After Action
23 AUG 1999 – 1030
General Natalia Alexeyeva
Russian Ground Forces
Sakhra, Urzikstan
The top floor of the command headquarters for the Russian forces in Urzikstan made for a decent view, had it not been for the ruins of the capital city, desperate civilians being given food rations, and Russian vehicles driving from place to place on patrol.
Alexeyeva wanted to enjoy her first cup of jasmine tea of the day, but found the taste bitter from looking into the world below her. The news playing on the television behind her, to which Colonel Viktor Glazkov was actively watching, didn't help matters.
The broadcast was in British English, recounting the events in the town they were in just days earlier. How her men used chemical weapons, the blatant killings of civilians, the brutality of it all. How all of it was true. Her heart grew cold as the realization set in.
"I wouldn't worry too much, General," Glazkov commented, arms crossed. "Some snob in Moscow will find a way to spin the story in our favor somehow."
Alexeyeva scoffed, taking a sip from her mug.
"Well, I did just say 'not too much'." Glazkov gave a snide chuckle. "I agree we need to take responsibility for our actions."
Alexeyeva walked back to the table. "The lack of it. I could've stopped my boys from committing the atrocities." She set down her mug next to the tea pot and stared down at the map of Urzikstan laid out on the table.
Scribbled against the paper, were red circles of suspected enemy held towns with numbers and phonetic letters. Chess pieces standing in for her units and perceived enemy ones were placed accordingly. Almost a board game, she noticed. On the upper right corner of the map, taped, stapled, and stabbed, was a small note: 'Remember Chechnya! Remember Afghanistan!'
"Meh," Glazkov grunted. "We still ought to be grateful."
The General sat down, a grim expression on her face. "Is that so?" She leaned over the table.
Glazkov shrugged. "Imagine if we stood by our principles, and admitted to wrong doing." He spun his chair to face her, a jaded smile on his face. "The last thing we want is Barkov to be given back his command."
Alexeyeva simply stared at him, a blank expression on her face.
The broadcast then cut to the Urzik president, Yasir Al-Fulani, who was giving a press conference at the capital building just several blocks away. He was expressing his gratitude for the Russian troops arriving to assist in bringing in the perpetrators of the Saint Petersburg bombings to justice.
"That's not funny, Viktor." Alexeyeva shook her head.
"Wasn't trying to joke, General."
Before she could reply, the two heard the door open and shut, with footsteps approaching. Looking up, they saw Colonel Balashov walking with a thick file folder under his arm. At the table, he saluted the General, who returned the favor.
"We finished with the final death-count, General," Balashov began, setting down the folder.
Alexeyeva frowned. "And?"
Balashov closed his eyes and sighed.
"You can sit, Sergei," she told him, gesturing at the spare seat. She poured him a cup of tea.
Balashov nodded, sitting next to Glazkov. He took the mug and drank for a moment.
"Above two-thousand deaths, Natasha," he began, gripping his cup. "That is almost a quarter of the city the men blatantly killed while taking Riyzabbi." He then glared at Alexeyeva. "A good majority of it was from Nova Six, General."
Alexeyeva quickly took the folder and opened it. Inside were after-action reports from officers and NCOs, as well as the investigators she had called for, photographs of dead civilians in various states of decay, excerpts of intercepted civilian communications and miscellaneous details.
"Thankfully we only lost about fifty men," Balashov continued, "if you count the pending court-martials. Regardless." Balashov tossed his headwear onto the table, a disgusted look on his face. "Segregating the Nova deaths from the conventional ones had proven, uh –" He pursed his lips. "– difficult."
"My God," Glazkov muttered. "We will hang for this."
Alexeyeva's face wrinkled as it tightened. "We deserve worse." She looked up from the folder. "All this, just because twenty of my men were killed just days prior." She buried her fingers into her hair.
"If it is any consolation, General," Balashov continued, "we did manage to evacuate and then quarantine the city."
"But now we have countless refugees in need of homes and supplies," Alexeyeva retorted.
Balashov shrugged. "It is better than staying in that God-forsaken place."
"Agreed," Glazkov concurred.
Alexeyeva sat back and rubbed her hands hard against her face.
"Are you alright, General?" Balashov asked.
"I am sorry, Sergei." She took another sip of her tea. "I have not slept well since we invaded."
Balashov took another breath, rubbing the back of his head before he took a sip of his own. "I didn't want to say it but –" He paused for a second, quickly glancing at Glazkov. "We heard some yelling from your room last night."
Alexeyeva sat back in her chair and couldn't help but let out a short, small, laugh. "You heard that?"
Balashov, with a worried look, nodded.
Alexeyeva slowly closed the folder, and raised her feet onto the table. "I still have nightmares of what we did in Chechnya." She interlaced her fingers. "And here I thought we learned."
Balashov frowned. "Apparently not."
"No," Alexeyeva concurred. "We haven't."
Glazkov crossed his legs. "Well, we have, but the men –"
"The men look up to us for guidance, to me," Alexeyeva added for her Colonel. She turned her chair towards the window, taking in the chaotic view. "And I have failed to guide them to make good, moral, choices. To not succumb to rage."
