Shadows in Service of Light: Chapter 1 – Enemy of My Enemy and My Enemy

Chapter 1 – Enemy of My Enemy and My Enemy

I rush my way through a burning ship, shooting every criminal and getting shot in return in an attempt to save captive and abused children. In the depths of the ship, I hear gunshots and their screaming, so I run even faster to the source and shoot the criminals, only to find that I’m too late. Every child is dead on the floor, with one in particular grabbing my attention the most: a naked child filled with bullet holes and holding a burning, ruined teddy bear. A child rises from the pile of dead bodies, picks up a pistol from the floor, and puts it to her head.

“I can’t take it anymore…I can’t take it anymore…” the child says while crying.

For some reason, I’m frozen in place and unable to talk, and only able to move the second after the child pulls the trigger.

“You failed…again,” a distorted voice says.

Jolting awake, I find myself on a plane, remembering that the dream was nothing more than a nightmare inspired by what I’ve seen recently. Now fully awake, I see that I’m back in the plane I was in with my fellow SIB agents, Garnet Nox and Bezalel Lior. Garnet is a woman with brown hair in a ponytail, red-and-gold agent glasses, a green sweater with a dark pink flower in the center and an SIB agent pin on it, a red shirt, a dark green skirt, red pantyhose, and black heels. On the other hand, Bezalel is less formally dressed than usual, wearing his Great War gas mask, which he keeps on because of breathing problems, along with the brown military shirt, pants, and boots he wore during the war. He also has a robotic right arm, wears an SIB pin on his left shoulder, and carries a pouch belt bag across his chest.

“What’s wrong, Draco? Have another bad dream?” Garnet asks me.

“Yeah, and I’m hoping they stop soon,” I say as I cross myself and say a small prayer in my head.

“Are you still dreaming about that human trafficking syndicate? I’ve been having nothing but peaceful rest since then,” Bezalel asks as he peeks out from behind a book written by a saint that he’s reading.

“Yes, I’m still dreaming about it for some reason.”

“The only nightmarish thing that’s come about as a result of us bringing justice to the syndicate is the president selecting us to oversee this operation, helping the Middle East fight against the Slav Federation.”

“Give me a sec.”

I get up from my seat and walk to the bathroom.

“See? Even Draco is sick about this.”

“Bezalel.”

“What?”

Entering the bathroom, I take off my black-and-gold agent glasses, wash my face, and look at myself in the mirror. My black hair has a few more grays than it usually does, and my brown eyes are a dark green today. I make sure my yellow tie, black shirt, blue suit jacket, blue pants, and black shoes are wrinkle-free for today's meeting, then exit the bathroom. I sit down and try to relax again, keeping my mind on the task at hand. Our plan soon lands; we grab our things and meet our new, unlikely allies in a hangar, men dressed in white Middle Eastern garb and military gear provided by the United Chimaera States.

We smile at each other, greet one another, and bow, and then the leader of the group says, “Thank you, agents of Chimaera, for coming to our aid in our greatest time of need. I hope that this partnership not only strengthens the friendship between our nations, but between our faiths of the Suffering Church and the Submission Church.”

Speaking for my group, I say, “We have more in common with you than the Slavs and Vorfahren. Our unity will prove to the world that their seeming recent supremacy in Eastern and Western Proavus cannot spread everywhere, and their godless ideology is false and will be the damnation of them.”

“Truly, God will give them what they deserve. Would you like a tour of the base?”

“Yes, please.”

The Middle Eastern people we are working with are part of what we call the Church or Cult of the Pale Green Horse, or sometimes the Submission Church. They typically deal in war and forcing others to convert. During the talks to make this partnership work, they refused to work with anyone who was Israeli or from any faith other than their own and the Suffering Church, or Patiens Ecclesia, or the Catholic Church. The unity that we talk about is true in a superficial sort of way. We do not worship the same God as ignorant people think, and won’t get to the same afterlife by staying true to our faiths. The Suffering Church is the only true faith in the world, while the Israeli Church and Submission Church are perversions of the real truth.

