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As the eyes and ears of Jord turned fully away from their precious oil territory, those of their envious neighbors focused in on Xidelstat. Two country-states—Barisma and Kadesh—directed their military caravans into the steppe in hopes of claiming it for themselves, once their leaders were sure that Nikita Roke and the President, Timbre McEachern, both had all of their attention on the new technology threats from Mortadel. This initial battle was uneventful for Xidelstat itself; the clashes between the armies took place only at the border between Barisma and Kadesh. But when it seemed to be over, both Kelmore Evid and Breverd Gerrans sent their troops further into Xidelstat, each believing they had won and the war was over.
Only once they began invading the capital did both powers realize that there was still a war to win before either could claim to have seized the territory and denounce Jord as its mother state. This second battle quickly became a slaughter, and Sarabi was the slaughterhouse. The number of soldiers was thinning on both ends, and the order came to begin drafting civilians as it became apparent that their forces were being bottlenecked by border patrols on and from both sides.
When Sarabians began to turn up missing and the city itself was being razed by the dynamite and the heavy artillery fire from the war, many of those remaining fled to the north, where Jord’s own military still was rumored to have some soldiers stationed. They stayed indoors by day and by night the citizens of Sarabi fled, hoping that they would get far enough away from the war zone that they and their families might be safe.
Judge Harlan M. Morrigan and his wife and children finished packing their things one evening a week into the third definitive conflagration. He had decided that they should leave in the quiet before this battle had started, but had thought that he and his family would have more time than the short fortnight that the peace had actually afforded them. More people had disappeared in the short time span of this battle than in previous excursions, and Harlan had finally given up hope of taking everything with them. They needed to leave immediately.
“Dad, me and Morie are ready to go.” Harlan’s ten-year-old son said, shambling into his parents’ bedroom. Jake held two large suitcases, his and Morie’s, one in each hand, both filled with clothes and maybe a sentimental knick-knack or two. His father nodded silently; his thoughts were elsewhere and his once-handsome face was drawn with worry. His son put the suitcases down by the open door and returned to the living room where his sister waited for him.
Mrs. Morrigan finished packing her own suitcase, which she had rested on the bed, and locked its clasps tightly. “Harlan—“ she began. I’m so scared had been her next words, but she broke down into tears instead. Harlan sat her down on the bed—the bed that they had shared for twenty-six joyous years—and held her close to him with his thick, strong arms.
“It’ll be alright, Shai. Don’t you worry. Everything will work out all right.” he cooed, kissing her comfortingly on the cheek. Shai Morrigan sniffled and wiped the tears from her face. Before she and her husband could stand, the sound of the front door swinging open shot through the house, followed by a scream—their six-year-old daughter’s voice. Harlan and Shai both bolted out into the living room to find their children face-to-face with two uniformed men at the front door.
Jake stood protectively in front of little Morwen, between her and the two men, whose military uniforms bore the blue fin-like emblem of the Barisman army. They were both tall, and clean shaven. One was holding his helmet in his hands; in his partner’s hands there was an assault rifle, and it was aimed first at Jake, then at Harlan.
“You are all hereby under military arrest,” said the one holding the helmet. There was a hint of contempt in his voice. “If you resist, my partner may have to use that.” He gestured to the rifle.
With his hands held away from him, Harlan cautiously made his way to his son’s side. The boy’s eyes flared with rage and his jaw was set. His father put a pacifying hand on his shoulder. “You heard him, Jakob. We’ll go and give them no trouble.” Harlan said sternly. When Jake did not respond—did not move—Harlan shook the youngster’s shoulder once. “Hear me, son?”
After a moment Jake’s whole body went at ease. His mother moved and picked Morwen’s hand up in hers, and when the soldier who’d spoken went through the doorway onto the porch and motioned for them to follow, she followed first, with her daughter trailing slightly behind her. Jake came third and Harlan walked behind him, followed closely by the soldier with the rifle.
“‘Military arrest,’” the forty-something judge scoffed, as he and his wife sat together on the hard earth in one of the Barisman camp’s holding tents. “We’re civilians, there is no such thing!”
He had been going on about this for some time before Shaila spoke up. “Harlan, please, this is no time to question the legalities,” she said. “What are they going to do to my babies?”
For a moment, they both were silent. They regarded each other in the darkness of the little tent that they shared with their children, who slept quietly a few feet away. They had fallen in love when he was in his twenties and Shaila Mae Swindon was eighteen years old. They married two years later and had three children, before they had ever conceived Jakob. There had been tragedies; they had lost a child before they had wed. Their second child, a son they had named Scott, had lived only to be sixteen years old. He had been a good boy—a good man—and that in fact had led to his death; but he had died a little girl’s hero, and the man who killed him would never see the world outside of prison or abuse any child ever again. When their third son was born a month after Scott’s death, they christened him Jakob Scott after that man he would never meet, and of whom he would never come to know.
Lorie, their first child, was twenty-six years old now, married to a well-to-do businessman in West City in the state of Yorkley. She and Richard Borenir had meant to visit her family on their anniversary, but by the time that would come around the war would already have taken its toll and left her home city in rubble. Their second son was Kaleb, who at age eighteen was already out on his own, earning a fine living at the national capital of Porto-Maro as a shipbuilder, after graduating from his apprenticeship two years earlier.
“I don’t know,” Harlan finally said, after that long moment. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to any of us. Let’s just get some sleep, dear; it’s late, and damned if they won’t wake us at the crack of dawn.” He settled onto his side on the hard-packed dirt, and Shai lay down next to him.
Jake heard the rustling of clothes from over his shoulder, and the whispered conversation being over he assumed that his parents were going to sleep. He finally allowed his eyes to shut as he wrapped a protective arm around his younger sister. In the silence that followed, the harsh realization came to him that none of them may ever see their home again, may be that they won’t all wake up in the morning. The thought sent chills down his spine and the tears came, but he forced himself to remain silent and still so that he would not wake his sister.
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