The Sword Of Peace

A dove drifted on the wind, it’s wings fluttering in the high breeze. It soared high over a mountain ridge, enjoying the feel of the wind rushing through it’s feathers. Far below, in a small mountain town, a cat looked up hopefully as a shadow passed over it. Seeing the bird was too far away for even the most energetic leap, the cat slowly settled back down.

The Café Bistro was quiet, even at the busiest time of the day. Many of the tables lay dusty, chairs inverted on top of them, unmoved in days. Passing tourists walked past, assuming the establishment had closed down years ago, yet the locals knew better. The peeling paint and faded signs were a façade for a perfect place of rest and relaxation, unaffected by the passing of the decades. A couple of diners sat idly at the dusty tables, sipping coffee from chipped mugs. A cat dozed in the hot summer sun, its tail flicking backwards and forwards in the air, swatting idly at the fly buzzing lethargically around it.

A figure approached the café, the curious look on his face familiar to the locals. His eyes drew in the cracked floor stones, the frayed umbrellas, the broken shutters, and the ‘We Are Open” sign that swung from the doorframe, attached at one end by an old rusty nail. He looked momentarily confused, and turned to depart.

“Talen, I’m over here.”

The cat’s ears pricked up at the sound of a voice, and one eye slowly opened, blinking in the sunlight. The man turned and spotted his companion sat in the shade of a serviceable umbrella, and walked stiffly over to where she sat.

“Sorry, I thought…”

“…That you’d got the wrong place? Most people do, I come here for the character. Look there,” she indicated the dozing tomcat. “That cat sleeps here every day. The owner of the café gives him a scrap of fish every morning, then he goes to sleep on the wall there, just watching the world go by.”

Talen turned to take in the view. The cat stretched itself out and clawed at the wall. A plain red collar hung loosely around his neck, with no tags. His fur was grey, patched with black in places. Evidently bored by proceedings, he had gone back to swatting flies with his tail, and lay, with one eye open, surveying the pair closely. Talen found himself quite disconcerted with the attention and turned away, shuddering as he felt the eye of the cat on his back.

“So what did you need to see me about so urgently?” she asked. “Is anything wrong?”

“No, nothing like that, I just wanted to see you before I left,” he responded.

She looked puzzled, but not surprised. “You’re leaving? For where?”

He opened his bag and took out a sheaf of papers. The symbol on the front was familiar to them both.

“I’ve joined up. My service starts tomorrow.”

She smiled.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked.

Without a word, she reached beside her and pulled out an identical sheaf of papers and placed them beside his own. “I leave in a week for Linguistics, Berlin, Germany.”

“Strategy, Cambridge, England. Linguistics, Germany?”

“It pays well.”

“I guess we won’t be seeing much of each other then.”

“I guess not.” She said. “We’ll still keep in touch though, won’t we?”

“Of course, we haven’t lost touch yet have we? Even after my childhood sweetheart chose to move to the other side of the world.”

She laughed. “Italy is hardly the other side of the world.”

“Far enough. You broke my heart when you moved.”

“It was your idea.”

“I said I liked the place, I didn’t tell you to move there!”

“I liked it too. Anyway, we see each other often enough.”

“Often enough? Sick of me already?”

“Oh shut up, you know what I mean.”

A pause.

“So, in a week we’ll both be members of The Coalition.”

The cat’s ears perked up once again at the voice. ‘Ko-A-Lish-Un.’ Those four syllables were becoming very familiar to him. Four years ago he had never even heard them, and now they sprang up everywhere he went. He had no idea what they meant, but the word appeared often where large numbers of people gathered. The symbol on the papers he too recognised. The Sword of Peace. A long silver blade, enclosed by the protective wings of a dove. The meaning of the symbol was lost to him, yet he had seen it before, on vehicles, buildings and men.

He watched birds circling high above him, and heard their mocking cries. One day he would follow them into the sky, swoop into their midst, claws outstretched, and grab. He looked down, his neck aching, and surveyed two ants fighting over a piece of leaf. Leaning forward, he crushed them both under his paw, and let the leaf drift up into the breeze, free. He looked across to his human companions, and was faintly surprised to see them gone, papers, bags and all. The umbrella under which they had sat was closed, and tilted at a dangerous angle.

He dreamed. He dreamed of fish.

Yawning, he got slowly to his paws and leapt nimbly from the wall, onto a table, and then down to the broken flagstones of the street.

