Chapter VI: The Matrow Flank

Olaf raised his arm over his head to block the dirt flying into his face as the treads of the tanks tore up the earth below him. He called out to his superior, Commander Willheim.

"Sir! We have to move these the tanks closer together! We need to make a full offensive here, and that means concentration."

"We can't do that! Guerilla forces want to have us in the best containable spot so they can fire on the mass and destroy as many as possible!" Willheim shouted back.

"No, sir! These aren't fully trained guerilla fighters. They came up as militia that were meant to die. Most of the people that are still around haven't been in a battle. If they break ranks, we can destroy them quickly!"

The commander just shook his head, and spoke something unintelligible into his radio. Olaf could hear a response, but the words were muffled by static.

"Blue forces straight ahead! Fox Division move off!"

Olaf dropped himself down into the tank and grabbed the radio, and relayed the orders to every man in his division. "Turn left, go straight from there. Pull together, concentrate."

"Reb forces spotted, forward five."

"Forward five engage." Olaf said into his radio.

He heard the shot of the cannon not too far away. He could tell that they were decelerating now, and the shooter got into aiming position. Olaf grabbed a helmet, strapped it on, and pulled himself quickly out of the hatch. He got himself into shooting position and got his hand on the trigger, eye on the sight. With his other hand, he grabbed the radio.

"Full engage."

His tank continued to move across the plains, and he could see the first enemy of the battle, moving into firing zone, carrying a rocket launcher. Olaf pulled the trigger as they flew by the enemy who was subsequently torn apart. The rocket launcher fired into the ground.

Faster than he could blink, flames were rolling across the skies. A tank just behind his own was hit, exploding in flames. He looked quickly across the battlefield, analyzing the situation, while continuing to fire. The rockets continued to shoot, from the forests just ahead of them.

"Hind four move back, forward seven to the left. Center, hold. All fire high."

The hatch of Olaf's tank moved around him, firing it's cannon into the back of the woods. The rockets were coming at a slower frequency.

"Press forward, fire straight."

Olaf held his trigger hand still, and looked into the woods carefully. He could slowly begin to see the rebel army, who were loading rockets. He continued to hold his fire.

"All stagger. Now."

His own tank kept moving straight, while the others turned in various fashion, moving apart.

"Fire straight."

Simultaneously, all of his tanks fired cannons into the woods. The edge of the forest bursted into flames, exposing the front lines of the rebel army.

"Fire at will."

Olaf began to rapidly fire his machine gun, mowing down the burning trees, then killing the people infront of him. Most enemies in the front began to flee, and we shot down. Those who didn't were also killed. Olaf looked into the forest beside him, and noticed no more enemy soldiers.

"Slow drive, fire high. Report," Olaf said into the radio, calmly. The platoon leaders called in one by one with one word, "Clear."

"Halt fire, break," The tanks finally slowed to a full stop, but kept their cannons trained on the woods, gunmen with their trigger fingers ready.

He spoke into the radio again, "Hawke division, report."

He sat there, impatient and anxious. The radios were silent for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only a minute.

"Clear."

Olaf put his head down on the edge of the tank hatch. He could hear his soldiers around him cheering. Overcome by the emotion of the moment, he pulled himself on the top of the tank, and raised his fist in victory.

------------

The fighting for today had been finished, but the battle would continue for the night. After parking their tanks in the nearest temporary base, Olaf had to continue with the rest of the officers to do report on the casualties.

It was not Olaf's first battle by any means. He had thought that, as he continued fighting, the sickening feeling of seeing death would get smaller and smaller. Smaller until it was gone completely.

As he ventured across the old battlefield, he knew that he had been responsible for their deaths. Each mistake he made in his tactics was another life. He looked over their mangled bodies, grabbing their insignia from off their uniforms. The charred remains of his subordinates were then put into body bags. Sent back home.

It was true, what he had thought. The sight of a dead man absolutely disgusted him when he first came into the war. He couldn't stand to see the gruesome scenes of soldiers being torn apart by machine gun fire, burned by the incendiaries of rockets, made unrecognizable by the bullets and shrapnel that cut their faces. Now, he looked at it and he saw it as so much less. It was just a body. A body he knew had a name on it.

These thoughts were not helped by the fact that they had once been what he considered to be the enemy. Furthermore, he knew that the same respect had not been paid to his old comrades. He knew that had he, or Vlad, or even Alec, died in the battlefield, they would be left to rot. His family never would have known. And he knew that for most of his countrymen, that would be true.

The families of those people would never know, even after this war was over, what had happened to their sons. They would always sit there, wondering if maybe they had escaped. That maybe they were okay. They would never know for sure that they had died, never able to close that chapter in their life.

Olaf noticed, as he was having these thoughts, that he had tears in his eyes. He couldn't even see the checklist of soldiers. He rubbed his eyes clean and continued on.

"Olaf, hold yourself together now." Commander Willheim said as he walked past Olaf. "Soldiers don't cry."

The words stung him, but he knew it was true. If he was to be a leader of men, he would have to let emotions like that take a back seat. He couldn't let the death and destruction get to him. This wasn't something he could back away from anymore. He had made his commitment to his people. Until he had finished what he set out to do, this would be his job. The job of war.

