***
“I don’t want to die… Not yet. Not now… Please…”
The whimpering words echoed in his mind and made him smile bitterly. The weight. It crushed him down now. He could feel his bones cracking. He could taste his blood down his throat. It mixed with that acid taste he had grown used to since being taken back to Canberra.
He’d said those words in another circumstance. And he was just as scared as then. It was dark now. The light was fading out quickly. Back then light was everything. It engulfed his entire day and pierced into his eyes during the night. He tried to repeat the words. But air was pushed out of his lungs. His back bent forward. His skull hurt. His legs didn’t hurt anymore. Federico embraced the darkness.
After an eternity he opened his eyes. They were wet and itchy, but he could see. The cell was clear as always, drowned in that plain, dim white light under a buzzing set of tubes. Neither cold nor warm. Just dull light.
Federico had been sitting against the wall for a while. How long until they came back for him for another set of pain and questions? What could they even question him about? At this point he believed he was just an experiment to see how long until he snapped. Maybe he should snap.
“Would you be mad if I did, pa?” He said. Nobody answered. He realized then that there was a draft and crossed his arms tightly around his chest. How long since they took his shirt?
He felt asleep trembling, unaware of what waking up was holding for him.
“Let’s talk about your family again.” The woman asked as soon as the wind stopped bursting into his ears and the light from outside abandoned him, pulled back up into the darkness of the interrogation room. There was a pressurizing whistle that sent a last blast into his ears, then Federico found himself in near-absolute darkness. Upside down. His ankles swelling and itching.
Inside the glorious safety of the ship once more. For a while at least.
The lights turned on again with a deep, loud, sudden sound. This was a cement room, made with pale cement plaques for walls. The floor was also made of cement and parts of it were wet. Only the metallic trapdoor below his head made any exception to it. The woman was wearing a black coat and was alone. Was her captive so harmless?
He was. He could barely put words together. Breathing outside the ship was hard and his body was still shaking from cold wind. The woman pulled out a tissue from her coat and placed it against Federico’s face. The smell was penetrating and oily. It sent shockwaves up his spine and made his brain jumpstart again.
“Your family!” She said before stepping back. Federico shook, trying to take his hands to his face, but they were tied behind his back.
His body slammed on the trapdoor seconds later and he rolled over his misery with a moan.
“What else? I already told you everything!”
“I want to go through it again.”
He struggled to get off the trapdoor and sat against a wall, away from the fall that he feared. It was ice cold. “Father, mother, brother, sisters… nothing else…”
“Your little sister was unknown to us. Is she recruited yet?”
Federico gasped. His breath was uncontrollable and disgusting. “She’s ten…”
The woman looked down into her jacket.
“She’s fucking ten! What do you think!”
“And you are sixteen and a child soldier. Anything goes. Talk.”
Federico spat. Was that the right time to snap?
“She’s ten. She is being inducted into bootcamp in two years. One if she had some particular ability.”
“Like being a meta?”
She was sitting on a metallic chair across the trapdoor. Federico observed that she was unarmed but wore some kind of grey surgeon’s gloves. Her eyes were fixed on his.
She reached for her pocket again and drew out the bottle and the tissue.
“No! No! No! Please! Not again!” He pleaded, trying to push himself away from the woman with his feet, pressing against the cement wall and making his handcuffs cut into his wrists. She stood up and refused, placing the damned thing over his face.
When she took it off Federico could feel his limbs trembling and his eyes watering out. He gasped and threw up. But his mind had been pulled out into a painful state of consciousness, aware of every grain in the cement scratching against his skin.
“Talk! I can ask for more oil if needed. Or we can let you breath fresh air if you had too much.”
“No!” He was laying on his side. He could have sit back up, but decided to stay down. “She is not a metahuman… Nobody in my family is.”
She didn’t believe it. But when he tensed his body, prepared for whatever was about to happen to him, the woman seemed to spare him and held her hand. “So, nobody in your family has shown symptoms of metahuman alterations yet.”
“What?” His brain processed those words painfully fast and clearly. He struggled with a spasm in his throat and forced himself to sit back up. “Yet?”
She smirked. “Your little brother is recruited as well. What about your sister… Delary?”
