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The following is a work of fanfiction: there is no intent of this author to violate, transgress, profit from or infringe upon the Copyright and Intellectual Property (IP) rights of the parent Copyright or IP holders of characters, events or locations belonging to the same which may be contained within this work. To reiterate; this is a Derivative Work meant to be used under Fair Use as described in 17 U.S.C. § 101 and § 107.
All language is either through Google Translate, or the site 'Bits'n'Bob-stones'
The Sons of Efrafa
.
Okay, my uniform kilt and tunic are in order, my duffle bag is checked, my DTY bag is in hand, got my three year orders for League of Nations Forces (LoNF) Base Incirlik, Anatolia; what am I forgetting? *Hracka, LETTER HOME! Where, where, where; there, Postcards… Dallas Cowgirls lineup no, Victory at the Alamo mural no, Aha! Republic of Texas Jim Bowie Memorial International Zeppelin Airdrome, perfect!
'Marli-fa got orders to LoNF Military Police unit in southern Anatolia.
Tell Constantin-fa I'll visit your home town in Edirne while I'm there. I'm
glad Amelia-roo got the university scholarship; she deserves all the best.
Give my love to the Hrair-roo.
Love, Jacob.'
Okay, now for postage…what the hell's the rate from the Republic of Texas to Polis Zootopia?!
"Attention all DELAG passengers, Flight LZ-282 service to Andalusia, Aragon and Anatolia now boarding priority service at Dock 7: again, that is Flight LZ-282 service to Andalusia, Aragon and Anatolia now boarding priority service at Dock 7. Please present your tickets at the gate. Thank you."
Four stamps should do it, gotta go!
"Come on Rabbit, we're gonna miss the flight!"
"That's Raibert you Corsacan mongrel, I'm coming!"
Eight months of training leading up to this Crixa; here we go!
Chapter three
The high-altitude zeppelin trip to Anatolia took nearly a week. While the Atlantic crossing from the RoT only took 24 hours riding the North Subtropical jet stream, the half-dozen layovers in southern Europa dragged the trip out. The long trip afforded Jacob the opportunity to get used to the subcutaneous ID chip in his left wrist, as well as to meet some of the other recruits on their way to various LoNF bases. Two stood out among the mammals Jacob met. Fivel Mousekewitz was from Fort Courage in the Ali Sonak district of the Navajo Territory. He was an enlisted aviator also assigned to Incirlik with the 140th Rodent Air-Trooper (RAT) Attack Squadron. While in Andalusia they picked up Boyan Hippelov, a Bullgarian red deer coming from the San Gregorio Combat Engineering school in Zaragoza. He was assigned to the Red Horse Battalion, also in Incirlik. They all agreed to meet up at the Enlisted Club on base once they settled in.
Upon arrival at the military Airdrome in Adana, Jacob's on-post sponsor greeted him; she was a slight Persian King Fox vixen that his in-processing packet named Private First Class (PFC) Tarsa Shahrubah. "Private (Pvt.) Raibert?" she inquired.
Jacob couldn't help but think the Class B service blue kilt and her small stature made her look more like a Reman Catholic schoolgirl than a veteran Military Police (MP) mammal, though he had the good sense not to say as much. "That's correct ma'am; Pvt. Jacob Emanuel Raibert, 56th MP Battalion F Troop Det. 7 reporting for duty; you may call me Emanuel." While most of that was said with full military decorum, he said the last with an easy smile and a friendly manual paw shake.
Tarsa was pleasantly surprised by the comfortable greeting. "I thought you were from Zootopia; everyone I've met from there comes across as an entitled prick who'd spit on me as soon as look at me."
"You're not wrong about Zootopains ma'am, but I'm not from there. I'm from Foxborough Parish." Jacob said with a slight huff.
"Did you mean Zootopians?"
"I said what I meant and meant what I said."
"Oh. How close is Foxborough to Zootopia?" Tarsa's curiosity was peaked.
