The Koskat Border Incident
Koskat is an underpopulated land-locked nation on Posteastan's western border. The ruling coalition of the Socialist Worker's Alliance, Koskat Labour Party and Green Koskat have, for most of the nation's recent history, been in charge in one way or another. The nation's mixed economy is largely powered by a strong biomedical engineering sector. It maintains a small defence force in addition to a small air force largely comprised of Caracasusian PD-24 T jet trainers used predominantly to combat forest fires. Koskat has pursued a strict international policy of neutrality for the last few decades. In recent months, tensions on the border to the Kolvce province have led to the deployment of a large section of the nation's armed forces – however these efforts to stop the conflict spilling over into Koskat have not always been successful...Captain Nilsson looked out across the rooftops of the squat concrete building and feared for her life, and the lives of everyone in it. Just twelve hours ago they had arrived, about sixty or so refugees. Mostly on foot, a few pushing carts laden with personal belongings. The few who carried rifles and shotguns had surrendered them at the border proper, and all had been escorted to her command for further processing.
And then this... A terrified, garbled radio call from the checkpoint followed by nothing...
She'd swallowed her sheer terror and ordered that the refugees were taken downstairs. The jail cells were built into the basement, and were the safest place in the building. She'd ordered the civilian workers down too, cramming into cells and filling the corridors and office.
The ten soldiers under her command had broken out rifles and grenades from the armoury, most had barely been fired in training – oil still slick on them, that “new gun” smell filling their nostrils. They'd made their way too the rooftop, with some occupying the ground floor. She waited, listened as the sounds of engines came closer and closer. They'd radioed for backup, however the nearest units were still some way away.
The trucks, motorcycles and pickups were painted black. The insignia of the Confederacy of Posteastan painted onto each door. Her heart sank – the fascists had arrived. The news had been abuzz with reports of the latest atrocity or terror inflicted by Balan's henchmen, the refugees were likely fleeing from these very soldiers.
The cars and motorcycles pulled left and right respectively, enclosing the building in a rough semicircle. Nilsson counted perhaps eighty or so soldiers all told, all dressed in black. She tried to calm herself. Tried to focus on the scent of pine sap in spring that she could just make out over the stench of deasil exhaust.
“Hey, you!”
One strode out of the throng and approached the building. A cluster of silvered insignia pins no doubt indicated his status as commander of the group. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted up again.
“Hey! You! You've got some prisoners of ours. Wanted terrorists! Would you care to turn them over?”
Nilsson tried to muster confidence she did not have.
“You and your soldiers need to turn around now. You're in Koskat, not Posteastan. You have no authority here and if you do not leave we will be forced to defend ourselves.”
Silence. The man gestured to two footsoldiers who dissapeared round the back of one of the heavy trucks. They came back, dragging two people. Nilsson could make out their uniforms – guards from the checkpoint.
There were eight at the checkpoint. Where are the others?
Their faces bruised and bloody, they slumped to their knees.
“Listen lady, you've got one minute to turn over those terrorists or I start hurting your people. Understand?”
Seconds passed. A minute passed. The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a long, serrated knife in one hand and a pair of pliers in the other. Another soldier worked to hold down one of the prisoners, his knee on the man's neck, pushing his head up to the sky. Nilsson could hear the screams, but could not see what the fascist was doing until he turned back to her, holding something red and meaty in his gloved hand. He threw it into the dust – the prisoner burbled incoherently, choking on blood rising in his mouth.
His tongue. They'd cut out his tongue.
A second soldier drew his gun and shot the prisoner dead.
“One more lady. One more left and we're comi.....”
The leader's head exploded like a ripe melon. One moment he was speaking, the next his head simply ended above the jawline. Slowly he collapsed, sagging to his knees before sprawling onto the tarmac.The next three seconds passed like an eternity, then bullets filled the air.
The fascists that were following the refugees were apparently being followed themselves. From her vantage point she could see them – Kolvce Free State fighters by the looks of their uniforms – patchwork camouflage from a dozen different nations. They'd set up snipers in the treeline and somehow had found the time to assemble a z-fire line that crisscrossed the low hill – maximising the impact of their light weaponry.
The fascists in front of the building started to drop like flies, a few span about, firing wildly into the enemy position before being cut down by rifle fire. Bullets stabbed and cut into the vehicles, plinking off metal plating and tearing through flesh. A group of ten or so fascists found cover behind one of their heavy trucks and returned fire – their guns targeting the assaulting figures.
An early sortie by the Kolvce Free State fighters was pushed back into the treeline and for a few more minutes the opposing forces exchanged fire as the dead and dying bled out onto the road.
Nilsson peered out from safety and saw movement in the treeline. A single Free State fighter lifting something to their shoulder...
It was only after the rocket was in the air she registered it for what it was. A bazooka.
The rocket propelled grenade hit the truck the fascist contingent were sheltering behind, lifting it up and over in a cloud of burning fragments. Nilsson did not see any movement from beneath the vehicle.
In a few minutes the battle was over. Free State fighters dragged or marched the seven survivors from the fascist contingent towards the front of the building. Some busied themselves looting the dead, piling weapons and ammunition into the backs of the three least damaged pickups. One approached the building.
“Hey, listen – we've got your soldier here. I'm really sorry we couldn't save the first.”
The Kolvce Free State fighters left, some walking and some driving captured pickup trucks, a good ten minutes before Koskat's soldiers arrived on the scene. The Free State, after some discussion, had agreed not to shoot the fascists but instead had turned them over. The Koskatian soldiers had arranged for them to be transported back to the city where they would likely face trial as commanders began the unenviable task of writing up a report on the border incident.