It was raining outside and darkness had fallen over the bleak estate of prefabricated houses in the southern part of the Belarusian city of Vitebsk. Artur Tschistokjow, a tall man of 31 years, sat at his shabby kitchen table and played thoughtfully with a little shot glass which danced around between his fingers.
He took another sip of cheap swill and stared at the wall with his bright, blue eyes. Today he was more nervous than ever, because the GSA, the international secret service, was upon his heels. Agents of the World Government had come to Belarus and intensively searched for him. This was no pleasant situation. But here, in this gray ghetto of apartment blocks, full of poverty and dreariness, they would not find him. Tschistokjow was not registered anymore, he had no more Scanchip and he left his apartment which had been rented by an unremarkable person, only in case of necessity. His friends and comrades supplied him with food and paid his bills. There was no other way.
The young man was always quiet and appeared to his neighbors as a shadow, when he sneaked along the corridor of his floor in the night, never saying a word.
Furthermore, he had no more telephone and no Internet connection. This was much too dangerous in a time of total surveillance. Artur Tschistokjow had just vanished, living a ghostly life now. No official data base could find him anymore – and this was his only chance to survive.
The Russian went to the fridge, an ugly, battered thing in the corner of his kitchen, and took out a sandwich. Then he sat down in the living room to drink the next bottle of vodka. This life was painful, but it was still better, than being caught and liquidated. Artur stroked through his stringy, blond hair and his long face with the pointed chin became a tragic mask. He looked out the window again, but there was nobody. Only the rain, the darkness and an old street lamp with a loose connection, flashing all the time.
Some of the windows in the block of flats opposite were still illuminated. Who lived his sad life behind those curtains? Perhaps a man who was just as unhappy as Tschistokjow. After a few hours, he fell asleep on the couch, with a woozy head. This day was over.
In the early morning hours of the next day came Peter Ulljewski, Artur`s best friend and political companion, bringing some bread and a dozen sausages. Peter was 34 years old and a craftsman. A few months ago, he had moved to Vitebsk, together with Artur, and lived now in a small apartment in the outskirts. The strong man with the angular face and the broad shoulders told Tschistokjow the latest news, what made his friend still more nervous.
”They have arrested two of our men last night, Andrej and Igor!”, he said. “Both have distributed our newspapers, when the damn cops have caught them.”
”Two men less...”, muttered Artur, falling back on his shabby sofa.
”But this looks good, right?”, remarked Peter, pulling a thin newspaper out of his pocket.
He gave it to his friend. Tschistokjow examined everything and finally nodded.
“Yes, it`s a great work, Peter. My editorial about the new administration tax is on the cover page. Nice!”, meant Artur and smiled for a short moment.
“We will print about 10000 copies of this edition. I told our young comrades that they have to be more careful, when they distribute our promo material”, said Peter and took a bottle of soda out of the fridge.
”At first, we will spread our newspapers and leaflets only in Vitebsk - and only in estates of prefabricated houses. In quarters like this, we will get the most encouragement from the population”, ordered Tschistokjow with serious face.
“What`s about the stickers?”
”About 20000 are in print”, replied Ulljewski.
”Okay! This is better than nothing.” Artur tried to smile again and went straight to the window. “And the group in Minsk?”
“They want 20000 stickers too!”, answered his comrade.
”If there is some money left, then we let them print as fast as possible”, said Tschistokjow and drew the curtains.
”Three days ago, you were on television. They have shown a picture of you and asked the people for informations”, told Ulljewski.
“I already know that – from Vladimir!”, the blond man returned quietly. “Was something in the papers too?”
“Just a small article about our spraying last Tuesday. Nothing important, but meanwhile they know us! And they seem to pay a bit more attention to our actions...”
“Certainly!”, murmured Tschistokjow thoughtfully.
”Anyhow, everything is ready for Saturday. What`s about your speech, Artur?”, asked Ulljewski.
