Trouble in the Riverlands [CONCLUDED]

[Kadikistani Union]

Trouble in the Riverlands​

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Jurzan / Kadikistan
Farah River Island / Dnjert River Island
Great River / Varuskaya River
Province of Kharoti / Socialist Oblast of Lurcheniv​

"I fucking hate Mondays.", Sergei Moravscik said agitated towards his four colleagues standing around a roaring Kadikistani MAZ-200 truck while the rain was poring down like a waterfall. Rain in the region was rather rare, but when it came around it came with a vengeance straight from the icy tops of the Kharoti Mountains. It took no more then a few seconds for the five Kadikistani men to be completely soaked and the Varuskaya river to rise a few centimetres making the river island even smaller. "Lamrov, go make yourself useful and flicker the lights so those Jurzani bastards know we're here.", Moravscik commanded while spitting away the rain that was running down his bearded face and over his lips. Sergei Moravscik was a Captain in the 'Revolutionary Armed Forces' of Kadikistan, not that you would be able to tell since he was wearing a worn-out sweatpants and a military vest that dated back to the revolutionary year 1907 full of wholes and blood stains. The four men Moravscik commanded looked slightly more like soldiers, but nearly equalled their captain in raggedness. The only thing they all had in common was the fact that they were all equipped with a KA-47, either strapped on their backs or holding it nonchalantly. Moravscik's assault rifle was still in the back of the truck, submerged under about a decimetre of gathering rain, while he had a custom made silver revolver on his person. The latter was gift from Major Marko Leninov, a scion from the infamous family put in charge of the highly profitable opium trade, with whom Moravscik had formed a friendly relation over the years standing side-by-side over a wide range of illegal dealings.

The river island was no more then three ares with one solitary tree and a few plucks of weed being the only green on it. The rest of its soil was 'decorated' by mud, trash, a multitude of tire tracks and two small wooden piers on both sides. The fact that the small island didn't have a shared pier was an unmistakeable example of the fact that the two nations were not always on the best of terms. In fact the river island was claimed by both the Islamic Republic of Jurzan and the Democratic Republic of Kadikistan as 'Farah'- and 'Dnjert' Island respectively. The bullet-wholes in the last dying tree were a clear illustration of the island's contested nature. The island had been a source for problems between Sharjah and Ivar since the Jurzani Revolution of 1939 which emancipated the relatively young nation from the Varanasi Empire with the help of Kadikistan. Back then it was agreed that the borders between both nations would remain the same as they had been under Varanasi rule with the historic Khandahar region under Kadikistani control, as it had been since the Second Kadiko-Varanasi War in 1905. In the spirit of friendship both the new rulers of the Jurzan and the Kadikistani leadership avoided the river islands, unwrittenly agreeing that they would be under the de facto control of Jurzan as they had been under Varanasi. But the fact that nothing was put on paper gave Nikolai Leninov, who came to power later in 1939 replacing Iosif Tsjekova and his administration, the opportunity to claim the islands as sovereign Kadikistani soil which he did in early 1940. Since that year the relations between the Jurzan and Kadikistan had never reached the warm heights they were during those months when Iosif Tsjekova ruled the oldest socialist republic of Europe.

