Warrock Story Chapter 1

In the northern tribal regions of the
Republic of Derbaran, a small town
began to stir as the pink light of dawn
colored the desert mountaintops in the
distance. Bakers and merchants,
midwives and school teachers emerged
from their mud brick homes to begin their
day. As always, they threw nervous glances at
the razor wire and concrete compound of the
Derbaran military depot that squatted below a yellow
banner just beyond the village. The coexistence was an uncomfortable one; the Derbaran
government had little love for the tribal minorities in the area.
Cries of alarm rose from the men
stationed at the depot when a column
of tanks and trucks crested a rise. They
flew green banners, the colors of the
National Independence Union, the rebel
coalition of minority tribes. But these were not
poor peasants with cheap rifles. The Derbaran
soldiers scrambled in panic as the NIU tanks rained
explosive rounds on the ammo depot, shattering concrete
bunkers and crushing soldiers beneath a hail of rubble.
NIU trucks disgorged scores of men who peppered the defensive positions with small arms fire.
When it was over, the only sound
came from the crackle of flames and
the screams of wounded and dying
Derbaran soldiers. The villagers
slowly emerged from hiding. They
gasped when they recognized the man
who climbed from the lead tank and
stood on the turret to address them.
Even in this small village, the televisions
in the tea houses and shops had shown
his face many times. He was General Ikram Karmali, decorated officer of the Derbaran military
and military advisor to the President. The pride of the Derbaran military had become a rebel.

“My people,” General Karmali said, “I cannot stand by any longer while President Zaripov and his government oppress us. I renounce my allegiance to Zaripov. The NIU will take this country back!”

The helicopter touched down amid a dusty
whirlwind at the NIU operating base. Captain
Ramazan, commander of NIU's special forces
unit called the Desert Dogs, climbed from the
helicopter and strode through the dust. Salutes
snapped at him from both sides. He had earned
this respect with his blood, spending ten years in
the Derbaran military under General Karmali before
they had both defected to the NIU. Many of the men here
who saluted him had served under him before the rebellion.
They were battle tested, hardened men. But there were others here too, the goatherds and farmers who fought only because they believed in the cause.

The NIU was not short on heart. What they had been short on was weapons. Even the People's Press, the underground newspaper that was the voice of the rebellion, had openly questioned whether the few tanks and weapons General Karmali had brought from the military would be enough to pose a serious threat to the Derbaran government.

And then the mysterious deliveries had begun.

A convoy of trucks was rumbling out of the encampment back to wherever they had come from, their mysterious payload of crates stacked neatly beside the armory. Already men were prying them open and removing the weapons from their packing. They were the reason Ramazan had come.

In his temporary headquarters General Karmali was whispering quietly with a handful of his commanders. The general dismissed them with a terse gesture when Ramazan entered.

“Don’t ask me any questions, my friend,” the general preempted him.

Ramazan pulled the folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and scanned it. “Assault rifles, pistols, rocket launchers, all dropped at a half dozen of our operating bases that are supposed to be secret,” he said. “And I hear talk of vehicles too. Armor. Even aircraft.”

“No questions,” the general repeated.

“At least tell me where they’re coming from,” Ramazan said. “How are they getting through the borders?”

“The people supplying us have the funds
and the contacts to make it all possible,”
the general said. “What matters is that we
are armed well enough to stand a serious chance
against the Derbaran military. Without the help of
these friends, we wouldn't have much of a chance.
You know that as well as I do.”

“But why should they help us?” Ramazan demanded. “What
the hell do they care about our little rebellion? This is a domestic
matter.”

General Karmali only smiled. “Let’s just say they have a vested interest in the NIU winning the war. Now take up those arms and call out your Dogs, Ramazan. There’s a war on.”

Major Selik sat at the boardroom table reading a newspaper, looking for all the world like an accountant waiting to see a client. As the head of the Derbaran military’s Security Services arm and leader of the elite Nightwatch 1 strike team, looking innocuous had served him well.

He tossed down the newspaper. The
Derbaran National Press Agency had gotten
wind of President Zaripov pulling resources
from the country’s many oil operations to
redeploy them to the much smaller uranium
mining sector. There were, as expected,
questions. Of course Zaripov could have had the story
squashed. But that would have caused rumors. And the
president had made it very clear how much he wanted to avoid rumors right now.

President Zaripov and his cadre of advisors swept into the room.