“I work on it! Don`t worry. I know enough things to say. This is our smallest problem, my friend!”
Some minutes later, Peter said goodbye and left the room silently.
”I`ll pick you up at 18.00 o`clock!”, he finally whispered and shut the door behind him.
Artur Tschistokjow looked nervously around, while he thought about all the possible incidents that could happen during the meeting on Saturday. He prayed that everything would run smoothly, because even a little gathering was dangerous enough for him. If the police or the GSA would ever catch him, it all would have been in vain.
Two years ago, the young man from Kiev had assumed the leadership of the Freedom Movement of the Rus, an patriotic, anti-government organization of Belarusian resistance fighters who wanted to liberate their homeland from the tyranny of the World Government. At that time, he had still lived in Minsk. Meanwhile, the once tiny faction had become a small political factor, because of its restless and effective publicity campaigns.
Many people seemed to have sympathies for the Rus, but now the authorities and the GSA followed their traces and would not rest until Tschistokjow was in their hands. The enemy knew that he was the leader of the organization and the great hunt for him had already started.
Even television had reported about him several times, in the usual inflammatory way. He had been called a “terrorist” and a “dangerous lunatic”. Furthermore, they had put a bounty on his head, although he just published political pamphlets and had never been violent so far.
If he had to leave his unremarkable apartment by day, he had to creep out like a rabbit, searched by a pack of gundogs.
He did not catch his neighbor`s eyes so far, Artur felt certain. Otherwise, the police had already visited him. The young man shunned the inner city of Vitebsk which was meanwhile cluttered with cameras and eye-ball-scanners.
His older brother and his parents had been arrested a year ago. With this action, they wanted to lure him out of his hiding place, but he was still nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, his family members had already been liquidated, because he had heard nothing from them since months. But to look for his parents and his brother, would have been some kind of suicide. Because of all this, his hatred had grown enormously, but he still felt helpless. Although an increasing number of Belarusians had barely Globes to live, hated the World Government and became more and more discontent, only a small group of men had joined his organization. Most people were just scared of losing even the rest of their pathetic existence.
The authorities threatened to block the Scanchips of all who supported or joined the Freedom Movement of the Rus in secret. In the worst case, helping the Rus could even mean imprisonment or execution.
This situation was terrible for everyone involved, and slowly the concerns of the once so creative and fun-loving young man ate him up from inside.
”I cut off, if necessary, to Japan, if I can`t stand this hell anymore”, he said sometimes to himself and felt a little more relieved. But this feeling never lasted long, because the fear in his head was always there, in these sorrowful days.
„Goal!“, screamed Frank Kohlhaas enthusiastically and turned around to his teammates. His best friend and today`s opponent, Alfred Bäumer, looked angrily at him and clenched his teeth.
Frank had humiliated him again with his soccer skills. Now the goalkeeper shot the ball across the field and the match went on.
“Give me that thing!”, Frank heard his tea
mmate Sven shout from the other end of the field and brought the leather with a deliberate kick in the direction of the young man. Header, goal, Alfred landed in the dirt again and cursed.
“Bäumer, even my grandma is faster!”, scoffed a young man of Frank`s team. Alf growled at him and gave the ball an angry kick. The game still lasted for a further hour. Today it was sunny and warm. An ideal day for a football tournament in the Lithuanian village of Ivas. Finally, Frank Kohlhaas' team could defeat the other three teams from the tiny village and the young men walked off the field with a satisfied grin.
“What was wrong with you today, dude?”, asked Frank the frustrated Bäumer with sardonic undertone.
“No idea! Maybe I just wasn`t fit. Next time, we`ll sweep you from the field, Kohlhaas!”, grudged the giant and kicked against the ball with a silent snarl.
Julia Wilden gave Frank an admiring glance and the young man answered with a broad smile.
“Franky, go on!”, she yelled and made a victory sign.