The situation concerning the islands thawed after an initial stand-off as certain powerful forces in both nations started using its contested and de facto ungoverned status too advance their own personal wealth. On the Kadikistani side it was the Leninov Clan who grabbed this opportunity with both hands as they had with Balochistan back in the 18th century when they were still a noble family. As early as 1940 underground contacts were established that allowed for the construction of a trafficking zone on the island where various smuggled products would change hands, ranging from opium and other drugs meant for the Germanian and Gallian markets to consumer goods meant for the domestic Kadikistani markets and military weaponry for the Jurzani. Since then a handful of people profiteered greatly from the illegal trade on the river islands, not in the least members of the 'Leninov Revolutionary Clan'. By today the practise had become daily business with border guards as well as local inhabitants being full aware of it and even taking a slice of it when they had a chance. Patrol shifts around the river islands were highly sought after by soldiers trying to make some quick bribe money or even get their hands on some of the goods. The commanding officer, because such matters were always conducted by the military, always had the ability to contact the small 'Karaboch Army Outpost' roughly 16 kilometres northeast through the radio build into the small ferry, glorified raft that could barely fit the truck, docked at the wooden pier on the Kadikistani side. The Karaboch Outpost also served as a distribution point were the various smuggled goods form the various trafficking zones in the area were brought together and directed towards their respective destinations. Naturally Major Marko Leninov was the commanding officer of the Karaboch Outpost, a noticeably low position for his rank and family's prestige, and had been given the possibility to appoint his officer positions to men he trusted such as Captain Moravscik. All together the Karaboch Outpost provided barracks for 240 soldiers, 40% of which were constantly out on rotating shifts of platoon sized patrols along the Varuskaya River.

Capt. Moravscik was waiting anxiously, annoyed by the usual tardiness of the Jurzani traders and in lo lesser amount of Corporal Zarkov to his left who was struggling to light his cigarette in the rain. "Zarkov! Move your fat ass to the truck and light that thing in there before I shoot you!", the Captain yelled while the other three chuckled in moderate amusement. "I swear if that guy's father wasn't a friend of Marko I would drown him together with these LATE JURZANI SONS OF...!". Moravscik suddenly stopped with his scarred face still red with anger as he saw a large flock of birds lift-off and fly away from several trees on the Jurzani size. Someone was approaching and the men got ready to do a quick, almost automatic, transition. Little did they know that today wouldn't turn out like all those other days. "Alright you all know the drill. Timovarski left, Ratko right, Lamrov help dock the stinkers... ZARAKOV! WHY THE FUCK ISN'T THAT TRUCK BEING UNLOADED YOU FAT PIECE OF CRAP!"

 

[Clarenthia]

Governor Asadullah Khan was busy weaving in and out of his reception room, which had become a festering pit of tourists begging to catch a glimpse of Noorzai’s “Miracle Man.” Khan was a large man, 6’5” and 250 lbs, he certainly held a commanding presence in the room. Even so, his security detail went into overdrive creating a pathway for him to get into his office. Just before he succeeded, a small girl stepped in front of him.

“Lord Governor,” she said “I would just like you to know that when the Great President steps down, you should be president, governor, and prime minister!”

The governor smiled at the girl, shuffling her hair – a perfect photo op – and knelt down to her level.

“My dear,” he started “my only commitment is to the people of Noorzai.”

Finally, the Governor made it into his office. However, there his assistant stood with a solemn look on his face. The governor looked puzzled, but soon knew what the problem was. Sitting in the chairs in front of the governor’s desk was General Feroz Sherzai.

“General,” the Governor began, heading back into his office “I hadn’t expected your arrival, I would have come sooner. I do beg your pardon. How can I be of assistance to you?”

“My pardon will likely be more relevant in the coming days,” General Sherzai stated “I remind you that we all serve at the pleasure of His Excellency, President Faraj Khayrat.”

“I certainly hope His Excellency is well,” the Governor replied.

“I don’t have much time Governor,” the General cut him off “I need to know when and where your people cross the Great River into Kadikistan. Just tell me so I can be on my way.”

“General,” the governor looked stunned “I do not know what you’re talking about. I’m afraid my interests stop in Paryan, I have no business further north.”

“Look,” the General stated “your men aren’t as loyal as you’d like to believe. I’ll let you handle your own internal investigation into who is more forthcoming than others and to be frank, the President cannot care less about your personal business ventures. You’ve served his interests here well and he wishes you many more years of success. However, he can just as easily see you rot in Zardad Prison and take bets on whether it’ll be the inmates, food, heat, or wildlife that kills you first. Now again, His Excellency demands the information and I do expect your full compliance.”



