been evacuated of residents already and, entering from the protected side, made their way up several floors to the attic. They had a minor height advantage over the hospital, enough that they could see over the roof's low wall and cover most of it but not enough that they could negate the low wall's cover. They set up an elevated platform with a pair of tables that they reappropriated from a downstairs apartment and gave themselves a good, setback, prone position. Hidden in the darkness of both the night and the attic, they had a good view of the hospital roof while being extremely difficult to spot. Dudin extended out his bipod and set his sights onto the rooftop while Sochinsky worked the spotting scope.

Before they'd set out, Lytkin and Kurochkin had personally briefed the two men on their rules of engagement. First and foremost, they were there to observe the hospital and report back any changes. Secondly, if they saw a hostage being prepared for execution, they were to call it in and get permission to fire before they took the shot. That would fall to Sochinsky, who would operate the radio while Dudin concentrated on the target. In full agreement, the two men set off with salutes and handshakes. Now, with the morning sun rising, everyone could only wonder what was in store for the next day. The government was, in Lytkin and Kurochkin's private thoughts, dragging their feet, hoping for a solution to present itself rather than to come up with one. Many others wondered too what the plan was and the more removed they were from the top, the more they felt the same way that Lytkin and Kurochkin did, without knowing everyone agreed with one another.

Dudin and Sochinsky, whose position was identified as "Foxtrot One," had certainly felt tired by the time the sun was rising. A little over an hour later, they were jolted to attention when the roof access door swung open and three terrorists emerged dragging a visibly wounded and bleeding hostage. "Shit! Execution squad," Dudin remarked as he flipped the safety off of his rifle.

"Calling it in," Sochinsky pushed the transmit button for his radio, "Foxtrot One, we've got movement on the roof, three tangos, one victor, looks like an execution. Request permission to engage."

"Wait one Foxtrot One, need to confirm," came the response from the radio operator after a few seconds of delay, enough to tell Sochinsky that he hadn't been sitting in front of the radio.

"They're fifteen meters from the edge. Estimate ten seconds," Sochinsky didn't bother to tell them that the hostage was fighting, dragging his feet, and doing everything to prevent what was only seconds away from happening. The blood that came down his face showed that he'd had a head wound, perhaps he'd fought and caught a rifle butt to his head to take the fight out of him, or perhaps he'd fallen or been thrown into a wall, there was no way for the two soldiers to know for sure sitting in their perch. "Ten meters." In the command center, Lytkin was pacing while Kurochkin had been summoned. For his part, he rushed in quickly and the radio operator relayed the situation.

"Get me set up while they talk about it."

"Range one-two-five, wind quarter value left-to-right. Target is the one in front."

"On target," Dudin put the chevron of his scope right on the man's face. At this distance, his rifle was firing near point blank. The sight picture was large enough that a headshot wouldn't be a problem and, since all of the terrorists were wearing body armor, a necessity if they wanted to achieve a single-shot kill.

"Five meters, need a decision," Sochinsky said into the radio.

"Foxtrot One, clear to engage."

"Roger that Foxtrot One engaging," Sochinsky let go of the transmit button, "clear to fire." Dudin didn't wait and he squeezed the trigger, having kept the chevron right on target. The long suppressor on the end of his rifle suppressed the otherwise blinding muzzle flash from his P.60A2 Sniper Rifle and, more importantly, it kept the terrorists from finding sighting it. Because of the way the layout of the buildings was, the sound of the shot echoed off of every surface and structure, making it almost impossible to pin them down from sound alone. The combination meant that they could get off more shots before being located. "Hit, target down, stand by for next…" Sochinsky didn't get much else out before the two surviving terrorists, immediately realizing what happened, opened fire wildly spraying rounds forward and to the sides of their position. Rounds ricocheted against the exterior of the building and Dudin and Sochinsky immediately rolled off of their tables and onto the floor for cover. The snap of a round passing overhead told them that one bullet had likely embedded itself in the ceiling above them.

In the first few seconds after the lead terrorist collapsed to the ground with a split-open head, the other two terrorists did the same, using the wall for cover while they sprayed rounds around the area. In the brief few seconds afterwards, while one terrorist continued to fire suppressively, the other managed to wrestle the hostage to the ground and shoot him in the torso to prevent his further escape. Wounded, the hostage could do little more to save himself and, without further fight, wound up being thrown over the edge to his death on the ground below. The thump echoed into the attic where Dudin and Sochinsky looked at one another and cursed. Amidst more covering fire the two terrorists, leaving their dead comrade, retreated back into the safety of the stairwell.

Realizing that the firing had stopped, Sochinsky and Dudin popped back up to find an empty rooftop, the corpse of the third terrorist hidden by the low wall where they couldn't get a good angle. In that moment, all Dudin could say was, "We need a better position. That fire out yet?"

Sochinsky shook his head in both disappointment and agreement. He hit the transmit button again, "Foxtrot One, report failure, victor executed. One tango down, two escaped. What's the status of the fire? We need to reposition to a better overwatch."

"Roger that Foxtrot One, will get back to you," the radioman said, his voice not hiding the crushing feeling of defeat. One terrorist for one hostage wasn't great. Three terrorists and no hostage would have been ideal and Dudin could have done it except the terrorists had been significantly more prepared, capable, and ready than he expected. Their otherwise nonchalant demeanor clearly hid a significant wealth of muscle memory and training for combat scenarios.

"Next time we'll get them," Sochinsky offered. Dudin barely mustered a slight nod of agreement.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 05:52 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

"What the f*ck is going on!" The leader shot out of his subtle slumber as he heard the hammering of gunfire coming from the roof above him. All around the hospital, everyone who'd been asleep was coming to and the CbKZ terrorists were running around trying to figure out what was going on when, all of a sudden, the gunfire stopped and the stomping of men running down the stairwell filled the uppermost floors until finally, they burst out of the stairwell and only a few meters in front of Salnikov and the leader. Salnikov, who was about to start running towards the roof when the two survivors emerged, stood still and waited in quiet. The two terrorists, completely out of breath, their assault rifles smoking from having just been used to dump two magazines a piece into the air around the hospital, stood in front of the leader and Salnikov, hands on their knees, panting, "Sniper!" They said, practically in unison.

"You weren't careful," Salnikov yelled at them! "What were you doing up there anyway!"

"Perminov ordered another execution," one of them said, still catching his breath but no longer bent over like before.

"Stand at attention!" Salnikov ordered and they snapped to or rather tried to do so. "Why are you out of breath? You ran down the stairs! Have you cheated on your physical fitness requirements?"

"No sir!" Came their response, the leader now within mere centimeters of their faces. They could smell his breath and it was hardly pleasant, not that theirs was any better.

"Compose yourselves! Where's Perminov?" His voice was the opposite of Salnikov, calmer but hiding a churning rage.

"I'll go get him," Salnikov answered but he got only a few steps before Perminov appeared out of the same stairwell, assault rifle in hand. "Perminov present sir," Salnikov said, half in jest, half because there he was. He gave a nod to Perminov.

"Sir!" Perminov answered as he came to attention behind the two men, "reading the room."

"It seems we have a sniper problem."

"That would explain why there's only two of them," Perminov answered, "where is the body?"

"Still up there, we couldn't get it."

"You're undisciplined," the leader shouted at them. "Never leave a fallen comrade. Get your asses up there and get that body and bring it back here on the double!"

"Sir." They saluted and left into the stairwell leaving just the leader, Salnikov, and Perminov, the former of whom ushered them into his "office."

"Odds of their survival?" The leader asked as he shut the door behind the three of them.

"Fifty-fifty," answered Perminov, "depends how good the sniper is and how scared they are. My odds go in their favor. They survived the encounter already."

"The government is getting bolder," the leader leaned against the door. "It would appear that our caution earlier wasn't a bad idea." Salnikov nodded at this, unaware that the snipers hadn't been there at that time. "I want six hostages. Two go off of the roof, have those two morons do it. Bring the other four to me. Make them young and get the film crew. We're going to send the Chancellor a special message." Salnikov and Perminov smartened up and agreed, departing to relay the orders, Perminov to the roof team and Salnikov to the film crew.

All-in-all, it took about ten minutes before all six hostages, all in their late teens or early twenties were selected, four men and two women, and then brought to the upper floor where the leader was waiting with several other terrorists, Perminov and Salnikov absent though, everyone's faces hidden behind balaclavas including the film crew. On cue, the recording began. "It is time to show the Chernarussian traitors and their Pojački masters what the price for the death of one of my men is. Chancellor Jurić, I trust you will understand my message. You have killed one; I shall kill six!" The hostages all began to weep, two lost control over their bladders. The leader walked in front of them, sizing them up, "These two, bring them to the roof," he said of two of the men, a nineteen and a twenty-three-year-old. They were dragged away by their hair, kicking and screaming, soon to be cast off of the roof by the two survivors, who'd painstakingly and daringly recovered the body of their comrade already.

The leader then came behind the four remaining hostages and unholstered a revolver, emptying the cylinder and inserting one round before giving it a spin. He stood behind the first hostage, one of the men, and squeezed the trigger. The chamber was empty and there was nothing but the click of the hammer. "You are not so lucky," he said as he moved to the next hostage, one of the women. He squeezed the trigger and the blast of the hand cannon filled the room. Everyone's ears instantly began to ring. The round went clean through the eighteen-year-old girl's skull, blowing out the front of her face before burrowing into the floor in front of her as her lifeless corpse fell forward and onto the ground amidst a splatter of blood, skull, and brain matter. "She was lucky," the leader said as he repeating the reload. "Shall we try again?" He moved to the next woman and fired, a click, then the last man, a click, then back to the first man, and a third click. "One in three chance," he said, taunting them and the Chancellor as well. "How about we change it up?" He walked back to the man and fired, a click. "One in two, a click means the next person dies." He positioned behind the woman and squeezed the trigger but there was no click. The gun boomed again and her body fell forward, her face unrecognizable, all caught on camera. "Two remain, the unlucky ones," he reloaded his revolver and put it back into its holster. "Bring them and clean up this mess."

The two remaining men were carried away and into a hospital room, the same one that the leader had used to slit the throat of the hostage several hours earlier. Having been cleaned to his liking, it would soon be a mess again. "Put them there," the leader pointed to the wall, "you, film from over there," he pointed to the opposite end and the cameraman did as he was told. In the room was the leader, the two hostages, three terrorists standing guard, and the cameraman. On the roof, the two-man execution team was struggling to throw the first hostage off while not becoming a target for the sniper and as the leader finished positioning everyone, the first hostage fell, screaming the whole way down. "That's one," he let out a light laugh. "Gravity and traitors do not mix. The second one should be coming soon." In another part of the hospital, the two dead women were being thrown out of a window onto the pavement below where corpses continued to pile up, putting the government's weakness on full display.

"Who should we pick first?" The leader asked aloud, looking at the two hostages. "Someone behind me pick."

"The one on the left," someone answered.

"Fantastic. Roll the camera." The leader rushed forward and grabbed the hostage by the hair, dragging him down onto the floor, putting his knee into the man's back to immobilize him. The leader carried great strength, more than the hostage could counter. "Hold his legs and give me the machete." The three guards did as they were instructed, two grabbing onto the man's legs, further immobilizing him while the third unsheathed and handed the leader a razor-sharp machete. The leader positioned the blade, pushing his knee hard into the hostage's back before swinging down with such force that one blow was all it took to behead the hostage.

With that, he stood up while the body twitched as its nerves died, blood pooling out onto the floor. To the last hostage, he had something different in mind. Rather than behead him, the leader grabbed a large, orange pipe wrench and commenced to bludgeon the man to death, narrating to the camera how the government would pay. He did this for several minutes, delivering a final coup de grâce when the man was barely alive anymore. The camera was cut off and the leader, catching his breath from the exertion of the beating, rose to the cameraman and removed his balaclava. "We'll upload that in a few hours. Let's make it look good. I trust you to do a good job."

The cameraman struggled to find his voice, answering in a barely audible, "Yes sir." These men might have been "hardened terrorists" but few understood just how ruthless their leader could be. He hadn't shown it in training, not in the way that they saw it here and now.

"You three, clean this mess up and get rid of the bodies." They nodded and the leader walked out of the door, fishing in his pockets for a cigarette, nonchalant in his demeanor, as if he didn't just execute two people, behead a third, and beat a fourth to death with a wrench. No one in the Pojački government could prepare themselves for fighting this man.

• • • † • • •

Edited October 21, 2024 by Poja (see edit history)

Poja · September 5, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter V
A New Dawn

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 08:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

Dawn had come to the Konfederacija Poja and the nation was in a somber mood with the situation in Birogarsk hanging over their collective heads like a thick blanket of smog. The dedicated news stations were showing wall-to-wall coverage with few breaks while the local channels cut away from scheduled programming at every possible development, no matter how minor or insignificant. If the CbKZ terrorists had wanted media coverage to spread their cause, they certainly got much more than they'd bargained for, partly thanks to the internet, partly thanks to just how audacious their actions were. The media was completely saturated with the situation. The same clips of the morning attacks, of bodies going off of the roof - censored of course, of the remnants of police assaults were shown on a near continuously loop both online and by the news stations. If someone had seen the events once, they'd seen them a hundred times by now. It all boiled down to the audacity and the surprise. Something like this had never happened in Poja before and the Pojački media apparatus was simply too inexperienced in these matters not to dedicate every minute of programming to the event.

The amount of attention that the media had been dedicating to the crisis had been drawing the ire of Chancellor Jurić and other members of the Pojački government on a near continuous loop since the start of the crisis. On each and every phone call concerning the situation, the topic had come up and someone wasn't pleased with it but such was the product of a free society. The Pojački government had, on plenty of occasions, reached out to newspapers or other media agencies and squashed stories under the banner of national security or other various reasons but those stories were small in comparison and hardly as visually unfriendly as what was happening in Birogarsk. The government simply had no power to stop the news from reporting, on the news, despite some individuals' desires otherwise.

Thursday morning came with the tragic news of the events of the night before. It had not been a kind night and the Pojački government was losing at every turn. The CbKZ terrorists were always one and two steps ahead, or so that was how it seemed and how it had been playing out throughout the course of the siege. In the House of Magnates, Chancellor Jurić, her staff, and the rest of what had become known as the "Executive Decision Group" or IGO (Izvršna Grupa za Odlučivanje) were preparing to face the reality of the night. Gathering in various conference rooms across the Pojački capital, Novigrad, and Birogarsk, the various principles of the IGO one-by-one took their seats, muted their microphones, and waited for the meeting to start. President Petrović joined and did the same, which might have been considered "odd behavior" but in the Konfederacija Poja, this was a domestic matter and thus a matter for the government. The President was head of state; thus, it was and remained the Chancellor's show.

So, it would not be until Chancellor Jurić joined that the meeting officially began and it did so without delay. Already prebriefed on how the Chancellor wanted the meeting to start, Jaromir Lytkin unmuted his microphone. He and Major Kurochkin had retreated to an unused room in their commandeered building for the call, affording themselves privacy at a time when the IGO needed it the most. "Madam Chancellor, we have full casualty figures from yesterday's initial attack and throughout the night as of 06:00 this morning. They are sobering to say the least Madam.

"There are 593 total casualties of all kinds. Killed are 276 people, of which there are 167 civilians, 29 government officials, 11 hostages, and 69 policemen. Injured are 317 people, of which there are 264 civilians, 21 government officials, and 32 policemen. There were an initial total of 1,055 hostages taken, of which 1,044 remain insofar as we are aware. Throughout this entire ordeal only one terrorist has been killed Madam."

Everyone was silent for a few moments while the gravity of the figures sunk in around the various laptops and video screens. It was worse than the worst day of the Chernarussian Conflict so many years ago. "Thank you mayor," the Chancellor answered, her voice weak and hoarse. "It won't be long before these leak to the press so I urge everyone present to do their due diligence to ensure that, if asked, you do not provide any names or speculate on the condition of the hostages. Insofar as everyone is concerned, all are alive and that is it. We cannot give into these monsters. They're getting all of the free attention as it stands. They don't need more. Minister Tanacković, is there any update for military forces deployed?"

"Madam Chancellor yes we do. Shortly after 06:00 hours, a sixteen-man team from our special forces arrived on scene and has been liaising with Major Kurochkin and his men on site. Additional teams are en route, also from special forces. Right now, the situation is contained to the hospital. Cordons are currently being enforced by the major's men and I believe, Premier correct me if I am wrong, a second unit will be arriving today?"

"Yes that is right Minister," Premier Tarasov was nodding his head, "the major leads an infantry company and a second will be joining today. We shall have a third by tomorrow morning, sooner if everything goes perfectly."

"Very well, what does the MDS have to say about this situation Minister Zorić?"

"Madam Chancellor, the MDS is currently engaged in a number of missions. First and foremost, every registered operative working in Chernodrinsk has been activated to find out as much as possible about this operation, whether the shots are being called from Chernodrinsk or if it is being led independently. We're also looking to find out who is in charge of the operation, how long it was planned for, and what the end goal is. I'm afraid to say that so far, our operatives have been coming up empty handed. It is thus our assessment, based merely on what little we know right now, and I warn that this will change, that the operation was kept compartmentalized to a level we've never witnessed before. What that means is only those involved knew anything and even those people likely only knew pieces of the information. To do this successfully, you cannot have more than ten people planning an operation and outside of the core planners, anyone taking part in it wouldn't have known what the mission was, where they were going, or if it was even a mission and not just a training exercise until their departure from Chernodrinsk, perhaps not even until they arrived on scene. That much we do not know.

"What we can assess with certainty is that the CbKZ has been planning for this operation for some time. Analysis on the terrorists and their vehicles reveals that they were very heavily armed and well-stocked with rations. They've established a perimeter around the hospital that protects them from all four sides and even provides protection from our snipers. They rehearsed this mission multiple times, even if they did not know what they were rehearsing, and on top of it, they are coordinating effectively. No part of this operation, thus far, has been anything other than 'Plan A.' The CbKZ clearly knew how and where to strike us and that is what they've done."

The Chancellor felt the cloud of smog personally encircle her and pure dread ensconced her. "Explain to me how this was missed. What are our intelligence services doing?"

"Madam Chancellor," Zorić always had a defusing and disarming tone to his voice. It was uncanny that the man who was Minister of State Security, carrying a reputation that would make anyone terrified to be in an interrogation room with him could have a voice that was anything but hostile or threatening. "You must appreciate the measures which the CbKZ took. Each and every man they chose for this mission was likely vetted and vetted again. Not one of our operatives 'got lucky' enough to join this mission. Furthermore, up until this very moment, no one in this room, let alone in this government would have believed such an attack was even possible. What is transpiring now isn't as much a 'failure of intelligence' as it is our enemy evolving before our very eyes.

"For years upon years, our government, and I do not mean to single out this administration alone, allow me to make that clear; for years, our government has treated the CbKZ as a nuisance, not as a threat. Directives and policies towards the CbKZ tasked the MDS with a very limited scope on what we could do in Chernodrinsk and with the CbKZ. This government has allowed the MDS to do more than most but not enough. It takes years upon years upon years to build up operatives capable of penetrating the inner sanctums of these groups. If we started on day one of this government, it still wouldn't have been long enough. Years, decades were lost because prior governments did not think the CbKZ was threatening enough. Birogarsk isn't a 'failure of intelligence' Madam Chancellor, it is a 'failure of policy.'" The words went around the room several times like a shockwave around the planet. A "failure of policy" was putting it lightly. The Pojački government had flat out ignored the CbKZ except when they acted, treating them like a street gang at worst and a criminal mafia organization at best, not as a full-blown terrorist outfit. Years of neglect led to this day.

As the various individuals went around the room one-by-one, giving little tidbits of information that were necessary to the situation or answered questions that were asked, Minister Zorić sat in his place, quiet, his eyes following each and every speaker one-by-one. It was his manner, whether he was under assault - in this case from the Chancellor - or casually seated in a restaurant. It came from years upon years of tradecraft, of sitting across from spies and interrogating them, from all of the unsavory things he'd done in his long career as an employee of the Ministry of State Security.

When the topics had returned back to further military deployments, Chancellor Jurić was almost ready to adjourn the meeting when someone commented that the Pojački Broadcasting Network was, yet again, showing the censored corpses on the streets around the hospital. It immediately set off the Chancellor who knew that the inability to recover the dead was more than just an embarrassment, it was a spotlight shining directly on her helplessness as a leader. "We have to get those bodies. We have to identify them and inform the next of kin."

Major Kurochkin, who hardly desired another shootout, quickly unmuted his microphone, "Madam Chancellor, I cannot guarantee any success. The terrorists are fully aware of our intention and they are hellbent on preventing it. Unless we are prepared to fire an incredible volume of bullets into the building to suppress the CbKZ for however long it takes, this cannot be achieved, never mind that to do so would endanger every single hostage inside. We were lucky that we had no casualties in our last attempt. The only feasible solution would be a negotiated agreement with the terrorists to allow us to do this. We are at their mercy Madam."

The Chancellor was hardly in the mood for dissent. She was a firm believer in peace, an anti-violence and an anti-war stalwart who somehow worked her way up through the party ranks against all odds. Yet now she was fighting her own beliefs and facing a situation that she was hardly equipped to handle, which only brought out the worst in her. "Major, I want those bodies off that street."

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 09:17 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Zelenogorsk | Café Artyom

During the Chernarussian Conflict, Zelenogorsk was a stalwart of the insurgency. Throughout the entire conflict and even in the post-conflict years, the town remained a hotbed for Chernarussian nationalism. The original founders of the CbKZ had all hailed from the city, had spent their post-conflict years griping about what they saw as treason from the militia leaders who'd signed the peace deal. Even in this modern day and age, Zelenogorsk was still considered a hub for anti-Pojački sentiment though outside of leaflets and other nationalist literature, artists singing or reciting poetry in cafés, and old men griping about "the days of yore," there was little for Rugi to fear from the city. Of course, the Pojački government didn't quite see it that way and the Uprava Državne Bezbednosti (UDB) continued to keep tabs people it deemed as "local agitators."

Officially, the State Security Directorate, the UDB had an incredibly controversial history. Formed in the 1950s as a way to monitor communist infiltration of the Konfederacija Poja, they'd gotten heavily involved in fighting Chernarussian nationalism in the Pre-Emergency and the Emergency periods from 1963 to the start of the conflict in 1968. During the conflict, they worked counterintelligence against insurgent leaders but their successes were limited. They largely kept tabs on the Premier's political foes. Since the end of the conflict, they'd mostly returned to their old nemesis, far left infiltrators but they'd never truly let go of the foe that was "the Chernarussian nationalist." In essence, the UDB was Poja's secret police and they focused almost purely within the domestic borders of Poja so it was only natural that the CbKZ's terrorist attack would ignite their passions and, thanks to the Chancellor's new emergency powers, they had the carte blanche to do so how they pleased.

That morning, three dozen agents with the UDB descended upon Zelenogorsk with lists of places to visit and names to interrogate though, truth be told, the names were people who were going to get arrested, no matter what. Some names were for people who may have expressed sympathy with the CbKZ cause, others were hardened supporters. It didn't matter to the UDB, they had plenty of places to bring them, plenty of interrogation rooms, and plenty of patience to interrogate each and every one of them. Working mostly in pairs, they began their raids on the city shortly after 09:00, having moved inconspicuously into the city, blending in with relative ease. Amongst the first targets hit was the infamous Café Artyom.

Named after a legendary militia leader who'd been killed during the 1972 - 1973 Christmas Offensive, the café was a favored hangout spot for old insurgent leaders who reminisced about "the glory days" and often attracted the younger, more rebellious crowds. It was an interesting blend of past and present. Whatever that spoke for the future remained to be seen but at 09:17, when four agents of the UDB walked through the front door of Café Artyom, everything was about to change.

The lead agent walked in and up to the counter, passing tables full of patrons while his partner followed. Moments later, the next two men entered, the last of whom shut and locked the door behind him. With the click of the door lock and the subtle changing of the sign from "open" to "closed," the café fell silent. Two agents, unseen by the café's patrons were waiting outside the back door, making sure no one bolted, for if they did, they were surely hiding something.

The lead agent, who'd taken his place at the counter quickly turned around and held his badge up in the air for all to see. "Good morning everyone," he said, a malicious smile on his face, "no doubt you're wondering what this is all about. You'll know soon enough. Let's just ensure no one does anything particularly rash or stupid and, if you think you're going to exit that door, well I assure you that man," he pointed to the last of the four agents to enter, "will see to it that you do not. So, with that out of the way, we have some questions to ask of some people, some very specific people, so the rest of you aren't really our concern, as long as you don't make yourselves our concern, got it?" Some phones had come out to record what was happening and the UDB agents didn't even bother to stop them like they usually did. They wanted this to get recorded, to find its way throughout the internet, to send as much of a message to the CbKZ as to their supporters.

The lead agent walked over to a single table and loomed over the three men sitting at the table. All three, knowing precisely who these men where the moment they entered, had stopped eating and had put their palms onto the tabletop, showing no signs of aggression. "Gentlemen, funny seeing all three of you here," the lead agent said. "It's interesting that three terrorists would find the gall to be out in public while their buddies, well allegedly their 'former buddies,' right? While their 'former buddies' were murdering men, women, and children a few hundred kilometers away. You'd think they'd be in hiding, afraid to show their faces."

"We have nothing to hide," one of them said through gritted teeth. All three were in their mid-to-late forties and fifties, former CbKZ terrorists who'd been caught, tried, and sent to jail for their crimes. They'd been cleared back into society having been "rehabilitated" but that didn't mean the UDB didn't have to stop keeping tabs on them.

"Oh, I should think you would Oleg, or you Maxim, especially you Vadim," the lead agent looked back around the room. "Do you know Vadim here planned a series of bombings against school busses? Nice guy. Tell me Vadim, what makes you think you're ready to be back in society."

"I've renounced the cause," Vadim said angrily, "leave us alone. We've nothing to do with that."

"You probably don't that is true but I bet you know who is. Your networks, they talk a lot don't they. So tell me Vadim, what do you know?"

Vadim looked up and cursed at him, "Go to f*cking Hell!" He knew precisely what was going to happen even before it had and he knew he had no choice in the matter, no matter how he acted.

"That's the right answer," the lead agent reached out and grabbed Vadim by the collar, hefting him right out of the chair. As he did, the other two men started to rise but they got but a few centimeters up before two of the other agents were on them. "Right f*cking answer," the lead agent quickly threw Vadim to the ground, making sure he slammed through the chair on the way down. Almost instantly, a commotion filled the café as patrons dove out of their chairs and away from the now six-person melee that had begun as the UDB agents physically beat the three former CbKZ terrorists, slamming them into walls and tables, breaking chairs over their backs, kicking and punching them, doing as much damage to the café as they did to the three men. It wasn't even a fair fight, the UDB agents absolutely pummeled the three men and, in the same process, absolutely trashed the café. When all was said and done, the three men, swollen and bleeding but clearly not too seriously injured that they'd need urgent medical care, were thrown into handcuffs and escorted out while the lead agent, hanging back, looked around at the mess, the same malicious smile on his face.

"Being a terrorist is one thing. Playing nice with terrorists is another thing. I hope you were paying attention." He turned and left, turning the sign on the door back from "closed" to "open." By that point, a van had pulled up and all three of the former CbKZ terrorists were being roughly thrown inside. Within minutes, videos would get uploaded to the internet and by the end of the hour, they would be spreading far and wide. It gave the bots and trolls plenty of ammunition for their ongoing crusade for Chernarussian nationalism and anti-Pojački tirades.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 10:35 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

If the day had been going poorly for Chancellor Jurić it was about to get worse as she was ushered from her office and into a secure conference room where the video screen was showing both Major Kurochkin and Mayor Lytkin on one side of the screen and Minister Zorić on the other. She didn't bother taking a seat though her aide did as the door was shut behind them. No one wasted any time and Lytkin cleared his throat as he began to speak, delivering the news. "Madam Chancellor, at 10:01, police forces executed an attempt to retrieve some of the bodies around the hospital. Using smoke grenades to hide their movements, they aimed to get at least a few of the bodies. Once again, the terrorists prevented any attempts to retrieve those bodies with high volumes of accurate fire. Police further withdrew from the scene with five injured and two dead."

The Chancellor shook her head, "We need those bodies…"

"Madam, there is more," Lytkin interrupted, "in response, three additional hostages were executed and their bodies added to the many collecting on the pavement. They have cut off all contact with our negotiators believing that this was an assault on the hospital despite our assurances otherwise. Once again, they've reiterated their call to speak to you and only you directly Madam."

She looked down at her aide who subtly closed his eyes and almost imperceptibly shook his head. "I won't be doing that," she looked back up at the screen and also the camera. "We will need a new plan that does not involve them believing this is an assault." As the major was about to say something, Lytkin very visibly reached out with his hand and put it on the man's arm, restraining him.

"We'll get back to you Madam Chancellor."

"Good," she turned now to Zorić who had sat quietly, listening like always, "Minister?"

"Madam Chancellor, I'd like to speak with you in private. Gentlemen, I am afraid I have to ask you to leave if you have nothing further."

"We're done Minister," Lytkin responded, "thank you Madam."

They dropped, leaving just the Minister, the Chancellor, and her aide. "Privately Madam Chancellor, I apologize but your aide must not be present."

"He has clearance…"

"Madam Chancellor, please, I do not believe he has clearance for what I am about to tell you." As she was about to interject again, the aide stood up and motioned that he was leaving which he did. When the door was shut, and only when the door was shut, Minister Zorić unmuted his microphone, having muted it while the aide was departing. "What I am about to tell you is for your ears only. I'll be informing the President as well but that is the limit of who shall know outside of a small working group within the MDS.

"At 07:50 this morning, we intercepted a phone call from the hospital to an individual we've been surveilling in Chernodrinsk. That individual is a high-ranking commander in the CbKZ and he has been on our radar for quite some time. We've largely been pinning down his movements and cataloguing his activities. We believe the phone call was made from the leader of this group. The substance of the call itself was deeply laced in code, which suggests to us that the CbKZ may know we're listening to their phone calls, or perhaps it is to confuse anyone within earshot, we aren't sure. Regardless, we are currently working to identify that individual. We're running it through our voice analysis systems presently."

"Why was this not brought up earlier Minister?"

"I was only made aware of it twenty-seven minutes ago Madam Chancellor. The discovery was made by a compartmentalized group. They did not pass along the information as they were still in the process of verification. Forgive us Madam Chancellor but our goal is to be certain of what we have before we pass it along."

"I want to know the moment you get a match. How long will it take?"

"They could have it in the next thirty seconds, it could take ten hours. The system works through a supercomputer but there are a lot of voices to check and recheck. The moment we have both a match and an independent verification I will advise."

"Good," she ended the call and went back to her office. The failure to retrieve the bodies had cost the lives of five more people and five others were in a hospital receiving treatment for their wounds. All would make it but they would carry those wounds for the rest of their lives.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 11:50 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Projevo District | Ministry of State Security

The soundproof booth was a relic of decades past but for Ankica Vučković, it was her home away from home. The forty-nine-year-old audio technician spent more hours of her day inside of the booth, blocked from the sounds of the outside wurld, headphones pressed up against her ears, just listening. She had at her disposal a small sound mixer that enabled her to play with the audio any way she wanted. Sometimes she was listening for background noise to identify where a phone call was taking place. Sometimes she listened for something very specific such as a church's bells or a station announcement to place the time of an audio track. Other times, such as now, she listened to voices. Ankica was extremely gifted in this regard and as she sat in the booth, her eyes shut so that her brain only had to process the sound coming through her eardrums, she felt more at home and more at ease than anywhere else.

Ankica had worked with the MDS all of her adult life and so she knew no other profession. Of course, it helped that she was especially good at it. In her left ear she heard one voice and then, in her right ear, another. They were the same voice, of that much she was convinced, the two samples taken at different times and by different methods so there were subtle differences and so she listened over and over and over again. Men in suits were waiting outside of her office, waiting for her to confirm what the supercomputer had told them but if this gave you the impression that they were impatiently rushing her, they weren't. Ankica was well respected for her abilities and if she needed five hours, she'd get it. It was how voice print analysis worked in the MDS. The supercomputer matched the voice to a name and a profile but it was Ankica who gave the final nod. She was given three separate voices, always three, to match against the sample and she had to pick which one matched. To her they were just voices since she never got names or details but her work was absolutely essential.

Convinced now, she listened a final time. The first voice was close but too low, the way the man pronounced certain words simply didn't match up at all. The second voice was it, the voice that she was convinced was the match and so she listened again. Yes that is it, she thought to herself as she cycled to the last. It too was close, very close indeed, almost as if she'd received two samples of the same person but she knew that was not how it was done. There were subtle differences in certain words, certain inflections but beyond that there were little other differences. It's number two, she listened again, positive in her assertion. She'd been wrong before; after all, she was human but it wasn't very common.

