Sven smiled and shook Frank`s hand. Then he went into the living room, where Alf was lying on the sofa. It seemed that Kohlhaas apartment in Minsk had meanwhile become his second home, because Bäumer was hanging around here since days.
“Sven! That's a surprise!”, said Bäumer, straightened up and turned off the television.
“I have been on the road in the villages around Nowgorod, with loudspeaker vans. That was an exhausting campaign”, answered Sven, while Frank gave him a soda.
“Nice that you visit us, old boy. We have been on the road too and haven`t seen Ivas for a long time”, explained Kohlhaas. “What`s about the other villagers?”
“They are constantly working for the Rus. Distributing pamphlets, driving around with loudspeaker vans, demonstrating and so on”, replied the young man who had been maimed in the Japanese war.
His remaining eye was staring at Frank and Alfred. Then he smiled. “What has happened in Smolensk?”
Kohlhaas grinned. “You have watched TV, haven`t you?"
”Yes!”
”Oh, we have just kicked the asses of some collectivists and GCF soldiers. My Varangian Guard and me”, said Frank proudly.
”A great success, without any doubt. Good work, general!”, remarked the guest from Ivas.
“Sven?”
”Yes!”
”I would be glad if you join my Varangian corps!”
The young man with the disfigured face pondered for a moment and answered: “No, Frank! I`ve already lost one eye and three fingers in the Japanese war. Moreover, I`m in the first rank at our demonstrations and this is already dangerous enough. I lead the boys from Ivas. Meanwhile, we are a punchy team.”
“Are those teenage boys, who have made that crap back then in the neighboring village, still active?”, asked Alf.
Sven laughed. “Yes, the whole youth of Ivas is still active. These boys have helped us in a lot of propaganda campaigns. Meanwhile, they are all right.”
“And Ziegler?”
“Well, Michael is no longer a wimp. He has been with us at the first demonstration in Smolensk and was beaten up by some collectivists. But he is nevertheless still active. You can count on him.”
Frank sighed. “I`m missing Ivas so much! Sometimes I think my ass will one day end up somewhere in Mongolia. Rallies here and street fights there – this whole shit makes me sick!”
Bäumer perked his eyebrows up and nodded. Sven clapped Frank with his hand, which had only two fingers, on the shoulder and said: “We have no time to rest too, my friend. Even the propaganda units are working around the clock. But what shall I say, you know all this...”
“Have you seen Julia again?”, inquired Kohlhaas.
“I haven`t been in Ivas all too often, Frank. She was in Steffen de Vries little shop, when I saw her last time”, returned the guest.
”Aha, I will call her tonight...”, muttered Frank quietly.
Sven Weber stayed overnight in Frank`s apartment and the three men drunk a lot of alcohol. On the next morning, the guest from Ivas met with some other Rus and finally drove to Kromy, a town south of Orel, to distribute the lately designed pamphlet “Who are the Powers Behind Vitali Uljanin?”.
There had been a lot of reports on Belarusian television about this topic to enlight the public about Uljanin`s true identity and the forces behind his pseudo-revolution. The collectivist leader was exposed as an agent of the World Government, while his ideology was dismantled by Tschistokjow himself.
With tens of thousands of data discs and leaflets, which were distributed throughout the western part of Russia, and a big information campaign on the Internet, the Freedom Movement of the Rus started a large-scale assault on the leader of the CASJ.
All in all, the operation was very successful and reached millions of Russians who slowly began to scrutinize the collectivist ideology. Uljanin feared this campaign more than anything else.
When Frank and Alfred brought their friend to the door on the next morning, they could not imagine, that they would never see him again. Sven Weber paid for participating in the awareness campaign with his life.
The tireless fighter, who had already sacrificed so much in his young life, was killed by a group of collectivists in Kromy. It happened in the early evening hours in a little side street. The murderers shot Sven three times in the temple. Moreover, two of his Russian comrades were seriously injured. One of them died on the way to the hospital.
Sven Weber had instantly been dead, as Frank and Alfred learned a few days later from the Rus, who had survived the assassination attempt.
Thorsten Wilden had finally broken the terrible news to Kohlhaas, and the general had just gaped speechlessly. At first, Frank had hardly been able to believe it.
Shortly afterwards, Bäumer knew it too and likewise stared into space with a deep shock in his guts. Their best friend had been murdered. Some collectivists had ended his life in a city, whose name Frank and Alf had never heard before.
“What the hell means “ubogij”?”, asked Alf glumly, trying to decipher the Cyrillic text on the computer screen.
“What?”, he heard from behind. Frank came.
”I`m on the website of the collectivist district chapter of Kursk. Here is something about the killing of Sven!”