Hamid Pathan felt how uncomfortable the rock he was sitting on was getting. He had done many runs like this in the past, but he had a particularly unnerving feeling about tonight. Pathan was 22, certainly not the youngest individual to have ever gone on these runs. In fact, in many rural parts of Jurzan, 22 was the prime age for a man to engage in such activities. Pathan leaned back and puffed on his cigar, sending an orange light into the wilderness.

“They can probably see that,” Imran Jadoon said.

“It’s not any matter,” Pathan replied, pointing to the Kadikistanis’ lanterns on the Farah Island.

Jadoon and Pathan got up and signaled to their back up. Stepping into the clearing, the Jurzani men carried small boats to the water front, and began paddling across. When the boats arrived at the shore of Farah Island, Jadoon was the first to step out.

He walked up toward the Kadikistani, pulling his hand out of his jacket to reveal a pack of cigarettes.

“I don’t know your face,” Jadoon said, looking at Captain Moravscik “My name is Imran Jadoon. I know you Kadikistani are fond of your tobacco, but I assure you that the Jurzani plants are none to be trifled with.”

Jadoon smiled at the Captain, while motioning for his men to approach.

“Now, let us get to business.”

 

[Kadikistani Union]

Moravscik smirked with a tone of contempt for the young Jurzani man standing in front of him. The Kadikistani Captain had been doing this for over ten years, starting with the position of loader that the chubby Zarakov was currently preforming and yet they had never crossed paths. Such a thing always made the Captain extra alert. But the young Jurzani seemed to know his business, throwing much wanted cigarettes around. Not that Kadikistan didn't have their own tobacco industry, which was in fact one of the top ten economic sectors in the country, but because the taste of Jurzani cigarettes was so much better and they wouldn't make you cough blood after a night of intense smoking. The short but intense rain had stopped as fast as it came, leaving the island and the men in a muddy mess. Moravscik took a cigarette from the pack and tossed it towards Corporal Timovarski who followed the example and tossed it to Lamrov. After having lit his cigarette and a long and deep inhale Moravscik started talking, the smoke still exiting his mouth as he spoke his first words. "Like always everything is there, tovarich.", Moravscik said calmly while handing Jadoon the manifest of the truck. The opium would be traded for a truckload of KA-47 assault rifles and some spare parts as was agreed by the higher-ups.

"Ratko, go help Zarakov unload the crates and load them onto the boats. Hurry up. I want to get out of here before another rain breaks out.", he said using a Southern-Kadiki dialect that sounded even more brutish than proper Kadiki. The next few seconds he supervised Zarakov and Ratko unload the trucks together with a few Jurzani helpers while Lamrov and Timovarski kept an eye out on the right and the left flanks respectively. Moravscik wasn't so much for small talking and remained silent, occasionally given an order to hurry up. Suddenly the Captain noticed a faint sound coming from the Jurzani forest on the other side. "Are you expecting anyone else, Jurzani?", he inquired with a more aggressive and agitated undertone. He looked to his flanks and signalled Lamrov and Timovarski to listen closely and stay alert. As the sounds grew louder and louder with every second passing Moravscik removed his custom made silver revolver from its holster and kept it by his side. Jaboon looked back with an expression that revealed the fact that he had no idea what was coming. By the time he turned back to Moravscik he was looking down the silver barrel of the Captains revolver who's tone turned from moderate to full aggression. "What is this? Another one of your internal fights? WHAT IS THIS? ANSWER ME!"

 

[Clarenthia]

Jaboon had no idea what was happening. He had made these runs many times before and never had anyone followed the Jurzani caravan. He was worried, there was no doubting that. However, the Kadikistani man had a gun pointing at his head and he refused to show any type of fear. No true Jurzani would ever grant the Kadikistani the satisfaction.

It didn’t take long for Captain Moravscik to realize that the young Pathan had a gun fixed on him as well. Hamid Pathan was no stranger to guns, but he had never pointed one at a man with the intention of shooting him. In truth, Pathan had never taken a life and he wasn’t all that sure that he would be able to. Perhaps Pathan’s inability to show the same fortitude that Jaboon did, gave the Captain the confidence to control the situation.