So he continued to walk amongst the mangled corpses, pulling off insignia and checking names off the list. It was going to be a long job tonight.

---------

After finishing the post-battle survey, Olaf went into the war room along with Willheim, and dozens of other commanders that he had never seen before. He had not been briefed on what this meeting was for, but he assumed it had something to do with a large offensive. Many of the generals were equals with Willheim, as well as some superiors.

"Okay, let's begin the meeting," The highest ranking man in the room said. His garb was entirely black except for the golden buttons, and he wore sunglasses. He sat down on the far end of the long table, and everyone else sat down as well. Willheim showed Olaf to his seat, opposite that of the general.

"The President has informed me that the people are growing weary of the war in Blue Moon. They want to see us go on the offensive in Yellow Comet. Which is why we're here," The commander took off his glasses, revealing his two dark grey eyes. "...and I understand you have the best intelligence on this guy," he looked straight across the table at Olaf, and everyone else quickly averted their eyes to him.

"The rebel troops are the remaining fragments of the old Blue Moon militia, set up by our military almost a year ago. The other fragments would be my own Blue Moon troops, which now make up the 42nd Division," Olaf took a breath, and tried to hide his nervousness. "Their leader is Vladimir Ishonakov, my former peer."

Some of the commanders clearly had not been briefed on this, and could be heard whispering to eachother. Olaf felt relieved at the chance for him to pause and collect his thought.

"Okay everyone, quiet. Olaf, what do you know about his specific abilities? Do you have any ideas as for what he's going to be going after with this rebellion, besides what we already know?"

"I know that he is an experienced writer, he was always an excellent rhetorician. I believe that he's going to use these skills to his advantage, and that's going to be to get a message of dissent out into the public eye. Recruit a larger rebellion of townspeople, train them in the same way. A second method of attack for him might be to go directly to the Orange Star people."

"That wouldn't work," one of the commanders remarked.

"I wouldn't rule it out," the general said solemnly.

"Yeah, because our people are real gullible fools," another one said in a sardonic tone.

"Yeah, they are, for listening to that dumbass at the top, listening to his justification for this war!" the commander to the left of Olaf shouted. The room exploded.

"Everyone, quiet! Are you real men or just a bunch of whining girls? We're trying to come up with a good plan of action here, and it doesn't matter how effective theirs is. What we know is what Ishonakov will want to do, and that's where we have to pay attention to," Willheim yelled above the cacophony that had filled the room.

"Is there anyone you know of with expertise in the area of radio broadcasting inside the insurgency?" the general was growing impatient with the others.

"I don't know... I think one of them might be smart enough to do it. He should still be with them,"

"Pull up a map. We have to find every radio station that they might have access to."

One of the commanders left his seat and walked to the side of the room, and rummaged through the cabinets.

"Their last offensive was at the Matrow River, still going on. When we push them back from there, we're going to stay on them."

The commander that left before came back with a map, and rolled it across the table. Everyone stood up and looked over the map, and looked intently to find the best location for the next attack.

"I can see three locations where they might be trying to go. If we make the assumption that their attacks are calculated in any way, I think this one is the best... See where the Matrow River dips down? Radio tower nestled right in there, between some mountains. They're making this offensive to draw us off their real plan which lies to the west," Olaf said. He was met with a mixed sense of both amazement and contempt from the commanders.

"Which means we have to move in and flush them out of there. Ishonakov will be there very soon, and it won't take him long to get the tower up and running. If he gets his message out, the people of Blue Moon may rise up. You might have a civil war on your hands."

The general nodded and smiled. "What we need to do is clear. We have to intercept them through two paths. On the Matrow River, they're going to attack that radio tower. What we need to do is attack their flank as they're coming in, and then move in to destroy the radio transmitter," He paused for a moment and searched over the map. "They're going to send in another group from the north," the general's demeanor changed with his last statement. He was growing to realize that this was a problem.

"That other group will try to transmit the message too. They're going to be mobile and well-protected," Olaf said, his voice unconfident and trailing at the end.

"We'll figure something out. You're all dismissed. Except Willheim. And Olaf."

All of the commanders left the room in orderly fashion, in full silence. As the last one left and shut the door, the general spoke.

"Olaf, you're going to need to perform a different mission. I can tell right now that these attacks alone won't do it. There's too much that can go wrong here. We need you to deal with Ishonakov directly."

--------

Vlad spun around in his chair, making two rotations, then pulled himself to his desk, and looked intently at a blank peice of paper.

As he stared at it, he marveled at the idea of it. At what this essay, a declaration that did not exist in the real world yet, would mean to the world. He knew that with the stroke of the pen, he would be writing history. That these words would go down in history as the basis for his country. These would be the words of Blue Moon.

He leaned back in the chair and thought about what had happened. How had he arrived, from just a year ago, writing an essay to be accepted into a university, to being the centerpeice of revolution? It was conceivable to him then that he would be a statesmen. But never had it occured to him that he very well might become the leader of the new, free world.

