Revolution (45 page)

Severov screamed and ran at the opposite fence, slamming into it with all of his might as though he might somehow pass through, but he did not. As Megan watched without emotion the huge pack of hungry dogs slammed into Severov from behind, dragging his screaming, bucking body away from the fence, huge fangs sinking into his body.

Megan looked away as she heard the sucking sound of tearing flesh and fabric, the crunch of splintering bones and the piercing screams of Alexei Severov. She walked away through the snow, listening as the cries of pure, undiluted agony were slowly drowned out by the dogs as they literally tore Severov’s body apart.

Megan hurried down the corridor toward the main foyeur of Government House, seeing the SEALS lingering there. Callum saw her coming.

‘Is there time?’ Megan asked. ‘We need to call off the attack before it’s too late! Sophie is with them in Talyn!’

Callum closed his eyes in disbelief and then opened them again.

‘So is Martin Sigby.’

***

GNN (UK) Ltd, London

‘What the hell is happening there, Cain?’

Seth Cain stood in silence as he stared out across the operations room. There, across the various plasma screens showing news channels from around the world, he saw Martin Sigby’s image broadcasting.

Seth Cain was unable to reply as an unexpected horror slowly unfolded before him, enveloping him in its cold embrace as he watched.

*

The personal chamber of President Mukhari Akim was silent but for the large television dominating one corner of the room. Almost a hundred people, most of them administration personnel or members of the UN attache’s staff, were crammed into the room and watching the screen.

Megan, her wounds temporarily patched up by the SEALS’s medic, stood with Callum as the reports came through. She could see the BBC anchors and she could see the images of battles raging around Thessalia in the top right corner of the screen as the presenter spoke.

‘There have been shocking scenes of conflict from Mordania this afternoon, and frankly the entire world appears to have gone into an uproar concerning the extraordinary coverage filmed by the British correspondent Martin Sigby from inside the Talyn headquarters of renegade insurgency leader General Mikhail Rameron.’

A female presenter took over the commentary.

‘Government leaders of all countries have made calls for an immediate cease–fire in Mordania after these images were broadcast from Talyn just minutes ago by the BBC. We would like to warn our viewers that they may find some of the scenes in this report highly distressing.’

The screen changed to show a large military compound, with the ancient looking town of Talyn in the distant background dominated by a Gothic cathedral. As troops and equipment bustled nearby, Martin Sigby spoke to the camera above the sound of intense artillery fire.

‘There have been so many reports of the events that led to civil war in the country of Mordania, from correspondents in all nations struggling to report on the conflicts here and also to understand how they came to pass, and why. It was not until this morning that I myself finally understood what had happened here, how it happened and how the media, for so long the foundation of a free press in all democratic nations, have been undermined by the very capitalist successes that their presence protected.’

Megan felt a lump form in her throat, heard the whispers and murmurs in the crowd as she watched.

‘This town and its people are under military attack from American forces attempting to prevent further conflict in the country, and yet it was by the hand of American corporate interference that the war itself began.’

Martin Selby’s sombre personage was replaced by an image of investigative reporter Amy O’Hara. Martin Sigby’s voice introduced her before telling her story.

‘This woman entered Mordania on the request of a family friend, Petra Milosovich, a Mordanian scientist working on a government funded project. The project was successful in developing an advanced Sterling Engine, a device which operates on a closed–cycle and uses heat transfer as a means of producing useful work and thus energy. This engine, which is already used world–wide in its standard guises but until now had been unsuitable for use in aviation or automobiles, was now capable of powering cars, aeroplanes and generating potentially limitless electrical power from geothermal sources.’

A stylised image of a working Sterling Engine appeared.

‘However, elements of the Mordanian government were already in negotiations with large petro–chemical companies for contracts to lay oil pipelines through Mordania to secure a reliable flow of oil to the west, avoiding politically unstable countries to the north. These deals were set to make a lot of people very wealthy, and the Sterling Engine was an obvious barrier to that wealth. General Mikhail Rameron, however, supported the use of the technology.’

Martin Sigby as he began to describe the terrible crimes committed in Mordania.

‘Petra Milosovich asked Amy O’Hara to document their work before the government could shut them down. However, before she could do so, this happened. Some viewers may find the following images extremely disturbing.’

The scenes of the massacre of the scientists, filmed by the fleeing Amy O’Hara, were broadcast to the entire watching world. Megan watched as Alexei Severov murdered the scientists en masse, and then captured Amy O’Hara and let the huge dogs attack her before one of his own men intervened, at the cost of his life.

Gasps of horror and cries of disbelief filled the room as the images flickered grotesquely across the screen, across the world, and Megan saw President Mukhari Akim bow his head as he watched, unable to comprehend what had been done in the name of his government. Martin Sigby went on as the camera returned to him.

‘The uprising of General Mikhail Rameron’s forces was a direct response to the murder of dozens of Mordanian scientists by the secret police. With a clamp–down on the free press, and with Rameron’s forces thus isolated from the rest of the world, there was no way for him to counter the lies being broadcast from Mordania about rebel brutality against Mordanian citizens. Forced to fight back and attempt to take the capital and reveal what had happened, they were on the verge of succeeding when the American carrier group in the Black Sea was attacked.’

A new image appeared, this time of a Mig–23 fighter.

‘This aircraft is a Mig–23, a Russian built fighter that has been sold to many nations across the east; the aircraft that attacked the carrier group and were shot down by American F–18s. However, the Mordanian Air Force has not lost any of its aircraft. This is because the jets that attacked the American fleet were not Mordanian. Three months ago, two former Ukrainian Mig–23s were bought by an American ‘collector’ but were never delivered to his Texan home. Instead, the jets were transported covertly into Mordania and adapted for an advanced remote–control system similar to the ones used by the United States Air Force to control target–drone aircraft. These systems were bought by the same ‘collector’ and sent to Mordania. The buyer of both the jets and the control systems also happens to be the head of Kruger Petrochemicals, the same company due to build the oil pipelines in Mordania. The record of purchase of these devices and aircraft has been made available to the United Nations for investigation.’