The four other Jurzani men were fixated on what lay behind them. One of them turned around, shouted in Jurzani and drew his weapon. Now, all the five Kadikistani and six Jurzani had guns pointed at one another.

“You really don’t want to do this,” Jaboon said, lifting his hands in a non-aggressive fashion “I have no idea who they are and no one has to die tonight.”

From the trees emerged several regular soldiers of the Jurzani Army. Soon, spotlights lined the beachhead, barely illuminating the smugglers on Farah Island, but providing enough light to conceal the Jurzani standing behind the lights. A megaphone sounded.

“My name is Captain Abdul Nuristani of the People’s Army of the Islamic Republic of Jurzan,” the soldier announced “You are all to drop your weapons immediately and get on the ground.”

In a matter of seconds, the Jurzani smugglers hit the ground with the exception of Jaboon and Pathan. Jaboon and Moravscik continued their stand off and Pathan was too focused on the Captain’s trigger finger to even realize Jurzani soldiers had arrived. Then, it happened.

The first bullet cut the silence and was followed by the thud of Lamrov’s deceased body hitting the ground. It didn’t take long for a cascade of bullets to emerge from both sides. Jaboon, in the chaos, lunged for the Kadikistani captain in front of him, but the Captain’s focus did not flinch and the bullet fired.

In a rage, Pathan screamed and fired at the Captain, but his unsteady hand failed to meet the mark. Pathan ran to Jaboon’s body with the prayers of a less severe injury – in complete denial of what he knew to be true.

The bullets and screams continued to ring, but to Pathan, the world was silent.

 

[Kadikistani Union]

The situation had gone out of control in mere seconds. The arrival of Captain Abdul Nuristani and his men had triggered a merciless gunfire on the tiny island. Lamrov had been the first to go, but he was quickly followed by Ratko who had retreated behind the one tree only to make a bold run for one of the opium bags. Ratko's greed would be his demise as two bullets from the Jurzani side pierced his gut just as he picked up the drugs, leaving him to collapse with an unsettling scream of agony that would last for about thirty more seconds. Ratko couldn't stretch his short 24-year-old life any longer even though the fact that he had his blood-soaked arm stretched into the direction of Moravscik until the bitter end, hoping for some kind of miracle. But Moravscik had his own problems and frankly couldn't care less as long as he made it out of there alive. Preferably with one or two gunny bags of opium which he could stash in the forest on the Kadikistani side and sell on his own while telling his superiors all was lost. That's what was playing in his mind. The street value of one bag alone, especially when processed, was more then his annual salary of Captain in the Revolutionary Armed Forces.

After shooting Jaboon in the face from nearly point-blanc range Moravscik ran backwards, emptying his revolver in the process and taking down at least one more Jurzani guard before diving behind the still roaring truck. The latter had become the focus of the Jurzani on the island and the attackers on their side as Moravscik was joined behind the truck by Zarakov and a bleeding Corporal Timovarski. The Corporal had taken a hit in the left shoulder and a grazing shot had just passed his ear, tearing off half of his earlobe. Zarakov and Timovarski kept on returning fire for the next few seconds, each from a different side of the truck. But Moravscik, while grabbing his KA-47 from the back of the truck, knew that there cover wasn't a durable solution. It could be minutes before the nearby patrolling platoon could responded to the gunfire and reinforce them. Looking at the truck, all but one back tire still intact, the windows shot up and the body full of bullet-holes Moravscik knew he had to get out of there before a stray or aimed bullet could hit the gas-tank and engulf them all in flames. After having grabbed his automatic assault rifle he tied one of the opium bags that was already in the truck to his utility belt that was dangling over his sweatpants held up entirely by his prominent butt. He than did something that most men would find disgraceful and disgusting.

