Exclusion Zone, Haskovo Province
Republic of Karma
Near the Inner-Volgan Border
"Freedom, not slavery! Life, not death! The Republic of Kuma continues to be the only serious alternative for all Bulgarian patriots, who have not forgotten the sacrifice of their fathers and forefathers in their struggle for national reunification, prosperity and the staunch defense of human rights. The communist demagogues seek to.."
Like everyday, the metal speakers were barking from the iron towers that dotted the Volgan border in a distance of a few hundred meters from each other, sending their words over the barren void of mine fields, bunker installations, fortifications, trenches and watchtowers that composed the Volgan border. Somewhere, far beyond the other side, after kilometers of barbed wire, the message would reach the border guards on the communist side, urging them to defect or spreading general messages that sought to discredit the communist authorities in West Volga. It was, for all intends and purposes, a grotesque battle, a battle of words, of gestures. During decades of partition this had however become the accepted reality of everyday life for the military personnel deployed on either side of the border. As long as it was a battle of words and not of bullets, most of them were willing to accept this surreal competition as a price they had to pay to not pay a far higher one - for they all knew that if there would ever be hostilities, everyone who was deployed right here, on one of the major fronts of the stagnant silent war, would be amongst the first to fall in an inferno of fire and metal.
The young Oikawan officer stared through his binoculars. At first, the sight was blurred, but as he adjusted the tool, the landscape became more focused and finally he was able to see, see the tree tops of the lush forests that had been allowed to grow without interference in no man's land and then, finally, beyond them, the structures of the enemy guard towers, with small figures on them, that were probably doing the exactly same thing as he was doing right now. His binoculars stayed on one of the towers for a short while and then jumped to the one on the left side. He repeated the process for a good ten minutes before he finally put the binoculars down and stepped away from the balcony of the tower back into the interior of the structure, behind the armor-proof glass and the black jalousies.
"They began constructing one new tower next to F26-G and they continued working on the trenches at F-27-L, as we predicted last week. Not really a surprise there, saw that coming last week already", he said to another young Oikawan man after he had closed the door. He could never be sure that they weren't videotaping him to read his lips, so talking outside was strictly forbidden except in exceptional circumstances. "New tower near F26-G and trenches in F-27-L. Will write that down in the report", the other man said and sipped on his cup of coffee. There was a kind of routine even in such an exceptional place, and everyone who was there for more than a few weeks soon came to lose that natural excitement the small groups of tourists that were allowed to travel to the site felt when they were taken through the installments and warned that every wrong behavior of theirs could potentially spark a new war. Everyone stationed here knew that that was just propaganda, like almost everything here was. "None of the sides had an interest in a war, ultimately", was what was said informally amongst the military staff at the border, both Oikawan and Volgan, and thus military life was, in the end, not too different from being stationed in another part of the country.
Unbeknown to the men however, one thing was different this morning. One tiny thing that went unnoticed by them even in an area where normally, every just so tiny detail was mercilessly recorded and archived.
More precisely, three tiny things. Planes that had started from nearby Haskovo-3 Military Airport, that had risen to several thousand meters and which were right now, at 8:07 AM, only a minute away from crossing into no man's land.
Republic of Karma
Near the Inner-Volgan Border
"Freedom, not slavery! Life, not death! The Republic of Kuma continues to be the only serious alternative for all Bulgarian patriots, who have not forgotten the sacrifice of their fathers and forefathers in their struggle for national reunification, prosperity and the staunch defense of human rights. The communist demagogues seek to.."
Like everyday, the metal speakers were barking from the iron towers that dotted the Volgan border in a distance of a few hundred meters from each other, sending their words over the barren void of mine fields, bunker installations, fortifications, trenches and watchtowers that composed the Volgan border. Somewhere, far beyond the other side, after kilometers of barbed wire, the message would reach the border guards on the communist side, urging them to defect or spreading general messages that sought to discredit the communist authorities in West Volga. It was, for all intends and purposes, a grotesque battle, a battle of words, of gestures. During decades of partition this had however become the accepted reality of everyday life for the military personnel deployed on either side of the border. As long as it was a battle of words and not of bullets, most of them were willing to accept this surreal competition as a price they had to pay to not pay a far higher one - for they all knew that if there would ever be hostilities, everyone who was deployed right here, on one of the major fronts of the stagnant silent war, would be amongst the first to fall in an inferno of fire and metal.
The young Oikawan officer stared through his binoculars. At first, the sight was blurred, but as he adjusted the tool, the landscape became more focused and finally he was able to see, see the tree tops of the lush forests that had been allowed to grow without interference in no man's land and then, finally, beyond them, the structures of the enemy guard towers, with small figures on them, that were probably doing the exactly same thing as he was doing right now. His binoculars stayed on one of the towers for a short while and then jumped to the one on the left side. He repeated the process for a good ten minutes before he finally put the binoculars down and stepped away from the balcony of the tower back into the interior of the structure, behind the armor-proof glass and the black jalousies.
"They began constructing one new tower next to F26-G and they continued working on the trenches at F-27-L, as we predicted last week. Not really a surprise there, saw that coming last week already", he said to another young Oikawan man after he had closed the door. He could never be sure that they weren't videotaping him to read his lips, so talking outside was strictly forbidden except in exceptional circumstances. "New tower near F26-G and trenches in F-27-L. Will write that down in the report", the other man said and sipped on his cup of coffee. There was a kind of routine even in such an exceptional place, and everyone who was there for more than a few weeks soon came to lose that natural excitement the small groups of tourists that were allowed to travel to the site felt when they were taken through the installments and warned that every wrong behavior of theirs could potentially spark a new war. Everyone stationed here knew that that was just propaganda, like almost everything here was. "None of the sides had an interest in a war, ultimately", was what was said informally amongst the military staff at the border, both Oikawan and Volgan, and thus military life was, in the end, not too different from being stationed in another part of the country.
Unbeknown to the men however, one thing was different this morning. One tiny thing that went unnoticed by them even in an area where normally, every just so tiny detail was mercilessly recorded and archived.
More precisely, three tiny things. Planes that had started from nearby Haskovo-3 Military Airport, that had risen to several thousand meters and which were right now, at 8:07 AM, only a minute away from crossing into no man's land.