"Physically, as close as I am to you; culturally as far as Germania is from Catalonia."
"Really? And how close do you think you are to me?" she asked with a coy smile.
"I suppose that depends on if you're in my chain of command or not." Jacob replied with a sidelong glance.
She threw her head back laughing. "I think you and I will get along fine. Come on, I'll show you around the post."
…
They spent the day touring and becoming familiar with the sizeable base; from the Airdrome to the parade ground, where Jacob would need to be the next day for morning colors and physical training, to his battalion headquarters where he would begin in-processing, including having his chip registered in the post database, then to base housing and visitors quarters where he would be staying until his billet was ready.
"Are those… stacked freight cars?" Jacob asked incredulously.
"Oh yes; the Red Horse unit gets them very cheaply, and then welds them together like you see. They have electricity, running water, even cable for TV and internet. About half the buildings on base are like this." Tarsa replied matter-of-factly.
"I don't know whether to be impressed with the ingenuity, or shocked at just how cheap our organization really is."
Next was the chow hall, the post exchange, and on to medical and finance for more in-processing. Finally, it was back to the parade ground for evening colors. Once the official work day was concluded, there was only one place left to visit: the Enlisted Club (E-Club).
As they entered the establishment, Jacob found his two traveling companions. "Boyan, Fivel! This is Tarsa; she's been rookie-sitting me today. Tarsa, these are Boyan Hippelov and Fivel Mousekewitz; we met on the zeppelin ride here."
The diminutive aviator was the first to speak up. "Emanuel, my mammal! How ya doin? This is Flight Specialist (Spc/F) Teresa Brisby; she's my minder and my flight lead." Fivel said this while gesturing to a tan and cream field mouse with the upright bearing that seemed the birthright of all well-bred Britton's.
Boyan smiled and nodded. "Dobre se sreshtnakh (Well met), little Emanuel! And to you, Tariska. This is being my guide…"
"Superior!" The bull moose sitting next to him barked while sneering at his combined drinking partners; he seemed to spare especial disdain for the slight fox. "SPC Horace Oswald Hornblower the Third."
"Jack Raibert." Was Jacobs clipped response, earning curious glances from the three mammals he knew.
After ordering a round for the table, the six began to talk about their new home.
"So, I saw some of your handiwork earlier today, and I had an epiphany!" Jacob said while pointing at Horace with a pretzel stick, "Now hear me out; our clothes are military surplus, we survive by eating government subsidized meals, and we live in a shanty town made from converted freight containers… we're hobo's!" This comment resulted in a spray of beer covering the table and Fivel falling out of his chair laughing while Horace settled into a sullen glare.
Cocking his head to one side, Boyan asked, "What is Hobo?"
"I'll let Hornblower explain that one." Jacob responded while Fivel hauled himself back into his seat. "Hornblower, Hornblower… you any relation to the Zootopian Hornblowers'?" Jacob asked while squinting.
Horace began puffing himself up. "Indeed, my father owns the Bull-Horn Telecommunications group."
"Yeah that's right! You were all over the news about three years ago; stole one of your dad's cars and drove through a liquor store to get some beer."
At this Horace snorted and stormed off. No one made an effort to stop him, though there was an uncomfortable silence in his wake.
After a moment Fivel inquired, "So, what was the problem? I mean, the Navajo Territory has plenty of drive-thru liquor stores."
Jacob returned to his drink. "Zootopia doesn't have any."
…
Jacob completed his in processing by the end of the week; it was time to join F-Troop. This unit was not stationed on the base, it turned out, but rather it shared space with the Anadolu Eyalet Polisi (AEP) Barracks which abutted the main gate. This was also where he was to be billeted.
This fifteen-thousand square-foot, four-story granite blockhouse served as the primary checkpoint for base access by Anatolian nationals, as well as issuing security badges and was the local station house for the AEP in the Incirlik district of Adana. Jacob now understood why the military linguistics specialists had shown interest in his command of Anatolian and Peloponnesian languages.