Padding lightly along the narrow streets of Caracusa, he navigated the rat runs that were such good hunting in the evening hours. He had no expectance of a kill, but saw little harm in trying. The sun had reached its highest point, so he kept close into the wall, moving from shade to shade. Tired from his excursion, he stretched out against a wall and closed his eyes. Slowly it dawned on him that the spot may have been a mistake. The noise was uncomforting; vehicles passed him by travelling quickly, fumes from their engines made him splutter. Looking up, he surveyed the building opposite, noticing again the Sword of Peace emblem above the door. People circulated outside, identically dressed in dark green uniforms. The feline rolled over and rested his head on his paws, watching the crowds with a faint interest. Suddenly, he started, the hairs on his back rising on end, as a hand fell upon him from behind.

The cat slowly relaxed as he felt his back being gently stroked. The intrusion on his presence was surprising, but not unwelcome, and it was several moments before he settled back into a light doze.

He dreamed. He dreamed of birds.

A soothing voice swept over him.

“Hello kitty, did you have a nice sleep?”

The cat rolled over, and looked up at the familiar voice. It was a shape he recognised, the female from the café. She lifted his collar, and frowned at the lack of nametag. “No name? We can’t have a kitty with no name now can we? I think I’ll call you Ciefer, Ciefer Cat.”

Ciefer rolled over. He’d never had a name, and Ciefer sounded as good as any other. He was marginally curious as to the name of the friendly lady, but she didn’t seem about to introduce herself. He rose wearily to his feet and brushed lightly against her legs with affection. No one had ever given him a gift before.

Watching his new companion through green eyes, Ciefer padded slowly after her with no sense of haste. He followed her up the steps outlining the entrance to the Coalition building, and past a pair of official looking uniformed guards, who gave him a puzzled glance.

“Afternoon Miss Buckley, good to see you again. I’m afraid the animal will have to stay outside, regulations y’see.” The soldier stated apologetically. The lady looked momentarily confused, before looking down and seeing Ciefer at her feet.

“Are you following me Kitty? I’ll be back soon, but you can’t come in here.”

Ciefer yawned unconcernedly and padded in a wide circle whilst she entered the large building. He looked around and spotted a high wall bordering the property, concealed down a side alley. Sauntering down it, the cat plotted a course to the top of the wall. Leaping atop a pile of scaffolding, he dashed quickly up the metal rods before springing lightly across to a window ledge protruding from the side of the building. Judging the wall within leaping distance, Ciefer tensed his hind legs and sprang, the alley beneath him an uncomfortable distance below.

Landing, he almost stumbled as his feet skidded in a patch of dust that had collected atop the wall. Regaining his balance and composure, he looked down in astonishment. Row upon row of identical looking people stood, all dressed the same, all carrying weapons. The courtyard below was crowded with hundreds of soldiers, stood silently in the blinding sun. At their head stood facing them, a figure of importance. Ciefer noted the way the soldiers looked at him with awe and respect. Finding himself almost humbled, Ciefer listened intensely to his speech.

“…neglected, instead we must act as this protection, standing firm in the face of adversity. We are the last line in conventional combat, with the ultimate in weaponry and strategic thinkers at our disposal. Coalition forces must act with independence. The UN tried and failed, yet we will succeed. As soldiers of the Coalition you have no nationality, your passports and identification have been replaced with Coalition papers. We are not English, we are not French, we are not German. We are but men. You have only one home, Earth. Political borders are irrelevant, you will act how and where it is necessary. We must act with no political bias or incentive. We must protect not only the weak, but also the strong. We are the guardians of this world. Peace will be brought to this land, through force if necessary.”

Various soldiers chuckled softly at his words.

“This division of the Coalition is soon to be scattered across the globe, each of you will go where you are most needed to maintain the peace. Colonel Anderson will now fill you in on the current conflict situation.”

The leader stepped back from his position at their head and another figure stepped forward.

“The current situation is level two, major yet scattered conflicts across our sphere of operations. Red zones are currently in the Middle East, Africa, Mexico and South America, yellow zones include North America, most of Eastern Europe, and scattered conflicts across Asia. The division will be divided across all of these regions. Our objectives are to neutralise the red zones, and maintain stability within the yellow regions. We currently have only one black zone threatening a nuclear conflict, the regions of India and Pakistan. We must neutralise the nuclear threat in this region. The division will be divided…”

Ciefer lost interest at this point. The object of his attention had remained fixed on the leader who was now leaving the parade. The feline strutted along the top of the wall, watching the figure below. He was dressed smartly, as far as the cat could tell. An impeccably pressed uniform, medals addressing the front of his shirt, a peaked cap firmly pulled over his head. Knowing nothing of the military hierarchy of the Coalition, Ciefer could nonetheless feel an aura of power and confidence emanating from the man, which attracted Ciefer towards him.

“Lieutenant,” the figure spoke with his subordinate. “Is my aircraft fuelled and ready for departure?”

