“Tomorrow has everything to become a glorious day,” Mamadou Dindane spoke, not to anyone in particular. Being it from earning enough medals to appear as an overdecorated Christmas tree, from having sufficient subordinates who had to listen disregarding what had been said or just from seeing too many movies with leaders, hungry for power - he had made quite a habit of that. Deep down, Marshal Dindane, the leader of the Temporary Government enjoyed the sight. And then we’re not just meaning the sight on the luscious garden, which he was overlooking during his monologue but the knowledge that everyone else in the room was standing still behind his back, soaking up the words of wisdom.
“I believe,” he continued, “that tomorrow could be a new start for the nation. A vital one if we want to transform into a modern, powerful state. But where there is opportunity, there is responsibility.”
He dramatically turned on his heels to look to the two men in the middle of the room. They had something laughable over them how they stood there, their hand to their temple to salute. It had to be so visible that he thoroughly enjoyed not saying ‘at ease’, forcing people into that uncomfortable pose. Tidjani Kabirou seemed to do it out of force of habit - he was a spineless man who had weaseled his way up to a rank. As most of these, he would do anything just to further himself, as long as it didn’t get his hands dirty, which made him awful, predictable and awfully predictable. The perfect man for the job.
The short poindexter next to him didn’t salute out of habit, but out of discomfort. Some advisor had told him that Kei Tankary actually knew something about football but would start squeaking if someone smashed a table hard enough. He was as vital as Kabirou for the means of Dindane - heck, he might even be more valuable. Decades of civil war had littered the country with arse-kissers like Kabirou, someone with an actual skill was rarer to find. One day, they would have to get rid of both but luckily for them, the date hadn’t been planned yet.
“As we take the field today against Reçueçn, I want a flawless and tight performance. I want eleven men who are proud representatives of our nation, who fly our colours with pride - and of whom our population can be proud of. We are no longer at war, but these are our soldiers now. And you, gentlemen, are our generals.”
Dindane couldn’t but grin, seeing the smug face of Kabirou. That larva probably had wet dreams about the silver stripes getting pinned on his shoulder - exactly the reason why it would never happen in real life. Tankary started to look more and more uncomfortable, you could see his lack of military training. Dindane hardly thought of him like a man. Deep down, he wanted to see the emotions on their face but he could contain himself, turned his back to them and spoke quietly - just so they had to pay attention.
“The nation expects a victory. And so do I.”
“Definitely, sir Marshal,” Kabirou replied at once, ignoring the frantic face from Kei.
Silently, they walked back through the lavish hall. When entering the building, Kei Tankary had gasped at the sight of these magnificent tapestry and the luxurious artwork, contemplating whether he hadn’t seen this painting or that sculpture before. As if one had tipped Mkabia on one side, all spoils of war seemed to have ended up in this building. From the outside it looked rather bland, but its richness was hidden in plain sight. By now, Kei had too much on his mind to ogle the hallways.
“A victory… That’s quite a demand,” he attempted softly. After all, the many soldiers who were guarding closed doors might look like statues, but probably had better hearing than the walls.
“Indeed,” Kabirou replied.
Tankary audibly sighed at the knowledge that at least the gaffer realized how ludicrous it was to ask a ragtag bunch of players, whose many fierce rivalries ran through the selection and whose skills were untested, unknown but probably insufficient, to beat Reçueçn. How bizarre from Dindane to expect th-
“I think we can convince the Marshal with an entertaining, high-scoring draw as well,” Kabirou added.
“But… They’re the reigning Independents Cup winner.”
“Sure.”
“And they partook in the last World Cup,” Tankary raised his voice. “Heck, they made the knock-outs!”
He stopped, trying to capture all that was happening around him. Was he the lunatic over here or had they all lost his mind.
“Ideal, I believe. That ensures an interesting game.”
“But… We’ll never win.”
Kabirou looked staunch, as if he was dealing with an annoying recruit.
“Look, I’ll let this defaitistic bullshit slide - but only once. We are Mkabia, we are better than any other nation.”
“But the squad… And Reçueçn… And…”
“I’ll ensure that they’ll let go of the petty squabbles and you come up with a decent game plan. But start from our own strength, yes, none of that mindless defending - a bit of action in it.”
As Kabirou marched off, his gait not disguising years of stepping to a single beat, it became clear to Tankary that it wasn’t him who had gone bananas. But why everyone else seemed to, remained a mystery.