The ink of his pen flowed across the pages after several minutes of his contemplating the impact of this document, him drawing out the basis for the rights of his fellow men, in all countries. He wrote of the offenses that had been committed, the unjustified, criminal war that had begun this spiral of destruction, the assassination of the Czar, the murdering of Blue Moon's sons, the raping of her daughters. He wrote vigorously, with an imaginary anthem of rebellion ringing in his head, the words on the paper dancing to the rhythms.

Before long, he had written nearly twenty pages, outlining the justifications for his war, the means by which they would pursue the creation of the Blue Moon nation, and the ends for which this new state would serve.

The conclusion of his work was almost complete, before he was interrupted by a rapping on his door. He finished his sentence, and set the pen down.

"What is it?" he asked the silence that followed the vigorous pounding.

His room sat still, and he waited, his eyes still intently focused on the door. The sudden silence was perplexing, haunting him. As the confusion over this event overtook the revolutionary rigor that his mind had been filled with only seconds before, he felt a sense of horror coming on to him. It was undefinable. The room, which had once seemed so bright and hopeful, was now dim and dread set in. He glanced away from the door to the gun which lay on the desk, next to his pen. He looked back at the door again, now paralyzed by the paranoia.

Another knock hit the door, and Vlad, without thought, grabbed the gun and pointed it straight at the door. He reached his hand onto the back and cocked it, training it on the heart of the invisible person who stood on the other side of the doorway.

It opened slowly, and a girl appeared across the room, her face freightened. The door, as if pulled by God himself, swung all the way open, revealing her completely.

Vlad kept his gun trained on her, aimed straight into her heart. She stared down the barrel of the gun, and said, in a pristine and quiet voice, "I came to get the laundry."

Vlad lowered the gun to his side. "It's over there," He pointed towards the hamper.

The girl walked over to the hamper and picked it up. Vlad noticed, as she walked, he beauty. Her long, black hair, fair skin. And he had pointed a gun at her. He mentally scolded himself for his foolish paranoia, and spoke to her.

"Sorry I scared you like that," he said, in his most sincere and polite voice.

The girl nodded and headed out the door. She looked back at him, and asked, "You're Vladimir Ishonakov?"

"Yes."

She smiled. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, sir," with this, she continued to walk out, but was stopped.

"And you are?"

"St... Alice," she said quickly, and walked out.

Vlad was puzzled by the way she said it, and even more so by the name itself. He didn't think too much on it at the time, and instead made an assumption. "Must be a northerner," he muttered to himself.

He set the gun down on the table, and spun his chair back into place, picking up the pen. He closed his eyes and waited for the anthem to stream into his head once more. In a few strokes, it was finished.

--------

In the morning, Vlad awoke refreshed and ready to begin the next stage of his war plan. He had started the skirmishes, the troops were all in position. It was time for him to make the next move, the move into the greater conflict.

He had made plans, for the past few months, to make bomb small targets, to make coordinated attacks on the Orange Star army. This was a neccessary step, in that it gave his commanders a chance to pratice. He had chosen them all of their potential to be great leaders, but he knew the truth: they were not trained to be generals.

Not yet anyway. As they began to learn more about strategy and tactics, they became more and more successful. It seemed, except for rare occassions, that the Orange Star army couldn't adapt. His army was doing it every day, and that was their source of victory.

But he knew that he couldn't keep this up forever. In order to win a conflict, not just forestall Orange Star's absolute victory, his army would need to become a true army. Right now it was a militia group using terrorist tactics to surprise the enemy. He would need to use what he had now to go into head-on battles with Orange Star. To develop his own weapons on par with theirs, to rebuild the country of Blue Moon as a capable nation, a nation to rival that of Orange Star. Only when they were fighting on the same level as Orange Star would they be treated as a country, rather than an insurgency group.

And that was what this plan would do. To send a message to everyone that Blue Moon had declared independence, to declare that he was the President of this new nation. To gain legitimacy in the eyes of the people who were important: the people, of both countries. Which the people's recognition of him as a leader of men, the political power would be forced to recognize him as well. And soon as that happened, he would have everything needed to drive the invaders out of his country.

He danced across his room to the anthem of Blue Moon again, stroking his hand across the desk, and ending it at the edge. With a whisk of his arm, he picked up the bottle on his table, and twisted it open.

His energy somewhat disipated now, he sat in his chair, and looked down at his leg. He ran his finger along the scar on his knee. At first, he felt nothing, then ran his finger through it again, with greater pressure. He still felt nothing. Finally, he pointed his nail in such a way that it sliced against the skin on his leg, and felt the searing pain. His leg thrashed about in reaction, but he steadied it. His body shook with a mixture of fear and pain, and he twisted the bottle cap, releasing the pills into his hand.

The pills would solve the problem. He wouldn't feel pain anymore, not with the pills. He looked down at his palm, and stared at the little white capsules. He traces his eyes across the small divider. He was supposed to cut them in half and take one half a pill. But, just like the pills his mother used to give him, they wouldn't do anything at all.

He shook the bottle again, and shook two more pills into his hand, making for a total of four. He looked again at them, and smiled. Tilting his head back, he popped them straight into his mouth, and swallowed. The bad taste of the residue came off on his tounge, and he shook his head in repulsion. But as they trailed down his esophogus, he felt better. The pain in his leg disappeared. His mind became clear. He pulled open the curtains, and he looked into the sky. The sun, with a great smile on it's face, rose into view, and the clouds that had defined the previous night sky rolled away.