Morascvik grabbed the youngest member of his squad, Private Vassili Zarakov, by the back of his collar, lifter him up and directed him out of cover in an attempt to shield himself while making him walk backwards towards the primitive ferry. "What are you doing!? Wait!!", the slightly obese private yelled panicking before the first rounds began hitting his body while the tears from earlier were still running down his chubby cheeks. Struggling to stand as his life slipped away from him he suddenly heard his last words coming from his Captain: "Stay on your feet you fuck! Don't die yet, you piece of shit.", but it was to no avail as Zarkov took his last step backwards about five metres from the glorified towed raft. At this point Moravscik pointed his KA-47 in the general direction of the Jurzani assailants and emptied his magazine to suppress the enemy while he lunged onto the raft, taking cover behind the control panel. As he was reloading his revolver enemy fire intensified. He didn't give a second though to the betrayal he had just committed, it might as well have been Timovarski with whom he has worked together for over three years, but Zarakov was closer to the raft and more importantly his body fat provided for a bigger shield.

As Moravscik initiated the towing mechanism of the ferry by pulling on the one lever, Timovarski realized what had transpired and yelled at his Captain: "Sergei you bastard don't leave me here!". But his fate was sealed less then a second later as sufficient Jurzani bullets slammed against the petroleum tank of the truck which caused an unexpectedly heavy explosion since one crate of grenades hadn't been unloaded yet. "What the fuck!?", Moravscik said quietly as he saw bits and pieces of his Corporal flying around, some even across to the Kadikistani side of the river. "At least some of him died in the fatherland.", he thought while he couldn't help but chuckle for a second. He had about forty seconds before the ferry would reach the Kadikistani side of the river with the rusty towing mechanism stemming from over 15 years ago. While the explosion might have given him a few precious seconds he knew that he would soon become the single focus of the Jurzani fire. With the old communication devise on the raft destroyed by gunfire Moravscik could only hope that the nearby patrol would hear the gunfire and not in the least the explosion.

One kilometre and two-hundred metres north of the River Island
Kadikistani-side

""Do you hear that?", the young Lieutenant Jovan Stojsavljević enquired after hearing the first shot that killed Jaboon, looking at his much older Sergeant Bodan Komorov. "It appears to be gunfire coming from Dnjert, Lieutenant. There was a transaction taking place...", an insightful Komorov responded until he was rudely interrupted by the cocky Lieutenant. "I know, Moravscik is supervising." the Lieutenant said assertively before himself being interrupted by one of his privates asking, "Captain Moravscik? That greedy bastard who never gives us our cut, Comrade Lieutenant?", while him and the rest of the 20 men strong platoon assembled around Stojsavljević. "Yes, that's the one...", the Lieutenant said with a smirk, "Milo, radio the Outpost and tell them what we know and to send reinforcement. The rest of you get prepared, we're going to see what the fuss is all about.". Sergeant Komorov was quick to anticipate, "You heard the Lieutenant! Move your asses!". The small platoon would arrive at their destinations in less then ten minutes, quickening their pace as the gunfire was intensifying, unaware that the Jurzani People's Army had claimed the river island paying the ultimate price. By the time the truck exploded the platoon was only 800 metres away from the river shore, it was unclear if they would find any of their comrades alive.

 

[Clarenthia]

Capitain Nuristani watched as the soldiers of the Green Army laid the Kadikistani smugglers to waste. The Kadikistani either ran or died and the spotlights shined on the island highlighted the ominous red tint to the soaked mud. Pulling his cigarette out from his mouth he looked to his soldiers.

“Captain, the enemy is defeated,” one of them called out “Shall we cross?”

“Soldiers of the Green Army,” the Captain called out “The Kadikistani have been tainting our soil, our land with their drugs and guns for too long. All of you have contributed to a great victory here today. Now, you know our orders, go to the island and secure the contraband. Make haste.”