Taking off her headphones, she unlocked the door to the booth, stepped out, and straightened her dress before opening her office door to the trio of men waiting outside. "Number two," she told them, "number three is very close, very close indeed but I am convinced it is number two." They thanked her and watched as she deleted the audio track files she'd been given, a common practice, and went on their way to inform the Minister directly.

"Name's Leonid Strelkov," the Minister listened, "fifty-eight, a senior commander with the CbKZ. We believe he led a volunteer unit in the Garindinan Civil War with the Communist Front so he has combat experience. He's definitely up there in the organization's hierarchy but we didn't believe he was as serious a player as this."

"It's a match?"

"Supercomputer pegged it at 95% and Ankica gave us the rest. We threw a curveball at her this time, only two voices with one of them intentionally altered. She picked out that one and recognized that it was very close. We're confident in her selection."

"What else do we know about this Strelkov?"

"Not a lot, a few known aliases, limited information about what he's done with the CbKZ. Certainly nothing about this. No psyche profile."

"Leonid Strelkov," the Minister repeated, "I'll inform the President and the Chancellor. Let's dig up whatever we can. This is the highest priority right now." The Minister dismissed them and turned around in his chair, picking up a phone in the process. "Mister President…"

• • • † • • •

Poja · October 6, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter VI
"Check!"

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 12:30 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

Chancellor Jurić sighed from her desk as she stared at the television screen. Underneath her sat the barely eaten lunch, a salad that she'd picked a few vegetables from and nothing more, that had been fetched for her from the cafeteria by one of her aides. The television had been permanently left on the Pojački Broadcasting Network and she'd alternated between muting and unmuting it depending on what was happening both in her office - whether she was on a call or not - and what was on the broadcast. She'd unmuted it now to listen to yet another unencumbered tirade by the terrorists' spokesman on live television listing his demands, including direct negotiations with herself. She barely registered the light knocking on the door before it opened, giving way to one of her multitude of staffers. This one in particular was a young woman in her mid-thirties, tall and naturally beautiful, who'd given up a burgeoning career in modeling to "change the wurld."

"This is ridiculous," the Chancellor said as her aide sat down on the other side of the desk and handed over a sheet of paper. She leaned back and adjusted her skirt hem before crossing her legs. "They just keep airing this shit," she picked up the sheet of paper, "what am I looking at Elizabeta?"

Elizabeta Đorđević leaned slightly forward and reached out to point to the top of the sheet, "Madam Chancellor, the latest polling data…" She was interrupted by the Chancellor's hand.

In the background, the terrorist spokesman was proclaiming, "…And we will pile up the bodies the longer this Chancellor stalls! We'll see what lasts longer, her obstinance or the people in this hospital."

"You see?" She pointed at the television before picking up the remote and muting the volume, "Do you see? You hear this shit?"

"Yes Madam Chancellor," Elizabeta responded, "the numbers you see are the latest polling data."

"Who's conducting polling right now?" The Chancellor's mind was a frazzled mess right now, jumping from point-to-point. She hardly let a thought rest long enough to understand it as the stress bore deeply on her ability to think and to act clearly and logically.

"Madam Chancellor, every news agency, every political partisan group, our party, the opposition, everyone is polling right now. The current data you're looking at," Elizabeta didn't want to be interrupted again so she didn't give the Chancellor a moment to get a word in as she spoke quickly and somewhat forcefully, "shows a litany of responses to questions posed. The problem Madam Chancellor is that the questions being asked do not take into account the reality of the situation but they do take into account the general perceptions of the Pojački people and how they are responding to this crisis." The words were beginning to sink in now and Chancellor Jurić looked deeper at the numbers, trying to understand them, instead of just skimming the page.

"What's this number highlighted, question fourteen?"

"That's our problem Madam Chancellor and why I'm here. Of all of the questions asked, that is our biggest problem. The question asked was, 'Should the Pojački security forces storm the hospital and eliminate the terrorists at the expense of the hostages' safety?'"

"Ninety-two percent in favor?" Her voice rose. "Are they mad?"

"The people want blood Madam Chancellor and that parlays into the next six questions, all related to your direct performance on this matter. To put it succinctly Madam Chancellor, the public is overwhelmingly against your handling of this crisis but not just that, they're overwhelmingly against you as a leader as well."

A fit of anger took hold of her and she crumpled the paper and flung it across the room, slamming her fists onto the tabletop, "And we should cater to the whims of the public who know nothing of strategy, tactics, who do not even have the full picture? Who only have what is regurgitated by the news pundits over and over all day long who know nothing? Who conducted this poll!"

"Rugi Research," the words stung the Chancellor, immediately grounding her. Rugi Research was the only non-partisan polling outfit in the country that could boast never having taken a single dinar in donations from any political entity. They were the crème de la crème of polling agencies in the country. Every political party used their data, swore by it, lived by it, died by it. Chancellor Jurić was polling more unfavorably than any Chancellor since the Pojački Emergency.

"We won't be giving into the demands of these terrorists and I'll be damned if I negotiate with them. Rugi Research, the party, every party, every pollster can just shove their questions down their throats. The public is outraged, of course, who isn't? They demand immediate action because a thousand lives aren't in their hands. It's easy for a news pundit, a pollster, some no one on the street to criticize this government's handling because they have no skin in the game. I am here to save each and every life in that hospital that I can. Every, single hostage that goes off of that roof or out of a window is another failure on our part, not because we aren't storming the hospital but because we're facing an enemy that is beating us. They're beating us because we value the lives of our people; they do not. If our men storm that place they'll be hundreds of dead and then what will the people say? They'll be complaining that we stormed it and didn't think of the hostages' lives! No! I won't have anyone telling me to let a few hundred people die just to resolve the situation to everyone's desire, you tell them!"

Elizabeta stood up and nodded, "Understood Madam Chancellor," and then turned on her heels and walked out of the office, leaving the door shut behind her. Within the whispered conversations of the Chancellor's staff, everyone could see that she was cracking under the pressure. Idle thoughts wondered if she was truly up to the task of governing and managing this crisis. She was a peacenik and that was fine for peace but Poja was now thrust into a wartime scenario and it needed a wartime leader and in no way was Chancellor Jurić a wartime leader.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 13:28 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Tactical Command Center

"What is that? It's so small," Lytkin said as he looked at what could only be described as a miniature toy. He put on his glasses as he struggled to see the details on something so small, so close to his face, and in the otherwise poor lighting of the stockroom where he, Kurochkin, and a half dozen GPO commandos had gathered.

"It's a micro drone, a miniature UAV, we're going to fly it into the hospital and see if we can get eyes on the situation inside," responded the man holding the drone. He'd identified himself only as "Vodnik [Sergeant] Black." Every other one of the GPO men, when introduced, was either introduced as Vodnik Black or Vodnik White. Their uniforms didn't bear any name tags, rank insignia, or unit patches. They looked more like an outfit of militiamen or mercenaries than they did members of the Pojački Special Operations Forces. "It has a forty-five-minute battery life and a range of about six kilometers. Obviously, the forty-five minutes goes fast if you have to fly that far so we're going to get ourselves up close and launch."

"How does it fly?"

"Small little joystick and tablet," he pointed to a commando who was showing the tablet, which was a blank screen right now. "We'll be able to fly it inside and see what's going on in there, ideally we can get a location on the hostages and see if they have this place really rigged for detonation."

"Is it risky?"

"Turn around," the commando said.

"What?" The commando pointed and Lytkin turned around. Not ten meters behind him was one of the drones hovering. "I didn't even…"

"Exactly sir, it's quiet and it's tiny. Open your hand," Lytkin did, "in the darker-lit areas it's harder to spot," the little micro drone moved closer and dropped down into Lytkin's open hand before powering down. "We've used it very successfully in high-risk situations."

"We have no idea what's happening in that hospital," Kurochkin hovered in the background, "we need to get an idea what's happening inside."

"Absolutely," Lytkin responded with a nod of the head too, "I am in agreement but," and here some hesitation showed, "what do I tell the Premier and the Chancellor if they spot this and start shooting a bunch of people. Can you guarantee me that they won't see this? That they won't find it."

"No," the commando answered, "it's very possible that they will see this and not only disable it but murder some of the hostages in reprisal. If that should happen, and we must recognize that there is a good chance it might, these aren't amateurs we're dealing with here, we must be forthcoming."

"We'll advise the Premier and the Chancellor, together," Kurochkin paused while he lit a cigarette, "that this was our only chance to learn what is happening inside. we have no eyes in there." Lytkin nodded.

"I have to defer to you Major, Black, it's your show," Lytkin answered before handing back the micro drone, saying as he did, "before I drop it."

"Please don't, they're not cheap," the commando smiled and handed it over to one of his men before the six of them disappeared out of the door. They moved quickly out from the tactical command center and into the cordon zone, keeping away from any line of sight to the hospital. They would position themselves in the same building favored by the snipers holding overwatch, which offered them a line-of-sight for the drone's radio datalink where the operator, holding it in his hand, powered up the 168-millimeter-long drone and watched it climb a meter over his head. The datalink was established and, on his tablet, he could see what the drone saw. Carefully, he flew it out of the window and gained altitude so that he could approach the hospital without being seen. Flying up to an open window on the uppermost floor, he called out, "Ready to make entry." The tablet was recording everything that was being seen for later review.

"Proceed inside," Black answered.

Carefully, slowly, the operator moved the control joystick to let the drone peek into the open window but not yet enter, just to see if anyone was around. The high-definition video showed no one and so the drone was flown inside where he kept it high, near the ceiling, moving slowly and cautiously. "We have explosives," he called out almost immediately when he saw the block of Semtex plastic explosive affixed to one of the floor's support columns. "Pressing on," he pushed the joystick slightly forward and the drone moved down an unlit corridor. There wasn't much to find on this floor, there being only a handful of terrorists and none guarding the entry stairs, which was important information. If they could make entry from the roof, they would have minimal threats on the top floor, allowing them the ability to make a stealthy entry into the hospital. "Voices," he said as the drone began to pick up the muffled conversation of two men from inside of a room, "can't get any better than this." He left the drone hovering nearby, recording the muffled audio for future review before he pulled it back and quickly flew it out of the window before it was discovered by a roving patrol of two men. "Four to eight on the top floor," he commented.

"All right we've got any open windows on the next?"

"Negative," the drone operator said as he flew around outside, back at a higher altitude, looking at the full 360° view of the hospital as he orbited around it. "Two floors down."

"That's where they toss the bodies from," Vodnik Black remembered, "be careful in there. If we get seen it'll be in there."

"Roger, let's move slowly." The drone dropped in altitude and, like before, approached the open window carefully. He flew inside moments later and moved the drone quickly out of the way and up to the ceiling when he saw a quartet of terrorists standing nearby. The drone immediately picked up what they were saying, and in much better clarity, recording it all onto the tablet.

"Back it off," Black said, looking down at the tablet. The drone operator did so without comment and the drone pulled back a few meters, hiding around a column that was on the floor. "More explosives, look," Black pointed out another charge wired to the wall across the room. "Zoom in on that," the operator pushed a button and the screen zoomed right onto the explosive charge. "Radio."

"Bet the head guy has the detonator. We don't get to him, the whole place goes before we're two floors down from the roof."

"No shit, get us away from these guys and let's see if there's hostages. Much more activity here so bound to be some."

The drone moved away and turned around, flying slowly, quietly, sticking near the ceiling. Flying a little deeper into the hospital, the screen began to glitch once, then twice. "We losing the signal?"

"I think so, let me get…" The operator was cut off one second later as the drone screen glitched again and he could hear shouting. "Shit!" There was the report of gunfire a second later and the drone's signal dropped. "Well, we're cooked," the operator said, listening to the gunfire roll down the street. "Send another one?"

"Pull back, mission abort." The team packed up and shook their heads. Both the terrorists and the Pojački commandos were skilled but the terrorists also seemed to have all of the luck, while the Pojački commandos had none. Before Black and his team return to the tactical command center, the terrorists executed two more people, leaving their bodies in the street to rot with the others.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 15:37 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

The Chancellor let her head hang as one-by-one the comments came and the overwhelming opinion of the IGO was that the terrorists had the government at their complete and total mercy. "They hold all the cards right now," Minister Zorić's voice echoed above the silent hum of the many electronic devices running around the room. "I am afraid that all of our efforts, including our latest attempt to get some reconnaissance information, have been met with failure. We have been unable to change the course of this situation one bit and our enemy knows it and knows that we know it. Our options are less than limited, they are virtually non-existent. If we launch an incursion on the hospital, they will kill hundreds of hostages if not all when they detonate the explosives. Our own men will be killed both from the firefight and the explosives. There are a thousand hostages to consider. These terrorists have shown no lack of commitment to killing them left and right, sometimes in the most horrific of ways. We are left with one only choice."

"No!" The Chancellor raised her voice, her head now looking out over the table in front of her and the faces on the television screen at the opposite end. "We cannot give into their demands. We do not negotiate with terrorists."

"Madam Chancellor, that only works when we hold an advantage. Right now, we have none," Zorić pressed.

"Andrej you must have something to say about this," the Chancellor called out the President directly, who thus far had remained silent. From where he sat across the city in the Predsjednički Dvori along with several other Cabinet officials, he could see as clearly as everyone else. Sitting back in his chair, his tie somewhat askew and his appearance vaguely unkempt, like a man who hadn't gone to sleep in two days, he looked down at a pen in front of him and gave it a spin.

"I think the Minister is right," he wasn't defeated nor did he sound it but he was a man backed into a corner, like everyone else. "We hold no cards, no advantages, we cannot even get close enough to pull the bodies out of the goddamn street without incurring the wrath of gunfire and the deaths of more hostages. We don't have a choice. They want to talk to you directly Jelena, we have to give them what they want. Maybe it is the wrong choice, maybe it is the right choice, maybe we should have from the start, I don't know. But it is our only choice. They've made that choice for us, if that helps."

"It doesn't," her voice trailed off, "does anyone think otherwise?" Silence filled the room. "I think it's a terrible idea."

"Madam Chancellor, that may be the case but there are 283 reasons to do this," Minister Tanacković of National Defense said, "the bodies are piling up Madam."

"Two hundred and eighty-three," she repeated the number aloud as if that was what it took for her to understand it. "Two hundred and eighty-three," she repeated it again. The room was in silence. Confidence in the Chancellor was beginning to wane by all but her most diehard of supporters, almost bordering on mutinous levels. Several people had, in hushed whispers and behind closed doors, urged President Petrović to step in and exercise his powers to seize authority from the Chancellor, which was provisioned for in the Treaty of Rugi. However, the Treaty of Rugi was purposefully vague about the power and stressed that it only be exercised in times of national crisis and dereliction of duty and while this was certainly a national crisis, the Chancellor was hardly derelict. The Chancellor was not incapacitated nor was she willfully ignoring those duties. She was certainly going about things in a way that people did not approve of but they were neither treasonous nor negligent. For President Petrović, any suggestion that he seize authority was quickly and immediately squashed with prejudice. Without any other choice, beholden to the majority, Chancellor Jurić looked blankly across the table, "What time is it?"

"15:37."

Eyes all turned to the Chancellor, "I want a strategy on this in the next twenty minutes. We'll reconvene then and I'll place the call at 16:15. Now if you'll excuse me," she stood up, "I need a moment with my thoughts." As she left the room, everyone stood, affording her the respect of her office but the moment the door closed, it turned into pandemonium as everyone seemed to be speaking at once, both to the whole room and to those closest to them.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the President said, his voice amplified above the din, "let's not waste time speaking at once. Strategy. Minister Zorić, your suggestions please…"

As Minister Zorić spoke, the Chancellor made a beeline for her private bathroom. She felt nauseated as the pit of her stomach fell out through her legs and through the floor below her as the spectre of what she was about to do dominated the only thoughts inside of her head. She wasn't in her bathroom more than two minutes before she was face down over the toilet, violently heaving up everything she'd eaten and drank that day. In a matter of seconds, her stomach was empty. With her mind racing at Mach 10, she felt a sense of deep, heavy fatigue come over her and she carefully sat down on the floor resting her head against the wall, her skin covered in a cold, clammy sweat, her head throbbing in sync with her pulse.

Jelena Jurić was a believer of peace. How she got this far in the party was anyone's guess, especially since Ujedinjen Poja was considered a right-wing party that had a strong belief in militarism. Regardless of how she'd done it, she was here, Chancellor of the Konfederacija Poja, the head of government, the person who'd been called out by the CbKZ terrorists and who'd been "making the decisions," insofar as everyone was concerned. In truth though, the decisions that had been made thus far had been made by committee with the most important of decisions put to a majority vote of the IGO. She was as much a decision maker as was each and every person on the IGO and thus the responsibility was shared. She could stomach shared responsibility because it kept her out of the hot seat, hardly a quality one wanted in the head of government but she'd never been tested like this before and she was ill-equipped both from a doctrinal standpoint and a personality standpoint to handle his crisis and she couldn't simply "walk away" now. Now the decisions would be hers and hers alone. There was no hiding from it behind "the committee" anymore.

Within a few minutes, she found enough strength to pull herself off of the floor, flush the toilet, and splash some water on her face. Some color had come back into her complexion but she still looked hollow. Best you'll get, she thought to herself as she patted the water from her face. Tossing the paper towel in the trash, she left to find Elizabeta waiting outside.

"Madam Chancellor, they're ready for you," she said as she looked at her watch, "do you need me to bring you anything?"

Elizabeta tagged along, the Chancellor saying nothing until she tugged the meeting room's door open, "Coffee please." Elizabeta nodded and went about it while the Chancellor entered the room, her nerves still wound up with no sudden rush of strength or resolve coming to her. She took her seat and stared over the many faces that comprised the IGO. "What do we have?"

"Madam Chancellor, I think it prudent to set a position of control early on in the conversation. We've identified the spokesman for this group as Ilya Salnikov but, as we previously discussed, and as is now pertinent information for this group, Salnikov is only second in command to Leonid Strelkov. If the CbKZ refuses to speak to anyone but you then you should refuse to speak to anyone but Strelkov. There is a reason that he has chosen to remain in the shadows and he may very well believe that his identity is unknown to us. For once, let us pull the rug out from under their feet. It is small but it will establish an immediate position of authority." Zorić looked back down at his notes, "We'll work the problem from there Madam Chancellor."

She nodded, "What time is it?"

"15:12."

"Very well then I shall do as we discuss. I trust we have the phone number?"

"Yes Madam Chancellor, please," Zorić handed a piece of paper down the table towards the Chancellor.

"What time is it?"

"15:13."

F*ck me, she thought to herself as she looked down at the phone number that had been put into her hands. Picking up the phone in front of her, she began to dial the number but then held, "This will be a recorded line, correct?"

"Yes, while you were out, we had it set up," her senior aide, who was just off to her left, said. There came a knock at the door and a moment later, Elizabeta entered with the Chancellor's coffee putting it down in front of her before leaving.

"Then let's get this over with, shall we," she finished dialing the number. A speaker in the middle of the table, glowing red to indicate that it was on mute, echoed the ringing of the line as the Chancellor heard in her ear.

The line picked up after a dozen rings, "Who is this?"

"Who am I speaking with," the Chancellor said, "this is Chancellor Jelena Jurić."

"Chancellor?" The voice sounded surprised on the other line. Zorić scribbled on his notebook and held it up, identifying Salnikov as the speaker, having heard this voice many times since the crisis began. "We were afraid you would not call."

"Listen I want…"

Salnikov cut her off immediately and launched himself into a preplanned speech that was more of a tirade than anything else, "Know this Chancellor! We have this entire hospital rigged with explosives, let me remind you! We will not hesitate to sacrifice ourselves and kill the over one thousand hostages that we have here. In case you have not noticed, we have no hesitations about killing them. Now, I shall repeat my demands. We demand the immediate release of a number of political prisoners being illegally detained by this government, the resignation of Premier Tarasov and his administration, as well as the resignation of all Chernarussian politicians for the crime of 'treason against the Chernarussian people,' an immediate independence referendum with the CbKZ represented on the ballot, and the cancellation of any and all plans your government has for Chernodrinsk. Do I make myself clear?"

"You do Ilya Salnikov," saying his name had an immediate effect on the terrorist who hadn't expected to hear his name. "However, know this, your demands are unreasonable and it is the prerogative of this government to…" In that moment a gunshot echoed in the background, loud enough that the Chancellor ripped the phone away from her ear. Nothing more was said by Salnikov and the call was cut.

The Chancellor's hand began to tremble as she hung up the phone. In her head swelled the thoughts that she and she alone caused some hostage to be executed. Zorić shook his head in frustration and a defeated, deflated look came everyone sitting around the table and on the video screens. "That was personal," the Chancellor commented, "I know no other…"

"Madam Chancellor, if I may," Zorić stood up and stretched his back, "they planned that, I am sure. I would not believe it was personal Madam. These people know only violence and that is their language."

"Can we reason with them?" She asked but Zorić only shook his head, "Then why bother?"

"What choice do we have?"

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 16:17 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

"You, get rid of that body now," Salnikov ordered as he looked down at the phone. Not two meters in front of him, Strelkov lingered, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. "They know your name."

"It wasn't going to stay a secret forever," Strelkov answered as he lit the cigarette, "what did she say?"

"She will only negotiate with you directly."

"Bold but I believe…" The phone rang again and Strelkov nodded with his head.

"Yes Chancellor?" Salnikov answered, "I'm sorry he's not here right…" He stopped and pulled the handset away from his ear and looked at it. Strelkov scrunched his face in curiosity as the smoke from the cigarette drifted upwards in front of his eyes. "The b*tch hung up," which elicited a chuckle out of Strelkov.

"Impressive, she's got a set of stones on her."

"This could work to our advantage," the two drew closer as Salnikov lowered his voice and motioned with his hand, "they believe that they have one over us by knowing your name and knowing that you are leading this operation. That will make them overconfident. It is their only card and they're playing it. Why not use it to our advantage?"

"How so Ilya, tell me what you're thinking?"

"You got what you wanted right?" Strelkov nodded, "Let's use it to our advantage, let her think she has power over you. She'll start dictating terms to us and we don't have to accept them but we can make her think that we're thinking them over, first refuse and then entertain the demands, they can think that we're willing to consider their position but we'll only be playing with them. We ask for more, and more, we keep roping them in little by little and we will get what we wanted. We don't ask for it at once anymore. A prisoner here for a hostage there, two prisoners for one hostage, a dozen for one hostage but maybe it's a child. Do you see?" It was something that Salnikov had discussed early on in the planning but he'd been overruled by the majority of the planners and so he hadn't mentioned it again but now it was just him and Strelkov, one-on-one, no dissenting voices around.

"They'll want the children and the infants first, I'm sure."

"Dangle the carrot Leonid and see what they'll do for it," Salnikov smiled and handed the phone's handset across the counter to Strelkov who took a drag on his cigarette and thought to himself.

"Punish her for her insolence, two more hostages, off the roof, let them see it first." He looked at his watch, "I'll call back at thirty-five after," Salnikov nodded and hung up the phone, ordering the deed in the background.

From inside of the hospital, the sound of the two hostages being executed was unmistakable. Strelkov finished his cigarette, stubbing it out on the countertop before tossing it on the floor. Reaching over, he grabbed the handset and dialed back the number, listening to it ring. "Madam Chancellor," his voice was full of smugness, "I hear you want to speak with me."

"Leonid Strelkov I presume?"

"Yes, that's me, shall we waste time on further introductions? Are you Chancellor Jelena Tanja Jurić? Would you like to know what I'm wearing? Or shall we get down to business. You know our demands, what do you say to this and I would be very careful with your words. I have plenty of people and the street is not yet covered."

"First things first then, I want only to speak directly with you. No intermediaries and not Salnikov. Understood?"

"We shall only speak to one another directly, understood."

"Before we entertain these demands of yours, the children and the infants must be released."

"Well, I just don't think I could do that, you see there are horrors outside that you just don't want those young eyes to see. Why they'll be scarred for life. You'll have to do better."

"That is our position."

"Then we have nothing further to discuss right now, do think it over then, goodbye," he hung up the phone and smirked. Salnikov, entering the area from having come down from the roof saw his leader put down the phone and the smirk across his face.

"What did she say?"

"The infants and the children of course. I told her we can't and hung up the phone. We'll toy with her for a little while, just as you suggested. The strategy cannot hurt us."

"Another execution then?"

"No, let's let them think they're having an effect." For the next two hours, Strelkov and the Chancellor would speak in short bursts, both sides hanging up on the other, the Chancellor believing that she was in control of the conversation, Strelkov letting her think she was, all the while avoiding any further executions, hoping to draw her into a trap first before he could unleash his next wave of bloodlust.

• • • † • • •

Edited October 21, 2024 by Poja (see edit history)

Poja · October 17, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter VII
A New Dilemma

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 19:25 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | Predsjednički Dvori

Evening had fallen on the Konfederacija Poja and the hostage crisis bore on with no resolution in sight. The Chancellor had been on and off the phone with Strelkov but had little to show for her efforts yet other than no more deaths, or at least they hadn't seen any more bodies pile up around the hospital's perimeter. The crisis had completely taken over the Pojački government's day-to-day operations. The country's executive leadership had more or less been in a continuous, non-stop emergency meeting and hadn't yet adjourned though you could consider hours when they slept or weren't physically in a room together as "taking breaks." Local governments were left to fend for themselves outside of Birogarsk, which was front and center in the crisis. Nothing was breaking down in the country and the populace was largely in agreement that this crisis was the most important problem facing the country but there was an underlying sense of unease throughout the nation that the CbKZ, if they were not completely and wholly destroyed all the way down to a cellular level, would not end their reign of terror at Birogarsk.

Truth be told, the government hadn't gotten that far yet. They were dealing with the here and the now, reacting with few moves - if any - to play. It was a frequent topic during IGO meetings, "What hand do we have to play? How do we counter? Do we even have a hand?" The government didn't, they were paralyzed into submission right now and with the Chancellor directly speaking with Strelkov, the Pojački government had already signaled that a fissure had formed in its ironclad response and a small fissure always had the possibility of growing into an irreparable, gaping hole. It was all about containment.

"Containment!" The President heard over the speaker as Premier Tarasov launched into something of a tirade about the ineffectualness of Rugi's response. The premier was under tremendous pressure by the Chernarussian people, perhaps more so than the Chancellor was and he'd just about heard enough of the Chancellor's continued approach of strict "containment."

The President, who was attending the meeting from his own office, looked across his desk at his chief advisor, Ratimir Pešić, and shook his head. Their microphones were muted - he double checked - "We need a resolution here. We're getting nowhere. No one's thought of anything?"

"No Mister President, just the same ideas rehashed."

In the background, Minister Tanacković of National Defense had joined into the sparring, "…We have over a thousand troops in Birogarsk right now holding the perimeter. Yes 'containment' because we cannot have them escape into the city and cause more mayhem. The border with Chernodrinsk is blocked by an entire infantry brigade standing there with their guns pointed outwards. Containment is all we have."

"Containment is appeasement…" The premier continued.

"Listen to this," the President's voice carried with it the frustrations of every government official and Pojački citizen, "this is ridiculous, I'm putting a stop to this bickering" but before he could, the topic switched off and the President leaned back, "f*ck it! Let them fight it out for now, maybe it'll be useful if they get it out of their system." Pešić nodded, half in agreement, half not, half just apathetic.

"While we're on that topic, premier," the Chancellor stressed the man's title in a very condescending way but she'd had enough of him this session, never mind since the start of the crisis. "Your police have spent the entire day smashing up cafés, restaurants, peoples' homes, shops, and God knows what else in this dragnet to haul in each and every person with even a shred or a hint of connection to the CbKZ. How many people are going to go free on civil rights violations? How much in damages will this government have to pay out in lawsuits because your thugs are too overzealous? You're arresting everyone who's even said a single piece of positive speech about the CbKZ without any proof that they're even active supporters or members of it! How is that going to look when this is over?"

"Madam Chancellor, I'm doing what is necessary and…"

"No, it's time," the President said as he unmuted himself, "if I may step in here, please." He was unusually polite and the line went silent. "We are facing a crisis the likes of which this government has never faced before. We're facing a crisis that will define this country in the history books for generations and mistakes have been made, mistakes are being made, and mistakes will be made.

"Minister Zorić, the Chancellor has a point. The UDB has been too bold in their acts and there will be significant consequences, unintended or not, and they must be reined back otherwise this will get out of hand. On the other hand, Chancellor, we have no idea how far the support for the CbKZ goes and we have a lack of understanding how they could have pulled this off without us hearing a peep. The CbKZ is not widely popular in this country but those who do support it, whether actively or merely 'aloud' may hold a key to understanding not only this but what the CbKZ can do.

"Now, I'll admit we shouldn't be arresting each and every person who's said a kind word about the group but we are all within our rights under these emergency orders to hold these people for a definite amount of time, to understand what they know or knew. If they are merely mouthpieces who just regurgitate stupid propaganda then we have little use for them in custody and they'll be released. Maybe this event will change their minds. Maybe our aggressiveness will recruit more to the cause. We don't know but we must act."

The line remained silent, the Chancellor offering nothing in terms of a response. Premier Tarasov was quiet too but then Minister Zorić's voice came over the line, "We have learned some information today that would be useful to this conversation."

"We're all ears Minister," the President shook his head and muted the line, "that old man always has something up his sleeve. I swear he sits on information until it's 'the right time' all the time!"

"Through our interrogations today as well as the support of double agents in Chernodrinsk, we've established the location of Boris Pushkin." To some, the name was unfamiliar and inconsequential, to others it was like a bolt of lightning had struck in front of them. "To those unfamiliar, Boris Pushkin is the intelligence chief for the CbKZ and his whereabouts have largely been a mystery. Yet, right now, as of this minute, we not only know where he is but we have him under surveillance."

"That is a major development Minister," the President unmuted the line, "and one I think we should act on immediately." Whatever differences everyone had before this moment, everyone was suddenly on the same page again.

Boris Pushkin was a high value target and someone who's capture could be a major victory for the Pojački government amidst a string of losses in Birogarsk but it wasn't that simple. Capturing the man would mean going into a hornet's nest and operations such as those took weeks and months to plan. Trying to execute one without any sort of preparation or planning meant near certain failure and more lives lost plus there was no guarantee that the MDS could keep him under surveillance long enough to prepare, plan, and launch a capture operation. "So then what do we do?" Came the ultimate question…

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 21:19 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

Strelkov slammed the handset down before launching into a long string of curses and epithets directed towards Chancellor Jurić. "…That woman and her stubbornness! She thinks she is in charge and so won't even budge on a single one of our demands because she does not think we are serious, takes for granted the position we hold over her!"

Salnikov leaned over the counter believing that Strelkov was finally done, "Leonid please," he urged, "this will work but you must have patience."

"Patience Ilya, patience? I am tired of being dismissed by Jurić and her entire government. Do they think we're joking here? That we'll just go 'Well we tried' and pack up and go outside to be arrested?" Salnikov shook his head, "Exactly! They have not acquiesced to a single demand because I have been playing this game and she has not recognized the position I hold over her."

"What are you going to do?"

"What I should have done from the onset," Strelkov snapped his fingers, "bring me nine hostages now!" He shouted towards two men who idled by and straightening themselves up, but not saluting, they left to carry out their commander's orders.

"Nine? Leonid…"

"No! The time for patience is over, she's going to understand that her insolence and her stubbornness have real consequences. I'm done playing this game where I let her think she's in charge. It's gotten us nothing over the last few hours."

"Leonid we need more than just a few hours!" Salnikov had, for the first time since the two of them met, raised his voice, as if he were an equal to Strelkov and it came at a critical time. It was just the two of them but anyone within earshot could have heard this change in dynamic and Strelkov realized it immediately, even if Salnikov hadn't.

"Do you think you're in a position to question me? Huh!" Salnikov suddenly realized the graveness of his error and, in the same breath, recognized that Strelkov right then and there was not the Strelkov he'd known. Something was different about the man as rage boiled in his face. "Who are you to question me! I am leading this operation! Me! Not you! I am the one who's planned this! Not you! I've taken your suggestions but that is all they are, suggestions! Now we do this my way!" Salnikov nodded. "Get out of my sight."

