Chapter 1
"A fallen hero who once graced the heavens seeks redemption..."
Downtown Cinigrad inside Bar Strauss.
The bottle ran dry.
Holding it up to the light did nothing to elude the emptiness, his emptiness. His soul had run dry and the new world had rejected him from a life time of battle.
Dmitri Gorshkin was in his prime during the events of the Circum-Pacific war between the nations of Yuktobania and Osea. He believed in fighting for a just cause and when the veil of evil had been lifted to reveal the true enemy, he was horrified by what he had done. The Belkans had orchestrated a grotesque chain of events that had almost led to the destruction of both feuding countries. These countries had been played like puppets and Gorshkin felt every bit more ashamed that a pilot of his supreme calibre and integrity could be used in such a vile and loathsome way.
The responsibilities that he would foster on his shoulders until the end of his days had taken its toll on his warrior instinct. He had lost his edge and reduced himself to a squabbling wreck feeding his emotional desire to end his sorrows through alcohol. The former flight commander was nothing more than a drunk who spent his time drifting from one bar to the next like some parasite. His wife had died during the Osean occupation and he had lost contact with his one and only son. Gorshkin felt that life was just not worth living any longer.
Reaching into his pocket, Gorshkin fumbled around for some loose change hoping that he could scrabble together enough for another drink. As he pulled his hand out of his trouser pocket, the muscles in his hand seized up. A side effect from his intoxication, his inability to close his hand resulted in the coins falling to the floor. Mumbling to himself, he slid off his chair and onto his knees in the hope of reclaiming his money.
A faint echo of footsteps that got ever closer rang through his ears going almost unnoticeable in his sodden state. A stranger knelt down to pick up the coins and then stood back up. Gorshkin rustled up enough energy to crane his head back and squinted hoping to make out the blurred face of a man that had come for him.
"...who are you? Gorshkin said in a slurred manner.
"My name is Gustav Green. You may call me Mr Green."
"...what...do you want?"
"I'm looking for someone...someone who used to go by the name of Blackjack. I don't suppose you've heard of him?
"...that man is dead."
"Really, I heard he was still alive." Mr Green bent down closer to Gorshkin. "Are you sure he's dead?"
Gorshkin stared back at the man feeling discontent. Mr Green was obviously a well informed individual. His sharp black suit and his silk green tie gave an aura that spelt government man in Gorshkin's confused mind. Mr Green's piercing eyes glistened and his smooth face conveyed an eloquent persona. It was going to be a long night sobering up.
Sitting at opposite ends to a polished wooden table, Gorshkin and Green stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. With his legs crossed and his hands in a steeple upon his upper knee, Green sat with a wry grin on his face as if he was revelling in personal achievement. It was if he was in a state of self indulgence knowing that he had found who he was looking for.
Gorshkin sat uncomfortably in his chair with both his hands on his legs, shaking, a side effect showing that the alcohol was slowly wearing off and allowing him to re-emerge from his intoxication. Sitting forward with his back slightly hunched, he reached for a cup of coffee. As he took a sip he decided to break the silence and finally strike up a conversation.
"So what are you here for?"
"As I said before, I'm looking for a former pilot called Blackjack. I think you may know him."
"Yeh, I do. That guy is me." Gorshkin put down his mug of coffee and went on the offensive.
"What do you want from me? Can't you see, I'm not a pilot anymore. I'm a wreck with no future. The top brass made that clear after the war, that there was no place for us in the new world. If you're the military then think again if you're here to get me to jump through hoops for you."
"Mr Gorshkin, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm not the military nor do I represent any facet of the Yuktobanian military or any branch of the national security service. I represent a company that is very interested in acquiring your services. I assure you we would be more than happy to accommodate any of your needs in return for services rendered to our company. What do you say? Would you be interested in such a proposal?"
"You must be kidding? Is this some sort of joke? What kind of company wants a burnt out ex-fighter pilot turned drunk?"
"I assure you Mr Gorshkin I represent a legitimate business. I work for the Sephron Defence Initiative, a subsidiary defence consultancy of Sephron Industries. We are looking to recruit ex-servicemen and women to take on new positions within one of our new global ventures, a private military company to be more specific."
"Let me get this straight, you want to recruit people like me to become...mercenaries?"
"In a way...yes. However as always with tradition, you will be well paid for your services to the company. Since the war, new opportunities have arisen that we are in the process of exploiting. The Yuktobanian military cannot cope anymore with foreign let alone domestic security which is where we come in. Our company has been given full authority to set about helping the military in all matters of national security in areas such as land, sea and air defence. The world is a different place now and people like you have another chance to live. I know from your record that there are certain things that any other individual would be ashamed of but that doesn't give you any reason to give up. Consider my offer a second chance at life. Consider this as your redemption."
Gorshkin looked shocked as well as surprised. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Becoming a mercenary, a soldier of fortune, it was not a life he ever expected to be presented with.
He felt rather queasy at the prospect of a new beginning. Gorshkin decided that he needed time to consider Mr Green's offer. Attempting to strike up a half decent smile, Gorshkin replied to his proposal.
"Your offer sounds enticing, but I think I'm going to need time to consider it."
"Please, I would be foolish to think that such an overly attractive proposal could be decided upon with such haste however times are pressing and I do need an answer fairly soon."
Mr Green reached for his left jacket pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a business card. He scribbled something on the back and then handed it over to Gorshkin.
"Here is my calling card. When you're ready, call the number on the back. I'll be waiting for your response."
Mr Green then stood up and turned to walk away and out of the bar. As he opened the door to leave he stopped and turned to face Gorshkin. His cynical smile, a signature of his character, caught Gorshkin's attention.
"If I were you I wouldn't take too long. Although you're an accomplished pilot, there are still others who are waiting to take your place. You have twenty four hours to make your decision. If you don't reply before then we'll assume that you declined the offer and you'll never hear from us again. Good day to you Commander Blackjack."
Gorshkin felt a sense of pure nostalgia. He could feel the fire that was his spirit as a warrior of the skies raging once again. After all this time, he truly felt alive.