This surreal representation of reality vanished in an instant as he again heard someone knocking on his door. He immediately turned around, stood upright, and turned the knob to see Alice again.

"I brought your clothes back, Vladimir," she said with a smile on her face.

Vlad eyed her wearily. Alice again? One girl had come to his door twice in a row. He figured that it had been ordered, somewhere along the line, that there would be certain security precautions taken.

But, his suspicion of Alice faded into anger at whoever was organizing these things. It was stupid, how the security of a man that was going to change history in a few days, had such horrible security.

"Thank you," He finally said after a few minutes of just staring at her. "Wait here, I have a job for you."

Alice stood still at the doorway as Vlad loped back to his desk, and wrote a small note on a peice of paper. He folded it several times and handed it to her.

"Don't read it, just deliver it to the main office. It's upstairs."

Alice took the note and walked out the door, closing it behind her. Ignoring the orders given to her by Vlad, she unfolded the note very delicately and read.

"This girl has been here twice in a row. Why aren't you alternating? And how long haven't you been doing it? After we execute the plan, we're burning this."

Alice refolded it after reading and thought to herself what this meant. She knew what the plan meant, that was obvious. But did this mean that he suspected her? Or did it mean that he was just noticing the security flaw and making sure that he was in no danger?

But, as she walked down the hallways, she made no sign of any concern on her face. As military men and nurses alike marched about through the halls, suspecting everyone, she made well sure that she appeared as the rest of them did.

After making several flexures, she arrived at the other office. the windows were smashed out, matching nicely with the derelict appearance of the entire building. She made a knock on the largest triangle of broken glass, and accidently broke that peice off with her fist.

The head of security rolled his eyes and opened the door.

"What do you want?" He half-yelled at her, his impatience with people clearly showing.

"Mr. Ishonakov told me to give this to you." She passed him the folded note, and walked away. She could hear him making absurdly audible mumbling sounds, something along the line of, "stupid bitch", but she did not let this get to her. She just kept walking down the hall and wondering what was going to happen next.

Two possibilities: She was either compromised, or uncompromised. The Orange Star military had not briefed her very well on this mission, it was such a spur of the moment, mercurial operation that they had not had enough time to tell her what to do in a situation like this.

If she was compromised, what should she do? Her first instinct was to contact her commanders, but would that be the best idea?

No. She hadn't been compromised. Not yet, anyway. The rebels might suspect something, but she hadn't given anything away. If she played her cards right, if she made them believe that she was nothing more than a foolish, naive servant girl, they would not know about her mission.

Still, the idea that they might be onto her made her panic. She needed to contact someone, someone to make sure that this wouldn't end badly. She could make a contact in secret, and this would be the ideal time. Afterall, she had found out that Ishonakov had a room. An unchanging room.

She pulled into one of the many uninhabited rooms within the complex, and turned on her small radio. She turned down the volume so that her static could not be heard outside.

"This is Alice. Requesting WK. Over."

She waited a few moments, listening intently to the faint noise on her radio.

"WK in. Go. Over." she heard the voice of her commander once again. His voice comforted her amidst the great peril of her operation.

"RQ is in 5A. No switches have been seen. SD Two. Over."

"Security sitch? Over."

"Suspect but not compromised. Over."

Alice listened to him breathing heavily on the other line. She waited for him to respond to this plea.

"Fifteen hours. Over."

-----

Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Vlad realized what a joke his current crew of people was. His security minister couldn't be relied on for anything. All of his work had amounted to nothing. It was, yet again, only when he took matters into his own hands that things were accomplished. He would have to micromanage the entire war.

He had listened in on Alice's conversation with whoever it was she was working for. Not only had his security minister failed to protect his position, but he had failed to pursue the the problem afterwards.

Vlad knew he couldn't focus much of his attentions on the incompetence of the men around him. He had to focus on the matter ahead of him. There was an assassination plot on his hands, and he would need to solve it quickly.

The door flew open straight into his face as he was contemplating his plan of action. He fell backwards, his mind moving slow from the sudden shock.

"Stop her!" he shouted as he saw Alice running down the hall from the corner of his eye.

Two guards caught both of her arms as she was running, almost seeming to tear her apart. The force of this blockage sent her backwards onto the floor. Vlad, with his head recovering from the blow, stood up and walked over to her.

"What is your name?" he asked her, standing over her head menacingly.

Her throat held the truth from escaping her mouth, and she spoke. "Alice."

Vlad rolled his eyes, and then kicked her in the head. Her body spasmed in pain.

"Tell the truth."

This time her mouth was shut. She wasn't going to give anymore useful information here. She was ready to die now. No smart person, believing in their mission, would give information if they anticipated their death.

But this wasn't going to stop Vlad. He wouldn't kill her. He needed to know everything about this attempt on his life. So he just stood there, and waited. He looked at the top of her head, and could see a small pool of blood collecting on the floor.

"Alice," he said in a more comforting voice, but still firm and loud. She had no reaction.

