New Dawn

by Attila Orosz

  The holographic screen flickered in front of him and a thicket with low shrubs appeared. He peered into the green image, but could not distinguish the shapes from the background.

  “Change colour to twofourten-fiftyfour-fiftyfour,” he said in an impatient tone, and wished that the equipment could just keep its configuration between sessions. The image before him turned dark red and he could see movement in the bushes.

  Chapter Seven

  Just what the hell was that, thought Peter, as they crouched under a thick bramble. It was a thorny thicket they found themselves in. He was protected by his uniform, but Alex had scratches on his hands and the illegal’s clothes were torn. Peter’s mind was racing.

  “That was narrow,” panted Alex beside him. “Good thing these bushes were here.”

  “No, it doesn’t make sense,” said Peter.

  “What doesn’t?”

  “The drone. It never engaged us.”

  “In what?”

  “I mean it didn’t shoot at us,” said Peter. “It would have been accurate from a thousand metres away, but it never engaged…” His voice trailed off. “It’s just not right,” he added after a moment’s pause.

  “What, with no search lights? It might just have missed us,” countered Alex.

  “No. These things have heat sensors and infra-cameras. It definitely saw us,” said Peter.

  “OK, so it has cameras. So somebody somewhere has seen us. So what?”

  “Cameras and two heavy machine guns, firing 15mm rounds at 600 RPM, with surgical precision,” explained Peter. “It can also blast through walls.”

  “That makes a difference.” Alex was probably trying to sound easy, but Peter’s head was too busy to pay real attention.

  “We should be worried,” he said.

  “I am.”

  “No, I don’t mean because it could have killed us. More because it did not!” said Peter.

  “Now you are not making sense!”

  “Letting us live is what doesn’t make sense! These drones are made for the sole purpose of hunting people down! If they wanted us dead, they would already have it. This is just not right at all.”

  “It could be your uniform maybe?”

  “These things run on artificial brains of some sort,” said Peter. “They just fly themselves in Zone-1,and automatically fire at anyone who doesn’t wear an ID transmitter. Mine was in my helmet.”

  “Nice job you’ve thrown it away then!”

  “Yes. With that on my head, they could just see what I see. It streamed live images, you know. It had a GPS transmitter too, so they could track my movements. I had to get rid of it. But that drone behaved strange.”

  “Yeah, OK, but if it runs on artificial intelligence, it probably saw that you’re a guard, no?”

  “That’s not how it works, uniforms make no difference, and then it must have sensed you and that too,” he said, nodding towards the illegal. “We should be dead by now. Anyway, how come you never—”

  He stopped talking as he noticed the silence.

  “Do you hear it? I think, it’s gone,” he said after a short pause, through which he indicated for Alex to keep quiet with a finger on his mouth.

  “You are right. Where could it have gone?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like it. This is not normal.”

  He was about to stick his head above the foliage, when the familiar whizz came once again.

  “Here it comes!” he said and ducked back down. The drone made a few circles right above them and stayed for a short time, then it withdrew out of earshot. They were silent and motionless for many minutes after the drone left.

  “It’s gone. We must go,” said Peter finally.

  He turned on his rifle-mounted torch, directing its light towards the ground. It gave enough light to quickly assess his environment by.

  “We can’t stay here. They know our position and field patrols could be upon us any minute. In fact, they should already be! What the hell is happening? Any unit could have reached us by now!”

  But Alex did not seem to be listening. He was looking into the distance.

  “There is a patch of wood to the North. You said drones operate in Zone-1, right?” asked the American, apparently deep in thought.

  “Yes, they only patrol the scorched strip, so nothing distracts them from the target, but—”

  Peter’s answer was interrupted.

  “Our best shot is still Zone-2, then. We must get as far from here and as fast as we can!”

  The American sounded assertive, but Peter stopped himself from making a remark. He knew that Alex was right. Besides, it was time he should take responsibility for getting them out alive.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Anyway, this is your territory. You know how to get us out of this. We’ll just follow your lead.”

  “You said we,” grinned Alex.

  “I meant me and you.”

  Alex’s expression was just too smug. Peter did not want to think about this. He only wanted to think about getting out alive. He switched off his torchlight, then stuck his head out. There was no sound. He made a gesture for them to get up. When the illegal was slow to move, he prodded it roughly with his gun.

  “Leave the man alone,” said Alex from behind him.

  “Shut up and move! You go first!” snapped Peter.

  He was growing angry and confused. Shouting seemed the way to hide it. It was none of the American’s bloody business. And it was not like he would let control out of his hands either. The American would lead, but Peter would dictate the pace.

  “Move!” he yelled at the top of his voice.

  Both seemed to get his meaning. They started towards the direction he was pointing with his rifle. They ran uninterrupted, among thick bushes and on plain grassland. The terrain did not look as if they would be able to use it to their advantage.

  Then the drone returned.

  “Get down!” shouted Peter.

  The American threw himself down, and so did the illegal after a short delay of apparent confusion. They remained prone until Alex raised his voice,

  “What’s the point? Dash for the trees, man!”

