Comm-Link #009

Day 4,164, 07:49 Published in Ireland Japan by Violence Seth

Last Episode: Comm-Link #008
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Clare O’Malley's Private Journal: I never thought I’d see big Murph cry. But the tears were rolling hard when I finally opened my eyes and said “G’morning Murpho”. It soon turned into sobs and he turned his head away towards the window. I saw Liam and Mick, both barely awake looking at him too but he just stared out the window, his eyes red raw and weary. Who knew Murphy had a soft side? He's a total weapon in war but it seems he's wee kitten when it comes to Civ life and it's realities.

He’s agreed to stay behind and make sure Commander Mac Allistar and Dr. Assouley don’t interrupt us while we take our R and R at Tórshavn, up in the Faroe Isles. Of course we’re not actually there, we have some very urgent business to attend to. We haven’t climbed out of the abyss that Petrov put us in to just walk away from it as a bunch of broken, hapless veterans. That’s exactly what that c*nt Petrov would want. We'll live in spite of him.

Private Esposito is coming along to “babysit” us, but of course he knows what we’re up to. He’s a good lad, I can now see why Dr. Assoulay was so keen to keep him around. He drives Mac Allistar nuts, which can be amusing but sometimes he does cross the line with him. It’s not a totally bad thing though. It keeps our Head Commander “with the troop” in a way. I’d hate to see them really fall out though. We've enough drama to deal with outside of Rasa Blank.



Aksaray, Istanbul, Turkey
Day 4164, 08.00 eRT



I can see Leonora standing in her kitchen staring with wide eyed terror at Liam and Mick as they sit sharpening their steel Skeans. It wasn’t that hard to find Petrov’s favorite whore. A hop, skip and jump and we were in Istanbul courtesy of the Irish Army's I.C.A brigade. Nearly all of the Working Girls in Istanbul know Petrov or of him and his litany of sick and violent fetishes and Leonora was the one that would put up with the worst of his sick fantasies. It only cost us 5cc to talk with her. She’s a skinny young woman, with a terrible opioid habit that needs constant feeding. She’d have been a model with her pretty face and silken, sun kissed copper hair but her face is gravely sunken and her limbs are bruised and skeletal from drug abuse.



I don’t think Petrov could ever understand the sacred bond that keeps us together. I don’t know, he must have been an only child. To be fair, no one really knows unless they’re one of us. We know where each of us are at, how we feel, what we want and need. It’s like having an extra sense, we experience everything the others feel. So even when he had us isolated, the bond was still there, it helped sustain us. Petrov almost killed us with his torture racks and the suffering felt threefold for all of us. When Mick was swinging under the helicopter, which is a sin he’ll soon pay for dearly, his pain was our own pain. We might as well have been hanging with him, but of course Mick was the one who swung. Now his voice is f*cked and he can only talk in whispers.

Last thing any of us remember is that helicopter ride before we opened our eyes to a really exhausted looking Murph keeping watch on us and two Doctors in Goshawk gear. I remember feeling so sick and weak, like G*d had his fist in my guts, waiting to see if I’d turn off. Tough sh*t though, I’m still breathing and I’m ready to deal out absolute utter destruction; so not today Lord, I’ve havoc to wreak and brothers to look after. I’ll make it up to you by wiping that stain called Petrov from existence.



We heard a key in the lock of the front door. She didn’t tell us he had a key. We all give a nod before we disappeared into our different positions to await his entrance. Leonora has been told not to warn him or she'd suffer consequences worse than whatever Petrov could dream up. An acid scarred face doesn’t go well with whoring. Neither does fingerless hands. I’m sure she’s heard every threat imaginable by now, but despite her warranted indignation at our crude threats, she seemed rattled but reliable.

Soon she was speaking quietly and they were moving to the bedroom where I awaited in the closet patiently. Liam and Mick will know when to make their entrance. They’re both radio silent except for our old Type-Two tech. We can tap into local radio towers and make intractable burst transmissions. Two meant it was go time.

