Nordica followed the others into the house, resting her bag on the worn carpet. In the corner of the room she saw a door slightly ajar, hidden by darkness. She assumed it was one of two entrances to the silo, but decided to find out more information later, after John had gained their trust.
Dinner was a large plate of spaghetti and canned spam rolled up into meatballs. A bright candle burned in the middle of the wooden table, illuminating the home cooked meal in front of them.
“I raided the best of my supplies to make this meal. I hope y’all like it,” John said with a grin. He didn’t hesitate before attacking his food with a fork, shoveling it into his mouth.
Juliana smiled in pleasure after her first bite. “Wow. You’re almost as good as cook as the one we used to have at our headquarters.”
“I don’t know about that, but these meatballs are better than I’ve had in a long time,” Nordica chimed in.
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Ran said, plopping another meatball into his mouth.
“Thanks. It’s been…” John paused and looked down at his plate. “It’s been awhile since I cooked for anyone. So I was worried how this meal would turn out.” He shook his head, changing the subject. “So I don’t mean to pry into your business, but what happened to your headquarters?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ran looked up from his meatball before plopping it in to his mouth. He figured if John invited them in for dinner he wouldn’t be that upset when he found out his home was a rendezvous point for a rebel group in the middle of a war.
“It was discovered and destroyed. We barely escaped,” Ran replied. “I’m sure you’re aware of the wall surrounding Tisaia not twenty miles from here.”
John nodded.
“We’re in the middle of a war with the State, and last week the Council of Royal Knights destroyed our headquarters and killed most of our friends.”
John dropped his fork onto his plate and brought a handkerchief to his mouth, wiping spaghetti sauce from his white beard.
“You all are fighting the CRK?”
“Yeah, so you have heard of it?” Nordica asked.
“Of course I have, I moved out here to escape Tisaia fifteen years ago when things started to change radically.”
“Holy shit, we got lucky meeting you. We were ordered to rendezvous at the Silo,” Ran added.
John wiped his lips once again with the handkerchief.
“Silo?” he asked.
“Tsui, why don’t you fill John in on what we’re talking about?”
Tsui nodded, placing his fork and spoon down softly on the table. The massive Asian man scooted his chair back from the table so he could cross his legs.
“Our intelligence said that in the year 1965, the United States Army built a nuclear missile silo under this building. The silo was decommissioned in the early 1990s, when the Cold War with the Soviet Union ended. The United States put the silo up for sale to private citizens, but it never sold, and according to our records, it has remained idle ever since.”
“One of our recon teams came across this location a few years back,” Nordica said.
“This place was idle. Idle until I got here,” John said, laughing. “Hell, I had no idea there was a silo under here. Which brings me to my next question, where is the damn entrance?”
“You mean there isn’t an entrance in this building?” Ran asked politely.
“If there was an entrance don’t you think I’d know about it?” John shot back, somewhat annoyed with Ran’s question.
“I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry,” Ran replied.
“After you’re all done, I suggest we get some shuteye. In the morning we can start combing the area for some sort of an entrance,” John said, sipping ale from an old wooden glass.
Time: 7:08 p.m. February 22, 2071.
Location: Rira’s Pub. Rohania, Tisaia
The most successful establishments in Rohania were bars. Most Rohanians made very little money, scraping together a living by bartering and selling what they could. At night the pubs collected most of the credits earned by these hardworking people during the day.
Nathar and Creo sat in a dimly lit booth in the back of Rira’s Pub. It was an irritatingly loud joint, and made up for the solitude the two soldiers had grown accustomed to the past couple days.
Picking the pub was an easy decision. Not only was the owner a long time sympathizer of the TDU, he also had several exits in the back.
The two sat comfortably in their newly purchased pea coats hoping they would blend in with the crowd, watching patrons come and go; some drunk were, others were nearing the point.
Rira was a small man in his late 50’s with a booming voice. Those that knew him never double crossed him. He was one of the most honest black market dealers in Rohania, honest as black market dealers came. And he expected his clients to show him the same courtesy. When they skipped a payment or failed to hold up their side of a bargain, he would send his henchman, Lupai, after them.
When Lupai wasn’t breaking people’s kneecaps for Rira, he was selling small arms to anyone with the credits to buy them. The TDU had used him for years and he had shown fierce loyalty to Obi, which is why Creo trusted him.
Tonight Creo wasn’t going to be discussing weapons—tonight his mission was to procure soldiers. And something inside him told him Lupai was the right man for the job.
A thick layer of smoke hovered over the bar, prompting a deep cough from Nathar. He pretended not to care, but Creo knew the man better. It wasn’t often the young soldier voiced his opinion, but one of the things he hated most were watering holes just like Rira’s and the filth that patronized them.
Creo understood. His friend had asthma and smoke inflamed his lungs and he was still recovering from a bad cold he had developed.
The Spaniard did not, however, share Nathar’s hatred of bars. He was used to the people and enjoyed the potent, thick smell of cigarette smoke. He grew up in places just like Rira’s, and felt a strange sense of nostalgia while waiting for the arms dealer.
It was a half-hour before Lupai entered the building, with two equally large men who appeared to be bodyguards. Their eyes gave them away, darting from booth to booth, scanning the shadows for danger.
At first glance Lupai looked like any other Rohanian resident. His facial hair was thick and his mop of dark brown hair hung down to his shoulders. He wore a thick pea coat and pair of worn trousers. What set him aside from the average citizen wasn’t his appearance, it was his wit and charm.
Most Rohanians never received a diploma, and those who didn’t drop out of school to work by the age of 14 didn’t receive much of an education. The schools were old and, like everything else in Rohania, in severe need of routine and major maintenance. They were understaffed and most of the curriculum was developed by the teachers. If a teacher wanted to spend the day talking about the last time they got drunk, there was nothing to stop them.
Creo recalled hearing that Lupai received a formal education in Lunia. His wit, combined with his rough appearance, allowed him to evade the Knights, who had hunted him for years.
Creo and Nathar scooted over in their booth, making room for Lupai and his bodyguards. They approached slyly, eyeing the two TDU soldiers through their sunglasses.
Lupai brushed his long brown hair out of his face and sat down across from Creo and Nathar, cracking a grin full of pearly white teeth. He nodded at his two guards and they disappeared into the dark smoke of the pub, hiding in the corners and waiting to be beckoned again.