“Dolores… She’s just in bootcamp. They would never call her to service.”
“Right. Right. But. Say they did.”
“They wouldn’t stand a chance. They have skills, sure. But the aptitude to survive… That comes later.”
She stared down on him. Federico made himself small. What was she thinking? The bottle and the tissue were in her right hand. She seemed to hang on what to do.
“Alright. Stand up. Come on!”
“What are you doing?” He asked, struggling to get on his feet. She reached into the ceiling and pulled down the cable again, but quickly grabbed Federico by an arm and he tried to step away and turned him around. His handcuffs were set loose behind his back and locked back above his head in the blink of an eye. Then he realised his was tied to the ceiling and standing on the trapdoor. His feet instinctively tried to reach the cement edges.
“We are going to give you a bath and send you back to your cell. Try to make this easy, the oil is terrible when it mixes with piss.”
A couple of guards came in carrying a hose. They aimed at Federico and released the valve. He only managed to close his eyes.
He kept them shut now, with the pressure of the entirety of Canberra building over his body, so long after the torture. The smell of blood and acid in his mouth was stronger. His head was buzzing and hurting. And the pressure; it continued to crush down through his bones. His back was about to snap. His rib cage was collapsing.
His father was nearby. He felt him. Somehow it was as close as he had gotten to him in years. Federico tried to reach as the door continued to push down onto him.
Alice Springs.
July 22nd
The group was standing around Aaron and Lutana. Carolina sat in front of the pair, who had closed their eyes and held hands. Aaron was holding a black sketchbook over his crossed legs and had a pencil on his right hand.
They’d been like this for twenty minutes.
“I’m gonna get something to drink. You want something?”
“I reckon I’d kill doe some apple juice.”
The voices muttered in the darkness forced by the curtains that kept the day -and prying eyes- at bay. Everybody knew what the three attempted, but not everybody believed it could mean anything. Somebody had drawn a detailed map of Australia on the sketchbook Aaron had.
And now the cube was warm again. Carolina handed it to Lutana, whose extended hand clenched the black surface.
Seconds later Aaron opened his eyes and started to draw.
He worked both like an antenna, amplifying the reach of communications, and an interpreter, placing the information on the map. Carolina leaned forward along with the rest, whose curiosity was once more sparkled. She noticed “X”s on various points, and Aaron gave them labels.
“Albion forces… Oodnadatta.” She muttered. “Rebel forces. They are fighting?”
Lutana held her eyes shut but nodded in agreement. “From there to the Yellow Patch.” Her mind was, without a doubt, seeing what Aaron and the cube were able to perceive. He could <<hack>> into radio frequencies, and the cube could be put into contact with them to sneak even further. It seemed their expectations were soon surpassed.
“The Yuan are pulling out.” Lutana muttered. “Albion is taking control.”
The only way that information could be obtained was through the Polish communications. Carolina held her breath. An “X” was marked on Tarcoola, to the south. Another north of Alice Springs. And another, and another.
It ended when Aaron threw up and Lutana started chugging several glasses of water. The cube laid on the ground, cold and dead.
Everybody was silent.
“So?” Amir dared to finally breach it and speak. “What is going on?”
Aaron wiped his mouth and placed the map on a table on which everybody leaned. Then explained.
“Namatjira is being surrounded. He knows he is outgunned. So, he is creating as much space as possible. The Simpson Desert has been turned into a hit-and-run battleground.”
“That is why he requisitioned all the gas in the city.” Carolina interrupted. He nodded.
“Vehicles, yeah. But they are already getting shot out. Soon they will be falling back to the original line. From Oodnadatta…” His finger started on the location he’d written down and headed north. “…to the Plenty River, east of Hart.”
“The NUSSR is simply using artillery.” Lutana went on. The NUSSR forces had been placed north of Springs. “Their line of supplies seems to be thin still. So Namatjira is planning to strike them. Some units are already in place and awaiting orders.”
“Well, guys. This has to be the freakiest spy operation ever seen.” A boy joked from the darkness. “So… what now?”
Carolina thought about it for a moment. Then pointed to a figure west of the city.
“What is this… moon?”
