Six Days Earlier

     Despite the fetid and overbearing stench that hung in the ancient tunnels Fritz was licking the grease that was the remnants of the tough, gamy meat the rebels had given to him. He had been in the sewers for a couple days now, but he couldn’t really tell beyond the limited amount of light that shone through the holes in sewer-covers or what the others had told him. At least it was somewhat warm under ground and there was a surprising amount of fresh water that could be tapped from the conduits that ran in maze-like lines throughout the tunnels.

     He let out a breath and waited for the small meal to settle in his stomach before he wiped his hands clean with a rag. His meal he had spent leaning against a wall just beyond the quiet circle of fighters, rifles slung over their backs or hanging by their sides. Low murmurs and the occasional bout of subdued chuckling echoed as the men were enjoying their down-time around their handmade stove. They weren’t exactly hostile to him but, equally, he was unable to go on his way without their say-so. At least for the moment. Till his task is done.

     There was still a minor, bitter resentment towards the group. He had been so close to the border, following the wide, slow river that cut through the waring lands. Perhaps the guerrilla group that had jumped him had eavesdropped on the Civil Reserve officials or just assumed that the troop mobilizations of late were because of him. Now he was doing much the same thing as he was in the gilded prison he had just left. Only now he was surrounded by darkness and the stench of sewage, working by the light of a crank-up-lantern with rudimentary tools...

     Scowling he hucked the scrap of fabric into the slow canal of processed meals, covering mouth and nose in a sleeve. Perhaps it was time to go back to work. The sooner he was done, the sooner he would be free of both prisons. Maybe even with some friendly associates who could give him some accommodations when they return to their homeland… that is if they intended to afterwards. The supplies should have all been acquired by now; through the smuggling lines that run through the underworld or by the covert thieving done by those undercover above the ground.

     After winding up the lamp he surveyed what he had been given to work with, sitting down on the mat that had been laid out to be his work bench. It had been weeks since he was captured in order to build the devices they required. In any other engagement they could have brought their own or liberated them from defeated soldiers. Now, apparently, from what he had been told when he had this task forced upon him they were down a man. In particular; their explosives expert had been killed in a skirmish just after they crossed the border weeks ago. It had taken them this long to scrape together the parts and electrical components and the hardest to procure: the explosive compounds themselves. Up to this point he'd just been twiddling his thumbs and moving the fighter's gear and supplies around.

     “Ah, Mr. Sakharov. Have everything you need?”

     Fritz sighed, recognizing the voice that belonged to the leader of the merry band of rebels he was forced into the company of: “Yeah, it seems so. But I need more information on what you need these bombs for and how many are needed. I’m not exactly a demolition’s expert, so…”

     He had trailed off, half-heartedly sorting through the comportments to get started on the ignition mechanism. That part of it, reasonably, would be the same no matter what it’s destructive purpose would be. All it needed was a timer and a blasting cap to initiate the larger charge into detonating.

     The chemist heard the footsteps approach from behind till he felt a hand on his shoulder and he heard the rustle of clothing as the leader knelt next to him and spoke less formally: “None of us here have a clue how to work with explosives, so we are just in the dark. We have a target in mind, but it is heavily secured and we have a man on the inside we are trying to get in touch with. Tomorrow we’ll know more… we hope.”

     Fritz let out a sigh and rolled his head back, staring up at the ancient brickwork of the ceiling and he felt the leader sit down next to him, leaning forward to look at him. Rather than from a sense of disgust or rudeness, he simply couldn’t meet the leader’s eyes. She certainly didn’t seem like someone who could be in charge of a guerrilla fighting group… perhaps that is why she was able to run the insurgency with such a covert touch. It wouldn’t been far from the truth to say that he felt a decent amount of attraction towards her. She was competent, well spoken and beautiful. A trio of traits that made up a formidable and dangerous woman.