Petrov hopped out of bed with new bionic legs. They were extremely hi-tech looking, almost human, besides the translucent skin. I slid out from my hiding spot behind the door as he finished undressing. “Hello Captain, hands where I can see them!” Petrov was caught totally off guard. Liam and Mick were soon standing in the doorway ensuring the Captain had no way out. He couldn’t survive a three story drop without seriously/fatally injuring himself. If he made a break for it out the window his prosthetic legs would splinter and drive up into his body. I could see his one good eye dart about. He had probably came to that same conclusion.

The boys entered the hot pink room and kicked his rifle and pistol bandoleer out of Petrov's range. His eye darted between the three of us. I’m sure he thought we were dead. Yet here we stood, in the golden light of early evening. Leonora screamed and crawled towards the corner near the window, her eyes wide with terror. Oh, the state he had left us in... The inhuman torture he put us through. We may as well have been spectres. Back to haunt him with hi-tech machine guns and cruel imaginations.

Surprisingly, he actually tried to feign indifference but he surely must have been mortified. We knew, he knew he’d stepped right into our wee spider’s web, and a horrid fate was soon to befall him. We’d talked about this on our flight over, but we’d all agreed that we wouldn’t stoop to his level. We’d give him a fair closing; a quick punishment, followed by a quick death, much more than he’d ever given his other victims.

I smiled at him as he massaged his sweating brow, sitting himself back down on the filthy mattress, probably imagining up some far fetched way out. “Okay, we are all soldiers here, no?” He stomped the floor with his robotic leg. Leonora jumped up from her corner and hid behind Liam and Mick sobbing. Sitting defenseless in his underwear, he looked up from his musing and casually said; “As a fellow soldier, I challenge you all to single combat. That is of course depending on whether you hold your honour as true soldiers.” His wide-eyed look of mania was very satisfying. He knew we were there to tear him apart.

When he figured out we weren't going to “dishonour” ourselves by attacking him as a gang he jumped up onto the bed, like a child. His new legs seemed extremely responsive. Seeing him do this and hearing the noise of gathering onlookers set me on alert. His behaviour was bewildering but I guess he just simply had a screw loose. Here we were, about to beat the man to death and he reacted like we were about to start a game of pillow-fighting. It seemed so odd and grotesque I think we were all a bit taken back in this filthy little sharp-pink room. He even began to stretch, like he stood a chance, then cocked his head to the side and pointed at us “Fists only, yeah?” What a f*cking lunatic.

Liam cleared the room of weapons, and Mick braced the "Vulgar Bulgar" up and down, to which he complied readily, oddly confident. Mick even felted into his jocks, just in case. He was as clean as a man could be in a brothel. Liam took our weapons and stood them in the corner near the door. We kept them close by, as more random Johns and Working Girls stood outside on the landing. I called Leonora back into the room and ordered her to keep the Civ’s back. I felt like I was somehow losing control of this bizarre situation, the weird setting and his nonchalant compliance made me feel uneasy.

We upturned the bed and flung it down the stairs. Petrov stood by the barred window of the now mostly empty room, showing off and flexing his muscles to the other Working Girls who where piling in to see the fight. It was turning into a circus.

So he points at me, clicks his fingers and says “Round One!” and with a clap of his hands he was in an odd looking fighting stance, something like Kickboxing. Then he steps in and throws a left hook which I narrowly duck under and counter him hard in the stomach. He just avoids a follow up right before moving back to circling. I stood back, gave Liam my rifle, then moved in again to try to grapple with him, or rather try get him to grapple me. He pulled me into a headlock and I used the force of his movement to roll him over. Before he knew what was happening I was raining down punches and elbows, in full mount position. As he tried to resist it became easier to lay into him, punch after punch, elbow after elbow.

He went limp so I knelled on his chest. I was about to signal for one of the boys to just shoot him but as the thought passed my mind a knife was thrown in from the crowd of young harlots. He grabbed it and stabbed at me from the floor, pushing me off him and going full berserker. I jumped back but he'd caught me with a shallow wound near me chin. I refocused myself, waiting for my chance, leaning away from his wild slashing and then finally I caught a hold of the arm with the knife. As the knife dropped to the floor, one of my brothers kicked it out of play.