Coming through the base side entrance, it was like any other LoNF work center, neat and orderly rows of drab beige cubicles. It was here Tarsa handed Jacob off to his immediate Commanding Officer (CO), Warrant Officer (WO) Juan Javier Mendoza, a coyote from the Tenochtitlan Republic.
Tarsa turned and shook Jacob's paw. "Well, Jacob, this is where we part ways."
"Surely not forever?" Jacob melodramatically asked.
"We'll always have the E-club, as long as you don't try to pick a fight with the Zootopain again." She replied with a chuckle.
"I didn't try to pick one last time…"
"You damn well better not have, or any point in the future señor! Thank you private, for babysitting while we got things ready for him. You are dismissed." It was a warm, if abrupt, interjection by the WO. Tarsa departed with a salute to Mendoza and a wink to Jacob.
As Jacob stood at attention to report in, he made a quick evaluation of his new boss; he was of average height at about five feet tall, with a friendly if calculating demeanor and a suspicious irregular hole through his left ear. "Sir, Pvt. Jacob Emanuel Raibert reporting for duty."
"At ease private; with any luck, this will be the last time you have to report to me in this way. Allow me to welcome you to F-Troop, Det. 7."
Jacob relaxed and accepted his CO's offered manual paw shake. "If you don't mind my asking sir, where the heck are we?"
WO Mendoza began guiding Jacob through the cube farm on a tour of the station house. "This is Det. 7, a joint LoN/AEP police station. Per treaty, the LoN provides additional mammal power at all of its bases to help supplement local law enforcement. As you may have guessed already, command of the local language is a must for this assignment. You will be assigned to an AEP partner and go on local patrols. We have limited arresting powers in regard to Anatolian nationals, and the AEP has the same in regard to LoN personnel. I would ask if you have any difficulties working with carnivores, but your little display with PFC Shahrubah speaks volumes on that matter." He commented with a slight grin.
"Not a problem at all sir. My neighborhood growing up was very mixed; mostly foxes, hares, wolves, goats, and boars. Whoever didn't buy into the Zootopian mono-culture ideology ended up there."
The coyote quirked an eye at Jacob. "Touchy subject I take it?"
"Nothing that will interfere with my duties, sir."
"Good, see that it doesn't."
WO Mendoza gave a running commentary as they toured the building. The basement housed both the formal barracks for F-troop and the AEP on-duty officers, as well as the armory. The ground floor was for administration, processing and holding criminals, and any duties which might pertain to visiting mega-fauna. The second floor catered to larger mammals such as lions, tigers, and bears. There was also a locked room with a sentry outside which Juan pointedly did not mention, and Jacob pointedly did not ask about it. The third floor was akin to the second but tailored to mammals Jacob's and Juan's size. The fourth floor was the most unusual to Jacob; it contained the AEP's Aerial patrol section maintenance hangar. There were four Anatolian rodent piloted fixed-wing surveillance aircraft, as well as six LoN Ornicopters; two RQ-19 Dragonfly reconnaissance aircraft and four MQ-12/D Hornet gunships. A glance at a nearby roster showed Brisby and Mousekewitz rotating in for a week every two or so months.
They then returned to the third floor to meet the AEP Station commander, Captain (Capt.) Kaan Tuna Buyuk.
"Capt.? I've got the new LoN patrol mammal."
"Thank you, officer. Come in and let me have the measure of you." the captain told Jacob.
Jacob met a middle-aged brown hare, maybe three inches shorter than him, but seeming to tower over Jacob in presence alone. His demeanor was calm and reserved, and he sized Jacob up with a world-weary gaze that left no illusion that he had seen too much. Finally, on the wall behind his desk, was an Efrafan Yataghan, inscribed in flowing Aramaic script. Capt. Buyuk was Owsla in the truest sense, and Jacob was in awe.