     “I hope so as well,” He vocalized at the ceiling: “I need to know what the bombs are needed for… a raw explosion isn’t always the most effective from what my father told me. Not unless you’re heaping thousands of times more than what we have here.”

     He straightened his back and met the eyes of his captor and leader, feeling a oppressive weariness weight down on his shoulders: “If you can’t tell me that, at least tell me that you can get me out of this country or simply let me go after I’m done with this. This damn place has taken everything from me… there is no future here for me, even if the demons in the government are cast out.”

     For a moment he saw a touch of concern and pity cross her face, but, in the next moment it was replaced by her normal calm and reason: “I… can’t make a guarantee. The men expect you to stay in our unit. I’m sure you’ve overheard enough to know that we have more targets and that getting more help from across the border is… unlikely. Our next mission is to attack a prison camp. From our people on the inside, the last we heard, there were plenty willing the fight the moment an opportunity comes. We will need you for that as well."

     She stood and turned to leave but hesitated at the opening of the alcove they had turned into a workshop, saying softly: “But I do understand your wishes… do realize it hurts me to say: ‘please, bear it a little longer’ to anyone fighting. Without your work I’m afraid the most we are is an inconvenience… No, a batch of thieves to The Party.”

     Letting out an extended sigh he turned from the components back to the woman: “The mildest of graces is that I’m not the only one to have such a realization. I just want to be out of this damned country.”

     It was a comment tinged with a hint sarcastic cynicism, the wounds the government and it’s ideological agents had inflicted upon him and no doubt others would still be fresh for years. Even the collapse of the system or even the country would be of cold comfort. There simply wasn’t a single thing left for him to consider his own. Even embracing his own culture felt like a perverse action, though it wasn’t the cause of the hell-scape of the country. His home was burned down, mother and father cremated within the property and his sister had fled to regions unknown.

     Then there was his brother… Fritz had uttered un-ending and vulgar curses at him, his being and his bloodline. If there was a God, one day, retribution would find it’s way to that cur’s door. At the very least this bomb would be a final insult hurled across that bastards face.

     Yet another cold comfort.

     A day later, just as the leader of the rebel squad had promised, the ‘something’ had arrived in the form of a rather gaunt, tall and elderly man. He had shuffled into the light cast by the small stove made out of a steel garbage bin and some plumbing that they cooked their meals and warmed their bodies by, guided on either side by two of the fighters. He looked to be in his sixties - perhaps even his early seventies - sporting rather formal attire below a weathered and wrinkled face capped by a crown of unkempt silver hair.

     It was fortunate that he had arrived so early in the morning, escorted by a pair of their number in plain, civilian clothes. Two of them, before the important business was discussed, dipped their mugs into a pot of bitter coffee that had been brewed on the stove before sitting down to rest. It was clear that their night had been one of restlessness and decisive movements to get down here.

     Fritz was sitting with the group, the warmth of the beverage soaking into his hands from the old food tin he was drinking from. He could hardly call it ‘coffee’ as it wasn’t nearly rich enough. It was more like hot water with the essence of coffee vaguely attached to it. A homeopathic tincture would, perhaps, be a better description. However, he wasn’t fit to complain. It was the first hint of caffeine he had been allowed in weeks and it lifted his spirits. Coffee was already a rare product for the common individual, it would be vile to complain about it’s quality in their efforts to make the vacuum sealed bag last as long as it had.

     He took another sip, the energy in the dim tunnels rising as they drank and ate their rations and being formed into purpose as everyone gathered around the leader. She greeted the old man with a handshake and pushing a warm mug into his other hand before addressing her soldiers: “Alright, everyone. We’ve had a stroke of luck this morning. This is Dr. Zavoisky, head supervisor of the nuclear power plant and more importantly; knows the layout of the entire site.”

     After his face had returned from it’s grimace at the watery drink he nodded and spoke in a deep, confident drawl: “The pleasure is all mine. The impious tyranny of The Party must end. It has gotten out of hand. I, for one, have seen the glory of this country in it’s prime and before I die it shall be re-instated.”