Kohlhaas browsed his digital dictionary on the DC-Stick and stared at the screen. His eyes became two narrow slits.
“Ubogij? It means “crippled”! They write: “Ugly, crippled Rus mutant shot in Kromy!”. Those damn rats!”, he hissed.
Shortly thereafter, Frank translated also the rest of the text and read it out to his friend: “Some of Tschistokjow`s reactionary agitators had obviously had the illusion, that they could spread their deceitful propaganda in our city, and came to Kromy.
After the Rus had distributed their stupid leaflets for several hours, they finally got what they deserved. We made them pay for their insolence!
A group of collectivist activists wanted to talk to the Rus, but Tschistokjow`s fascist thugs immediately became aggressive and attacked us. So we had no other chance, than defending ourselves.
Two members of the freedom movement, including a particularly more than ugly guy, that Artur Tschistokjow had apparently sent to Kromy to scare us, were fatally injured. This incident is hopefully a lesson for the reactionary Rus scum. Stay away from our city! We do not tolerate any Rus in Kromy! Down with Artur Tschistokjow and his lies!”
“They deride Sven's death!”, growled Bäumer and closed the website.
“They`ll soon be laughing on the other side of their faces! We should visit Kromy with some of our Varagians to cut some throats”, said Frank angrily.
“Forget it! Artur would never allow this. The Varangians are no tool of our personal revenge...”
“Yeah, I know that!”, grumbled Frank back and left the room.
The body of Sven Weber was brought to Ivas. Frank and Alfred returned to their home village to pay him the last respect. It was an overcast morning. The two rebels had borrowed suits and ties from some acquaintances, because today Sven's funeral was expecting them.
A restless night had tormented Frank and he had once again plunged into terrible dreams and visions. He had hardly slept a wink, and it was the same with Alf.
They were still too sad and confused to be able to feel hatred and vindictiveness. Again and again, Sven's face appeared in their minds and mostly it was his youthful and beautiful face, before the mission of war in Japan.
Wilden was already waiting at the door and picked them up. Julia and Agatha stood behind him, welcoming them reservedly. Then they went to the small cemetery outside of Ivas.
Almost every villager and hundreds of comrades from Belarus, Russia and the Baltic countries, who had learned to know Sven Weber during his tireless activities, had gathered there. Artur Tschistokjow had come too. He just shook hands without saying a word.
Somewhere among the mourners in their black suits, Frank could hear Sven`s mother and his father, sobbing quietly. The
re he lay, in a flower adorned coffin, the beloved son, cold and dead, with three bullet holes in his head. Frank and Alfred had seen him last night, laid out in the old church of Ivas.
Gray and bloodless, the friend had rested in his coffin, while his one eye had glassy stared into nothingness. The frozen hands had lain on Sven`s breast and the dried blood on his temple had still been in his blonde hair.
The two tough guys had wept like children, when they had seen him like this. Ultimately, they had stroked him one last time over his head, thankful for all the happy hours he had given to them. Then they had wished him a good journey to the other side, where the ancestors were waiting for him.
Thorsten Wilden delivered the eulogy in front of the villagers and the other funeral guests, strangely hesitant and often interrupted by tears. This time he was not the sovereign village boss and foreign minister, because all his proverbial dispassion had vanished.
In silence, the endless funeral procession was walking through the streets of Ivas and repeatedly a faint crying ended the cruel silence. Frank and Alfred threw a shovel of earth on the coffin of their good friend, then they went back home. With bowed heads and deeply grieved.
“Without Sven, we both had died in “Big Eye”, muttered Frank and turned around to Alf.
The giant just nodded and tried to hide his tears in front of his friend. Silently, he was walking ahead, while Kohlhaas was slowly tagging behind him.
Julia did her best to reassure Frank and Alfred. Since days, the two men talked about nothing else than bloody retribution .
”This won`t bring Sven back!”, she said again and again, but the minds of the rebels were meanwhile obsessed by the lust for revenge.
However, they would get enough opportunities to spill blood in the future and their constant outbursts of sadness and anger were not very wise. But nevertheless, it was their way to deal with the death of their best friend.
“His sacrifice must not be in vain!”, preached Kohlhaas, but this phrase could hardly alleviate his grief.
In November, the rebels finally returned to Belarus. Julia Wilden came with them and spent a few days in Minsk. Frank asked her several times if she would move one day to the capital of Belarus and the young woman promised him to think about it.
Frank wanted her on his side, but Julia's concerns about him were right as Kohlhaas knew deep inside. Meanwhile, the political struggle was waiting and Frank was pushed forward once again. He put on his uniform, gritted his teeth and kept on going.