"Is she dead?" one of the guards asked.

"No, just unconscious. Get her up, get a nurse to tend to her wound. We won't let this one get away."

The guards carried her out of the hallway and into a new room, a nearby nurse following. Once they had left, they revealed the security minister, who stood there, with a sense of shock on his face.

"Were you pursuing her?" Vlad asked.

The security minsiter nodded.

"And you failed to do it before she compromised our position," Vlad said coldly. "Ladies and gentleman!" He yelled across the entire complex in an exaggerated optimistic tone. "See the price of incompetence!"

The security minsiter did nothing. Vlad pulled his pistol out very quickly and shot him in the head. Bone fragments and brains fell over the person standing behind him, and he fell straight to the floor.

Vlad pocketed his pistol and walked over the corpse nonchalantly, and said, without stopping, "Someone better clean that up before noon."

-------

Alice awoke in a small white bed, with a thin blue sheet covering her. Her body ached all over, her arms felt as if they had been detatched from the rest of her body, and her head throbbed with pain as she came into full awareness. She tried to move her arm to feel her head, but she didn't have the strength to do it.

She was immobile. Useless. And her enemy knew it. They were going to keep her alive until she told them what they wanted to know. She predicted that within any moment, someone would come into the room to interrogate her.

But it wouldn't work. She had been interrogated before. She knew what to expect, and figured that it would be just as easy to get out of as it was before.

Then again, she hadn't done it alone. She got lucky.

"Awake yet?" A menacing voice called from behind her. She tried to turn her head, but was assaulted by a small collar around her neck. The metal scraped a layer skin straight off her, she cried out in pain.

"What is your name?"

"Alice."

She waited a few moments to find out what would be done to her. Suddenly, a jolt of ightning went through her body, her mind broken and distorted from it. She tried to regain her full mind, but he asked too quickly.

"Who is WK?" The voice shouted at her.

She shook her head, and the shock went through her again.

"Who is RQ?"

Alice used whatever energy was left in her body to push herself out of the bed's grasp, but the collar held her back again, choking her as she tried to escape. This was immediately followed by another shock.

"What is your name?" the voice asked again.

After saying nothing, Alice couldn't breathe. She tried to gasp , but the air wouldn't come into her.

"Who is WK?"

The room became darker. The words the voice spoke were flying away from her, she tried to grasp what he was saying, but she couldn't.

A click was heard and the oxygen came flowing back into her. She regained consciousness, but hadn't full recovered from her suffocation.

"Who is RQ?"

"Ish... ish..."

"Ishonakov." the voice answered.

Alice could only nod to him.

"What is your mission?"

She shook her head again, and was punished with another shock.

"What is it?"

This time, the voice was more patient. As she recovered her mind, she felt no punishments for at least a minute.

"To kill him. Ishonakov," she said finally. Her will to fight had been diminished. She didn't have the energy to evade him any longer.

The source of the voice stepped into her view finally, revealing Vladimir Ishonakov himself. She stared into his eyes, and saw the black fires burning in his dark eyes. The highlight of white in his eyes was a window into his soul, and it seemed broken. Distorted. Alice knew she was looking into the eyes of a madman.

"Who do you fight for?"

Alice kept looking into him, ignoring the question. He stepped forward, moving behind her again, but she stopped him before he could make another action.

"I fight for Blue Moon."

He stepped back infront of her, and looked over her indifferenly for a few seconds, then asked his next question.

"Who is WK?"

"Olaf Thorsen."

--------

"You know what I have to do, commander. I need the equipment to do it. We have Ishonakov in the right position, I know it."

Willheim shook his head. "We don't have the time, Olaf. We need to move artillery into the right position and take him out, that's it."

"Orange Star still has a spy in there, commander. We have to save her," Olaf protested.

"Wake up, soldier! I heard the radio transmission. Alice was compromised. She hasn't made contact for three days now," Willheim shouted.

"I can't let her die."

Willheim put his hand on Olaf's shoulder, and brought him aside. He lowered his voice. "She is dead, Olaf. Accept it. We can't let this get in the way of the mission."

Olaf swung his arm violently to detatch Willheim from him. But Willheim was stronger than he was, and his stubborn arm would not move. Olaf was put in his place. He was a child to these people, nothing more.

"It's unfortunate, Olaf, but we have a clear shot here. Vlad is in the exact position we need him in. We're taking him out and that's that."

Willheim removed his hand from Olaf's shoulder and started towards the door.

"Just stay here and wait for the general to give you your next orders," he left Olaf alone in the office, and closed the door shut.

Olaf couldn't accept what he had said though. He wouldn't let her die. He had made a pledge when she started the mission to protect her life, whatever the costs to his own well-being. He would do something. Something to save her.

He looked out the window, thinking about what he could do. He had no permission to grab any vehicles to get in there intime. He had no permission to do anything, period. Stuck here, until he recieved orders.

But Olaf was not the man to take orders. He didn't accept that this was how it was going to be. If he was to serve Orange Star, maybe his loyalty to their cause might be more important than her life. But he had pledged not to protect and serve Orange Star. He had made his pledge, from the very beginning, to fight for his country. To fight for Blue Moon. Even if it would no longer exist as a state, his nation still lived on in the hearts of millions of people. He wouldn't, couldn't turn his back on his native land.