"You did not order those actions, General," Glazkov reminded her.
Alexeyeva made a faint smile. "I may as well have, Viktor."
The three said nothing more for another few minutes.
"I want to see the children."
Balashov and Glazkov looked at each other before back to their General.
"What for?" Balashov asked.
Alexeyeva spun her chair again, taking her feet off the table. "It's not right, gentlemen." She rested her hands on the table. "No child should be forced to raise arms, even in self-defense."
Balashov nodded. "I can't imagine what went through that girl's mind when she pulled the trigger."
Glazkov scratched his cheek. "Well, I know exactly what our boys are thinking right this second."
"None of them are to be anywhere near the children," Alexeyeva stated. "Not until this blows over."
"They're secured in confinement," Glazkov reported, "awaiting debriefing."
Balashov scoffed. "'Debriefing', he says." He crossed his arms. "They are not soldiers, nor terrorists."
"You don't think I know that?" Glazkov retorted. "But they're not safe here, we need to –"
"Where the hell would you send them, Viktor? Could?"
"That's enough from the both of you, gentlemen," Alexeyeva interrupted. She sat further back in her seat. "This is not the first time we needed to deal with something like this." Alexeyeva sipped her tea again.
Balashov nodded. "Chechnya."
Alexeyeva looked up, a thoughtful look on her face as she took sudden interest in the ceiling fan. "I was thinking Angola, actually."
Glazkov cringed. "Good God, don't remind me." He shook his head. "Between child soldiers and that Nicaraguan bastard, I never want to go back there."
Alexeyeva kept staring off into the ceiling's fan, watching it spin.
"If you want to see the children," Balashov continued, "I'll arrange for it."
"Please," Alexeyeva replied.
…
Camp Shoygu was a rushed job, and it showed. Formerly a carcass of a former NATO base of a by-gone era, many of the buildings were in a dilapidated state from a decade of neglect. Some no longer had plumbing or working electricity. Engineers were working as fast as they could but already stretched thin trying to restore local infrastructure, there was much still needed to be done.
The drive to the base's infirmary, one of the few working buildings, was a short but grueling one through the country's heat of a dying summer.
The infirmary itself was full of Russian military and civilian doctors, as well as local Urzik help. Their patients were of both soldiers and civilians, ranging from the trivial cough, to those few who survived the newer 'B' strain of Nova Six.
As they walked through the halls, Alexeyeva and her colonels noticed everyone in their unit saluting them, even those who struggled to stand. The civilian patients only showed contempt. The General couldn't blame them. Not at all.
The trio reached the back of the building, where the medical staff set up the intensive care unit.
There, they found Captain Roman Antipov, now in medical attire as he oversaw the care of a disfigured patient that survived Nova Six 'B'. He was taking notes on his clipboard when he saw the trio.
Alexeyeva looked at the patient first, who had tubes forced into their throat to ensure breathing. Hundreds of little blisters had formed across the person's face, some having burst, releasing puss. One of the eyes was missing, the hole covered by bandages.
Instantly, the General felt nauseous at the sight of such blight. The pain this person must be suffering; would they even survive the night, would they want to? She pondered for a few seconds before she pressed the thought out of her mind.
Instead, she took hold of the person's hand, trying to provide comfort. The person's grip was weak, but the look in their eye said everything.
"The only silver lining is that Nova is not contagious," Antipov randomly commented, who was still writing.
Balashov scoffed. "I'm sure that makes the victims feel a whole lot better."
"Like I said, Colonel," Antipov kept at his writing, "the only silver lining."
"We're here to see the children," Alexeyeva said, not taking her hand away from the victim.
Antipov nodded. "They're a few halls down."
Alexeyeva finally looked over her shoulder. "How are they?"
The Captain tisked. "They won't eat, nor speak." Antipov looked up from his clipboard, and shrugged. "Other than calling me every name in the book when I tried to examine them."
"Must be doing a good job then, yeah?" Glazkov joked.
Antipov scoffed. "They're all yours, General. Just go easy on them."
Alexeyeva gave one last, sympathetic, look at the victim before gently letting go. "How are they?"
Antipov slapped his pen onto his clipboard. "Shaken, to put it mildly." He led them down the hall. "They were not exposed to Nova, thank God." He handed the General a pack of hand-wipes from his pocket. "But they will have something far deeper than physical damage."
Alexeyeva grimaced at the thought as she cleaned her hands. They still felt dirty.
The good doctor led them to a room of holding cells a few halls down, where the trio saw the children behind glass and metal. Both were huddled together on the only cot in the room, eyeing their 'captors' with nothing but fear in their eyes.
The only guard posted there had no weapon, as per the General's direct order. The look of indifference, however, showed lack of sympathy.
"For God's sake," Balashov commented. "We should at least give them a better place to stay."
Glazkov scoffed. "Most of the men have little in the way of commodities, and you want to give two local children, one of whom shot and killed two of their brothers, a 'better place'?"
"Viktor." Alexeyeva looked over her shoulder.
Glazkov shook his head. "Like you said, General," he replied, crossing his arms. "It's not right for children to fight."