“Yes General, the guidance and navigation systems were also updated to the latest specifications.”

The General nodded his approval and extended his hand. His Lieutenant handed him a small hand held device which he consulted before handing it back, Ciefer looked on in bemusement, fascinated with the General’s every movement.

“Have we had any more news on Pakistan?”

“Our agents report they have located a nuclear stockpile within the Indian border.”

The General frowned at the news. India had gone back on yet another treaty abolishing nuclear weapons. He momentarily considered his options.

“How far away is our nearest division?”

“We only have fifty men in a two hundred mile radius of the stockpile.”

“What is the situation of the stockpile?”

“A deep bunker, penetrable with torpedo bombs, isolated from any civilian population. I recommend an air assault.”

“I concur, deploy drones immediately from Delhi base. I will contact the Minister.”

Ciefer watched the General and his companion until they left his sight, heading into an open doorway of the building, which closed automatically after them. He yawned again, the excursions of the day were beginning to drain him. He turned, and strolled back along the wall to where he had arrived. The window ledge seemed uncomfortably distant, and the landing overly narrow.

He looked around to assess his other options. Below him the scaffolding looked dangerously unstable. He judged it with a watchful eye, then noted a sack dumped beside the works. A long drop, but the landing looked soft enough. He leant forward, and dropped.

“Get me the attack times for the Delhi drones.” The General ordered his chief of staff from within the Coalition command centre. The officer spun in his chair and quickly accessed the information.

“Attack time is synchronised for 15:46 Coalition standard. Five minutes to attack.”

“Get me the Indian Minister on a direct channel.”

“At once sir.”

The order took several minutes to process, as the officer was forced to talk his way through many of the Minister’s lesser staff. Soon however, the Minister’s face appeared on the screen. The General nodded to the Minister.

“Minister Kalhim, you are again in direct violation of the nuclear proliferation treaty of March 2024. Within two minutes, a drone assault will take place on one of your nuclear facilities. This attack is by Coalition forces, not your neighbours. Any action either against the Coalition or your neighbouring countries will be met with a full military response.”

“General, we have no nuclear weapons. Any attack is unwarranted, and will be met with the might of India’s armed forces. Withdraw your attack and we will discuss terms.”

“The target will be destroyed in less than a minute, the Coalition will not accept your instructions.”

“This is an act of war!”

“No Kalhim, this is an act of peace.”

“India will not be treated in this way.”

“You have violated a treaty, your violation will be neutralised and a new treaty discussed.”

“You have allied with our enemies! Your are traitors to our cause!”

“The Coalition has no allies. We are independent. The target has now been destroyed. I will contact you in precisely twenty-four hours to discuss terms. Coalition law has been enforced.”

Ciefer dreamed. He had a troubled dream, lights and sounds surrounded him, rushing past him. He felt like he was hurtling through the night, too fast to stop. Or was it the world moving, too fast for him to catch, leaving him behind? He clawed wildly, trying to stop his fleeing prey, reaching out into the lights…

The General turned away from the screen and started rapidly giving orders.

“Vigilance, I want a satellite on all India’s major missile sites, monitor for launch preparations. SDI defence on full alert. This is a code three situation. Inform me immediately if India moves any of it’s assets.”

“Sir, Pakistan is on the move, I have three convoys moving towards the border.”

Swinging towards his communications screen, he pulled up the Pakistani ruler himself.

“Ah, General, I am glad the Coalition has decided to side with Pakistan in this conflict.” The face on the screen stated.

“We’re siding with no-one here, withdraw your forces now. A drone flight is already in the air, don’t force me to attack your convoys.”

“General, India is clearly violating the treaty we all agreed to follow. Our forces have been despatched to neutralise any remaining nuclear threat.”

“If you have any proof of a nuclear base, give it to us and we will take care of it. Do not attempt to cross the border into India. We will respond with force.”

“We will find proof within their borders. Pakistan will not be deterred.”

Ciefer awoke, and rose to his feet. Looking carefully in the gutters and backstreets of Caracusa, he searched with food on his mind. It had been a long time since the early morning fish from the café, and he was very peckish. A mouse, a rat, anything would do. He nibbled delicately on the leftover remains of a tuna baguette discarded on the street, wolfing down the last of the fish with relish. Once again, a shadow flew over him. He looked up with interest at a shape high in the sky, moving rapidly, faster than any bird. Two white streams of smoke trailed the speck high above, After a moment the rumble reached him, a deep rumble he could feel deeply in his belly. He growled uncertainly.