There was a temporary airfield nearby, and Olaf suddenly had a plan. He had orders not to go after Ishonakov personally, but that was the army. The airforce had given him no such orders. With these past few months of observation, Olaf knew one thing: Orange Star military was fractured. The commanders had contact with the other branches, but they had seperate hierarchies. An order from one branch would not neccessarily hold in another.

The plan was set into action within a few moments of Olaf thinking about it. He would have to get a helicopter, and drop himself into their territory. It was extremely risky. He knew that they would have their weapons of all sorts. They would be able to shoot him out of the sky very easily. But he knew one important fact: they wouldn't have time, because they were facing another threat.

He quickly picked up the pen on Willheim's desk and wrote a note, imitating the commander's handwriting, a note that ordered a transport copter be given to Olaf. It was a grave risk he was taking, forging his superior's signature, but this mission meant more to him than that.

Olaf tore the note off of the rest of the paper and ran as fast as he could through the base. The artillery bombardment would begin in two hours. It would take him at least an hour to arrive in the complex, and at least another to find Vlad.

His mad dash out of the base was stopped abruptly by a hand reaching out and slamming into his nose. Olaf reeled from the sudden assault, and he stopped to find out who it was.

Reidar was standing beside him, with a small troop of soldiers near him. Five of them.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?"

Olaf shook his head. "No time to explain. Just follow me."

Reidar gave a nod to his soldiers, and they nodded immediately after. All seven of them continued to run out of the base, and out into the dirt road. This road ended with a wide dirt clearing where fifteen helicopters stood above them.

"We need heavy equipment. Rocket Launchers, Miniguns," Olaf said, not averting his gaze on the banana shaped copter.

The five soldiers went back into the base to get their equipment from the armory. Reidar stayed with Olaf, and inquired into the details of the mission.

"What kind of mission is this?"

"Assassination. We're going to take out Vlad," Olaf said, a tinge of sadness in his words.

"The artillery is supposed to do that."

"I don't care."

Reidar kicked the dirt at his feet.

"Going against command is grounds for discharge."

"In this case," Olaf paused for a moment, trying to to maintain a normal inflection. "Going with the command will cause death."

"It's a war, Olaf. Of course there's death."

Olaf shoved his foot into the earth, mimicing Reidar. "But it's worth stopping more than is neccessary, Reidar. We don't have to kill all those people," he turned to Reidar, and lifted his hand, with his index finger erect. "Just one."

------

Vlad had realized in due time that Alice had triggered something. Sentries had spotted artillery, and it seemed that there was going to be a battle for the base within a few minutes. Everyone in the base was frantically running around, transporting the wounded soldiers into the basements, well soldiers grabbing guns and preparing for a fight.

It didn't matter, really. The base was fortified better than those fools at Orange Star would have predicted. Below them was ten yards of solid concrete, supported by premium alloy steel beams. Their pathetic artillery might blow up the flimsy above ground portions, but Vlad knew he would survive.

They knew nothing about this land. The czars, prior to being captured by SIB Agents, had built huge underground tunnels. Blue Moon had been ingenious in it's defensive planning, it was simply too slow.

But Vlad wasn't. He was very quick to realize that these underground bunkers had been prepared, and equally quick to realize that he would have to use them. During every reconnaissance mission, they turned up no signs that Orange Star even knew about the place.

And, below that bunker, he would make another example of the people who decided to be traitors to his cause. Alice, that stupid little girl, would pay for what she had done. Not simply as retribution, but to set an example. The revolutionaries certainly thought that everything was about freedom. Few of them, especially those that weren't in the militia, knew the type of violence and oppression they were up against. It was Vlad's duty, as the Commander in-Chief, to show them his authority.

Which was why he had to publicly execute Alice. He knew she meant barely anything to his plans. All this meant was that a useless base was going to be blown up, and still had miles of underground networking, and miles more would be built over the next few years. But this was his chance to force the revolution under his authority. To become the absolute commander. After this display, none would question his rule.

Alice's bed was wheeled down the ramps, and Vlad made sure to follow her. It was perfectly possible, given that this girl was not an Orange Star trained operative, that there were more turncoats in the base. They would be purged later, but they might try to save her from the responsibility of her treasonous crimes.

"Sir! Sir!" a young man's voice was coming from up the stairs.

Vlad flipped around and looked at the soldier, who had his hand pointing straight up.

"What--" Vlad's question was cut off by a faint whistle. The entire building shook, and lights began to flicker. Vlad didn't need to be told. There was a second attack by the air, and Vlad had no time to prepare for it.

"Everyone get down into the bunkers! Haste, damnit!"

He thought frantically about the positions of all of his soldiers, which he had memorized by heart. He knew exactly where each and every man was, and he tried to think of some kind of plan that would prevent the attack from defeating him. None of the chess peices were in the right place. This aerial attack, it seemed, had put him in check.

People continued to rush down the stairs, but he stopped himself and grabbed Alice from her bed, tearing her off whatever oxygen supplies they had given her. This was going to be a showdown, and he had a feeling that he knew who was coming.

