Three For the Gallows

Lacing his thumbs in his vest over his ample grith, Terra Nova’s ambassador, Alek Ivanov, paces in front of the desk of Prime Minister Rixon Windgrave.

“These three individuals have been designated war criminals,” Alek says. “Their convictions will show the citizens of Terra Nova that their type of violence will not be tolerated in your government’s new order.”

“That’s why I want the war trials held in Terra Nova,” Rixon replies, speaking on behalf of Nova Prime, victors in the recent war against Terra Nova. After six years of war with millions of casualties that have left cities in both island countries devastated, Terra Nova has finally capitulated.

“Whether they’re found guilty or not is moot,” Rixon continues. “But hanging them will show that Nova Prime means to keep the peace.”

“The shoe would be on the other foot if Admiral Makarov had won the battle of the Borodino Straights,” Alek says.

“But he didn’t.”

“That incapable boob led our navy straight into a slaughter. Makarov paid with his life, but his incompetence took my two cousins with him.”

“I’m sorry, Alek.”

“I suppose it’s the price one pays to make war.”

Rixon looks through the folders of the three prisoners. “Aniyah Andropov… The Angel of Death… She and her co-conspirators killed at least five hundred of Nova Prime’s wounded soldiers…”

“Sadly, she killed fifty of our soldiers as well,” Alek says grimly. “She played God with the men she’d been entrusted to heal. No one in the emperor’s court has any qualms about her being executed. She was a dedicated woman who went insane from what she saw and was forced to endure.”

“Secondly, there’s Admiral Maxim Molotov, the head of Terra Nova’s Sub Mariner Corps. He sank the passenger liner Oceanic.”

“Many members of the Nova court refused to indite Admiral Molotov, citing his heroism and character.”

Rixon frowns. “Who’s the third prisoner? I don’t see his name.”

“I’d like to try and keep his identity a secret until we transport him back to Terra Nova for trial.”

“Why?”

“Although we’ve surrendered, there’s still a rebel faction out there threatening the peace agreement and this man could become their leader. He’s so dangerous, he should be tried, sentenced, and executed the same day.”

Rixon peruses the folder. “There’s very little in here about him. Nothing but your agreement to label prisoner 0041 a war criminal. We still reserve the right to interview him.”

“Of course. But I recommend assigning as many men as you can to guard him, especially when you send him back to Terra Nova.”

“You know who he is and what he’s done, don’t you?”

“Yes. He’s our greatest general. But he’s a man without conscience or compassion who used the war to cater to his darkest perversions.”

“You’re talking about Vladimir Volker, aren’t you? I thought he was killed in the last battle.”

“You may come to wish he was.”

Aniyah Andropov yanks her arm free from the husky guard dragging her into the interrogation room.

Aniyah takes in the austere but comfortable surroundings. “What are you going to do, bore me to death with elevator music?”

The guard slams Aniyah down in a cushioned chair across from Rixon. She looks up at the security camera, sticking out her tongue.

Rixon can see that even in a formless prison smock, Aniyah is an intoxicating beauty with silky amber hair, an aquiline nose, and heart-shaped lips that belie her threatening personality.

It’s her eyes that define her. Aniyah’s bright blue eyes are icy, cold, and unfeeling.

“Why did you disturb me from my sleep?” she demands, her sharp tone registering indignation.

“Call it an exit interview.”

Aniyah studies Rixon’s slight build, mottled features, and the bags under his eyes, dismissing him as a soft bureaucrat.

“I have a few questions on behalf of the War Crimes Committee.”

“None of whom knew where the front lines were much less were ever there.”

“You were a head nurse for the Terra Nova Army. You took an oath to heal…”

“I also vowed to my emperor that I would send as many Nova Prime soldiers to the underworld as I could.”

“We’re very familiar with your methods…”

“The simplest way to kill a Nova Prime dog is to inject an air bubble into their bloodstream. It blocks the blood flow. Boom! You’re worm food.”

“Some of the autopsies we conducted on your patients were inconclusive. We thought you may have poisoned them.”