With his arm twisted, I headbutted him until he finished thrashing about and with a fay squeal he dropped to the floor, unconscious. The boys aimed their Steyr rifles at him. Mick handed me my revolver but despite his mortal danger, the screams of the Working Girls and my burning hatred for the man who had raped and tortured me. I couldn’t shoot him. Not yet. He had a debt to pay and I was going to take it.

Liam and Mick held position. Mick had fired a shot to get rid of the crowd outside the door but no one moved. I stared into Petrov's infernal eye. “In spite of what you've done Captain, you will not get the chance to die in combat.“ I couldn’t believe what I was saying. Neither did the half conscience Petrov or my brothers. The Working Girls seemed ecstatic. In the midst of this milieu, the “boss” showed up, some squat little swarthy guy with a unibrow. He started demanding things, complaining about “the mess”, as if the place wasn’t already a pigsty. He grew more confident as we ignored his nonsense but as soon as he struck one of the girls, Mick broke his nose with the butt of his rifle then began hammering his teeth out of their sockets. Liam pulled the sleazy, little pimp away from Mick and threw him down the stairs and through the discarded bed.

With a nod from me, the boys picked the limp Petrov up and sat him upright by the radiator. I dug around in the bag we’d brought for ropes, chains and locks. We spent a while trying to tie him up until Leonora offered to help, it turned out she was fairly handy with knots. Soon he was completely prone. In fact he was so prone I simply couldn’t help myself.

Mick pushed me aside and leaned over him. He jabbed his Skean into his larynx. Liam was just as quick to patch it up. Petrov would never talk again without help. Mick stepped back and closed the door. He glanced my way. “All yours sister.“ he whispered.

I stepped forward and cut Petrov’s underwear off. I then very carefully, carved a line around his genitals and turned to Liam for the blowtorch. He handed it over with a solemn sigh. They both took a grip of Petrov as he begged half-consciously in mixed languages, blood seeping from his mouth and nose. I heated Mick’s keen Skean until it was glowing. Some of the Working Girls banged at the door but Liam jarred it shut with a crowbar. I cradled his limp manhood, pushed a rag into his mouth and stared into his red eye.

I then slid the glowing hot Skean down, across, around and up. I pressed the white hot Skean hard on the wound to cauterize it. It smelt awful. Petrov soon fainted again. Once it was a lump of odd flesh I offered it up to the battered, emaciated looking Leonora who was still wringing her hands by the doorway. She looked like she was going to faint too so I just stuffed the wad of flesh into his in mouth. “This is for all you've done to me and mine.” I whispered. I know, it’s horrible. I’m horrible. Come find me and tell me how horrible I am.



As we moved off him we could hear sirens in the distance. Someone had called the local M.P. We grabbed our things and dashed down the back stairs to the large Jeep Petrov had came in. We offered young Leonora a chance to come with us but she said she couldn’t. However as soon as we pulled out of the street we could hear her calling out desperately. We never said a word as she ran up the street barefoot and hopped into the backseat. I cradled her in my arms as we stuck to the back alleys, and out of the city through the outskirt slums. We drove top speed back to the deserted airfield in the Thracian countryside to the West where we had left our helicopter hidden in a bombed out factory yard. The guards organized by Esposito seemed relaxed and had our craft refueled and ready to go. So flying as close to under the radar as we could, we headed back to where we came from.

Private Esposito was waiting anxiously for us. He’d heard over Civ radio that a high ranking N.G.O Commander had been attacked in Istanbul’s City Centre. He’d also had five calls from Commander Mac Allistar, demanding to speak to one of us since we’d left. I sent him inside with the boys and Leonora while I called in for my dressing down. We’d had our revenge for now but when I got aboard that Civ Cargo plane heading to Newcastle, England I couldn’t help but feel a bit conflicted. What we did was wrong by protocol but it felt so righteous. Giving that sh*tstain the honour of K.I.A would've been simply too good for that pr*ck and if he survives his wounds, I relished the thought of facing him again. It seems silly but a part of me can't kill him, because I'd have nothing truly evil left to kill once he was finally dead. I'll take him apart slowly, piece by piece. Signing off,

2nd Commander Clare Holly O’Malley
Commander, 2nd Regiment
Rasa Blank



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