Vlad signaled to the soldier at the top of the stairs, the one who had signaled the attack. He pulled him close.

"I need you to hold the fort. Return fire. Get anyone else you can to hold them at bay," the soldier nodded and ran back up the stairs.

Vlad moved his hand along Alice's back and propped up her head as he carried her down the flight of stairs. The crowd of surrounding people blurred into a multicolored stream, and his awareness was only of himself and Alice.

If only the girl had not been such a traitor. She was beautiful, and it would be a pity when he had to seperate that pretty face from her angelic body.

------

Olaf's helicopter circled around the large cement complex, soldiers firing their rockets into the windows. Only a few minutes after their bombardment began, the enemy began firing back. This was not an organized effort, however, and seemed put together completely on the fly. Vlad had not prepared for the aerial attack.

"We have to land. Now. This is going to be an inside operation.," Olaf shouted above the vociferous growl of the helicopter.

The soldiers, knowing what this meant, immediately began firing rockets directly at the soldiers which assaulted them. The pilot slowly dived in, landing beeline to the large "H" painted on the zenith of the building.

Immediately upon landing, the soldiers jumped out, including the pilot. Everyone was armed and ready. Olaf seemed the least prepared, wearing only light armor and carrying a pistol.

Olaf brought his arm around Reidar's head to make sure that they could speak without being heard by any spies.

"You take point, distract them. I'm going alone. Get to Vlad if you can, but I'm going to save her. Go," He released Reidar from his grip, and both nodded to eachother, and entered the building through the top hatch.

Immediately as they entered, gunfire filled Olaf's senses. Bodies hit the floor as the force of eight men collided with the rebel defenses. None of his men were lost, and he took great thankfulness that all of the casualties thus far had been at his enemy's expense.

A narrow corridor split at two points. Olaf could see that one had quite a bit of light, and ran down to teh dark one as the others ran into the lighted hallways. They would be moving towards the soldiers, he knew. This place was being evacuated, and the soldiers had no time to go through the obvious route, which would be the utility system.

The hallways became increasingly dark as he continued throughout the twisting corridor, eventually pipes coming down lower and lower until the entire place was filled with wiring and exposed pipeline. The sound of the water flowing through the pipes created an eerie presense in the room, enhancing his paranoia. A light on top of him went out, and he flipped around, aiming his gun behind him. There was nothing that he could see, so he flipped immediately forward, not about to get caught off guard by anyone hunting him.

Twisting passages eventually gave way to a steep drop, indeed, it was vertical. Olaf could not see in this darkness, the depth of this abyss, but he could hear the echoes beneath of people talking. He could hear faintly the sounds of feminine inflection. This had to be the way, there were civilians below.

He brought his pistol back to his belt, and prepared himself for a climb down. Cautiously bringing his foot down into the pit, he felt around for a pipe where he could support his weight. Everything seemed to be too slippery, but he eventually decided on his foothold. He slowly descended into the blackness, the already dark ceiling fading into invisibility behind him.

Condensation from the cold water running through the pipes and the warm surrounding air produced sweat, and Olaf's boots began to slip. His hands could perfectly grip the moistened pipes, but he found himself increasingly unable to trust that his next step would be held. It was too late to come up from here, and it was likely that he would fall soon. He simply hoped that he was not far from the floor.

On that train of thought, he decided that it would be best to drop himself. If he slipped from the wet pipes, he would probably fall backwards and hit his head on the back of the vertical tunnel. If he needed anything in this mission, it was a clear head. His physical abilities were more expendable than his mind.

Pivoting his body to the right, he reached out his leg to the other side of the pit, forming a triangle with his legs and an invisible line running the diagonal of the squared walls. Pointing his arms in a straight line upwards, he snapped his legs together and fell straight to the bottom.

A jolt came up at him from the floor, paralyzing his legs with intense pain. As he hit the floor, he made sure to bend them so that he could better absorb the impact. To his luck, the fall had not been for longer than a second, and the pain was only transient. No permanent damage had been done as far as he could tell.

Low ceiling marked this passage, but there was light. Through the grates he could see the scene of hundreds of people gathered in the underground bunkers. This is where Willheim had made a fatal mistake.

The type of munitions that were being used to bombard this place would never be able to penetrate this depth. Vlad had thought one step ahead of them, and created a security backup. The mission that Willheim had planned had failed.

But this analysis of the military situation was superceded in Olaf's mind by the impending danger of being seen. If he walked into the hall lined with grates, he would be seen, and the sound of him moving through would be reverberated throughout the vastness below him.

Gunshots were heard, almost as if on que by his mind, and the crowd turned towards the direction of the ensuing battle. Luckily for Olaf, this was in the opposite direction. He ducked his head down and arched his back slightly, sidling through the ventway.

He was almost across the entire grated area when he heard Vlad speaking below him. The gunshots had paused, and Vlad seemed ever confident that it was he who had victory. Olaf prayed that this was not the case, and slipped out of sight once again.

"Fighters for the resistance, I ask of all of you to stay confident in our endeavors. As these Orange Star dogs continue to attack and pursue us, they do so only in vein! For it is through the will of the Blue Moon people that we have our nation still, and it is with their will that we will expel these invaders which have plundered our lands!