Several of the soldiers cheered and jumped at the opportunity to rush the island. The captain, however, remained standing still. While it was true that the Kadikistani were defeated, he knew it wouldn’t be long before more of them arrived and he also knew his soldiers weren’t prepared for it.

----

Private Popal could hear and feel the bottom of the boat digging into the sand of Farah Island. When the sergeant gave the command, Popal grabbed his gun and immediately disembarked from the boat. It was only now that he realized what had gone on. Four dead Kadikistani bodies, riddled with bullets, dotted the island and were joined by four Jurzani bodies. Popal heard a faint voice call out from the distance. He ran in the direction of the voice, getting farther from the rest of his platoon. He almost missed the body, but before him was the bloodied body of Lamrov.

Lamrov was shouting in Kadikistani, a language Popal had absolutely no comprehension. He noticed that the Kadikistani was bleeding profusely from the leg, a serious wound.

“I have a live one!” Private Popal shouted back to his platoon.

Popal knelt next to the bleeding smuggler in front of him, seeing the hatred in his eyes. He placed his gun so that he could use it as a support while he stared the soon to be dead man down.

“You’re an ugly mother fucker,” Popal mumbled beneath his breath.

Almost immediately, the Kadikistani stopped moving and spit a mouth full of blood at Popal, which struck him in the face.

“Fuck!” the Private screamed, lunging to his feet and wiping the blood off. He had not noticed he forgot to pick up his gun, which Lamrov now held – with the barrel facing the young Jurzani soldier.

That grin, Popal would never forget that grin. However, before anything could happen a bullet rang through the air and the gun fell to the ground and the miserable life of the Kadikistani had ended. Popal immediately grabbed his gun, and pointed it at the corpse. That was when he noticed another Kadikistani was escaping on a boat. He lifted his gun and lined up the shot.

“No,” Sergeant Sherzai called out “We are not attacking Kadikistan.”

“He’s right there, sir!” Popal protested.

“He’s in Kadikistan. Let him go. We have two Jurzani survivors and we need to carry the contraband back to the boat, now let’s go,” the Sergeant commanded.

Popal sighed and walked back with the Sergeant. On his way to the boat, he made eye contact with Hamid Pathan. Younger than him, Pathan was speechless, emotionless. He just sat there with a blanket draped on his shoulders. Popal couldn’t help but feel for the lad.

 

[Kadikistani Union]

Moravscik's heart was still pounding uncontrollably as his towed ferry finally reached the Kadikistani side of the Varuskaya River. Its safe to say those were one of the longest 40 seconds of his life, crouched behind the thin control panel waiting for the first Jurzani bullets to chase him, but they never did. He had been in conflict before when a deal had gone bad, he had even fought the Varanasi Imperial Army on the Balochistan battlefield back when he was a simple private. The worst fight he had endured however was against the Lurchanov Chapter of the 'Surčin Syndicate', the underground crime ring of the Tsjekova Revolutionary Clan and the heaviest competitors to Marko Leninov's boys. In fact it was by the hand of a Surčin smuggler that Moravscik's face got carved up to remind him never to cross anyone linked to the Tsjekova Family. Moravscik hoped he would not run into them as he fled into the jungle to hide the opium bag he managed to salvage from the chaos on the Dnjert River Island. The Surčin Syndicate was know to operate in the same region, but today they would not let themselves be seen. Even if they did found out about what happened, this was the mess of the Leninov Clan which the higher echelons of the Tsjekova Clan would be more then happy to exploit without getting their hand dirty.