As such, any partnership between the United Chimaera States and the Middle East is superficial and may come apart at any moment that our common enemies are destroyed, which we already have a plan for. The Middle Easterners tell us how thankful they are for our help as we walk around their base and see United Chimaera State soldiers training their soldiers and talking and joking with them as if they’re all part of the same army. This is all only to secure the Middle East and its resources against the Eastern Slav Federation, who have already conquered Zubr, or what was once known as Poland, and every other territory along the way to get to the Middle East. There’s no official declaration of war between the Chimaera States and the Slav Federation since the Chimaera States still have to make certain preparations before the so-called Second Great War can begin in earnest.

After giving us the full tour, the Middle Eastern leader asks, “From what I see, we are ready to bring death and justice to the Slavs, don’t you think?”

“I do. That’s why we chose to be here today. Let’s get our battle plans together before we move out.”

Before joining everyone in the battle room, we change into nondescript military armor and uniforms and hand our clothes, SIB pins, and badges to the pilot who flew us here. He then departs. No one must know that the Chimaera States were involved here. Not even the Chimaera State soldiers, their uniforms, body armor, weapons, or vehicles show any indication that they were supplied by their country of origin. The only way you’d know is if you had access to internal military or SIB records, and those are closely guarded by the most trusted in both departments. Today, with our arrival, we’ll be overseeing and taking part in the operations of the Middle Easterners and our troops as they fight together against the Slavs.

We’ve heard reports that they’ve been doing well together in small battles and hit-and-run operations, but today, they’ll be taking back one of their major cities and worship sites. The Middle Easterners want the Slav Federation to know that they and their country aren’t weak and conquered yet, so they plan a head-on assault. It’s their favorite tactic to use overwhelming force, if the option is open to them. I also know why they’re doing it. It’s to make sure that we’re on their side because if we just sat back and didn’t risk our necks, then they wouldn’t be helping us. As such, Bezalel and I are out on the front lines with the rest of the soldiers, while Garnet is on comms, updating everyone on the situation.

The leader of the Middle Easterners reminds me, “To die for another, and especially die for God, is the most honorable and noble way to die, especially when it’s in battle fighting for the sake of others and the truth of our belief.”

“Then it must disappoint you that we have copters and tanks backing us up,” Bezalel says.

“Not exactly. When we battle our enemies, it is more honorable and just to do it wisely rather than recklessly. God detests fools who uselessly throw away their lives without guaranteeing themselves a sure outcome. What disappoints me is hearing that your woman is giving us and our forces commands.”

“Garnet is a great tactician, and with all the planes that she has with cameras that show her what is happening, she’ll be keeping us updated on enemy movements and possible reinforcements,” I say.

“If anything, women are better as assassins in war, but if you people from the States have trained them to play with soldiers like pieces on a chessboard better than most men can, then I have to applaud you.”

One of the Middle Easterners jokes, “Women can be manipulative and controlling, so the Westerners may be onto something.”

Bezalel and I not so earnestly laugh along with them as we ride with them in a heavily armored truck into battle. Our truck stops, and we all rush out of it and into whatever cover we can as chaos ensues in the city. Helicopters rain bullets and missiles on our enemies, while tanks fire their shells from afar and get as close as they can to avoid hitting buildings and churches. Many of the Slavs are scrambling for cover as well and struggling to get into their vehicles and man their anti-air guns as our own vehicles destroy them. As one of the helicopters blows up and shoots a building, it falls and crushes a squad of Slav soldiers.

“Careful about hitting those buildings,” Garnet says over the radio.

“Do not worry about them, woman,” the Middle Eastern leader says. “The blood of our enemies and justice done upon them is a reward worth the damage done to anything in the city.”

“You heard him. Destroy all targets regardless of damage done to the city.”

At Garnet’s command, the helicopters and tanks start shooting more recklessly at targets, much to the delight of our Middle Eastern allies, who cheer at the destruction and chant their praises to their god. Meanwhile, I cross myself for the souls of our allies and enemies. Advancing, we enter one of their most sacred places and start clearing it out. Armed with a rifle and pistol, I switch between the two as I rush the enemy, especially after hearing from Garnet that they’re keeping hostages here.

“Be careful not to rush ahead, Westerner. There’s no need to be reckless,” the Middle Eastern leader says.

“I’m an expert at hostage rescue. This is how we do it in the States,” I say.