     Fritz saw a rage upon the Physicists face as he spoke, the likes of which he had been familiar with in the past. Back when he desired nothing less than to drive a knife into his brothers throat. He couldn’t help but feel a grim anger seethe through the armed crowd. He’d been around them long enough to know that most were his own countrymen… and more had been arriving down in the sewers by the hour, mostly in ones or twos.

     Something big was on the horizon.

     Looking to the Guerrilla Leader he noticed that her eyes were already on him. As their gazes locked he noticed that glint to her eyes even though her face remained stoic. Fritz couldn’t help shake his head, straining to keep the ghost of a grin from appearing on his face. There was a confident idea shown to him in her eyes, that the future was brighter than it had seemed. She strode towards him and grabbed his arm and pulled him to Dr. Savoisky and introduced him as their demolition man.

     A flash of recognition came across his face as he took the hand of Fritz and he too made his introductions. As he later found out; Savoisky knew his father. Back when he was the Minister of Military Development and before the evil truly began to grow vile thorns throughout the hearts of The Ministry. In that ideal past the Physicist was happily wrapped up in his work, splitting the atom and researching the resulting decays and marveling at the power that sleeps within the minuscule world of atomics. It was a glimpse at the power of God.

     The lanterns were wound up and the good Doctor began to sketch out a very simple map of the facility on the wall with a lump of charcoal. As soon as the map was complete he directed them through the hallway’s to their goals: The four reactors; charges placed on the reactor core and the local substation that distributed power to the grid. He theorized that cutting off the power grid from the damaged reactors would cause the whole facility to melt down and, potentially, explode. The water coolant would be it’s downfall, as it flooded the reactor a steam detonation would take care of the rest of the core.

     He acknowledged, some what introspectively, that he would be contributing to a disaster the likes of which had never been seen before and would tarnish the atom for generations. Should the containment building be breached an invisible poison would ravage the land and it’s inhabitants for decades. Yet, that was exactly what needed to happen. The alternative was letting the cancer spread and killing the nation. It would divert resources from the war to contain the radiation and cripple the electrical production the hogs of industry suckled at.

     A lesser of two evils. An ultimatum which should have been rare in the bartering of lives.

     Later that night the two scientists sat together and concocted the devices they would use for their destruction. With their fields of expertise they discussed, brainstormed and found a few eureka moments. The charges for the reactors were molded around large, conical street-lamp bulbs that had been snatched at their request. They were, by their estimations, just the right shape to be an effective shaped charge. Fritz, confident in his work, instructed the rebel fighters on their operation, how to deploy them safely and - should the worst happen - how to decrease the detonation time. The caveat to the explosives was that they had to explode two or three feet above the surface of the reactor in order to penetrate the core. The fighters would have to mount them on stilts for them to work in the most effective way, if the theory worked in practice.

     The last bomb was far more conventional. Nearly ten kilograms of plastic explosive packed into a canister. It would be used to destroy the transformers at the site just moments before the reactors approached meltdown. All that was required was for the device to detonate in the substation. The cataclysmic short circuiting of the grid would take care of the rest.

     By some miracle, sped along by a couple sleepless nights, the plan was cemented and the bombs were complete. There would be a feint attack on government building by the Guerrilla forces. As the troops gave their lives in the distraction the real attack would begin. That was the group Fritz would be in, but he had privately demanded to be kept in the back lines or to move onto the next target to prepare. Despite his protests the leader merely thrust a pistol into his hands and told him to be on look out.

     Zavoisky, on the other hand, would be with the main attack. Acting as a guide he would make the success of their mission an absolute. It was planned in a satisfactory way. Their numbers were strengthened, every scrap of armour fastened and the smallest weapon to the largest gathered in their arms. Finally, after the battle had been won, the guerrillas would retreat back into the underground; into the most ancient of tunnels and dried aquafers to regroup for the next attack.

     The time was upon them and they made their emergence into the cool air of the night.