In the northern tribal regions of the
Republic of Derbaran, a small town
began to stir as the pink light of dawn
colored the desert mountaintops in the
distance. Bakers and merchants,
midwives and school teachers emerged
from their mud brick homes to begin their
day. As always, they threw nervous glances at
the razor wire and concrete compound of the
Derbaran military depot that squatted below a yellow
banner just beyond the village. The coexistence was an uncomfortable one; the Derbaran
government had little love for the tribal minorities in the area.
Cries of alarm rose from the men
stationed at the depot when a column
of tanks and trucks crested a rise. They
flew green banners, the colors of the
National Independence Union, the rebel
coalition of minority tribes. But these were not
poor peasants with cheap rifles. The Derbaran
soldiers scrambled in panic as the NIU tanks rained
explosive rounds on the ammo depot, shattering concrete
bunkers and crushing soldiers beneath a hail of rubble.
NIU trucks disgorged scores of men who peppered the defensive positions with small arms fire.
When it was over, the only sound
came from the crackle of flames and
the screams of wounded and dying
Derbaran soldiers. The villagers
slowly emerged from hiding. They
gasped when they recognized the man
who climbed from the lead tank and
stood on the turret to address them.
Even in this small village, the televisions
in the tea houses and shops had shown
his face many times. He was General Ikram Karmali, decorated officer of the Derbaran military
and military advisor to the President. The pride of the Derbaran military had become a rebel.
“My people,” General Karmali said, “I cannot stand by any longer while President Zaripov and his government oppress us. I renounce my allegiance to Zaripov. The NIU will take this country back!”
The helicopter touched down amid a dusty
whirlwind at the NIU operating base. Captain
Ramazan, commander of NIU's special forces
unit called the Desert Dogs, climbed from the
helicopter and strode through the dust. Salutes
snapped at him from both sides. He had earned
this respect with his blood, spending ten years in
the Derbaran military under General Karmali before
they had both defected to the NIU. Many of the men here
who saluted him had served under him before the rebellion.
They were battle tested, hardened men. But there were others here too, the goatherds and farmers who fought only because they believed in the cause.
The NIU was not short on heart. What they had been short on was weapons. Even the People's Press, the underground newspaper that was the voice of the rebellion, had openly questioned whether the few tanks and weapons General Karmali had brought from the military would be enough to pose a serious threat to the Derbaran government.
And then the mysterious deliveries had begun.
A convoy of trucks was rumbling out of the encampment back to wherever they had come from, their mysterious payload of crates stacked neatly beside the armory. Already men were prying them open and removing the weapons from their packing. They were the reason Ramazan had come.
In his temporary headquarters General Karmali was whispering quietly with a handful of his commanders. The general dismissed them with a terse gesture when Ramazan entered.
“Don’t ask me any questions, my friend,” the general preempted him.
Ramazan pulled the folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and scanned it. “Assault rifles, pistols, rocket launchers, all dropped at a half dozen of our operating bases that are supposed to be secret,” he said. “And I hear talk of vehicles too. Armor. Even aircraft.”
“No questions,” the general repeated.
“At least tell me where they’re coming from,” Ramazan said. “How are they getting through the borders?”
“The people supplying us have the funds
and the contacts to make it all possible,”
the general said. “What matters is that we
are armed well enough to stand a serious chance
against the Derbaran military. Without the help of
these friends, we wouldn't have much of a chance.
You know that as well as I do.”
“But why should they help us?” Ramazan demanded. “What
the hell do they care about our little rebellion? This is a domestic
matter.”
General Karmali only smiled. “Let’s just say they have a vested interest in the NIU winning the war. Now take up those arms and call out your Dogs, Ramazan. There’s a war on.”
Major Selik sat at the boardroom table reading a newspaper, looking for all the world like an accountant waiting to see a client. As the head of the Derbaran military’s Security Services arm and leader of the elite Nightwatch 1 strike team, looking innocuous had served him well.