Without a word, Salnikov smartened up and walked away to where he couldn't be seen giving Strelkov plenty of space. He wasn't too far away and lamented when he heard Strelkov give the execution orders. One-by-one, he selected one of three fates for them, doling out equally whether someone would be thrown from the roof, shot and killed, or beheaded. The gruesomeness of his punishments, exacted against the Pojački government through these people was, in Salnikov's eyes, excessive now. They'd wanted the Pojački government to negotiate and now that the government was at least having a conversation with them, Salnikov felt the brutality no longer necessary. He feared now that the continued brutality would keep the government backed into a corner. If they wanted anything, wanton slaughter wouldn't get them there, they needed to show that they were willing to trade to get what they wanted yet Strelkov was perhaps drunk on the bloodlust and Salnikov could see failure creeping into the hospital because of it.

When the phone rang forty-five minutes later, after the bodies had been broadcast to the wurld, Salnikov was back in the room, listening as Chancellor Jurić repeated her demands that the infants and children be released. Strelkov was fuming and Salnikov, holding out his hand for calmness, urged his leader to cover the phone. "They will repeat this demand over and over until we give in," he was still trying, hoping to keep the jaws of failure out of the hospital. "Let them repeat it."

"I am sick of hearing it. Where are our demands!" Strelkov uncovered the phone, "Your insolence and stubbornness has already cost you nine more lives. Shall I double it?"

Jurić was quiet on the other end, "If you continue to slaughter people then what negotiations can we have? If you want from us, we need from you that is how this works. If you aren't willing to bend then what incentive do we have to negotiate with you."

"Incentive? I will kill each and every…"

Strelkov didn't get much further before the Chancellor cut him off, "You sound like a broken f*cking record!" Strelkov took a step back in the conversation, "Listen to me! You can kill everyone inside and then what will you have? A few bombs strapped to the columns? We will remotely detonate them on you, kill each and every one of you, and deny you everything. Now listen to me and listen well. If you insist on playing this route then we can have no more conversations. You can kill everyone inside or leave a few alive as human shields but you won't get a damn thing." She slammed the phone down on her end and Strelkov looked at the handset and thought to himself about the gall that she'd just displayed. The Chancellor was hardly in a position of power over Strelkov but her patience was growing short too and, on the advice of those around her, lashed out at Strelkov. It had become obvious that, no matter what she said or did Strelkov was going to murder people. Armed with that knowledge, the Chancellor and the Cabinet saw no more reason to "be polite" and stomped ahead.

"Before we go further," Salnikov quickly said, not giving Strelkov much of an opportunity, "we need to understand who we're dealing with here."

Strelkov dialed back, "Infants and children," Jurić said on the other end of line, "but allow me to add to this. The people in that hospital are starving, I am sure. Allow us to bring a goodwill delivery of food to the people. It does you no good to have them starving. People become desperate when they're starving."

"She's right," Salnikov mouthed.

"I'll call you back." Strelkov hung up in a much more civilized manner than before. "Obviously they would poison it."

Salnikov didn't think they would but knew he had to play along with his leader's paranoia. "They might but it wouldn't serve them much end. Even the government couldn't hide that on a coroner's inquest, there'd be too many bodies."

"Sedative then."

"Distinct possibility but they would have to lace every single meal to the hostages and to what they expect us to take. We have a few hostages each first from each meal, we test them out, give it time, see what reactions there are. Anything that would happen would do so within the first thirty to sixty minutes. We keep them under close observation and then, if there is nothing, we take what we want and give the rest out, if we want or just keep it for ourselves. The men have been on rations, a meal would do them good. We give some food to some of the hostages, enough but not too much. Starving people become desperate. She's right."

" Some men shouldn't eat, just to be safe," Salnikov agreed and nodded, pointing at the phone. "Fine," Strelkov picked up the phone and dialed, "You may send your meals."

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Thursday, 6 June 2024 | 23:10 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

The lateness of the hour was hardly lost on anyone as a dozen people crowded into the Chancellor's office. They represented the Viši Savjet za Politiku (VSP) or the Senior Council on Policy and were a significantly smaller group than the behemoth that was the IGO. They'd gathered to discuss a matter of the utmost importance that couldn't be brought to the larger IGO group anymore since it was simply too sensitive. In the office, Elizabeta handed out coffee and tea to those gathered, amidst idle chitchat in low voices and hushed whispers.

The Chancellor sat behind her desk and the President off to the right of it, sitting in a chair that was facing the room with Maršal Žarko Novaković, Chairman of the National Military within arm's reach. Elma Begović of Finance was standing in the back corner with her tea, the only person who stood - or sat - alone. Cvjetko Parlov of Foreign Affairs had positioned himself near Ratimir Pešić and across from Afrim Jazbinšek of Justice. Krsto Nedeljković of Internal Affairs paced around the room behind everyone while he talked to Ružica Rak, the Senior Advisor on Security. Brajko Tanacković of National Defense sat alongside a far wall along with the remaining two people, Dragiša Zorić of State Security and Dubravko Stojaković of Trade.

Elizabeta finished and left, shutting the door behind her, which was the signal that the meeting could begin. "I understand how late it is," the President began, "but after Minister Zorić's very timely revelation earlier this evening I believe it prudent that we discuss the matter further, in a much smaller setting than with the entirety of the IGO. Minister, do I understand right now that Pushkin remains under surveillance?"

"You understand correctly Mister President, as of moments before this meeting I received confirmation that we continue to have him under live surveillance."

"Would it suffice it to say that, by morning, we may lose him?"

"We may lose him in five minutes Mister President."

"Point taken," the President turned back to the room. "A lot of ideas were thrown out in the IGO meeting but I think it more important to understand the limitations we face right now. We have eyes on Pushkin and we might not within the next five minutes or five hours. We really have only two paths to take because letting him go is hardly an option. We can launch a snatch and grab mission," Maršal Novaković went to speak but the President held out his hand, "trust me, I know," he said in response, "or we can take him out.

"Suffice it to say, a snatch and grab mission has the absolute lowest chance for success. Operations like these take careful and precise planning, reconnaissance, rehearsal, and take weeks, sometimes months from start to finish. We have some of the best commandos in the wurld but they're the best because they don't launch hasty raids. Should we undergo this operation we would require a sizeable force with significant assets. It would not be quiet and we would almost guarantee that our forces would get pinned down in Chernodrinsk and take serious casualties. The possibility of success is in the single digits.

"Which leaves only assassination." The room remained quiet while the President spoke but the Chancellor was living a nightmare. In her own wurld, she couldn't possibly agree to the assassination of someone even as contemptible as Pushkin was. While the President spoke at length about the killing of Pushkin, her brain somersaulted over itself. Tension flooded her synapses like a tsunami after a 9.0 earthquake and she felt her hands trembling as she held the delicate coffee cup, putting it down uneasily on the desk for fear of dropping or spilling it, which would only give away just how out of her element she was.

We can't be considering this… She thought to herself as she listened to the room, as she listened to voices that now seemed completely alien to her, one-by-one, talk about the benefits of such a mission.

"Given our State of Emergency," Minister Jazbinšek was saying, "and with the CbKZ being a declared terrorist organization, it would not be an illegal act to order the killing of Boris Pushkin. As a senior member of the CbKZ, he is a wanted terrorist and a lawful combatant who could very well be providing support and direction for this operation. Minister, you yourself said that you've traced calls from the hospital to Pushkin, have you not?" Minister Zorić nodded in agreement as he was spoken to, "We could easily make the case in court that Pushkin, though he may not be on site, is part of this operation and thus within the scope of action."

"Police action," Chancellor Jurić corrected him, almost blurting it out as the war within her head between thought and the urge to speech tilted in the balance of the latter. "We're justified in a police action, which would not, under any scope, include the assassination of an individual."

"You are right but in a State of Emergency, the latitude between what is and isn't within the scope of a police action expands dramatically," Minister Jazbinšek finished his tea and put his cup down on the small end table next to him. "But Madam Chancellor you raise an incredibly important point. Never in the history of this nation has a government ordered the killing of an individual. The Chernarussian Conflict was a war, hardly comparable if anyone's mind is going there. Though there is something to be said about us being at war with Chernodrinsk, whatever that might look like, with this situation."

"War," the Chancellor didn't like what she was hearing, "how can we be at war with a place that isn't even a legal entity?"

"Whether it's Chernodrinsk or the CbKZ is the same right now as one provides sanctuary and is under the thumb of the other Madam," said Maršal Novaković. "In the declaration of a State of Emergency, this government was invested with powers necessary to end this crisis. Removing Pushkin from the equation could be a significant blow to this operation."

"And what if he isn't doing anything? What if they were just calling him to say, 'Hey look what we did'? Is that plausible?"

"It's plausible Madam Chancellor," Minister Zorić looked over at the President, who's face said it all. "And we do not even know that this would bring about resolution or change the situation but Pushkin is a wanted terrorist, a leader in an organization that has killed and wounded hundreds, that has taken over a thousand of our citizens, civilians mind you, hostage and is executing them in barbaric form right on live television. Whether or not Pushkin is directing this operation is not as important as you might believe it to be. We have, for the first time in a very long time, the ability to deal significant damage to a terrorist organization at a time when support for action is at an all time high. Whatever lawyers and interest groups file suit in our courts against action will fall on deaf ears."

"And what if we succeed? What if Pushkin is eliminated and we have an end to the crisis? What then? We go after his replacement? The man in charge? When and where does it stop?"

"It stops," the President chimed in, "when the CbKZ is no longer able to wage terror against the Pojački people and the Pojački state. That is when and where it ends. We're not talking about the elimination of a schoolteacher who may or may not be providing material aid, we're talking about the head of intelligence for a terrorist organization. This is no different than killing the intelligence chief of a military brigade or division on the battlefield."

"Chernodrinsk is no battlefield and what after them? To make them no longer able to wage terror we have to take out that schoolteacher do we not? We go down this path Andrej and there is no exit ramp. We get one and then another and then another and soon we're a different nation."

"Jelena we are a different nation than we were two days ago. If the CbKZ is strong enough to do this then what can they do next? We are at war with the CbKZ and Chernodrinsk is the battlefield. It was the moment that they opened fire in Birogarsk. Let's put it to a vote then. Assassination or snatch-and-grab. Show of hands for assassination?" Eleven hands were raised. "I think that proves the point."

"I cannot support this action." She stood up, straightened her blazer and her skirt, and left the room in protest, leaving everyone behind.

"I'll speak with her," the President said after the door closed. "What are our options?"

"Drone strike sir," Minister Tanacković said without so much as a second thought.

• • • † • • •

Poja · October 21, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter VIII
A New Doctrine

Friday, 7 June 2024 | 01:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Heraq, Gjivicë | Gjivicë Air Base

A cool but humid wind kicked up across the expanse at Gjivicë Air Base about sixty-five kilometers from the Heraqi capital of Hiraj. Nestled near the border of both Chernarus and Liaria, the air base was one of the country's oldest, having been first established in the 1920s as an airship field only to be converted to handle airliners in the 1940s. Since then, the air base had been used largely as an auxiliary field until the Pojački National Air Force embraced unmanned aerial vehicles or drones and now, in the year 2024, it was home to the entirety of the PNAF's drone fleet of fifty-four aircraft. As such, the air base was no stranger to operations during the wee hours of the morning when darkness provided much needed cover for operations and allowed the Pojački crewmen to practice and to hone their skills in suboptimal conditions. In the nearby city of Gjivicë, which was the sixth largest in all of Heraq, the goings-on hardly registered on anyone's radar, a sort of general ignorance and apathy.

That couldn't be more desirous than it was at this time when two drones were being prepared for flight operations in their hardened shelters, the doors closed from the prying satellites and eyes of the wurld. Bathed in the glow of LED lighting, men were finishing up the mounting of four, dark gray missiles to each drone's four, wing pylons, checking that each weapon was mounted securely before moving onto the next. A separate crew was fueling the drone and running a series of systems checks to make sure that everything was operating correctly. Only one aircraft would be needed but the PNAF needed to ensure the success of the operation; and so, redundancy was the key to success.

Several hundred meters away and buried underneath several dozen meters of rock, reinforced concrete, and steel plating sat a bunker accessible only through an otherwise nondescript building identified only as "Building No. 83." It was in that bunker that a dozen men gathered, most in military uniforms, a few in suits. Each had his own name, station, and role in this scenario and everyone was sitting around a conference table looking at none other than Avijacija Maršal Đuro Borovac, the highest-ranking officer in the entirety of the PNAF. In his uniform, prim and proper despite the lateness of the hour, he joined from his office in Rugi along with Ministers Tanacković and Zorić who, despite their age, had found a reserve of energy to still be awake. Everyone was introduced to one another until they finally got to Kapetan Davor Malešević, who identified himself as "aircraft pilot."

"Are you the senior ranking officer right now?" The question came from Avijacija Maršal Borovac who had expected either the squadron's commanding or its executive officer to be the one flying and not a "low-ranking" kapetan.

"Yes sir, our commander is out of the country on leave while our executive is currently off the duty roster per flight hour guidelines. I am thusly the senior ranking officer of the 61st LAS sir and am fully qualified and capable for tonight's mission sir."

"Carry on then, who's left?"

"Sir, Vodnik First Klase Gazjet Kola, sensor operator."

"Sir, Štab Vodnik Ando Halil, intelligence liaison."

"Thank you. Gentlemen, I know until now you've only been told that tonight we will be flying a mission of the utmost secrecy and importance but allow me to present the further details," Avijacija Maršal Borovac continued after Halil, the last to introduce himself, spoke. "Earlier tonight, the MDS identified the whereabouts of Boris Pushkin, the intelligence chief of the CbKZ and fourth-ranking member of that organization. As you are very aware of the situation in Birogarsk, the executive authority of this country has authorized an armed strike against Pushkin with the sole purpose of killing him." The words hung in the air as everyone's jaws hit the table or the floor below them. "I understand that this is a first-in-kind mission for this nation and it is crucial that it is executed flawlessly. Thousands of lives depend on the success of this mission this morning. Now, to pre-answer some questions, this strike has the full support of the executive branch and it has cleared legal standing.

"The standing orders will be to fly the aircraft over the target and, pending positive, visual identification of the target, kill him with a missile strike. Collateral damage assessments will be taken upon arriving in the area but you must be aware that civilian casualties are likely, the target is in a residential structure. With that in mind, should any individual wish to be excused from this mission, it would not reflect negatively on their career. We understand the peculiar and unique nature of this mission." Whether from shock or from dedication to duty, no one budged. "Thank you then. For now, we will wait until the aircraft is in the target area."

"Thank you sir," answered the only one-star in the room, General-brigadni Braco Gišić, the commanding officer of the 7th Special Attack & Reconnaissance Wing under whose umbrella the 61st Light Attack Squadron (UAV) was billeted. "Takeoff time is 01:45, at which point the flight profile is a cruise at seventy knots and 5,500 meters. Time on target is expected at 03:45. Weather conditions are partly cloudy over the target area but we should not have any showstoppers from the weather. Any questions?"

"Yes, if I may sir," Kapetan Malešević raised his hand a bit. A nod gave him the go ahead, "Given the aforementioned statement on CDAs, what is our GO/NO-GO for the strike?"

"Good question Kapetan," Minister Tanacković fielded the question, "if our CDA exceeds sixty percent change of significant damage to the target structure we will abort the mission."

Hearing this, Malešević could see that there was absolutely nothing that would trigger a NO-GO. They weren't dropping a bomb with a hundred kilograms of explosives; they were firing a missile with a ten-kilogram warhead. It would cause certainly cause damage but there was little chance the missile could cause "significant damage" given how small that warhead was. "Roger that," he responded, suppressing a grin at the silliness of the CDA.

Ten minutes later, Malešević and Kola were climbing into the pilot seats in an undecorated, concrete room only a few doors down from the briefing room. Two men, one in a suit and the other in a uniform, entered behind them and took their places in the back of the room. They wouldn't be needed for some time now and so they were quiet while the drone's crewmen connected their headsets and began the power-on sequences for their displays. The control station was a massive, floor-to-ceiling array of screens and displays that would allow them to harness a tremendous amount of information at once. They could see intelligence readouts, satellite imagery, navigation maps, views from their own sensor and cameras, video from datalinked sources, and so on and so forth. Everything was at their fingertips and as they engaged the various power-on sequences and built-in test functions or BITs, crewmen were doing the same thing with the drones in their hangars. Soon, the station would be synced with the drone and they could begin remote piloting it from this basement room. If all went well, they'd be airborne on time without needing the second aircraft.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Friday, 7 June 2024 | 01:45 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

Inside of the TCC in Birogarsk, the lateness of the hour didn't stop the full hustle and bustle of operations. Mayor Lytkin, who'd been racked out nearby getting a few hours of shut-eye found himself woken up by Major Kurochkin to discuss the food delivery plan. They'd spent the past twelve or so hours working on the preparations for it, having been told to be ready long before the Chancellor ever proposed it to Strelkov. What was involved would have been a logistical behemoth had someone not had the idea to get in touch with the food service division at the city's airport. A sizeable enough airport, the food service staff were used to preparing large quantities of hot meals for departing flights and had sufficient stock to do so. That stock was commandeered and prepared for the hospital, which meant that outbound flights wouldn't be getting meals but few would have cause to complain. Anyone who was flying on any flight that offered a meal would get both a refund and a voucher for a meal in the terminal before boarding.

The delivery plan had been put in the hands of the GPO who'd run through a few options. Ultimately, they'd settled on a simple plan that involved just driving the truck up to the rear entranceway to the hospital, which was more accessible despite the burned-out emergency vehicles and remains of dead SWAT operators and policemen who'd died at the beginning of the conflict. The driver of the truck, an airport worker named Sasha Aleyev, would remain inside the vehicle throughout the entire process, ready to drive off the minute the last meal was unloaded. A single police vehicle would be an escort for the truck and the two officers would be there on standby in case the terrorists tried to make a play for the truck or its driver. Nearby, a SWAT team would be on standby in case additional forces were needed and the GPO would have a four-man team there to support the SWAT team if the shit truly hit the fan. It wasn't a tremendously complex plan and it had backups but it all hinged on the terrorists being cooperative throughout the offloading process.

Pulling up on cue, Sasha was brought into the TCC and introduced to the police and SWAT officers so that everyone knew who everyone was, in case chaos broke out during the offloading. Protecting Sasha was a priority as no one wanted to give the terrorists another hostage. Vodnik Black went through the plan with Sasha twice, making sure that he'd touched every point and he'd even gone slowly in case Sasha had questions. "Don't get out of the vehicle, you understand?" Black said twice, Sasha answering in the affirmative both times. "All right, let's roll then," Black finally called out after telling Sasha a final time. "Someone get on the phone to the hospital so they know we're coming. We won't leave the zone until we get a confirmation." Tossing on his protective helmet, Black and his men exited the TCC with the SWAT team, the two policemen, and Sasha.

Ahead of the truck, the police formed up with their vehicle and then the SWAT truck behind it. The GPO men would ride on the SWAT truck's outside ramps until they got to their standby position, then they'd jump off, get into position, and wait. For Black, his GPO commandos, and the SWAT team, this was all routine but for Sasha, this was uncharted territory. Black had actually proposed, at first, that one of his men drive the truck but that was vetoed when it was apparent that if one of his men drove the truck, the terrorists would immediately pick him out as an army commando and likely refuse the meals. For this to work, a civilian had to drive the truck and that was Sasha, thirty-two years old, single but seeing someone seriously, who just happened to "draw the short straw" tonight.

"Remember," Black said as he came alongside the truck, "stay in the vehicle. You got it?"

"Got it," Sasha nodded, his hands gripping the steering wheel, sweat breaking out over his face. "What if they start shooting?"

"Then you floor it and get the f*ck out of there," Black held up his fist, "you good?" Sasha nodded and bumped his fist back weakly but he wasn't good, far from it. He was completely and wholly terrified, and for good reason. "Mount up!" Black called out and everyone got onto the vehicles. The officers and commandos did a quick radio check and then waited…and waited…and waited…

It would take a few minutes to get routed through to the hospital to tell them that the food was coming. Then it was a few more minutes to make sure they understood that there would be a police escort, with just two officers, and the delivery truck. Kurochkin, who was speaking directly with Salnikov, was extra diligent to get the man to agree that no one would open fire. Salnikov, though he wasn't hesitant, hadn't expected the police escort so that took a few, last-minute negotiations before he gave the authorization to proceed. Kurochkin radioed it to Black who then passed the "GO" to the whole team and hot a second later, the vehicles began to move. Sasha had spent the entire time hoping it would be called off, expecting as much because of the long wait but that was only because he wasn't accustomed to just how much waiting happened with military operations. He didn't know that the military was ninety percent waiting, ten percent chaos; so, when the vehicles began to move, he suddenly felt his heartrate spike and his stomach fall through the floor of the truck.

"Let's go!" Black shouted towards him from the ramp, waving with his hand to get moving. Sasha put the vehicle into drive and followed. He wasn't even sure what he was doing. In his head, he wasn't telling his body to do anything and yet his foot was pressing on the accelerator, his hands were turning the steering wheel, and his eyes were scanning the road for traffic. He was driving even if he was trying to prevent it. Just who was in control of his body he didn't know because Sasha didn't want to be doing this. It was as if he was having an out-of-body experience, standing there over himself, watching the proceedings, incapable of doing anything.

A few minutes later, the entire convoy came to a stop and the four GPO men hopped off the SWAT truck. Black held a thumb's up to Sasha and he and his men moved into their standby position. They were one hundred meters from the hospital. Another fifty meters up, the SWAT truck stopped and took up its position. Anything beyond that would put them in direct line-of-sight to the hospital and they didn't want that at all. Sasha was waved on and he did so, his foot pressing the accelerator to catch up to the police vehicle.

When the hospital came into view moments later it was surreal. He could see the burned-out husks of the police vehicles from the earliest battles, even some of the corpses that had been lying on the ground. He didn't know what to make of it as a feeling of complete and total disbelief clouded his thinking ability. He still felt as if he was just watching himself. When the police car moved out of the way, that was his cue to back up to the hospital, which he did autonomically. As briefed, he'd backed up to the hospital, stopping ten meters from the door. He put the truck into park, went through the interior partition, unlocked the back door, then he went quickly back to his seat, relocked the partition, and sat waiting, looking in his side mirror as the hospital doors opened.

Four men with assault rifles emerged, checked out the scene, and then one of them whistled. From the driver's seat, Sasha watched it all. From the whistle emerged a dozen or so hostages who were ordered to get onto the truck and to offload the meals. Each looked ragged and some showed the remnants of prior wounds. In the darkness, it was hard to tell just how badly bruised they were, even with the headlights from the police vehicle providing light for everyone. Sasha wondered if any would try to make a break for it but what Sasha didn't know was that each of the hostages had been threatened with severe retaliation if they tried. The penalty for each escape would be the deaths of twenty others. Had Sasha known, he'd have hoped that no one was willing to sign the death warrants of twenty other people. Each of them had secretly wrestled with it in their heads, despite the penalty. Twenty people I don't even know… They'd think. Who cares about them…I've got to save myself… Would thoughts lead to action? Could someone callously condemn twenty others to die just so that they could taste freedom? No one knew.

Sasha, whose heartbeat hadn't slowed one bit, sat behind the steering wheel of his truck, looking in the mirror. Hostages were taking several of the trays at once, sometimes proficiently and at other times he just wondered if they would drop them. The trays stacked neatly but the terrorists were rushing them, forcing them to take too many and move too quickly. Stay in the truck, he told himself as he watched someone nearly trip and fall but save it at the last second. But it was inevitable that someone should fall and not five minutes later, a young woman, maybe in her mid to late twenties, came out of the back of the truck and took a spill. The trays went flying out of her hand and scattered all along the street. Sasha watched it happen, watched as she practically bounced off the pavement, definitely hurt. He wondered if she'd twisted her ankle coming out of the truck, which he'd done more than once. Shouting followed and the young girl, struggling to get to her feet as blood came down her face - facial wounds always bled so much - was being told to pick up every single tray. Any hostage who moved to help was threatened to keep unloading.

For Sasha, seeing the woman suffer triggered something in him and before he knew it, his door was open and he was climbing out of the truck. Stay in the truck, he told himself as he walked over, hands raised. Terrorists started shouting, one of them leveled his assault rifle but Sasha kept coming. "I'm going to help! Don't shoot!" He was terrified. "Just help!" He yelled back over the growing commotion. He got only as far as the young woman before a strong arm grabbed him and yanked him backwards, having come from out of nowhere. "Let me go!" He shouted, unaware who was grabbing him. Whoever it was, they were much strong than he was and he felt himself being dragged away from the truck, which meant, he was being dragged towards the hospital.

Too much was happening all at once for Sasha to process and to comprehend. "Let me go! I just need to help!" He kept shouting as he resisted against being dragged away. "Let me…" The gunshot was loud, as loud as the jet engines he was used to being around but without any ear protection, he felt his ears instantly go deaf and start to ring. "No!" He reached out and watched as the woman's body went limp, a terrorist standing over her with a smoking pistol in his hand. More gunshots followed, these ones incoming as the two policemen hopped out of their vehicle and opened fire on the terrorists who immediately returned fire. Milliseconds passed and rounds were flying everywhere. The terrorists all took cover quickly and in that split second, Sasha felt the iron grip on him release. I'm free he thought to himself as he began to run away towards the open door.

He'd taken only a few steps before he saw the SWAT truck rushing towards them. Gunfire continued to explode all around him and then he felt a sharp smack in his back and felt his legs go limp. He collapsed forward, suddenly unable to feel his legs anymore as a fire burned through his torso but Sasha just figured he'd tripped and tried to crawl away when he felt another sharp smack drive into his arm like a flaming hot poker. He didn't know what was happening to him but he clawed at the road with his one good arm, still unable to stand, to feel his legs, to move his other arm. He got two more meters.

Over the next few minutes, complete pandemonium enveloped the scene outside of the hospital. One hostage was dead, executed by a terrorist, and two others wounded almost instantly. SWAT rolled up in force, opening fire on the terrorists, essentially shielding the two police officers in the process, who continued to return fire using their vehicle as a shield. Terrorists peppered it with assault rifle rounds, tearing the front of it to shreds. There was no real coordination with what was happening. The SWAT team was moving forwards without much in the way of cover, trying to drive back the terrorists and open up some space. Their gunfire had largely suppressed the terrorists but it wouldn't last as terrorists from upper floors opened fire on them. Two SWAT officers went down immediately and moments later a third dropped with the limp ragdoll of death. Three more would fall over the next few seconds while the others pressed forward to check on Sasha and the executed hostage. By that point, three wounded hostages were writhing in agony not but a few steps from the back door, three others were clearly dead, including the executed hostage; Sasha was dead, his eyes staring blankly at the SWAT truck in the road.

Out of nowhere, smoke grenades went off, which weren't part of any plan. Who threw them was unknown at that time but it would come out later that they came not from SWAT or the terrorists but the two pinned-down police officers. In the confusion that followed, terrorists managed to grab two of the SWAT officers and drag them into the hospital along with the wounded hostages, suffering no casualties of their own. From above, terrorists continued to fire downwards as the smoke billowed, blocking everything. When it cleared, and the shooting stopped, three SWAT officers were down, three others dead, and two more had become hostages. For an eleven-man team, they'd taken tremendous casualties. With the help of the policemen and GPO, which rushed to the scene but simply didn't arrive fast enough, the bodies of the dead were dragged away after the wounded were brought back to safety behind the SWAT truck. Ambulances rushed to the scene to help the wounded while the dead would be loaded up into the SWAT truck and driven away. Sasha's truck was left on scene along with the bullet-riddled police car, both idling in park until they eventually ran out of gas.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Friday, 7 June 2024 | 01:45 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernodrinsk | Donenskoy

Two hundred and thirty-five kilometers separated the three-man crew of HELIX 1-1 and Sergei and yet they were right there together, the JR-26A Osa orbiting over Chernodrinsk merely just an extension of Kapetan Malešević, Vodnik First Klase Kola, and Štab Vodnik Halil. In between them was one added element, a DT-14B Golub airborne early warning and control aircraft, which was acting as a radio relay between the ground control station and the Osa drone since the drone required line-of-sight propagation for control. Normally, the range of the Osa was about 300 kilometers and so 235 kilometers wasn't "out of range" but the PNAF wasn't taking any chances. In fact, as per procedure, they were monitoring the signal strength every few minutes.

"HELIX 1-1, DELTA 0-1, status check shows green across the board, good signal, good bandwidth," the assigned operator in the Golub responded over the radio to Malešević's latest signal check. He'd only just put the drone into a wide, sweeping left-hand turn over the target area.

"Copy DELTA 0-1, HELIX 1-1, is on station," Malešević flipped on the autopilot and relaxed from the controls as he looked at the screen directly at eye level showing the artificial HUD on the green-tinted, night sky. On the screen to his immediate right, the main screen for the sensor operator, he could see the thermal imaging view of the city 5,500 meters below the aircraft. Turning around, he looked at the two men who'd been in the room with them since they'd launched the mission. One was from the government and the other the military but both were observers there to ensure that everything complied with legal protocols and military procedures. "We're on station gentlemen, how are we looking?"

"Fine so far," responded the major, while the government's representative just nodded.

"Now we wait," Malešević turned back to his screen, "wait for coordinates and then we'll track the target."

"Roger that," Kola answered as he left the sensor locked onto where it was pointing, a random building below.

Halil, who was joining from the conference room, relayed the status to everyone in the room as well as those joining in on the video link. "Awaiting intelligence confirmation now," Halil could speak both ways, to Malešević and to those in the room. As the intelligence liaison, his main role was to communicate back and forth between the operators and the suits and brass that were running what had been called Operation CRNA SOVA or BLACK OWL. Halil muted his microphone and looked over at the screen, "Sirs, the aircraft is on station, awaiting confirmation from your source."

Minister Zorić nodded and disappeared off-screen for a minute before coming back into view, "WHISKEY 5-0 will be patched into the channel any moment now. From now I'll stand back," he took a seat in the rear of the room, still on camera but at a distance. Minister Zorić didn't need to micromanage or piggyback anything further, his agent would handle the rest on his own. Minister Zorić, like some but not all of his predecessors, believed in his agents strongly enough that he trusted them to do what was proper otherwise, as he said, why did he bother to need them?

Sergei, who was to be known as WHISKEY 5-0, came onto the channel a few minutes later, speaking in the whispered voice of someone who was being especially careful. Halil had to request his line volume be boosted for those on the channel otherwise they wouldn't have been able to understand him clearly. "I've got confirmation, call contact."

At the control station, Kola zoomed out on the sensor to a wider range and look for the infrared strobe that Sergei had activated. His general position had been given ahead of time so Kola wasn't looking for it in the entire city but he needed three flashes before he locked onto Kola's position. "Contact," Kola responded. Malešević reached forward to the controls, keeping the aircraft on autopilot for now but ready to disengage it.

"Bearing 0-5-6 from my position, five-zero-zero meters, ten-storey building. Call contact."

Kola zoomed out and followed the bearing to the building as directed, "Contact."

Behind him, the military officer tapped him on the shoulder, "We need an IR spot to confirm."

Kola nodded, "Need an IR spot on the building for confirmation."

"Spotting on the target, call contact."

Kola watched as a small beam of infrared light, invisible to the naked eye appeared on his screen. It was hovering just below the seventh storey along the building's northwest corner. "Contact."

Sergei turned off the light, satisfied that he'd done enough to give away his position if anyone was looking, "Target is above the spot."

"Confirm VID on target," Halil said over the channel from the conference room, "need your video."

"Wait five, target is not in view," Sergei didn't want to say it over the radio, even though it was a secure line, because he couldn't be too careful but Boris Pushkin who he'd watched wake up, was now in the shower. Pushkin's mistress or wife, he didn't know which, remained sleeping in bed. Outside in the living room was Pushkin's bodyguard, quietly sitting on the sofa reading something, his assault rifle lying on the couch cushion next to him. All three would be casualties of the missile strike, there was no doubt about it but Sergei hardly cared. He had a small video camera set up and was zoomed in on the apartment, the feed itself coming through another secure link to everyone tuned into the operation.

Halil, who'd received a tap on the shoulder from one of the government's legal representatives unmuted his microphone, "WHISKEY 5-0, ID please."

"Tango," Sergei answered, "not target," he moved the camera, "Charlie, not target," identifying the woman asleep in Pushkin's bed.

"That's a civvie, GO or NO-GO?" Halil asked, directing it towards the brass.

"We're GO," Minister Zorić called out over the line," we have the executive's permission to proceed. The presence of civilians with the target is not cause for an abort."

"Roger that," Halil muted his microphone again and looked around the room. Uneasiness had come over almost everyone. Boris Pushkin was the target and no doubt they understood that civilians were at risk and would likely die but now they were seeing precisely who they'd be killing. The PNAF didn't expect to see the faces of those they killed so this was entirely new territory for them. The presence of civilians wasn't helping either as they'd all sworn oaths to protect against civilian casualties.

