[b]Guard HQ Building, Batumi, Georgia[/b]

The last time the Guards leadership had met, it had been for Davits birthday and they celebrated it by telling jokes, getting drunk and spinning stories late into the night. The same men sat around the table right now had changed more in 6 months since Davits birthday than he had ever expected. Father Botkevli, a local Orthodox priest with a dwindling congregation, had grown his black beard long and it made him look 25 years older, if not a bit wiser. Comrade Dadiani from the Georgian People's Liberation Force, a communist force that was growing quickly in northern regions, had gained several new facial scars since Davit had last seen him and his straw-blonde hair had grown several inches so that it now reached his shoulders. Along also were Davit's friends and colleagues, 'General' Elchin (the Azeri) and Captain Milidani (the skinhead boxer). Missing was Sabauri, a man of the Guard who led a small unit in the countryside outside of Batumi and 'Pikey' Zagreb, out on a mission with his partner, Tamaz. He was probably skulking through some grass somewhere or drunkenly pissing up the side of a countryside pub.

'Gentlemen, I'm sure you have all heard the dark news' started Davit gravely, bowing his head respectfully. 'Two days ago, a local woman was found raped and stabbed by a patrol just one mile from this location. We have not yet located the men responsible for such a crime against humanity but the report from the lads who found her say they saw a heavily armed group of 5 to 7 men talking in a Dagistani dialect or Azeri. Elchin's men unfortunately reached the woman too late and she died in the middle of the road in a pool of blood'. He paused, gauging the reactions of the men around him. As expected, each showed expressions of sadness, regret, anger and hopelessness. Father Botkevli even blessed himself and murmured a small prayer. 'As of now, we number at 85 men in the Batumi City Division of the Georgian Guard. We are poorly armed, the price of food is growing by the day, the people of Batumi are unemployed, crime is growing and as of today, the Armenian smuggler is now refusing to send shipments to our docklands for fear of arrest by the Turks. I'm afraid, gentlemen, we may be out of options'.

There was silence as each man shifted in their seats, uncomfortable. Sometimes it felt as if protecting the people was too big of a task for this many men and not even worth it. 'What are we doing then?' rasped Father Botkevli, scratching his beard. 'If we do not have the resources to protect the people, then it seems a pointless task. What are we to do? What options do we have?'. No man wanted to admit it but the priest was correct. A silence descended on the table. 'Well, I reckon we have a few options. We could disband the Guard entirely and let every man go for himself. We could move away from Batumi entirely and go into hiding in the mountains. Maybe Dadiani's crowd will take us in' said Milidani, nodding at the blonde communist. 'Or, we could do my idea'.

Elchin narrowed his eyes at the Captain. 'And what my that be, Milidani? Go down the pub for a pint?' he growled sarcastically. 'Fuck off, Elchin' said Milidani, a sly smile on his lips. 'I have an idea I think we could try, if you lads want to hear it'. Davit nodded and sat back on his chair, lighting a cigarette. With his leaders approval, Milidani went ahead. 'So since we've started, we've not really done much to hurt that bastard on top. We've twatted a few of his men, yeah, we've stolen some of his weapons, we've smuggled shit in, you know the rest. But we've done anything to really shock him. For all we know, he might not believe we even exist. We're like a piece of annoying blue mould growing slowly in that corner you keep meaning to clean but keep forgetting about. So what I suggest is we do something that involves killing his men, stealing his shit, maybe taking a few hostages or setting up a camp somewhere. Anything that'll get the fucker's attention and starts fights. We get his attention, we get the attention of the people. Fuck, I bet half of Batumi doesn't know who the hell we are and we've been going for two years! We do something that gets the attention of the city and we get a few more men in. We get more men in, Turks start cacking themselves and then we take the city over!'