“If God wants them to be rescued, then they will be. If not, they will die.”

Obviously, but still. I don’t want others to die just because I’m concerned for my own safety. Thankfully, we’re able to rescue the hostages before the Slav can hide behind them, and the so-called holy site for the Middle Easterners is mostly intact, save for the explosive damage, blood, and bullet holes on its ceilings and walls. One of the hostages, a young girl, rushes up to the Middle Eastern leader, hugs him, and then kisses him on the cheek.

“She’s my wife. Well, one of them,” the Middle Eastern leader says with a smile.

Bezalel and I nod and then look at each other, probably thinking the same thing. We look around the area and see drawings across the walls of Middle Easterners in battle, killing pagans, Israelites, and Christians alike. There are also drawings of weddings where men marry multiple wives and also mostly women burning in fire. In the center of the building is a strange black box obelisk that’s said to hold the remains of the Middle Easterner’s prophet who started their church, plus other so-called holy men, their wives, and various objects of importance that only the highest in their church can observe and add to the collection.

Garnet radios over to us, “The Slavs are retreating, and the battle is won. All units regroup.”

“Delay that order,” the Middle Eastern leader says. “Chase down the enemy and destroy every single one of them.”

“What if their retreat leads into an ambush?”

“Send more men.”

“… Roger. All available units, destroy the retreating Slavs.”

We do as we’re asked, and thankfully, the rest of the units are able to catch up to the retreating Slavs and destroy them before we can. The bad news is that they walked into an ambush, and many of the Chimaera States’ soldiers died. Once the ambush is destroyed as well, the Middle Easterners and all the occupants of the city celebrate. They have a party throughout the rest of the day and into the night, with sporadic speeches they broadcast to the world, telling them that the Submission Church and the people of the Middle East will not be easily conquered by the Slav Federation, and that they’ll drive out the invaders all the way to the borders between the countries and far beyond. Garnet, Bezalel, and I are celebrating their victory in our own way, in a separate part of the city, enjoying alcohol that is forbidden for the people of the Submission Church to drink, but they tolerate us drinking it as a way to get rid of it.

“At least they didn’t mention us in their big speeches,” Garnet says.

“They can’t. If they did, then it’d damage their pride and make them look like they can’t defend or get justice for themselves,” Bezalel says as he finishes one drink and goes for another. “Draco, I know you’re thinking the same thing I am. That sick freak of a leader has a child bride, and I’m betting that the rest of his wives are children too.”

“Actually, only ten of his wives are underage teenagers. The other five are women around his age,” Garnet says.

“Regardless, I think they have something to do with that human trafficking syndicate we previously busted. It’s probably why you’ve been having those dreams, Draco. The Cult of the Pale Green Horse was involved with the syndicate and supplied women and children for those degenerates in the City of Angels.”

“We can’t do anything about it now, while we’re working with them, and keep our minds on our primary objective. You already know when our chosen time to act is, anyway,” I say.

“Yeah, but seeing child brides and the exploitation of women is getting under my skin.”

“How do you think it’s making me feel, especially with the things these foreign men say to me?” Garnet asks. “We need to play it cool, for now.”

“You two may be able to bear working with these savages, but I’m not. I mean, look at them down there, parading around the bodies of their enemies and beating them to death like that.”

“Is that so different than what we allowed to happen?” I say.

“That happened to people who deserved it, but those soldiers down there…you know what? You have a point. The Slavs deserved it too.”

“I think you need to lay off the booze, Bezalel,” Garnet says.

“Sure, sure. Let me just finish this last bottle first.”

“Bezalel,” I say as I grab the bottle from his hand.

Even though I can’t see his eyes, I get the distinct impression that Bezalel is upset, not so much at me grabbing his drink, but at me denying him his way of dealing with our situation.

“Okay. Fine. I’m going to sleep,” Bezalel says as he knocks the bottle out of my hand and storms off.

Garnet and I look at one another and agree to go to our separate rooms, not really wanting to drink or talk anymore. I’m sure we both feel the same way that Bezalel does, so getting this whole situation over with is our best course of action. God, I hope it will be, and that the Slavs will be easier than we think to defeat and push back to their hellscape of a godless country.