  Peter did not answer. He got up, yanked up the illegal by its arm and gave it a violent push. As they ran, nothing could be seen: no trees, no shadows. Where were those bloody trees?

  ***

  When Peter finally turned his torch back on, Alex did not care to stop and ask him why. Probably right, he thought, the drones see us anyway. Their position was already known, and at least they could see their way now. The African was running by his side, Peter behind them. The black man was limping hard, moving with difficulty. Alex wanted to help him, but then he saw the trees in the light of the torch. The guard must have adjusted the focus, because the illuminated circle was now much larger and less sharp.

  “We’re almost there!” he shouted.

  Moments later he lunged between the trees. He kept running for a while, to get as far into the forest as he had lungs for, then he finally stopped, leaning against a trunk, panting heavily. He was not used to running. Being slightly overweight, he generally avoided all forms of exercise. In his operations, there was more a call for stealth and moving slowly and undetectably than to be fast or agile. He was short of air now, drenched in sweat, and his ear was throbbing. He felt like spitting his lungs out.

  He saw the guard herding the African with his rifle. Why was he fighting his own nature so hard, he wondered. On the other hand, the African appeared to be rather sheepish too. He went wherever they went, and although they needed to urge him sometimes, generally there was no problem with him. This of course made everything easier, but also made the whole of his work seem meaningless. Why bother if he doesn’t?

  “Let’s… keep… moving…” he panted, when he had collected himself somewhat.

  He could walk now, but breathing was still hard and he felt his heart pumping in his chest. They proceeded quietly by the light of the torch. There
was nothing but trees. The whizzing of the drone never appeared again, it could not follow them between the trees, it seemed. He asked Peter about it.

  “It came with us quite a bit,” said the guard. “It is not supposed to leave Zone-1. There must be a human operator somewhere.”

  That made sense. But it did seem strange that Peter would not know about it. It was no small detail.

  “I hope you know where we are headed,” he heard Peter say.

  “Trust me, I know these woods. We will get there.”

  He was lying again. He had not the slightest idea where they were, or which way they were headed, but he could not admit that. He only had the upper hand while the guard still believed him. He was beginning to like the young man, but he did not trust him. He was a guard after all, he was the enemy, and he had a gun. Alex needed to think about this, think about what he would do next. He needed a moment alone.

  “Go on ahead, just keep that direction. I will catch up in a moment,” he said.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing, I just need a moment’s rest. I cannot catch my breath after all the running.”

  The guard prodded the African with his gun and they went on, so Alex had a moment’s breather. I could just run for it now, he thought. Maybe he could make it back to the tunnels. That was no option of course, the guard would easily outrun him, but he needed a plan and he had to make it up fast. The only thing he was sure of was that this plan would not include the guard. He was just too much of a risk. Yet if he wanted to make the delivery, he could not leave the African behind. He was out of ideas of how to make this happen, but he could not think about it any longer, as he heard a clicking noise. The African was now standing still and looking down at his feet.

  Then everything happened in a blur and time slowed down into sludge at the same time. The guard was screaming something, throwing his weapon down and dashing towards the African. The other reacted by covering his head with his arms and pulling away, beginning to huddle himself up into a ball, like someone who expects a bad beating. Alex watched by the sharp light of the torch that now lay on the ground, as the guard continued screaming and, in what seemed to be a perversely long time, reached the black man in two long strides. He did not stop, but continued running, as if he wanted to run right through the African. He lunged at him at the last moment, grabbed the man and pulled him along as his inertia propelled him away.

  They were mid-air when something jumped up to approximately waist height from where the African had stood just before. The next moment, it exploded, sending shrapnel in every direction. Alex threw himself down. He was far away enough not to get hurt. A few pieces showered on his back, but did not penetrate his jacket. The shrapnel covered everything, piercing the trees, the ground, and Peter’s back as he landed on the African with his full weight, covering the man’s head and upper body. Alex got up, deafened by the explosion, and ran towards them. Neither of them moved. He slowed down immediately. That there was a landmine. There could be more!

  His ears were ringing, and he had lost his sense of balance. He staggered forward, trying to watch his step, but he saw nothing. He finally reached the pair, lying on the ground apparently unconscious. Peter was still covering the African, and neither of them moved. They are dead. This was the first straight thought that came to him after his head started to clear. He touched Peter’s back; it was hard, like a shell. He saw no blood. He tugged on his shoulder and pulled him off the African, who seemed to be knocked out by his weight. Peter was unnaturally heavy.

  He slapped the face of the African. He pounded his chest, until the man looked like he was coughing, although Alex still could not hear a sound, his ears were ringing with a continuous sharp note. He left the man alone and turned towards Peter. The back of the guard’s head was bleeding, but there were no bits of shrapnel that he could feel. He was still unconscious. Alex heard fragments of crying. It sounded like it came from behind a wall, or rather like he was submerged under water and the muffled sounds came from above the surface. His hearing was still dull after the sudden pressure of air that came with the explosion.