“Yeah, especially the smart-mouthed ones or the ones who tried to maul me. Men. You start a war over a tiny island just because it sits between Terra Nova and Nova Prime. You expect women to save your soldier’s ruined bodies as well as your enemy’s. Millions die and nothing changes. Men think that war gives them the right to act repulsive. So yes, I smothered the weak ones who touched me when I didn’t want to be touched. And I shot up Nova Prime soldiers with poison when they bragged about killing my countrymen.”

“How many of our soldiers do you think you killed during the war?”

“Hundreds. Very few of your men made it to prison camps, much less lived to fight again.”

Rixon pushes a sheet of paper and a pencil across the table at Aniyah. She picks up the pencil. Checking its dull edge, she dismisses the possibility of jamming it in Rixon’s neck.

“This is a list of nurses who served with you. Cross off the ones who are innocent.”

Without studying the list, Aniyah crosses off all the names.

“Your army’s assault on the hospital killed most of my nurses. The rest were rescued by freedom fighters.”

“Rebels.”

“Potayto, potahto. You only have me left to punish now,” Aniyah says, smiling triumphantly.

“All right, then. You’ll carry the weight of all the atrocities you and your nurses committed.”

“Your sham trial will make me a martyr, which will help recruit more rebels.”

“There’s no rebellion. We have a peace agreement in place.”

“From someone who doesn’t know which end of the rifle to fire. When this war resumes, and it will, you’d better hope you don’t end up in my field hospital.”

Admiral Maxim Molotov, the head of Terra Nova’s Sub Mariner Corps, marches in saluting Rixon crisply. His dark hair is styled in an undercut, closely shaved on the sides with longer locks on the top. With his crisp brown eyes focused straight ahead and his eyebrows, poised in a pensive V shape, Admiral Molotov gives off a by-the-book presence.

“Sit down, Admiral. You understand that you’re going to be tried for war crimes against Nova Prime, and it’s likely you’ll be executed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not only for sinking the Oceanic, but the three other passenger liners you sank during the war.”

“I was following my emperor’s orders.”

“And was it a pleasure to follow those orders?” Rixon asks.

“No, sir. I value human life, all life, and hate to be the instrument that extinguishes it. But one of those thousands of men who drowned on the Oceanic may have been the one who killed my emperor, or one of my men.”

“The Oceanic was obviously a civilian vessel. Why did you attack it?”

“I was informed it was carrying guns and ammunition for Nova Prime’s army.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Then why did it explode? The three torpedoes I hit her with should have simply sunk it, and slowly…It exploded, broke in two, and sank in a matter of minutes. Only something combustive would make it sink like that.”

“That doesn’t excuse the fact that you murdered fifteen hundred men, women, and children.”

“Men who could aid your war effort in the factories, and women who could produce the next generation of soldiers who would take up arms against us.”

“You didn’t mention the children.”

Admiral Molotov’s pale complexion reddens with embarrassment. “I admit their deaths haunt me.”

“You sank twice as many merchant ships as anyone else in Terra Nova’s navy.”

“They were your lifeblood. I wish I could have destroyed more of them.”

Rixon presses Admiral Molotov. “Many of those ships were unarmed.”

“Do you know the number of times I had my submarine surface to give their captains the opportunity to surrender? I allowed the men to abandon their vessels before I destroyed them. I had to stop the procedure when you adopted a convoy system, and your destroyers stalked us trying to sink us.”

“You sank a hospital ship.”

Admiral Molotov stiffens in his seat. “You’re referring to the Mercy, a troop ship your government disguised as a hospital ship. It had two thousand infantry soldiers on board, although I’m certain that’s not in the notes your government provided you about me.”

“How did you know the Mercy was carrying soldiers when I didn’t even know it?”

“We had agents at the docks. They saw what was being loaded on the ships, and where they were sailing to.”

“You strike me as a man of honor, Admiral. Perhaps Terra Nova would have won the Battle of Borodino Straights if you were in command instead of Admiral Makarov.”