A few days later, about 8000 Rus marched through the streets of Kursk to show their power. Although there were some minor clashes with the local collectivists, the rally ended without bigger riots or gun fights.
Shortly thereafter, Frank, Alfred and the other Varangians came to the city and arrested some collectivist agitators who were brought to a prison in Belarus.
Then they returned and protected their comrades during their propaganda campaigns in the northern Ukraine. Near Cernihiv it came to a brief shoot-out with a group of CLJ men, otherwise everything went quiet.
Meanwhile, almost all GCF soldiers had left Russia and were sent to several crisis regions around the globe, especially to the Middle East or the Iran. This meant, that the collectivists had free rein now. CLJ troopers disarmed and replaced the Russian police in more and more cities, while Uljanin enforced his new order by all available means.
Many thousands of unpopular persons fell victim to a nationwide wave of “purges” and the collectivists started with their expropriation campaign.
“All property is transferred into the hands of the people!”, declared Uljanin. This meant in reality, however, the transfer of all assets into the hands of the new rulers.
Apart from that, the international banks were not even touched by the collectivists and only nationalized in pretence. The old owners, who were also Lodge Brothers, remained in their positions. Meanwhile, the leader of the collectivist movement revealed more and more of his destructive plans for Russia.
One goal was the total annihilation of the remnants of the old Russian culture. Hence, the collectivists started to knock down historic buildings and the few remaining churches, monuments and relics in the cities.
“The Russian nation and its culture must perish! Only then, the new order of eternal equality can be realized”, hammered Uljanin into the heads of his followers again and again. And these began with their great opus of destruction, leaving rubble and chaos.
However, Uljanin`s unbridled destructive frenzy led to the fact that more and more Russians slowly asked themselves if the collectivist revolution would really solve their problems. But every publicly expressed criticism was muzzled by the fanatical CLJ men.
In the meantime, Artur Tschistokjow`s freedom movement was still growing in western Russia and the Rus had strengthened their positions. The awareness campaign about Uljanin and the forces behind his back had been of use. Thousands of new members and sympathizers filled the ranks of the freedom movement and the power of the collectivist onslaught against the western part of Russia seemed slowly to subside.
A demonstration of Uljanin`s men in Brjansk could be prevented in early December by the Rus, who attacked the collectivists with several hundred troopers. Shortly afterwards, it was the same in Nowgorod.
The Varangian Guard was everywhere in use and constantly drove the collectivists out of the small towns and villages between Orel and Kursk. In Kolpny, the 1000 soldiers strong elite unit came into the town by night and arrested several functionaries of the CASJ who were shot on the spot.
The interaction between the armed trooper units of the freedom movement and the ordinary activists, which overflowded the towns and cities with leaflets and data discs, became better and better.
Meanwhile, the social situation in Russia was even more desolate. Not only the prices for food were still rising, but also those for commodities or fuel. The collectivist intervention in the economy and the complete expropriation of countless citizens exacerbated the social need up to an unbearable degree. A wave of famine and discontent shook central and eastern Russia, while the country`s infrastructure was now in danger to collapse completely.
In the course of this chaotic situation, more and more
Russians and Ukrainians recognized that the people in Belarus and the Baltic countries had a much better life under Tschistokjow`s reign. There was neither famine nor chaos.
To the contrary, the political and economic measures of the Belarusian head of state were slowly growing fruit. A makeshift social security had been established, many industry complexes and factories had been saved from closing, and even agriculture had already recovered.
Furthermore, the Belarusians and Balts were also spiritually and culturally in some kind of healing phase. Crime and squalor in the cities had declined rapidly, and even the birth rate was slowly rising again, thanks to the massive public support of families.
The ponderous but steady resurgence of Belarus could not even be stopped by the World Government in the long run. Despite of its economic boycott policy or anything else.
In addition, Japan and the Philippines also existed as export markets for Belarusian goods. That was not much, but nevertheless it was not nothing.
In the meantime, Vitali Uljanin had relocated his office into the Kremlin and was planning the next steps of the collectivist revolution with his CASJ functionaries.
“I have organized a steel worker strike in Luhansk. If we have Luhansk, then we will soon have the entire Donez region. And then the eastern Ukraine is in our hands”, said Roman Chazarovitsch, the CASJ leader of the Ukraine.
“Well...”, grumbled Uljanin and grimly beheld his staff members.
A pudgy man added: “In the west of Russia...”
But the Collectivist leader interrupted him harshly. “What`s about western Russia? Why is the revolution stagnating there?”
“These damn Rus have prevented our rally in Brjansk!”, returned the functionary.