  “Tutakufa… Sote… Tutakufa… Kuzimi hii…”

  The African was in shock, with eyes wide open. His hands were fighting someone in front of him, his face a mask of terror as he shouted and screamed and yelled incoherently. Then Alex turned to look at Peter. The guard was not moving.

  Chapter Eight

  The Colonel was furious but he could not allow himself to show any emotion. That would be like admitting defeat. No, she cannot see how great an effect she could still have on him. That would mean acknowledging her to be in charge. And he would not allow that to happen.

  “Look,” he said to the three dimensional holographic model of his wife, who was sitting on a luxurious sofa beside a dressing table. “I understand your frustration—”

  “You understand?” she said in a voice that made the air freeze, and an accent that made his blood boil at the same time. Her French father and Italian mother had both made an impression on her intonation and the Colonel found this irresistible.

  “How could you understand?” she went on. “Do you have to work out the guest lists? Do you have to entertain those army generals that imagine their rank assures their station in society?”

  This was, of course, meant to get him, he knew that. She always did this, bringing up his common origins and acquired rank. She was the heiress of an old family with a long straight lineage, and a considerable fortune. She was beautiful and stylish. She did not only love luxury, she lived and breathed it. She was the most glamorous thing the Colonel had ever possessed or, as in this case, wished to possess.

  “Darling, you know I would love to share your duties but, believe me, this is in both our interests. My work here is nearly over. I have acquired enough wealth so that you will want for nothing, and soon I will be coming home. Just be patient with me, just a little longer!”

  He was mad with desire. It had been six months since his last visit. Whatever happened back home during this time, he preferred not to know, but he was painfully aware of what he had been missing.

  “I am late already,” she said, her tone not betraying the slightest emotion or warmth. Her face was carved marble, her make-up perfect, her hair freshly done. She was wearing a thin, figure hugging, silk evening dress with a deep décolletage which the Colonel noticed only now. It was not at all unusual for her to stay up all night, but she looked like she was just about to go out.

  “Where is it you are going, ma petit?” he asked, trying to restrain himself from showing his mounting jealously.

  “Friedrich, bitte das Auto bereit nehmen!” She addressed her ageing manservant.

  “Pá-pá!” she waved at the Colonel and, before he could say another word, the call was terminated.

  ***

  Juliette Crowley snapped her fingers and the holo-call ended immediately. She loved these new toys. Gesture recognition really made all the difference when interacting with electronics. She had set up the finger snap to terminate calls for the single reason to make her soon-to-be-former husband feel his position all the deeper. She was not sure if her husband would even recognise the gesture before the call ended, but even just knowing that she could get rid of him by snapping her fingers gave her immense satisfaction.

  If only it could be that easy to get rid of you in real life too, she thought. She had been secretly arranging a divorce for many months now, one as favourable for her, as possible. After all, she had brought most of the wealth into this marriage, and even though the Colonel had made a small fortune in his military career, she wanted to keep the proportion of their wealth after the divorce the same as it had been at the time they got married.

  She had given him her best years and what has she gained from it? People who were not in some way connected with her husband were reluctant to accept an invitation into a house of someone below their position. Acquired military ranks just did not substitute for birth ranks, wh
atever the financial situation of the bearer. He owed her this much. And she would make sure that she would get what she was due.

  But now was the time for more immediate pleasures. So many people wanted to impress her still, and gain her affections, and she could not possibly let them wait. She checked her make-up for the last time, and got up. Her car would be waiting by now. And so would the young investment banker she entertained for dinner last night. He was really impatient to take her to the small island he owned on the river Saône, and his private jet could be ready any minute. She had made him wait long enough, it was time to step up the game. It could really take her anywhere but, for now, a few days rest would do best.

  ***

  The Colonel felt acid in his throat; his abdomen was shaking as his anger rose. He wanted to punish his wife for her insolence. He could not stand being humiliated like that, not by his own wife! And why did she have to bring up that same old story of his low birth, again, and again, until she drove him crazy! He remained seated behind his desk, contemplating the situation. He was desperate to make things work his way again. He knew that hard work paid off. He had learned this from his long career, and he was sure he would not give up now. Even if his wife was almost right—his ancestry was not exactly glamorous.

  His father had been an airman in the former Royal Air force, his mother a middle manager at some government office or other. His path to the Sandhurst academy had been clear. His father would have preferred him to join the Air Force, but the decision was ultimately his. This was, of course well before Sandhurst was closed and all the national armies melted into the single force of the United States of Europe’s Armed Services, which included former armies, navies, air forces, commandos, and all sorts of police forces.

  He was among the few who got to keep their original ranks. Most officers of the former national armed forces had either accepted a reduction of several ranks, or were politely but irrefutably asked to resign; but the connections he had built throughout his years of service—which he often also used to gain what he called a ‘competitive advantage’, meaning an extra income in all shades of grey—served him well when the merger of forces happened. Of course, his peers needed him in a sufficiently high rank to continue doing business. Unfortunately, this also required him to be transferred to the borderlands, from where their little side operation could be overseen as new business opportunities presented themselves with the erection of The Wall.