Capt. Buyuk waved a manila folder in Jacobs' general direction and addressed him in Turkic. "I already know you, Jacob Emanuel Raibert of Zootopia, so let's get right to it; I am Owsla Capt. Kaan Tuna Buyuk. You will address me as Capt. or Capt. Buyuk. I am the commander of AEP at this station house. As your duties will relate more to Anatolian civil law than LoN military law, you will be answerable to me. Do we understand one another?"
"A mul Owsla!" (I do sir!) Jacob replied in the common efrafan tongue with barely contained excitement.
The Capt. was taken aback for a moment, then a calculating look crossed his face. "Efrafan layai brali, Ephraim rooliti?" (So, you think yourself Efrafan, a Son of Ephraim?)
Now it was Jacob who was startled as he struggled with the more formal ancient form of his people's language. "Laya Efrafan!" (I am Efrafan!) As soon as the words left his mouth, Jacob knew he'd made a mistake; he could almost hear his grandfather berating him for putting himself before the people, putting himself higher than Ephraim.
"Hraka!" Buyuk nearly spat. "Your family might be, but you are not so accepted until I say you are; until then you are silfesi (outskirter)."
Jacob's ears burned with shame as Buyuk called someone in on the intercom. "This is Sergeant (Sgt.) Natalia Adame." He said, gesturing to a stocky red vixen in her mid to late forties. "I have served with her for 20 years, and as far as I am concerned, she is more Efrafan than you. She will be your partner for the foreseeable future. If your administration and billeting are taken care of, head down to the armory for your issue and head out on patrol. Dismissed."
Jacob saluted and stiffly left, not trusting himself to speak.
…
It was two weeks later before everyone's schedule lined up for a night together. In that time, Jacob had tried to find some way to impress upon Capt. Buyuk that he was Efrafan through diligence and persistence, but to no avail. When he met up with Tarsa, Brisby, Mousekewitz, Boyan and Horace it was again at the E-club, despite Jacob's desire to head into Adana.
"I don't know why we have to come back here when there's an entire city of opportunities out there." Jacob grumbled as he nursed his beer.
"Some of us have better things to do than wander the streets of some dirty little burg." Horace's reply slightly slurred.
Jacob looked over incredulously, "Dirty little… are you living in some alternate reality, cause I've been patrolling those streets and Adana is anything but."
"Oh yay, here we go again." Fivel gave a fatalistic chuckle.
"That's right, I forgot you are a Happytown slum-baby; I suppose tent city must seem the height of opulence to you."
"Like you can talk; too good for the bourgeois masses, but you can dig one helluva slit-trench latrine!" As Jacob said this, his ears began pointing straight back while his manual claws dug furrows into the table.
"Emanuel, calm down please." Tarsa whispered to him.
"GRRR… I'll have you know I have been studying for my degree and don't have time to leave!" Horace thumped the table while pointing accusingly at Jacob.
"But you can spare the time to get hammered at the E-club every other night? You're just butt-hurt that you don't have a mammal servant here to dress you or wipe your…"
"That is enough!" Teresa barked. "Mr. Raibert I will not have this evening devolve into an exploration of your command of crass language."
Jacob snapped his attention to his beer, intent on polishing it off in one swallow.
"Why bother; breeding will tell, and he'll never be more than what he is." Horace scoffed, but Jacob didn't hear.
He saw the face of his father reflected in his glass, lashing out at his family for the injustices of the life he was dealt.
"If breeding will tell Mr. Hornblower, then what is your excuse?" Spc. Brisby's words faintly echoed in Jacobs' mind as he set his glass down on the table and got up to leave.
"Jake, where you are going?" Fivel moved to follow him.
"Out; the last things I need right now are more alcohol or the judgement of strangers." His friends' silence followed him as he walked out.
…
The next day was Sunday, and Jacob felt lost. He was thousands of miles from his home and family, rejected by the very symbol of his people. Now he was becoming his father, one of the two people he most reviled in the whole world. That morning he resolved to hold the one tradition he had not lost yet.