In fact, it made everyone uneasy, even General-brigadni Braco Gišić who moved over to Halil and, with his back to the television screen, without speaking too loudly said, "I'm giving you explicit authorization to proceed. I understand your reservations but this is above our heads."

"Yes sir," Halil responded, still uneasy about it but clearly not about to have a debate with a one-star.

"Target is coming into view," Sergei said over the channel and all eyes pointed to the various screens. At the control station, Malešević and Kola were watching the feed on one of their many screens.

Unmuting his microphone, Halil went back to the job, "Need positive ID. Run facial scan." All the way in Rugi, in a room not unlike the one Halil was in, an intelligence analyst was already running a scan on Pushkin's facial features against photographs stored in the database of the Ministry of State Security. Since they had a person to check against, it didn't take the software very long to run through and provide a match with "high probability," which was relayed back to Halil. "ID confirmed as target," Halil said for the benefit of everyone, "do we have authorization to proceed?"

From his desk in Rugi, Avijacija Maršal Borovac reached forward and unmuted his own microphone, "You are weapons free." He leaned back, put the microphone back on mute, and wondered what he'd just authorized. The philosophical debates that had gone on leading to this very moment could not be understated. Had this been a movie, these men would be portrayed as cold, unfeeling, doing whatever necessary to "get the job done" but real life was much more complicated than that and everyone taking part in this operation, civilian and military alike, knew precisely what they were unleashing. It was more than just the killing of the intelligence chief of the CbKZ, it was an entirely new doctrine that the Konfederacija Poja was embarking on; you couldn't put the genie back in the bottle after this.

It was hardly bold to say that the wurld was on Poja's side with the events of Birogarsk but many wondered if the wurld would still be on their side when the news broke in the morning of a drone strike in Chernodrinsk. Chernodrinsk wasn't a recognized state; in fact, many saw it as a breakaway part of the KP, even if it was territory that had never formally belonged to the KP or its predecessor states. It was unclaimed land that happened to play host to criminal enterprises and one now very infamous terrorist group making international headlines. Would the wurld still be on Poja's side? The question would be asked in policy circles all throughout Rugi but the answer was inconsequential to what was about to happen.

At the control station, Malešević and Kola had begun their checklist for weapons release. In the movies, the music would be cueing up in crescendo as the tension built. There would be a countdown but then a last second moral dilemma would jump onto the screen, triggering a last second abort. It would be an aid convoy or a child in the blast radius, civilians previously unseen now at risk. It would be up to the hero to save the day, to do what was right. There would be sparing between the protagonists, between the secondary characters, but the audience knew what would happen. The movies never left anything to chance. Everything built up to this moment, to this predictable moment when suddenly, the wurld would be saved, the aid convoy would pass, the child would exit the area, the civilians would find shelter. But this wasn't the movies.

Malešević and Kola completed their checklist and Kola flipped a switch, arming the Osa's laser designator. "Laser armed."

"Unlocking autopilot, Master ARM on," Malešević disconnected the autopilot and brought the Osa around onto an attack heading. They were fifteen kilometers away at this point in their turn and by the end of it, they were heading straight for the building. "Range to target, twelve kilometers, weapon in range." Behind him, the two men held their breath as they watched in silence.

"Ninety seconds to launch," his thumb hovered over the pickle button on his flight stick as the drone flew closer to the target, covering just thirty-six meters every second. Ninety seconds would bring them about 3,200 meters closer to the target. "Sixty seconds." No drone operator in the PNAF had fired a weapon in anger before and Malešević was about to be the only member in a club that few people wanted to join. "Forty-five seconds." No one spoke; no one dared speak. "Thirty seconds."

Kola's hands didn't necessary tremble but neither were they steady. The sensor was locked right on the target with a crosshairs at the intended impact point, a small rectangle in the middle denoting the missile's CEP, a small area, small enough that no one was concerned that the missile would missile.

"Fifteen seconds," Malešević concentrated on the HUD and on the decreasing range. He would be firing it at just over 8,750 meters to the target, well within the missile's range with zero chance it would run out of fuel. "Ten seconds, begin lasing."

Kola squeezed the trigger of his control stick and his screen flashed the word LASE, "Lasing."

"Five…four…three…two…one…Rifle…" He pushed the thumb trigger and held it in for what seemed like an eternity but was really only three seconds. "Weapon away," he called out as he watched the HUD indicate such to him. A camera displayed onto another screen showed the missile's rocket motor fire, separating it from the pylon, and flying forwards. "Time to impact, eighteen seconds, continue lasing."

"Continuing to lase," Kola repeated, "fifteen seconds." Could they abort now? Would the movies be so bold as to force an abort after the weapon was fired? It was possible of course, the weapon being laser-guided, they could change the laser spot anywhere and the missile would fly there, missing the building, heading into the great unknown, detonating harmlessly over the city when its batteries exhausted and the self-destruct mechanism triggered. Would everyone cheer that the abort happened? Would the bad guys be alerted?" Malešević changed the drone's heading away from the building but the sensor continued to track the target, its own movement independent of the aircraft's movement.

"Ten seconds."

Would there be celebration? Would there be crying? Would the missile fail?

"Five seconds."

It wasn't too late for that dilemma, for that kid to walk into the frame, for the entire mission to get aborted. The missile was invisible from the ground but everyone knew it was there, watching it in split screen as it screamed towards it target.

"Four."

Was the President watching? Was he awake?

"Three."

What about the Chancellor? Was it too late now? Could there still be an abort?

"Two."

Time was running out, Malešević could still be the hero, couldn't he?

Too late, "Impact."

The missile hit precisely on target, piercing through the living room window of Boris Pushkin's apartment. The fuse sensor recognized this and began the detonation sequence, triggering the ten-kilogram, blast-fragmentation, incendiary warhead. The sequence, which happened in just microseconds, began with the detonation of the explosive mass, two kilograms of RDX, not a lot - per say - but more than enough to get the job done. From there, a pair of zirconium pellets, each weighing just one hundred grams, were blown apart by the RDX, mixing with the warhead's fragmentation content and the body of the missile itself, exploding outwards at several thousand meters per second. The warhead had a lethal radius of fifteen meters and it was easy to see how.

Fragments tore through the bodies of Pushkin and his bodyguard, lighting the air on fire thanks to the fragmented zirconium. The overpressure rapidly expanded, blowing outwards from the living room, toppling the wall between there and the bedroom, spreading the fragmentation and blast effects into the sleeping woman in Pushkin's bedroom. A fireball followed that filled the void from the blast wave and set the entire apartment ablaze instantly. What happened next no one could predict.

The NO-GO CDA came back to haunt everyone watching. Minister Tanacković's words filled everyone's ears, "…if our CDA exceeds sixty percent change of significant damage to the target structure we will abort the mission." Malešević recalled thinking it was a joke to set the NO-GO so high but now he watched the explosion from the missile he fired blow outwards and upwards and downwards from the seventh-floor apartment as the entire corner of the building began to collapse. No one watching could know that the otherwise shoddy construction of the building meant that this small warhead caused significant amounts of structure damage nor could they know that years upon years of neglect had meant that a crumbling exterior was never properly addressed. The overpressure from the blast and the fire from the explosive warhead blew clear out of Pushkin's small apartment and through to the rooms above, around, and below it, sending shockwaves throughout the structure, culminating with a partial collapse of the building.

If everyone had been silent before, they were really silent now. Where Pushkin's apartment had been was gone, where the ones above and below it had been were gone, relocated into a massive pile of rubble on the street below. Car alarms were ringing, lights were coming on, and smoke was rising over the scene. "Confirm impact," Kola said over the channel, his voice emotionless, toneless, just words coming out of him, doing what he was trained to do. He released the trigger and the lasing stopped, "Laser secure," he said a moment later when he flipped the laser's arming switch back to SAFE.

"Confirm impact," Malešević repeated, like he'd been trained to do. "What did we just do?" He asked himself but aloud because he simply couldn't fathom what he was seeing. Everyone had been prepared to see three people die, one of whom was civilian, maybe others injured in the ensuing fire. No one expected to see part of the building collapse taking out not just one but multiple apartments in the process, where people had been sleeping. One moment they were in dreamland, tossing and turning, and then next they were in a landslide of rubble, being crushed by building chunks weighing in the tonnes. Casualties would be in the dozens now, all from his missile. What have I done? He thought.

"Damage assessment," someone called out, "that wasn't in the CDA," the same person said.

"The target is definitely KIA," Sergei answered, packing him his gear, "WHISKEY 5-0 is out," he quickly cut connection. Soon, the entirety of the CbKZ and every other syndicate in Chernodrinsk would be flooding the streets, giving him little time to get back to his place without being seen. He'd have to stash his equipment as well and he knew a good place for that, a place that would ensure it was never found.

"Did we know that was going to happen? We couldn't have," the government's representative said as he looked at the screens in front of him, standing just behind Malešević and Kola. "That wasn't supposed to happen right?"

"No," the major said next to him, "CDA showed this to be a less than ten percent chance."

"We're covered right?"

"We should be," the two were going back and forth while Malešević and Kola looked at one another. They began to secure the aircraft's systems to ensure that another weapon could not be fired, one having done more than enough. Panic had ensued while the effects of the strike had become evident. No one knew that underneath all that rubble lay forty-one people, nine of whom would be dead, the rest injured, some very severely and would require significant amounts of hospital treatment.

• • • † • • •

Edited November 1, 2024 by Poja (see edit history)

Poja · November 28, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter IX
Consequences

Friday, 7 June 2024 | 05:50 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

Strelkov had been on the edge of sleep and awake for the past two hours, caught up in the alert slumber of a soldier, resting but ready to put his weapon into action at the slightest disturbance. Despite having assigned plenty of guards to keep patrol during the night, when Pojački commandos were most likely to siege the building, Strelkov was hardly "at ease" with the security situation. That he could have overlooked something in his preparations and actions gnawed at both his conscious and his unconscious mind.

In truth, Strelkov was terrified of being asleep, so much so that he forced himself to remain awake until exhaustion took over and forced him into bed for a few hours of uneasy, restless sleep. It was a major contributor to his progressively declining psychological state that deeply concerned Salnikov, who was now living in perpetual torment that Strelkov was mere centimeters from the edge, ready to explode and jeopardize the entire operation. To Salnikov, the little progress they'd been making with the Chancellor was worthy of hope but not nearly enough to pull his commander back from the edge. One traumatic event and it could be all over and Salnikov knew enough to know that the Pojački government, though they appeared helpless, was certainly scheming in the background. But even with that, he couldn't have anticipated the phone call that Strelkov was about to receive.

That piercing, shrill ringing of the phone echoed like a loudspeaker in the otherwise quiet corridors of the hospital and brought Strelkov out of his restless slumber as if a strong electrical current had been run through his body. Grabbing the phone with a racing heart, Strelkov put it up to his head as he shifted his feet onto the floor and fished for a cigarette, "Go."

"There's been an incident," a voice that Strelkov didn't immediately recognize said on the other end of the line, "Pushkin is dead, check the news." The call terminated right away and Strelkov, frozen in the midst of trying to light his cigarette, quickly brought up his phone's PBN app. He didn't have to go far before he saw the headline, "Explosion in Chernodrinsk Building Likely Kills Dozens." The cause of the explosion remains unknown at this time and there are currently no known eyewitness reports. Speculation ranges from an accidental explosion of a gas main to potential military action related to the CbKZ's current terrorist operation in Birogarsk. He read in the article. It said nothing about Pushkin, nothing about the identities or even the number of dead, nothing about anything. "They did this," Strelkov said aloud but only to himself as he stood up, finally lighting his cigarette.

Coming into the empty corridor outside, the nurse's station only a few meters away, Strelkov gave it a quick glance before he put his eyes back to his phone and continued to read, despite how sparse the article was. It was a "breaking" and "developing" story, barely more than an hour had gone by since the explosion. How did they know Pushkin was dead? Could it have been a rival group? Was it a traitor? Questions swirled in Strelkov's brain as he continued to read. Pushkin is dead, check the news. He thought over the words again, tried to recognize the voice but couldn't. He read again, looking for anything, checked more sites, checked more news agencies, checked more apps, looked for videos and photos on social media. He still didn't know who called. The internet was a whole heap of nothing. There was an explosion, the death toll was unknown, the cause was unknown, the time was known, the location was known, that was it. In fact, by knowing that Pushkin was dead, Strelkov knew more than every news agency in the wurld did.

Pushkin is dead… The words echoed again. Boris Pushkin was more than just the intelligence chief for the CbKZ, he was Strelkov's closest confidant and one of the few people who knew about his mission. Pushkin had blessed it in secrecy, hoping that it would break the "softness" of the CbKZ, as they both saw it. The inertia needed to get the group back into its unilaterally declared war against Rugi was tremendous and they both believed that Birogarsk could do it. They also hoped it would elevate the CbKZ's standing inside Chernodrinsk against the criminal syndicates that weren't motivated by ideology or nationalism like the CbKZ was. Those syndicates only cared about the money they raked in from their illegal enterprises. To them the money was the end whereas to the CbKZ, it was merely the means to the end. It was this fundamental difference in the groups that kept the state of cooperation between them tense. Birogarsk could elevate the CbKZ to become the top dog in Chernodrinsk, or so Pushkin and Strelkov believed.

Strelkov looked once more at a still image of the damage to the building. He zoomed in with his fingers, pinching outwards on the screen. The damage was extensive, a whole side of the building being nothing but rubble. His first thought was that it was a car bombing but as he focused on the buildings around it, he noticed that the damage was localized just to Pushkin's building, thusly ruling out a car bomb. He didn't know much about gas lines or gas explosions only except that they could turn an entire house to splinters thus he postulated that the lack of a continuously burning fire and still further localized damage would rule out a gas explosion. Strelkov wondered if someone could have snuck into the building and ignited a bomb, perhaps in a parcel or a suitcase but then the damage was much more extensive. Every time he had a thought to one cause, something caught his eye proving otherwise. The exercise was one of frustration and futility as he looked at the image, Pushkin is dead… He thought again.

It was then as if a light switch had been flipped in Strelkov. Throwing his phone in anger and frustration, he set his eyes upon the nurse's station and without thinking further charged up to it and began to tear it to pieces. He ripped the phone off of its cord and flung it, smashed the computer monitors on the ground, upended chairs, began to hammer away at the desk with his fists, and became a one-man wrecking ball. Men rushed up to the area to see what the commotion was but could only watch in silent horror as Strelkov's rage got the better of him. For several minutes, he went on unabated and unhindered until finally, when he was out of breath, his heart beating painfully hard that he looked across at one of the men and ordered him to get Salnikov. Delighted to be given permission to leave, the man vanished quickly and once he'd informed Salnikov of the request, opted to stay away from Strelkov.

Salnikov, who'd heard some of the commotion, responded at once and rushed up to where Strelkov was before slowing down at the sight of the ravaged nurse's station. By then, Strelkov was back in his room, moving onto another cigarette, having lost the other in his fit of rage. "You wanted…" Before he could say anything further, Strelkov tossed the otherwise unblemished phone to Salnikov who, without a word, caught it and looked at the screen.

"Pushkin's dead."

"In this?" Strelkov nodded. "What happened?"

"You tell me," Strelkov sat on the edge of the bed and lit the cigarette but then stood up and came over, smoke coming from his mouth. "It's not a car bomb because the damage is just to the building. It's not a gas explosion because the whole building doesn't show damage look all of these windows are fine over here, they'd have been blown out if that much gas had built up, and it can't be a parcel bomb or something because look at how much damage there is. So, what did it?"

Silence hung in the air between them as Salnikov pinched the screen and scrolled around it, looking at the photo, going over the same theories and possibilities that Strelkov had. Salnikov was an expert in explosives, not a bomb maker, but an expert in explosives far more than he was a soldier. "Shaped charge."

"Come again?"

"This was a shaped charge device. The damage is very localized but it is also significant. It means the explosive force was directed inwards. Car bombs explode up and outwards, it's why they destroy everything in a radius and gas explosions would have destroyed much more. This was a shaped charge, something directed."

"Like from an RPG?"

"Much bigger than an RPG. Look at across the street, the RPG you fired did a fraction of the damage that this did. No this was hit by a missile. It had to have had ten, twenty kilos of explosives, an RPG couldn't have nearly enough explosives to do this much damage. This was a missile, which means the government executed this strike. They knew where Pushkin was and assassinated him," he handed the phone back. "It was Rugi."

The words landed on Strelkov's brain like a sledgehammer. It was Rugi, echoed in his head bouncing from skull wall to skull wall. His skin began to flush with redness as the same rage that had come over him minutes earlier returned. This was what Salnikov feared, irrationality in their leader, and this was it, the event horizon from which he knew Strelkov could not return from, the very moment when he saw failure as the only outcome for this operation.

"Before you do anything…" He didn't get any more words as Strelkov began to dial the phone, "Who are you calling?"

"That b*tch is going to pay for this. Get me five hostages right now."

"Leonid please."

"Did I stutter, five, hostages, now?"

"No." Defeated, Salnikov turned and carried out the task just as Strelkov held on placing the call. When Salnikov returned a few minutes later with the five hostages, Strelkov ushered them outside to the corridor and lined each of them up against the wall, placing the call. "Get me the Chancellor right now," he said when someone who wasn't Jurić picked up, "and you better hurry." His voice was cold and emotionless, yet rage bubbled beneath the surface ready to boil over at any moment. In front of him, as he paced back and forth, the hostages wept, two quietly to themselves, the others loudly. Strelkov ignored them, Salnikov ignored them, two other men holding weapons pointed at them to prevent escape, ignored them.

When the Chancellor finally came on the other line she'd barely gotten in two words before Strelkov launched into his tirade, "We have seen your actions against the people of Chernodrinsk and you will pay for this! Unless our demands are met, I will execute five hostages each and every hour and if you think I am joking," he pulled his sidearm from his holster and fired the first shot, "then think again!" Then he fired the second, sidestepping just beforehand and then the third, the fourth, and the fifth, aiming downwards as the hostages crumpled to the floor in feeble attempts to protect themselves against the execution's bullet. "If you want any semblance of a solution, I demand that you provide a camera crew so that we can show the wurld that the CbKZ is not joking. Remember, five hostages, every hour!" He hung up the phone and holstered his weapon, "Clean up this f*cking mess and have five more ready in an hour."

The terrorists nodded, not a word to be said between them while Salnikov, stifling his own frustration and what he'd witnessed, merely looked at them and said, "You heard him," before walking away.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Friday, 7 June 2024 | 08:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

Just as Strelkov finished executing the fifteenth hostage since learning about the death of Pushkin, Chancellor Jurić and the rest of the IGO were sitting down for their tensest meeting yet throughout the House of Magnates, the Predsjednički Dvori, and a half dozen other places throughout the country, including Birogarsk and Novigrad. Outside of the smallest group possible in the Pojački government, the airstrike against Chernodrinsk had not been made known to the wider IGO group until the meeting had been scheduled, which ruffled more than just a few feathers. President Petrović took it upon himself to deflect some of the blame away from the Chancellor, even though she had opposed it. "This morning, as you are all aware, a drone strike was carried out against Boris Pushkin, the chief of intelligence for the CbKZ and an individual we believed was quarterbacking the operation in Birogarsk." Questions were flung at him almost immediately, as if his position of President meant nothing.

While they were flung, he waited patiently and then finally put an end to the barrage, "I'm not going to go into those details on how we believed this or how we found him. The decision was made at the executive level of this country by the VSP. This wider group was not included because this was a matter of the utmost secrecy until the strike was carried out," which of course brought a rabble of accusations that neither the President nor the Chancellor fully trusted the staff. It was all a bit tiring for the President who let them have a few moments of talking over one another before again, waving his hand and putting a stop to it, "I am not going to explain anything to you if you continue this crosstalk. It is not a matter of trust or loyalty. Military and intelligence operations are best conducted with the fewest possible individuals involved. So regardless of how you feel at this moment, the operation was a success because of it."

"A success!" Premier Tarasov barged onto the call, "You call fifteen dead and another five in the next hour and five there after a success? You've set off a madman."

"Obviously there were unintended consequences to our…"

"Unintended consequences? You killed one man. Are the Chernarussian people only worth one…"

"Premier I'll have you watch your tone," the Chancellor interrupted. Her attitude had changed dramatically since Strelkov's call and she no longer saw her opposition to the strike in the same light, "You are speaking with the President of this country, a man elected by the people of Poja to lead not just Chernarus like yourself but the entire country. This strike was a decisive blow to the CbKZ who, I am surprised I need to remind you, is carrying out the bloodiest terrorist attack in our nation's history. How many innocents lie dead at their hands? Now I for one believed that the removal of Pushkin was the correct choice. If you believe that the CbKZ is not quarterbacking this operation from Chernodrinsk then you are wrong. Strelkov is acting but he is not acting alone. Now we have the organization scrambling and when they scramble, they make mistakes. We will find the next person and so on and so forth. We took a bold step and we will answer for it but we will not answer to them!" She meant Strelkov and the CbKZ.

"If I may," Minister Zorić interrupted calmly and evenly, like always, "the CbKZ is like any terrorist organization, a hydra. There will always be a new head to rise up to take place of the one we have chopped off but each time they do, it upsets the balance, it brings about potential rivalries. Men who have been scorned think they can right those wrongs. Those who have been ousted make plays to come back. You may think it futile but it is far from it. You set off a power struggle within the organization that disrupts everything for as little as hours or as long as months. We're in the midst of a major attack with limited retaliatory options. The option that presented itself in this strike was an option put before the VSP and it was voted and acted upon as a result. If you have an issue with the handling of such matters by the VSP then I suggest you propose major reform for this country and good luck there."

Quietness came as everyone realized that if they weren't part of the VSP, they couldn't necessarily be held to blame. As much as the IGO and the Pojački government were acting with the best intentions and interests in this crisis, at the end of the day, politicians were weasels who were always looking to avoid responsibility for their own decisions, never mind ones they did not make. "Now if we can get back to the matter at hand," Jurić said she'd heard enough of no one responding, "we have a major change in the dynamic of this situation. You will do to recall that Strelkov and the CbKZ have killed hundreds where we have killed one. Are we not allowed to defend ourselves? They demand fealty from the government and that will never happen.

"Until this morning, I believed that we could negotiate to a settlement with Strelkov that saved the lives of many hostages. My intention has always been the safety of the hostages. Tell me then, does anyone believe we can further negotiate with Strelkov?" No one uttered a word or so much as moved their heads, "I didn't think so. For peace to work, both sides must want it. Strelkov and the CbKZ do not want peace so if we were to continue down that road then what? Nothing but dead hostages. It pains me beyond words to go against the very fabric of my own beliefs but we must consider a military resolution to this crisis." Chancellor Jurić, the preeminent "peacenik" in the party had uttered words no one expected and no one thought they would ever hear but were suddenly very glad to hear them. "Minister, what can the Pojački military offer in this time?"

Minister Tanacković, who hours earlier had watched the missile strike and kill Pushkin suddenly seemed surprised to be called upon and, from his position at the table, smartened up slightly, "Well Madam Chancellor, we have been discussing military solutions internally and we have a plan that, while not finalized, offers us the best chance of success. In fact, in this morning's iteration of demands, Strelkov has already offered the first avenue for this plan, which is his request for a camera crew."

"What does that matter?" Chancellor Jurić asked, confused that it did.

"A key part of this plan Madam Chancellor is having reconnaissance inside the hospital. We tried with a drone but that was a failure. We brainstormed having a fake PBN camera crew getting access to the hospital to provide recon. Now Strelkov has demanded the very thing we need. So, we allow a camera crew to go in but the crew is in reality our commandos. We will have two men inside, who know what to look for, who can provide needed intelligence back to the operation planning team."

"Wouldn't they just take them hostage? Or do you plan to send them in armed?"

"Unarmed, no legitimate camera crew would go in armed. If this were thirty years ago, we could sneak a pistol into a video camera but those video cameras simply aren't used anymore in favor of smaller, lighter models. But with them inside, they would aim to subdue two terrorists, at a minimum, during any initial assault, when attentions are distracted, gain access to their weapons, and provide flanking support from inside of the hospital." He was leaving out the fact that they believed they could also have them jam the detonation signal to the bombs from inside of the hospital. "The plan is rough, admittedly but it will develop very quickly. As to why they wouldn't take them hostage, they want to get their message out, if they do that PBN cuts the feed on them."

"Do we have any objections?" Jurić asked but when no one spoke up, she simply nodded her head and said, "Then let's make it happen," fully resolved to a military and, thus, violent solution.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Friday, 7 June 2024 | 08:40 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

In the time since the operation was first proposed, the Chancellor had been in panic mode since she'd been tasked with getting cooperation from the PBN. For the operation to be a success, they needed it to look legitimate and there was no way to do that without the PBN's full and unwavering cooperation. To do that, Jurić personally phoned the head of the network and received not only his full cooperation but also his promise of complete and total secrecy. No one outside of him would know, at least for now, that the PBN was cooperating with the military and the government. On-air anchors would know only that a third-party camera crew had been dispatched and that they would be airing the footage. Any questions would be immediately stifled as he regaled them on what it meant for the network to have an exclusive feed from inside the hospital. That the government handed this to the PBN, he would tell them, was a monumental coup for the station over its competitors.

For Jurić, the price wasn't too steep but the matter of so many lives outweighed any costs. PBN would not only be granted the first and only exclusive interview post-crisis with the Chancellor and the President but they would also be able to call on a number of smaller initiatives with the government they'd been after for some time. As she hung up the phone and recited everything that he'd wanted, she commented only, "Well at least he's more willing to negotiate than Strelkov is, even if he asks for more." With the permission guaranteed, press badges and uniforms were rushed to the command center in Birogarsk where two GPO commandos had volunteered to go into the hospital posing as the camera crew.

Dressed and outfitted, the two men were about to step out of the supply room when Vodnik Black came in to inspect them, laughing and commenting, "Well don't you two look like a couple of shmucks." Middle fingers were exchanged. "All right let's play it cool and get this done. You'll be in there a while; any operation isn't launching until after midnight. Keep your cool, play the part, and be ready. First sign of action focus on the bombs, focus on Strelkov, got it?"

"Got it," they answered.

"Anything that happens before midnight disregard it, we're not coming while they're awake no matter what. You'll get driven up in a police vehicle so try to act nervous all right? Act like schmucks."

Minutes later, they were on the way with a very large bag of press gear, inside of which was a radio frequency jammer that they hoped they could use to block whatever detonators they were using. It was the only piece of "weaponry" they were carrying and it was well disguised to be just another piece of generic, electronic equipment. The policemen, unaware of their identity, had been pulled from the units still patrolling around the city so as to prevent any type of "tells" that might alert the especially savvy terrorists to their true identities. When they pulled up, the terrorists were waiting for them outside, armed and seemingly in good spirits.

"All right, hands up, search time," they ordered as the two commandos got out of the vehicle with their camera gear. Pretending to act nervous, especially when the police car was ordered away at gunpoint, they tried to stay focused on the pile of bodies on the street, something that civilians would find sickening. One even managed to make himself vomit at the sight of it, furthering their cover as journalists. They were searched very thoroughly and so too was their gear, which they implored the terrorists to be careful with because it was "expensive," especially the radio jammer. Much to their surprise, the terrorists didn't bother to ask about every piece of equipment since they were mainly focused on looking for firearms and dismissed anything that was either sealed or too small to hold even so much as a pistol. When they were done, the terrorists demand, "Phones, hand them over." Both commandos handed over what amounted to basic, company phones that they'd gotten from and were finally let into the hospital. They began broadcasting immediately.

In the command center, Vodnik Black and the rest watched on curiously as the commandos were ushered through the building. Everyone was taking notes, writing down everything they saw that was potentially useful and what they might need the men to focus on with a second look. They knew they would be able to communicate with them somehow so they would need to be able to relay their needs quickly and secretively but that was a problem for later, for now they needed to jot down everything. They would also go back and replay the recording so that they could watch everything again and again. The GPO, the PPOV, and those involved weren't amateurs by any stretch of the imagination and this wasn't their first rodeo.

It didn't take long, not but ten minutes, before Vodnik Black turned to look at those near him and shook his head. "Lot of tangos and a lot of cover for them."

"True nightmare scenario," his counterpart in the PPOV agreed, "plus if we can't stop them from detonating it's all over before it begins."

"We're going to need a lot of body bags on this one," Vodnik Black shook his head again. "Maybe we'll get lucky," he turned back to the screen and continued to watch, taking his notes accordingly.

• • • † • • •

Poja · November 30, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter X
Fissures

Friday, 7 June 2024 | 09:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernodrinsk | Kinesta District

By mid-morning, the commotion throughout Chernodrinsk was bordering on paralyzing. Rumors spread fast about the explosion and though most of them were gross exaggerations, as rumors tended to be, they all more or less centered on the fact that a high-level individual within the CbKZ was killed and that the explosion was no accident. Social media was awash with accusations of Pojački military action, correctly - albeit without evidence - claiming the explosion was the result of an "illegal drone strike." The wording choice was just a little bit silly since there were no international conventions governing such action and the CbKZ was engaged in a massive terrorist attack against civilians in Birogarsk, which was illegal per very international conventions they cited. Alas, such was the reach, scope, and capacity of the many bots employed by the CbKZ to push their message throughout the wurld.

Whatever social media said was inconsequential though, the strike shook up the leadership, if it could be called that, of Chernodrinsk very badly. Wasting no time, the syndicate heads quickly called together a high-level meeting in an old Chernarussian War-era bunker located on the outskirts of the main urban center in a place known only as Kinesta or more officially, the Kinesta District. The Kinesta District had been one of the first formally settled locations in Chernodrinsk in the twentieth century, predating the Chernarussian War by many decades but which had quickly outgrown its occupancy by the end of the first refugee wave. This led to its partial abandonment in favor of other districts and settlements in the then mostly undeveloped 2,900 km² rogue state. It was an ideal place for the syndicate heads to meet because it was entirely within the control of the Kozlov Organization, named thusly after the Kozlov family, now under the leadership of Zahar Kozlov, the oldest of the five syndicate heads.

Kozlov would arrive first followed by Sergey Pirogov of the Belorinsk Gang, a name that Pirogov loathed but could not change for it honored the roots of his syndicate from when they were just a glorified street gang in Belorinsk, before they ruthless became a major syndicate by eliminating their competitors, starting with the other street gangs. Anatoly Abdulov of the Anatoly Group, not named after him, arrived third shortly before Ilya Izmaylov, who headed the Slava Clan. Oleg Isayev of the People's Army of Chernodrinsk arrived last of the five and despite the name of his organization, it was neither an army nor a leftist organization as the name suggested. In fact, they were the premier cybercriminals in Chernodrinsk and that was their moniker online. By 09:00, they were all assembled in the bunker waiting on one man, Lubomir Kovalev who happened to be the CbKZ's appointed delegate to the five syndicates. The five men tolerated Kovalev enough but they saw his appointment as disrespectful instead of meeting directly with the head of the CbKZ but they had to tolerate it because no single syndicate was more powerful than any other and even the five syndicates combined offered only an equal foe to the CbKZ and none of the syndicate heads wanted that kind of violence on their hands.

When Kovalev finally arrived, he was ushered down into the bunker and the door closed behind him, leaving him in there with just the other five heads. Kozlov, who was finishing a cup of tea, opened the meeting with unnecessary but required accolades of thanks to everyone for coming on short notice and to "non-neutral territory," not that there was any neutral territory in Chernodrinsk. When it came to the syndicate heads, egos all had to be fluffed, including Kozlov's own. "I've asked you here because we need to discuss the explosion this morning. As I understand it, Boris Pushkin was killed, correct?"

Kovalev nodded, "It's very tragic."

"And as I ascertain it, we are certain that this was a military action by the Pojački government?"

"Our own experts strongly believe that this was a drone strike."

"The first of its kind," Kozlov had asked around but no one had been able to find any evidence or indication that the Pojački government had ever authorized a drone strike of such a nature before. "That is concerning."

"It's very concerning," Isayev spoke, "we're seeing a lot of engagement online right now on social media about this. The Pojački citizens are more than just a little happy about this. The government hasn't outright said that they executed the strike but in the court of public opinion, they did and the people are happy."

"They're a bloodthirsty people, look at what they've been calling us for the past few days," Kovalev said, as if the Birogarsk Crisis wasn't happening.

"Well can you blame them?" Pirogov said, his voice clearly indicating his displeasure at the way Kovalev responded. "Look what you guys have done, are still doing?"

