Tomorrow Burns

[Khemia]

Blood dripped down the man's distinctively tan skin, past the epicanthic fold of his eyes, falling down to pool on the desk. His hands laid palm down on the arms of the chair, and the interrogator smashed them against the wood with his fist. The prisoner bit into his lip, drawing more blood. It had a bitter, metallic taste.

"We know who your family is, Talara," the interrogator spoke, raising a fist with iron knuckles.

Another man, hiding in the dark corner of the room, spoke up quickly. "Stop. He has a trial tomorrow, he needs his jaw intact to speak."

"He doesn't need to speak, he'll only incriminate himself further!" the interrogator retorted.

"He needs his jaw so he can deliver his plea," the man continued. "Besides, I think he's had enough." His eyes cast their gaze upon the broken terrorist from the shadows. Talara did not even look up, he kept his eyes down, gasping for breath.

The interrogator grumbled, taking off the metal brace for his fist before walking to the door and rapping on it, "Bring in the girl!"

The protests of a resistant bulkhead followed, and the door whined open. A little girl walked into the room, scared and alone. "Ashok!" she shouted. The terrorist looked up, giving away his weakness. His sister stood on the other side of the room, and it took every ounce of his energy to speak her name.

"Priya."

The interrogator grabbed the girl as she was about to race over to her broken and bruised brother. "Your mother is here as well. You don't want me to hand her your sister after we give her the same treatment we have given you, do you? You want your sister to go to school, you want her to have a life? We can take it away from her if you don't give us what we want."

Ashok looked at the interrogator with eyes consumed with rage. The interrogator pushed the girl to the wall, her head knocking back and slapping the brick with a disgusting crack. She let out a cry that made Ashok wince.

"We can revoke your entire families citizenship, your sister will never see a book again; your mother will be forced into slavery to support her own meager existence, selling her body for change to buy food for her daughter. Is that what you want to condemn your family to?"

"You are scum," Talara coughed.

The tension in the air was palpable, even the little girl was afraid to cry from the blow she had just received. "I have not murdered thirteen innocent people," the interrogator hissed. He looked to the girl, "Your brother killed people. He killed people like your mother and father," he looked at Ashok, the girl looking at him as well with eyes that spoke all the words she could not.

You mean nothing to me.

Ashok turned his eyes back down to the floor, and the interrogator began again. "Who are you, Ashok? What turned you into a murderer? Is it your rich, family-oriented upbringing? Is it the fact that your family did everything they could to give you the best life you could imagine? Is it some girl? What turned you into the savage bastard that you are, what made you capable of allowing another man to threaten your sisters life, and your only response being to look at the floor and disown your kin?"

Ashok's eyes looked down to the floor, and the interrogator kept his promise. His fist smashed into the little girls face, sending her small body flying to the floor. His boot crashed into her gut, cracking ribs and winding her so that she could not scream in pain. She gasped for breath and cried, spasms shooting through her body in pain.

Ashok began to cry when he heard his sister, and the interrogator picked up the broken girl, she could be no more than six. "Look at her Ashok," he shouted over the girls screams. The prisoner winced and looked at his sister. "Tell me what I want to know, and you will give her the best thing you could possibly give, a future. Stop thinking of yourself, damnit! You've already damned yourself, now think of your family."

Talara broke down into tears, his quivering lips slathered in drool. "Yes. Yes, they've been giving us money. Money and more."

"Tell me more, now."

Ashok looked to his broken sister and continued. "They've been wiring us money through a special account at Citizen's Bank. I don't know where they've been sending it from. We get a phone call that tells us what to do. We didn't plan to kill the people at Pasha, but when the police arrived we had no choice but to fight back."

"What else have they given you?"

"They give us equipment, mostly explosives and guns."

"What was your mission, Talara?"

"We were going to bomb locations in Pasha," he hesitated, looking at his sister to give himself strength. "Make her better, make her stop crying," he pleaded.

"Finish, and I will do more than that. I will guarantee she goes to a university and has a future."

"The locations were... the citizen's council, the military depot, and the another location; they hadn't told us yet. We had just found out the targets the day the police raided."

The interrogator grunted at the good police work. "So, they were in touch with you the day of the fight?"

"Yes."

The interrogator stepped towards the door and slammed his fist on it, picking up the little girl. "Get me a medic, ASAP!" he shouted. He turned back to Talara, "I can give your sister a life, Ashok, but I can't give you yours."

"I know," he sobbed.

 

[Khemia]

Marjhan was supposed to be busy lobbying the Party for support for her reforms, but she knew they would pass in a landslide vote. She was concerned with other matters, her eyes skimming over a paper in her hands with apprehension.

Classified: Operation Virata

Madame President,
The People's Independence Party, a.k.a. Communist Fraction, is responsible for funding the insurgency in Unity-held Varjhal. A confession was drawn from Ashok Talara that implicates the PIP as not only funding the attacks, but creating objectives and directives for the cells within Unity-held Varjhal. What's more, analysts within the Varjhali Defense Forces believe that the PIP may be attempting to destabilize Unity-held Varjhal through the use of infiltrated paramilitary forces. This may be an effort to weaken Unity-held Varjhal prior to renewed war.

With the greatest respect, the Joint Defense Council is proposing this operation to attack PIP-held Varjhal to preempt the attack and disable PIP war-making capabilities as well as destabilize support for the PIP-regime. The Operation suggests a swift attack against key military installations, infrastructure sites, as well as attacks against functional government structures.

We await your approval, Madame President,
Field Marshal Vamana Kaler
Joint Defense Council

Marjhan slouched in her seat, her eyes drifting over the brief introduction and to the actual battle plans, before drifting back up to the ceiling. It had to be done. But war during her regime, she wanted to be known for her democracy; not for violence. She was a kind and attractive woman, which was probably a significant reason for her popularity. Now she needed to prove to her people that she was strong enough to not only implement reforms, but to defend it from the communists. She grabbed then pen and gently put it to the paper.

 

[Khemia]

Colonel Gupta was put in charge of the 51st regiment. They were assigned to the 1st Strike Group. The dossier, and his assignment, lay on the desk in front of him. The rain pattered down on the tent that he could scarcely call an office; but it was something that he had come to call his home since the years he had spent here guarding over the neutral zone. Now, it was his time to leave his makeshift home, and invade the place he guarded.

A man entered through the flap at the front of the tent, and Gupta could see outside that the rain consisted of thick, fat drops. He smiled, and grabbed his officers cap. Lovely weather.

The young lieutenant was yammering on about orders and stuff. Gupta pretended to listen, but he knew that the young man was just following protocol and that Gupta already knew everything he had to tell him.

He exited the tent and looked around, the fat drops splattering off the epaulets on his shoulders. The camp he was in was alive with activity, like a nest of ants scurrying about in a monsoon, busy working for the good of the collective. He loved organization, and the squads busily marching around the camp were drilling for what was about to happen.

He turned to the lieutenant at his side, "Have the men ready. We're pushing past the NZ in two hours." The officer snapped a salute and hurried off.