Prey World - Organized Rage

"Slowly the whole thing takes shape”, said Frank with a smile and turned to Alf. Bäumer gleefully took another sip of ice cold lemonade, agreed without saying a word and looked across the square in the middle of Ivas.

  “Do you want to have another baguette?”, they heard from behind.

  “Yes, please!”, answered Frank.

  It was Steffen de Vries, the Belgian. Today, the two men had sat down in the new and only cafe of their little village. Steffen de Vries, the sprightly Fleming, had opened it last month. The chubby, cheerful man had converted one of the old, empty shops in the center of the village into a makeshift cafe. Next to them, there was another shop, in which the Belgian with the reddish beard and the broad cheeks sold all sorts of useful odds and ends.

  Steffen gave Frank a small plate with a steaming salami baguette on it, and Kohlhaas expectantly opened his eyes. Then he almost devoured the delicious food like a hungry python.

  ”You have become a real entrepreneur, right?”, he said, loudly smacking .

  “Yes, the cafe has been a good idea, hasn`t it?”, answered de Vries.

  ”Does it run?”, joked Alf.

  “Well, the Dreher family has already been here today. With their four children”, retorted the Fleming and grinned.

  “Better than nothing!”, remarked Frank.

  “I won`t become a millionaire, but I like my job...”, added Steffen and disappeared again.

  Frank`s eyes wandered across the squalid village square. Between the cobblestones, weed was sprouting out of every crack. The old church, opposite the cafe, had still more fallen into ruin in the last years and the memorial stone in the middle of the square was still overgrown with all sorts of scrub.

  ”We should clean up a little bit here, and whip our village into shape”, said Frank.

  “Yes, you can suggest it to Wilden”, replied Alf.

  “Too bad, that the church is just crumbling, actually it`s a nice building. Perhaps we should restore it”, commented Kohlhaas.

  “Hardly anyone in Ivas needs an old church!”

  “We could make a nice meeting room of it. What do you think?”

  “Okay, if you like...”

  “I will speak with Thorsten. It hurts me somehow, if an old building is just rotting in front of us. The church dosen`t deserve such a fate...”

  Bäumer looked puzzled. “Church? Fate? You probably become a bit sentimental at once, dude!”

  “No, but I respect old buildings!”, Frank replied sullenly, feeling misunderstood.

  “Wow! Look at this!”, Alf suddenly pointed towards the other end of the village square. Julia and another person approached.

  A few moments later, Frank could recognize who held the hand of the pretty daughter of the village boss, walking across the square with a big smile. It was Viktor, the handsome Russian from Grodno.

  “What is that guy doing here?”, growled Kohlhaas.

  “Can`t you see it, my friend? He seems to have visited Miss Wilden”, replied Alf and watched Frank`s scowl.

  “Bloody hell!”, muttered Kohlhaas quietly. “Do you think they are a couple now?”

  “You can go and ask them...”

  “Fuck you, idiot! I don`t want to talk to this arrogant slut and her new lover. She can kiss my ass! I don`t care about her anymore!”

  “Sounds different...”, said Alf.

  “Shut up!”, hissed his friend.

  “You haven`t given Julia the time of the day in the last months. Maybe this has been a mistake”, remarked Bäumer and raised his forefinger.

  “What was a damn mistake? I won`t run after her!”, ranted Kohlhaas, clutching to the tablecloth.

  “Maybe it would have been better, if you have done it, Frank!”

  “Maybe what? Maybe women are stupid? Yes, could be right!”

  Julia and Viktor were walking past them, waving their hands happily. Then they disappeared behind the old church. Kohlhaas called Steffen deVries and paid the price for three baguettes and two glasses of lemonade with his fake Scanchip. Alf paid too, and followed his angry friend. Now, even the comforting warm August sun could not exhilarate Frank anymore.

  A few days later, Frank and Alf decided to spend more time with supporting Tschistokjow`s movement. They even promised Wilden to take part in all protest marches, rallies and meetings – from now on.