Less then a minute after Moravscik arrived and stormed into the jungle Lieutenant Jovan Stojsavljević and his men arrived and took positions along the tree line on the Kadikistani side. This was seconds after Lamrov was put out of his misery "Comrade Lieutenant, look! The Jurzani have taken the island!", one of the privates yelled while readying his rifle. "Looks like multiple casualties.", another young private said with a distinct tremble in his voice fearing what might happen next. The Lieutenant remained calm and tried to get an oversight of the situation. The truck was still burning as the Jurzani's were hastily loading corpses and crates onto their tiny boats, Stojsavljević knew his window of opportunity was going to close soon. "Milo, did Commander Marko say how fast the artillery pieces could target Dnjert?", he inquired while loading his weapon and subsequently aiming for a Jurzani, the burning truck providing visibility. Any second now Comrade Lieutenant. The artillery batteries in the area are already aimed on the Jurzan, it was only a matter of calculating the coordinates so the shelling is precise and doesn't hit the Jurzani side of the river.", Milo, the radioman, responded in a concerned manner. The Lieutenant contemplated for a few seconds before making a decision, "Let us hope they don't or war might break out today and we would be right in the shit of it. But for now they are invading sovereign territory of the Fatherland. Pick your targets and drop them. Shoot only on the Jurzani's on the Island.".

But before Stojsavljević's words were cold and the first shots were fired the first artillery shell hit the river, about 5 metres east of the small island. The large splash and underwater detonation got everyone's attention, but for the Jurzani's on the island there wouldn't be much time to let it sink in as the next round hit the island right on the solitary tree in the middle sending splinters and branches around a long with crates, trash and body parts. For the next twenty minutes the artillery would target the island until it would no longer exist, slowly creating more craters that would fill-up on river water. Lieutenant Stojsavljević's men couldn't help but applause, cheer and even fire some celebratory shots in the air as they saw the chaos unfold on the island. The Kadikistani soldiers knew that the Jurzani's had killed their countrymen. One member of Stojsavljević platoon knew his brother, Timovarski was on the island today.

About five minutes into the bombardment Moravscik returned to the river shore and rallied up with Stojsavljević and his men. "Where the fuck where you Stojsavljević?", Moravscik asked in his usual insulting manner. The Lieutenant proceeded to give a reluctant salute to the muddy Captain stained with blood. "Are you wounded Comrade Captain? Medic!", the Lieutenant observed before being stopped by Moravscik who was quick to cover his tracks, "No it's not my blood, it's Zarakov's. The poor bastard died in my arms. I did all I could but the Jurzani's got him.", he lied without flinching. The Lieutenant looked at the Captain like he had a thousand questions, but he knew he had to be careful especially with such a dangerous and well-connected superior officer. Before the officers could utter another sentence Corporal Andrej Timovarski, younger brother of the Kadikistani who Moravscik had left behind to die, asked the Captain with a defeated tone in his voice, "What about my brother, Drako? Did he make it?". Captain Moravscik looked annoyed by the question and was very dry in his response, "Your brother died a hero. You should be proud. Now get back to your position, this might not be over."

 

[Clarenthia]

The crate Pathan was sitting on was perhaps as uncomfortable as possible. That, coupled with the chilled air and his body being accustomed to the oppressive Herati sun, made for horrible conditions. Of course, these conditions were only made worse by the fact that his mentor had died in his arms not fifteen minutes prior. Needless to say, this day was not vying for any awards.

The Green Soldiers were scrambling across the island, collecting what they could and placing it back on the boat. They were shouting commands in Jurzani, but even his native tongue felt foreign. The young smuggler just sat, staring at the mud that was overtaking his boots.

“That makes seven bodies in total,” Sergeant Sherzai stated as his men threw the lifeless corpse of Lamrov into the boat – a top the other Kadikistani bodies.

The Kadikistani bodies were piled a top one another with little regard for human dignity. In contrast, the Jurzani bodies, three in total, were laid out and placed in body bags. Each one was carefully loaded into the boats. They may not have been soldiers in the Green Army, but they were brothers whose lives had been cut short by the Kadikistani horde across the river. There was no honor in what the Kadikistani did and the Jurzani could not conceive of treating them as anything more than loot from the victory here today.

“We don’t have much time,” the Sergeant muddled under his breath, walking back to the boats “Soldiers! Hurry up, we must get back across the river immediately!”