“Oh.” Lutana walked along the table closer to the sketch. “I briefly saw that thing. I believe that is a line of holdouts that the aboriginals are setting up in the Western Plateau. Towns and hamlets. Nothing too fancy. I don’t know who was targeting them, though.”
It looked indeed as though there was no escape.
“This can’t be Namatjira’s endgame.” She muttered. Aron chuckled.
“Does he really strike you as a brilliant chess player?”
A general laughter had to be shooshed down.
“What of this area? Between Adelaide and… Bendigo? That’s almost the entirety of Victoria.” A girl called Wren pointed to the southern part of the sketch.
“It seems to be in some sort of limbo.” Aaron replied. “I don’t know why, but almost no communications come from there.”
Carolina realized how close it was from Buller.
“Nobody owns it?”
“More like, nobody wants to get there.” Lutana pressed her lips. “If I am not mistaken, that was a French Mandate zone.”
“Mildura held for quite a while too. Maybe it’s not so simple for the Albionites, or whoever wants to get close.”
“Autonomy?” Aaron frowned at Carolina “Maybe that is what Namatjira wants.”
Gazes were exchanged.
“Nobody can speak of this.” Carolina grabbed the sketchbook and closed it. “We will meet again and talk about any ideas we have, but please… Keep this to yourselves, even when you are alone.”
When they all left, Carolina stared at the map for a couple of minutes. What were they going to do if Alice Springs fell? She didn’t want to become a prisoner. Carolina already had an idea of what Dynastic captivity could mean. And it drove a nasty weight into her gut, remembering that Santiago had been captured by the Poles.
Somebody knocked the door.
“Luta!”
Lutana seemed to have returned from her house. She looked around to make sure they were alone before coming inside.
“I wanted to tell you personally about something else. Aaron could have heard it too. But I got it first and… hid it.”
“What?”
Lutana asked for another glass of water and then to use the bathroom. It seemed she was still not fully recovered. But once they sat on the living room she spat it out.
“There was a mention of a search party in Canberra. Search and Recovery. They are looking for somebody designated “Buller-01.”
Again, Carolina held her breath.
“You guys were from there, right?”
She nodded. Lutana. Looked down. “And I recall Santiago was named Menzendorf. That is the governor’s name. He was his son?”
Carolina realized there was no point on lying. “Yes.”
“They are looking for Buller-01 and son. I thought you might need to know that… Carolina. I don’t think that is Sant-”
“Federico! Santi’s elder brother! I thought he was captured!”
Lutana’s brow went up in disbelief. “He has a brother?”
“Yes. He was drafted when the push inland began. And got himself captured almost that same day.”
“That means he was in Canberra when the city fell. Somehow. Maybe they escaped?”
“I… Don’t know. Maybe they did. Please keep this a secret, Lutana. I don’t know if this could be used by that grunt Namatjira.”
The girl smiled while seemingly struggling with a bad taste in her mouth. “My lips are sealed.”
Santiago Menzendorf.
Gdansk, Poland.
It’d been six days since Janna and Santiago had been interrogated. The flurry of events had almost drowned the reason for them going to Péplin in the first place, but after much discussion between him, Janna, Beatrice and some of the others, he finally sat down with them in Janna’s apartment. It was, unsurprisingly, extremely tidy, but it was small so making space for seven people at the same time was not easy even then.
Notably, Harold was still missing.
“So. Something went haywire in his head…” John, who had been silent while Santiago explained his theory, raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you know psychology?”
There was a chuckle, so Santiago had to smirk along, though he didn’t want to. “I don’t. But yeah, something was missing in his head. All of ours. Think of it. We are all having trouble sleeping. Nightmares. Hell, even hallucinations. This is not a normal POW crisis. What do we all have in common? We were all under the Standard Military Formation Procedure of 2016. S.M.F.P. was highly controversial, in part because it had a manipulation element to it.”
“Did you ever get to read it, Menzendorf?”
Whenever anybody used his last name, it was to ask or make point on his background. Horace Flint was using it just how Santiago was used to have it. Much better to when they wanted to insult him.
“Not myself. But my brother did. He commented on it once. It sounded almost like mind control.”