  Furthermore, Frank made the village boss the suggestion to renovate the old church to make it to some kind of meeting place for the village community. The former businessman agreed to the idea and several dozen men and women started to clean up the little square and to remove the abundant weed. Finally, they even restored the dilapidated church. They piled up a big mountain of rubble and rubbish in front of the building and repaired the broken roof. At the end of the month, they had done a lot of renovation work and eventually started to face the walls of the church with wooden panels. The old pictures and sculptures inside were cleaned and freed from dust, and Frank was always taken by a tang of awe, when he looked at them.

  In September, they were visited by Tschistokjow and his friend Peter again. Wilden had told the Russians in a long conversation that Frank and Alfred had meanwhile decided to serve the freedom movement as full members. Shortly afterwards, Tschistokjow immediately asked to talk to them in person.

  Kohlhaas opened the door with surprise and let Tschistokjow and his brawny companion into the house. Today, the blond Russian was grinning from ear to ear, while Frank was puzzled. Even Peter Ulljewski could not resist a small grin. Then Alf appeared in the hallway and welcomed the two guests from Belarus.

  “You two also want to become really active in our movement now?”, asked Tschistokjow and sat down on the old couch.

  “Yes, we want!”, answered Frank, looking at Artur who still had this stupid grin on his face.

  “You two...”, said the Russian, winking at them.

  “What`s up?” Alf shook his head blankly.

  “Special Forces Frank and Special Forces Alfred, ha, ha!”, laughted Tschistokjow, slapping his thighs.

  “What?”

  ”We can use you good!”, Artur winked at them again, while Peter nudged him with his elbow.

  “Special Forces...?”

  ”Ha, ha! Yes, I know everything. You have killed Wechsler and that GCF general on Okinawa. Great!”, shouted Tschistokjow with utter enthusiasm.

  Frank rolled his eyes and moaned: “Why can`t Wilden just shut up, just one time!”

  “Thorsten has told me everything. Damn! You are true heroes!”, said the Russian full of excitement.

  “Damn! We have told Wilden to keep his mouth shut. It`s always the same with him...”, grouched Bäumer.

  “You can trust me, don`t worry!”, laughed Tschistokjow.

  “I know, but nevertheless, we asked Wilden not to talk about all these things”, grumbled Frank.

  “Well, I have asked him about you and he has told me. You are heroes to us all! Heroes!”, answered the blond Russian reverently, stood up and clapped Frank and Alf on the shoulders.

  Finally, the two “heroes” reacted a little embarrassed and Frank proudly smiled to himself.

  “You could lead my guardsmen! What do you think?”, suggested Tschistokjow. “That`s the right job for you!”

  ”We will think about your offer, Artur. Anyhow, thanks!”, muttered Bäumer.

  The blond Russian did not give up and tried to convince them at any cost. Soon he behaved like Wilden, when he was in top form. Frank and Alfred finally agreed and were internally quite flattered by this offer too. Then they talked with Tschistokjow about the details and were more than amazed, when the Russian explained that he had already built up an impressing force of armed guardsmen.

  He had meanwhile planned another rally in Baranovichi. Tschistokjow expected about 6000 people. However, clashes with the police were also realistic, because Baranovichi was no more small town in a rural area and not far from Minsk. This was a real provocation for the Medschenko government!

  In th
is city, a lot of factories and production complexes stood before their closure and accordingly, there was a great potential of dissatisfied men and women. The rally should be a similar show of force like the march through Nowopolozk, as the Rus thought. Tschistokjow did not even try to keep any secrecy and called the people up to join the demonstration on 28.09.2034 at 15.00 o`clock at the town square in the city center. Even Wilden had no good feeling in view of a provocation of the authorities like this.

  The media reacted immediately and spreaded the news of the planned protest march through Baranovichi to the last corner of the administrative sector “Eastern Europe”.

  Now, Tschistokjow was expecting a massive police presence and he told his followers to arm themselves and prepare for bloody street fights. Finally, he even proclaimed that the time was ripe for the march on Minsk. But in the end, it all came different.

  Already at 13.00 o`clock, almost 5000 demonstrators had gathered in the inner city of Baranovichi and some hundreds of them had guns, rifles and other weapons. A sea of dragon head ​​flags filled the town square, and every minute more protesters came out of the side streets.