"We're fighting a war against the Pojački government and the Chernarussian traitors for the freedom of our homeland. They'll call this a terrorist incident but this is a decisive strike against them."

"You can't be serious," Kozlov was always known to be the more practical and reasoned one of the five syndicate heads, perhaps because he was the oldest but even he couldn't see the practicality in Birogarsk, "this isn't a 'decisive strike,' your people are murdering civilians on live television. Your actions have put us all at risk here."

"All?" Kovalev dismissed the thought nonchalantly, "We've put ourselves at risk of course but we knew that when this operation was launched." In truth, Kovalev had never been included in the planning, Strelkov and Pushkin never fully trusted him, even if the CbKZ's leadership council, of which he was a part of, did. Kovalev had been given the talking points after the siege was public and told to defend it to the syndicate heads when they came asking.

"We should have been consulted," Abdulov said, "this affects us all whether you want to believe it or not. The Pojački government will not take this lying down and you've handed them casus belli to invade, occupy, and crush Chernodrinsk. What we've had for the past six decades is about to be over."

"You're all too worried, I promise you that they will not. The Pojački military does not have the capabilities to do this," he didn't even speak to the idea that no one had been consulted; after all, he hadn't been consulted either. His nonchalant attitude more than got under the skin of the five syndicate heads, it drove them to immediate irritation.

"That's ridiculous," Isayev answered, "how can you be so daft as to suggest they will not respond. Look what they have done already. This is an escalation we would never have envisioned had your organization not launched this attack." Once again Kovalev dismissed it as a one-off scenario and for the better part of the next hour, they went back and forth on this line as the syndicate heads expressed their displeasure at Birogarsk, implored Kovalev to have the CbKZ call it off, and insist upon the repercussions that Chernodrinsk would suffer as a result. Each time, Kovalev had a new dismissal that only further got under their skin. In the end, the meeting went no where and served only as a forum for the syndicates to indicate their displeasure with the CbKZ, which Kovalev would certainly take back to the leadership council of the CbKZ.

As Kovalev left, the others remained behind at Kozlov's instance, having indicated so before the meeting began shortly after Isayev's arrival. They'd agreed to leave at preset times so as not to all leave at once, in case anyone was watching them, not that anyone was. That gave Kozlov time to speak frankly with them, "They've walked this place down a path it cannot return from and Kovalev's dismissals show what the CbKZ thinks of our input."

"If I had to hear one more dismissal I was going to lose it," Isayev answered, making a fist with his hand and shaking it, "the engagement online is not to be taken for granted. The Pojački people want CbKZ blood and they want to see Chernodrinsk bulldozed from the map. They lump us together. The Pojački government will not simply 'let bygones by bygones' that strike was the first of many. Sooner or later, we'll be on the targeting list."

"That's why we need to act," Kozlov sat back down at the table and the rest followed, "we need to form a temporary union together, more so than what we've done in the past. We've come to an amicable agreement between ourselves but there are still spats here and there with the soldiers over territory and sleights. It has to stop. We have to be unified together, against the CbKZ for this. None of us sitting here believes that bullshit, correct?" The answer was unanimous, "They've launched the biggest and most barbaric terrorist attack that Poja has ever seen. The Pojački military will come in like a wrecking ball. We have to make sure they don't lump us up with them."

"Would it be against our interests to reach out to Rugi through unofficial channels and distance ourselves?" Pirogov asked, knowing that the Kozlov Organization did have some contacts within the government.

"Maybe, maybe not, this new administration has not been as accommodating as its predecessors," Kozlov meant that the prior administrations had been willing to overlook Chernodrinsk's criminal operations and attack them from a law enforcement perspective, even the minor terrorist attacks CbKZ previously orchestrated. Modern Poja underneath President Petrović was not so willing. "Petrović has talked big about how other administrations tolerated Chernodrinsk as a nuisance and gave many speeches about doing something different. Nothing's been done but that's now about to change."

"Still, it's worth the effort," Pirogov wasn't going to let it go so easily, "Chernodrinsk might be a scourge to Rugi but we've never approved of the CbKZ's war with them. We've simply been outmatched to do anything."

"I'll make inquiries," Kozlov offered, "but I can't make promises. We need to make sure that we're prepared for what's coming. Our predecessors have spent decades building up this place and now these animals are going to see to its ruination all because of their ridiculous cause. The Chernarussian people hate them, they'd have no state even if they did get into power." The others nodded in agreement because there was no disagreement with them, they all felt the same way and had expressed as much on more than one occasion, even with Kovalev or his predecessors in the room.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Friday, 7 June 2024 | 11:15 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

Chancellor Jurić looked at her watch and nervously tapped on her desk. Thirteen more minutes, she thought to herself as she waited anxiously. Over the past two hours, she'd been trying to negotiate a hostage release with Strelkov, despite her aforementioned statements about Strelkov's unwillingness to negotiate. In her eyes, if she could get Strelkov to release hostages then that would help her justify having agreed to a military solution. At first, he hadn't wanted to talk at all, choosing instead to continue to ignore her phone calls. Then, he finally cracked just before 10:00, minutes before he sent another five people to an early death.

"If we release five prisoners then you will release the children and the infants?" Jurić asked on the phone. A silence followed that she dared not talk over, fearful that if she had, Strelkov would put his foot down and balk. She hadn't known that Salnikov was listening on the other end, urging his leader to agree. Salnikov wanted to push forward on the operation, to achieve their goals while Strelkov was getting "distracted," as he put it.

"You have one hour."

"No, I need more, I told you, I need two hours. Give me two hours to release five prisoners and you will release the children and the infants. Give me that assurance."

"Fine," Strelkov hung up the phone. Jurić sat back in her chair and put the handset down before letting out a deep breath. A weight was lifted from her shoulders and she immediately phoned the IGO with her development.

Thirty minutes later, the IGO met and Jurić broke the good news to them. She'd secured the release of the infants and the children at the expense of five prisoners. There was an immediate upheaval as more than a few people accused her of "caving into the demands of a madman." In the end, it was Minister Tanacković who came to her aid, telling the gathered men and women, "The fewer hostages in the crossfire the better, especially if they're children. When the shooting starts, our men will be scrambling to get everyone out of there. People will be terrified and terrified people do not act rationally. It will be far easier to corral adults than it will children. For five terrorists, who will have only a few hours of freedom this is acceptable."

Those who said otherwise weren't going to change their minds but they weren't going to keep up the argument any longer. At this point, with the military option on the table, many believed that there was no point negotiating whatsoever. Unlike the Chancellor, they saw only the smaller picture. For Jurić, it wasn't an option to discontinue negotiations. Strelkov and the CbKZ needed to believe that the government still wanted to find a solution if just to keep them from doing anything too rash, if executing five people an hour and everything they'd done before wasn't to be considered "too rash," that was. Jurić and the military leaders believed that the best thing for the situation was to keep up the same routine of trying to negotiate and, if any negotiations succeeded, the better for the government. Getting the release of the infants and the children was a major achievement. Strelkov and the CbKZ hadn't yet killed any of them, focusing instead on the adults so it could be spun in many positive ways for both the government and the CbKZ though no one but ideological hardliners would believe not executing children was a "humane act" on their part.

The release from Rugi was set to happen at 11:28. The plan was to release them from Federal Penitentiary No. 17, which was located about sixty kilometers outside of the capital. A notorious, maximum-security prison, it was home to a number of CbKZ terrorists and hardened, career criminals, many serving life sentences. It was not, however, the home of the federal execution chamber, which were located at Federal Penitentiary No. 37 in Rugi-proper. A number of CbKZ terrorists were being held there as well, some on life sentences, some awaiting execution, depending on their crimes.

Once released, the five terrorists would be handed over to a representative of the CbKZ and then driven to Birogarsk where they would join their comrades-in-arms. It had been something of a scramble for the Ministry of Justice under Minister Afrim Jazbinšek to find five individuals who would be "acceptable enough" to release. In truth, none were acceptable but CbKZ terrorists being held were being held for a number of crimes, some much less serious than others. Murderers were certainly not on any list but those who aided and abetted operations or who were "getaway drivers" could be considered. Isolating those five and finding the right ones took the lion's share of the time. From there, it was up to prison officials to hurry them out of the door with their personal belongings. Everything was being done in secrecy so, inside of the jail, the prisoners were simply being told that they were being moved and that was all. Once they were isolated, they were told very briefly why they were being released and where they were going. Even for prisoners, the Birogarsk Hostage Crisis wasn't a secret.

At 11:23, Jurić heard a knock on her door and stood by as Minister Jazbinšek entered alone. The door was shut and he sat down across the desk from her. "Everything is arranged," he said, putting a folder on the desk in front of her, "profiles on our five captives."

"How long until news gets out of the release?"

"That it hasn't already is a bit surprising. I'd say the moment they're released until their arrival at the hospital. I'm sure the CbKZ will have no problems blabbing it all over the news."

"I'm sure. The public won't understand."

"Most of the IGO doesn't understand Madam Chancellor," Jazbinšek did. "But I have good news and not to be shared. Two of the captives have expressed what I could call 'extreme displeasure' with the proceedings in Birogarsk and have agreed to act as double agents. They have stated, in no uncertain terms, that their own personal beliefs do not align with the current CbKZ cause in the wake of this incident. I guess even terrorists have a red line."

"Do we trust them?"

"No more than we trust any terrorist but we have nothing to lose. If word gets out that they're double agents, they'll be executed and the CbKZ will do our bidding for us and if not and they do act as double agents, we'll benefit."

"What if they intend to act as double agents but really just play us?"

"We'll hardly be trusting them enough to feed them anything of value Madam Chancellor. It'll be run out by Zorić's group anyway."

"Right," she looked at the clock. It was 11:28, the phone rang and she answered it, waiting on the other end.

"Release is taking place Madam Chancellor." Then there was a long pause, "The CbKZ's representative is in possession of the individuals and the transfer is completed." Jurić hung up the phone.

"I'll give them five minutes to make the call. Lytkin is aware of the impending release and has men staged." Waiting was the worst part until finally, the phone rang again not two minutes later. It was Lytkin, "What do you mean they've only released five?"

"Only five children were released. We are bringing them back to the TOC now."

She slammed the phone down and immediately called Strelkov, "We had a deal!" She was yelling now, there was no mincing words. "You f*cked me over!"

"Madam Chancellor," Strelkov said with all of the smugness in his voice that he could muster, "I have not f*cked you over. When our compatriots are with us, we will release the rest of the children and the infants. You would do well to watch your tone. Now, you have released five and I have released five. Certainly, your five are more valuable than mine. Perhaps you should mull that over."

"It'll be hours before they arrive!"

"Then you should have sent a helicopter," Strelkov hung up the phone to a fuming and raging Jurić on the other end.

"He said they'll release the rest when the terrorists arrive."

"He'll find an excuse Madam to break that promise, I am sure."

"So am I!"

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Friday, 7 June 2024 | 12:47 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

President Petrović handed over his phone and submitted himself to be wanded for electronic devices, standing there in the anteroom with his arms out and his legs spread. "Good to go sir," the uniformed guard said after he completed his circuit around the President's body. Another uniformed guard standing by the door, his hand on his pistol, relaxed slightly as he stepped aside and slid his keycard through the reader. The door opened and the President joined Ministers Zorić and Tanacković inside along with Chancellor Jurić. This high-level briefing had been previously scheduled and served as an outlet for the four of them to discuss military and intelligence matters related to the ongoing crisis without the wider IGO or even the smaller VSP. It meant that whatever was discussed was at the highest level of classification the Pojački government had.

As he entered Petrović casually nodded to those present and asked, "Do we have any drones operational over Chernodrinsk right now?"

"No sir," Tanacković answered, "in fact one of the items on this agenda was to have persistent coverage over Chernodrinsk from ISR drones operating at medium and high altitude."

"That's approved," the President answered as he took his seat, "we should have approved it when we approved the strike. I want constant surveillance over Chernodrinsk." Tanacković nodded and began to scribble a note.

"Mister President, Madam Chancellor," Zorić took the floor, "what we're seeing right now online from the CbKZ, primarily driven by their bots, online trolls, and the useful idiots that parrot their talking points is an onslaught of accusations of our responsibility in the Pushkin strike. They have been pushing the explosion as a drone strike, correctly obviously, though they lack any evidence at this time."

"Will they have any?"

"Certainly Madam Chancellor, the wreckage from the missile will be recoverable and it won't be difficult to deduce who the owner was. Our own allies may start to ask questions of us before then, simply based on the attention this strike has received. I think we ought to be prepared to tell the truth. Our own legal provisions make perfectly clear that this strike was justified and there are no international provisions that we have violated. Except for nations that we would not otherwise be friendly with, the wurld will be on our side. Perhaps this is a takeaway for future meetings.

"The CbKZ has taken the Pushkin strike very seriously. Reports from our double agents in Chernodrinsk are a bit grim right now. The CbKZ leadership has largely gone 'underground,' fearful of reprisal attacks, which is why a persistent, armed drone presence over Chernodrinsk will benefit us greatly if a strike opportunity presents itself."

"See this is the path I did not want to walk down," Chancellor Jurić immediately butted in, "conducting drone strikes against Chernodrinsk at will."

"Not at will Madam, against the leadership or high-value-targets of the CbKZ."

"Who surround themselves with civilians."

"Yes, they do," Zorić didn't have much of a response because, at least to him, it was inconsequential to the prize of knocking out the leadership in the group. "In addition," he moved right past the statement, "the CbKZ is currently conducting on the lookout for double agents. This is going to hinder our ability to get information as our double agents have to be even more cautious than they normally are. Preserving the network is our highest priority right now."

"So, if we cannot get information, how can we strike targets? Or are we going to identify them from ten thousand meters up and drop a bomb?"

"Madam Chancellor, we will follow through any strike the same way as that against Boris Pushkin, which you yourself supported only this morning. This is not a matter any of us are taking lightly. We merely want to retain the capability to respond. No strike will be conducted without executive approval." Jurić didn't bother to answer, disgusted as she was with how the drone option was expanding right before her eyes.

"We'll maintain the presence," Petrović answered, "and it is obvious that we have a robust approval and discussion process for weapons release. The framework in place right now will persist until such time as is necessary to change or disestablish it."

Zorić nodded while Tanacković continued to scribble. "I have something I would like to bring up, something new." Jurić took the floor now, "One of the CbKZ's demands is an independence referendum for Chernarus. Polling shows it would fail miserably and our political voting system is robust enough that not even the reach of the CbKZ's hackers could alter it. I am going to propose to the Magnates this afternoon that we allow the referendum."

"Why on Eurth would we do this?" Petrović couldn't believe what he was hearing. As the President of Poja, his duty was to maintain the confederation's integrity, it was one of the foremost duties of the President. "You do realize what position that puts me in?"

"Because I believe it could lead to more hostages being released. We must get as many released as possible."

"It's ridiculous, the referendum would take months to prepare. This crisis will be over if just because they'll run out of people to shoot by then."

"I am hoping that the mere entertaining of the idea might be enough."

"It will be embarrassing," the President said, "and I implore you not to bring this up ata all. It will be woefully unpopular; I doubt a single Magnate would dare entertain the thought. It will only make us look weak."

"My mind is made up," Jurić was still fighting a battle within herself. She believed in peace, recognized that Strelkov wasn't looking for a peaceful solution, and yet still tried at every chance to steer the crisis towards a peaceful solution, even if she recognized that the military option was the only way.

"I cannot support this at all," Petrović answered, "neither will the party. No one will."

"We must do something. We need to get more hostages released before tonight's raid. You said so yourself, correct Minister?"

Tanacković looked up from his notebook, "I did yes Madam but I hazard to say that when I made those comments it was towards immediate and tangible results. No referendum would happen in sufficient time. We'd merely be signaling to Strelkov, the Magnates, and the public that we would fold under threat. That could have wide-ranging consequences to the unification of our country beyond just this event. I too would implore you not to raise this issue on the floor." Jurić wasn't listening though, she was dead set in favor of the raising the idea, calculating only insofar as the polling was concerned. It was low risk from that point of view but as Tanacković suggested, the consequences could be far reaching and she wasn't considering that at all.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Friday, 7 June 2024 | 16:40 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | Predsjednički Dvori

The afternoon had not been kind to Chancellor Jelena Jurić. From the SCIF, she went directly to the floor of the House of Magnates where, against the advice of both Ministers Zorić and Tanacković as well as President Petrović, she proposed the idea of allowing the Chernarussian independence referendum. She'd barely gotten through half of her first talking point on the low risk of it when the floor erupted into abject pandemonium and vehement chaos. The reception couldn't have been worse and each and every one of the thirty-five Magnates laid into her for suggesting it, especially the Chernarussian representatives whose words bordered on violating rules of decorum. Smartly, she didn't press the issue any further, choosing to take her licks and sit quietly for the remainder of the session.

When it ended at 16:00, she'd barely gotten out of the building before it was plastered all over the news that she'd raised the possibility of the independence referendum. They'd eventually find that one of the Chernarussian representatives, so incensed by the idea, leaked it to the press via an aide while they were still in session. Accosted for comment as she was being escorted to an awaiting car, the Chancellor responded that she had no comment and could not discuss the matter but it was plain as day the embarrassment on her face. Her unilateral choice to go down the route had blown up in her face. Not far away, in the Predsjednički Dvori, the President had responded in a similar manner but added that his duty was to ensure the territorial integrity of the Konfederacija Poja, a slight underhanded way of saying that he did not support the Chancellor's proposal. Yet despite this, the Chancellor hoped that news would reach Strelkov and he would accept it as a gesture of good will.

It threw the news agencies and social media circles into a whirlwind of commentary. As Chancellor Jurić arrived at the Predsjednički Dvori around 16:20, barely twenty minutes since being accosted outside of the House of Magnates, the story had grown into a full-blown avalanche. Accosted again getting out of the vehicle, she was able to get into the building quickly enough that's to a roped off pathway made for her. "No comment," was all she offered. Inside, she was led into one of the many conference rooms where the collective membership of the VSP was gathered either in person or remotely. The constant shifting of meeting places was being done to keep not only the press on their toes but also to prevent against a CbKZ attack.

The third and final blow to her afternoon came during the meeting. The five freed terrorists arrived in Birogarsk unaccosted and were escorted up to the hospital where Strelkov released a further forty-seven children, which wasn't the agreed upon all children and infants. When the news broke, all eyes turned to Jurić who raged at the duplicity of Strelkov. It further tore her apart. She'd achieved something but clearly not enough. It was further proof that Strelkov and the CbKZ couldn't be negotiated with, no matter what.

The executions had continued and those were addressed first, giving an updated count on the number of casualties before President Petrović took the floor, "I think it goes without saying that the suggestions made for an independence referendum in Chernarus are not supported by this government, correct?" No one answered, not even Jurić who'd been grievously wounded by it, "Okay then we can move on with the discussion. Our main topic is the upcoming military raid against the Birogarsk General Hospital. I believe that briefing will be conducted by Chairman-General Novaković?"

"Yes sir," the highest-ranking military officer in the country said as he opened his notebook. "The operation will be conducted several hours before dawn, signaled when power is cut to the hospital area. Our plan involves the use of some 470 men from the GPO, the PPOV, and other military units in Birogarsk. We expect significant loss of life to both the hostages and our assault force and I must caution everyone that the chance of complete success, being defined as no loss of hostage life, is incredibly low.

"The operation will involve units hitting the roof and the ground floors simultaneously with a primary assault force. The role of the primary assault force is to engage the terrorists holding the hospital and not to rescue the hostages. Hostage rescue will fall to a secondary assault force who will come in behind the primary force. We expect them to take significant casualties as their purpose will be to shield the hostages from gunfire, likely with their own bodies. They will engage the terrorists only if it is to support the hostage rescue component of the assault. We will be working against the clock so the quicker we are able to free the hostages the better.

"We believe that we can successfully jam radio signals to the detonators for the explosives; however, there are likely to be secondary detonation devices on the bombs themselves. That is why we must act very quickly. Should those devices be triggered manually, it would likely cause catastrophic structural damage to the hospital and kill most, if not all, of the building's occupants at the time of explosion.

"In the event that terrorists manage to escape the hospital, blocking forces will be in place to prevent their escape. We will have several FPV drones operating with FLIR around the hospital to provide ISR as well as to support the capture of any escapees. That's what we have for now."

"Chairman-General, how many casualties are you expecting?" Jurić found her hand trembling and hid it underneath the table.

"Madam Chancellor, speaking just for hostages, we expect four to six hundred dead and wounded. The terrorists will likely use them as human shields or kill them outright, we believe that they may have orders for the latter."

"And our soldiers?"

"As many as half to three-quarters of everyone involved in the assault on the hospital will be dead or wounded Madam. It will gut our two premier special operations units."

"Chairman-General, is this the best plan we can offer?" President Petrović asked, not happy to hear the scope of casualties either.

"No sir but it is the best plan we have right now and the one with the least moving parts, so to speak."

"Are the soldiers aware of the risk?"

"Sir, everyone has already volunteered." The words were powerful enough that the President had nothing further to say and neither did Jurić who continued to hold her hands underneath the table. She'd made no objections and knew that this was the only solution possible to end the crisis but she still had hesitations and reservations and still sought to achieve a peaceful end, even as Strelkov had another five hostages selected for execution.

• • • † • • •

Edited December 29, 2024 by Poja (see edit history)

Poja · December 4, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter XI
The Moments of Truth

Friday, 7 June 2024 | 17:20 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

Strelkov sat alone while he ate, the thrashed nurse's station in front of him, still bearing the scars of his rage fit. Twenty-five minutes earlier, he'd had another five hostages lined up and shot dead, their bodies now forming something of a wall around the front of the hospital from where they were being dumped, rats scurrying away for the moments that his men were adding to the pile. Salnikov had taken to not looking outside, so disgusted was he at this turn of events. "We must hold the initiative," he'd tell Strelkov over and over again, "we're boxing them into a corner with each execution. They'll have no choice but to storm the hospital."

"Then we'll blow it up," Strelkov coldly answered, "you knew the risk of death was high when you signed up, getting cold feet?"

"I want to see mission success, not mission failure," saying as much before dismissing himself of Strelkov's company. They'd had a half dozen of these conversations with some degree of variation to each one but they all ended the same, with Salnikov leaving in frustration and Strelkov sitting alone with his own thoughts while someone scrubbed with futility at the bloodstains on the execution wall, ignoring the divots from where the bullets had impacted the cinderblock.

It wasn't just Salnikov who was losing faith in Strelkov, the men were too. They'd been told that some hostages would be killed to get their message across and this they accepted but the sheer volume of dead hostages was far more than anyone had expected and, in spite the body count, they had barely anything to show for it. Are we going to get what we want? They would ask themselves as the corpses were carried past them. How many is too many? They all wondered at what point the Pojački government would simply shut down negotiations, blast through the doors, and kill them all.

Strelkov wondered too but he had much more confidence than his men who roamed the hallways of the hospital on continuous patrol, watching over the swarms of soon-to-be dead hostages. Each and every terrorist knew about the bombs, they passed by them every few minutes on their patrol routes or saw looming over hostages' heads. They couldn't help but wonder if Strelkov would detonate them and the majority of the men knew that he was capable of it. In the event of a siege, they would face the bullets of their enemy or the crushing debris of a collapsing hospital.

Strelkov's head wasn't plagued by these thoughts though. As he ate from his MRE pack, seated not three meters from the thrashed nurse's station, his mind was a blank slate. He went from bite to bite, his brain in some sort of standby mode where he was neither thinking nor resting. It was because of this that, when the lights suddenly went out, his response was lagged.

They'd gone out suddenly and with loud banging noises all throughout the entire hospital, the emergency lighting came on, illuminating select areas such as stairwells and emergency exits. A commotion rose up throughout the floors before Strelkov had even stood to his feet and as he did, he quickly shouted to those nearest to him, "Defensive positions!" The word was passed along.

Dropping the MRE onto the floor, he grabbed his assault rifle from the nurse's station countertop and heard the cacophony of his men looking for the nearest available piece of cover. They'd drilled this back in Chernodrinsk and Strelkov and Salnikov had ordered the men to make sure they were constantly aware of their not only surroundings but also the nearest pieces of cover, lest an assault happen. Now the time had come and though Strelkov didn't see it from his position, the men weren't as prepared as he'd wanted them to be. Perhaps it was because it was so sudden, perhaps it was because they were fatigued, perhaps it was because they just never expected it, whatever the reason, when the lights suddenly turned back on thirty seconds later, few of his men were behind adequate cover. If an assault had happened, a third of his men would be slaughtered right away, another third easily pinned down and combat ineffective, and the rest somewhere in between ready and almost ready

Strelkov halted where he stood and looked around. "What the f*ck was that!" He shouted and the men nearest to him merely shrugged.

"Power outage?" Someone suggested as if a response was necessary despite what seemed very obvious to everyone.

"Doubt it," he turned and entered his quarters, grabbed his phone, and immediately dialed the Chancellor. She picked up quickly, "What the f*ck are you trying to do Chancellor?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," she answered. Jurić hadn't been informed when the power outages would happen and so it was something of a surprise to her to hear Strelkov's accusatory tone. "What happened? We haven't done anything."

"Bullshit! The power just went down."

Instantly she remembered what she'd been told about the preplanned power outages, "The power went down?"

"Do I have to repeat myself? Yes! Yes, the f*cking power went down!"

"Calm down," Jurić looked at her watch, "I am sure there is a reasonable explanation. Hold on, let me make a call," she didn't give Strelkov a chance to say anything as she flipped the call over to the TOC in Birgogarsk. With Strelkov on hold, she waited for Lytkin to pick up, "Power went down?"

"Yes madam Chancellor, I presume you're on with Strelkov?"

"I am, I'm routing it through," Lytkin didn't answer, "Leonid, hold on let me patch us into the command center. They may have an explanation." There was a moment's pause and then the three-way call was established. "Leonid are you there?"

"I am!"

"Mayor Lytkin?"

"Yes Madam Chancellor."

"Good, mayor can you advise what is happening with the power?"

"Absolutely Madam Chancellor, work crews are inside of the apartment building that your men attacked Mister Strelkov. Because of the damage, we had to shut down the entire grid for half a minute to make some repairs. I trust you have power returned?"

Strelkov, somewhat disarmed by this, dropped some, but not all, of his hostility, "We did."

"Good, good! Then everything is working."

"When was this decided?" Jurić asked, now feigning her own brand of anger.

"Sorry Madam Chancellor, it was a last-minute decision, it's my fault I didn't inform you, I was caught up with something at the time and forgot."

"Well see to it that it doesn't happen again. Will there be more outages?"

"Yes Madam Chancellor. Mister Strelkov we expect three more of these outages, each thirty seconds to two minutes long. I am afraid we do not have a choice, the damage is very extensive to the building and we must think of the safety of our work crews."

"I want warning next time."

"Absolu…" Lytkin didn't get to finish his thought before Strelkov killed the called. "Madam," Lytkin said in closing before he hung up as well.

"False alarm," Strelkov called out to his men, "spread it around, we'll have three more coming."

What Strelkov didn't know at that time was that in the TOC, Vodnik Black and the others were reviewing some of the footage that had been taken during those thirty seconds. They were commenting at the sloppiness of Strelkov's men, which they saw as a good thing. With the first power cut now behind them, the camera crews would know to get better footage the next time for Vodnik Black and the rest of the men to study. Something else that Strelkov didn't know was that the power cut had also tripped the hospital generations into a special power mode that focused only on the critical life support systems and the emergency lights, nothing else. This would come in handy when it came time to assault the hospital.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Friday, 7 June 2024 | 23:15 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Tactical Command Center

Three more times the power had been cut for varying lengths of time ranging from thirty-seven seconds to two minutes exactly. In the TOC, Vodnik Black, Major Kurochkin, and a dozen others watched as the camera crews broadcast what was still chaos and pandemonium at 19:07, a less enthusiastic response at 20:30, and virtually no response at all at 22:00. "They stopped reacting," someone said aloud as if he hadn't expected the terrorists to simply stop responding. It had been a possibility and the desire for doing this several times but that they were actually seeing it happen before their eyes was still somewhat profound. An hour later, Kurochkin and Lytkin were on the phone with the IGO from Birogarsk listening as body counts were updated and the politicians debated how long this could continue.

"If I may," Kurochkin broke in and everyone grew quiet to let him speak, "Madam Chancellor, at 22:00, when we cut the power, the terrorists did not react at all. In fact, the success of our conditioning is beyond what we expected. Madam, if we're going to strike, tonight is the time to do it. We have a chance to end this tonight."

Chancellor Jurić had, only moments before, been wondering aloud about the chance of success that the military option could have for she was still fighting with herself. "Thank you very much Major for that insight. I believe that is indeed good news to hear and regrettably, Strelkov shows no signs of slowing down his murderous streak."

Joined in from a video link from his home office, Minister Tanacković repressed his delight in the conditioning results, "Madam, I have to concur with the Major and with the others. If we're going to achieve success, we have tonight and only tonight. It won't be long that this conditioning wears off, that Strelkov sees through what's happening. This is a real-wurld game of chess and you can only show your strategy so many times before the other guy figures it out."

The raid, which had conditional approval, needed her final greenlight before it could be launched. It was part of the protocols that they had established to prevent anyone from launching too prematurely. Jurić wanted total control over the operation in that regard, just in case Strelkov signaled a breakthrough and it became unnecessary. Everyone around the table was in favor for there wasn't a voice of dissent amongst anyone and yet she still struggled. Seeing this, Petrović unmuted his microphone from his own desk, "The choice is very clear. We have the best commandos in the wurld and I believe that they will be successful no matter what. By dawn, this will be resolved," he was giving her a nudge.

With a nod, she agreed, "I agree. You have my authorization to go. When will it happen?"

"Just after 03:00 Madam Chancellor," Tanacković answered, "I would advise we all get some sleep ahead of time."

"Good idea," Petrović answered with something of a smile, "this is a difficult time. We have to be sure that we're not fatigued ourselves so that we can support the men in Birogarsk."

The men in Birogarsk, Jurić thought. The stress was rising so rapidly that she expected it to show at any moment. Her hands still trembled and so she held them out of sight, "Yes, the men in Birogarsk," she repeated, "Major, godspeed to everyone."

"Thank you Madam Chancellor," he answered and moments later, the call was completed. Seconds later, when Kurochkin walked into the room where Vodnik Black and his men were, he gave a thumb's up to them and said the words they couldn't wait to hear, "We're on gentlemen."

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Saturday, 8 June 2024 | 02:05 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

There was no hiding her fatigue or her utter exhaustion as she sat behind her desk. Her face had grown hollow, her complexion pale, and he clothing creased in ways that only a dry cleaner could fix. Tanacković's suggestion to get some sleep might have worked on some of the people in the IGO but not with Chancellor Jelena Jurić, who had remained behind in her office to ponder the inevitable the lay before her eyes. Uncle Stan, wherever you are, forgive me she thought to herself as she heard a soft knock on the door. "Come in," her voice came out somewhat raspy and she didn't even recognize her own voice for it had changed dramatically amidst the strain that was treating her body like a punching bag. The knock came again and this time she said it louder, having thought that because it was so quiet she would have been heard.

As the door opened, it gave way to Elizabeta, which caught her by surprise, "You're still here?"

"Yes Madam," Elizabeta didn't look anywhere near as run down as Jurić did, despite feeling her own sense of tiredness and exhaustion at such a late hour. "There is a call for you that is urgent." She shut the door and Jurić reached for the phone and lifted the handset to her ear.

"Madam Chancellor," the voice on the other end was Lytkin, "we cut the power for four minutes at 01:37 with no response from the terrorists. We're fully ready to go Madam, we've informed them that there will be an extended cut to be expected. That is when we'll launch."

"Thank you for the update," she closed her eyes, "are the men ready?"

"Yes Madam."

"Godspeed then," she hung up the phone and felt her stomach twist into a knot. Fifty-five minutes, she thought to herself as she looked at the clock. Uncle Stan, I had no choice, she thought again, what choice did they give me? No one answered because ghosts didn't answer. Unable to move from her chair, unable to motivate herself to do anything other than sit there and stare blankly, she was somewhat startled when there was another knock on the door. "Come in," Elizabeta peeked her head in, "another call?"

"Yes Madam, it's Strelkov."

"Strelkov?" Immediately, she felt energized and sat straight up in her chair, "Patch him through." The phone rang and she picked the handset up, easier and with more gusto than she had the call from Lytkin, "It's very late Leonid."

"I have executed five more people."

"Is this why you called," she answered angrily, "these are innocent…"

He cut her off, "I have a proposal for you. There are seventeen men who are sitting in your jails including two men on death row," he read off the names one-by-one, "I want them freed and in exchange, I will end these executions effective immediately."