Beatrice had been strangely silent. She had actually tried to excuse herself from assisting. But a wave of resolve flooded her face before she spoke.
“That is precisely what happened in the prisoner camp.”
Everybody turned to look at her. Beatrice’s factions were more prominent now. Santiago and Janna exchanged a look, each remembering a conversation they had with her, knowing what she meant.
“Explain?” John leaned on a wall with his hands inside his pockets.
“I was told not to disclose it. Threats and all. But it seems it doesn’t make sense anymore, as somebody else here might soon start to remember everything.”
Santiago felt a shiver down his spine. Beatrice continued.
“After the event you all seem to have forgotten, we were sent to a prisoner camp. Remember? They made sure we learnt Polish and got us ready to fall back onto society. That before Santiago got us that deal with Rudniki and the Angel. Already there and then I was set aside. Different uniform and all. I believe they suspected I wouldn’t forget.”
“Forget what?”
“The event. The things that happened at Peplin.”
She told them about the town in Pomerania. How they were attacked at night and organized some resistance against what seemed to be a horde of animated corpses.
“They must have been aware of that possibility because the town was erased. At least everything seemed to point in that direction. The villagers were released earlier. They were working us harder, and after it became apparent the drugs they were putting in our food weren’t affecting me, they took me aside and made sure I wouldn’t talk.”
“Drugs?”
Santiago sighed and decided to reply to John’s disbelief.
“Not too different from the stuff some Strongholds did to us. There was mind-trickery, but also chemical softeners. I suppose the chemicals don’t fully work on metas… manifested ones at least.”
“Alright, assume I believe you and…” John looked to the window, perhaps fearing, like everybody else, that somebody would be floating outside, eavesdropping. Santiago glanced at Beatrice, whose ears twitched before she nodded. John continued. “…and they messed with our heads and now we forgot about that place and whatever happened. Why are we all going insane now?”
Santiago cleared his throat. “It has to do with S.M.F.P. 16. It was designed to cause trauma-like responses to this kind of attacks to our memory. We are not supposed to forget. We are not supposed to let anybody mess with it and take us out of our mission.”
“Kill metas…” Janna muttered.
“Exactly. Beatrice is not affected since the technique used by the Poles does not affect manifested Metahumans. Meta brains seem to be resilient to those. Something to do with the renewed neurodynamics. The rest of us are slowly rejecting the memory work. Harold was just one possible outcome.”
He realized mentioning Harold caused everybody to go silent for a bit. Nobody seemed to want to speak his name out of the silence. Beatrice looked towards the window and nodded again. Nobody listened. Santiago continued.
“Listen. Unless we can find a way to shut down S.M.F.P.16 we can only deal with the other side of the problem and try to not let the indoctrination make us go insane. Not just for our own sake. It’s best we don’t give the Poles any reason to believe what happened to Harold could happen to us. Otherwise, they will consider us dangerous. We must keep it deep in our mind where it cannot come out and make us act, but still make S.M.F.P.16 believe we are still thinking what we are meant to think.”
Janna seemed confused. “What exactly?”
“That we are not at home. That Sierakowsky is our enemy. That the Dynasties must be destroyed.”
That idea already felt conflictive in Santiago’s mind. Everybody instinctively seemed to check the window again. Nobody listened.
***
“So, you are telling me this program. S.M.F.P.16, it is the prime directive inside every recruit’s head in a subconscious level.”
An S.S. officer sat before Federico with his chest leaned against the back of the chair, creating a physical -and moral- barrier. Next to him a small wooden table served another officer, who sat on another chair and took note. A small pile of pictures was scattered on the surface, but Federico, huddled against a corner, couldn’t see it.
“Up from Bootcamp 2, the last before passing on to actual reserve. Right before the Primatorial Ceremony.”
“Right. The singing of the military contract.”
It wasn’t a military contract, but Federico wasn’t one to argue right now. He preferred to be as small and silent as possible.
“What does it mandate?”
He sighed and repeated his answer. “That we follow the Primatorium directives. That we don’t run or surrender, or that at least we regroup.” He could recall that particular detail from reading the papers he stole and took to his room shared with Santiago. He, however, hid those details form his little brother. Federico recalled that reading that felt like knowing he had some sort of stain. Santiago had just taken the Primatorium. He was stained too. “If we were set out of combat for a while S.M.F.P.16 would press us into continuing some sort of… aggression.”