"But, as much as we fight for our right to be free, there are others who fight to oppress us. Some, such as Orange Star, wish to do this rather directly. Others, like Yellow Comet, may wish to exploit us! But it takes a special kind of filth to come into our lives and destroy us through other means. It takes a special kind of degenerated person to betray the cause of their bretheren, to defy the will of her brothers and sisters!

"And despite the fact that we may find such an act of treason to be so far away from our own revolutionary causes, there are those who seem loyal not to their nation, but to the worst of all nations which is not their own. I speak of course, of the nation of Orange Star! And I speak of course, of this girl, who sits tied in this chair, on display for all to see her traitorous face!

"This girl, who calls herself, "Alice" may look to be sweet and innocent, but she has single-handedly perpetrated the worst crime imaginable: to betray her own people, to bring the death and destruction which looms outside this very room!"

Vlad stepped to the other side of Alice, and stared at her, with a look of dissappointment and disgust on his face.

"She has given away our position to the enemy. She has betrayed the trust of me and everyone else in this room through her actions. None I have seen is worse than this. None."

The two soldiers standing nearby untied Alice from her chair, and lifted her onto a nearby table, where her hands were again tied behind her back.

"I will give a chance now, for anyone in the audience to reveal themselves. A chance for anyone to come out and say that they have strayed from us. Those who come out right now will not be punished. Those who accept their guilt and do us no more harm will be forgiven. Come now, all spies, sympathizers, what have you. I will not judge those who do not pretend."

Several people in the audience raised their hands, and the crowd moved around them, as if they had suddenly become drops of oil in the water.

"Thank you. Please step to the side," Vlad ordered, and they all went to the left of Alice's table.

"Any more?"

------

Olaf crawled as fast as he could through the vents, his large frame disrupting his movement. The passage narrowed into another grate, He kicked it open and pushed himself into the next room.

He was only recovering from that fall when a door in that room opened, a soldier came in with a rifle. Olaf was quick to dispatch him, shooting him straight in the arm, disarming the rifle, and then running past the soldier, swinging his left arm to knock his opponent to the floor.

Blazing past the door and shooting rapidly, Olaf took out two more soldiers who came to defend against him. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins, and his senses were heightened. Unlike any time before in his life, his shots were hitting exactly where he needed them to.

Words flew through the air after the last body fell to the cold ground. He could barely tell what was being said, and after the sound of Vlad's voice stopped, he mouthed out the statement, the words coming out of his own mouth backwards. It felt as if the moment was stretching on for minutes, but it was only a fraction of a second before the words clicked.

Off with her head.

Olaf made a swift kick at the door infront of him and fired a shot without thinking. His subconscious had guided his gun to aim precisely at the point he needed. The executioner, who held a red axe above his head, was sent falling backwards.

Stasia layed on the table infront of the executioner, and the axe fell straight down onto her. It's silvery blade went straight into her, and all Olaf could see was that she was staring into the ceiling.

As more gunshots rained down on the crowd, the civilians fled in panic, stampeding through the doorways. Soon the only one left was Vlad, standing in the middle of a vast room, alone.

Olaf took a step forward, prompting Vlad to run to the back of the room. Olaf continued in pursuit, just as he saw Vlad pressing buttons on a huge machine in the background.

"You won't stop me, Olaf! You won't!" Vlad feverishly slammed his fingers against the various buttons, but his time has come. A single .22 bullet peirced his chest, and he fell beside the wall.

The motion of events sped up as Vlad's mangled figure molded to the black tiles which lined the ground. Olaf ran over to Vlad, past Stasia's table, and grabbed him in his arms.

"Olaf..." Vlad said, staring with child-like eyes into Olaf's own.

"Vlad... don't... don't worry. It's okay," Olaf said, holding his military coat to Vlad's chest wound.

"Olaf... don't let it die," Vlad said, tears accumulating in his eyes. His lips trembled as he hummed a tune. "Blue Moon... it will live... finish it. We won't... die..."

Olaf clutched Vlad's hand in his own, and his eyes blurred from the tears. "I won't Vlad. You won't die in vain. Blue Moon will live on. They won't forget you."

"Alek... him too?"

"Yes. Him too," Olaf took from his pocket a small knife. "Don't worry Vlad. You'll be out of pain soon. Just close your eyes," the knife went straight into Vlad's heart, and his eyes rolled back into his head. But with that, they closed, and soon his breathe faded from sudden bursts to a smooth, light wind until there was no more.

Olaf stood up, dragging his knife out of Vlad's corpse. He looked at his eyes once more, and said his final goodbye, silently mourning the loss of his own humanity as well as the demise of his old childhood friend. He turned away, and saw before him an angel. The white aura radiated from her, and Olaf looked into her eyes. Stasia.

He stepped forward into her arms, and she embraced him, bringing him down to the floor. His tears rolled down her white clothes, and she held his head at her breast.

"Did I do the right thing?" Olaf's words came out muffled.

Stasia made a simple hush and kissed his head. "You did what you had to do, Olaf," she said in a gentle voice. "For Blue Moon."