He tossed down the newspaper. The
Derbaran National Press Agency had gotten
wind of President Zaripov pulling resources
from the country’s many oil operations to
redeploy them to the much smaller uranium
mining sector. There were, as expected,
questions. Of course Zaripov could have had the story
squashed. But that would have caused rumors. And the
president had made it very clear how much he wanted to avoid rumors right now.
President Zaripov and his cadre of advisors swept into the room.
“With all due respect, Mr. President,” the portly Minister of Economy was saying, “the blow to our revenues is too much. You can’t take that much manpower away from oil. Uranium doesn’t provide us with adequate cash flow. And we’ll need funds for this war.”
“I’m not concerned about revenues just now,” the President responded. “Uranium will soon become a much more important component of our national security.” The Minister began to retort but the President held up a hand for silence. “I won’t discuss it further.”
There was a rumble in the distance. Selik
gazed through the balcony doors and, on
the horizon, saw the black column of smoke
rising. The war was spreading, with NIU forces
striking at highways, power plants, the harbor.
They were hitting all the strategic points they
were expected to hit, and no one quite knew
how they had come to be so well armed. And
yet they were behaving erratically, sending
units to far-flung locations. It was strange.
“Everyone out,” President Zaripov said. “I need to speak with Major Selik.”
As his advisors filed out of the room, Zaripov approached Selik. “I have a job for your Nightwatch 1, Major,” the president said.
“Anything, Mr. President.”
“You know of a certain recovery project that has been ongoing in the desert region north of the Republic Highway?”
Major Selik hesitated only a moment before nodding. He had not been briefed into the project, of course, but there was little that escaped his awareness as head of Security Services. “I must confess I don’t know any details, only that there is such a project ongoing.”
“There is village near the project site. Make sure there are no witnesses there that the NIU might get their hands on.”
“Of course.”
The president smiled. “I knew I could count on you, Selik.”
As the president swept out of the room with his gaggle of suited advisors in tow, Major Selik frowned at the black smoke rising on the horizon. He wondered what mysterious project in the desert could be more important than holding their ground against the NIU.
Captain Ramazan’s boots felt like someone had filled them with lead. The war was growing. What had begun as a handful of small unit operations – planting explosives, ambushes, and so forth – had become a series of battles involving armor and aircraft. His Desert Dogs had been fighting nonstop for days.
And now this.
The encampment was little more than a
handful of tents arrayed around a crater in
the desert. Industrial lights had been set up
on scaffolding around the empty hole. The
general had sent him here with his elite
Desert Dogs on what he claimed was the most
sensitive mission of the rebellion to date. But
they had only found an empty camp guarded by
only a handful of Derbaran soldiers. Worse, only
one of the Derbaran officers had offered any information
of use under interrogation. “War Rock,” the officer had
blubbered in the blood-stinking interrogation tent. “The project is called War Rock.” But
whatever “War Rock” was, the officer had been unable to shed any light on it.
One of Ramazan’s lieutenants ran up, breathless and harried. “Captain, a Derbaran snatch operation just happened in the village over the hill. The villagers say the security men took an old man and a boy who saw something at this camp.”
“Let’s go!” Ramazan snapped.Ramazan’s men caught up with the
convoy of three trucks on a stretch of dirt
road south of the village. The skirmish
was intense but the Derbaran security
contingent fell quickly under the Desert
Dogs’ assault. They found the old man and
boy bound hand and foot in the rear of one
of the trucks. Ramazan had them moved into
a nearby farmhouse for questioning.
The old man spoke rapidly, his toothless mouth slurring his words and his eyes wide with fear. Ramazan could not understand the old man’s dialect and looked to the boy for translation as he questioned them about the empty camp.
“It was a rock,” the boy said. “A big rock that fell from the heavens.”
“A meteor?” Ramazan asked, but the boy only stared at him blankly. “Did the old man see it?” he asked.
The boy nodded. “He saw it. It made a noise like thunder and shook the ground when it fell. The army came very soon after. Many men with rifles, many trucks. They built the camp around it.” Here the old man added something. “There were men in white suits and helmets,” the boy translated. “Scientists.”
“Have the old man and boy sequestered,” General Karmali told Ramazan later that night. “We don’t want them telling tales. And what you heard about that camp does not go beyond your immediate chain of command, do you understand? Tell no one.”