The man smirked and leaned to his comrade, who nodded and continued to write down. “Es scheint, dass das ganze Rudel Saad der Terroristen sind.” He said with a chuckle.
„Jäger Klaus fürchtet das Rudel.“ Federico replied almost numbed to the horror of what was going on. As if escaping to a foreign language gave him some defense to stand behind. He continued to mutter. „Was sollte der König mit Jäger Klaus, der fürchtet die kleine Rudel gemacht?“ Federico looked up to his interrogator, who had turned to look at him while his seat was leaning back and his elbow laying on the table, all in a delicate balance. “Vielleicht Kleine Jäger Klaus sollte nicht aus Zuhause. Weil er einer Welpe stolpern kann.“ Something stirred inside Federico’s gut. He couldn’t contain this newfound… safety?... Strength? „Und Welpen scharfe Zahnen hat.”
Federico pushed himself forward and extended his feet, kicking the chair out of balance. The Officer fell to the floor and hit his face while the attaché stood up in surprise. Federico was happy with the results. But realized he was in big trouble.
“Oh, you son of a bitch!” The officer cursed as he got up, taking out a baton and beating the prisoner, who crouched against the wall again. “You will… never… speak… German… again!” Each strike landed with each yell. More followed until Federico laid on the floor, covering his face and trying to ignore the pain on his shoulder, back and feet. “You’ve earned yourself another visit to the hanger!”
Gdansk. Poland.
It was increasingly difficult to keep the string tense and steady. Santiago observed the target from about eighty steps. A fair distance. The challenge was in what was to happen next. He released the hold and let the bow sing.
...Thud!
It was a strange sensation. He heard the impact twice almost at the same time. Once from his position near the target, a hard fiber block with a target painted on it. Once from his position as the shooter, where his feet actually stood on the grass.
“How much?” Beatrice asked. She was able to see the score with her beast-like eyes. Her asking was just to check.
“Nineteen.” He replied, watching from the corner of his mind the score and leaning closer to see the fractions. “With fifty-two.” His astral projection reached the plume of the arrow and touched it, causing a small movement.
“Damn!” she cursed. “You do have a sight.”
“Four eyes are better than two.” He smirked, placing another arrow and releasing a few seconds of struggle later. “Nineteen with twenty-eight.”
“So, you are increasingly capable of keeping your aim while being there. How long has it been? Two hours?”
Santiago looked at his watch and nodded. Two hours and twenty minutes since they arrived at the spot in one of the forests near Gdansk. Beatrice had confirmed they were being watched, but they didn’t care to call off the practice. His power was practically unnoticeable. “My sight is improving.” He complemented himself. “Wanna try?”
Beatrice gestured the offer away. “All I am ever shooting is something that can actually kill. I don’t shoot for sport.”
“Lame.” He smirked again and put the bow down. “We should move the target back a bit more.”
At a hundred steps his score was down to eighteen on average. It was still a great feeling. His ability to shoot hadn’t faded and all he needed was a little warmup. Also, his left arm had almost recovered its strength. The ugly scar would remain, but he was relieved by the recovery.
“Are we alone?”
“They are watching from that hill over there.” She pointed to a vague shape between the treetops.
“Do you think they can hear us? I know there are some artifacts that can…”
Beatrice shrugged. “Hard to tell. I can’t hear what they are saying. But they talk from time to time.”
He smiled. An idea flared up in his mind. “I will go back to the lockers at the entrance. You stay here.”
Beatrice seemed confused and frowned, but he blinked an eye and turned.
On his way, Santiago whistled some cheerful communist tune. After some dozen steps he made an effort to exit his mind without losing consciousness.
He was watching himself walk away from the middle of a dirt road creviced by rains. Santiago continued his whistle on his way to the entrance to the forest, where the caretaker provided some lockers for the visitors to store their things. Some families were having frugal picnics under nearby trees.
Meanwhile his floaty point of view hovered back to Beatrice, who checked some notes she’d brought inside her backpack.
