A/N: Yes! After more than a year of hiatus, Fighting Land is back! And it will have more thrills, more spills, and whatever else makes a returning work of fiction great!
"Tripp is looking for the open man…He finds Albert, but the defenders are immediately all over him. He decides to give it to Solis—Watson steals the ball! I can't believe it! Warren Watson, Des Moines's new thief!"
"Yes! Now stick the ball into those Canucks' rears!"
This is Rostislav Abramov:
A brilliant computer specialist. An avid sports fan. A patriot. A young man with lots of potential and the room to grow it in. Many people had initially questioned his being brought in as the computer expert of the Krakozhian liaison to Chechnya, but when he fixed the entire Internet network in Groznyy, no one doubted him anymore. Now, he's an invaluable asset to the Krakozhian mission. And people do everything they can to make sure that he gets what he wants. That was why he had a room to himself, filled with all the computers he "needed" to do his work, as well as a television connected to the major American sports networks. And, of course, all the vodka he could drink.
And because he finally had Western TV, he finally understood why people said he looked like Greg Sanders of CSI fame: he did. Because of that, he did what a person in his situation would do: he decided to further the image. Now, he could speak in clean English, but it's a secret he only reveals to the girls.
Now, as he drank his third bottle of vodka, he watched as the Des Moines Gems tries to take the lead from the Uranium City Nukes.
"Pass it to Arkadyev! Pass it back to Watson! Give it to Subpilt! No, not to Ford! Good call, giving it back to Watson. Arkadyev's open, pass it to him! Yes! Go for the three, comrade, go for the three! Yes! Three points for the Gems! Take that, you Canucks! Yeah, uh-huh-!"
He stopped in mid-dance once he saw the American and the Latina agents from that princess-protecting program standing in the doorway, staring at him like he was mad. He quickly composed himself and said, "What can I do for you today, fine ladies?"
"Well," said the Latina, "can you show us what's inside this?" She showed him a very beat up laptop.
"Absolutely, comrades. Wow, I see a little bullet hole in there. Do you want to tell me about it?"
"Do you really want to know the answer to that question?" replied the American.
"I guess not. Okay, this laptop looks like an Asus. You know, I love the Asus. Now, let's just take the hard drive and then put it in my own laptop. Not password-protected? That's weird; I never have a unit that's not password-protected." He opened the documents folder, and a wealth of battle-related documents appeared on the screen. "Take a look at this. Chechen maps, a road map of Groznyy, highway routes, power plants, landmarks, and all that stuff. Well, look at what we have here. I've never seen a timed-encrypt-decrypt file before. You know, I've heard that this may be the most advanced encryption method in existence. Unfortunately, it's a little easy to crack. I just need a specific block of code that's buried deep in the file."
"If you had another timed-encrypt-decrypt file that's already open, can you use it to open that?"
"Forgive me for my inattentiveness, but can I ask for your names again?"
"Okay," replied the American, "since you asked, I'm Carter, and that's Rosie."
"And who asked the question about the TED?"
"I did," replied the girl named Rosie.
"Well, Rosie," replied Abramov, "sorry to burst your bubble, so to speak, but that's impossible unless both files came from the same author."
Rosie walked over to Abramov and handed him her flash drive. "Take a look at the file named Nerushimy. Maybe it would help."
A few minutes later, Abramov was deep inside Nerushimy's programming code. "You're right; they were made by the same author. Now, all I need is to find the part of the code that shows how much time is left before the file decrypts itself. It may be sophisticated, but its weak spot is very obvious." After calculating the remaining time to Diya's file's decryption, he adjusted his computer's clock, and waited for a whole minute before accessing the file again. But when he opened it, a single line flashed on the screen. It read: slave file not in sync with master file.
"Damn," he muttered. "The guy who made these files is one heck of a smart guy. He's counted on the possibility that we can access his source code and fool the program."
"Can you find the master file?" asked Carter.
"It's doable," replied Abramov. "Since the master and slave files communicate with each other, it's just a matter of tracking the outgoing signal from the slave." A few more minutes later, he brought up a set of numbers on the screen. "That's the IP address of the computer where the master file is located."
"But where is the file itself?"
Abramov selected an item from a menu on the screen. "I don't think you'll be able to believe it," he told the two of them as a warning. The screen showed a map of the world, which quickly zoomed in to Europe, then to the Caucasus Mountains, then to Chechnya, before finally stopping somewhere in the northern part of Groznyy. "That close?" asked Carter.