Alexeyeva noted the guard again. She could tell he wanted to have his say. She would not let him. "Get me whatever you can from the cafeteria, corporal," she told the man.
The man saluted and walked off. A few moments later, he returned with a tray of two glasses of water, and a plate of tuna sandwiches which were haphazardly put together.
"Thank you, corporal." She looked at the contents. It will have to do, Alexeyeva didn't say out loud as she took the tray. "Unlock the door and let them out." She then gave a firm look at her men. "Then leave. All of you."
The guard did as directed, unlocking and opening the cell door. Then, with a salute, left the room with the others in tow, leaving the General with the two children.
The children were reluctant to leave the cell, probably finding it more comforting than the open space outside.
The General frowned before trying to relax. She has to remember to keep her demeanor 'kid-friendly'. For some reason she suddenly remembered how her father, and her men, would at times call her 'Mother Winter'. She had children of her own, after all. It shouldn't be too difficult.
"I won't hurt either of you," she called out. She set the plate on the table that was in the center of the room. "At least eat something, for god's sake."
The two finally, albeit slowly, exited the cell, and sat at the other end of the table.
Alexeyeva slowly sat down across from the children before slowly leaning forward, fingers interlaced on the table. "The doctor says you children aren't eating." She slid the plate to them.
"It's poison," the boy sneered.
"It's hospital food." Alexeyeva rolled her eyes, her tone sarcastic. "Of course it is."
The children said nothing, simply staring at her.
"Well," Alexeyeva continued, shrugging. She picked up one of the sandwiches and took a bite. "I'll eat. Shame to waste."
The two said nothing as she chewed, looking away as she did.
"Just shake hands with the devil!" The boy muttered.
Alexeyeva stopped chewing before glancing at him. She smiled. "It's 'go to hell', actually," she said with her mouth full. She swallowed and took another bite. "Which is a very rude thing to say to someone who is offering you a sandwich."
"You can torture us all you want, you monster!" the boy shouted.
Alexeyeva pulled her smile wider. "Oh I have already begun," she said playfully. She waved the bitten sandwich. "It's the infamous 'Tuna Torture'."
The boy raised an eyebrow and exchanged looks with his sister.
"I saw it on TV once." Alexeyeva shrugged again. She lifted the plate, waving it in front of them. "Last chance."
The boy sniffed before slowly taking the plate and sharing the food with his sibling.
After waiting for a few moments, Alexeyeva nodded. "I can only imagine how terrified you both are." She looked at the girl, still smiling.
The girl recoiled back.
Alexeyeva was for a moment confused, but then remembered. Her face expressing sorrow. "I remember you, Farah, and I am sorry for how I treated you the other day." She extended her hand. "Perhaps we should start anew."
The girl looked away. Not in fear, Alexeyeva noticed, but perhaps in shame.
"My name's Natasha," the General added. She turned to the boy. "What about you?"
Neither child spoke, simply looking at one another, as if wondering what to do.
"Hadir," the girl muttered. "His name is Hadir."
"Sister!" the brother nearly shouted.
Alexeyeva nodded. "Well, it's very nice to meet you." She extended out her hand further.
"Please don't hurt us," Farah muttered.
Alexeyeva kept her smile as she retracted her arm. "You are both guests here, child," she spoke with the best soothing voice she could fake. She didn't want to frighten them any more than she or her men already had. "I would never do such a thing."
She waited for the children to finish before asking her questions.
When they did, the boy, Hadir, placed the plate back on the table.
The General nodded. "I can imagine what you're both going through right now." She brought back the plate closer to herself. "And I am truly sorry for the loss of your parents."
"You hate us," Hadir muttered. The fire in his eyes made Alexeyeva's heart sink with sorrow.
"Why do you say this?"
Hadir pointed at the door. "Your soldiers talk, about how they want to kill us. Calling us little terrorists."
Alexeyeva frowned. "The men are angry, and they have a right to be." She turned to the girl. "As much as you had a right to defend yourselves." She took a deep breath. "Forget them." She sat back in her chair. "Is there anyone we can contact to take you in their care? Grandparents, relatives? Friends, even?"
The children said nothing, only shaking their heads.
Alexeyeva hung her head. "No one, huh?"
"That's because you killed them!" Hadir shouted again. "We don't have a home anymore!"
Alexeyeva kept her cool, half-expecting the outburst. The child was right, after all.
Many widows, many orphans. Many childless parents, like herself.
She raised her head, and looked at the boy. The fire in his eyes will not die, and the last thing she needed was this boy to grow up and eventually retaliate.
Retaliation breeds retaliation; she saw this time and again not only since the invasion, but throughout her entire career.
The girl was a different story. The General speculated that this one did not fully grasp of what was happening. Or perhaps she did, and was good at not showing it. Either way, the girl knew what she was doing when she pulled the trigger on two of the General's men. It reminded the woman of her own first kills, in Chile in 1973, at seventeen. As sickening as it sounded, that was one thing they had in common.
They will grow up to truly fight back, if she doesn't do something now. She has her chance to break this cycle, at least with them.
These were children, after all. All alone, and no one to take care of them, simply guided by instinct and hatred.
She looked at the children, and made her decision.