High above Caracusa, a hyper-sonic, trans-continental passenger liner rushed onwards through the sky over Europe. It’s engines pushing out immense amounts of thrust, enough to keep the enormous vessel aloft in the thin atmosphere. Yet many times higher than the jet hurtled one of the many satellites of the Coalition, maintaining it’s eternal vigilance over the land below, it’s systems ever watchful for the first signs of conflict. Nothing escaped it’s view, not Caracusa, not even Ciefer. Fifty times a second the land below it was probed deeply by it’s powerful sensors, it’s onboard computers interpreting the immense data collected, transmitting the results to the Coalition network. Aboard, a sensor flickered. Immediately, small thrusters swung the satellite towards Pakistan, where a tiny vapour trail was steadily rising from the land.

“We have a launch, Pakistan missile, destination not confirmed.” Alarms sounded across the room, ear-piercing, even over the talk of the soldiers.

The General swung around. “Launch? Get me Pakistan now!”

He began pacing furiously, trying to hurry along the process with his feet. Moments later, the communications officer shook his head. “They are not responding to our calls.”

The General grabbed the microphone. “Sat, are Ion systems online?”

“Charging, fire time one minute,” returned the response.

“Order the drones to attack the Pakistani columns.”

“I am getting a negative response from the drone aircraft, our commands are being jammed by an external source.”

The General paced. His fingers snapped. “EMP?”

“Generators in Delhi online.”

“Terminate the drones.”

Far away, over Indian airspace, a delta formation of three unmanned jets fell without ceremony, their electrical systems terminating as a burst of electro-magnetic radiation swept across them. They struck the ground only moments apart, disintegrating across the barren landscape.

The missile, high out of the atmosphere, cut it’s thrust, and the internal gyroscope revolved the weapon through a half-turn. Pointing almost directly back at it’s origin, the missile burst once again into life, and began to speed rapidly back towards the Earth.

“Impact confirmed in one minute. Ion in thirty seconds.”

“Contact our forces in India, orders: destroy the Pakistani columns. Deadly force is approved. I repeat, DF approval.”

“Coalition forces in India report immediate engagement.”

“Echo, engage lead vehicles, try and slow the convoy.”

“Affirmative.”

Three mechanised attack vehicles of the Coalition Desert Force crested the dunes at high speed, their tracks churning the sand into high sprays behind them. The side mounted rail-guns rasped a storm of lead into the invading convoy. Speeding up, the primitive tanks of the Pakistani army fired a burst of cannon fire in their direction, scattering sand high into the air. Breaking formation, the attack vehicles scattered, attempting to flank the convoy at high speed. Atop the lead attack vehicle, a missile rack rotated and launched a salvo of rockets at the head of the convoy, punching a hole through the thick armour of a tank. Smoke and flames erupted into the air, and the convoy rolled to a halt behind the burning tank.

“Ionsat fully charged, target confirmed, missile, contents unknown.”

“Fire Ionsat.”

Far above them, higher even than the network of spy satellites, drifted the Ionsat. It sprang swiftly into life, its barrel swinging round to target the distant missile. The concentric coils around the barrel glowed momentarily, and a shimmer of heat showed briefly around the tip of the weapon.

“Missile terminated, Ionsat charging.”

“We have an incoming signal from Pakistan, they are withdrawing their forces, and wish to discuss peace terms.”

A ragged cheer filled the room, as various terminal operators celebrated the victory. The General raised his hands for silence.

“We are still in a code three situation, maintain your vigilance. Signal Pakistan, tell them we will contact them in one hour to discuss terms.”

Outside, a cat strutted lightly along a cobbled road, sniffing the air. His fur was black, patched grey in places, and a loose red collar hung around his neck. It was time for supper, and he could smell fish on the air.

A shrill buzzer sounded. A tall gentleman deactivated his notebook with a flourish, and placed it on the desk in front of him. Behind him, through the wide window lay a great curve of the Earth’s surface. The class paused, expectantly. “Preparations for next lesson. I want you all to read up on the destruction of Caracusa, and the subsequent Final Conflict in Earth history. I will be questioning you all on the causes and development of this conflict, including what we have covered today. Class dismissed.

High above the Earth, far above the ruins of Caracusa, higher than any orbital defence satellite, and long after Ciefer watched the aircraft flying high above him, a space station silently orbits. Circling it are many small maintenance robots, darting in and out, performing their everyday tasks of repair and enhancement. Drifting alongside the station, connected via a long snake-like tube lies a ship. Upon the hull of the vessel, along with two white characters; ‘C4’, a symbol is illuminated by the light of the distant sun. A sword, long and slender, surrounded by the protective wings of a dove. As the station proceeds away along its orbital path, the vessel separates, and thrusters rotate it swiftly along a new vector. After a moment, the engines ignite with a blinding flame, and the ship accelerates off into the void.