"Seventeen men," she repeated, "you've executed a hundred and five people. If you want your seventeen men it will cost you more."

There was a pause on the other end. She heard fatigue in Strelkov's voice just as he heard it in hers, "I'm listening."

"All, and I mean all, the remaining children, all of the infants, all of the women. They're to be released or I will not answer another phone call. This is my last and final offer. If you wish to negotiate, this is my price and it is non-negotiable. End the executions, release the children, the infants, and the women, all of them, not a partial amount, every single one of them, and I will release your seventeen men and I will continue answering your phone calls."

"It's agreed," Strelkov answered, so quickly that Jurić was surprised. She wondered if the situation was truly taking its toll on him, if he was about to crack. She'd worried that it was her who would crack first but now she wondered if it was to be him.

"I'll have them released at 06:00. Give me the names again," Strelkov rattled them off and she wrote down the names, "if you hold your word, I will hold mine."

"Good night Madam Chancellor," he said in response and the line went dead.

"Elizabeta," Jurić screamed and the door was opened quickly as she poked her head in, "I need Minister Jazbinšek right away, wake him up!" Elizabeta ducked away as Jurić felt a surge of energy and life course through her veins; the rising tsunami of stress was held at bay.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Saturday, 8 June 2024 | 02:50 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

Jurić sat at the head of the conference room table, the screen in front of her showing a dozen men and women, all part of the wider IGO. In Birogarsk, Lytkin and Kurochkin were each drinking a cup of coffee in a attempt to stave of the tiredness that came with the lateness of the hour. From the Predsjednički Dvori, Petrović was joined by Zorić while Tanacković was seated to Jurić's immediate right. Generals and advisors were present at multiple locations as Vodnik Black and his GPO commandos staged just out of sight from the hospital along with PPOV commandos ready to follow them into the hornet's nest. Blocking forces had established themselves around the perimeter of the area, ready to prevent any terrorists from escaping the containment zone. They were under orders to capture the terrorists alive for the Pojački government very much wanted to put them on trial and swing them from the hangman's noose but were the men told, in no uncertain terms, to defend themselves if any escaping terrorists didn't surrender.

There were ten minutes before the start of the raid and Jurić had yet to tell anyone in the IGO about her phone call with Strelkov. In fact, the only people who knew about it were Elizabeta, who was not in the room, and Minister Jazbinšek who she had pressured into keeping it a secret. "We can negotiate with this man!" She said to him when they spoke at 02:15, "We can figure something out and get these hostages released."

"But Madam Chancellor, the raid is due in forty-five minutes," Jazbinšek groggily answered.

"Don't you understand!" She wasn't yelling into the phone but neither she was speaking calmly, "The fate of those people are in my hands! Make this happen. Get the people ready."

"Are you going to stop the raid?"

"No," she answered, "no, but if it fails, I want to be ready."

Time was moving quickly for her as the minutes ticked away and she had been summoned to meet in the conference room for the raid. "Status update," someone called out on the line.

"Red team is ready."

"Blue team ready."

"Green team ready."

"Black team ready."

"White team ready."

"Brown team ready."

"Yellow team ready."

"All teams ready," a voice that Jurić didn't recognize said, "eight minutes to showtime."

Eight minutes, she thought to herself. She felt a warmness rush throughout her body as she sat at the head of the table. Her hands began to tremble again and she quickly removed them from the tabletop and hid them from sight. "Power's cutting at T-minus-two," someone said.

"Confirm," came the response. Jurić looked at the clock. Eight minutes.

"What if we can negotiate with Strelkov," her voice came out of nowhere. Though they were hearing the comms of the raid team, the raid team wouldn't be hearing her or any of the discussions of the IGO. Communications to and from them were being controlled in the TOC at the behest of Kurochkin, who'd been designated the liaison between the IGO and the ground forces.

"What?" This was the collective response and those who were on camera suddenly all leaned closer.

"Strelkov called me less than an hour ago. He agreed to halt the executions and release every woman, infant, and child in exchange for seventeen of his men."

"That doesn't change anything," Petrović said, rushing to unmute his microphone, "it's another stall tactic by Strelkov. He'll string us along again, just like last time, and this will go on for another few days. It ends tonight. Everyone is in place."

"What if we don't have to do this?" She was the only one in the IGO expressing any doubts, "What if there is an opportunity? Until that call, I'd believed Strelkov was…" - a voice said in the background, "Seven minutes" - "…not willing to negotiate and that he was going to execute everyone but then he proposed this. He's cracking we can end this peacefully."

"Nonsense!" Zorić answered from his place near the President, "You can't believe this."

"What if I do?" No one wanted to call her a fool aloud but they were all thinking it. "What if I believe I can negotiate with this man?"

"What makes you think you can," Petrović was more than just a little angered, he was downright furious, "what changed? Just because he called you with some new nonsense? He's probably trying to conserve ammo or he's simply bored putting bullets into people. And what if he's lying?" Everyone was silent since no one could believe what Jurić was saying. This sort of last-minute cold feet was unexpected and everyone's eyes focused on her as people begged in their brains for her to listen to reason.

"At 03:00 he'll execute another five people or," she took a breath, "or he won't."

"If we were about to launch this raid at 03:15 I would say sure, at 03:05 I would say sure, but 03:00 is H-hour, what if he's just tired and slow?" Petrović wasn't at all ready to hear her opinion, "Whether he does it or not doesn't matter. What are we to do? Negotiate for the next week? So, he doesn't kill anyone. The bodies are still piled up in the street, the people of this country are still demanding action. And you think he's going to surrender? You think he and his men are just going to give up?"

"We can starve them out," Jurić was talking utter nonsense now.

"No, we can't!" It was now just her and Petrović going back and forth.

"Four minutes."

"Major, hold the raid, now!" Jurić yelled into the phone and Kurochkin hesitated for a moment, "Major, I am the authority here, hold that raid now."

"Yes Madam," he relented, knowing that it was on her authority that this raid was being executed, no one else, not even the President.

"All units, Victor-Zulu, hold, I repeat we are on hold. Confirm hold status," Kurochkin's voice echoed over the line. Each team responded in kind.

"Jelena, you have to rescind that order right now," Petrović was practically yelling into the phone, "we won't get another chance." Everyone was in a state of disbelief and frustration from the TOC in Birogarsk to the House of Magnates to the Predsjednički Dvori and everywhere in between. "Rescind that order!"

"No," she leaned back in her chair, "Strelkov expressed a willingness to negotiate and I for one want to see a peaceful solution to this." It was 02:57, three minutes to go.

"Madam Chancellor, we have to launch this raid right now," Kurochkin spoke, "we can succeed. We will be able to jam their bombs, our men are trained for this, we will succeed and we'll end this in the next thirty minutes."

"Thank you for your opinion, Major but I am…"

"You've got to be kidding me!" Petrović was fuming now and gone was the line of respect he had for the Chancellor who was his executive equal. "You don't have the f*cking stomach for this and you're backing out because you lack the guts and the strength to see this through. You're going to damn those hostages, damn those men, and damn this f*cking country because you aren't fit to lead. It was a mistake putting you into this position!" The words were harsh, they were unprofessional, and they were true. A painfully uncomfortable silence hung in the air.

Jurić listened to them with a look of resoluteness on her face. "Power just dumped," someone said over the line and everyone's eyes widened.

"I said hold!" Kurochkin yelled.

"Sorry sir we don't have comms with the power company right now," another person answered.

"Madam Chancellor, we have to go! This is our only chance!" Kurochkin pleaded, Zorić pleaded, the generals pleaded, everyone pleaded.

"My word is final, remain on hold."

From 02:58 until 03:09, the power was down. The eleven-minute window that the Pojački military had created, conditioned the terrorists for, came and went, and not a shot was fired. The commandos didn't move from their positions, the blocking forces held fast, and Strelkov and his terrorists were never the wiser. When the power came back up, it was as if nothing had happened. Jurić squandered the last best hope that the military had to end the crisis. With only a few words she might have stood on her own principles but she'd doomed so many. Strelkov held his word, he'd stopped the executions, which she felt was proof that she was right and so, having lost the support of every man and woman in the IGO, she stood up from her chair at 03:10 and said, "We're releasing the seventeen men at 06:00. I'm going to sleep."

Pulling back from their positions, the GPO and PPOV soldiers returned to the staging areas, also fuming. The entirety of the IGO fumed and President Petrović, from his seat in his office, looked over at Zorić when they'd ended the call and with rage creeping across his face said, "We're removing her from power immediately."

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Saturday, 8 June 2024 | 04:50 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

Upon her return to her office, Jurić laid down on her couch and from the moment her head hit the pillow, she was asleep. She'd only barely kicked off her shoes before her eyes had shut and her entire body relaxed. For ninety minutes, she'd slept sounder than she had since the start of the crisis and for those ninety minutes, her designs were carried out in various prisons in the country, in the TOC in Birogarsk, and in a dozen other places. Elizabeta, holding her watch outside of Jurić's office, had prevented no less than nine people from knocking on her door for those ninety minutes. Unaware of what had transpired during the IGO meeting, she simply carried out her boss' orders, "No one is to disturb me."

For ninety minutes Elizabeta was successful until the phone rang at her desk, "It's Minister Jazbinšek, I need to speak with the Chancellor right away."

"Sir, my apologies the Chancellor told me…"

"Elizabeta, now!" Petrović, who'd been on the line was wasting no time whatsoever. His voice carried with it all of the authority of a President and Elizabeta immediately rose, put on her own shoes, and knocked on Jurić's door. When she didn't answer, she entered, roused the Chancellor from her sleep, and directed her to the phone.

Jurić picked up the handset and answered as she was in the process of sitting down, "Yes?"

"Madam Chancellor," it was Jazbinšek, "at 04:07 this morning, while officials were getting Polycarp Izmailov ready for transfer there was an incident." Izmailov was one of two, high-ranking lieutenants from the CbKZ that was on death row for setting off a car bomb that killed seven people and wounded a dozen more. "During transfer, Izmailov attacked prison guards, perhaps believing that he was about to be executed, and was killed in the process." Jurić felt her heart and her stomach drop through the floor. "There was nothing that could be done. Though he was shackled, he managed to get his hands on a guard's weapon and discharged several rounds before he was killed. I'm sorry Madam. The other sixteen individuals were moved without incident."

"I hope you're happy," Petrović said, "I'm sure Strelkov will be happy to hear the news. Perhaps you can tell him on your next phone call." Petrović wasn't mincing words anymore. Their opportunity was squandered all because of Jurić's idealism and now her "master plan" had gone to shit because one of the terrorists had decided not to go down without a fight. It was ironic.

• • • † • • •

Poja · December 17, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter XII
Victory or Defeat

Saturday, 8 June 2024 | 06:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

The hour since being informed of Izmailov's death had not been kind to the Chancellor as she lay awake, staring at the walls and the ceiling of her office, her stomach in knots as the weight and consequences of her decisions wracked her brain. All she could do was think about how foolish she had been, repeating the phrase she'd learned as a school, the best laid plans of mice and men, over and over and over again. She couldn't understand how it all went so sour so quickly. She'd laid down to rest having secured a major victory against the hawkish IGO and, for the first time since the crisis began, felt truly in control of not only her own destiny but that of the country as well. She'd secured the release of the women, the children, and the infants for the measly cost of seventeen terrorists. She averted a massive raid that was guaranteed to pile up even more bodies and yet, in her wheeling and dealing, she'd failed to account for Murphy and his unpredictable law.

The clock struck 06:00 and Jurić was still lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling when the phone rang in her office. She moved sluggishly to her desk, as if she was wearing massive, concrete shoes and despite her slowness, the phone continued to ring and ring and ring. She tried to sit in her chair but she basically collapsed into it, her entire bodyweight coming down like a sack of bricks dropped from a great height, the wooden legs and frame bowing slightly from the force of the impact. The phone continued to ring, an incessant and irritating ring that beckoned her back to the crisis, back to the reality and the consequences of her unilateral decisions. She reached out and touched the plastic of the handset, lifting it just enough to silence the ringing, bathing her office in a tidal wave of silence. She could hear only her own breathing, her own heartrate, and her own thoughts. Silence wasn't all that it was cracked up to be.

With great struggle and greater difficulty, she brought the handset to her ear and with a voice that hardly masked how she felt answered, "Hello?"

"Madam Chancellor," it was Lytkin on the other end.

"Yes?"

"Madam, you requested I update you with the tally of casualties. Should I call back Madam?" He could hear it in her voice that she was hardly ready for the number and so he gave her an out, not because he took pity on her but rather because he understood the severity of what he was about to say and knew she needed to be of sound mind to hear it, lest she act irrationally, again.

"Just give them to me Lytkin."

"Four hundred and fifteen dead Madam Chancellor, including 136 hostages. Another 360 wounded. There could be more inside of the hospital though, we just don't know yet."

The number bounced around in her head, 415 dead. It was unfathomable, the worst attack on the nation's history, perhaps even more casualties than in any three-day period during the whole of the Chernarussian Conflict.

How many more today?

Sensing that the gravity of the number was weighing on her, Lytkin broke the silence, eager to get off the phone but aware of what his duties were, "Do you need anything else Madam Chancellor?"

"No," her voice was barely audible, "thank you," and she hung up, leaving Lytkin to breathe a sigh of relief in Birogarsk that there was nothing more to tell her. Then her eyes fell on the clock and she realized what time it was. Strelkov was expecting her call and there was no way that she could hide what had happened. She knew what his reaction would be and that made her want to do anything place the call, be anywhere than where she was; but she knew she had to, she knew it was all on her shoulders and for about the one hundredth time in the past hour she wished she'd never been elevated to the Chancellorship of the nation.

Summoning not nearly enough fortitude for the task, she picked up the phone and dialed, waiting four rings before the line answered on the other end. "Yes Madam Chancellor?" Strelkov's voice would haunt her for the rest of her life, that much she knew for sure. She'd never heard a voice so cold, so inhumane as his. She wondered if he was the Devil come to the Eurth, if he was the embodiment of the evil that men do.

"I have some bad news."

"Of course you do," whatever joviality had been in his voice - not that there was much of it - ebbed away in that very instant. "What bullshit do you have for me now?"

"During the release process there was an unfortunate incident involving Polycarp Izmailov. Perhaps he thought that he was…"

"You killed him!" Strelkov interrupted.

Jurić tried to continue but was at a loss for words herself and just said it plainly, matter-of-factly, as if she was reciting it from a notecard, "He got a hold of one of the guards' guns and was killed."

"Bullshit! Bull f*cking shit! No! You're lying to me. You had him killed!"

"I did not," she pounded on the desk, "there were no orders to kill anyone! Why would I do that? We had a deal!"

"We did have a deal and now I'm going to line up fifty people and kill them on live television."

"No!" Tears came down her face, "No! I give up." The words seemed hollow but that was it, she was surrendering. She'd gone way off script and if she or anyone thought there was no coming back from it before, there was absolutely no question or doubt now. "I will grant you and your men safe passage to the border and allow you to return to Chernodrinsk on the condition that no hostages are killed, no damage is done to the hospital, and any 'shields' you take with you are released at the border. That is my offer. End this now! End it this morning. You will have an escape. Just don't kill any more hostages." Silence filled both ends of the line while Strelkov thought it over, "Do we have a deal?" Jurić finally asked, simply unable to endure it any longer but she would have to as Strelkov simply ended the call without saying a word, leaving her with nothing but the quietness of a dead line.

What have I done?

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Saturday, 8 June 2024 | 09:27 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

Three and a half hours, a shower, and a change of clothes later, Chancellor Jurić felt just as bad as she had when she was on the phone with Strelkov, just as bad as she had at 04:50 when she'd been awoken to the worst possible news since the start of the crisis. She occupied her usual seat at the head of the table, surrounded by the men and the women of the IGO, some in chairs, some standing, some on the speaker phone, the rest on the television display. Voices clashed with voices, people talked over one another, tempers waxed and waned, silences were intermittent, and Jurić felt as if she was in slow motion while all around her, everything was sped up, as if she was an observer and not a participant in this menagerie.

It was amidst yet another tirade from someone Jurić didn't care to look at that she spoke for the first time in the meeting, her voice still just as quiet as it had been hours earlier. She had nothing left in her, no fight, no fire, no nothing, just defeat. "I spoke with Strelkov this morning," the cacophony of voices around her died down in succession, first those closest to her and then others who realized that someone higher than them was speaking. "Just after 06:00," she added, finally looking up from the tabletop to the faces that sat around it, "where I informed him of the death of Polycarp Izmailov."

"How'd he take it?" Someone asked but who wasn't of consequence to her, she wasn't paying attention to anyone in the meeting anyway.

"He threatened to kill fifty hostages on live television." The room erupted into chaos again but this time Jurić wasn't having it and she smacked her hand on the table loud enough that it got everyone's attention. "I'm still speaking," her voice carried with it loathing and anger now though how much of that was for the people around her versus herself remained to be seen. In that moment, the room quieted once again. "Since he did not do that, I suspect it is because he is seriously considering my offer to him. In exchange for an immediate end to this crisis with no further hostages killed, no damage done to the hospital, I offered Strelkov and his men safe passage to Chernodrinsk."

If the prior outburst could be described as chaos, this was pure, unadulterated pandemonium. Every single person in the meeting began to speak and all at once, no one saying anything kind. Tempers flared beyond anything controllable. Professional courtesy was thrown out of the window and the respect for Jurić as Chancellor of the Konfederacija Poja was hardly given so much as a passing thought. All around her, the ire of the entire body of the IGO was suddenly and solely focused on her. She didn't even bother to speak against the tsunami of voices, against the accusations and the finger pointing. In truth, so many people were talking at once, each one competing to speak over everyone else, that she didn't understand much of what was being said. If she understood a word amidst the din, there were two dozen more that blended together unintelligibly.

In the past, President Petrović would have stepped in, reigned in the mob but he wasn't doing that anymore. The Chancellor had decided to carve her own path and for that he could only see a future where she was removed from her position. Until then, she seemed adamant about doing as much damage as possible, both to the country and to the party.

Holding up her hand this time, she managed to quiet the room if just slightly enough to speak again and be heard. She didn't bother to lecture anyone on the disrespect she'd just received, instead saying, "I don't care what you think of this. If Strelkov accepts my offer, this crisis will be over, the hostages will be released, and we will no longer face the daily executions and the daily miseries of a situation where we have no power to do anything but watch in horror.

"This crisis will be over and for that we will grant them the safe passage. What this government does from there will be of a separate concern," quiet fell onto the room.

"Another deal with Strelkov," President Petrović said, his face front-and-center on the display. "He won't hold to any word. If you think he will Chancellor, then I suspect you'll be in for a ruder awakening that you've already received today." Even the President wasn't about the façade anymore, no one was. Chancellor Jelena Jurić had walked the government down a one-way street and then walled up the road. There was no where for it to go anymore in this crisis and surrendering to Strelkov and the terrorists was the only possible scenario if just because that was how she'd stacked the deck.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Saturday, 8 June 2024 | 13:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

Svetlana Bykova quickly checked her hair and makeup in a little compact mirror before shoving it clumsily into her pants pocket, fumbling to take both the microphone from the cameraman in front of her and to fix the earpiece in her right ear that would let her listen to the voices from the studio back in Rugi. She brushed her hair over her ears, hiding the earpiece, and composed herself as the cameraman motioned a countdown. In her ear, she heard the voices of Natalija Zebić and Rajko Popadić.

"And we're going live to Birogarsk where there is a major development in the hostage crisis. Our own Svetlana Bykova is on scene there. Svetlana, what's happening," Rajko said, his voice carrying in her ear as it did over the airwaves of the wurld.

"Thank you Rajko, we've been seeing major activity at the hospital and while we're unable to get a direct line-of-sight to the hospital due to the police cordon, drone and helicopter video has shown the terrorists packing up their vehicles with crates and hostages."

"Are officials on scene providing any details at all Svetlana?" Natalija asked and Svetlana shook her head before answering.

"Nothing and no one will provide any comment. From what we've seen the terrorists are moving as few as two to as many as eight hostages to their vehicles and holding them under guard. The hostages themselves appear to be restrained and blindfolded as well. We think they're being used as human shields for whatever the terrorists are planning next."

"Hold on a second," Natalija interrupted, "we're getting word that one of the vehicles is on the move."

Svetlana quickly turned around and the camera shifted behind them, looking down a long and empty street, blocked off by police barricades and patrolled by uniformed officers to ensure no one intruded. "I don't see anything yet down…Wait a second," the first truck appeared, one of the many that the terrorists had driven to Birogarsk in, this one a six-by-six truck with the canvas flaps down, hiding any view of what or who was inside the cargo bed. "Did you see that?"

"We saw that, there's another one," a second truck appeared and then a third and finally a fourth, the last one a smaller, four-wheeled vehicle. "What is happening down there?"

"It appears that the terrorists are leaving Natalija. This is a major development indeed."

"Yeah, no f*cking shit," Major Kurochkin said as he looked at the television from the tactical command center. "Can you believe this shit?" He raged to those near him. "We're just letting them f*cking go!" Lytkin, standing nearby, was at a loss for words. He just shook his head. "And they're taking human shields with them."

"Major," Vodnik Black interrupted, "I'd hate to interrupt but I'd like for my men to stage and be ready to move into the hospital when the terrorists abandon it. We'll need to make sure we do a thorough search and evacuate anyone left behind, whether wounded, dead, or alive. We'll need the bomb squad to move up with us and begin work immediately."

"Yeah, sure Vodnik," Kurochkin answered, "whatever you need, just don't go near those assholes with the cameras."

"Wouldn't dream of it Major." Strelkov had taken Jurić's deal without informing anyone and as he and his men packed up, preparing to abandon the hospital where they'd sewn so much death, misery, and mayhem over the past three days, the soldiers on the ground in Birogarsk began to ready themselves for the inevitable, for the worst part, which was the collection of corpses and their forthcoming entry into the hospital. There was no telling what they'd find inside and their imaginations ran amok, which was hardly going to do anyone any good.

In those moments, when the first four vehicles left, Jurić knew that the victory she thought she'd won had become defeat.

• • • † • • •

Poja · December 18, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter XIII
Revenge

Saturday, 8 June 2024 | 18:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernarus, Birogarsk | Birogarsk General Hospital

Only a few vehicles remained outside of the Birogarsk General Hospital, all the rest having departed at various intervals, each filled to capacity with terrorists and hostages, the latter to act as human shields in case the Pojački government decided to "go back on its word." Ordering groups and formations to depart one-by-one, Strelkov and Salnikov remained behind to coordinate what some saw as a retreat but others saw as a final act of defiance against a government that had been held hostage and brought to its knees for three-and-a-half days. Strelkov didn't know what to make of it and he wasn't originally going to accept the deal offered by Jurić until Salnikov talked him into it.

"Leonid you have to understand," Salnikov pleaded one-on-one with the man, "we're not going to get our demands. That they haven't stormed this building is a miracle and our time is running out. So, we can all die and achieve nothing but the deaths of all these people or we can take the out, retreat, and live to fight another day." Salnikov wasn't in a hurry to die, especially for a lost cause and theirs was lost. Strelkov had gone too far into madness with his killing and it only pushed the Pojački government into one corner after another. In Jurić's offer, Salnikov saw a path to victory. "We've held this government at its knees, a pistol against its head, saying, 'We are in control, not you!' No one has done that before, not even during the war! We won Leonid; we may not have achieved our objectives but we won. They capitulated, not us."

Strelkov eventually saw Salnikov's point of view, a rare admission that he was wrong in his assessment of the situation but he still didn't like it. He wanted to trigger off the bombs, to kill everyone inside and any rescuers but Salnikov talked him out of that as well. Unbeknownst to them, Pojački attack helicopters, armed to the teeth with anti-tank guided missiles followed their convoys and where helicopters couldn't go, armed drones did. Not one group that made it to the border did so as safely as they thought they had. If at any point Jurić ordered lethal action, the terrorists would be massacred, human shields or not. Despite being "in control," the CbKZ terrorists were in control only because the Pojački government wasn't willing to sacrifice the lives of its people.

Now that it was coming to an end, Salnikov felt a sense of great relief, which he thought about as he and Strelkov scoured the hospital, making sure that nothing of value was inadvertently left behind. Each group commander had done the same with his men but Strelkov and Salnikov wanted to be as thorough as possible. Shell casings were collected, ammunition and weapons were gathered up, and any potential papers that could provide intelligence were burned in trash cans on each floor, the smoke setting off fire alarms galore though the terrorists ignored this as they went about their duties. What hostages weren't be taken would be left behind, the terrorists locking the doors and continuing the threat of "death by explosion" to keep them from revolting against the even more numerically inferior terrorists.

Coming in behind everyone, Strelkov checked each door to make sure it was locked before assembling in the lobby as the last of his men loaded up into the six-by-six trucks and dropped their canvas flaps. When the last of his men were in their vehicles and it was just him and Salnikov in the lobby, they shared a final cigarette between them as they had no others remaining, Smoking, Strelkov took a final look around saying as he did, "And so it ends."

Salnikov nodded as took the cigarette, "You good?"

"I'm good, let's go," they exited the lobby and climbed into the four-wheeled truck, Salnikov taking the driver's seat while one man and one hostage was shoved into the back. With not much of the cigarette left, Salnikov handed it over but Strelkov waved it away, "Finish it," he said before shutting his door.

Strelkov took the commander's seat and within a minute, the hospital was in their rearview mirror. They could see the swarm of lights from emergency vehicles swarm on the hospital behind them, which made Strelkov burst out in laughter, "Good luck cleaning that up," he said aloud in between each laugh. Salnikov shared a laugh too, more pleased that they'd gotten away alive than anything else. For a while, they drove in silence, unaware that UAVs and helicopters were following them at a far-off distance and altitude, Strelkov pondering the operation that he'd just led. Finally, after some time, he turned to Salnikov and without any preface said plainly, "This was a failure."

"I wouldn't say that; after all, we did get five of our men released."

"They owe me seventeen more."

"We did the best we could, given the circumstances. We won Leonid, do not look at this as a failure. We won," Salnikov repeated the same lines that he had hours earlier when he was pleading with him to accept Jurić's deal. "You said it yourself, the b*tch admitted defeat, did she not?"

"I will cherish that for the rest of my natural life," Strelkov smiled again but as he did, his phone began to ring and he looked at the number, recognizing it as one of his lieutenants, "Yeah what's the matter?" He answered, expecting bad news, expecting some sort of double cross, "Is that so?" He said while the other person talked before finally saying, "Good," before ending the call. The brief conversation returned his goodish mood back and he turned to Salnikov and, with a toothy grin, smacked the dashboard with a shout, "She held her word, the last group crossed the border safely. They're all rendezvoused there."

Salnikov pumped his fist and then decided now was as good a time as any. He'd been thinking about Izmailov's death most of the day, knowing how it affected Strelkov. "You know what strikes me?"

"What?"

"What if she's telling the truth about Izmailov?"

"What are you saying?" The smile ebbed from Strelkov's face. He didn't want to talk about it, especially since Izmailov had been a close confidant. Of all of the men to die, his death would hit Strelkov the hardest.

"I'm saying that she may not have been lying. Izmailov was on death row, right?" Strelkov nodded, "He may have thought that this was the hour of his execution and may not even have believed anyone telling him that he was being released. Who could fathom it, it's unlikely he even knew that this was happening. Death row inmates are kept under lock-and-key twenty-four hours a day in solitary. They destroy their will to fight before bringing them to the hangman's noose, don't they?" Strelkov didn't know what the answer was but nodded anyway. "Why would they kill him? What purpose did it serve? She was going to get all of the women, all of the children, all of the infants; in fact, we would have been majorly disadvantaged with that deal. So why kill him?"

"I don't know," Strelkov finally spoke, perhaps thinking the situation through for the first time since being told.

Salnikov smacked the steering wheel, "Exactly, I don't know either! Izmailov may have just wanted to go out on his own terms and not dangle from a noose. So, he attacks the guards, gets their weapon, discharges a few shots, gives them no choice, and he's dead. I don't know why she'd lie."

"I do," Salnikov looked over, curious, "she wanted to spite me."

"You can't possibly think that," Salnikov couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Why would she?"

"Perhaps they knew about our history."

"Doubtful, do you really think their intelligence services are that good? If they were that good, we'd have been massacred the moment we crossed the border. No! I don't believe that for a moment. It was just bad luck, that's all."

Strelkov looked off in the distance, thinking, not listening to the rest of what Salnikov was saying who kept on talking. Finally, Salnikov stopped and when a few minutes of silence had passed, Strelkov turned back around, his face twisted with hatred, and in that cold, inhumane voice, said only, "I'm going to make her pay for it."

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Saturday, 8 June 2024 | 20:19 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernodrinsk-Chernarus Border

"What's this?" Strelkov shouted as he straightened up in his seat, "Stop!" Salnikov jammed on the brakes and the two of them looked at the border approximately five hundred meters ahead. The entire area was lit up like a stadium by an array of towed floodlights, the kind used by construction crews working on highways at night. Intermixed were the flashing red, blue, yellow, and amber lights of emergency vehicles lined up alongside the road along with an unknown number of military vehicles, mostly light armored trucks with roof-mounted machine guns. The guns of those vehicles were pointed both at Strelkov's vehicle and across the border at the others that were waiting maybe a kilometer in the distance. "No one said anything about this," Strelkov said as panic swelled up in him. They sat there for two minutes, neither moving forward nor reversing either before Strelkov's cellphone rang again. "What the f*ck is this?" He answered, recognizing the number as the same that had called earlier. He put the phone on speaker so that Salnikov could hear.

"Why are you stopped?"

"Because do you see this shit? What is this? A trap?"

"The Pojački are a bit overzealous about getting their hostages back. It's safe to cross."

"There's a fifty-cal staring at me."

"They're not going to shoot," the terrorist said. As they were talking, the sound of helicopters echoed in the distance, "Yes there's helicopters too."

"This wasn't part of the deal," Strelkov didn't know what to do, proceed, halt, kill the hostage, ram the military vehicles, open fire, he just didn't know what to do.

"You're clear to proceed."

"No," Strelkov said, "no chance. This is a trap!" He hung up the phone and looked at Salnikov, "This is a trap!"

"It looks that way but," Salnikov looked around, "it may not be. Wait…" A figure was coming up the roadway towards them, a man with his hands raised. As he came into the headlights, they saw that he was wearing a Pojački National Army uniform. He was a soldier. Stopping about twenty meters in front of the vehicle, he turned in a circle to show that he was in fact unarmed.

"I'm not armed, may I approach?"

Strelkov drew his revolver and pointed it out of the window, "If anything happens you run him the f*ck over," he said to Salnikov before yelling out the window, "fine but don't try anything stupid or you're dead!" The soldier approached, coming out of the headlights towards Strelkov's side. He got three meters away before Strelkov cocked the hammer on the revolver and ordered him to stop, "That's close enough! What the f*ck! This wasn't part of the deal."

"We're not breaking any part of the deal. Our orders are to escort you across this border, safely, so that you can release the hostages. No one is going to fire on you if you do just that, do you understand?"

"Tell them to stand down," the soldier shook his head, "now!"

"It's not going to happen but if you're willing to drive slowly enough, I will walk you next to you as you drive. If they shoot you, they'll have to shoot me," Strelkov thought it over, "on the condition that you put that weapon away." Strelkov turned to Salnikov who gave a slight nod, "Good?"

"Don't try anything," Strelkov said as he decocked the hammer and put the revolver back into its holster, "move too fast and the hostage gets her brains splattered all over the road."

The soldier put his hands down and began to walk. With that, the vehicles crept towards the border, the machine guns and armed soldiers tracking them as they did. It made Strelkov uneasy but he had yet another human shield, this one an officer, either a major or a potpukovnik (lieutenant colonel), he couldn't tell what color the oak leaf was between the combination of the bright and dark light, his eyes fighting to adjust to either. The soldier made it as far as the border, stopped, and Salnikov stopped as well. "I can't cross it," the soldier answered, "orders."

Strelkov nodded and Salnikov pushed hard on the accelerator, lurching the truck over the border. Each one behind them crossed and they came to a stop about four hundred meters past the border crossing where the rest of the vehicles were waiting, their engines either off or idling, terrorists holding guard. "Keep the engine running," he said to Salnikov as he got out, "you all stay here for now."