“With all due respect, Mr. President,” the portly Minister of Economy was saying, “the blow to our revenues is too much. You can’t take that much manpower away from oil. Uranium doesn’t provide us with adequate cash flow. And we’ll need funds for this war.”

“I’m not concerned about revenues just now,” the President responded. “Uranium will soon become a much more important component of our national security.” The Minister began to retort but the President held up a hand for silence. “I won’t discuss it further.”

There was a rumble in the distance. Selik
gazed through the balcony doors and, on
the horizon, saw the black column of smoke
rising. The war was spreading, with NIU forces
striking at highways, power plants, the harbor.
They were hitting all the strategic points they
were expected to hit, and no one quite knew
how they had come to be so well armed. And
yet they were behaving erratically, sending
units to far-flung locations. It was strange.

“Everyone out,” President Zaripov said. “I need to speak with Major Selik.”

As his advisors filed out of the room, Zaripov approached Selik. “I have a job for your Nightwatch 1, Major,” the president said.

“Anything, Mr. President.”

“You know of a certain recovery project that has been ongoing in the desert region north of the Republic Highway?”

Major Selik hesitated only a moment before nodding. He had not been briefed into the project, of course, but there was little that escaped his awareness as head of Security Services. “I must confess I don’t know any details, only that there is such a project ongoing.”

“There is village near the project site. Make sure there are no witnesses there that the NIU might get their hands on.”

“Of course.”

The president smiled. “I knew I could count on you, Selik.”

As the president swept out of the room with his gaggle of suited advisors in tow, Major Selik frowned at the black smoke rising on the horizon. He wondered what mysterious project in the desert could be more important than holding their ground against the NIU.

Captain Ramazan’s boots felt like someone had filled them with lead. The war was growing. What had begun as a handful of small unit operations – planting explosives, ambushes, and so forth – had become a series of battles involving armor and aircraft. His Desert Dogs had been fighting nonstop for days.

And now this.

The encampment was little more than a
handful of tents arrayed around a crater in
the desert. Industrial lights had been set up
on scaffolding around the empty hole. The
general had sent him here with his elite
Desert Dogs on what he claimed was the most
sensitive mission of the rebellion to date. But
they had only found an empty camp guarded by
only a handful of Derbaran soldiers. Worse, only
one of the Derbaran officers had offered any information
of use under interrogation. “War Rock,” the officer had
blubbered in the blood-stinking interrogation tent. “The project is called War Rock.” But
whatever “War Rock” was, the officer had been unable to shed any light on it.

One of Ramazan’s lieutenants ran up, breathless and harried. “Captain, a Derbaran snatch operation just happened in the village over the hill. The villagers say the security men took an old man and a boy who saw something at this camp.”

“Let’s go!” Ramazan snapped.Ramazan’s men caught up with the
convoy of three trucks on a stretch of dirt
road south of the village. The skirmish
was intense but the Derbaran security
contingent fell quickly under the Desert
Dogs’ assault. They found the old man and
boy bound hand and foot in the rear of one
of the trucks. Ramazan had them moved into
a nearby farmhouse for questioning.

The old man spoke rapidly, his toothless mouth slurring his words and his eyes wide with fear. Ramazan could not understand the old man’s dialect and looked to the boy for translation as he questioned them about the empty camp.

“It was a rock,” the boy said. “A big rock that fell from the heavens.”

“A meteor?” Ramazan asked, but the boy only stared at him blankly. “Did the old man see it?” he asked.

The boy nodded. “He saw it. It made a noise like thunder and shook the ground when it fell. The army came very soon after. Many men with rifles, many trucks. They built the camp around it.” Here the old man added something. “There were men in white suits and helmets,” the boy translated. “Scientists.”

“Have the old man and boy sequestered,” General Karmali told Ramazan later that night. “We don’t want them telling tales. And what you heard about that camp does not go beyond your immediate chain of command, do you understand? Tell no one.”

Ramazan studied the general’s face. He
had served this man for many years, had
followed him into wars of bloodshed
and wars of politics, but never had he seen
such intensity in the man’s expression.
“What is this War Rock?” Ramazan asked
quietly.

Instead of answering, General Karmali said only,
“Get your Dogs together. A small team, small enough
to maintain a clandestine posture.”

“A team for what purpose?” Ramazan asked.

“You’ve got a meteor to find, Captain.”