The Sergeant walked past the grieving Jurzani boy on the crate and paused, staring at him. The awkward stare didn’t garner such much as a budge from the boy. After a short moment, the Sergeant sighed and walked closer to the boy.

“You should be honored to be approached by a Sergeant in the Islamic Republic of the Jurzan’s Green Army,” the Sergeant started “Not only that, but you’re alive right now because of us.”

Pathan did not acknowledge the Sergeant.

“Boy!” the Sergeant yelled, hitting the boy on the head.

Pathan immediately rose to his feet and lunged at the Sergeant before him with a clenched fist. The sergeant easily blocked the boy’s fist, sending the boy’s entire arm across his chest. Stunned, Pathan started to lose balance and was helped along by the Sergeant sweeping his foot out from under him. Pathan hit the ground so hard he was convicned he had broken his own ass.

“The mud suits you,” Sergeant Sherzai said “Attacking a soldier of the Green Army, I could put a bullet in your head for that.”

“Fuck you,” Pathan snapped at the Sergeant.

“Right,” Sherzai nodded “You’re a tough one, sure. Where are you from?”

Pathan didn’t respond, the Sergeant looked annoyed.

“Considering every single other Jurzani brother is dead, I am under the assumption you knew these men and considering how broken and pathetic you’re acting – this is probably the first time you’ve ever seen a corpse. Am I right?”

“I’m not a child,” Pathan muttered.

“Most men haven’t seen death either,” the Sergeant answered in a slightly calmer tone “Listen, it doesn’t do you much good to sit here and stare at the mud. Get on the boat and return home to your family. Whatever you were doing here is done and I am very doubtful it’ll ever start up again. Whatever angst you’re feeling, you’re much better to your family alive than dead.”

Pathan looked at the Sergeant and began to speak “No. Go.” The sergeant snapped back, pointing in the direction of the boat, “Now.”

Reluctantly, Pathan rose and began walking back to the boat. His shoes sank deeper into the mud with each step, it was a wonderful metaphor for his self respect. Pathan felt embarrassed, disrespected, and humiliated. Above all, he felt weak. Weakness was a great insult for a Jurzani man and here he was walking with his tail between his legs.

“Enemy spotted!” the words cut through the air like a hot knife through butter.

The Jurzani soldiers scrambled, dropping the crates they were carrying and taking positions in whatever point of cover they could find. However, Sergeant Sherzai had not forgotten his orders to not fire on any Kadikistani soldier that was within Kadikistani territory, therefore he and his men were sitting ducks.

“No!” Sherzai commanded “Fall back to the boats immediately, we are not fighting them here!”

Almost immediately after the sergeant gave the order, a massive boom sent a plume of dirt and sludge into the air – coupled with a dismembered body of a former proud Green soldier. Even further, only seconds after the first shelling hit the island, the second came, and the third, and the fourth.

Farah Island was consumed with the screams of retreating or bleeding Green soldiers that were scrambling to return to the boats that had unknowingly brought them to their grave. The screams were interrupted every few seconds by the booming of the Kadikistani shelling hitting the island. It was a relentless attack for such a small force gathered.

Sergeant Sherzai jumped into the boat and commanded that it depart. The soldiers that arrived after Sherzai immediately grabbed the side of the boat and pushed it off the sand back into the water. Soon after, the engines started and the boat was flung into reverse. Those same soldiers then ran to the second and third boats. Sherzai turned around to take note of the soldiers on the boat. He noticed that Pathan had made it onto the same boat he had. Turning around, Sherzai immediately saw a shell hit the second Jurzani boat, sending bodies into the water and sinking the boat immediately.

Once he had cleared the island, he watched as all Jurzani had left, but the Kadikistani kept continuously shelling the island – determined to wipe all evidence it evere existed at all. Sherzai wasn’t sure, but it looked as though less than half the force he came with was returning to the Jurzani side of the river.

Private Popal came up next to the Sergeant, looking back at the chaos.

“What do we do now, sir?” Popal asked.

“Contact Alaghan.”