Navolov and the other Generals nodded in agreement. Kalakia paced slowly toward Navolov.
“And like cancer, corruption can spread into the most important organs of the host body.”
Kalakia came nearer to Navolov and his skin began crawling.
“It can spread into our ranks,” he continued, adding a growl to his voice. A fire moved into his chest and spread out. Navolov looked around nervously then back at Kalakia.
“Into the hearts of those we trust!” yelled Kalakia, now a few feet away from Navolov.
Kalakia could almost see his reflection in Navolov’s terrified eyes. Navolov began lifting out of his chair as Kalakia drew the hunting knife from his jacket pocket.
“You swine!” bellowed Kalakia, clenching the knife with an iron grip.
Kalakia moved swiftly while Navolov reached for his holster and thrust the knife into Navolov’s throat, twisting it and forcing it inside until it emerged from the back of Navolov’s neck. Navolov gargled and croaked. His eyeballs protruded out of their sockets. Kalakia scowled and looked directly into them. The other Generals jumped to their feet in alarm and cries of protest rang out everywhere. Francois, Scheffler and another guard scrambled forward and pointed pistols at each of the Generals’ heads before they could act.
“Don’t fucking move!” yelled Scheffler.
Warm blood poured out of Navolov’s throat and ran down Kalakia’s arm. Kalakia forced the knife out and let Navolov’s bloodied, dead corpse fall to the floor with a thump. Some of The Generals’ soldiers stood stiff in shock, while others had drawn their guns and were scrambling forward in a collective state of disbelief. It was the decisive moment. Kalakia flung his knife to the floor and held his arms out with palms facing forward.
“Whoever wishes to avenge their General, do it now!” he yelled. “Those who have lost faith in me fire the first bullet! Show me your honour!”
Kalakia’s entire body was shaking in a fit of rage. Those who had drawn their guns hesitated.
“Do it!” bellowed Kalakia with all his might.
The cave went quiet. The moment froze. Kalakia waited with every inch of his body and prepared himself for the impact of a bullet fired by one rogue soldier. Dozens of them stood armed and on edge, scowling, their eyes fearful. The shot could come from anywhere. The tension lingered for what felt like an eternity, until the clang of a pistol falling to the floor broke it. The first soldier took a step back. After a slight pause, another gun fell. More soldiers followed suit. Kalakia looked at each of them one by one, challenging them with his stare. Soon every gun was either holstered or laying on the floor. Kalakia sensed that the worst was over. He took a deep stomach breath and came back to himself.
“Kill them,” he said coldly over his shoulder.
Three bullets were fired into the remaining Generals’ skulls. Splatters of blood sprayed onto the floor followed by the three collapsed bodies. Kalakia turned to The Council. Boris Parkishkov had his nose lifted defiantly in the air but could not stop his lips from trembling. Richard DeLauer was leaned forward on the edge of his chair and staring at Kalakia with all the spite he could conjure. The rest were quietly trembling.
“Today, we replace The Council with new leadership,” said Kalakia. “One better suited for war, and one that has not been violated by greed.”
Terrified wails rang out among The Council.
“We had nothing to do with this!” shrieked DeLauer. “How many times do we have to say it?”
“Like our Generals, you are a single unit. You share equal responsibility for the successes and failings of your peers,” said Kalakia. “And also the same fate.”
Kalakia clasped his hands together behind his back and nodded. His guard came forward with rifles and pointed them down at each of The Council members.
“We told you! We had nothing to d—“
The gunfire combined to cause a deafening blast. The heads of the eight old men were pulled back by the impact before their dead bodies slouched down into the chairs. Boris Parkishkov had been hit to the side of his face and was still moving, struggling to draw air with blood pouring down his body. The shooter responsible for him stepped forward and fired another bullet.
Kalakia lowered his head to allow a full minute of silence to take over the cave. The echoes of the final bullet slowly died out, and nobody moved or spoke while Kalakia paid his respect to those men he had sacrificed for the good of The League. He had considered all the options; expulsion, imprisonment, even a trial to determine guilt. Most of the leadership had been with him from the beginning and had given everything for The League. The mere thought of annihilating his Council had given Kalakia palpitations. Then the pictures of Navolov meeting the enemy in Sochi reached him, and he was shaken out of his indecisiveness. Deep down he had known the correct line of action to take, and the strength to carry out the plan finally came to him.
He straightened up and turned to his soldiers to give his concluding address.
“Soldiers. Our leadership has failed you. I have failed you,” he said. “Yet we are at war, and we must adapt quickly if we are to prevail. Today, we began by striking out the old so that we may enter a phase of necessary renewal. Today, we declare new leadership, so that we may return order, strength and purpose to The League. And once we have vanquished our new enemy..”
Kalakia paused and observed the faces of his men more closely. They were hanging on his every word, their faces filled with doubt and fear.
“… I will stand down and make way for a new era.”
Loud murmurs broke out among the soldiers.
“The League will never falter!” yelled Kalakia, reclaiming their attention. “We are lions, and we are not afraid of death! When the war is over, the new head will usher in an even greater era of peace and justice.