Uljanin leaned thoughtfully back in his leather chair and said: “That Tschistokjow is thougher than I have thought!”
“Some of our chapter leader have been arrested or shot. These pigs have motorized squads, that appear out of nowhere!”, complained another CASJ leader.
“We have units like this too. Anyway...”, Uljanin put him off.
“It must be our goal to take St. Petersburg. If we control also the second largest city in Russia, then the west of Russia will soon be in our hands! Therefore, I have appointed Theodore Soloto, one of our best orators and agitators, to lead the CASJ group in St. Petersburg from now on!”
The rest of the functionaries started to whisper secretly. One of them, a medium-sized man with glasses, black curly hair, long sideburns and an impenetrable look nodded and smiled.
”Thank you, Mr. Uljanin!”, he said.
The chairman of the CASJ kept a straight face, got up from his leather chair and positioned himself in front of his subordinates.
“I demand that Tschistokjow and his breed are stopped – at all cost. Recruite more men for our CLJ units in western Russia! Go on with the rallies! Let no Rus life undisturbed! Find out everything about their chapter leaders! Find out where they live! Gun them down! Put them down! Got it?”, vociferated Uljanin angrily.
His staff members murmured their approval and finally left the room. The angry glance of their leader followed them.
Before the winter of 2037 swept over Russia, the Rus extended their actions till the suburbs of St. Petersburg. The last big demonstration of this year took place in Kolpino. There were some attacks of the collectivists, who demonstrated on the same day, what led to 14 deads on both sides.
However, Frank and Alfred had remained in Minsk. A few days later, they drove back to Ivas and looked forward to a quiet Christmas with good food and much sleep.
Frank wiped off a load of snow from the old wooden bench near the forest outside the village, put a soft blanket over it and sat down. Julia Wilden did the same.
They were silent for a while and beheld the snowy tops of the trees above them. Somewhere in the distance, the cry of an animal could be heard, otherwise there was only the wind, roaming quietly through the branches.
The young woman leaned her head against Frank`s shoulder and tried to warm herself. He stroked her gently through the soft, blonde hair and was lost in thought.
“What`s up with you? You are musing since hours, Frank”, said Julia, looking thoughtfully at him.
“Oh, nothing, it`s all right...”, answered the general.
“Are you happy to be back in Ivas?”
“Yes, of course! I`m more than happy! If I would have a choice, I would never leave this place again.”
Julia gave him a hug. “That would be great!”
“But I have no choice, as you know. Soon I have to go back to Belarus!”
“The revolution calls for its hero...”, she muttered with a certain lack of understanding.
Frank stared at the snow-covered ground and cleared his throat. “If it continues like that, then I`ll be just vanished one day.”
Julia was astonished and stood up from the bench. “What do you mean?”, she asked confusedly.
The leader of the Varangian Guard looked at her with a cynical expression: “Because I`ll be dead then! One day, they will finally get me and my luck will have left me...”
From one moment to the next, Julia became indignant. She had planned to talk with Frank a bit about her future studying and her work in the village school, but now Frank came with the same old story again. Julia had finally enough of all the rallies, street fights and revolutions.
“Then let the others fight for once!”, she scolded.
The general shook his head and said nothing. Shortly afterwards, he returned: “The others are already fighting. And they die. Just like me. Sven is already dead, and soon they will get me...”
“To hell with all this crap, Frank!”
“Anyway, I`m doing it for you too, Julia.”
“Yes, of course! I`m looking forward to the day when you finally bite the dust for me. That`s what I`ve always wanted, Frank!”
”But...?”
”But what? You are unable to live a normal life, that`s a fact. “If a man sacrifices himself for the cause, it is the greatest thing he can do!” Yes, listen to your beloved saviour Tschistokjow and die a heroic death, you fool!”, hissed the daughter of the village boss.
A second later, Frank jumped off the bench and angrily uttered a curse.
“Do not talk to me like that, Julia! I`m not one of your little pupils, got it? You have to pay me respect!”, roared Kohlhaas and positioned himself threateningly in front of the pretty woman.
Julia`s blue eyes sparkled at him, then she gave Frank a cynical grin. “So what? Do you want to beat me up now, general Kohlhaas?”
Frank paused. “No! Of course not...”
“It's better if I go now. I had really looked forward to see you, but I can`t stand this theatre anymore...”, said Julia disappointedly. Then she turned around and walked back to the village.
“You're a fool, Frank! Apparently, the only happiness in your life is the success in your eternal struggle. You don`t want to see anything else, poor hero!”, she shouted at him angrily and left. Kohlhaas remained on the bench and stared at the cloudy sky. Maybe Julia was right, he thought to himself.
Frustration and a Strange Professor