With the Pope of the Reman Catholic Church and the Primus inter Pares of the Eastern Orthodox Church having reconciled in the last century, Jacob felt comfortable attending the Catholic Mass at the Base Chapel. In a near bitter irony, that day's Gospel lesson and the sermon that followed, were from St. Luke: The Parable of the Prodigal Son.
The old Guatemalan white tail buck, who was a Lieutenant Colonel (Lt. Col.) in the Chaplain Corps, stood in front of the congregation and delivered his short homily in High Lapin: the diplomatic and trade tongue of the old empire, and now the language of the church.
"We often hear this parable used to try to entice a sense of forgiveness," the chaplain began, "…that when others have squandered opportunities or trust, that we should yet again extend that trust; as the saying goes, 'To ere is mammalian, but forgiveness is divine.' While this is true, and we should aspire to such acts of charitability, we often lose sight of that salient truth of this story; that the Prodigal Son was in fact, forgiven, and for nothing more than the asking.
"Now in this Gospel passage, we hear two voices each saying that the prodigal is beneath forgiveness; the first is that of the prodigal himself, while the second is the elder brother. In the first case, the prodigal finds himself entirely destitute, so much so that he has to find work on a pig-owned farm; this is emblematic of a state of unclean-ness, as all cultures in that region of the world, even to this day, view pigs to be unclean and tainting all they touch. While toiling in this unclean state, the son contemplates that even his father's servants are not considered this low. It is here that the prodigal son decides to return home; not to be forgiven, but simply to be taken on as a doulos, or servant in the ancient Peloponnesian text. This is not an uncommon attitude held by persons who have, for whatever reason, been forced to commit acts which society would disapprove of; as soldiers often must.
"The second voice is that of the elder son and is emblematic of the perceived judgement of society. The elder son remained dutifully serving his father, abiding the law, and thus remained clean and above reproach. Upon hearing that his brother has not only returned, but has been welcomed back with celebration, he challenges his father's forgiveness. He reminds his father of his own status as dutiful and morally clean versus his brother's wanton and wicked ways. He states that his service has never garnered him the accolades which are now heaped upon his brother. This is not too dissimilar to how service members often feel that society judges us for our actions; they themselves did not need to commit such actions, so why should we be forgiven, much less lauded for such sin.
"It is a strange quirk of our psychology that we can often forgive others for heinous sins against ourselves, and yet cannot comprehend that we are deserving of that same forgiveness. It is this which tends to drive families apart; not distance or actions, but an inability to ask forgiveness for what we perceive as unforgivable. Yet if the Good Shepherd could forgive the disciples for falling asleep at Gethsemane, St. Peter for denying him three times, and even the Reman soldiers and crowds of Habirewe who had condemned him to die on the cross, if all of these were worthy of forgiveness, are not we all? Amen."
After the service, Jacob sought out the Chaplain.
"Father Morales, could I speak to you in private sir?"
"Of course, son. Is this a closed-door conversation? You know that anything you say has the status of privileged information: there will be no repercussions for what is said here." The Lt. Col. exuded a sense of calm Jacob hadn't felt since his time as a chorister back home.
"No sir, I just…need some advice."
Jacob visited with the Chaplain every day for the next week: he shared his life story, every laugh, every tear, every joy, and every disappointment. By the end of that week, he knew what he had to do.
That Saturday evening, Jacob went to Tarsa's box-car, and knocked on the door.
"Coming!" When she opened up, Jacob saw she was dressed for a night of not going anywhere. "Jacob?!"
"Hey, Tarsa. Can…(huff) can we talk?" Jacob had not felt this small since his mother first found out he was with the SoE.
"Oh! Yes, yes come in." She ushered him inside and closed the door. "I haven't, we haven't seen you outside of formation since last Saturday. What happened?"
"I had a bit of a revelation about myself. I'm… angry."