  Frank, Alfred, Wilden and the others from Ivas had come much earlier to Baranovichi to get an overview of the situation. And what they saw was strange – there were only a few policemen.

  “Something is wrong here!”, said Wilden, looking at the crumbling, old buildings around him.

  “I just hope, that it all doesn`t end in a bloodbath...”, answered Kohlhaas and left his friends to search for Artur. Bäumer followed him. After a few minutes, they had found the Russian in a throng of mummed people. The leader of the Rus smiled at them and waved them nearer.

  “Ah, Frank and Alfred! You can have a window place here”, joked Tschistokjow.

  Then, the Russian took a long look at the two Germans. Both had shouldered their rifles and were completely clothed after the dress code, gray shirts and black trousers, just as Tschistokjow wanted it.

  “This is Olaf, he is head of the group of Baranovichi”, said the rebel leader and pointed at a man next to him.

  “Hello, I` m Frank!”

  “Olaf!”, muttered the Russian, staring straight ahead.

  “There are just a few cops here. I can`t understand this”, remarked Bäumer puzzledly and shrugged his shoulders.

  “I do not know, maybe they are scared”, replied Tschistokjow with a grin and stroked through his sweaty blond hair. Then he shouted an order at some young men and disappeared in the crowd again.

  At 15.00 o`clock, the protest march started with loud yelling. Large banners with slogans like “Artur Tschistokjow - Now!” or “Jobs and freedom for all Russians!” were carried by the men in the front row.

  Thorsten Wilden and the rest of the rebels from Ivas stayed in the rear of the demonstration, while Sven and his men flanked the march as guardsmen. Frank, who was walking behind Tschistokjow, tried to estimate how many people had come to this city today. About 6000 people, maybe even 8000 or more. It was a very long human worm which was crawling through the streets of Baranovichi.

  Behind Kohlhaas, the Russian comrades yelled their slogans at the top of their lungs, Artur was silent, however, because he had to spare his voice for the following speech. Frank and Alf remained quiet too, watching out for policemen and other dangers.

  “Where are those cops? This isn`t normal. Everyone knows that we are here”, mused Kohlhaas and craned his head upwards.

  They marched about two kilometers through downtown, passing a lot of cheering citizens and many dilapidated houses. However, not every inhabitant of the city was well-disposed towards them. Some even shouted “Murderer! Murderer!” out the windows and meant Tschistokjow. At a street corner, some young foreigners threw stones at the demonstrators and finally ran away, when they came closer.

  Apparently, the incitement of the media against the freedom movement had already born fruits in some parts of the population.

  The last rallies, which had exclusively been in rural areas and small towns, had been unspectacular. But here in Baranovichi, the atmosphere was sometimes unpleasant. In the larger cities, especially in Minsk, the Rus had to take into account not only clashes with the police, but even with some incited people or hostile foreigners.

  Nevertheless, this demostration looked impressive, because of the great number of protesters, the countless flags and the uniformed guardsmen and members. Finally, the crowd stopped at a large square and Artur Tschistokjow prepared himself for his speech.

  Ugly apartment blocks and abandoned stores surrounded them here. Now, several hundred cheering people came out of the side streets and joined the rally. They were quite excited to hear the famous, notorious dissident with their own ears.

  “Hey, something is wrong here. Shit! Where the hell are the cops?”, whispered Frank, staring at Bäumer who stood just a few meters behind Tschistokjow. The beefy German scratched his head and came to him.

  “You`re right. This is absolutely strange. I have expected thousands of cops, the full program, anti-riot squads and so on...”, returned Alf, looking uneasy.

  “I start now with my speech!”, said Tschistokjow to them and the crowd formed a giant circle around him, so that the whole square, including the side streets, was completely packed with people.

  “Damn! It must be a trap. I just have a very bad vibe about this!”, said Frank and was gripped by a wave of nervousness.

  “What shall happen? The cops won`t attack us, Frank. Just look at this mass of people!”, calmed him Bäumer.

  Tschistokjow`s voice shook the crowd and a murmur went through it, while his supporters were waving their flags and banners. The tall man, wearing a black leather coat this time, shouted his political passion and all his inner rage into the microphone and began with the usual accusations against the World Government and its political representatives in Belarus.