‘Sone of a bitch!’ someone shouted in the room.

Megan could see heads shaking, gasps of shock floating through the air around him.

‘The attack on the carrier group, organised and conducted by those in the pay of Kruger Petrochemicals, resulted in American involvement in the conflict, a swift resolution to the Mordanian problem by virtually ensuring the complete destruction of General Rameron’s forces and the devices that they have been trying to protect. In all of this, they were aided knowingly by one Sir Thomas Wilkins, the UN attache to the Mordanian Government, who orchestrated the entire affair from within the country due to his strong links to the oil industry.’

More gasps and shouts of disbelief, but Megan could no longer hear them, for a swelling premonition of doom was blossoming darkly within her mind. Behind Sigby, she could see troops suddenly running, civilians in chaos, panic gripping the town of Talyn.

In the distance, an air raid siren could be heard as Martin Sigby continued.

‘This entire conflict was started by the interference in politics of major oil companies and big business, desperate to ensure their continued survival and profits in a rapidly changing world. Its success was aided by the sheer scope and dominance of the major news networks, often largely owned by individuals with their own agenda, who have chosen not to use the news as a medium for informing people of events in the world but as a weapon to control what we think, what we see and what we think we see on our televisions around the world.’

In the city behind Martin a building suddenly vanished amidst a brightly swelling ball of smoke and flame as a thunderous explosion rocked the city. The camera vibrated and Martin Sigby ducked, one hand instinctively covering his head as he spoke over the noise of passing fighter aircraft, explosions and screams.

‘Our world, our freedoms, our way of life depends not on the military strength of our forces nor their dominance of countries with differing ideals and values to our own. It depends on the population of our planet being informed honestly of what is happening in other countries, of being free to make choices based on truth and evidence, of being able to see how lucky we are to have such information at our fingertips.’

Another, closer, explosion rocked the city, and Megan saw chunks of masonry and shards of glass fly past somewhere behind Martin Sigby as he began to shout over the devastation surrounding him.

‘These people are dying, right now, because of the greed of already rich men, because of the lies that we see on our televisions every night, the media used to justify wars that should never have been fought, used to enforce laws that infringe on privacy and curtail freedom, used to brainwash us into believing that every culture other than our own is unstable and likely to destroy us. We are being lied to, day after day after day and we don’t even know it.’

A huge blast sent an apartment block crashing to the ground a mile behind Sigby, followed by the sound of jet aircraft thundering overhead in the skies, anti–aircraft fire rattling in response. Sigby raised his arm from his head and pointed behind him to where the torn, bloody corpse of a young woman had landed, crumpled in a heap with limbs bent at impossible angles.

‘This is news! This is truth! This is what happens when governments lie and the media supports them. This is what war really looks like, and someone, somewhere, is smiling to themselves and becoming extremely rich. We are told that wars are fought for oil, but even that is not true – these wars always push up the price of oil, because the percieved instablilty in supply causes concern in the stock markets, pushing up prices and making the oil companies even wealthier. The longer there is a war in an oil country, the happier the money–makers are, the happier the weapons companies are and the busier the news networks are, telling you how important it all is.’

Chunks of debris arced across the sky, car alarms screaming as loudly as the cries of the injured as Martin Sigby continued to point behind him.

‘Are we not more than this? Haven’t we got something called democracy, that allows us to prevent such things as this? As long as we all sit in our cosy homes, safe in the knowledge that we’re all right, there will be those who will orchestrate wars like this to enrich themselves at the expense of those who are not as lucky as we are. Those people are dying, and you’re being told that it’s for the best.’
Sigby stared at the camera for a moment in genuine despair.
‘Best for who?’

The blast came from the right of the screen, tearing the concrete beneath Martin Sigby’s feet apart. The reporter’s body was flung aside amidst a cloud of supersonic debris with a violence that no human being could survive.

The screen went abruptly black and the feed cut back to the two presenters, who both stared dumbfounded at the cameras for a moment.

Megan closed her eyes, felt the ball in her throat tighten unbearably. One of the anchors finally recovered his voice and his senses.

‘The leaders of several countries have already condemned the American attack on Talyn, although we’re getting reports that the full force of the airstrike has been called off directly by President Baker himself.’

‘That’s right Mike,’
the other presenter said,
‘and I’ve just heard that UN attache Sir Thomas Wilkins is in the custody of US Navy SEALS in Thessalia, while both Sherman Kruger and Seth Cain of GNN International are to be issued with subpoenas by Congress in order to ensure that their role in these events, if any, is properly explained.’

Megan stared vacantly at the screen as the two reporters began filling in the details of the American attack on Talyn. The room slowly emptied of people as they walked away in sombre silence from what they had witnessed.

Megan turned and walked with them. Outside, she could hear that the guns had stopped firing.

***

Megan stared down at Talyn from a low ridge of hills that stood just north of the town. In the early morning light she could see the bombed military compound nearby, its buildings now crumbling heaps of shattered masonry, the burnt carcasses of vehicles still smouldering amongst the remains.

In the town beyond, pillars of oily smoke obscured the sun rising into the powder–blue sky. Large buildings were peppered with shrapnel holes and deep wounds from bombs dropped the day before. She could see people moving about through the debris filled streets, rescue teams and ambulances, civilians and passers–by watching as they struggled heroically to liberate those poor souls trapped beneath the rubble of what had once been their homes. Amongst them, the ever valiant aid–teams and volunteers laboured alongside Mordanians to alleviate their suffering.