“I dedicate my last goal to you, fair maiden!”, called Kohlhaas and gave Alf a nudge in the ribs.
“Fuck off!”, whispered Bäumer and sat down on a stool.
It was a wonderful day. Julia was giving Frank all her attention and literally idolized him. Her father, the head of the village community of Ivas, clapped on his back and praised him too. “I didn`t know that you`re such a great dribbler, boy!”
This summer day, full of sports and fun, did Kohlhaas good. Today, he had thought not a second about the horrors of the Japanese war, which had wrapped up his mind so many times in the last months. The policy, the war and everything else seemed to have vanished in the distance. And the young man was glad about it.
”Let`s go to Sven for a drink!”, suggested Alf and gave the impression, as if he had calmed down.
“Good idea, old man!”, said Frank and smiled.
They went back to the village and finally visited Sven who was waiting for them with a beer case. So much fun and relaxation, the two friends had not had since months.
It was Saturday and the meeting was planned for today. The old warehouse, somewhere in the countryside of northern Belarus, was filled with nearly 200 people who were eagerly waiting for Artur Tschistokjow`s speech.
Except for a few abandoned farm houses and large fields, there was nothing around them. The leader of the Freedom Movement of the Rus looked nervously out the dirty window beside him. Meanwhile, it was 19.00 o`clock and it slowly got darker.
“I hope there are no informers among the people...”, said Tschistokjow quietly to himself, breathing heavily, full of worry.
The fear that the police would suddenly approach, tortured Artur since hours. Some of his men stood near the entrance with guns in their hands, willing to defend themselves, if the cops should try to arrest them.
The leader of the group of Minsk, Mikhail, opened the gathering and got thunderous applause. He railed against the Belarusian politicians who served the World Government as administrators of the country. He called them “traitors”, “criminals” and “bloodsuckers”. Things like this, the discontent men who had come to the meeting, wanted to hear. It sounded like music in their ears, in a time when all hope seemed to be lost.
A comrade from Gomel turned to Artur and asked him to begin his speech. The young man walked up some wooden steps and went to an amateurish looking speaker`s desk, his fellows had made for him. The front part of the desk was covered with the flag of the organization.
Tschistokjow felt his heart pounding faster, while his comrades started to applaude. A very young boy came to the little stage and said reverently: “I`m proud to meet you personally, Mr. Tschistokjow. I have seen a report about you on television!”
The leader of the Rus smiled at him and beheld the naive appearing bunch of men in front of him. They looked up to him like believers to a priest. But what could he really give them?
“Not even a mouse must fear us...”, he muttered to himself. Then he spoke to his followers.
”My dear comrades! I welcome you warmly to this meeting of the Freedom Movement of the Rus, our organization, which opposes the ruling system with all its limited resources.
There are some new men and women here today, some unknown faces, I don`t know yet. This is the way it should be. I hope that the coming hours will be peaceful, and no policemen will disturb us.
Today, we are about 200 people in this dilapidated old building. It is no great number, but it is better than nothing. You all risk your heads, when you come to us and join the fight against the exploitative system of global governance. I admire your courage, my comrades. And we will need brave men and women in the coming struggle for freedom.
But what else remains for us in these days? Shall we better continue to keep quiet? Shall we just try to survive by crawling from one bad paid job to the next? Trying not to become one of the homeless, by keeping our mouths shut in front of our masters?
No, this can not be the right way! We must defend ourselves and we will defend ourselves. Last week, the lackeys of the World Government in Minsk have started a new raid against our people. Raising the tax for administration, increasing the prices for electricity, even lower wages for those who still have some kind of work, and so on! They leave us no more air to breathe. They draw the noose tighter and tighter, squeezing the life out of our people. We should remember the old, better times. Times when a farmer could live from his yield, and a worker from what he has earned. Times when we had something like an own culture and were free men and women. Now we are slaves, and our land goes, slowly but surely, down the drain. Meanwhile, the Russians have just a few children, because it has become to expensive to raise a family.