'Fuck off, Milidani' snorted Elchin. 'You suggest something like this every time we have a meeting and we give you the same answer - we don't have the resources!'. Milidani scowled but to his surprise, Dadiani spoke up for the first time. 'That's not too bad, actually. I could probably see if I can get some lads from the Liberation Force in to help if you did something like that' he said. 'What would we do, though?' argued Elchin. 'We don't have the resources to attract attention. We've got men, a flag and an ideal. The Turks have got guns and I'd rather die with a proper gun in my hand than this second hand shite we've got'. Elchin looked at Davit for help and was surprised to see the man procrastinating, his eyes fixated at the ancient light fixture in the ceiling. 'Do you remember the parades we used to watch as kids, Elchin? The one's with the tanks and the flags and the guns and the marching bands?' he said suddenly. 'Yeah. Those things are why I joined the army' answered Elchin. 'We could do something like that, maybe. Walk down the main street with flags and all that, attack any Turks who have a go at us. Maybe hand out some of the last shipments of food we've got left to the people. They'd like that. And then, like Milidani said, we could set up a camp or something in the main square and claim it for ourselves'. 

All men around the table stared into space for a moment, the idea of the Guard's symbol flying in the wind near cheering crowds enthralling them all. 'Why the fuck not?' said Elchin, shrugging. 'We'll probably die in a year if we keep going like this anyway, so why not go out with a bang? See if we can get some new blood in and if we start getting attacked by the Turk's men, we can get some sympathy votes from the gullible bastards'. 'I'd be down with that, as long as we can hand out a few Manifesto's' said Comrade Dadiani. 'And Bibles' cut in Botkevli, never one to deny spreading the word of the Lord.

'All right, so it's decided. We'll sort that out for later this week. A parade. What a fucking good idea' said Davit, laughing. The sombre mood of the table was forgotten as the other men joined his laughter. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.

[b]Undisclosed house, Batumi, Georgia[/b]

The Georgian woke with a start and immediately felt a dull pain on his temple. 'What the fu...?' he murmured, groggily attempting to pull his wrist up to his face. But it didn't move. It took him a few seconds to realise he was chained to a radiator in a dark place he didn't remember entering. 'Shit....Erm, honey! I know you like this stuff but I'm not sure I'm really comfortable with it any more' he said loudly, his voice cracking slightly. Moonlight shone through a broken window and he could see pieces of broken glass covering the floor, reflecting the light. It was completely devoid of all furniture and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could just make out a doorway. And a dark figure inside it. His footsteps approached him quickly and soon he was looking into a face cloaked in darkness. There was a click beside his ear and when he turned his neck, he was horrified to see the dark barrel of a gun.

'Don't shoot' he whimpered, now fully awake. 'Then shut your mouth' came the hoarse whisper back at him. 'Why am I here? Don't shoot' whimpered the soldier. 'I told you to shut your mouth, you bitch' snarled the man, swinging at the man's arm with the butt of his gun. The soldier cried out in pain and received another hit in the same spot for his troubles. The man made no noise but breathed through his nose hard like a nervous dog. The man's face stared at his for several moments before he whispered again. 'Now then, lad. I want you to stay quiet and only talk when I tell you to. If you don't, I'll cover that radiator with bits of your head'. He said it with no remorse and instead clicked the gun again. 'Do you understand me, bitch?'.

Bitch nodded quickly, whimpering slightly. 'Okay then, Bitch. I'm going to ask you a few questions to pass the time while my associate gets here. I love a good game of 20 Questions. When he gets here, I'll ask him if he's satisfied with the answers you give and he'll decide your fate. So if you answer these questions the way I like them, truthfully, maybe he'll feel less inclined to blow your brains over that radiator. One thing I cannot stand for in this world is liars. What about you, Bitch? Do you like liars? Are you a liar?' he growled, holding the gun close to his ear. 'N-no, sir. I-I don't like lying at all' he answered, his voice shaking. 'I think I like you, Bitch. We think on the same wave length. It'll be a shame if I have to blow your brains over that radiator. Are you ready for your questions?' he sneered in the darkness. Bitch just nodded.