"I knew you wouldn't believe it," said Abramov. "I've managed to hack into this guy's computer—really hard to resist that temptation—and look at his records. That's all the time that I had, so I wasn't able to copy the master, but now, I present to you, Mr. Timothy James Laurent Cotton, deputy secretary to the consul of the Republic of Liberia to the Russian Federation in Groznyy."
"What's a Liberian doing helping the Chechen rebellion?"
"It is hard to understand the alliances of nation-states," replied Rosie. "Take the Nazi-Soviet Non-Aggression Pact. While it gave Russia the illusion of peace, that did not stop Hitler's armies from charging through the border."
"I'm not getting your point," said Carter.
"A lot of things can make nations make alliances. But those things are beyond me."
The two stepped out of the Capitol. "So, how do you plan on dealing with this Cotton guy?" asked Carter.
"I haven't really thought of that yet, but—" Something made Rosie stop talking, and when Carter looked around, she saw what it was. Twenty men clad in black coveralls stood at the edge of the opposite sidewalk. They were wearing white masks and red caps, and a rifle hung from each left shoulder. And then, in one fluid motion, those in front knelt down, took their weapons, and fired at the Capitol. At the same time, those in the back took their rifles and turned around, forming a sort of rearguard.
"Are they trying to break the world record for terrorist attacks in a week?" asked Carter.
"I do not pretend to know how these people's minds work!" Rosie shouted back.
The guards at the Capitol didn't have a chance to return fire since every time the front row ran out of ammunition; those in the back quickly took their place. This went on for a few minutes before the shooters scattered and disappeared into the surroundings. The only evidence of their existence was the hundreds of bullet casings lying on the ground.
Another attack against the pro-Moscow government of Chechnya had just happened.
"What happened today, Yaroslav?"
"It's a little bit of a surprise for us, too," Yaroslav Yevin told Governor Dazdrapertrak Tarenin. "But the attack is consistent with the Prokofiev Hills cell's style, down to the coveralls and masks."
"Are you telling me that the rebels have made another attempt at my life?" the governor asked hotly.
"I wouldn't call it an attempt, Governor; more like an attempt to sow terror in the hearts and minds of the Chechen people. I doubt that a 7.62 millimeter Kalashnikov bullet has the penetration power to pass through three brick and mortar walls—"
"Haven't you heard, Yaroslav? I was overseeing the gutting out of the Central Committee Room when those Prokofiev Hills rebels struck. I doubt that the timing was coincidental."
"This job isn't just about protecting your life, Dazdrapertrak!" shouted Yevin. "It's also about rebuilding the Chechen Republic, training your armed forces to become a real fighting force, and paving the way for your increased autonomy and eventual independence!"
"You do not talk to your commander-in-chief that way!"
"My commander-in-chief? My commander-in-chief is President Irina Adzhitekova of the Republic of Krakozhia, and I report directly to Marshal Oleg Sergeyevich Dallutev of the Krakozhian Army!"
"Do they always talk that way?" Carter asked Aleksey Tarkovsky, Tarenin's secretary. They were standing in the anteroom leading to the Governor's office, and they could hear the argument that far away.
"No," replied Tarkovsky. "Most of the time, they're very cordial persons. But this is not a heated argument for them, per se. It's simply a matter to go in, bring them a bottle of vodka to defuse the situation, and after a shot, they'll both be bosom friends once again."
"Isn't it time to defuse the situation right now?"
"No, it doesn't feel right this time. Maybe in about, oh, five minutes, but not right now." He then lit a cigarette and returned to his office.
"Doesn't it bother you at all?" Carter asked him as he walked.
"Oh, you'll get used to it."
"This is very troubling," said Rosie as they went out. "If Yevin and Tarenin can't settle their differences as soon as possible, Chechnya is headed for the downhill path."
"Why? You heard his secretary. Just a bottle of vodka and they're as good as new—"
"Drunken men think no better than angry ones. Without a united leadership to show to the people, the Chechen government would fall quickly; the rebels will take over, and it would take more than a very hard effort to dislodge them from their position."
"Well, here's to hoping that doesn't happen to our Chechen comrades," said Carter. "Now, how do we deal with Cotton?"
"To be honest with you, Carter, I have not thought of that yet."
They heard running footsteps behind them, and as they turned around, they were greeted by Rostislav Abramov. "Hello, ladies," he said as he tried to regain his breath. "Lieutenants Arigov and Klimov want you to come to their office immediately. Follow me." He ran away without waiting for a reply.
"What do you think they want from us?" asked Carter.
"I do not know, but it cannot be good," replied Rosie.