He was alone in this room, he couldn't see , he couldn't talk. They had broken his arms, his legs and nearly cracked open his skull, feeling the blood flowing into the mouth like a miniscule waterfall and there was nothing he could have done to prevent such outcome for himself, because it was like a rigged game of chess, they had freely moved while he was with his hands chained both metaphorically and in reality, denying any concrete chance of defiance or defense, cruel manipulative and shadowy bastards who were following a never truly buried creed and nefarious intentions not even the biggest conflict in human history could kill, their minions following another and not realizing they were pawns of them, a delirium competing in a race where nobody liked they only two competitors, because they were both awful options to back or to bet on, because their victory was an outcome nobody wanted except the dreadfully deranged.
<< Where's the file?>>
He couldn't hear or speak but silence would still have been the answer.
<< Where's the file? >>
Even if he knew the language of his captor, he wouldn't have replied. The hammer felt like a tickle even though the previous hits he received made him shout screams of rage. Why am I going through this? What beckoned in his mind was this constant question, haunting him into a never ending darkness, corrupting the little sanity he had left, pouring outside like his blood.
<< I wanted it out >>
His captor didn't care.
<< I remember I asked you a question. >>
A few seconds to recollect the thoughts dancing like dervishes.
<< Again, where is the file? >>
The hammer hit the left shoulder. Again, you felt nothing went before it would have caused him pain. A sardonic grin appeared on his face :
<< Even if you guys win it's not going to last forever. Last time they betrayed you and if it wasn't for the steel bastard's paranoia the dark skeletal wolves would have eaten you all >>
<< Are you insane? >>
<< Talking about insanity, who do you worship figlio di puttana? Last time I checked…>>
<< Silence you Mediterranean reactionary! You people are nothing but capitalist dogs! >>
<< I do not serve an idol, I serve only the truth >>
<< What are you even rambling about? >>
<< Ignorant slaves, when will you finally take notice? >>
The last hit was to the head, making Tarantino's movies look like a joke.
<< I can't believe we lost time with this shithead >>
<< Comrade Reinoehl, calm yourself. >>
Reinoehl was a devout follower of the cause, but he was a demanding, hazardous ordeal to control every time, even if he wouldn't flinch when an order was given. The Purpose had given him everything he was looking for in the past : acceptance, a way of life and an ideal, something he and the generation before not only desired but needed with nihilistic desperation.
<< Yes commandant comrade Kulinski >>
<< Now, let's get the reactionary out, so collaborationist enforcers do not follow a possible trail to us.>>
<< Yes commandant >>
The body of the Italian was not heavy as he had expected, the guy probably had avoided eating for weeks when he was fleeing the Red Shield, maybe he thought there was a possibility he and Reinoehl or someone else would poison him, but for a variety of reasons, they had to come up close and personal.
<< What is our order, comrade commandant Kulinski? >>
<< Our orders are to wait further orders,comrade Reinhol >>
<< Why should we wait? Don't we have a cartridge to find? >>
<< We do, but comrade general secretary Grundmann want us to be patient. >>
Reinhol could barely keep silent but didn't thought of uttering or mumble when he heard the name of Werner, the last ally of the Communist cause, after all : France was united but the capitalist in Marseille had taken control, Poland and Vietnam had embraced the West with the Baltic Republic, there was little room for the revolution.
Grundmann was the last bastion of Communism and heir of the recently dead Posadas, but Grundmann was also very old and there were fears his successor, whoever he might be, would betray the revolutionary ideals of the former.
He was a respected name, so when an underling like Reinhol was questioning orders or anything close to it, Kulinski just named him. It was much more effective.
<< Focus Reinoehl>>
The body was smelling, anyone who had a functioning nose could tell before being dead he hadn't washed himself in months, Kulinski couldn't imagine how the corpse would reek.
<< You don't want to be caught today, unless you want end up in the hands of the African Army and the Red Berets>>
Reinoehl didn't reply to Kulinski, he had already had to deal with the Riffian troopers of Spain and their Carlist commanders, nasty deal, barely got alive
could be read on his face.
<< There, it is near the Mondego river, just a few more minutes and we are done with this clown >>
<< What we do with the body? >>
<< Let's ask New Swabia when we put in the van then we drive… I will ask them personally >>
They entered the van from behind, using the fog around the Mondego to not be spotted.
<< Good. We are safe now. >>
There were Riffian and Ultramarine soldiers everywhere, the Portuguese and the Spanish were taking seriously the meeting between the Union for the Mediterranean Commonwealth and the Collective Security Treaty Organization, with both kingdoms having a keen interest to keep everything going smoothly before and after the upcoming Coimbra Conferences.
After he double checked the doors of the van were closed, controlling the body didn't have any surprises. Maybe we missed something, Kulinski said to himself, but it wasn't the case, all orifices and the multiple pockets of the young dead man's jacket were empty of any indication or clues where they could find the cartridge, resting his face and had on his hands palms. If he had any cartridge, we would have found it at his home or in his backpack, you can't hide something that big up your ass.
He pulled up his sleeve to check his armblet, the latest model of arm-strapped portable computers from Kombinat Mikroelektronik Erfurt; the polychromatic display illuminating his face like a light shining in the darkness.
<< Calling Novaya Shvabiya. Over >>
Static filled the back of the van.
<< Novaya Shvabiya in. What is your current status? >>
<< Subject secured. No signs of the data we were looking for >>
<< Registered. Dispose of him. We are sending one of Volksflugscheiben to bring you back here for your next debriefing.Novaya Shvabiya out>>
<< Kulinski out.>>
One thing Kulinski hated more than failure was the weather of Antarctica, granted, he thought,we don't have many locations to be safe. Michael was likewise of the same idea, however for a different reason : Reinoehl was the type of would-be revolutionary who wanted to eradicate enemies of the worker'struggle out in the open,which couldn't be done anymore without the approval of their Berliner and Hollywoodian backers.
<< They should be in Coimbra in fifteen minutes. >>
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