'Good, Bitch, good. My first question - who do you work for? What's your job?' he said as if it was the most terrifying and life threatening question in the world. 'I'm a soldier for Batumi. I-I work for General Polat in the first Batumi regiment'. The man didn't answer and Bitch winced, as if preparing to be shot for the wrong answer. 'Very well. Next question. Where do you go to work everyday? Where is General Polat based in?' he said finally. 'I live and work in the old Turkish barracks in the North. We usually go out on patrol and make sure no one hascontraband. I don't see General Polat much, he spends most of his time in -' Bitch stopped suddenly and the colour drained from his face. 'Go on, Bitch. Tell me where General Polat is' said the man, clicking his gun very close to Bitches' left ear. The Georgian soldier gulped and then continued. 'General Polat spends most of his time in the Tsar and Sultan Hotel in North Batumi. He-he lives there too'.

The man stood to his feet and for a quick moment, Bitch hoped he'd walk away. But no, he was reloading his gun audibly. 'Big walls, pre-Turks, fancy gardens, private beach, highly guarded, yeah?' 'Yes...sir' said Bitch, feeling depressingly small. 'Hm' was the man's only answer. He finished reloading his gun and then bent down onto one knee to come face-to-face with Bitch. His back was to the moonlight and this darkened his face. 'Well, Bitch, my associate will be making an appearance in a few minutes. I thought I'd ask you about the stuff you do at work. What kind of weapons do you have? What was this contraband stuff you said you look for? What patrols do you go on? While I'm at it, what are you paid? How much? What currency?'

'I-I don't need to tell you that....sir' he said daringly, testing the waters. 'Oh, you don't, do you, Bitch? You don't remember, is that it? Let me jog your memory' growled the man, placing the gun barrel inches from the soldiers mouth. A warm, wet patch spread out from the soldiers pants and he realised he had pissed himself in fear. 'I-I remember now. Please don't kill me. We're given these foreign guns-' 'Where from?' interjected the man. 'I-I think Turkey. They're rifles, we get ammunitions from the dock every so often. Please don't kill me. We search suspects for illegal foods, weaponry, ammunition, explosives, passports, anything pleasedon'tkillme!' whimpered Bitch. 'Keep going' hissed the man with the gun. 'We patrol all areas around the city. There's no pattern, they just send us to areas and tell us to do random searches or set up checkpoints. D-on't kill me, please! I get a wage of 2,000 lira a month. That includes food, weapon upkeep and my bed in the barracks. Please don't kill me, please, I'll tell you everything, I have a wife, justdon't please, please' the man's head flopped down and he began a series of noisy, wet sobs. 

The man stood up and sighed. 'Oh Jesus, it's my associate!' he said loudly, as if he had practised it. Another man appeared in the doorway, a taller man. The soldier glanced up and gave a small scream. 'Please sir, don't, please' he began to sob again. The man looked at his associate and rolled his eyes. He nodded and the associate pulled out a gun from his pocket. 'No, sir, please, don't please no!' the soldier screamed as the associate approached him. His screams were silenced by the butt of the gun hitting his temple and the soldiers head flopped forward, out cold. There was silence in the abandoned house again. 'Crybaby' muttered Zugreb, going through the man's pockets. 'How'd it go, lad?'

'Not bad. I was shitting a brick all the way through, though. I hate being that mean to people' admitted Tamaz, putting his gun in his pocket. Zugreb stood up and patted his partner on the shoulder. 'Don't worry, lad, we learned a lot of good stuff from him. It's hard but this information is crucial. My first interogattion ended with me pulling out his teeth with a pair of pliers' smiled Zugreb. Tamaz nodded and stared at his feet. 'Next time, don't call him a 'Bitch' so much. I could hear you from the kitchen!'.

'What happens now?' he said, feeling sorry for the poor man he had just terrified. 'We kill him?' 'No. We'll drop him in someone's garden and they'll probably get him to the barracks when he wakes up. Now, come on. Help me lift him and make sure not to forget any details he said! We've got a report to write'. Tamaz nodded and began unlockin the Soldier's handcuffs. He felt guilty yet he had spared the man's life. 

It was a strange feeling.