“A good man, but more historian than strategist. If the battle had been fought in a library, he would have been a fine commander.”

“How do you respond to the charge that two of your men machine-gunned the helpless crew of a steamer you sank?”

“They were court-martialed and shot.”

Rixon studies Admiral Molotov’s expression, looking for a crack in his demeanor that doesn’t show.

“I may not be able to keep you from bearing the full weight of your less honorable comrades, but I’ll see what I can do, Admiral.”

“I’ll go willingly to the gallows, sir, if you spare my men.”

“I see you have a wife and two boys.”

Admiral Molotov finally shows emotion, smiling broadly at their memory. “My wife, Ingrid, has stood by me, guided me, encouraged me for twenty-five years. I love her as much as the day we married. And my boys, they’ll be merchantmen, not sailors. They’ll deliver things people need, rather than war and death.”

Alek enters the room. Admiral Molotov salutes him.

“Please wait outside, Admiral,” Rixon says.

Rixon grabs his head with both hands as if it’s about to fly from his shoulders.

“That man’s character is impeccable. We can’t execute him.”

“But can we save him?”

“I’m going to go out on a limb for him and for you and delay his trial. I’ll see to it that he’s sent home so he can spend time with his family.”

“He’ll take up arms against you if the peace doesn’t hold,” Alek says. “You’ll have to kill him anyway.”

“What a waste that would be.”

Rixon drops the classified report on the sinking of the Oceanic on his desk, muttering, “Admiral Molotov was right.”

General Vladimir Volker’s massive form moves into the doorway, dominating it. With his hands and legs heavily manacled, Volker’s leg wound gives him a pronounced limp.

Volker cuts a menacing figure with hands like sledgehammers, thick, black hair, and a long mustache with a sharp, triangular goatee.

Rixon tries to not let Volker’s appearance intimidate him.

“Of all the war crime files I’ve reviewed, yours is the most vile, degrading, and the most disgusting.”

“Guess I’m an overachiever,” Volker replies.

“You played polo with men’s heads, used prisoners for target practice, and dropped them from dirigibles!”

 “All in the name of entertainment.”

“So, war is some kind of game to you?”

“Deadly and fun. Who could want more?”

“You torched entire villages. You put the heads of a hundred dead soldiers on pikes outside of our sacred city!”

“It cut down on tourism, didn’t it?”

“You turned our women into concubines!”

“And instantly, every day was Saturday night for my men.”

Astonished by Volker’s glib attitude, Rixon continues. “You used prisoners as human shields!”

“That didn’t work out very well for them.”

“All this sadism, brutality, and you were brought to ground by your lover. She drugged you, and while you slept, our army defeated yours.”

“I hope your agents treated her well,” Volker says grimly. “At least she’ll be able to pay for her elaborate funeral.”

“We paid her by granting her freedom. She and the eighty soldiers she fled with had grown weary of your barbarism and begged to join us.”

Volker roars with laughter. “Are you now going to lecture me about how righteous you are? I grew up near the docks on Devon Island, the very piece of minuscule territory you and Terra Nova continue to bicker over. We were poor, but my father provided for us. Living on Devon Island was simple, uneventful, and beautiful. I miss those nights by the water sharing a glass of wine with my father as the ship’s horns blared in the distance. Then someone in Nova Prime decided that Devon was the perfect strategical location for a garrison. Then someone in Terra Nova came to the same conclusion.”

“And what conclusion did you arrive at?” Rixon asks.

“None, until I saw your invading soldiers murder my father and my mother, then burn our village to the ground. That was when Nova Prime made an enemy of me for life.”

“I shudder to think you could have been one of us.”

“I am one of you! You created me!”

Alek looks out of Rixon’s office window toward the center of the Nova City, where thousands of people have gathered for General Volker’s execution. They cheer as the guillotine is raised and locked into position.

“I knew slicing his head off would be more spectacular than hanging him. Nearly everyone is coming to see Volker get what he deserves,” Rixon says. “Frankly, I can’t wait.”

