Paul Middleton: Evacuation

Frank thought he might have preferred to have a discussion with an outwardly angry Bethany Anne, not this calm, cool, and composed woman in front of him. “Well, while I’m good, he is the best on the politics in the region. We tossed it to TOM, and he said you were asleep.”

TOM, you are back on the couch!

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I gave him my word, ADAM.

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She continued to stare at both of Frank and Nathan for several moments. “Well he’d better contact us within the week, or I’m sending you two to find him and sort the problem out, with or without his blessing. If the situation seems bad enough to me, I’ll make a personal appearance and if the Russian fucking government wants to play hardball? I’ll drop some rocks on their hard-ass heads.”

The men both nodded and stepped out of the room. Neither would change the decision that they had made, but there wasn’t a reason to stick around to rehash the options with her, either.

Romonavka, Chelabinsk Oblast, Siberia, Russia

Boris walked into town after being dropped on the outskirts by the black flying thing. He had no idea of how it worked, but it had definitely gotten him back home faster than anything else could have. He now had to find out what was going on.

He walked out to Paul’s farm. Paul had been his companion for fifteen years while he had worked as Peter’s enforcer. As he walked up, he noticed that none of the lights were on. He paused to sniff the air and quietly observe the surroundings. Paul was either one of those taken or taken his family to his hide.

Boris continued to look around, noticing that things were worse than they looked. He kept walking, and when the front door came into view, he made a sour face. The door was off its hinges, and the door was broken.

Someone had kicked in the door.

He took five minutes to survey the area around the house. The amount of clutter he found didn’t tell him anything. Neither Paul nor Alecta had been the best of housekeepers. Their sons were more interested in hunting and riding on horseback than cleaning.

Fortunately, there was no blood. If Paul or the boys had been home when the police had arrived there would have been some blood, of that Boris was certain. He could only hope all four of them were in the safe site, a lined cellar out in the forest.

He would find out what was going on from one of them, either his old friend and partner or Paul’s sons. He started to hike to the east, following no path. He knew his lands, and they talked to him of danger, pain, and retribution.

“…and so they just took her. Why did you go this time? Why couldn’t you have been here Boris? They took my wife like they had no fear of retribution. You know they wouldn’t have done that if you were here!” Paul shouted at Boris. At least the headaches were gone now.

Paul had been in the Australian special forces before meeting Alecta. He was also too brave or too stupid to really know fear. Boris wasn’t sure which. Paul knew Boris was a Werebear and just shrugged it off.

Boris replied as soothingly as possible, “It is as well I did Paul. We now have someone who may be able to help us. At least once we know if we are going to leave or stay. Where are they keeping the people they arrested?”

“In the old militia base on the edge of town. At least a company of soldiers from the West ins there. Those in charge couldn’t have trusted local troops.” Paul looked up with a weary smile. “Those closest to us have many family members enlisted with the locals, other soldiers are too afraid.”

“Memories are long here. Our neighbors know about the lost battalions, ghosts of people taken in the night, secret treaties, and other dark secrets. Far-born troops would not.” Boris sighed and looked around. “I will gather the pack. You gather at least one from each family that has had a member taken. We will free our comrades and deal with these interlopers. Tell everyone to prepare for a Meeting of Decision. It is time to decide if Russia is truly home for us now.”

Boris had gathered all of the pack that was local. Siberia was full of wide open spaces, so they numbered about fifty, a far greater number than may have been possible elsewhere.

He looked out over the group, their anger radiating from their eyes, their hurt from their hearts. “I come to you not as your Alpha, demanding your obedience, but as your leader. I’m asking for volunteers. I will free those the government has taken hostage this night. The path has risks, but I will not have those under my protection falsely accused, nor leave them to be abused.”

“Alpha, they have tanks,” Oleg cried out.

Boris snarled, “And we have thermite! I will go in first and remove the threat of the tanks if you are willing to take on the soldiers — with support from the families of those who were taken.” He looked at them one more time, his eyes flashing yellow, “Talk amongst the pack.”

He stepped off the small box and walked away.

When he returned a half hour later, his second, Danislav, stepped forward. “Boris, we are with you. The scum, these communistic fools,” he spat, “should be removed from our lands.”

As Boris reviewed the final preparations to move and attack the reinforced company of soldiers, a runner from town reached them. He went directly to Paul and tried to steel himself from the dread grasping his heart at the sight of the panting messenger.

The runner gasped, “More came, Hetman. This afternoon after you left, a platoon marched through town and picked twenty-five people at random. They dragged them to the central square and shot them as foreign agents. No trial. The town has been declared to be under martial law. The soldier’s commander has imposed a curfew but seems to be leaving it to the police to enforce.”

Those standing around Boris took a step back. The fury on his face was frightening even to those who knew him. He shouted to the gathered force. “We wait only for those who lost blood kin. When we march, my orders are blood and retribution! We will make them pay in blood for our losses, many times over this night. We will teach them fear, the knowledge of what happens when anyone attacks our people! Take the Captains and above ALIVE if at all possible. We need to understand if they have gone rogue or are acting on orders from above. As for curfew, we know the police in our town. They will not enforce it.”

Within the hour Boris’ mixed group of Weres and townspeople started their march toward the old militia base. There was no doubt, all looked forward to bloody vengeance against the murderers. Boris and the pack led the way, with more than five hundred following.

Some of the men who had served with him on mercenary operations had pulled out their support equipment. Whoever these soldiers were, some mortars dropping in on their barracks would likely ruin their night for damned sure. Orders were given to avoid targeting the prison block. Enough people had seen the prisoners being taken and confined to know where they were being kept.

Boris knew he had to get past the sentries and take out the communications building and the APCs. If he could block any call for reinforcements and silence the heavy weapons, then the screams of those who preyed on his people would fill the night.

It was a symphony he would hear, or die trying.

Militia Base, Outskirts of Romonavka, Siberia, Russia

Boris looked over the camp. The soldiers were comfortable, perhaps too comfortable. They had sentries but seemed to have forgone roving patrols. The assumption must have been the twenty-five executions and martial law declaration had cowed the population.