Ramazan studied the general’s face. He
had served this man for many years, had
followed him into wars of bloodshed
and wars of politics, but never had he seen
such intensity in the man’s expression.
“What is this War Rock?” Ramazan asked
quietly.
Instead of answering, General Karmali said only,
“Get your Dogs together. A small team, small enough
to maintain a clandestine posture.”
“A team for what purpose?” Ramazan asked.
“You’ve got a meteor to find, Captain.”
Malcolm Black was jarred awake by the
rocking of the Land Rover. The roads in this
part of China were not as well maintained as
one might hope, and he hadn’t been able to
get much rest on his way to the airport. He
turned to look out the window, and noticed
light creeping over the horizon. This would be
the last sunrise he would see in China, because
he was finally going home.
Malcolm reached into his jacket and retrieved a small
photo of his wife and daughter, smiling back at him from their small apartment in New Jersey. He had brought it to remind himself why he had taken this assignment; thanks to the substantial consultant’s fee he had been paid, they could finally have the life they deserved.
A couple of months ago, he had been contacted by a military officer named Selik; he had heard about Malcolm from his thesis paper on yellowcake uranium and its potential applications for military use. Hailing from a relatively unknown country known as Derbaran, Major Selik had indicated that his government had an interest in uranium R&D and needed a consultant. Malcolm hadn’t been interested – until the Major mentioned the commission rate. For leading a team of Derbaran scientists through a uranium lab in southern China, he would return home debt-free and with enough money left over to provide a comfortable life for himself and his family.
His phone rang as his driver pulled into the airport.
“Black here,” he answered.
“Dr. Black, this is Major Selik. I am calling to thank you for your efforts in China. I have received reports from our scientists and they stated that your training and expertise was invaluable to them.” Selik’s tone was formal, but Black couldn’t help but feel there was more to this phone call than a simple thank-you.
“It’s nothing, Major, just doing what you paid me to do.” Malcolm chose his words carefully. “I don’t mean to cut our conversation short, but my plane is boarding and…”
“I would like you on a different plane, Dr. Black. We have need of you in Derbaran for a few days more.” There was an edge of finality in his statement. “Before you say anything, I want you to understand that your visit to Derbaran is of vital importance to our country. You will be paid double what we have already given you if you choose to come, the ticket is waiting for you at the front desk. I hope to meet you soon.” The phone went silent.
Malcolm silently watched the plane to New York take flight. He would have to wait a few more days to see his family.
Two days later…
“Thank you for coming to see me on such short notice, Major,” President Zaripov said from behind his desk. He motioned for Selik to sit down.
“Of course, sir. You can always count on
me.” Selik took the seat in front of his desk.
“What questions did you have on my report?”
“Before we get to your report, tell me how
Black has responded to our offer,” Zaripov
asked.
“He seems fine with everything. I think he can
be trusted; he will make enough money in the
next few days to be set for life. Also, he seems to
be a devoted family man and wouldn’t do anything to risk his wife or child.”
“Excellent, everyone is happy then.” Zaripov smiled. “Now, it says here that the weapons you uncovered are a bit of a mystery?”
“Not so much a mystery sir, we know where they came from and how they were made, we just can’t trace who made them. These weapons should be easily traceable, as only a few companies make guns as sophisticated as this. However, these guns are counterfeit, constructed from legal parts you can pretty much find anywhere on the planet.”
“So the N.I.U. is constructing illicit guns. How can they have the resources to do that?” Zaripov asked.
“Well sir, I don’t think they do. My guess is that they are being supplied by a country or company that has the ability to do so right under our nose. I’m still unsure who is supplying them, but I have Nightwatch 1 on recon to find out.”
“Very well, Selik. Let me know as soon as you know anything further.” Zaripov dismissed him; he seemed exhausted.
“Of course, President.” Selik left the presidential office. Karmali’s unexplained actions were weighing heavily on him, and he could tell that Zaripov was feeling the stress of the war more than ever. He needed to get answers as soon as possible.