Tarsa was taken aback by Jacobs' intensity. "Well, we didn't mean to…"
"No, not with you…" Jacob placated, "…not with Little T or Fivel or Boyan, not even with Lord Ponce von Fontlebottom the Magnificent Bastard! He just annoys me." That elicited a soft chuckle from Tarsa. "No, I mean I'm angry, all the time. I'm angry with the mammals involved with the Spring Revolution of 86' that caused my mother to leave Anatolia, and I'm angry with her for not returning when the Purrsian Shah finally put the revolt down. I'm angry with my grandfather for filling my head with stories of the Efrafan Owsla-fa of old while we lived in squalor, and I'm angry at myself for not being worthy of them. I'm angry at the city of Zootopia for turning Foxborough Parish into a slum 70 years ago, for telling us we should just forget our heritage and embrace their monoculture, and I'm angry at the citizens of Burgess County for not doing something about it. I'm angry at my sire for not being a better mammal, a better father, for leaving us because he decided life was hard! And I'm furious with myself, because last Saturday night, for a few moments, I was him!" By this point Jacob was all but curled into a ball in one corner of the hooch, while Tarsa rubbed his back soothingly.
"I'm just… so angry all the time and I don't know what to do about it! So, I lash out, at anyone I think has wronged me no matter how meaningless or insignificant. But when I do, I end up hurting those close to me, and then I become angry with myself again."
Jacob looked up at Tarsa, his eyes pleading for absolution. "Did I tell you I used to be in a gang up until a year ago? For five years, I was every inch the worthless mongrel thug Horace insinuates I am, that my father was, that the animals my grandfather says he fought were, and I have no idea how to ask forgiveness when I can't forgive myself!"
Tarsa paused in her efforts, then tipped Jacobs head down and kissed his forehead. "Seni affediyorum. (I Forgive you.)" She whispered and held him as he wept.
…
Over the next two months, Jacob apologized to every one of his friends, and even to Hornblower, though they both agreed to simply be civil to one another, 'For the sake of the ladies, of course!' As for work, he simply buckled down and learned the beat from Natalia and did his best to minimize his contact with Capt. Buyuk, letting the Sgt. deliver the reports. This arrangement worked for a while, until one day, during lunch at a street café…
"Now what did I say was one of the first, most important traits of a good patrol officer?" It was Sgt. Adame's way to question Jacob at random about policing in general.
Jacob responded without looking at her, "Maintain situational awareness of your surroundings, to know what should and shouldn't be there at any given moment, such as a trio of identically dressed, angry looking Fallow deer heading into a tailor shop run by an elderly Purrsian Lion." He then wiped his mouth, got up and headed across the street to a shop sporting the sign "Arslan & Ece Terzi Tailoring" while turning his phone's recording function on.
"Yes that's… what? Wait!" She was up and moving after.
Within moments, the sounds of an altercation came from inside, spurring both into a run.
Jacob quickly evaluated the scene as he arrived; one of the three held an early middle-aged lioness at knife point, hurling insults at the elder lion while his two compatriots repeatedly kicked the elderly lion in the back and stomach. His training told him to announce himself and advise the assailants to surrender, but his years in the SoE told him that would be a futile gesture and that a more direct approach would be needed.
"You disgust me you uncultured savage! Predators like you should be dragged out into the street and shAAAAGGHHH!"
Natalia came through the door with no time to stop Jacob; he gave no advisement, no warning or offer to surrender. He crossed the room to the ringleader and with a snap of his wrist lashed out with his collapsible baton against the cervine's leading ankle, breaking several of the small bones of the pedal hoof and dislocating the joint. The agonized cry and release caused the lioness to give a startled yelp and leap back, even as her captor fell to the ground. The two batterers turned to the commotion in time to see their partner collapse to the ground screaming, only to be silenced as Jacob again brought his baton down, this time shattering the front of the deer's muzzle with a spray of blood, mucus, and saliva; after that, the would-be tyrant was utterly still and silent.
Shocked by the sudden brutality, the other two were wholly compliant when Natalia began issuing rapid fire orders, as well as calling the incident in to the station house. Meanwhile, Jacob went over to the fallen tailor and his weeping daughter while pulling his phone out of its pocket.