Today, our young people have to emigrate to other countries to find work at all. Anyone who loses his job and doesn`t find a new one in time, ends as a beggar, becomes homeless – just dies.
In return, this government brings hundreds of thousands of foreigners from Asia and the Orient to our country, in order to get rid of the old Russian population. If you walk through some parts of Minsk, Moghilev, Grodno, Gomel and so on, you no longer believe that you are still on Russian territory.
They want to create here a patchwork of different nations, races and cultures, because this patchwork won`t resist them anymore.
We, the Russians, shall die out and disappear, if you listen to the speeches of Medschenko and his bunch of traitors. Television pollutes our minds with lies and all the meaningless entertainment, every day. They want to brainwash our nation and distract us from our misery.
But a small group of people here in Belarus is not poor, not at all! I`m talking about the group of collaborators in Minsk, the group of betrayers. They have a good life by squeezing out their own people! Sub-governor Medschenko is such a tick, and his whole staff of helpers too!”
“This son of a bitch should be hanged!”, shouted one of the men through the hall.
“Medschenko and the rest of that traitor scum must be killed! Put them up against the wall!”, screamed a young man, raising his fists.
The other people yelled and applauded. These words were like balm for their frustrated souls.
Artur Tschistokjow continued and slowly all the fear was falling from him. He seemed to become a giant, speaking with passion and gesticulating wildly.
“We demand that this country shall be independent again. Free from the global system of enslavement! We demand, that this country shall be governed only by Russians who serve their own nation!
This land belongs to the Russians, not the occupiers, the World Government or other foreigners!”, he shouted and his supporters cheered.
Tschistokjow banged his fist on the desk and gave his men a determined look, his narrow face quivered with excitement.
”But we should not fool ourselves. Those who oppress us, will continue to serve the exploiters and won`t become reasonable or sensible tomorrow!
They won`t use the few Globes, they can still squeeze out of us,
to build new schools, kindergartens or to generate more jobs. No! They will only give us more cameras, more paid informers, and will even call more GCF soldiers to our land, so that we can feed the oppressors with our money!
Furthermore, our country is totally indebted by the “Global Bank Trust”, but there seems to be still enough money to finance this system of surveillance! We can still dwell in the dirt, while they tell us that the coffers of Belarus are empty, but this is a lie! They have money, but not for the people of Belarus. However, for GCF soldiers, for monitoring and for the foreigners who live on social welfare!
“Right!”, yelled an old man, clapping his hands. Others also applauded and nodded at Artur Tschistokjow. He continued.
“When I decided, some years ago, to resist the destruction and looting of our fatherland, it was clear that I would soon reach a point of no return. Back then, I swore, I would make this country free and independent and give it back to its rightful owners - and that`s the people of Belarus!
I`m often scared that they find and kill me one day, but we all should not fear our enemies, because we are the fighters for the future of our children!”, he called.
”Our movement will not rest until this country is finally free, and our countrymen shall no longer fear hunger and misery. If we die trying, then it shall be. What do we have to lose?
I prefer standing in front of you, just for an hour, as a free man, than living a hundred years as a supervised, soulless slave!
And from now on, there will be only one rule of us all: Spread the word! Carry our fight to all parts of Belarus! We have to go to the agency workers in the remaining production centers of our country!
We have to go to the countless, homeless people who have already lost all hope!
We have to go to the families, to tell them about the political goals of our movement!
The people of Belarus are becoming more and more desperate and we need to show them that there are other options, than just being enslaved!
We must bring the good news to the masses, tell them about the coming liberation. Our brothers and sisters out there are waiting for a change, they are waiting for us, my comrades!”
Artur Tschistokjows speech still lasted for two hours. He spoke about global policy, the Japanese war of independence, the economy of Belarus - shouting his claims through the meanwhile half-dark hall.