At the N.I.U. stronghold
General Karmali had even more questions now than before he interviewed the War Rock witnesses. While he was sure of the power and value of the War Rock, he could not determine what it was. At the same time, things were tense for the N.I.U. tribal leaders. They were committed to the cause, however they were superstitious, and rumors about the War Rock being a sign of doom from heaven were spreading like wildfire. Adding to Karmali’s problems was the fact that the People’s Press had somehow gotten hold of the witness’ account, probably during the Derbaran counterattack to try and recover the witnesses.
Karmali recalled the interrogation with the witness of the War Rock…
“Stars…” said the boy, with a vacant look on his face.
“What do you mean by ‘stars,’ boy?” Karmali asked gently. The witnesses were sympathetic to the N.I.U. cause anyway; there was no need to be harsh.
“Inside the rock, it looked like it was full of stars…that’s all I remember sir…”
None of this sat well with Karmali. He called in Captain Ramazan.
“General, you called for me?” Ramazan said as he walked into Karmali’s office.
“Captain, I have need of your talents.” Karmali
got right to the point. “Take the Desert Dogs
and get me information about the War Rock.
The Derbaran have a secret information stockpile
here, in this town.” He pointed to a wall map of
the Republic of Derbaran. “I wish I knew more,
but all I know is that the storage facility is called
‘the Bloc.’ Find it; get me something that I can use.
I’m tired of being in the dark here.”
“Consider it done, General. I will contact you as soon as I have
your information.” Ramazan left quickly; Karmali’s impatience demanded immediate results.
Selik was ecstatic. Finally some answers, he thought to himself as he walked through the sprawling headquarters that led to Zaripov’s office. Everything made sense now. Selik was proud that Nightwatch 1 had been able to come through for Zaripov. Only by chance had one of his lieutenants recognized the man from Apollo Defense Systems during a stakeout of an N.I.U. supply shipment; it seemed that luck was on his side today.Apollo Defense Systems was a huge
multinational company capable of supplying
Karmali with the assets to continue the war.
After recognizing the man from Apollo, it
did not take much research to confirm that
the company was heavily invested in
Karmali’s operation. Zaripov must know
about this as soon as possible; he could likely
put a stop to Karmali’s shipments from Apollo
within the week. Finally he reached Zaripov’s
office. He ignored the secretary’s cries of protest and burst through the doors.
“Sir!” he exclaimed before thinking. But the office was empty; Zaripov was not there.
“Like I tried to tell you…” Zaripov’s secretary had caught up with him, her tone edgy and her face indignant. “He’s not in at the moment. I can schedule an appointment for you as soon as he gets back…”
Stupid woman. Selik cut her off before her self-importance got the better of her. “Yes, do that. Have him contact me as soon as he can, tell him it’s urgent.” Where could he have gone to at this time? Surely the war demanded that he stay in the protective care of Nightwatch 1. How did Zaripov slip beneath his radar?
Karmali left the meeting fully convinced that taking on Apollo Defense Systems as a partner in the war was one of the best decisions he had ever made. Truly, if it were not for Apollo, he would probably still be in the military, working as Zaripov’s lapdog. The information they had shared with him convinced him that Derbaran would be heading down a path of destruction if Zaripov were allowed to remain in control.
Today Karmali met with Apollo about a Derbaran arms shipment that the N.I.U. had intercepted. These new weapons and armor were more advanced than anything the N.I.U. had in its arsenal, and Apollo was going to mimic the designs for N.I.U. use.
His phone rang; it was Ramazan.
“Hello, Captain. I trust you have good news for me?” Karmali asked hopefully.
“Yes and no sir.” Ramazan didn’t want to get Karmali’s hopes up.
“Just spit it out, Ramazan. Don’t be coy,” Karmali chided.
“Well sir, we captured the Bloc, but we left due to information that the War Rock was being moved from its current location not far from the Bloc. One of the Derbaran officers cracked under questioning and told us the War Rock was being held at Khali, which would never have considered due to the arms convention going on...”
“Where are you now, Captain?” Karmali knew there was more to the story.
“At Khali. The convention ended a few days
ago but there was still a small Derbaran force
there. We dispatched the Derbaran soldiers
and searched the complex. The War Rock is
not here… it was moved before we arrived.