“Do you hear me?” He whispered. “Shhhh… it’s me. Do as if you just saw a spider.”
Beatrice was quick to push some invisible thing off her shoulder and Santiago hovered above it. She was still very confused, and the real Santiago chuckled as he approached the caretaker’s office.
“How?”
“I felt I could do more than just watch and hear. Continue reading your notebook.”
The caretaker cheerfully greeted him in Polish. Santiago waved, not wanting to do too many things and loose hold of himself. The whistling continued.
“I think I can use this to find out what happened to the Admiral.” He whispered into Beatrice ear. The girl listened carefully while taking fake notes in her notebook.
“Let it be!”
“If we go idle we will end up like Harold.”
Santiago searched his pockets and turned the key on the locker. Back in the forest his voice continued.
“Besides. This has been the first insurrection attack in Poland in 30 years. Maybe the Resistance is involved.”
She dropper her pen and looked for a bit as it rolled over the ground. Then reached down and continued scribbling. “We need somewhere to hide. And we should get Harold back. Otherwise, the rest won’t agree. Where to start?”
“You could deal with the safe place. I will get Harold. Mind getting my bow and the arrows. We should go. I will meet you at the entrance.”
Santiago’s voice vanished and his mind unified once more. Minutes later Beatrice appeared through the path carrying his things. “I will see what I can do. Here.”
“Thanks.” He replied taking the case with his bow and giving her back a piece of paper. “Some suggestions.”
Carolina Swett.
Alice Springs.
Civilian life didn’t set well to them, she found. Worse still, artillery strikes were more constant and air raids got closer and closer to the urban radius. Carolina started considering escape routes should things go for a worse turn. It soothed her mind a bit to look at maps she could make from simple observations and memory. But it wasn’t enough.
She needed to have a rifle in her hands and shoot.
Everybody seemed to need it.
Last night she dreamed of the green neckerchiefs. They choked everybody around her, and one tightened around her own throat.
“It could work.” Aaron commented after checking the map. “I can set up a radio blockade there, so any scout unit is uncommunicated. We can ambush them if needed.”
“Hopefully not.”
The route would take them across the mountains west of Alice. And out of Namatjira’s control.
Rumors spread fast that he was planning a final push before some kind of negotiations. According to Aaron’s eavesdrop, it would include giving up wanted people and resettlement to the original areas of occupation. If Albion agreed, it would mean Carolina ends up back at Buller. And at that stage anything could happen.
Nobody wanted that. Perhaps that was why so many gathered at Lutana’s home, despite their tired faces and exhausted sighs.
“From here we can flee west and vanish in the desert again. We will need… Fifty liters of water per head.” Carolina calculated. The nearest well was six days out, eight at worse. “We can fill up at the exit of the passage, but we will need some kind of container to carry all that water.”
“I can steal some pack animals. Would that work?” Amir suggested. Somebody made a rather inappropriate joke that was shushed down and the joker ashamed.
“It would make the trick, Amir. Animals would allow us to move through tight spaces until we reach the Outback.” She confirmed. “But most importantly, we will need weapons.”
Nobody seemed to have any idea on what to do about that. Carolina sighed. “Without weapons we won’t get far. No doubt Namatjira will have armed men there.”
Lutana’s gaze fell on Carolina. It was an odd look. The aboriginal then nodded. “We need to keep an eye on weapons depots. There has to be a place they stored ours when they took it.”
Arturo, another of the Bullerites, grunted. “One of the guards mentioned the Aviation Storage. That they were taking the ammo in different crates there. Maybe they store everything there?”
“Aviation Storage?” Amir frowned. “You think that’s the place with the torn down air jet monument?
He referred to something that seemed like a museum near the cemetery. Carolina shrugged. “It’s our best guess. I would imagine it’s guarded.”
“Most likely. But if operational logistics taught me anything.” Aaron chuckled. “Their security will be smoothed once the lines are pressed and need to get their supplies out faster. We could sneak in the middle of the chaos.”
“That would put procuring weapons in the last step before we attempt an escape.” Amir brooded. “It’s risky.”
“It’s our only shot, Amir.”
Hart. North of Alice Springs.
August 1st.