“He must have really loved his parents,” Alek says quietly. “It broke him.”

Rixon pulls a cigar out of his jacket pocket. Clipping the end, he lights it, puffing victoriously.

“Sending him to Terra Nova would have only served to rally more rebels against us. After what he’s done, the people of Nova Prime deserve to see him die, knowing his death will finally put an end to this war… Let’s go downstairs, I want a front-row view. Maybe we’ll send his head home on a pike.”

Rixon and Alek watch the guards bring the hooded prisoner up the steps toward the guillotine.

A feeling of suspicion rises inside Rixon.

“He’s not limping!”

The guards force Volker onto his knees, sticking his head into the guillotine’s lunette.

Grabbing Alek by the shoulders Rixon shouts, “That’s not him!”

The din of the cheering crowd drowns out Rixon’s words as the guillotine lops off Volker’s head.

The two diplomats rush up the steps to the platform.

“Pick up that head!” Rixon yells at the executioner.

The executioner gags, mumbling, “Gross!” as he lifts the head.

Rixon gingerly pulls off the blood-soaked hood.

“Who’s that?” Alek asks innocently.

“The man you substituted for Volker, who’s undoubtedly sipping a celebratory glass of wine right now. Why, Alek?”

“He threatened to filet my family, starting with me.”

A guard fights his way through the cheering throng, yelling at Rixon.

“What’s he saying?” Alek asks.

“Most of our soldiers are either here or celebrating in the pubs. I’m sure he’s telling me that your army landed uncontested on the other side of the island, and they’re about to take the city.”

Rixon pushes Alek down the steps.

Rixon chuckles to himself as he looks across the negotiating table at Alek.

“We were on opposite sides of this table only four months ago. How ironic.”

“As the highest-ranking living member of the Nova Prime government, I strongly suggest you sign the peace treaty before Emperor Volker arrives.”

“He’s assumed your throne, committed wholesale genocide, and now he wants to sterilize our children, triple taxes, plow our holy city under, and execute every serviceman who fought against him.”

“He’s thorough if nothing else,” Alek replies.

“Gallows humor. I thought that was beneath you, Alek. Aren’t you afraid of what’s going to happen to you and your people now that Volker has absolute power over everyone and everything?”

“I am.”

“So, what are we going to do about it?”

Emperor Volker nearly salivates as Rixon sadly exhales, signing the peace treaty. Volker hurriedly scrawls his name. Admiral Molotov adds his sweeping, elegant signature, followed by Alek, who stamps the document.

Alek turns his back on the men as he pours them glasses of wine.

“Ah, wine from Devon Island.”

“The same brand you and your father used to drink,” Alek notes.

“Who knew that a fisherman’s son would someday rule over three countries? Enjoy your last drink, Prime Minister Windgrave. Tomorrow you’ll be the target at the rock-throwing contest.”

Volker gulps down his glass of wine.

“Have you had the opportunity to look at my relocation plans, sire?” Alek asks.

“You’re going to put a hundred thousand people from Nova Prime on Tartarus, a tiny, barren island? They won’t be able to grow anything to support themselves,” Admiral Molotov says. “We dump our garbage there.”

“And we’ll continue to do so,” Volker replies.

Rixon tries to contain his anger. “You’ve won the war and the peace. You’ve executed two million of my people. When will you have killed enough of us?”

Coughing, Volker crushes the glass in his hand. “When you’re extinct.”

“And if we refuse to sanction further mass genocide?” Admiral Molotov protests.

Volker coughs. “You can participate in one of two ways. Alive, or….”

Volker keels over.

“Dead,” Alek says.

Admiral Molotov tears up the treaty. “All of Terra Nova thanks you for your bravery, Ambassador Ivanov.”

“Volker’s reign of terror is over,” Alek says. “We’re going to need a leader who is compassionate, fair, and wise who can bring Terra Nova, Nova Prime, and Devon Island together again.”

Rixon and Alek raise their glasses.

“To Emperor Molotov.”