Whatever this ‘War Rock’ is, it certainly moves
around a lot. We are going to attempt to track
it down, but Derbaran reinforcements are closing
in fast,” Ramazan explained.
“Very well. Good work, Captain. Continue your course
and let’s see where it leads us. Let me know when you
find out more.” Karmali trusted Ramazan above all his other soldiers, so he was allowed to operate on his own without direct orders from superiors.
“Yes sir.”
Malcolm Black crouched down low in an alley behind a dumpster. He had been waiting here for the day to get dark enough for him to safely move again without being seen. The information he had accidentally uncovered about the “War Rock” needed to be released to the public. Malcolm did not consider himself to be a hero, nor did he want to be one. He would drop this information off at the Associated Press office, and then get back to his post in the Derbaran lab before anyone would notice he was gone. He was scared; if he were found with this information he knew he could be killed for it.
It’s not like it was in the movies, with the reluctant hero miraculously summoning courage out of thin air. He couldn’t stop shaking; all he could think about was his family at home. Just drop it off and get back, you’ll be home tomorrow, everything will be fine. He began to move down the street, only a few blocks left to go before he was there. He began to calm down now; he could not wait to get home, and the last two days had been intense, both physically and mentally. The War Rock was a fascinating, as well as highly dangerous, subject. The construction of the object was like nothing he had ever seen before; even the metal was unique. All he knew for certain was that someone had built it and it was deadly if misused. Black’s instinctive curiosity made him want to keep working on the project; he was sure a Nobel Prize could be his for the work he had done over the last two days. Just thinking about the War Rock’s potential made his head spin. But he could tell that it was going to be used for warmongering and power struggles; at least, that was the path Zaripov and Karmali had chosen.
He was almost to the office. In his haste, he
turned the corner so quickly he almost
knocked over a homeless man.
“Excuse me, sorry…” Malcolm apologized.
“It’s okay. Any chance you can spare any
change? ” asked the transient.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything on me…I was in a rush
when I left.” Malcolm ascended the stairs to the night drop
when he heard the unmistakable click of a loaded sidearm. Malcolm turned around to see the homeless man holding a silenced pistol pointed directly at him. “I really don’t have any money…”
“That’s alright, I only want that document in your coat.” Malcolm knew that he had no choice but to give the document up.
“Okay.” He handed over the document. “I was just doing what I thought was right, please don’t…” But he never got to finish the sentence.
The assassin concealed the document in his coat, put his sleeve to his mouth and said “Package acquired” into a hidden radio.
Malcolm passed away silently on the street, his last thoughts of his family.
“Karmali, thank you for making time to talk to me, I had just a few questions.” Ramazan spoke softly into the cell phone; he was undercover, observing a possible facility that might house the War Rock.
“As always, I will answer you to the best of my ability.” Karmali answered tactfully. Ramazan was in the business of secrets, so he understood that Karmali couldn’t tell him everything.
“I was reading the papers today. It seems an American scientist was killed last night outside the press building half a mile from where I am sitting.” Ramazan was concerned that he knew nothing about this scientist’s presence in Derbaran. “Did you know he was here?”
“I did not.” Karmali answered. “Apparently Zaripov had managed to hide him from us while he was here. He was killed by our silent partner; the man knew too much.”
“Well then, did they get what they wanted from him? I still wonder about the motivation of our partner. Are they personally tied to the War Rock? Did they lose it?” Ramazan and Karmali were dancing around the name Apollo because it was imperative that their influence in the N.I.U. remained a secret.
“Do not worry about their motivation.” Karmali assured him. “Trust me when I say that I have them under control. What they know, I know.
“I hope so Karmali, because I do not trust them. They knew that he was here when we didn’t. Why didn’t they tell us?” Ramazan asked.
“They had to act fast to find him. Informing us would
have been unnecessary as the result would have
been the same.” Karmali explained. “Ramazan,
I do not need you to trust them. Just trust in me
that I know what I am doing. I will need your
strength in the coming days. Things are about
to get very interesting…”
The End.