From here, Salnikov could only watch as Strelkov went up to the men, offered some sort of congratulations and then ordered the hostages out of the trucks. He forced them all onto their knees in the field while he addressed them but what he said, Salnikov couldn't hear. Then, one-by-one, he selected eleven hostages and ordered them to stand. He removed their blindfolds personally but not their restraints before he ordered them to follow him, while ordering the rest of the men to stay put. "Looks like freedom awaits you," Salnikov said to the hostage in the back seat, a woman in her late twenties or early thirties who'd been silent for the entire ride. She reeked of urine, feces, and body odor, a casualty of more than three days of imprisonment.

Turning his attention back to Strelkov, Salnikov watched as he led the eleven hostages towards the border, personally delivering them to the same officer that had escorted them to safety. Words were exchanged but what words Salnikov couldn't know given just how far away they were. Then, Strelkov turned and walked back towards them with the gait of a soldier, quick and purposeful. Salnikov had worried that Strelkov would pull some fast trick at the border, do something that only furthered his bloodlust but thus far he had stuck to the agreement. He'd delivered them all to safety and now the hostages, all 138 of them, were about to be released into safety.

When Strelkov returned, he shouted loud enough for everyone to hear, "Get them up! Two lines, single file each line, get the blindfolds off!" The terrorists around them, weapons hanging on their shoulders, did just that as Salnikov wondered about the woman seated behind him. Had Strelkov meant to do something with her, he wondered. Strelkov had pledged to get revenge on Jurić, was keeping one hostage for revenge? Salnikov didn't know but began to worry as the hostages, a mere twenty meters away, were ordered to walk to the border. No one was escorting them, the terrorists all hanging back. Salnikov studied the scene, saw the leisurely stance of the men, saw that they were relieved to be safe. No one had his hand on a weapon, they were jovial with one another, perhaps smiling, he couldn't tell since they all wore balaclavas.

"What about her?" The terrorist in the back seat asked.

"Not sure, we'll ask…" In that moment, Salnikov's heart practically stopped as he heard Strelkov give the order.

"Open fire!" In a split second, several of the terrorists grabbed their weapons and opened fire on the two lines of hostages barely fifty meters away. Their weapons were on automatic and each man emptied his clip into them. Strelkov dashed back to the truck and opened the door amidst the cacophony of assault rifle fire even as several more terrorists joined in, emptying their magazines too. It was over in seconds, both lines crumpled to the ground amidst an aerosolized cloud of blood and automatic weapons fire.

Salnikov could only close his eyes and put his head onto the steering wheel, expecting that at any moment, return fire would come from the Pojački soldiers guarding the border crossing. He began to say a prayer in his head, a prayer he'd been taught as a child, and refused to be interrupted when Strelkov climbed in and ordered him to "Get the f*ck going!" When Salnikov didn't budge, Strelkov yelled again, "Did you hear me! I said get the f*ck going!"

Salnikov opened his eyes and lifted his head, his eyes wet from tears, "Why?"

"What? Who f*cking cares! Get going! Now!" No return fire had come yet but it was due at any moment. "Get going!" Salnikov watched as the trucks began to peel away quickly, terrorists jumping into any open door, into the cargo beds, scurrying away while they still had a chance.

Salnikov angrily put the vehicle in gear and stepped on the gas pedal. They drove in silence for a minute, maybe two before Salnikov reached up to wipe away the tears, "Why'd you do that?"

"I said I'd get my revenge."

"And her?" He pointed to the backseat.

"She owed me seventeen men. I am keeping sixteen. I'll call it even; I'm feeling generous tonight," Strelkov laughed.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Saturday, 8 June 2024 | 22:45 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | Predsjednički Dvori

Chancellor Jelena Jurić walked like a zombie down the hallways of the Predsjednički Dvori, her feet aching, her head fogged with exhaustion and sleeplessness. Her stomach felt raw, as if she'd spent hours throwing up when in reality it had been days since she'd had a meal more substantial than a few pecks at a salad, sandwich, or some crackers. Her skin was pale, her face gaunt and hollow. She felt cold, anxiety ravaging her body like a virus. She'd put herself together enough to make this visit, if visit was even the right word. In truth, she'd been summoned to meet with the President at his personal instance. She'd theorized that he'd done this as a final punishment to her, forcing her out into public where people harangued her as she got into her vehicle, screamed and shouted obscenities at her as her vehicle drove away. The police and executive guards struggling to keep the crowd from surging and swarming all around her car. She'd get it in spades again as she exited the car and entered the Predsjednički Dvori via the side entrance.

To further insult her, she'd been left in the anteroom outside of the President's office while his secretary, a young and attractive woman, about Elizabeta's age but much more impersonal, typed away at her computer, barely giving her a shred of attention. When she was finally admitted, she found the President leaning against his desk with Minister Zorić nearby. "Jelena, thank you for coming," the President said, his voice neutral, his body language relaxed. "Can I fix you a drink?" She nodded as Minister Zorić came over to shake her hand. He led her to the sofa and the two of them sat down while President Andrej Petrović poured her a healthy serving of whiskey. He came over to her and handed her the glass loosening his tie and unbuttoning his top shirt button as he sat down across from her. Zorić wasn't drinking and Petrović's own glass was waiting for him on an end table next to the chair. He didn't offer her a toast. He simply crossed his legs and took a sip.

"So, Strelkov f*cked us," he came out and said right away, "seventy-nine dead, thirty-two injured, sixteen missing, probably still human shields." The President's words cut through her. She didn't answer, just sipped at her drink, hoping to numb some of the pain that she felt. "You know, we recorded it all from a drone overhead."

"I didn't know that," she answered, "I should have expected it."

"Expected what, the double cross? The drone?" She shrugged, "The best part?" He began to roll up his sleeves, putting his drink down on the end table while he did. "We lost them."

"What?" Her eyes widened.

Petrović leaned forward, his sleeves rolled up tightly, his collar unbuttoned, looking as if he was about to leap across and pummel her to death with his bare hands. His face reddened and she thought she could see steam come off his forehead but she figured that she probably just hallucinating from lack of sleep and nourishment. "We f*cking lost them Jelena. We couldn't keep up with them, every vehicle was lost. All those terrorists and sixteen of our citizens, all gone. Vanished." Zorić moved to speak and Petrović held up a finger, pausing him in the act, "Do you realize the fallout that this is going to cause?"

"I do."

"No," he stood up and kicked over the chair. It gave her a startle and she spilled some of the whiskey out of the glass, nearly dropping it in her lap. His voice went from a calm rage to a full yell, "No you don't! Do you understand what you've done to this country because you got cold feet? Because you couldn't stand in the face of evil and fight it! You cowered and caved and handed the CbKZ the biggest victory of their entire existence." She was silent. Petrović lowered his voice, "Your unilateral actions might have saved the majority of the hostages, and I'll give you that, but look what the cost was."

"I did what I thought…"

He cut her off, Zorić kept quiet, "You did what you thought, not what every single person recommended. You went rogue, on your own, ignored the advice and the evidence in front of you. When the investigation happens, and I promise you there will be one, that will all be made plain as day. The public wants blood Jelena and I'm going to give them your head."

She wanted to stand up, to throw the whiskey in his face, to tell him that he couldn't speak to her that way because she was his equal but even she knew it was all on her. She'd gone over it enough times in her head to know the depths in which she screwed up handling the crisis. "I'll tender my resignation in the morning."

"Forget it," Petrović said, which shocked her as much as it did Zorić. "You're not going to get off that quickly or easily. We'll form a committee and that committee will pass judgement. The Pojački people deserve to know the truth about what happened in Birogarsk and I'm going to make sure they get it." Petrović was on a tirade like she'd never seen before. Heretofore, he'd been an ally, her biggest champion. He'd elevated her within the party despite her proclivity for peace. He wanted a "dove" as a Chancellor to offset the hawks within the party, to ensure that a balance was kept. Now he was turning on her and she couldn't help but feel that it was personal, very personal.

"Why?"

"Due to your actions, the legitimacy of this government is gone. It's been eroded. It must be restored. We need the peoples' support now more than ever. Don't you understand? This could have been one battle Jelena. One battle and that was it. Now it's going to be a war."

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

• • • • ‡ ‡ ‡ • • • •

[ ⁂ This concludes Part I ⁂ ]

• • • † • • •

Edited December 30, 2024 by Poja (see edit history)

Poja · December 28, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter XIV
Fallout

Sunday, 9 June 2024 | 20:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Lavirint District | Studio Center

Dušan Savić checked his hair one last time before swiveling his chair around to face the cameras ahead of him. None were rolling yet but in just a few short moments they would be as he went live on the air for a special edition of his regular program, Tonight with Savić. One of the most prominent political pundits in the country, Savić was popular with the right-wing audience while being wholly unpopular with the left-wing audience. His hour-long program was usually characterized by a few segments including his opening statement, opinions on a few pressing issues, a guest appearance for a "debate," - which almost always turned into both people talking at and down to one another with little actual debating - and his finale, which were his closing remarks. Ratings wise, his show was high up there for primetime, news program but it was more his theatrics that drew in - or pushed away - his audience.

Typically airing Monday through Friday, he'd both requested and had been requested to do a special show in the wake of the Birogarsk Hostage Crisis. He'd already devoted plenty of airtime to it on previous shows, calling for the eradication of the CbKZ, the invasion and "bulldozing" of Chernodrinsk, and all of the right-wing fantasies that populated the online spaces with regards to Chernodrinsk and the CbKZ. In many ways, he was an Internet troll who just so happened to have a television show and thus could reach a much wider audience. That being said, despite all of this, his hour-long ranting and raving tended to garner a significant amount of attention, especially within the government and the circles of United Poja, of which he was supposedly a member of based on his voter registration card - that may or may not have been doctored when he'd showed it on air.

The Pojački Broadcast Network was largely a neutral organization when it came to reporting the news but it offered two hours of punditry each weeknight, one with the right-wing Savić and another with Tatjana Vukić, a left-wing pundit with more or less the same schtick, same show, and same format. Airing both programs was a controversial decision by the PBN and one that had been unpopular at first but it added extra revenue to the network and each show was preceded by a disclaimer that the shows themselves were solely "the opinions of the hosts and guests and not of the network." In truth, the majority of the reporters and the journalists at the PBN loathed both shows and often refused to consider anything they said or presented during their hour-long rants and raves.

"We're live in two minutes," a warning came from the control booth, to which Savić gave a thumbs up as he shuffled the papers on his table. All of his remarks were already preloaded into the teleprompter and the papers were there for two purposes, chiefly as a prop and secondarily as a backup in case the teleprompter should fail - not that it ever did.

"One minute," the call came and Savić was ready to go. He cracked his neck and looked off at the cameras amidst the bright lights of the studio.

"Good to go," he said into the microphone on his lapel, "great show everyone," his usual wishing of luck to those who made his "magical hour" - his words - happen.

"Thirty seconds," and from thereon out, the studio was quiet. Hand signals would be used to initiate the countdown and anything spoken to Savić would come through the small earpiece that was in his right ear, artfully hidden from the cameras. If he looked away from center, he'd only ever look to the left, keeping it hidden.

In his ear, Savić heard the introduction to the show begin and "put on his game face," looking right into the camera as they went live. "Good evening and welcome to a special edition of Tonight with Savić, I'm your host Dušan Savić. We're here for a special broadcast to talk about the horrible tragedy in Birogarsk that left almost 900 people dead and wounded. Sixteen Pojački citizens remain hostages of the terrorist group, the CbKZ, somewhere in the lawless state of Chernodrinsk.

"Let's start with focusing on the government's response to this crisis. We're still only hours away from the conclusion and so we are missing a lot of information but one thing is clear, the government's response was inadequate, inept, and downright negligent. What was done? Why was there no military option exercised? For days, terrorists held over a thousand hostages in the Birogarsk General Hospital in conditions that we would consider deplorable for the worst criminals in our country. Prevented from eating or drinking sufficient amounts, made to urinate and soil themselves, forced to wear the same, filth-ridden clothes, threatened, tortured both physically and mentally, and then executed, the hostages endured an ordeal that speaks to just how barbaric these CbKZ terrorists are. They demand we treat them with respect but treat our own citizens like this? Who are they kidding! The CbKZ is lucky we don't downright exterminate them all," he looked more closely at the camera, "and we should!

"What was the government's response this time? Negotiations? For a puny handful of hostages released, we gave them their own criminals. We delivered food for the hostages that they stole for themselves. The military and the police were ill-equipped to tackle the situation, coming under heavy fire for the simple act of just retrieving the bodies, bodies that were left to rot in the street. Where were our special forces? Where was our famed military capability? When police forces were attacked and routed why were there not tanks, armored vehicles, attack helicopters? The terrorists who held that building watched as the government responded with kid's gloves, executing people by shooting them point blank or throwing them off of the roof for in front of the whole wurld to see. No one died with any dignity and their burials, prevented, will leave only closed casket funerals now.

"Tell me Chancellor Jurić, what do you think you solved here? You were in charge, weren't you? Tell me, the Pojački people, the mothers and fathers and husbands and wives and sons and daughters of those murdered in cold blood why you didn't put their lives first and instead chose to negotiate, with terrorists! Why did you think negotiations would work? What level of naiveté infects your thinking?

"From the get-go, I was critical of Jurić's candidacy as chancellor. This is why. Chancellor Jurić has spent her entire political career preaching peace and you cannot have someone who preaches peace throughout their entire life in a position where you must make decisions that are not peace. It is impossible, it's impossible for their brains to comprehend it, to entertain the idea that peace is not always an option. Peace can be an option, sure, but it wasn't an option here! Good job Chancellor, maybe you'll change your beliefs but I won't hold my breath.

"And while we're at it, where was the rest of the government? United Poja swept to victory in our last election 'talking tough' on the CbKZ, on Chernodrinsk, on all of the crimes committed by the terrorists over the years. Do you remember? I do. I remember how the candidates talked about the weak responses by prior governments to assassinations, kidnappings, car bombings, and all of the depraved and criminal acts of the CbKZ and how it criticized prior governments for not acting decisively enough with regards to them. For all of that 'tough talk' where was the action? I'll tell you where it was; it was never there. It was never intended to be there. It was just a talking point for campaign season. If President Petrović had lived up to the talk, the CbKZ, Chernodrinsk, they would be a footnote in history. They certainly wouldn't have murdered and injured almost 900 people. They wouldn't still have sixteen of our very citizens held hostage as human shields.

"While we're on the subject Mister President," here he emphasized "Mister President" with considerable sarcasm in his voice, laying it on thick. "Where were you? Where was the action on the CbKZ? You criticized your predecessors, by name, for not acting on CbKZ and well, now I call you out by name, President Andrej Petrović, what have you done about the CbKZ? What are you going to do now? What was your role in this disaster?

"If we all recall, it was President Petrović who came to defend Chancellor Jurić's record habitually but what do you have to say now? The duty of the President of the Konfederacija Poja, with respect to the Konfederacija, is to defend and protect it from all enemies, foreign and domestic. In times of national crisis, the President steps in and can overrule the Chancellor. Where was that? Was this not a national crisis? Seemed like one to me, sure seemed like one to the thousand plus hostages, to their families, to the entire city of Birogarsk, to the loved ones who lost people these past few days!" Savić was in rare form, verbally slaughtering the Chancellor, the President, United Poja, and the entire government.

He continued his tirade, calling attention to the social media responses, defending them, thanking those who posted their opinions. Social media was beyond critical against the government. Responses were all pure vitriol. As the segment wore on, Savić continued to lay line-after-line down on the failure of the government, mirroring the calls of other pundits across the country for investigations, resignations, and criminal charges. "Everyone who failed the people of Poja, all of you deserve to be behind bars for dereliction of duty!"

The programmed hour wasn't even remotely understanding to the sitting government and there was no segment at all with the theme of, "We understand in situations like this…" It was all barbed words and it only got worse as the program came near to a close when Savić, coming back from a commercial, opened with, "And we have an exclusive here, an exclusive to the PBN that we're airing on this show. We're going to play that right now for you and for those watching at home, understand that this is verified. It's a recording from Leonid Strelkov, the self-confessed leader of the CbKZ unit involved in Birogarsk. It was a voice-from-the-grave, so to speak, even though Strelkov wasn't dead. The Pojački authorities figured that he would disappear but now here was his voice, coming through everyone's television set with a final, parting jab at the government.

Strelkov opened with twisting the events at the hospital, giving a narrative that was blatantly false. Save for getting their last sixteen hostages, in Strelkov's version, Chancellor Jurić caved to each and every one of his demands. She was weak and two-faced and he ended his short yarn stating that he would hold the sixteen hostages until his sixteen men, who Jurić promised to release, were released.

Savić stayed stoic the entire recording and when it was finished, looked to the camera and said, "Well Chancellor? Are you going to cave? You let this man get away, with all of his men, where he murdered how many hostages as a parting gift to us? Tell me Chancellor, tell the people of Poja, when are you going to give him what he wants?" The show ended a few minutes later and, when all was free and clear, Savić sat back in his chair, exhaled deeply, and gave a thumb's up to the control booth. "Great show, great show!" He said into his microphone as the producers in the control booth agreed, whether they agreed or not, it was a tough issue. The popularity of United Poja had sunk overnight and the government was looking feeble, weak, and pathetic in the face of a clear and present danger to the Pojački way of life.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Sunday, 9 June 2024 | 20:15 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | Predsjednički Dvori

"Well, he's in rare form," President Petrović said as he watched Tonight with Savić in the presence of his chief advisor, Ratimir Pešić. Pešić had been running damage control all day and was now with the President giving him a rundown on what was happening throughout the inner workings of the party.

"And it isn't pretty," Pešić had begun earlier when he described the flurry of activity over e-mail, phone, and the many group text message chats. "The party is in full crisis mode," he added on as the show began. "Polling numbers are in a freefall and the Chancellor's own numbers are in single digits."

"I'm surprised they're not negative," Petrović answered, still seething. He thought he'd converted her to the right path when he'd gotten her to agree to the military raid. When she'd turned her back on it, stopped it only minutes away from its execution, that was it for him, the final straw. He'd been supporting her for many years, since before the party came to power in January 2021 but he wouldn't any longer. "Oh that's a load of bull," Petrović commented at the screen as Pešić was going into detail on some of what was being said in the message chats. The President wasn't surprised by any of it and it all had the same theme.

"Sir, if elections were tomorrow, we would never again see a single candidate in office."

"Elections aren't until next year," the President shook his head at the television, "we'll have this turned around by then. It's momentary. I'm confident that the investigation will exonerate the party. It'll all fall on her shoulders. I promise you."

"You're very assured of this?" Pešić took his eyes away from the television as did the President, "Are you going to steer the investigation?"

"No," the President shook his head for added emphasis, tuning out Savić's vitriol for a moment, "I was in those meetings, each and every one of them. I know what transpired, what took place. You were there too, weren't you? Did we listen to different things?"

"No sir but certainly…"

"But certainly nothing Ratimir, she was in charge, it was her show. The investigation will reveal it and I am confident in that," something caught his attention and he turned back to the television, "this moron reciting the oath of President, well part of it, he probably had to look it up."

"Getting back to the messages and communications sir," Petrović waved him on, "there are a lot of messages holding you personally accountable for not striking back at CbKZ sooner. We did talk a lot about the failures of prior administrations. They recognize you were not legally 'in-charge' of course but still sir, we promised action on Chernodrinsk."

"We did," the President said, "and that will be for me to face but I have dozens of intelligence reports citing an overstatement of the capabilities on the CbKZ. In fact, several of those estimates warned against direct action for the simple reason of avoiding civilian casualties and handing the CbKZ a propaganda victory for recruitment. We were wrong," he turned back away from the television as a commercial began, "both in our criticism against prior governments and also in the intelligence estimates. I doubt any government would have stood by and not acted if they knew that the CbKZ was capable of this."

"How will we spin that sir?"

"We won't, I am not going to spin it, I'll own up to that in the investigation. I acted with the best interests of Poja in mind, that I have no doubt. Whatever misses in the intelligence community will fall on them. This will clean house amongst this government, that is for sure but I am not going to step down and let someone I don't trust to lead this country through this crisis." He was referring to Radovan Novaković, who was widely seen as the President's successor within United Poja. Petrović didn't trust the man to do the job right, felt that he was not as focused as he should have been on the country's foreign policies. There was also the matter of several controversies when he was Premier of Liaria ten years earlier that he'd managed to dodge but would undoubtedly surface again if he were President.

"You're referring to Novaković right?"

"Absolutely," the program came back and Savić picked up right from where he started. "I would call into this charade and expose him on air but he'd probably just shout stupid shit the entire time and stick his fingers in his ears and go 'la la la,' if I got a word in," the President demonstrated. "What do the messages say about Jurić?"

"Oh, they're unanimous sir, she has to resign. Why hasn't she?"

"I told her I would refuse to accept it until the investigation began. She'll be taking the fall for this one Ratimir, she will take it all."

"I'm not sure that's wise sir."

"I'll live with that decision."

"The other parties are calling for it as well, and the investigation."

"Which we're giving them, for f*ck's sake," Savić began to air Strelkov's message. "Son of a b*tch!" The President fumed at Strelkov's voice; at the nonsense he spoke. "We'll set the record straight, this I promise you," the President turned off the television a few minutes later when the program ended. He wasn't in the mood to keep watching, to keep listening to the pundits, whom he universally hated, whether they were on his side or not.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Monday, 10 June 2024 | 13:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

To an array of snapping cameras, the President and the Chancellor entered the press briefing room in the House of Magnates. The President insisted that the press conference be held there, in the seat of the government, since the matter was more domestic than it was foreign. All morning, an array of criticism was being levied against the government with increasingly louder calls for resignations and for an investigation. A lot of people were just shouting for things they'd already been told were coming, mostly because they were opportunists in front of the cameras. The President was more than willing to "set the record straight" and he was here to do it with the Chancellor at his side, though only because he wanted her face in the spotlight as much as, if not more than, his own.

"Thank you all, citizens of Poja, I come before you this afternoon," he began to talk, the Chancellor silent by his side, "to give you an update on the incident in Birogarsk. No doubt many of you have listened to last night's debut recording from the terrorist leader, Strelkov. I can say, with absolute certainty that the tale you heard from Strelkov is just that, a tale. In the next few days, a formal investigation will be beginning, led by an independent party and its results will be made public. Those results will show how false Strelkov's fairytale is. We were in negotiations with the terrorists, that much is true. This was done in an attempt to reduce the number of hostages being held and I assure you that few demands were met. In fact, many of them were outright rejected and not even entertained as they were beyond outlandish.

"I pledge to you that this investigation will be independent, it will be transparent, and it will investigate the actions of all parties and persons involved. That includes local, regional, and federal governmental officials and the terrorists themselves. The committee will be instructed to leave no stone unturned, no thread unpulled, and to spare no one the rightful criticism that they deserve." He didn't turn to the Chancellor but she knew that he was talking about her. "The results of the investigation will be reviewed and acted upon and we will ensure that the Konfederacija Poja learns from this event so that it can never happen again. In the meantime, I ask the Pojački people to trust the process and I understand the tall order I am asking, especially when your faith in this government is at an all-time low but I assure you that we are just as interested in letting the facts come to light as you are in learning them, please be patient, thank you."

He stepped aside and the Chancellor stepped up next, mirroring many of the same sentiments, pledging openness and transparency with the investigation, citing herself as the "leading decision maker," as she'd been instructed. No one fell on the sword though, which everyone was hoping for when the press briefing began. They'd have to wait longer for this.

While the President and the Chancellor spoke, behind-the-scenes negotiations were commencing with certain contacts within the CbKZ. The government wasn't done just yet, and the priority was getting the remaining hostages back safely. There would be no prisoner releases, that was out of the question, but it was plausible for the government to cede on other concessions, especially minor ones, if it meant getting back the sixteen hostages that the CbKZ still had, if just because, when the war began, they would be using them as human shields.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Tuesday, 11 June 2024 | 11:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Trešnjik District | Headquarters of the Uprava Državne Bezbednosti

"Minister, to what do I owe this pleasure? It's not often I see you down here," the heavyset man in an ill-fitting suit said as came around from his desk and offered his visitor a handshake. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, I believe I'll be brief," Minister Zorić answered as he took a seat and his host locked the door behind them. "I trust we're in quiet company?"

"We swept the office an hour ago," Stefan Đorđević answered as he came back around to his desk and sat down. He was a little sweaty, less from the exertion and more from the overall temperature of the room. "My apologies on the temperature, air conditioning system is under repair, again." Đorđević's office was buried underground and thus was surrounded on all sides by thick concrete, which naturally kept in the warm air and the humidity, especially in summer.

"It's more than fine," Zorić didn't mind, in truth he was a little "cold blooded" and sought the warmth more than others, but then again, he wasn't a young man either and this came with age as much as anything else. "How have today's measures gone?"

"We're off to an excellent start," Đorđević said with a smile. Stefan Đorđević was, like Minister Zorić, a man who'd lasted for more than one political administration. As head of the Pojački secret police, otherwise known as the Uprava Državne Bezbednosti or UDB, he reported to only one man, and that was Minister Zorić. What they were referring to when the Minister said "measures" was an expanded crackdown on the CbKZ and their sympathizers. Only days ago, the UDB had gone on a very public and very visible campaign of arresting CbKZ sympathizers and former members but that had largely been to send a message. The arrests that had begun this very morning were being done quietly because neither the UDB nor the MDS wanted to send a message anymore, this was about intelligence-gathering. "Our focus remains in Chernarus, of course, and that is because that is where sympathizers and former terrorists go but we've opened the dragnet to the entire country. Alerts have been sent to all border checkpoints and airports to ensure certain people cannot leave the country. We're determined to get everyone on our list."

"That's what I want to hear Stefan, tell me how long do you expect this to take, end-to-end?"

"Several months, I am sure. Our objective is to wipe out any semblance of a base within this country for the CbKZ, no small task. Anyone and everyone who has ever expressed a shred of sympathy for the CbKZ or who has cooperated with them on their online bot farms will be in custody. We'll wipe them out of existence."

"Remember, we need intelligence. I'd hope your officers remember that," Zorić knew the reputation of the UDB and they were thugs at the end of the day. Ruthless, cunning, capable, and able to have as little footprint as possible, they were still thugs and always would be. They were the secret police, and they had a very broad license to operate so it came with the territory. There were things they could do that the regular police could not without facing a myriad of disciplinary action and lawsuits. A political liability in the waiting, the UDB was effective enough that they persisted through many scandals over the years. "We need to understand the innermost workings of the CbKZ, the history, what my own assets and agents cannot tell me without exposing themselves."

"It's our priority."

"I don't expect there will be too much resistance amongst the populace, should it come to light what these measures are, but let's keep it as quiet as we can, even if that means extending the timeline a little."

"We're on the same page then Minister," Đorđević smiled as he leaned back in his chair. The sheer number of people due to be arrested was staggering and the facilities of the UDB and the MDS were hardly sufficient, which was why several "alternative sites" had been put into play for interrogations and housing. These included warehouses, safe houses that the UDB operated, and even military bases. Prisoners who could be of use would be kept in the most secure of locations while the rest would be dispersed accordingly, perhaps released.

• • • † • • •

Poja · December 30, 2024

• • • † • • •

Chapter XV
Trepidation

Thursday, 13 June 2024 | 10:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | House of Magnates

Once again, the press cameras were snapping shot after shot in the press briefing room at the House of Magnates where not only was every seat filled but every centimeter of wall space was taken up by someone standing as well. The President and the Chancellor had only just entered moments before, with the President stepping back to the side while the Chancellor positioned herself at the podium. The murmurs of side conversations died down and Chancellor Jurić gripped the edges with her hands to steady herself. In the days since the end of the crisis, she found that she was no longer at ease in front of the cameras because she knew what kind of sentiments were behind them. Her hands had been in a near steady state of tremoring for days and her nerves were frayed beyond repair. A constant rerun of her actions and words played on a near constant loop in her brain when she was awake and even more so when she wasn't, leading to nothing but restless nights where she'd wake up out of breath, drenched in a cold sweat, her heart racing faster than a fighter jet.

"Ladies and gentlemen, good morning," she said, mustering some sense of authority and strength to her voice, enough to hide the terror. "If you'll give us just one minute, we're waiting on our guest of honor." The murmurs of conversation started up again but lasted only a minute before they died in an instantaneous hush the instant that the "guest of honor" entered the room.

A tall man in his late-sixties, he walked slowly with the aid of a cane. His figure was thin but the suit that he wore made it look like he filled it out better than he did. Taking his place on the briefing stage next to the President, he stood straight and looked out at the crowd of reporters as the cameras snapped furiously. This I don't miss, he thought to himself as he reached over and shook the President's hand. The Chancellor turned and offered her hand as well and the three had a few words together, quiet, hushed, and unintelligible to everyone in the room. When all was done, the President gave the Chancellor a slight, almost imperceptible nod and she turned back around, steadying herself on the podium once again.

"We're ready to begin," she said and then allowed a few seconds for the broadcast cameras to start rolling. "Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed citizens of the Konfederacija Poja, good morning. I come before you to announce the official formation of the Birogarsk Istražni Komitet za Teroristički Napad or 'BIKTiN' for short. Effective immediately, BIKTiN will be the sole investigative authority into the terrorist attack on Birogarsk and its members will have full, executive authority to complete their investigation by any means necessary.

"Leading BIKTiN will be this esteemed gentleman over my right shoulder, former President Željko Vasić. Mister Vasić will have at his disposal whatever tools, funding, and manpower are required to complete a full, thorough, and factually accurate investigation into the terrorist attack. As we have stated before, no stone shall be left unturned and no thread unpulled. Mister Vasić will be operating independently, receiving the full cooperation of the Pojački government at all levels to conduct his investigation and his review of this matter."

The choice to appoint Vasić was a major coup for President Petrović. Vasić had come to power upon the resignation of his predecessor in 1997, Mileta Dapčević amidst the historically unsettling Heilgerberg Incident in what had been called informally as "Seven Days in January." A little over two weeks shy of his sixty-ninth birthday, Vasić had only completed his predecessor's term before losing the election in 2000 to Aca Vukašinović, who would go on to rule for twenty years before United Poja and President Petrović swept into power in 2020. What made Vasić's appointment to lead BIKTN - as it was officially abbreviated - such a coup for Petrović was the fact that Vasić was a member of the Pojački Democratic Party (PDS). The PDS was the country's centrist party and among the government's sharpest critics in the wake of the disaster in Birogarsk and at the border. PDS politicians, smelling blood in the water for the first time were more than just a little vocal as they saw this as a perfect opportunity to return to power, something they hadn't held now in over two decades since Aca Vukašinović had been a member of the center-right Modern Poja.

Furthermore, despite the circumstances that brought Vasić to power, he still retained a positive image amongst Pojački citizens. His appointment would disarm a lot of the UPP's critics and for the President, this was crucial. Key to United Poja retaining its grip on power was making the seemingly hourly criticisms and diatribes from its opponents go away so that they could take back control of the narrative. While the Chancellor spoke, the President wondered just how his critics were currently reacting. He suppressed a sly smirk at the thought and tuned back in as the Chancellor announced, "And without further ado, please let me introduce Mister Vasić." The President put his hands together and offered a respectful clap as Vasić moved up to the podium.

"Thank you very much Madam Chancellor, Mister President," he turned only just slightly in Petrović's direction to give him a look of acknowledgement. "The terrorist attack in Birogarsk was a tragedy of the worst kind," he began, "and I like all of Poja's citizens want to understand not only what happened but how it happened and what we can do to prevent this again. Terrorists from the CbKZ were able to find the vulnerabilities in our society and exploit them for their twisted and murderous purposes. Our investigation will get to the bottom of this attack and analyze the decisions made throughout the ordeal to ensure that we use it as a learning experience rather than relegating it to history with a 'boiler plate explanation.'

"I pledge to you the same pledge as this government has proposed and that is fairness, neutrality, transparency, and thoroughness. The report we will compile will be available for public release upon its conclusion, thank you." He stepped back and another round of applause followed while the Chancellor returned to the podium alongside Vasić to take a few questions from the gathered journalists and there were many. The President mainly hung back and let them answer. He knew that the report itself would take one to two years to compile but that there would be an "initial read" in about a month, which would be enough to begin to placate not only the people of Poja but his political opponents as well. BITKN would officially begin on Monday, 17 June with Vasić at the helm and dozens of people assigned to the committee.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Monday, 17 June 2024 | 13:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | Predsjednički Dvori

"All right, we're all here?" The President asked as he entered the room to the shuffling of feet as the men and women of the VSP stood at his entrance. "Good, good, let's get rolling," he said as he took a seat, not acknowledging the fact that the Chancellor was neither at the table nor present on the videoconference line. "This afternoon is an important meeting and we have a good bit to discuss, so let's get rolling into it. Ratimir, how are we with the start of BITKiN?"