  Meanwhile, Frank searched the area around him for possible clues of hidden dangers with the instinct of a hunter. But he could not see very much, because he was surrounded by countless people. So his only chance was to look up.

  On the one hand, the constant peering was his job as an armed guardsman, and on the other hand his instinct told him that something unexpected would still happen today.

  The young rebel from Ivas narrowed his eyes to slits and beheld the roofs of the houses which surrounded the square. Again and again, he turned around, although he did not really know what he was looking for.

  “What are you doing, buddy?”, asked Bäumer and shook his head.

  ”Oh, I`m just looking around, Alf!”

  “Are you waiting for some Skydragons? That`s just ridiculous...”, said Alf sardonically.

  Meanwhile, Tschistokjow seemed to be in extasy and was hammering his political claims into the heads of his followers. Frank could understand a lot of the Russian speech. His continuous lessons with Wilden had not been in vain, beyond all doubt.

  He turned his gaze back to the houses that surrounded the square, while some evil forebodings rumbled in his belly. Frank was sure that something was wrong.

  “They have set a trap for us. I feel it...”, he said quietly to himself.

  ”What?”, shouted Alf into his ear.

  “Nothing, forget it!”

  Then, Tschistokjow`s impassioned speech finally came to an end and screams and clapping came from everywhere. The leader of the Rus traditionally intoned the song “My Russia”, which was always sung at the end of a rally.

  A loud singing resounded out of the throats of thousands of moved people. At that moment, the mass floated on a wave of emotions and even the most guardsmen were completely lost in thoughts, singing this lovely old folk song.

  Only Frank seemed to worry and stared at the roofs of the houses, again and again. Suddenly he recognized something strange in the corner of his eye. A small, dark spot had moved on a rooftop and had then disappeared behind a long chimney. Kohlhaas gaze had followed the spot and was now trying to find it aga
in. Shortly afterwards, he could see a tiny, black line next to the chimney.

  “A barrel of a rifle!”, it flashed through his mind.

  Now the dark spot was moving again. It was a man who was lurking there on the roof. The adrenaline rushed through Frank`s body and he knew instinctively what to do.

  With a long leap, he jumped on Tschistokjow and pushed him aside. Just at that moment, a bullet hissed only a few centimeters past the head of the Russian. The tall, blond man fell to the ground, because of Frank`s massive impetus, while some Russians jumped sidewards.

  Two more bullets followed and hit the asphalt behind Tschistokjow. A third projectile hit Frank in the left lower leg and he screamed in pain. With a distorted face, he crawled behind the human wall to find cover. The people around him scattered in sheer panic.

  “There`s a sniper! Sniper! Sniper!”, yelled Frank, pointing at the sky.

  Meanwhile, some guardsmen had also noticed the man on the roof and fired with their assault rifles in the direction of the house. But the sniper disappeared in a flash and soon he was too far away to be pursued anymore.

  Bäumer made a beeline for Frank: “Are you okay?”

  “All right, I have been hit in the lower leg. Don`t worry...”, moaned Kohlhaas.

  Tschistokjow slowly stood up again. He looked like being struck by lightning and was completely speechless with terror. He was just snatched from the jaws of death.

  Wilden, Sven, Peter Ulljewski and other confidants of the politician struggled through the crowd and were totally confused. Only because of Frank`s wariness, the Russian dissident had survived this assassination attempt.

  The rebel leader had always foreseen an incident like this, but when it happened, he had been completely stunned, as he later admitted. It had been the worst shock of his whole life yet. During the rest of the day, there were heavy riots in Baranovichi. Several hundred young Belarusians thought that they had to avenge the assassination attempt on their leader. So they started a witch-hunt on the few policemen in the city, killing two of them and throwing Molotov cocktails into an administration building.

  The men from Ivas left Baranovichi as fast as they could and reached their home village unharmed - except for Frank who had a bullet deep in the flesh of his lower leg. The young man could not be brought to a regular hospital and had to be doctored with primitive means. Finally, Alf cut out the projectile with a knife and disinfected the wound with alcohol.

 

  Limping and Hoping