Finally, the young man presented some of his own concepts. He talked about how he wanted to make Belarus free and independent again, how to give the masses work and how the old Russian culture could be reborn.
In the end, he was only content with some parts of his speech, but his followers adopted him with triumphant cheers and adored him literally. Tschistokjow could not deny that he enjoyed this moment and for some minutes he became euphoric. Finally, his supporters besieged him, trying to talk about everything again, praised him.
Shortly afterwards, Artur Tschistokjow discussed the next steps with his group leaders. One of them proudly told him that he has even won a high-ranking official of the civil service as a sympathizer. The event which had taken place far away from any nosey eyes in a little village near Vitebsk, ended calmly and all the guests went back home, unnoticed and safe.
The leader of the Freedom Movement of the Rus finally ordered some further actions and asked his supporters to distribute the newspaper of the organization. Then he sat in Peter`s car for a while and talked with him about his plans to edit new illegal websites, and even to establish an underground radio station, somewhere in Belarus.
Exhausted, but inspired by the encouragement of his men, he returned to Vitebsk in the early morning hours, and disappeared in his drab apartment block for the next days.
It was a dreary evening. Outside it was pouring with rain and the waterdrops pounded relentlessly against the window pane. Frank felt dull and tired, but his mind still refused to sleep.
“29...30...31”, he was counting silently, counting all the men he had killed.
He reckoned up those, he could remember - in Paris, in Sapporo and during the mission in the jungles of Okinawa.
Surely he could still add some more, especially since the Japanese war, when he had often fired at shadows in the darkness, never knowing who had been hit by his bullets. Kohlhaas had thrown hand grenades into rooms and trenches, and had no longer checked, how many people had been torn to pieces by them.
Meanwhile, they called him a “hero”, but he did not feel like one. An awfully big burden of guilt and doubt was lying on his soul. He looked out the window and thought about the great warriors of history, those, who were celebrated and honored as heroes in the memory of posterity. Those men with the magnificent shrines and the great monuments.
”How many people may king Leonidas have slain at Thermopylae?”, he asked himself and looked thoughtfully at the old tree in front of his window. “Has he ever thought of them?”
The young man cursed the world in which he was born into. This world in which he had no other choice, as he assured himself.
”I have always been a happy child. Naive and clueless, but happy. But after a few years, I had to realize, in what cruel age fate has thrown me”, he whispered to himself.
”It`s not your fault, Frank! You would save every little animal, help every poor old lady across the street. That`s you, Frank! A man with a very good core. Nevertheless, you have killed so many people...”
Kohlhaas sat on his bed, breathing heavily and clutching his head. Outside it began to rain harder.
Two years ago, the new tax for administration had already been introduced by the World Government in all sectors, including “Eastern Europe”. At that time, a big wave of discontent had even shaken Belarus.
Today, on 15.04.2033, the TV stations and newspapers had announced that the hated tax was raised again with over 50%, while the media tried to tell the people, that it was necessary - and moreover a “great progress”.
Medschenko promised to use the money to support an “improved Scanchip management”, but the most Belarusians who got more and more problems to get along with their low wages, did not believe him. Therefore, great parts of the population were indignant and ranted in secret.
The strongly indebted sub-sector “Belarus-Baltic” tried to fill up its empty coffers with this new measure, because the “Global Bank Trust”, the international financial authority, put it increasingly under pressure. Meanwhile, many Belarusians knew about this and called the tax for administration “another brazen raid”.
The media claimed, however, that more officials were neccessary to ensure a better service and a faster processing of Scanchip matters. Nevertheless, many people of Belarus knew that the Scanchips were almost exclusively managed by automated computer systems. Furthermore, the bankrupt sub-sector had no money to hire new officials at all.
But what the people thought, was not important in the eyes of Medschenko and his staff. From 04.15.2033, every citizen had to pay further 57,99 Globes a month now – for the new “fake tax”!
Nobody could do anything against this deception, because the World Government had decided and the rest had to obey...
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