The first dawn of the month revealed the damage that had punished the runway in the last month and a half. Artillery barrages had, mercilessly, blasted the surface out of any serviceable shape. The airfield was barely usable as a fortification in itself, as most of the buildings were in such a condition that the danger of any collapse was as high as enemy fire penetrating any defense.
Hart was the epicenter of the north and northeast axes of defense. Slowly, NUSSR advances had forced the Ntaripe forces to back down and consolidate their positions only three kilometers north. To the east, the new owners of Australia had entrenched themselves on the crossing of the River Plenty on the road to Anatye. Rebel forces had harassed them as they advanced, but after the trenches were dug, they mostly stay put. Any approach with small forces would be suicide.
A soft, growing howling came from somewhere below the airstrip. It caused the pieces of concrete and scattered trash to vibrate and crawl through the surface. The sun rose in the far eastern horizon.
A single EA 18-G Growler rose from an opening in the ground to the west, immediately deploying its radar-jamming equipment to cover the follow-up: A MiG-29 and two A-11 Ghibli quickly rose to form up behind the radar jammer at five thousand meters above the Outback.
With that signal, the line that was parked outside the airfield turned on the engines and rolled out into the highway headed east, seeking to join a front that had been activated from Macumba, where elements of the Welsh Composite Regiment had engaged the forward enemy units, to the middle of the Simpson Desert, where west of Birdsville, the 3rd Stuart Brigade engaged enemy patrols from the town, having made contact just shy of half an hour before. At that precise moment, radios on the trucks rolling from Hart reported that the 1st, 7th and 9th Brigades based on Santa Teresa began their engagement in the desert west of Sturt and Bedourie.
The air squadron wasted no time, headed west towards the trenches at River Plenty, and the personnel of the 2nd Northern and Southern Brigades, the 6th Brigade and the Ntaripe Volunteer Brigade heard the sound of bombing in the distance. Armored trucks, dedicated AIVs and a couple of tanks of the Pre-fall NATO era spearheaded the column as it took the route south of the Plenty, shadowed by light vehicles of the Volunteer Brigade that raised a plume of dust on the road at the northern bank, between the Plenty and the Marshal, and headed to strike the trenches from the flank.
Alice Springs
August began with a curfew from midnight and a radio announcement by Namatjira himself that a major military operation had just begun.
“As of now, our forces are engaging Albion forces all across the contact line from Tarcoola to Ranken, and from Warumungu to Sturk Creek. This counter offensive aims at dislodging the enemy from our people’s land and reclaiming what was taken from us many centuries ago. A new beginning for a new era.
This is, as well, an auspicious occasion, as both the people of Ntaripe and its allies and the forces of the new administrators of Australia are hearing this news at the same time, from the same voice.
The Government of Albion should recognize the need to cease hostilities before Australia can be brought to order. My people will keep fighting until its rights are recognized and our self-rule guaranteed. My expectation is that with this show of our collective might they will not just see us as an obstacle to be dealt with and fixed, but a valued member of the new international community.
For the time being, the curfew will remain in place. All residents are commanded to stay indoors and to await commands from their District Leaders for any rush to shelter. Should that happen, our committed defenses will keep us safe, while the shelters will secure you and your loved ones from any debris that may fall.
To Victory for all times.”
The voice was followed by a short version of the newly-made Ntaripe and Outback anthem. Namatjira had for some time hinted at statehood within the new regime. This seemed like a confirmation of his aims.
The Cobarites exchanged looks once more. It was time to act.
***
Light left him. Federico’s mouth reeked of that mixture of blood and acid, and it would soon become his whole world. The only thing he could feel. That and his father. For how long? Would he die before he vanished, taken away by Teris? The taste of acid and metal overcame the blood, which he spat without much air left. He had given up on breathing… For how long? Hours? Days? Two seconds?
His back gave in, but he barely felt any more pain. The world crumbled around him.
He was back at his cell. Shaking. Federico was soaked wet and trembling on his side against the metallic wall, wrapping his chest to try to stay warm. His skin still felt like iced paper after hanging outside the ship and being washed over with freezing water. The guards threw a towel before him and a white t-shirt after that.
“Dry yourself and cover up a bit. We want you able to talk before the next interrogation.” The man commanded before turning over to the door.
