Zyta Konstancja hit the button hard enough to almost break her finger. The radio had been one of a set intended for transport to some third world hellhole or another; her sister had worked for Polish International Aid before the local government had evicted all western aid workers. Her sister had been upset, even before Zyta herself had gone to work for her own living; she had always wanted to aid people who had needed help. Melania Kazimiera hadn’t been put off by what had happened to some aid workers, but Zyta herself had been privately relieved when the workers had been sent home.
Melania herself was older than Zyta, mother of two children, both born after she had returned. Zyta had, on impulse, gone to stay the night with her sister… and then the ‘military emergency’ had begun. The Polish television stations had gone off the air, along with most of the power lines to the city, but rumours spread fast; the Russians had invaded Poland. The news had spread quickly; Melania’s husband had gone off to join off with the rest of his army unit, wherever it was. Everyone, Zyta included, had been terrified when Russian aircraft had bombed the city; their precision weapons had taken out most of the government buildings. They hadn’t heard anything from her brother-in-law yet.
Melania’s voice was very tired… and terrified. If it hadn’t been for her children, Zyta suspected her sister would be a nervous wreck, but she was trying to put on a brave front. There had been some riots in the streets — no one seemed to know whose voice it was on the radio — and the police had tried to contain them, but most people were trying to stay at home.
“Zyta,” Melania asked, “when is this going to end?”
Zyta glanced down at the television. It was supposed to be permanently linked into the global information systems; the modern media depended upon them to function. The builders were more than just a television company, no matter what its detractors said; it relied completely on the Internet and the developments in compressing and transmitting streams of data right across the world. Critics might have sneered that left or right-wingers could have their information adjusted to their personal bias, but anyone who subscribed could access a massive store of information. The global network was overloaded; the help service had been unable to regain anything beyond the single bland radio transmission.
“I don’t know,” she said. The rumour mill had reported that the Russians had invaded and sacked Tallinn, in Estonia, only to report moments later that it had been a peaceful entry into the city. She didn’t think that it was possible for word of anything from that far away to spread so quickly; it might have been a mistake or a lie or…
A distant rumble of gunfire echoed across the city. There had been noises in the distance all though the night, some of them carried by the wind, from explosions to heavier weapons. The power failure meant that most of the city’s support services had failed; after the first riots, most people remained indoors, out of sight. Zyta knew that that wouldn’t last either; she’d followed the advice of her sister and checked their food supplies. They had, if they were lucky, enough for a week; once that time had passed, they would have to venture out into the streets to find food.
And hope that we can pay for it with money, she thought. Most citizens of Poland used credit or debit cards for larger sums of money, except the banking computers would have gone down along with the power supplies. She had a debit card, one that would be useable right across the world, but if there was no power, she might not be able to use it. If not… the thought of trading her body for food was disgusting, but she had her two nieces to support; if she had to do that, she wondered if she would. I think that…
A scream echoed across the sky, followed by a series of explosions. They sounded far too close for comfort; the Russians seemed intent on scaring them to death. Someone was moving outside, running down the deserted streets; she’d heard some of the men in the apartment block talking about taking weapons and going to join the defenders. Few of them had placed any faith in NATO — or at least the Germans — and they had wanted to aid the defenders. She could only hope that they were only trying to appear tough; they might have been assholes who had kept eyeing her, but they didn’t deserve to die. More explosions followed, nasty sounds; Melania whimpered as the sun rose.
“I’m going to the top,” Zyta said, suddenly. Her friends had advised them to find a bomb shelter if they could, or to remain inside, but there hadn’t been any shelters or basements anywhere nearby. She had been told to stay off the roof — it wasn’t safe at all — but she couldn’t stay in the apartment any longer. “Stay here.”
She left the room before Melania could stop her, stepping into the apartment corridor and heading for the stairs. The elevator had been out ever since the power had failed; she could only hope that no one had been caught inside when it died. There were no lights, not even emergency lights; the only illumination came from the windows. One of them was broken, leaving glass scattered all over the floor; a faint smell of urine rose up from one corner. Wrinkling her nose, she walked quietly up the stairs; there could be any number of human animals around. She hadn’t seen a police officer in hours… and she hadn’t felt in so much danger since a nasty incident when she had been younger. The sense of threat was almost overwhelming; she almost stopped before pushing her way forwards up the final flight of stairs and bumping into the final door. It was locked.
She almost broke down into giggles, then saw the opened padlock and removed it, before opening the door properly and stepping out into the open. The smell of smoke hit her first, almost before she saw anything; the smell was drifting right across the city. Smoke… and something else, something she was almost reluctant to place a name to; she sensed the body almost before she saw it. The landlady had kept a small garden on the roof of the apartment… and someone had shot her. Her body lay in the middle of the garden, stone dead. Zyta checked it, closing the eyes automatically, and stood up completely.
“My God,” she breathed. The sight was overwhelming. Words threatened to fail her as she turned, trying to grasp the entire scene. “What is happening?”
It was like a war zone — no, she corrected herself, it was a war zone. She couldn’t see any actual soldiers, but she could see smoke rising from the east, with aircraft flying high overhead. The aircraft were large, they seemed to be like jumbo jets, but very different in purpose; they were unloading weapons down onto the ground below. Zyta had very good eyesight; she could see one of the bombs, a massive black speck, falling towards the ground… and expiring in a thunderous explosion.
Moments later a force of Russian jets thundered by, at very low level. A missile reached up to touch one… and it fell out of the sky, slamming into a building and exploding, the others retreated, launching their weapons down towards the source of the missile. Light flared up within the city; the force of the missile’s impact shattering buildings and killing hundreds underneath. The noise of an alarm echoed across the city, and then it died; she could hear shots from the battle outside.
She stared, suddenly heedless of her own safety. The shooting seemed to be coming from right outside the city, far too close to her; she saw a force of helicopters diving down and firing at what she hoped was a defence line. Explosions flared up, time and time again; she hoped that it was better than it looked. It looked as if there would be no one left when the Russians had finished; flames were already spreading through some of the newer parts of the city. Sections built after Poland had become independent again were on fire; she wondered if the Russians had targeted them deliberately, just out of spite.