"BITKiN officially began work today and the update I have from them is that they are seeking to interview all members of the IGO by the end of next week, which is a furious pace. Right now, it's only preliminary interviews to get a basic layout of the events. Follow up interviews will be scheduled accordingly," Pešić answered.

"Good, I want to make sure I say this to all of you, cooperate in full. We all know where we stood on the matter and on the events. Make all records and notes available to your interviewers. Obviously, when it comes to classified intelligence, we have to be cautious as there is a level of clearance that some of you may have that these men and women do not have. We're not looking to compromise sources or blow open any investigations but we must be forthcoming." Heads nodded around the table, "Next is the CbKZ, where are we at with negotiations?"

"Not far sir," answered Ružica Rak, the President's senior advisor on security. She was leading the further and secretive negotiations with the CbKZ concerning the release of the sixteen hostages and, not repeating the same mistakes that Chancellor Jurić had, she obviously had little to show for it. "The CbKZ are largely toying with us over the matter. We have come to multiple, independent agreements but each time we speak again, they are modifying the terms, adding conditions, or outright denying any agreements ever took place. The going is slow sir and almost every one of their demands defies sensibility. The only consistency they have is the release of the sixteen prisoners that the Chancellor promised."

The notion of "we don't negotiate with terrorists" always sounded good to the press and in public but in truth, everyone negotiated with terrorists. It was how situations like these got resolved and it was almost always a breakdown in those negotiations that triggered direct action in the form of a police raid or a special forces assault. Unfortunately, this time around, the CbKZ had more advantages since they had the hostages hidden away in the myriad of buildings and neighbors of Chernodrinsk and didn't need to negotiate at all. Whether they got the sixteen prisoners or not would hardly affect their ability to function, it was more just a sticking point they wanted to press. It was the biggest factor, at least per Strelkov, why he still held sixteen Pojački citizens. In truth, they were his human shields, protecting him and several other high-ranking CbKZ personnel from reprisal attacks because he knew, perhaps better than anyone, that the Pojački government valued the lives of its citizens very highly, too highly to simply "start shooting" and risk their deaths.

"They're bound to harp on that," the President offered, "but we'll keep it up for now. With any luck, the continued dialogue will let our military and intelligence personnel zero in on their locations."

"Sir, on that matter," chimed in Chairman-General Žarko Novaković, "what are our orders?"

"Should we be able to fix their location, I would authorize a rescue mission if it were presented. As I understand it, our special operations units remain on alert and are presently preparing for such a mission?" Minister Tanacković of National Defense nodded, "Then that is how we will proceed unless anyone has any objections?" There were none. "Good then it is settled. Swift and decisive action, should it be presented, will be authorized but we must have it presented. I don't want troops in Chernodrinsk without our assent. That is clear?"

"Absolutely sir," Novaković responded, "we are maintaining a near constant presence of ISR drones over Chernodrinsk though."

"No issues there, we've already discussed that matter." Ever since the border incident, Pojački drones orbited over Chernodrinsk at high altitude, using their sensors to provide real-time imagery to military personnel. They were also intercepting communications where and when able and conducting reconnaissance for any upcoming military operations.

"Which sir, provides an appropriate segue into a decision point we need to make today," Minister Tanacković said, taking the floor, "which is our military response." Though discussions had happened before, this was to be the definitive discussion concerning the matter. "The Ministry of National Defense has, over time, run a number of wargames concerning military action in Chernodrinsk and there are a number of war plans. Since the start of this crisis, we have been revisiting and updating them accordingly. All of our existing war plans against Chernodrinsk call for a minimum force of at least 25,000 ground troops; however, given the current nature of the CbKZ and what we know right now, this number would be significantly higher, more than 40,000 ground troops in combination with a large portion of our air force and intelligence networks.

"The war plans we are reviewing and updating at this moment remain somewhat ambiguous as to our intentions with Chernodrinsk. If we were to strike back at the CbKZ without any type of ground incursion, we could begin operations within twenty-four hours of a 'GO order' but if we're to involve ground troops, it will take several weeks to build up our forces and supplies to sustain combat operations."

"And time is a wasting?" The President asked, to which Tanacković nodded. "We need to make a decision on how we will proceed then? Certainly, we'll need more discussions on how we handle this situation militarily but I think, suffice it to say, the CbKZ must be degraded in such a way that they can never again threaten this nation. Whether that means an invasion, occupation, or just airstrikes I don't believe we can determine today, is that fair?"

"That would be fair sir."

"So, our decision point thusly is whether or not we begin the buildup of troops?"

"Yes sir."

"I believe that we would be wise to do so. How long will it take to build up to the necessary manpower for an invasion, should we choose that route?"

"At least six weeks sir. It would involve moving a lot of men and matériel to the border and stockpiling supplies to support combat operations."

"Do we have any objections? None? Then it is unanimous. Minister, commence the buildup."

"Sir one more thing on this regard," Minister Tanacković said, glad to hear that the buildup was proceeding ahead. The President yielded, "Is that I believe we ought to reach out to our partners in TRIDENT for support¹. While we're still working on precisely how we plan to proceed, our partners may be wishing to support us and if we are to be drawn into a sustained and prolonged conflict, their support would be crucial, even if it is merely the replenishment of munitions or access to spy satellites and the like."

"Any issues from Foreign Affairs?" The President asked of Minister Cvjetko Parlov.

"None sir, in fact we would be remiss if we did not reach out to them. No doubt some of them would be more than eager to support."

"Then so be, Minister, make the necessary inquiries." Minister Parlov of Foreign Affairs nodded, jotting it down on his notepad².

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Thursday, 20 June 2024 | 23:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernodrinsk | Kinesta District

We need to find a better place to meet, Oleg Isayev thought to himself as he walked down the corridor towards the closed door at the far end where two men in suits stood guard blocking the door with their large, muscular bodies. In the dampness of the underground passage, his nose twitched and itched from the musty odors that always set off his allergies. It was why he always took an anti-allergy pill before coming to these meetings but the pill could only do so much against the prolonged exposure to whatever was down there that his body decided it hated.

He walked the fifty meters from the stairwell to the door, passing by the caged wall scones that provided insufficient lighting from one end of the corridor to the other, trying to breathe as little as possible, as if that would work. He'd tried it before and though nothing he had ever done had ever helped, he still kept trying, perhaps to give him some sort of idea that he was "doing something" rather than just surrendering. When he got to the door, the two men were already in the process of opening it, "They're waiting for you sir," one of them said as both stood off to the side to allow Isayev to step through the threshold and into the "now usual" meeting spot. He could see that he was the fifth man to arrive with the others already seated around the table.

"Something to drink Oleg?" Kozlov offered but Oleg shook his head. "Very well, we can begin now."

"Are we not waiting for Lubomir?" Isayev asked as he took his seat.

Kozlov sat back down before he answered, "Lubomir is no longer welcomed in these discussions. Do you have an issue with this?" Kozlov didn't ask rhetorically; and, in fact, he'd sprung this on the other men just the same as he was now springing it on Isayev. Thus far, each and every man had answered the same as Isayev would answer.

"Not in the slightest bit," Isayev leaned back and heard the door lock behind him.

"Good," Kozlov offered a slight smile. "We need to discuss the immediate future for Chernodrinsk, our networks, and what I see as inevitable, the eventual Pojački attack. This business with Strelkov has gone too far. The executions at the border? That is why I wish not to speak with Lubomir or give the terrorists a seat at this table anymore. Their actions were done without our consent."

"I hear even within the terrorists that the murders at the border weren't well received," Pirogov said, "Strelkov really screwed the pooch there. I for one do not trust them anymore."

"I doubt any of us ever did," Isayev said, "and they've backed Rugi into a corner with this attack. Never mind the border, the entire attack has upended things in Rugi. The government has to act in order to save face. You ought to see the engagement on social media right now. The Pojački people would have little issue if the army rolled into Chernodrinsk and just straight up executed people, no judge, no jury, no trial, just summary executions. The people are mad."

"Which is precisely why we need to discuss," Kozlov took back the floor. "Military action is coming, in fact, we're seeing the buildup begin. The military is not being loud about it but our agents can see it plain as day." Kozlov was referring to a very loose network of spies, if they could even be called that, operating within Poja who provided useful information back to them. Generally, it concerned matters of justice and law enforcement, raids on stash houses, dragnets, that sort of thing, but ever since Birogarsk, Kozlov had asked for a few of them to stake out several military bases. The information was now becoming very fruitful. "It won't be long before there are tanks out there and I sincerely doubt that Rugi will differentiate between us and them."

"We need to do something," Pirogov said, "and we need to do it fast, while their military is in the planning stages. I would suggest using our backdoor channels with the government and informing them that we are neither supportive of nor in bed with the terrorists. It's very plain what our intentions, our objectives, and our faculties are, collectively speaking. The terrorists do not represent or speak for us and we certainly don't side with them. They must understand that, if we could have removed them, we would have."

"That goes without saying," Kozlov agreed, "the power dynamic is not something I think any of us wanted. That as a combined element we cannot overpower them without serious loss is the only real reason we're in this situation."

"And vice versa," Isayev offered, "we must say we have benefited from this as much as they have."

"Perhaps," Kozlov didn't believe that even if the CbKZ was more powerful than the syndicates that they would have wiped them out, but he certainly believed the opposite. "Everything we've built is in jeopardy." The sentiment was agreed upon around the table. "I believe we ought to signal to Rugi about this, if just to salvage some of our own infrastructure."

"They won't listen," Izmaylov said, speaking now for the first time since his arrival. Of all of the five of them, Izmaylov was the most terrified of what was coming. "In order to save face, they have to do more than just dismantle the terrorists. They have to remove the threat posed by Chernodrinsk once and for all. Petrović and the UPP talked a big, hard game about Chernodrinsk during the election cycle and did nothing. Now they have egg on their face and so the only response is an overreaction, it's how politicians work. It means not just dismantling the terrorists but full annexation for Chernodrinsk and destruction of not just the terrorists but of us as well."

"I think you're being a little rash," Isayev said. He was perhaps on the extreme other end of the spectrum. He saw it and knew combat was coming be he also knew what kind of public relations disaster this would be. "Look at the terrain of Chernodrinsk? We're heavily urbanized. To annex this it would require a long, protracted conflict, with a lot of men, a lot of destruction, and a lot of casualties, not just for us and them but civilians as well. Rugi might be a caged animal about to be unleashed but they're not going to start wantonly bombing civilians. They'll need to be surgical, more surgical than they would be otherwise and urban warfare favors the defender more than the aggressor. Even if we, as a collective, do not fight, the terrorists will have significant strength and ground to resist for a considerable amount of time. They'd be in this war a year, two, maybe three. The Pojački public doesn't have the patience or the fortitude for that kind of sustained conflict."

"They did with Chernarus," Izmaylov offered as a counterargument.

"Chernarus was different," Pirogov answered. He was somewhere in between, in favor of cooperating with Rugi but also seeing Isayev's point very clearly. "That was a war threatening to break up the Konfederacija. Chernodrinsk's existence doesn't threaten the integrity of the Konfederacija in one bit. This is a war of revenge and reprisal more than it is a war of territorial protection. While I agree, there is going to be a conflict and I think we ought to do everything we can with Rugi to protect ourselves, a full annexation is not something I expect."

Thus far it was a bit of a sticky situation. Izmaylov, Pirogov, and Kozlov had all signaled that they were in favor of reaching out through unofficial channels to Rugi and offering some level of cooperation while Isayev, despite being on the "front lines" online and seeing the engagement of the Pojački people, thought differently. "This is a storm we can weather," he said, "the government has to act, that much we're all in agreement, right?" Heads nodded because none of the five of them disagreed there. Military action was coming, the Pojački government had no choice, but to what extent was really where the disagreement was. "And they have to save face, correct Sergey?" Pirogov nodded, acknowledging his own viewpoint. "But an annexation is a bit extreme for the reasons I've laid out," shooting down any agreement with Izmaylov. "Chernodrinsk is a nightmare of a battlefield for a ground force. You say there is a buildup and of course we'll see men at the border, if just to prevent any further incursions by the terrorists and we may even see a limited ground engagement, in fact let me walk that back, we will see one with special forces targeting the terrorists but that is the extent of 'boots on the ground,' in my opinion."

"Then what do you see?" Kozlov asked, wishing his colleague saw things his way instead.

"Airstrikes beyond anything we've ever seen targeting the infrastructure of the terrorists and their leadership. They'll hit their warehouses, barracks', training centers, and look to wipe out their leaders. It'll be an operation to degrade the terrorists as much as possible and as visibly as possible. Remember how well airstrikes play on television to the public and no doubt when civilians upload their own videos online. The Pojački people will see this and cheer, but there won't be any flag-draped caskets. They want to see the terrorists eradicated not their sons coming home dead; flag-draped caskets are a bad thing for a wounded government."

"The sacrifice of a just cause," Izmaylov offered. "I disagree."

"I don't," answered Abdulov, who had thus far remained quiet, just listening. "I think Oleg is right. Airstrikes beyond what we've seen, definitely airstrikes against to kill the terrorists' leaders but no ground troops."

"And what if they should misidentify a vehicle and suddenly one of us is a video they upload online?" Kozlov was more skeptical of course, perhaps closer to Izmaylov's point of view than even Pirogov was. "That is why I think we ought to reach out to Rugi. Call me a coward but I do not want to die because of the terrorists' idiocy."

"None of us do," Isayev answered, "that would be ridiculous but I also don't want to see us compromise too much out of misplaced fear." It was an interesting thing to say because all five of them were afraid, they were just seeing things from varying degrees of fear. "The military will be surgical in their airstrikes and I am not saying they won't miss. In fact, I think we ought to take precautions for this very inevitability but putting an entire army in Chernodrinsk to occupy it? I think we're being rash." Abdulov nodded his head in agreement.

This was where they were, three for and two against cooperating with Rugi. It might have been a majority but these were mafia syndicate heads, not a democratic council. Without a unanimous consent, anything was a risk. If Kozlov opened his back channels and Isayev and Abdulov got word, it could mean that the truce that kept all five syndicates from engaging in war with one another could be nullified. Everyone had to be very careful, as if they were all walking through a minefield.

• • • • ‡ ‡ ‡ • • • •

Footnotes
1. The reason we're limiting this to TRIDENT is that it would have to be nations that Poja has levels of military cooperation and cohesion with to ensure successful combat operations. It cannot be nations that Poja does not have any military compatibility with or nations that Poja hasn't trained with side-by-side before.
2. The communiqué would be sent individual to TRIDENT nations with a degree of classification to avoid it becoming public or leaked. If TRIDENT nations wish to participate I would like that we write the sections together or you pre-write them and give them to me so that I can include them in the individual chapters (yes I'll say who wrote what, duh) so as to keep the formatting and chapter posts uniform.

• • • † • • •

Poja · January 1

• • • † • • •

Chapter XVI
On Thin Ice

Wednesday, 26 June 2024 | 16:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Konfederacija Poja, Rugi, Central District | Predsjednički Dvori

"We've got to get these leaks under control," the President said, cradling the phone in the crook of his shoulder. Sitting on the opposite side of his was Ratimir Pešić and on the phone was no one, at least not yet, the President waiting for his switchboard operator to connect the call. "Another day, another leak, what's happening here?"

"Everyone's trying to save their own skin, to steer the narrative away from them," Pešić answered. They were discussing the dozens of leaks in the week-and-a-half since BITKN had begun the investigation. All coming from members of the IGO, the leaks were always anonymous in the press and almost all of them focused on Chancellor Jurić's inability to lead as well as her overall poor leadership throughout the crisis.

"Do these people think that the investigation is coming for them?"

"Everyone's in a panic mode sir," Pešić had been up to his eyeballs managing them.

"I guess we should expect it," the operator came back, "yes I am. Yes, good connect me please." A moment later came the ringing of the phone as his call was routed.

Despite it being the 21st century, the government still employed a small army of switchboard operators throughout its important, governmental buildings, partly to screen the many phone calls that came in on a daily basis and partly to expedite executive-to-executive communication. With the phone ringing on the other end, he knew it wouldn't be long before his call went through and he held up a hand to Pešić so that his voice wouldn't carry over the line in the midst of a statement he didn't want to be heard.

"Premier," the President said as Tarasov answered on the other end of the line. "I'm calling on an urgent matter. Are you alone in your office? I'd prefer this not being overheard. Yes, I'll hold," the President shook his head in frustration. Finally, when Tarasov returned, the President pushed the button for speaker and put the phone's handset on his desk, relieving the discomfort in his neck. Holding his finger to his lips, he instructed Pešić to be silent, something the man had every intention of doing.

"Go ahead Mister President, I'm alone."

"Good, the issue I'm calling about is the latest leak in the PBN. I know it came from your office Iosif."

"What makes you say that sir? The media has been reporting these leaks as anonymous."

"They report everything as anonymous Iosif. I know it's from your office because the journalist you went to did a poor job writing it from an anonymous perspective. I quote, 'I was in disagreement on how best to approach the initial attack and the takeover since I was unable to establish any direct links to personnel on the ground.' Do you not recall briefing us this exact statement?" Tarasov was quiet, "Enough with the leaks."

"Sir, that could be."

"Iosif, no more leaks. Goodbye."

"Goodbye sir," and the call ended. Putting the handset back he shook his head once again in a sentiment that Pešić mirrored.

"He didn't like that," Pešić commented, "my guess is he's calling the journalist to tear him a new one, probably never even read what was published."

"Definitely not, all right, what's this bad news then?" Pešić had actually come in as the President was about to place the call, so he'd held Pešić's news until after the call was done.

"Well sir, the leaks are the bad news. With the number of leaks and every member of the IGO trying to save their own skin, the party is no longer being private in its calls for Chancellor Jurić's resignation. In the next hour, party members will begin making public calls for her resignation."

"Dammit," the President slammed his fist on the table. Chancellor Jurić was feeling the pressure already and this would only intensify it, but he needed her to stay in place until the initial read on the BITKN report lambasted her, it was the only way he could keep his own position and keep the heat on her and away from him. He was using her as cannon fodder and she knew it. "That figures, just this morning I had to fight with the House of Magnates. There is near unanimous support for her impeachment, just one Magnate is not willing to do so before the BITKiN report. That alone is what let me deny their request that I officiate the vote. 'Rumor and conjecture,' I told them, 'is not the basis for an impeachment trial.' But how long will that last if the party is public about her resignation?"

"Sir, not very long at all."

"Exactly my problem! We need to hold the party and keep them patient. I am more than positive that the initial report will be so scandalous as to and critical of her conduct that it will be all we need to hang her out to dry. Listen, I've supported Jelena for how long now?" Pešić didn't answer. "And she blew this against all our advice, against all our lobbying. We were minutes away from ending that siege. Minutes! The public needs to know that it was Jelena who blew it, not the party, not the Premier, not me, just Jelena."

"Sir, I understand but we're playing with fire here."

"I know I am, but I'm confident. My memory isn't clouded by some twisted version of the events where I'm the hero," he was referring to the many leakers, all of whom tried to paint themselves as this "lone warrior" fighting the terrorists amidst a tidal wave of doubt and resistance.

"I just hope it plays out to your liking sir."

"Me too."

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Saturday, 29 June 2024 | 02:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernodrinsk | Ozyorsk District

Sergei Usatov turned around from his seat on the couch and looked behind him, once more checking the two layers of blackout curtains that he'd drawn across not just the windows but the entire wall. Even though he knew, from regular tests, that the curtains blocked all light to anyone looking into his windows, he still worried that this could be the one time that they didn't and now was the worst time for that to happen. Ever since the drone strike, the CbKZ was tearing through its organization on a rabid counterintelligence hunt, looking for double agents and anyone who might have compromised the whereabouts of Boris Pushkin. It was inconceivable to the CbKZ that he could have been located via signals or any other passive intelligence operation. No! He could only have been "given up" by a traitor.

The CbKZ was right about there being traitors within their ranks, there were many, some put them by the MDS, some by recruitment, and others by their own free will and accord. Sergei was there thanks to the MDS, which made him the juiciest of all targets. It was why when he was questioned days ago, he'd wondered if his time had truly come. Yet, he artfully deceived them once more and he was still alive. To add to it, he was one of the few double agents still actively working instead of laying low, which was why he was sitting in his living room, pouring over maps of Chernodrinsk underneath a dim light, hoping no one was looking into his windows. Those maps, marked up with all manner of symbology over the years, represented the bulk of the intelligence he'd gathered on the movements of the CbKZ's leadership, their safehouses, and where they often went.

The maps were so damning that if someone burst through his door at that very moment, Sergei wouldn't be able to explain them and would instead have two choices, surrender or suicide by firefight. The latter was why he sat in a precise place on his sofa for underneath the cushion, easily accessible, was a sidearm that he could draw in hopes of getting lit up so that he couldn't be tortured into talking. It was a rough way to live but Sergei had volunteered for this assignment long ago so he knew the risks, the toll, and precisely what was at stake; and with Birogarsk, the stakes had been raised dramatically. Now he juggled two assignments, staying alive and trying to ascertain the locations of the hostages. He knew they were being used as human shields, he could even surmise by whom, but he needed more. He needed to get an idea where they were being kept, how the leadership was moving around, no doubt wary of their own mortality ever since Pushkin's death.

The fact of the matter was that Sergei was coming up empty. Strelkov's compartmentalization of the Birogarsk operation and everything thereafter was hindering Sergei because he wasn't nearly close enough to be party to anything useful. Strelkov's compartmentalization had been done on purpose because he knew, full well, that double agents had penetrated the CbKZ and he didn't want to leave anything to chance, especially now that he'd succeeded and was being venerated as a hero amongst the Chernodrinskian people. It was frustrating and Sergei had to come up with a better plan to attempt to get some information that he could pass on, lest the hostages never be found, or worse, killed in airstrikes by the inevitable military action that was soon to come.

Finishing the last cigarette from a pack he'd started only several hours earlier, Sergei almost jumped off of the sofa when his phone rang. The vibrating buzz against the coffee table was the loudest thing in his apartment and he reached for it to see that the caller ID identified Kirill Orlov, a man close to Sergei but who was a diehard CbKZ fanatic. What the hell do you want? Sergei thought to himself as he picked up the phone and answered it. "Kirill do you know what time it is?"

"Yeah, you up?"

"I'm up but not for too long what's up?"

"Gotta come through."

"All right fine, how far are you?"

"I'm outside."

"All right give me five minutes all right, I was you know 'busy' yeah?"

"Yeah," Kirill laughed, "tug away. See you in five." The call ended and Sergei looked around the apartment. You gotta be shitting me, he thought as he scrambled to tidy up the maps.

He had a neat place for them under the floorboards underneath where his sofa sat. He was able to open and close the secret compartment without moving the sofa, which was important since any counterintelligence sweep would look for disturbed rugs and furniture, places that were clean when they shouldn't have been, all of which would indicate the presence of secret compartments and stashes. It wouldn't take him five minutes to clean everything up but he needed the time to keep to his story and so he grabbed a glass from his kitchen, threw in some vodka, and sipped at some just to get the taste on his breath, giving the appearance that he'd drank half the glass. He threw a porno into his DVD player and turned everything back off, just in case Kirill looked.

Kirill gave him some extra time and finally knocked on his door eight minutes later. Sergei, taking a deep breath and wondering if Kirill was to be his executioner, got up and walked to the door, his pistol far out of reach. He looked through the peephole, seeing just Kirill. Even though more men could be waiting in the stairwell behind him, Kirill was much too relaxed. He might have been a diehard CbKZ terrorist but he wasn't good at "being sneaky" about anything. Now or never, Sergei thought as he unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door but only just so much, using the door as a shield. If Kiril tried anything, he could slam the door against him, bolt for his pistol, and make his final stand.

"Jesus man, open the door will ya?" Kirill wasn't exactly skinny. Sergei opened it a little more and Kirill ambled in while Sergei, his eyes still on the peephole, glanced for a rush of men. "What's gotten into ya?"

"Well, it's two in the morning man," he said as he closed the door and put the deadbolt back.

"Yeah I know it's late, good wank?"

"Couldn't finish," Sergei moved to the couch and sat down in his usual seat. "Want a drink? Help yourself."

"Sorry pal," Kirill said, "you know that ulcer? I gotta cool it, hurts too much man, no alcohol, total drag."

"Have a seat then," Kirill popped into a beat-up recliner on the other side of the coffee table. "What's so urgent that you had to come here now dude?"

"I heard some stuff and we gotta be ready for it."

"What stuff? What that the Pojački troops are coming to bomb us? Ain't new man. That whole thing at the border, yeah."

"No, not that, well yeah that's a problem, but no something else."

"Okay what is it? I'm all ears man." Sergei tried to sound dismissive but he knew that Kirill had something good, very good if he was bringing it to him at this hour.

"Leadership isn't happy with Strelkov and Strelkov's not taking it well. There's rumors of a split coming."

"A split? Bullshit."

Kirill nodded his head, "Pushkin and Strelkov went rogue, and the leaders were happy to go along with it until he shot all those people at the border. He escalated the situation and now Rugi's coming harder than if he would have just left the hospital and the hostages alone. Rumor has it that Strelkov's almost a PNG."

"No way," Sergei couldn't believe what he was hearing. Declaring Strelkov as persona non grata would likely set off a civil war within the CbKZ, one that they could ill afford right now with the Pojački military soon to be coming for them. "What do they think that'll do? Won't stop the military."

"Opinions are split but some are starting to wonder if they hand over Strelkov, and the hostages, they might be able to bargain with Rugi."

"Bullshit, Rugi ain't bargaining at all."

"Nah think about it, imagine invading this? It's all city man. The fighting would be awful. Rugi don't want body bags stacking up and you know how that fight gonna go."

"Maybe," Sergei knew the truth in Kirill's words, he'd had the same thoughts. Kirill was a diehard fanatic and on the outskirts of the "inner cadre," close enough that he got good information once in a while but not close enough that it was all the time. "Is this even legit?"

"It's legit man, got me scared, listen, I ain't saying Strelkov was right for what he did at the border, but he stuck it to them, you know? Held that hospital for a long time. They never even attacked! Had the government scared you know?" Sergei just nodded, "Thing is if they do cause a split, Strelkov's group, you know what they're gonna be like."

"Hardcore man."

"Yeah maybe too hardcore though."

"Too hardcore? Am I hearing you right?"

Kirill nodded, "Like I ain't about to do that sort of stuff. You think I'd last five minutes on a raid?"

"You? Shit man," Sergei laughed, knowing that Kirill would probably die of a heart attack just trying to do pushups. Kirill's forte was running "the girls," which meant the girls that the CbKZ pressed into indentured servitude, either as prostitutes or as camgirls. For Kirill, it was the latter. He was a diehard fanatic to the CbKZ but he wasn't a fighter.

"Yeah right? So, I'm not really in with that if you know what I mean."

"Hey man no sweat."

"Yeah, but are we cool?"

"Us?" Sergei suddenly realized that his cover had, until this point, been more successful than he could have ever imagined. Kirill, a diehard fanatic, somehow thought that Sergei was even more fanatical than he was. He wondered if Kirill had talked him up to higher ups. He now wondered if he could "get in" with Strelkov's new faction.

"Yeah, us man. Like I know you really believe like me but we have different opinions, don't we?"

"Oh, we're cool don't even worry man," Sergei suppressed a laugh, "nah I'm not looking to make waves myself, I ain't got the clout anyway."

Sergei hoped that this was what Kirill wanted to hear but now it put the idea in his head that maybe, just maybe, he could get within Strelkov's compartmentalization. It was a very dangerous thought.

• • • • ‡ ‡ • • • •

Thursday, 4 July 2024 | 04:00 hrs [UTC-3]
Chernodrinsk-Chernarus Border | Kemekan Border Crossing (Closed)

"You think they'll show?" The soldier asked from behind the steering wheel, another one next to him checking his watch at that moment. They weren't alone in their Orao IV, a four-wheeled, light armored truck that was ubiquitous to the Pojački National Army only these two soldiers weren't part of the Pojački National Army, despite their uniforms. They were commandos from the elite GPO and so too were the men in the four other Orao IVs parked behind them.

"They'd better otherwise these two go back into lockup," the passenger said, referring to the two men who were sitting in the rear seat, restrained with handcuffs and leg shackles, a black hood covering their heads so they couldn't see where they were. Any attempt to escape would last a meter, likely less, before they faceplanted onto the ground.

The soldiers were there for the purpose of an exchange with the CbKZ. A breakthrough had been made and the CbKZ agreed to release two hostages for two of their men, men that Jurić had originally promised to release. So, it was late in the evening when Pavel Morozov and Viktor Novikov were removed from their cells, shoved onto a plane, and flown to Pričej Air Base, home of the 24th Tactical Attack Wing and just 110 kilometers from the now closed Kemekan Border Crossing. GPO commandos, dressed as regular soldiers with regular army vehicles quietly loaded them into the vehicle inside of a hangar, where prying eyes could not see them, and rendezvoused 50 kilometers outside of the airbase with more men in two Orao IV ambulances and two more Orao IVs. They made their way to the remote border crossing, which was also under the control of the GPO, the regular guards dismissed weeks ago, where they sat and waited.

"How you boys feel like going back to lockup?" The driver taunted the two prisoners. "I hear it ain't fun going back, like maybe they wonder if you squealed or something. I'd hate to hear that, wouldn't I?"

"f*ck you," Viktor cursed, "filthy dogs."

"Filthy dogs," the two commandos laughed, "haven't heard that one in an hour. You need more material man." Just then a pair of headlights flashed on the horizon two kilometers away, "Well damn, looks like you won't get the chance," the passenger, the higher ranking of the two men, pulled up his night vision binoculars and looked off to the approaching vehicles. "We've got two victors approaching, one with and one without lights on," he said into his radio.

"Roger that, eyes on," someone responded, their voice echoing in each man's earpiece.

"Looks like you'll get to go home boys," the driver said, "so long as your buddies upheld their end of the bargain."

The two vehicles approached, coming to a stop twenty meters in front of the parked Pojački trucks and turned off their headlights. It was dark but not too dark for a squad of GPO commandos just 50 meters away, hidden in the bushes or the sniper team 150 meters away, also hidden, all of them using their night vision equipment most effectively. "All right let's do this then, keep your weapon ready," the leader of the two commandos said as he opened the door. His rifle landed by his side as he stood outside of the truck and called out, "This going to go down or you just here to f*ck with us?"

"Are you here to f*ck with us?" Came the response and the commando laughed. Two more men came up behind him and two more behind the driver.

"Let's get them out," the leader ordered and the doors were open and the two prisoners pulled out of the truck. "Your call," he shouted. Moments later, two hostages were taken out in identical condition. Minutes later, the exchange had taken place and in his parting words, the leader said to his counterpart, "Remember the terms, this stays quiet otherwise you don't get anymore. Got it?"

"Got it," the terrorist responded and it was all done. For the GPO commandos, the night had only just begun. The two hostages, each one placed in one of the ambulances, were rushed away from the border checkpoint and back to Pričej Air Base where they were immediately taken to the base's hospital. En route, the GPO medics took vitals and assessed their general condition, providing that information to the doctors who would examine them. Everything was done in secrecy with no names and out of the prying eyes of any other patients or medical staff not directly dealing with them. They'd be placed in a private room together, guarded at all times by a pair of GPO commandos dressed as military policemen, warding off any potential busybodies.

The initial assessment wasn't bad but it wasn't great either. The hostages were malnourished and they told the doctors that they'd been given only a small amount of food each day just to keep them alive and nothing else. Their muscles were weak from lack of exercise and they were still wearing the same clothes they'd been kidnapped in, clothes that were removed from them and burned in the hospital's incinerator. They hadn't had a shower since they were taken into captivity and their skin was so deeply soiled that they would need several showers just to get the embedded grime and dirt out their skin. To add to all of this, they had severe PTSD and neither wanted the lights turned out in their room, despite the fact that they were safe.

They would tell heinous tales of horror from their time in captivity. The terrorists subjected them to beatings, the women were repeatedly raped by their captors, evidence of which was present in the examination. The doctors would check their blood to ensure they weren't infected with any venereal diseases or pregnant, treating them accordingly for the wounds they'd received during the ordeal. On top of this, they were subjected to mock executions almost daily and to further mental torture. Amidst all this, they weren't moved around much, which gave military intelligence analysts some hope that the others could be more easily found but the two released hostages weren't able to provide much else. They'd been hooded to and from the border, kept away from windows or left in the dark so they couldn't see where they were, and kept out of earshot for any conversations their captors had. In short, they had little information of value except to state the conditions they were held in, which would only further the Konfederacija's bloodlust against the terrorists.

• • • † • • •

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