“Are they really going to try that?”
“Resistance mind tricks? We are better than that!”
The door shut and the lights went on. Bright and blinding. They wanted him awake and uncomfortable. Federico tried to control his shaking and reached for the towel.
Minutes later he left the shorts they gave him to drip over the plated floor, covering himself with the towel and waiting until he felt mildly dry before putting on the t-shirt. Federico struggled to control his shaking and was getting better at it with each cycle of trembling and gasping. The slid on the door opened and a couple of eyes looked inside, then it was closed. The steps vanished under the sound of the engines.
What did they mean by Resistance mind tricks? And by being better than that? Were the officers of the Reich so full of themselves? Father would laugh at the thought of it. He managed to smile a bit himself. Bastards were really thinking they were some sort of moral compass to be followed. The smile made his lower lip rip open its cuts from the last beating.
“Bastards left me ugly.”
When they went to get him they found him in a better mood, all dressed up as well, as they pulled their white and grey prisoner by the arms through the cold corridors of the airship and back to the interrogation room. His eyes fixed on the metal trapdoor near an edge of the cement room, but he steadied himself as they forced him inside and then towards a different corner where a metal stool waited for him.
“I hope you are up to speak a bit more with us, Menzendorf.” A familiar voice entered the room right after they finished tying his feet to the stool and his hands behind his back. She walked into his field of view. Federico shook on his spot, unable to break free and charge her. Beat her. No. He wanted to rip her little face apart. The pale woman smirked at his attempts. It seemed to Federico that her skin reflected light in some unnatural way. “You look like shit, worthless. Your ear has healed though.”
“It was the least of the challenges, Grruppenführerin .” A voice he recognized as the Bolivian doctor’s came from the door. Krueger walked over to him and grabbed his wounded ear. He thought about spitting on her, but it would perhaps amount to nothing. Her fingers were warm, but they felt odd. Metallic , perhaps? She let go and walked over to the door, away from Federico’s view.
“I recall he was wounded on the hip.”
“Yes. An infection between the hip bones could prove fatal, and might very well leave life-long sequels. I cut off as much ear as needed easily. But one cannot cut the hip off. So I was extra careful with-”
“You could have left him a limp for all I care. Perhaps his father would suffer seeing his dear boy use a cane for the rest of his life.”
“I just did my job. Ober-”
“Yes, you did.”
Something fell to the floor and in seconds the woman returned to his sight. Federico managed to glimpse at the body of the Bolivian doctor being dragged to a corner of the room. She grabbed his face and opened his eyelids, causing his skin to strain.
“You say there should be a neurological response?”
“Yes, Gruppenführerin. According to reports, acts of violence do trigger some neurological response.” The voice of the male interrogator, the one he brought down before, came through. His steps indicated he walked into the middle of the room, but Federico wasn’t allowed to focus on him. “Other prisoners we tested on seemed to confirm this one’s account.”
“Pupil dilation…” She left Federico go. “Accelerated breathing. It could be he just hates me, though.”
Something stung in his neck. Federico realized something had been injected into his body from behind, and grunted as the needle was pulled out. “Alright. Let’s see if the cocktail causes any outburst of violence. Luckily our Rugby player here is strong. He can withstand what others didn’t. Right, Worthless?” She chuckled and headed to the door. “Begin testing and send the reports to my office before the Kaiserin comes to see him tomorrow.”
“I will make sure to send a copy to you along with the Kaiserin.”
“Has he said anything about the asset?”
“Not yet. Gruppenführerin. Should we ask?”
“Absolutely not…“
The door closed just as they placed a tv screen on a wheeled table in front of him, and soon he found himself watching an odd series of colors and hearing strange sounds with electrodes on his temples.
“Alright. Let’s go for the second stage.” Gustav said.
“What’s the asset? What did she refer to?”
The only answer Federico had was another needle that found his neck.
He could no longer see, though his eyes were open. They felt like two blind embers on his face. He could barely feel anything else. Federico didn’t want to die. Not like that. Not there. Not then. He tried to call for his father, but the air in his lungs was replaced with blood. His mind drifted away, reaching out to him, rushing to his father before both father and son vanished.
