The media in the entire administrative sector “Eastern Europe” reported almost daily about the new successes in the “war on terror” against Artur Tschistokjow and his followers. In the first week of October, it became even more unpleasant. Apparently, informers had found out much more about the structure of the freedom movement, as its leader had believed. Finally, the police even located his secret printing office.
Sub-governor Medschenko took the “omnipresent terrorist threat” as an opportunity to increase the surveillance of the larger cities of Belarus with more cameras and new scanning machines. Within just one month, the Freedom Movement of the Rus broke down under the massive pressure and became a desolate bunch of scared men and women. All its leaders had successfully been isolated, arrested or even executed.
Citizens with secret symphaties for Artur Tschistokjow who still had jobs and families, retired into private life now – deeply shocked.
Who had ever been at a meeting of the Rus, was hoping that the authorities had not noticed it, otherwise it meant losing the job, getting a blocked Scanchip or going to prison.
Even Frank and the other men from Ivas were disturbed and scared. Wilden wailed for days and regretted his careless and arrogant behavior. They could only hope now, that their contacts to Artur Tschistokjow could not be retraced and that the name of their village would still remain a secret. And the following weeks should become a true nightmare.
“Damn!”, cried Frank, almost falling from the old chair in his barely furnished living room, staring in horror at the TV screen.
”Alf! Come here! Hurry up!”, he shouted and breathed rapidly.
Bäumer sneaked out of the bathroom, where he had previously browsed some old magazines, yawning loudly.
“What`s up?”, he asked annoyedly.
”This morning, the city governor of Moghilev, Roman Khazarov, was shot in front of his house. They say that the killers are members of Artur`s movement!”
Alf sat down on the couch, panting, while the shrill voice of the television reporter echoed through the room. She said that three young men had been arrested by the police. Then television showed some pictures of a house search and pamphlets of the Freedom Movement of the Rus.
“Now they have, what they needed!”, moaned Bäumer and hold his head. “The media will hype the whole thing and the cops will finally have a justification to fight tooth and nail against Tschistokjow`s organization.”
“Yes, right...”, answered Frank and cursed loudly.
They went to Wilden, who had not heard of the incident so far. He had spent the previous part of this day with sorting his old books and reacted on the bad news with evident nervousness.
“From now on, as they said on TV, they will execute every member of Artur`s movement they can catch – as a terrorist!”, said Kohlhaas anxiously.
“They would have done it sooner or later anyway - and they already do so, partly. However, now they have a moral justification for such brutal measures against our people”, muttered the village boss thoughtfully.
“How many Rus actually know about Ivas?”, asked Alf then, glaring at Wilden.
“Thus, only Artur and his closest fellows”, returned the older man a bit uncertain.
“And that Viktor from Grodno! Julia has told him about our village. Moreover, many others probably know about this base, because you have talked to them. I know it, Thorsten!”, yelled Frank at the village boss.
“Well, I could not imagine that one day...”, stammered the man, trying to find an excuse.
“Shit!”, hissed Alf and followed Frank who was leaving the house. The next days were ruled by anxiety and nervousness, and it was unlikely that this condition would change soon.
“Have you gone insane?”, shouted Artur Tschistokjow and his voice echoed from the dark cellar up to the street.
Peter Ulljewski held a trembling young man named Martin Malkin, the head of the group of Moghilev, in his strong hands and shook him. Then he pushed him against the gray concrete wall of the room.
”We thought...”, stammered the frightened young activist and held his head.
”Have I allowed this?”, hissed Tschistokjow.
“No, but...but the cops have shot two of our men. For no reason!”, said Malkin sheepishly.
“Fuck! Now tell me, what has happened in Moghilev?”, growled Peter.
“Some of our comrades were in a pub in the inner city, where they got some troubles with a few Azerbaijanis. Meanwhile, they live in the east of Moghilev – en masse!”, explained Malkin.
”I know that! Go on!”, interrupted him the leader of the Rus.
“Yes, and the conflict heated up. The Azerbaijanis finally waited on the street in front of the pub and drew knives and brass knuckles, it were six of those fucking wogs. Then our men came out of the pub and there was a first fight. One of us was wounded by a knife and the wogs ran away to call their friends. After half an hour, they came back with about 30 further men. Meanwhile, our comrades had also rounded up some other Russians who wanted to help us against that scum.
Shortly afterwards, two police cars arrived and the fucking cops accused our people that they were to blame for the dispute and wanted to instigate riots. Those damn Azerbaijanis could just walk away and the cops didn`t touch them!”
“Did the policemen knew that you are members of the freedom movement?”, inquired Artur and nervously stroked through his hair.
“No! Of course not! Some of our men were very angry about the behaviour of the cops and yelled something at them. Then followed a brief scuffle and the cops suddenly shot around without hesitation. My best friend was hit in the face and died instantly, another was shot in the stomach and bled to death on the street.”
“Yes, and then?”, persisted Artur.
“I haven`t been there. It`s just what the others from Moghilev have told me. However, the rest of our men ran away.”
“What has it to do with that Khazarov?”, screamed Peter from the side and pressed Malkin against the wall.
“Damn! They have killed my best friend Alexander, with whom I have grown up. In the following days, all of us were fuming with rage. Some of our younger men called for a campaign of revenge. Someone had to pay for all this! Someone who is responsible for all that shit. We had so many problems with the cops and these gangs of foreigners and...”
“And then you have arranged to gun down the city governor?”, shouted Tschistokjow.
“No! Three of our guys have made it on their own!”
