“My apologies,” the man said. “It’s just—”
“Speak up, or I’ll slap you for the disruption.”
“Your sister. I’m afraid she doesn’t have much longer. There’s no cure. Whatever they gassed her with has taken its toll. There is no hope. I’m sorry, my friend, but she is dying.” Fajii lowered his head, fearful of Ahmed’s reaction.
“I see,” Ahmed said with a sigh, looking into the nothingness of the dark cave, his face without expression.
“Perhaps… perhaps you’d like to spend her last moments by her side?” the man suggested.
“I’ve made my peace with her,” Ahmed responded, his voice firm, distant. He knew this wasn’t true, though. He felt no peace. His hatred had grown so fierce that even the thought of losing his last remaining relative didn’t seem to bother him. His soul was hollow, and Ahmed welcomed it.
“I see…” Fajii responded, glancing up at Ahmed.
“These Soviets…” Ahmed began, taking a moment, attempting to control his rage. “There’s no honor in what they’re doing. There’s no glory, no respect.”
“Your leadership has proven worthy,” Fajii commented.
“They bring tanks, planes, helicopters — and still, they can’t defeat us!”
“Indeed. I believe you will lead us to victory.”
“Perhaps, though I’m doubtful. We kill their men, yet more arrive daily. We kill them too.”
“And we’ll continue this fight. In the name of Allah, we’ll drive the invaders from our homes.”
Ahmed turned to the man, his eyes cold. “This!” he spat, disgust in his voice. “These strange chemicals they fire upon us. It isn’t war, it isn’t noble. It’s cowardice. There’s no honor in such vile measures.”
“They’re desperate, sir,” Fajii responded. He was still youthful, optimistic. “They’ve changed the way they’re waging war. They know they can’t win, so instead they use chemicals on us.”
It was true. Conventional warfare was no longer working, the Soviets taking too many causalities. This was an embarrassment. The Soviet Union was supposed to be a world super-power, and they were appalled by the losses they took from farmers, from goat herders, from simple men.
Thus they began a different approach, a new strategy — the use of chemical weapons. The Soviets put much time and effort into the development of them. They tested blistering agents, nerve gas, whatever was at their disposal. Scientists worked day and night to develop stronger chemicals, the KGB funding newer, advanced chemicals. Their test subjects were the Mujahideen, and they used them without remorse, without regret.
They launched chemical strikes, often filling villages with their deadly toxins. These chemicals killed indiscriminately, women and children as much targets as the fighting men. The Afghan people suffered vile deaths, often taking days to perish. And though the other nations of the world knew of this disturbing behavior, the Soviets denied it, and the world remained idle.
“These weapons are meant to discourage us,” Ahmed commented. “The Soviets know we can’t handle such losses.”
“They’ve killed many of us, yes,” Fajii agreed.
“They aren’t meant to just kill. They’re meant to decrease morale. They’re meant to dishearten us, to cause us to surrender.”
“It will never happen!” Fajii stated boldly. “By the good grace of Allah, we will have our victory. Our scientists will—”
Ahmed slapped the man, hitting him hard across the face. Fajii stumbled, falling to the ground, looking up in horror.
Ahmed spoke, saying, “Now you listen to me — there is no God. Do you understand? There are no loyalties, there is no love. Only death. And I vow to kill as many of them as possible. Now, why do you still bother me?”
Fajii slowly stood up, holding his hand to his stinging face. Silence filled the room as he struggled to find the words. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I merely wanted to tell you of your sister. She’s dying, and I only thought…”
“You thought wrong,” Ahmed barked. “My sister has been dead to me for a long time. My entire family is gone, and she’ll be the last. I have no need for amends, for I have no soul. Do you hear me, Fajii? Am I clear on this?”
“Y… yes, sir,” Fajii stuttered.
“If you desire to help her, go back down the tunnel and end her suffering.”
“I… I couldn’t do such a thing. She’s your family, a friend to my own family. We grew up together.” Fajii was mortified, not knowing what to say or how to react.
“If your cowardice is such, so be it. I’ll be down shortly and do the job. It’s always me. Without me, this region, this country, is lost. Now go, before I grow angry and whip you, boy!”
Fajii turned, nearly running down the dimly lit corridor of the cave that ran deep into the mountain.
Satisfied by his actions, Ahmed took a few moments, soaking in the silence. His love for his sister had long faded, not out of anything of her doing, but of his own rage. He had beat her many times, treating her no different than any other below him, and he felt no remorse.
No, instead he felt something else.
Something satisfying.
Ahmed reached to his belt, his fingers gently caressing the butt of his pistol. He would do her the favor of vacating her from this life, and would do so without emotion, and without remorse.
He turned to make the trek down the long tunnel system, to the deep catacombs of where she lay in agony. As he turned, he heard something, a familiar sound.
Turning back quickly, Ahmed looked up the long pathway, the light from outside a small dot in the distance. He waited, listening, wondering if his lack of sleep was playing tricks on him.
Listening intently, he heard a familiar sound — the approach of Soviet helicopters.
Ahmed was tempted to rush out himself, to enact his own vengeance, but knew that wasn’t smart. Instead, he turned, grabbing his rifle and jogging down the long corridor, deep into the cave. He’d gather his men quickly, and give the Soviets a little surprise.
His sister’s fate would have to wait.
10
A thousand miles away, hidden deep in the frozen tundra of Siberia, was Vector Laboratory. Unknown to the public, and far from the watchful eye of even the best counter-intelligence agencies, this compound held some of the most guarded secrets of the Soviet chemical weapon arsenal.
Some of the greatest minds, the most radical thinkers, the world’s best scientists, called Vector Laboratory home. Some by choice, most not. They were kept hidden, tucked away, highly supervised and isolated from civilization.
Among a dozen other such labs, this certain one hosted the Soviet’s greatest assets and achievements in chemical warfare, if such a thing could be considered to exist.
The compound lay at the end of a long, isolated road, frozen and harsh, in the middle of a wasteland of nothing but snow and cold. Tall radio towers loomed over the gated and fenced area, armed patrols roamed, high tech surveillance watched, an ever careful eye on who entered and left.
Few did.
There were three parts of the lab — living quarters, rest area, and the laboratory. Hidden in plain sight, Vector Laboratory didn’t look like much, more of a compound or gulag than anything. Perhaps this was the intention, perhaps not. This far from civilization life was different, the isolation could drive one stark raving mad.
Mikhail Ivanovich struggled to remain awake. The countless hours, the endless days of whiteout blizzards, the hopeless cold — it had all begun to take its toll. These past months had been brutal, the harsh reality of his work. His invention now coming to fruition was overwhelming, and at the most critical stage, the most important time where he’d know if it was a success or failure, Mikhail could hardly keep his eyes open.