"Pfeffa-rah, remain still; an ambulance is on the way. Can you tell me why this happened?"
"They are from… a local cult, they call themselves Nizari-Ismaili. I… I think these were to become Fida'i." the lion's response was labored. Jacob bristled at the alarming similarities to his own SoE initiation so many years ago.
"Fida'i you say? I would have expected someone from the Hash Ishim to put up more of a fight. Are they remhmhmhmhm!" Whatever Jacob was going to say was cut off as the lioness scooped him into a bone-crushing hug.
The responding LoN and AEP officers arrived to the sight of Jacobs' feet flailing underneath the lioness's arms as she swung him back and forth.
"Thank you, bless you Kucuk Aslan (Little Lion)! Bless you for saving my father!" she continued until Sgt. Adame finally got her attention.
"Perhaps you should set him down before he meets Allah for a more personal blessing." Natalia commented with an exasperated grin.
Jacob gasped for air when the lioness relinquished her grip.
"You okay there Pvt.?" Asked one of the LoN responders.
"As far as ways to go, smothering in the bosom of a beautiful lady isn't all that bad I suppose."
Natalia snorted. "He's fine. Let's get this rabble cleaned up. Emanuel, a moment."
Jacob paused; this was the first time she had referred to him by his Honor name.
"Yes Sgt.?"
"Not her, me." There in the doorway was Capt. Buyuk. Gesturing to the mammalian wreckage now being loaded into an ambulance with police escort. "Why?"
Jacob simply played back the audio recording, from the street side until the tailor's daughter snatched him up. When the audio stopped, Jacob looked straight into the older hare's eyes.
"We were never going to make a case against the ringleader any stronger than assault, and with the clear socio-political bent of his rant, if Sgt. Adame had taken any initial action, they would have simply twisted the entire event to fit their warped agenda as justification. If we had announced on arrival, that one," Jacobgestured to where the fallow deer had fallen.
"Ceren Sadik," said one of the remaining LoN MP's while looking at her notes. "The other two are Devrim & Direnc Marangoz."
At this, Natalia, Kaan and Jacob all snorted. Ceren Sadik meant Loyal Young Gazelle, while Devrim & Direnc Marangoz meant Revolution and Resistance Joiner; they were aliases. Turning back to Buyuk, "Anyway, 'Sadik' would have simply faded into the back and let the 'Marangoz' boys take the beating and subsequent jail time, while he surrendered. Then he would have, again, spun the events to fit his political views. This way, his whole position is compromised since I'm not an 'uncultured savage'; well, not in the sense he had that all carnivores are such. As a bonus, if and or when he returns to these Nizari-Ismaili pretenders, his broken visage will serve as a much more potent warning and deterrent than any civic sentence."
"And you are so certain of this how?" Kaan look almost bored as he asked.
Jacob's bitterness exploded. "Yes, I'm certain because up until a year ago that was me! This was an initiation and indoctrination; nothing more, nothing less. We can arrest all the soldiers we want, but until we hit their leadership they would simply recruit more young bucks and indoctrinate them to their cause. Are we done here, as I imagine I'm overdue for my CO's dressing down"
"No, we are not done." Kaan said simply. "Do you know what it means to be Efrafan? Not related to or descended from one, but to truly be Efrafan?"
Jacob huffed impatiently, "No but apparently it doesn't mean me. I'll tell you what I am though: I am an oath sworn member of the League of Nations Forces, a reformed gang member who will never tolerate such abuse of persons again, and a true and faithful child of Katarin Yasmin Rautha, the daughter of Constantin Abelard Rautha, and these are not things you can deny me!"
Natalia and Kaan both started and glanced at one another at the mention of his mother and grandfather. Buyuk recovered quickly though, "The Sons of Ephraim, the Efrafan Owsla, were the protectors of our people; no matter the personal cost, they kept those under their charge safe from harm. As you have done here today, young Son of Ephraim."