“Bloody hell!”, grumbled Artur, kicking against a wooden box which burst with a loud crack.
“I should shoot these idiots! Since when are things like that done without my permission? Since when are things like that done at all - by members of my organization? We are freedom fighters, political activists – and no terrorists!”, hissed the blond man.
“Now they will hunt us down like mangy dogs. Just wait and see!”, muttered Peter Ulljewski and turned his back on the others.
Artur`s best friend and longtime supporter had correctly assessed the situation. In the following weeks, the media reported almost daily about new arrests and it still became worse.
The three young assassins from Moghilev who had quickly been found by the police, were convicted in a spectacular show trial and finally hanged a few days later. Many ordinary citizens who had viewed Artur Tschistokjow as some kind of reformer, or even liberator, became uncertain now, because the media incessantly presented him as a leader of a “terrorist gang” or called him the “most dangerous maniac of Belarus”. Ultimately, some parts of the Freedom Movement of the Rus just broke down under the increasing pressure and the structure of the organization fell into ruin.
Meanwhile, Artur Tschistokjow had been brought to a secret location, somewhere in the north of the country, by his friend Peter. And he never left his hiding place again.
Apart from that, the inhabitants of Ivas tried to live their lifes and hoped that nobody would ever recognize the true character of their
village. In the meantime, Frank sank in a state of lethargy and sadness. Soon the winter of 2033 came over Lithuania and the first snowflakes fell from the sky. Occasionally, Kohlhaas asked Wilden, whether he had heard something of Tschistokjow, but the village boss always reacted with a sorrowful shrug of the shoulders. The only positive news came from Japan, because Wilden telephoned with Mr. Taishi from time to time. In the Far East, president Matsumoto was building up his country and had consolidated his reign. This was the lone little flicker of hope in these dark days.
But there was one member of the Freedom Movement of the Rus that still came to Ivas. It was not Artur Tschistokjow, who was still hiding somewhere in Belarus, hoping that the storm would die down again. No, it was Viktor, the handsome, athletic leader of the group of Grodno. He visited the Wildens several times on his own - with a special interest for Julia.
The village boss found the young man quite sympathetic, although he was not all too pleased if visitors from the outside still came to the village. His daughter, however, was pleased, very pleased!
She had invited Viktor, just as she had promised it at the rally in Schtewatj. One day, Frank saw them talking and laughing loudly, when they walked through the village. He did not believe his eyes.
“What the hell does that pretty boy do here?”, he muttered silently, when Julia and Viktor crossed the street.
In the last weeks, Frank had ignored her in annoyance, because of her little flirt with the Russian at the rally in Schtewatj.
“I could ask the pretty fucking boy, if he has heard something from Artur”, he thought angrily. “But he is certainly not here to talk about politics. That arrogant idiot...”
Julia saw Frank from afar and waved her hand, but the young man just gave her an insincere smile and went into a side street.
”Stupid slut!”, he hissed quietly.
This unpleasant sight significantly increased Frank`s depressed mood in the coming days and weeks. He spent the winter in his hardly heated house and rarely visited the Wildens. Soon, he had found the alcohol as his new best friend and asked John Throphy to bring him still more beer and vodka from his trips to the neighboring regions.
In the bleak winter nights, Frank`s nightmares often crawled out of the dark corners of his subconsciousness again. More often than in other times of the year. Sometimes, the strange visions which besieged Frank`s skull in the black of night, were bizarre and vague. Occasionally, his parents, his sister or even Nico appeared. Apart from that, a lot of other confusing things distressed his mind. One vision still remained in his memory for many days.
As he walked through an unfamiliar city, he saw a long line of people who were chained together. Men in gray shirts drove them forward, leading them out of the town to a large field. Frank walked along beside the line of people and did not know what to make of it. After a while, he had reached the end of the line and suddenly stood in front of a long-drawn-out stone wall.
“Forward! The next!”, yelled one of the uniformed men and led some of the people to the wall.
He blindfolded them, while his comrades came from behind to help him. They had guns in their hands which they loaded now. Finally, the men in the gray shirts formed a long squad column.
“Fire!”, it resounded and a volley mowed down the people in front of the wall. The dead were pulled away and brought to a huge pit, where countless corpses were already lying.
And so it went on. Salvo after salvo broke the silence, but the line of people did not seem to become shorter.
Frank looked at this scenario in horror and disgust, but the people, standing around him, seemed not to notice him.
Suddenly he heard a familiar voice behind him, turned around and saw Artur Tschistokjow.
“Frank, nice that you also have come!”, said the leader of the Rus.
”What are you doing here?”, asked Frank with a trembling voice.
“We have won!”, yelled Artur joyfully.
“But what are you doing?”, stammered Kohlhaas confusedly.
Tschistokjow clapped him on the shoulder and replied: “What we do? All that is necessary!”
“I do not understand...”, said the young man from Ivas.
“Do not ask so much! Better help us! We have a lot of work to do!”, answered the Russian.
The rebel leader thrusted a rifle into Frank`s hand.
Kohlhaas paused and looked at him, still disturbed. An uneasy feeling had gripped his throat and he did not know what to say at all.
“We have won, Frank! You can be happy, my friend! And now, finally, help us!”, demanded Artur.
Another firing command was shouted, and the sound of guns followed. Artur Tschistokjow disappeared again, leaving Frank alone with the rifle.
The dreamer`s eyes opened wide and he let out a loud snort. Distraughtly, he clung to his blanket and looked around. ”Will it all end like this?”, asked Frank himself.
Cold Days